Ishmael clove the last piece of wood on the block in front of himself and threw the last of the firewood in the pile he had created by his side. Smoke came out of the chimney of the little cottage he had built with some help of his brother, and the smell of new baked bread. His newely wed wife Kara and he had moved in just two days ago. He had made themselves new furniture and Kara had sewn the curtains. It had become a home.

Ishmael could not feel more than pride as he put on his shirt and placed the axe back by the block and went in. Kara was if possible more beautiful than ever. Her green eyes gleaming in the light of a couple of candles and the fireplace. A stew was on in a pot over the fireplace and in her hands was a plate of new baked bread, her dark, almost pitch black hair tied into a knot on the back of her head. Her dress was no ordinary than other women wore, just plain woolen, still on her Ishmael thought it proper for a queen. She smiled at him as he shut the heavy wooden door behind him, and placed the warm iron plate on the table. Ishmael thought about saying something to make her aware of how pretty she looked.

But before he had uttered the first letter Kara’s mouth met his. Seconds that seemed like an eternity came to an end and Kara glided away from him and continued her work. Ishmael smiled over his happiness.

"Did you manage to cut all the wood? I thought you could help me with the garden tomorrow if so my love." Kara said as Ishmael sat down at the table.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I did. And sure I’ll help you. Uncle Thrall was to come by with his old wagon tomorrow too. I’ll have to fix it some, but then we’ll have a wagon by our own."

"So sweet of him" Kara placed the plates on the table, the stew smelling delicious just as the bread and the mug of milk looked. She sat down in front of him and smiled.

"And we’ll have to fix you a bath after dinner. You’re not gonna smell like that in my bed I tell you." She said giggeling a bit. Ishmael could only smile.

"Now eat your dinner so you can dig well in the garden tomorrow" she said. Smiling as most time.

The next morning proved that summer was not come to the low land of Sommer yet. Rain was drissling down and the wind was whipping the dropps into Ishmael’s face. The garden still has to be dug up, Ishmael said to himself and took the shovel from the little shed he had built and walked out into the rain. The soil was soft and well nurished for agriculture. Here they would grow their vegetables. And Ishmael had plans for a pen for chickens so they could get eggs and meat. At least he did not have to hunt as much. At least once a week he strolled out into the thick forest with his bow and hunting spear. He did not always catch something. But it was a great change and relaxation to be away sometimes.

He even thought about doing some fishing at the little creek running not far away when things calmed down with the cottage and all. Ishmael cursed the rain once more and pushed the shovel deep down in the ground with help of his foot. Maybe he should ask Tangir, the smith of his home village an hour away to make a plow. It would be a lot easier to plow than digging the garden by hand.

Ishamel thought of things to do all the time he stood there in the rain. His clothes clinging to his back both of sweat and the downpour. Only when Kara came running out with a mug of warm tea and a kiss did he take a pause. The garden was finished just a couple of hours after lunch that Kara had prepared for him. And just as he was about to go inside old Thrall came walking down the path with horse and wagon behind him. Even though Thrall was at least three times as old as Ishmael, he was a sturdy man.

He had been away from Sammarah, the village near, for over 25 years before coming back. He had not talked much about what or where he had been. But the patch over his left eye and the scar in his face said a lot. So did the great longsword that hung over the fireplace in his own house in the village. He had come back when Ishmael’s father, Thrall’s brother had died and took care of his mother as she slowly faded away in grief, dying only a couple of month’s after her husband. He had helped Ishmael a lot. Not so much as manual labor but with knowledge about everything from raising crops to mend a chair. He looked old as he pulled the wagon into the open patch in front of the house. His grey hair hanging straight down over his head and face.

He smiled one of his twisted grins as Ishmael approached and hugged him.

"What’s with the shovel son? I’m not dying yet." Thrall said, chuckling while patting Ishmael on the shoulder.

"Step into the warmth Uncle. I’ll take care of the horse for you. I’m sure Kara will be happy to see you and fix you a hot mug of ale and a place by the fire". Thrall just chuckeled and patted Ishmael on the shoulder again.

"I’m proud of you son. You are like the son I never had. I’m sure your father would be too if he’d been here."Thrall took hold of the door and stepped in. Ishmael could hear the shout of recognition from Kara as he unbuckeled the horse from the wagon and took it under the shelter he had built for their own horse and fed it with hay. Coming inside, Ishmael noticed how thrall sat in front of the fireplace and talked to Kara, a mug of ale in his one hand and his lit pipe in the other.

"…and she was one of the most beautiful of women kin I’ve ever had seen." He said taking a sip of the warm ale. Kara noticed Ishmael as the door closed behind him and met him up as usual with a kiss.

"Did you know that Uncle Thrall has seen the Queen of Ramor?" She said talking almost too fast.

"No I did not" Ishmael replied holding his arms around her, staring into her green eyes. Her hand was still holding the wooden spoon she had been stirring her pots with, and always seemed to have in her hand while making food. Ishmael had made it for her once when they had met before their marriage. He had insisted several times on making a new one but she refused. So he let her use it.

"She wears silk dresses all the time and wears a crown with hundreds of red emeralds in it."

"But I bet she is not far as beautifull as you, and you don’t have crown nor silk dresses." She smiled and put her head to his chest and sighed.

"Well, I better finish the dinner." She continued turning away from him. Ishmael followed her with his gaze as she strided to the fireplace and the pots.

"You better sit down by the fireplace too as wet as you are or you’ll fetch a cold. And I’m sure you two have lot’s to talk about." Ishmael took one of the wooden chairs and sat down by his uncle to dry.

"Are there any news from outside?" he wondered as he took of his leather jacket and hung it over the back of the chair. Thrall sighed and took another pull of his pipe. His face stern and his one eye staring into the fire.

"There are troubeling news son. News of war down south." He took a little pause. Ishmael stopped twisting the moist out of his socks and just looked at his uncle. "War?"

"Yes son. We haven’t heard any details in the village. But from what we’ve heard the Ashani are being troublesome at the borders. And there are rumors of Ashani raiders far into the country. Some say as far as Somme. Sommer have no great army. Not as it used too anyway. But Ashtar has always been strong. I guess we can call us pretty safe here. But who knows. War always bring hard times to every man I tell you." Ishmael only looked at the old man chewing on the pipe. His scar being very telling of the man’s experience.

Kara had not heard much of their talking and announced dinner ready and they all sat down but the table. Thrall sat eating almost as much as complimented Kara for his cocking, and she smiled her beautiful smile as always.

Later that evening as they went to bed, Ishmael told Kara of what he had been told of his uncle, now sound asleep on a bearskin before the fireplace. All she did was nod her head and smile.

"I have also sothing to tell you my love." She said a while after they had laid down.

"Yes? What is that?" Kara kissed him on his mouth and bit her lip as she crept closer.

"You are going to be a father".

Ishmael got up earlier than usual the next morning. Before he started with the breakfast he collected firewood and started the fire up. It had stopped raining and it seemed like it would become a fine morning. He put the two mugs of warm tea on a tray along with a large piece of Kara’s home made bread and went back to her in bed. She woke up very easy and Ishmael figured she had been awake all the time, probably aware that he was going to do something special. He could not help smile as she thanked him for the breakfast with a kiss and started eating.

"I thought I’d go hunting today so that we could get some meat and celebrate. How does that sound?"

Taking a sip of the warm tea she smiled at him and nodded, putting a piece of bread in her mouth.

"Ok then. I’ll get going soon. I’ll take some bread and cheese along for lunch. I’ll probably back before dinner sometime. Tell Thrall to stay as long as he wants. He knows he can but he don’t want to be of any burden." Kissing his wife on the forehead he went to fetch his quiver and bow before taking some bread and cheese out of the pantry. Before leaving he left breakfast for his uncle and put another log into the fireplace.

Outside in the forest the sun was coming up on a sky with only a few scattered clouds. The ground was still moist but the water would only make the land more beautiful later in the late spring. Ishmael walked for hours before he even found what appeared to be a animal path and sat down by it for a while. The forest never seemed to be silent. A soft wind blew high in the old pine trees and there seemed to be small birds everywhere singing to him. Ishmael took a deep breath of the morning air and suddenly pictures of him teaching his little boy, he was sure of it being a boy, to hunt in the forest, just like his father and older brothers had taught him. Ishmael had become one of the better in the village to hunt and was therefore the one who mostly was sent out for game when it was needed. Also the fishing had been one of his greater skills. Catching more fish than anyone at a time. But then again, all his brothers had had other intrests than he had. Before they had got married, all but one at least, they had spent much time listening to tales of heroes in the only tavern of the village, The Red Pine, and trained to become such by training swordfighting and other things. Cole, the youngest of Ishmael’s older had not married, not that Ishmael knew of anyway, and had run away just after their mother and father had died to become a fighter as he had said. The remainding brothers had still not heard from him.

Ishmael finished the piece of bread he was eating on and hid some way from the path, just so he would get a clear shot of anything passing. Ishmael waited there for almost an hour before moving on further along the path. Animal trails often led to places where water or food could be found in big amounts. And such places was best suited for hunting. There are much tactics in hunting he reminded himself of his fathers words. And the patient one is always the most rewarded hunter. While the eager tries to sneak up on his prey, easily scarring it away, the patient waits until it is time to lay it down. Ishmael had never considered himself patient. If he started something, he hardly could stop before it was done. But still he had learned to be patient when he had too. His trick was to focus on something else while waiting. He had even started to think of poems and tales as he sat still for hours beneath a tree somewhere.

Ishmael sneak forward for several hours, the odd thing he experienced when he was out hunting was how time seemed to pass so very fast. That was one of the bigger reasons he never pointed to an exact time when he would be coming home. And Kara knew how much he loved the forest. It had been his and his brother’s playground for more than twenty years.

Suddenly Ishmael crounched down as he saw the shadows of something moving some hundred yards ahead. The minutes passed with his heart pounding with exitement. Very slow he nocked an arrow to the string of his long bow. No sudden moves. His fathers words echoed in his head just like it did every time he did this. Patient. A couple of more minutes and there was more movement. The head of a deer shoved up in a tree about seventy yards away, eating on the sprouts. Still too far. Ishmael waited.

Twenty minutes, it was coming his way. It was a deer with a great crown of horns. Not the biggest Ishmael had seen but one of them. Fifty yards. Too far. Patience. Another twenty minutes. Ishmael ignored the drop of sweat trickling down his foreheard. Any movement could ruin all his work.

Another ten minutes. The deer stepped out from behind a small tree and into a clearing just twenty five yards ahead, Ishmael tensed, his eyes fixed on the thorax of the great animal where he was to aim. The deer walked slowly sideways, coming in from Ishmael’s left walking towards his right. Lifting his bow slowly, Ishmael focused, his body, arm, and bow becoming one, and the arrow the reach and power of his mind.

There was a soft thud as the arrow left his grip and started it’s journey towards it’s target. Just as it struck home where it was aimed, ishmael had another arrow nocked to his bow and was releasing it.

The next also hitting where it was aimed. The deer staggered for a few seconds, wondering what had happened before falling. Ishmael nocked another arrow but the deer had fallen and was out of his sight. It had happened before though that animals had fallen for the arrow but as the happy hunter approach it runs off somewhere to be caught by fow or wolf or any other predator out for a easy catch. Slowly walking forward, bow in hand Ishmael came in view of his prey. Both arrows had struck home precise where they had been meant too and puntured the heart of the poor animal. Ishmael lowered his bow and approached the animal with nothing else but his hunting knife at his belt. Leaning over the animal, Ishmael whispered in it’s ear the question of forgiveness as was custom and thanked the heavens, the earth, the water and the fire for it’s blessing, and the revival of the proud animal. Ishmael soon found he had put down a great animal with lots of meat on. He separated the head from the body, tapping the body of blood by hanging it upsidedown for a while. Next he took out the entrails and made certain that the heart did not come along. The heart should be left where the animal was killed so that according to ancient Sommer custom it could be reborn, and hunted once more. The whole process of taking care of what he had caught took nearly a hour and a half. When he was done he tied the animals legs into a pack and carried it on his back. It was heavy and Ishmael had to take several pauses. Once Ishmael spotted something moving in the shadows again and ishmael thanked the elements for reviwing the animal and showing it to him. Before Ishmael had made it halfway back clouds of what appeared to be rain formed up ahead and the wind started blowing with more force. Stopping to eat the last of his bread and cheese Ishmael suddenly felt the soft fragrance of smoke, as if someone was making a fire some distance away. But the smell vanished by the next time the wind ruffled his shoulderlong hair.

Ishmael could not seem to remember anyone living around here in the forest, nor any tribe of wood people staying here this time of year. He ignored the thought. It was not until he started walking again the smell came back, this time for as short time as the first but Ishmael started to worry. Moving along shadow streaks he stayed out of sight from almost every eye. Not even the birds noticed him until he was right by them. But noone seemed to be around. Now and then he stopped and listened if he could hear something, but there was nothing, or noone but the birds and the trees singing in the wind. The clouds started to cover the sun after a while, giving the until now warm and cosy spring day a more dull and uncomfortable feeling.

But Ishmael’s spirit rose more and more as he approached his home where Kara and Thrall would be waiting for him. Ishmael was just to sit down and rest for what he considered the last time befrore coming home that a gust of wind blew the thick smell of burning again. And this time his heart went into a race he had never experienced before. He dropped the deer by his feet and first started to jogg, but as the smell increased in intensity he came into a fast run. The trees whirrled passed him, here he knew his every step and the running was easy. A few drops of rain started falling as he closed in and could see the column of smoke where his house should be. There was no way that so much smoke could come from the chimney. Ishmael ran as fast as he ever could. The house, or what could be called the remains of it came into view as he came spurting down the last hill to his house. All Ishmael could say between his forced breaths was, no, my Kara!

As Ishmael canme running into the yard before the house the roof had long ago fallen in and the walls had croumbled on three of four sides. In front of the house lay three limp bodies, bodies of wich he immediately could identify two, Thralls and… Ishmael stopped dead. His heart felt like it did not pund anymore. And would not ever again. Slowly he tried to take a step forward but his legs could bear him no more. Tears streaked from his eyes as he fell down on the ground. First he could feel nothing but sadness, but as time went by he started pounding the ground with his fists, screaming WHY!

As blood started coming from his torn knuckles he rolled over and for the first time felt the rain rinse away his soul. For minutes that felt like hours he lay on his back, bloody knuckles clenched into fists to his chest, repeating the word WHY!!!

Rolling over, for the first time feeling the pain in his hands, Ishmael walked, sometimes crawled over to the two bodies of his family lay close to each other. Kara’s dress had been torn and was muddy all over. From his normally red lips, now blue had run a trickle of blood and her green eyes were staring unfocused into the sky. Ishmael, lost in grief held her hand, shaking it as if to wake her up and combed her black wet hair out of her face. Ishmael noticed a deep stab wound in her back just below the ribcage as he held her in his arm. Rocking her gently back and forward as with a child asleep, all the time whispering in her ear that everything would be all right. He could almost feel his heart being ripped out as he remembered the pictures in his mind of how he and his son had done things together. After some time Ishmael gathered himself and covered his wife with his jacket as if it would do her any better being shielded from the rain, and craweled over to his uncle. A tranquil expression had come over his uncles face as he lay there in the mud, eyes closed and hands resting on his chest as if being asleep. He very well could have been if it had not been for the heavy bolt of a crossbow sticking out between his fingers and how his throat had been slit. Ishmael’s heavy wood axe lay not far from where he now was laying, the shaft broken, and not much further lay the limp body of someone Ishmael had never seen before. The body was clad in a heavy leather armor and a round steel helmet lay just beside the man’s crushed head. The helmet proved of heavy violence. Probably poor old Thrall had been trying to defend the Cotttage with the axe, hitting the attacker with it in the head. Ishmael left his poor uncle where he was and started studying his surroundings. The horses were gone, and so was most of the skins he had gathered from hunting that had been hanging there ready for sell. Around the house and the small shed that also had been emptied from everything valuable where footprints from about twenty or so persons, and ten or so horses. Two more horses if you added those who had been in the shelter. Wiping the rain out of his eyes Ishmael looked at the devastation. Anger welled up inside in Ishmael like it never had before. His house was now only smoldering ruins, his wife lay dead and most probably rape alongside his old uncle on his front yard.

A raven sat still under the heavy rain on a branch high up in a tree, carefully watching the man that strolled back and forth by the smoldering house, dragging bodies and with a improvised shovel dug their graves.

Ishmael sat down and took a couple of heavy deep breaths. It had taken the whole night to digg the two graves and bury his wife and uncle and mark out their graves with stones so that anyone coming near would understand that here lay someone loved. Now, as the sun was slowly coming up he just sat staring at the graves, the rain still drissling, even if not as heavy as last night. A raven had landed on the dead stranger during the night and was still feasting on the body. Ishmael had not, and did not intend to touch the body. He’d rather let the ravens feast on it. Giving away a long sigh he rose from the ground where he had been sitting and picked up his belongings, more or less what he had been carrying with him last night hunting, and the blade from the axe that he intended carving a new shaft for. For the last time Ishmael looked back at what once had been his home and a tear streaked down his face.

The raven watched carefully as the odd person passed close by, heading slowly down the road eastwards. Taking a last bite of the food in front of him the raven left, flying slowly after the young man walking with heavy steps.

The road to Sammarah, the village Ishmael had grown up in felt very strenous to travel, both because of what had happened and because of the thick layer of mud that seemed to cover everything and stick to the sole of his boots. Ishmael fell more than once on his walk in the now somewhat marsh like terrain. He even managed to break his bow in one of his falls. But Ishmael only threw it half heartedly aside and walked on. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Every step was a burden on his shoulder. Every step further than his wife and uncle would take. Over and over in his head he thought about what had happened if he had been there with them. Different scenarios played up in his head. Sometimes he was alilve with his uncle and wife, sometimes he was among them in the mud of the yard. As he walked he did not feel tired nor hunger. He fell, and rose again, walked a few steps and fell. Tears had stopped falling long ago as his nose felt the smell of smoke once again. Ishmael had no idea of how long he had walked or exactly where he was. But as the smell of wooden smoke hit his nostrils another vision came into his mind. He fell once again. For several minutes Ishmael just sat staring at the ground, his fists clutching mud and water, feeling for something that seemed real. It cannot be, he said to himself. Rising he decided to see if not just his life had been ruined but the whole world as he knew it. With staggering steps Ishmael closed in on what he after just a second of regarding his surrounding recognized as the vicinity of his home village. The columns of smoke had long since vanished in the pouring rain, but the smell seemed to bring weight down upon Ishmael’s shoulders. As the village came more and more into view his life and soul seemed to pour out of him for good. Every house, every shed had been burned down to the ground. What had once been a village of more than thirt or so houses and over a seventy men, women and children was now utterly destroyed. In what had once been, or as still was in Ishmael's’eyes the town square there was a bodies laying. Neatly arranged in rows as if to show something. Most of the men’s heads had been chopped of and put on poles all around the town. All but the youngest heads. The women lay naked in a row by themselves. Many had words in a crude language Ishmael carved into their chests. And most but the youngest had their hair cut off. Ishmael just staggered on by it all as if nothing of what he saw was real. His feet lead him towards the houses where his brothers had lived with their wifes. All was burnt down. And at one place a headless man hung on a pitchfork stuck into the ground, his finger cut off and his bare chest carved with more unreadable words. Blood seemed to have run everywhere, every time he fell in the mud his clothes was dyed dark and red-brown. If he had had something in his stomach to throw up he had. But still everything seemed taken straight out of his worst nightmares and so unreal. During time he no longer even could recall he had lost everything. Everything but himself, or at least his life. Ishmael stood long and just watched what was around him. And suddenly the world seemed to whirrl around him. He tried to look away by turning to his right where the rows of naked women lay, looking to his left he was met by the headless man on the pitchfork, trying to turn around he fell and landed with his face right by a chopped off hand with the ring finger cut off as if to get off a ring that was stuck. Ishmael crawled together into a ball and tried to force the tears out but they would just not come.

The raven watched the man walk around among the thick smell of fresh meat and feast. But it hesitated. It could just not throw itself down on it’s pitch black wings and ad on to it’s already filled stomach. There was something else in the air. Or rather around the man down there. The raven watched some more as the man rose again from his position in the mud and started blessing every body in the village, one by one. It was then the raven recognized what he had felt. And if a raven ever had been able to smile, this one did.

Ishmael just could not stop himself from asking forgiveness. He did not know why he added the forgiveness to every body he tried to bless just as the monk Tarec would have done. Thanking the four elements for their generosity. It took hours. And the last body Ishmael blessed was one of the few he still recognized, Tarek in his cloak had been pierced by more than twenty bolts from crossbows. Noone had dared touch his body after death. It felt like the last word of the monk’s curse still was on his lips.

Ishmael gently shut the monk’s eyes and blessed him into the four elements of earth, wind, fire and water just as he had been taught and seen done to his father. There seemed to be no more tears left at all when he was done. Ever. Darkness was slowly lowering over the village of Sammarah, or what had once been when Ishmael slowly walked away from the burnt houeses. He had, to his own disgust scavenged the town for food and found old bread and cheese the plunderers had overseen in the wealth of the village. It was slightly burnt and melted from the heat of the fires but still eadible. Not that Ishmael felt the taste anyhow. The scavening had also come up with what would become the shaft of the axe, it would be a lot longer. Just like the weapons they had been pretending to have as children. Or mostly his brothers. Even though nobody else might notice it. The blade would still be meant for chopping wood. Ishmael walked slightly south-east towards the bridge town of Mehr where one of the few possibilities to cross the river Comar existed. He had never been there. Or any other place for that matter. But the tales of older people and badly drawn sketches at Thrall cottage had given him a picture of where to walk. And as he walked he used his knife to carve the the shaft to a comfortable grip, but as time went by he unconsciously started carving a pattern. It was not until he was finished three days later that he noticed how he had carved a beautifull pattern of thorny roses around what appeared to be a man’s arm, the blade it’s fist.

The raven followed Ishmael with intrest. The man. Maybe he was beyond that. The raven could not tell. Still he could not judge him as just a man and break off to find more food. The wind under his wings brought change. That he could feel. And whenever he came to far away, that wind stopped and there was an emptiness he could not place. He had seen many places where he could have ate. But he had left it or only had let his beak taste the flesh of some dead animal. There was change to come. To him, and the raven down there, without wings.

The journey was hard. At least it stopped raining on the forth day he had journeyd. The Sommer forest offered little protection from wind and rain during the still pretty cold nights. And Ishmael did not even once think of lighting a fire. The elation just did not wear off. Instead Ishmael trained as he walked forth. The axe’s long shaft seemed more and more secure in his hands by every step he took. Still, his mind seemed like it contained nothing. The days went passed like there had been nothing of them.

And on noon the fith day Ishmael spotted the edge of the Sommer forest and the highlands that took by. Ishmael was almost blinded by the different kind of light that shone upon him, feeling like it seared his skin at a start. Later that evening he stopped by a little creek, washed himself and made himself a fishing spear. He had run out of food long ago and he had started feeling hunger for the first time in what felt like ages. The fish, if he got any would be a big contribution from the elements. Even though he had lost everything but his life, Ishmael found that starvation would do the memory of all those who had died no good. Wading out a couple of metres until the water was up to his knees Ishmael stopped and stood staring into the cold highland creek. Fishing with spear was a hard thing, Ishmael was aware of that, but since lacking thread or hooks he had no way of making a real fishing rod. Ishmael tried several times during almost an hour and finally came up with a small trout. It would not be much to eat, but it would be something. Also the fire he made up later to prepare the fish gave something little more than just the warmth. But the elation was still there. The following two days Ishmael just wandered, he did not realy know where he was going, or what he was going to do when he met people but he could just not stop. Even though he would turn around there was nothing to get back too, and walking away seemed like the easiest thing to do. He ate things he came over or caught. Rabbits, roots, plants and herbs of all sorts. The highlands had much in that way to give this time of year.

The raven cautiously tilted it’s head and watched the many men and houses in the distance. The sun had started it’s climb to the skies again. And The Raven without wings had not seen the men yet. He would though. He had been heading towards them for days now as if knowing where he was going. But the raven hesitated. The man just behind him now he had got used to somehow, even though he knew that as a raven, he could get killed on being spotted by some man. The raven looked upon death in a special way. Death did not seem like an end to it. No, he felt like he always had lived as the same, and would live forever no matter what happened. He could not explain it to himself, but just as many ther things he knew, he just felt it. Ravens had stayed away from man for ages, the unpredictable behavior was to be feared.

They seemed to have no common pattern as if they were more than any other animal. Calling themselves man. The raven looked upon the men barricading in the far distance like if threatened. That was a pattern though. When other men gathered in packs and fought, man did everything to protect their nests. Just like they had done in the forest. Suddenly it felt like something moved in the back of the raven’s head and he looked around, the raven without wings, or was he more than a man, had started moving again after having slept through the dark hour of the cycle. The raven missed the nights as his active time. But he would put up as well for the day. He would just have to be more cautious.

Ishmael woke early on the third day and for once felt at least somewhat rested. The night had not been too cold, and he had had pretty much to eat yesterday. The food still did not taste much. Especially not without any spices. He decided to try and get some salt in the next village. He would try and trade the few animal skins he had gathered during the last days for some. Animal skins was good to trade with the south, there had even been a merchant as far up as Sammarah once or twice to buy it.

As Ishmael started walking again, he was getting more and more used to go by foot, Ishmael spotted the small plumes of smoke some hills away, and he could also spot the Comar river cutting the land in two. Ishmael looked up at the raven circling high over his head on the currents of warm air rising in the moring sun. He had spotted it two days ago and it seemed to be following him, stopping whenever he stopped. At first he had been angered, but after a some time it felt sort of comforting. And somehow Ishmael always seemed to know where the raven was. He shook it out of his thoughts. You’re just imagining things, he told himself. Closing in on the smoke of hundreds of chimneys Ishmael found himself approaching one of the four large bridgetowns called Mehr. The town was made up by a little more than a hundred houeses scattered on both sides of the river surounded by what seemed to be a resently built wooden wall. The bridge over the thirty or so metres of river looked stout and able to withstand much strain. Though mehr was said to be one of the smallest bridgetowns Ishmael could not help being little impressed by it’s size. Around the city all sorts of people seemed to be moving, Some herding sheeps or cows, or sewing their crops on the fields just outside the city walls. Ishmael stood watching the city for a while on the closest hill. Somehow a picture of the city from above flickered in his mind, giving him a good view of the city layout. The city was somewhat a fortress. And people seemed to be working on reinforcing the defences by digging a ditch and a earthen wall a couple of metres out from the walls. The bridge was not big or high enough to let by larger boats, but on both sides were fishing boats and cargo ferries. And every now and then a ship left, most of them heading south. Ishmael smiled at himself. He did not know why realy. But even though he had considered himself the greatest of loosers for the last couple of days he know felt like he had won, not a great victory, but a victory.

A young man standing among his cows in the outskirts of the settlement shouted a warning that was passed all the way into the city as he looked up and saw the axe carrying youngling in worn clothes come walking down the dirt road. Just minutes later the city started to stirr. As Ishmael reached the young shepherd he had been joined by at least ten others, all of them armed with bows and assorted pitchforks and spears.

One of them, a little older looking man seemed to be in command of the patroll and stepped out in front as Ishmael was withing twentyfive metres from them.

"Make a stop there stranger. What is your buisness in Mehr?" he started pointing a bit threateningly with his broadbladed spear. All of the men was dressed in mostly the same way. Brown or grey woolen pants, a shirt in the same color and a thick leather vest with many pockets. Most had a knife at their belts and none had hair longer than to their ears.

Ishmael stared into the eyes of the older man by perhaps three or four years.

"I’ve come from Sammarah, a little forest village maybe six or seven days from here to the nothe-west.

I’ve come here to trade my skins for some supplies and cross the river to the east." The flicker of an image from above flashed in Ishmael’s eyes. Another two men had circle him beyond sight and was coming at him from behind.

"We don’t want any strangers here." The leader went on staring intensly at Ishmael’s eyes. "There is a toll for wares taken into the city and a toll for crossing the river. Both are of one silver each. Does thou have the silver stranger?"

"Why are you’re men sneaking on me?" Ishmael stated to the man. The man tensed some and looked to the young man standing right behind him, probably his second in command.

"We are cautious stranger. Has thou the silver, or do we have to drive you off." The man’s eyes formed into two narrow slits.

"I do not have the silver. All I own has been lost to me. What I have with me is my possessions. I have skins to trade for and my hands to work with." Ishmael stood relaxed staring straight ahead, arms by his side and hands open. Just like he had been taught to approach a thretening animal.

The leader nodded his head and watched Ishmael’s dusty leather clothes and his long dirty hair.

"I will let you pass our bridge and gates for your skins stranger. Talos, guide the man through the gates. Make sure he behaves. We don’t want any trouble." Ishmael nodded. Somewhere in his mind a fire had started to burn intensly. He handed over the skins reluctantly. He had had no idea of the tolls. Lilfe is a journey upstreams, or against the wind. The guard scattered and went back to their chours guarding the cattle. Ishmael saw a trange picture in his head of guards scattered over the country hidden on hilltops and places with good view. Talos, the second in command took hold of the skins and gave Ishmael’s axe a brief look before asking him to step down towards the town. When they had come some distance from the other Talos turned to Ishmael while walking.

"You have to excuse the town for Berenar. He’s a bit harsh with every stranger that comes here you see. He’s the mayor’s only son and believes he’s more than everyone else." Turning his head slightly Talos made sure he had no more eyes on him and held out some of the skins he had given them.

"I myself would have taken no toll for passing through the city, but take these." Ishmael took the skins, a bit surprised.

"I have to keep some so they don’t get suspicious. You should have been more welcome if you’d come a month ago before the Ashani started raiding us. But as the land is today. Anyone could be an enemy. I can just tell you how sorry I am. What is your name stranger?"

"Thank you Talos of mehr, I am Ishmael An’toom of Sammarah." Ishmael started, now somewhat more relaxed. "How great is the Ashani army that have been raiding you?"

"T’is hard to say. They have no real army. The Ashani is much to unorganized to have a real army of what we have seen so far, but more than three or four raiding parties of a hundred or so men have been raiding the town and surrounding farms the last month. That’s why we’ve built the walls. Many have come to seek shelter in our town. But we are hardly safe. The land have had no war for over a hundred years, so we are poorly prepared with only pitchforks and assorted tools." Talos weightened his short hunting spear in his hand and looked at Ishmael’s long axe.

"You have to forgive my rudeness for asking but what is your occupation, Ishmael wasn’t it?"Talos looked very uncertain with himself for the brief seconds before Ishmael replied.

"I do nothing but wander nodays. Since I lost what was prescious to me I’ve had nothing to live for. I guess I only try to manage." Talos nodded as if understanding. Ishmael knew no other man could understand.

The sturdy wooden gates of Mehr was opened merrily by two guards that greeted Talos with the pride only found in someone believing themselves to be doing something important. The bridge that made Mehr the town it was lay just about a hundred metres ahead stretching over the river in a perfectly straight line. Ishmael was impressed with the bridge ingeneering. It had stood for over two hundred years and would probably stand for just as long. Broad and sturdy as it was it could take two wagons side by side over it without even creaking. The rest of the town was perhaps not ordinary to any town Ishmael had ever been to, just a bit bigger with a little more than a hundred houses. All with a large pile of firewood and supplies stored in small sheds all around the city. Men and women walked the streets, children played at the corners. If Ishmael had not felt the tension in the town he had not know anything was wrong.

"I’ll stop here, You take care in the our town will you. And good hunting, whatever you’re looking for." Talos stopped by the gates and started conversating with the two guards about Ishmael’s age. The town square, the one usually found in the town centre was split by the river in two and on both sides merchants had their stands. Mostly to trade among themselves but also to the needing citizens. Many of the merchants was easily spotted by their clothes in diffrerent cut compared to the rest of the mehr population. Many wore thin clothes of sparkling colors, ornamental weapons at their belts and rings on their fingers proving of wealth. Some that traded in precious goods had huge guards armed to the teeth standing by their sides watching people with unmotivated intrest. Ishmael traded some spices with one of the merchants that did not seem to busy. The price had been high, but Ishmael considered it unimportant. Acctually he could not have cared less. Ishmael did not talk to anyone, and noone talked to him, or each other for that matter. The big city seemed somewhat anonymous to him. Everyone was strangers to each other. Ishmael strolled the harbour for a while looking at the river boats in in all shapes and construction , considering a while to go with one south until a heavy merchant guard very harshly asked him to get away from the boats. Water wasn’t his elements anyway. Though he considered the fishing would be pretty good in the river. Ishmael walked the town of Mehr all day, both visiting east town and west town wich the both sides were called, the only real difference between the sides was the big refugee camp in east town built up by tents just outside the town walls. The refugees was mostly farmer families or other that had been driven from their homes and had the luck of not being killed. During the day in east town Ishmael even managed to trade himself to a couple of silvers for his skins. The foreign trader had tried lowering the price to what Ishmael thought untolerable since he was selling equal skins for three times the prize. The agreed after a time though on what merely was half the price of what he would sell it for. And as usual, Ishmael did not bother much. As the sun was going down and the last trickles of sunlight sought itself down through the afternoon clouds Ishmael went into what appeared to be one of the town’s many taverns and inns.

The squeling pig was a medium sized taver and drinking place. It’s situation close to the docks made many of the merchant guards go here and have their drinks after the day’s work. Getting drunk and harrasing one of the cute maids scurrying around serving ale and spiced wine. The heavy looking thud at the door stood watching everybody that seemed to have a little bit too much to drink and threw them out as soon as they tried anything with the maids that of course had been hired for their looks rather than merits. Ishmael just managed to get hold of a maiden running towards what looked like the kitchen and ordered a plate of stew and milk for a silver. She just nodded and wiped the sweat out of her forehead before running off shouting orders to the chef.

The innkeeper himself was stationed out in the inn, right by a merchant with a guard of eight men sitting in a circle around them. The inn kepper’s best smile was on his knubby face and he was all the time wiping his hands on his once white apron. The merchant, a tall man in his fifties with a heavy beard and wearing expensive but in no way exagerated clothes. They fit him well and looked sturdy. His boot’s with silver spurs almost shone in the light of the fire in front of him. Ishmael passed close by one of the guards that seemed very alert all the time on who was in the vicinity of his master. Grunting somewhat as Ishmael passed and sat down by a long table in the corner. It did not take long for the maid to come out with the plate of stew and mug with milk. Ishmael handed her the money and thanked her for her service, Ishmael though she looked surprised at the thank you, and he noticed soon how noone seemed to care at all with the waitress. Drunk soldiers pinched her back and fumbled their dirty hands all over her as she took their orders. Ishmael ate in silence, carefully looking around him.

The food tasted little and there were little real meat in it. But he thought about it for a while and decided not to make a complaint. The waitress had much enough to do. As time went by more and more people came into the inn. What the door guard considered beggars and thieves, asumeably those who did not look as though they could pay their meals was thrown out into the cold of the early spring night and asked to not return, until descent as the guard put it. Ishmael had his axe and pack close in reach all the time leaning against his leg. Some of the local people sitting further down the table looked at him, the axe with long shaft and decided not harrass him. Staring on his second mug of milk Ishmael noted everybody getting more and more drunk. The innkeeper was making lots of money by the minute and the merchant guards seemed to have lots to spend. But the guards thought themselves kings and took every opportunity to harrass everyone in reach that seemed to be harmless. There was even a fight between one of the guards and a local young man that tried to defend his honor with his fists. He was soon overwhelmed by the guards that battered him up badly with fist and the flat ensd of their broadswords. The door guard was wise enough to interfere until the fight was over and then, very unjust threw out the local boy for picking a fight. Though the door guard was a heavy man with arms the size of a blacksmith and a club by his belt he would probably not last long against the guards that was had armor, weapons and the numbers. The innkeeper just gave the guards a filthy look but ignored them, talking only to the rich merchant and ocassionally to one of his guards that was not drinking at all. Ishmael finished his mug of milk and wiped the white foam out of his short beard that had come out in these few days. Rising he hefted his axe to his belt and picked up his pack.

While walking through the mass of people one of the guards spotted him and shouted something at him that could not realy understand. The guards broke out in laughter and all pointed to Ishmael trying to make his way to the door. As he passed by the table the guards was sitting at somebody put out a foot and Ishmael fell forward nocking another guard off his chair. The sounds around Ishmael lowered and he felt everyone’s expecting gaze on him. Ishmael rose slowly to his feet, the guard that had falling of his chair towering in front of him.

"I’m sorry for knocking you off your chair, I happened to fall…"

"Do you think you’ll get away with a I’m sorry son of a whore" the guard broke him off. Though Ishmael was considered a tall man in his home village, this man had his eyes more than two inches above him, shoulder just as much broader and a sword handing by his side.

"I want you to hand me your money and your pack for the bruises you’ve caused, and that’s now or I’ll beat you until your heart stops." The man had a stone gaze, but Ishmael stared defiantly back with eyes unblinking like a raven.

"I guess you have to settle with my appology, I have little money and what I have with me is my only belongings." Ishmael replied after some time staring hard into the man’s eyes.

"Well, I guess we’ll have to settle this some other way." The guard’s eyes looked at the axe by Ishmael’s side. "Step outside and we’ll see if you can chop other things than wood with that".

The inn had gone completely silent except for the guard’s companions that cheered him on and screamed in encouragement when the chance of a fight arouse between the two. On life and death.

"I’d rather not fight at all. I was just on my way out and…" The guard gragbbed Ishmael by the shoulders before he even knew what had happened and threw him towards the door. Somewhere on the way his axe fell to the floor. Trying to rise Ishmael felt the pain of being kicked in the chest and then dragged over the doorstep into the cold and moist air outside where he was dropped down and told to rise. Ishmael slowly got to his feet hand to his chest that hurt like nothing he had felt before. Rage was welling in from somewhere into his head. People followed with them out in the street. Last of all came the rich merchant acompanied by his guard holding peolple at a safe distance.

One of the guard’s companions threw Ishmael’s axe in front of him and Ishmael was the tall guard in front of his drawing his sword.

"Pick up your weapon son and this will be over before you know it." There was laughter and cheers from his companions. Ishmael took his time before picking the axe slowly up. Fear flooded his mind just as quick as anger had vanished and Ishmael stood uncertain of what to do with the axe clutched like he had trained himself. The axe was a clumsly but forcefull weapon. If he managed to hit his foes leg or arm the fight would be over. But Ishmael doubted he would live long enough. The guard was theatriclly swinging his blade back and forth as to show his advantage as a fighter.

The guard made an approach on Ishmael standing still in the middle of the half circle of onlookers that had formed, cutting in the air to scare him even more. Ishmael moved out of the way of the following three cuts at best effort but had no time to make a counter strocke, the swordman was too fast with the sword even though he was a big and bulky man. The man attacked him time after time, Ishmael fended off attacks as often by running away as using his axe.

"C’mon lad, cut me down where I stand." The guard said backing off a few feet. Ishmael stared into the man’s cold blue eyes and felt anger washing away every other thought again. Sweat was already trickling down his forehead even thought the cold air outside made him freeze like never before.

Moving his in a prepared pattern Ishmael launched himself at the guard with all his force.

There was the sound of metal meeting metal as the guard paried and stepped aside, making another cut with his sword before Ishmael had regained his balance, the blade whipping up a small cut on his left tigh that burned with the heat of purest fire. The guards in the crowd cheered and shouted to the guard to finish him off. Blood red as the darkest sunset ran through Ishmael’s finger. He could hear the crown cheering in the back of his had. Grabbing his axe in both hands again Ishmael straightened himself again. Staring the heavy guard straight into the eyes. Ishmael suddenly felt dark eyes somewhere in the night watching him and some unknown strenght taking hold of him. Whirrling the axe back and forth in the air. The roses carved into the shaft being colored red by the blood on his hands. The axe felt a part of him now, just like the bow and arrow did when hunting. Ishmael hardly realized what happened.

The guard suddnly had full up parying his strokes, the crowd had gone silent. From the left, from right he cut in great circles and the guard was backing, Ishmael could not realy see where he hit the man, but during the last four seconds of the fight Ishmael felt his axe meeting flesh at least three time. The prey in front of him fell backwards as if in slowmotion and there was the heavy thud as he hit the ground and the sound of the sword sliding over the cobblestone. Ishmael breathed in slowly, regaining his composture. The man lay in front of him now, blood oozing from five or so wounds, the one killing him in his face almost splitting it in two. The world slowly started whirrling around him, people were screaming around him, he heard it, but just not what. Someone pushed him hard in the back and he went staggering forward, falling over the dead guard. Ishmael just could not see straight, his vision was blurry and he had no strength to keep working with. Ishmael tried with all his force to get up, but just as he had lifted himself from the ground something hit him hard in the chest and everything went blank in his mind.

The raven watched from his place by the big warm stone pillar sticking up through the roof. It had looked like the end for his companion. But it had turned out not to be. He was still alive down there.

Two people of the great nest dragged the one without wings away and put him on a cart that soon arrived and beside him they put the corps of the prey and the cart was pulled away down the stone ground. The raven followed cautiously in the shadows flying low over the rooftops. The one without wings was taken to a small stone house and carried in. The raven thought hard. And as he heard the rustle of chains he for once knew why he had felt with the man.

Ishmael woke up slowly the next morning. His head was pounding like it had been shoved into a wall, just like the rest of the body probably had but it hurt so much it was all numb and stiff. Blood had run down from his eye and dried in his eye making it hard to open the eyelid. The images flashed in his mind and it took more than a minute to remember last night. He had hardly been conscious when they had taken him where he now was and beaten him with sticks. Ishmael only remembered the stern face of Berenar, the chief of the town guard that had been taking his skins as toll the first day he had come here. He had smiled at him, swinging Ishmael’s own axe in front of his face and hit him with the but.

Now he was chained to the wall by both his hands and feet. Watching out the small and only window Ishmael felt once more his head throbbing and the pain of the many bruises. Slowly he tried sitting up and found himself in a small stone room with only a cold stone floor. There was only one door out and that one sturdy enough to keep a bull inside it. There was no lock on the inside so Ishmael figured it must be bared from the outside. Just as Ishmael stood up to look out the window someone started to unbolt the door from the outside. Ishmael stepped closer to the wall and watched as the door glided open. The pair of eyes that met his were ones he thought he would never forget. Berenar looked Ishmael straight into the eyes for a second before stepping aside, his hand on the head of Ishmael’s axe at his belt, and to his side came an old man, perhaps as old as Thrall had been, but a lot more worn out.

He supported his body with a thick rod carved into gargoyles climbing a tree, the ancient sighn of wisdom, and wore thick grey robes to keep the cold out. Ishmael felt sympathy for the old greyhaired man and was to stepp forward but was stopped by Berenar stepping in between.

The old man looked up and wet his lips with his tounge, pulling at his rod as to get his limp body up.

"So you are the man who assaulted and murdered one of the trader’s guards, and there after you assaulted the men of the town watch. Is the accusations correct young man?" The old man coughed and stared with wise eyes, somewhat hesitantly into Ishmael’s as if doubting his own words.

"No, they are not." The old man’s eyes darted for Berenar that stood viciously staring at Ishmael.

"Berenar here says there are a great deal of witnesses, I have heard a few of them and they all agree on the same thing." Turning to Berenar he continued. "Please leave us". Berenar nodded and left the room reluctantly.

"When I see you young man, I cannot believe the stories I’ve heard." There was doubt still in the old man’s voice. "Only one person has spoken to your good. And I might say I do not realy know him as all the others that has spoken to your disadvantage I have a feeling he’s the one talking truth. But I cannot, even though I might wish to let you go, realease you. I will think of your guilt for twelve days as custom says before I have to judge you. I will come by tomorrow to hear your saying in this matter. But if no more testimonies are left that proves your guilt I’m afraid your punishment will be death."

The old man wet his lips once more. "I wish you a good day" he ended before leaving and the door being closed behind him.

The raven watched the house all night but the only thing that came out of the house was the sensation of true pain. The raven considered several times to leave whatever was happening in there along with the wingless one. But he just could not. He sat all night trying to force the pain, and the faint taint of evil among the sensations out of the mind he felt. But it seemed so strong. And it was not just physical pain he felt. The pain of loss, something that he had been aware of for several days was coming to surface. But as the sun rose, the pain lessened and came to nothing but numbness. The raven watched as men passed into the house, later coming out and being picked up by a wagon. The raven hesitated a moment before flying down from his position on a nearby roof and landing on a small ledge of a window. Bars of iron was set before the window and inside the wingless one was standing, hands reluctantly by his sides, tears coming from his swollen eyes. The chains at his wrists and ankles hurt and blood trickeled from a reopened wound on his thigh.

Ishmael just stood watching the door closing behind the old man leaving and could not stop himself from crying over his pain. Not the physical pain but the imense pain of loss in his soul. It was then something scratched at the window and Ishmael turned, suddenly becoming aware of the wound in his leg again being open. In the window sat the raven. And as he stared into it’s pitch black eyes he got images in his head. He could almost feel himself through the eyes of the raven, the pity and the friendship. Ishmael shock his head, eyes never leaving the raven’s. There was something comforting about those eyes. As if the raven knew him and what had happened the last days. He could not remember how many had passed since leaving Sammarah but it felt like a very long time. Ishmael scratched his beard and the chains ratteled viciously at him. Wiping his tears away Ishmael stepped forward towards the raven. It shifted on it’s feet but did not fly away from him. Ishmael put his hands to the iron bars of the window, not more than an inch from it. The raven carefully looked at Ishmael’s ravaged face and shifted again. Somehow Ishmael knew that whatever he felt, the raven understood it.

Slowly he reached out a finger towards it. The raven studied it for a second or two, then it tapped his nail with it’s beak. Once, twice. Then it flew and soon disappeared from Ishmael’s sight. Still he could feel it’s prescence. He was not sure how but somehow he was ceratin he could have poited to where the raven was right that minute. Ishmael shook his head once more and slided with his back towards the wall and came to sitting on the still cold floor.

And the day went by, he was fed once with old bread and water. Just to keep him alive he thought. He didn’t eat much of it. Instead he put it on the ledge in the window but the raven did not return. Slowly the shadows moved as the sun started to settle to it’s resting place beyond the horizon. And soon the cell was as dark as the night itself. Ishmael was just about to fall asleep when another image came into his head. The raven was flying towards him desperately thinking of a way to help Ishmael. He could feel it. And the next image was a horde of charging men on horses. The images were weak and it flickered between the image of the men and a pack of attacking wolves, as if the raven was trying to make a resemblance. It did not take more than a couple of minutes before the raven landed silently on the ledge outside the window. It ate the remaining bread with appetite though Ishmael could sense it ate it because it was hungry and not liked what he was served. Ishmael could not have agreed more.

The raven stirred on the ledge outside as if worried and Ishmael could not help feeling the same.

After what might have been an hour Ishmael heard shouts from outside. Something was defenitely happening. People in the house he was in ran like mad and the house did not go silent until the outer door shut with a boom. Ishmael stood on his toes trying to get a picture of what was happening. But as the raven flew up on the next roof Ishmael know he did not need to see for himself.

Outside the wooden wall rode what seemed like a hundred dark shadows. Every now and then came a arrow flying over the rooftops but instead of a steel tip it had burning rag and people was cutting hard on the gates. Peple was running within the town like mad. The women and the old was gathered and taken across the river along with those not young enough to help defending the town. It all happened so quick, and those who managed to get up on the pallisaded with bows and arrows was just as quickly killed with bolts from crossbows. Ishmael got almost sick when the thought of real food came in the same image as a man fell for a burning arrow behing the wall. Some houses not built with stone and wood but had straw roofs had caught fire and people was effortlessly trying to put the fires out. It did not take long for the gates of the town to fall and in came riders with crossbows, swords and spears.

There was no pity for anyone. Man as woman, young as old was mercilessly cut down where they stood. Only young girls was spared and dragged away into the night screaming. Ishmael pulled at the bars with his hands but it was no good. The town was flooded with raiders. Ishmael could hear the screams of fear from those who was just to be cut through or maimed and left to die. The men fought bravely but it was to no good. Most died before even have had time to lift their pitchfork or homemade spear. The raiders was trained to kill while the townsmen was consisting of poorly trained carpenters and errand boys and the sort. They stood no chance. Ishmael swung around as he heard someone at the door to his cell. Ishmael gathered the chains in his hands, ready to use them as a weapon as a tall figure stepped in. In his hand was a sword longer than any Ishmael had ever seen. The man’s eyes almost shone in the dark of the night. Ishmael felt the weight of the chains in his hands and studied the man just standing in the doorway.

"My master has ordered me to get you. We do not have much time, the Ashani is flooding the city and our ship is leaving without us if we cannot get there quick enough." Ishmael recognized the voice and saw from his well polished breastplate that it had to be a merchant’s guard.

"Put down the chain on the ground and I’ll try to cut it off." Ishmael could do nothing but follow the man’s orders. After putting the chain down the guard stepped into the light of the moon shining through the window and Ishmael immediately recognized him as one of the rich man’s guards at the inn. The guard lifted his sword high as the roof permitted and cut hard at the chain twice before chopping it off. And so he did with all chains until Ishmael stood with short bits of chain on arms and legs.

"We have to go" the guard added before grabbing hold of Ishmael’s shoulder and pulling him after out of the small arrest. Ishmael had just felt the first steps of freedom when the outerdoor opened in front of them and there stood Berenar with Ishmael’s bloody axe in hand chest heaving of effort.

The guard stopped pulling at Ishmael and readied himself for combat.

Berenar stared at Ishmael and the guard in turns before speaking, his teeth cluthced together in anger.

"You are not taking him from here, you have to walk over my dead body for that."

"Step aside or I have to hurt you. Isn’t there plenty enough enemies to kill out there" the guard said, his voice calm and secure.

Berenar snarled and launched himself towards the guard that just seemed to twist his wrist a bit and Berenar was down with a slight cut over his thigh, very much like Ishmael had his. The guard kicked Ishmael’s axe out of Berenar’s hands before walking passed him dragging Ishmael behind him. Ishmael twisted out of the man’s grip just as they were about to leave and grabbed his axe in both hands.

"Come on" the guard said, now with a hint of anger in his voice. As they entered the street several houses were on fire and there were riders all over the place. But the guard lead the way as if exactly knowing where to go not to be detected. And the guard was leading him towards the harbor.

It did not take more than a minute or to to come withing sight of what was called the docks of the city. There was only one big ship remaining anchored. The rest was slowly gliding under the rain of arrows along the river and into the protection of the night. The guard stopped at the last corner before the docks and Ishmael could see him judging the the mass of riding horses firing arrows and bolts at the soldiers on the boat. A small team of raiders tried boarding the boat but was brutally stopped by two guards with swords the second they landed on the deck.

"Maybe we’ll have to cut through some of them. Stay behind me and I’ll try and get you safely through." Ishmael could just nod and clutch harder to his axe.

"Now" the guard yelled and rushed forward. The pain in his thigh was enourmous but he made his best to stay close to the guard. It did not take long before three riders came crashing at them at full speed. The guard just stopped, lifted his weapon and waited. The fight was a short one. The three horsemen landed on the cobblestone almost at the same time, all of them unmoving. The last part to the boat was easy. Noone seemed to notice them and as they were close enough to jump onto it the guard shouted that the lines should be cut.

Ishmael landed almost on top of the other man, his body screaming in pain. He could do nothing but sit still and pant as the boat slowly left the harbor. Burning arrows soon started to rain over the boat but the well prepared crew put out the fires as fast as they had been started. But the rain of arrows declined and soon the ship was gliding along with twenty or so ships heading south. Behind them the whole town of Mehr seemed to be in flames. Ishmael could do nothing but cling to the rail, eyes still among the houeses. He was terrified. Arrows sometimes pulled the winds from under his wings, some of them burning with intense heat. Men mounted on horses down in the town killled and plundered. It did not take long before both sides of the river had fallen and those still alive giving up and being gathered by the river and the docks while they watched as every house and shed being set to fire after being throughly plundered. Those who still defended their houeses was soon pierced by a few crossbow bolts and had their heads cut off and the body dragged to be laid in a pile in front of those who had already given up. The raven whipped his wings as fast as he could, soon catching up with the boat slowly gliding down the river.

Ishmael woke up as someone gently shock his shoulders and poured water on his lips.

"Wake up man, wake up" Ishmael painfully opened his eyes. He had not been gone for a very long time. The lights of the burning town was still reflected in the guard who had saved saved him’s eyes.

But as the fighter saw how Ishmael had woke up he looked at him with relief.

"I thought you had died on me there, how are you? Are you hurt somewhere? Broken bones, cuts?"

It took Ishmael a couple of seconds to realy feel his body and realize he had come through pretty unhurt. The wound on his tigh had opened again but it was nothing.

"I am Thor, you are on the Whispering Wave of Ampar, owned by the generous trader Milan that by the way is the mind behind your rescue. Don’t mind asking me why, but here you are and we have orders to take good care of you until he has time to see you. Probably in the morning. Can you walk?"

Ishmael put his feet against the deck and pulled himself upright.

"Sure". Thor looked at him doubtiongly but let him be. Handing him his bloody axe.

"I guess this is yours" Ishmael just nodded, took the axe in one hand and started walking.

"This way, what was your name again?" Ishmael turned and walked by Thor heading towards the superstructure at the stern.

"Ishmael, Ishmael An’Toom of Sammarah".

Ishmael felt like every ounce of energy in his body had been drained and it did not take long before Thor had left him in the bottom bunk of a cabin and he was asleep with the axe in a thight grip. His only real possession from home now.

The next day Ishmael woke up to the slow rocking and creaking of the small ship on the broad river. He had slept in all his clothes and for once noticed how the dirt on his clothes and smell of his body made him feel sick. The swollen eye was getting better since he did not have to help with his hands to open it anymore. And though his body was stiff, he felt that it was on it’s way of getting better. Slowly he got out of bed and streched out his arms in the small cabin. There was noithing in the cabin but two bunks and the same amount of locked chests that probably belonged to the crewmembers normally sleeping where he had. The door into the small corridor opened easilly and Ishmael was surprised to see it shut again after him by some sort of device. He studied it for a while, decided that he would not understand it no matter how long time he spent studying it and headed towards the narrow ladder assumably leading out onto the deck. When Ishmael got out into the fresh morning air the ship was already bustling with activity. The whole crew consisting by about twenty persons worked continuously with trimming the sails and cleaning the deck. Most of them were men in their thirties but a few was younger, probably working as spprentices of some sort. The first to spot Ishmael was a weathertorn man with short grey hair and a pipe in the corner of his mouth chewed on by a couple of yellow teeth. He was wearing nothing but short faded blue trousers and a ring in his ear.

"So you’re tha’ new boy aren’t you?" The old man chuckeled fiercefully. Thor came up from the side and patted the old sailor on the shoulder. He even looked more inpressing now that Ishmael new who he was.

"He’s the one Milan asked me to go fetch last night", the old sailor’s eyes glinted hesitantly at that.

"How are you feeling this morning? Have you had any breakfast?" Ishmael studied Thor standing there, this morning without armor but just with a white shirt and grey trousers, his long sword buckeled to his belt as the only thing marking him out as a warrior besides his size.

"I’m pretty good, and I’d like some breakfast". Ishmael felt his hunger growing by the minute.

"I’ve just had a couple of bruises, that’s all." The old sailor lifted his eyebrow and watched Ishmael’s many bruises and cuts.

"We’ll see what we can do about your… bruises, after we’ve gotten some breakfast into you eh?!"

The ship kitchens was more exclusive than many others Ishmael had seen ever in his life, and in the stores was all sorts of food. The first smell that hit Ishmael was that of new baked bread and eggs. The three chefs that worked low down in the aft of the ship looked up and almost shouted in recognition at Thor who immediately pointed that one large plate of late breakfast be brought forward to the man he introduced to them as Ishmael, the newest employee of Milan and it did not take long before bread milk and fried eggs stood steaming in front of him in large portions. Ishmael ate fast and between the shoving into his mouth he charished the chefs for their wonderfull food. Thor talked to one of the chefs called Antanar that obviously was the chief of the kitchens. Though they were only chefs Ishmael noticed the curved swords standing in a rack by the wall. And as he thought about it, everyone of the crew he had seen so far had been armed and looking somewhat more than just a decksman or navigator.

And as Ishmael had finished all of what had been given him but a edge of the last piece of bread Thor started talking in a almost lecturinig tone.

"I had a talk with Milan, all on this ship’s employer and asked about your prescence on this ship. I can tell you, many have wondered why I was sent out late when the Ashani attacked Mehr to fetch you, risking my life, and those on the boat’s to get you onboard. And all Milan could say was that you were important somehow. I myself asked him how he knew, but all he could do was look out the window and shake his head. Either he does not know, and sent me near death into the town, or is not telling. Wich of the both it is I could not tell. Anyhow Milan has told me to offer you work with him and his body guard, that would mean working under me and with my friends, get properly trained with that" he paused and pointed at the crude axe" thing to protect Milan. Ishmael could do nothing but feel surprised. Accepting the offer and telling of his gratitude of being rescued from Mehr.

"We will start your training as fast as you feel up to it. During your training you will only get food and lodging, but as a guard Milan will offer you, as everyone else working for him three silver a day plus additional hazard pay if neccecary. It is a good pay and it will increase by whatever your actions may be. That is of course up to you. First of all, in one hour you will be meeting with Milan himself, there are just a few things about him you should know of. Respect him as an equal, not as a lord nor as a peasant, as an equal, and call him nothing but Milan. He is a certain kind of person, but I’m sure you’ll notice that about him." Thor started to rise.

"Eh, is there a possibility to have a bath around here?" Thor spunn around and excused himself for not seeing the need.

"Just talk to Alvin, you’ll find him on the deck, the youngest of ’em all. He’ll fix you what you need. And you’re to stay in the cabin you slept in tonight, one of the chests is yours, Alvin will get you the key. Anything else?" Ishmael finished of the last of the milk and shock his head for answer.

"Well, I’ll be off then, I’ll come fetch you when you’re to meet with Milan" Thor started to turn but stopped just before the stairs up to the deck.

"You did a good job defending against that guard." And he was on his way up the stairs.

It proved that Alvin was easy to find, the youngest boy on the ship he could not have been more than fifteen or sixteen, but his body was the size of a full grown man and some.The bath was easily fixed by lowering a couple of buckets into the river and pulling up the water that was needed, filling a tub that was placed on the deck. Modestly Ishmael undressed and thanked his god that there were no women on the boat. But just as he had the though, his body half lowered into the tub the doors to the superstructure opened and a tall blond woman stepped out. The clothes she wore proved of a daring woman, the tight jacket loosened somewhat to reveal almost, but not quite too much of her bossom. While the jacket ended short revealing most of her tight stomachmuscles the slim trousers she wore did nothing to disguise the rest of her fit body. Ishmael dropped himself the last inches down into the tub, simply staring at the woman. Alvin that came to pour down another bucket of cold river water smiled.

"That is Selinda, I would stay away from her if I were you, if I were I too for that matter. She has a way of proving her match with every man she lays her eyes upon." The cold water helped Ishmael stop staring. But he understood why any man should stay away from her. The sword at her side was not so long or as the other men’s but it along with her agile way of moving made her look even more than deadly. Ishmael washed up his whole body carefully, making sure to clean his wounds carefully.

After the bath Ishmael put his clothes on and realized how worn they were. They had gone through a lot the last few days. A minute later Thor came walking over the deck handing him a key that he told would go to the chest in his cabin. Alvin only nodded when Ishmael thanked him for his help and scurried away to get on whit trimming the sails. The rest of the boats had been left behind long ago. It seemed like even though the wind was very modest, the Whispering wind of Ampar was catching every bit of air moving, forcing the boat forward.

Ishmael followed Thor through the narrow corridors down to a door, just a little bigger than every other. And even though it looked like every other door the door seemed to hold so much more. Like comparing a chest of gold and a chest of nutshells. Ishmael shrugged the though out of his head as Thor nocked softly on the door. There was a reply from inside and Thor opened the door and got in, Ishmael following a step behind.

"Ah how are you Thor, had a good morning I might think!" Ishmael recognized the merchant from the inn in Mehr. He wore clothes that looked expensive but nothing on him, or in the room for that matter seemed luxurious in any way. Just pure quality. The man, Milan, seemed somehow too look very important in the chair behind his desk fastened to the floor. Papers was spread all over the place and Milan was holding a pen in his hand as if he had been writing when they had entered. But as he saw who else was with Thor he put his pen down and rose.

"Ah you must be Ishmael, how are you today?" he said in a very normal tone and held his hand out. Ishmael leaped forward and shook the man’s hand with real gratitude.

"I couldn’t be better. I’m not used to being on a boat yet but I’m sure it’ll sort out."

Milan slowly sat down again and asked them, in a very commanding voice though, to sit down.

"As you’ve probably heard I’m Milan, the proud owner of this ship and the trading company I’m running. Perhaps Thor has explained why you are here, but my intention is to make you one of my employees." He shifted his gaze to Thor for a brief second.

"I’ve informed him Milan. And he’s been installed in old Telain’s cabin for now."

"Ah, that’s just great. Now, you probably wonder why I let Thor here fetch you when the Ashani attacked the town. Now it’s as simple as this. I have in my team, for we are a team on this boat, a few people that was once on the wrong way in life. Just let me say we all have. I make myself a favor of employing men that I believe is worth something, and at the same time I make the rest a world a favor of educating the men to become something to themselves too. And after a while they are permitted to leave as free men. It is of their choosing from the start of course, but I invest a whole lot in the men I employ that I have to make sure I have something back. And now I’m letting you have the chance young friend. Are you willing to be one of us?" Milan’s dark eyes glittered at him.

"Well, yes. I already owe you a great deal…"

"NO" Milan rose again. "You owe me nothing. I know you were falsely charged of assault and murder. If anyone say diferent I know it to be a lie. Though I have not always acted right in life and made a few sidesteps from the law I believe in justice. No man shall be condemned for something he has not done. This decision is all yours. Nothing should be interfering with what you think is right. You are free to walk away now. I'm making you this offer as a free man to another." Milan took a sip from the goblet he had standing on his desk.

"Well, I accept your offer, Milan." The man’s face shone up.

"Good. Then when you feel up to it Thor and the others will start with your training. That was all for now men. And Ishmael. If there are any questions or anything you want to talk to me about, you know where I’m to be found." He rose again. And so did Thor and Ishmael turning their heels and leaving the room.

The raven sat carefully watching the deck below from his position on one of the beams high up in the ship. There had been three sunsets since the ship had left the big nest in the north, and since yesterday the wingless one had been training alonmg with the other men on the foredeck. He could still see the forest in wich he had been born in to the north as a green carpet and the grey mountains behinmd it standing majestaticly. Once or twice a day he left his place on the ship and sought for something to eat. He did not always find something but mostly he did. There were lot’s of abandoned farms in the country, some places he even got hold of some fresh meat wich he had missed for a time now.

And the wind he felt under his wings, yes it was still there. The feeling of change could not be misstaken for. The wingless one was the key.

Ishmael soon got into the hard training program that Thor had sat up for him. They had started out with fighting with fists and feet, the very talented guard Marnar being his teacher. Marnar was a man at about Thor’s age, but his face and body told he had come from further south, and his skill with hand to hand fighting was impressive. Marnar taught him how to fight armed as unarmed oponents with his bare hand and feet, And though Ishmael had found it hard to believe one could come anywhere with hands and feet when someone had a weapon, Maran had gotten him into another way of thinking. His younger brother, Margon had been to much help too, giving advice and showed stances with his brother.

Tarien, a pale and thin looking man in cloaks making him look very much like a thief or the like came to him to teach him about daggers and their use. He taught him how to, and where to stab to get the best "results". Ishmael showed to be very talented to throw them and earned much praise from Tarien who wondered what he had been doing before comeing to the boat. His eyes stopped shining when Ishmael told him he had been a farmer.

Saman, a tall and broad shouldered man, clothed very much as a woodsman instructed Ishmael in the use of bow and arrow, and was mightely impressed when Ishmael placed all arrows in the middle of the practise target placed on deck. Even as Saman made it harder by arranging a moving target he was impressed. Saman even hinted of being the one to learn things and walked away with his head down.

Saul and Worth was two men very different. Saul was over six feet tall wide as a house while Worth stood more than a feet shorter than Ishmael and was a slim man. Both wore tight leather armor and steel plates on their arms only. The only thing they had in common though was their skill with the axe.

Both of them had a war axe at their belts, and they were looking with uncertainity on Ishmael’s woodcutters axe. "You sure you want to fight with that" they had said almost in unison. But after they’d felt it they agreed that it was a fine axe and not so much for cutting wood with anymore. The long shaft giving it characteristics like a war axe. Just a different balance. Anyhow they started teaching him the, to his surprise, intricate forms of axefighting. Every attack and defence was allways part of a larger form where you had choices to defend or attack. There were not so many forms to use, but the forms could be performed in many different variations so as to suite the present situation.

Feor, a long and weather worn man in long robes that was split up in segments for easier movement came one morning with a bundle of staffs and spears. Feor was a master using the long weapons he had brought. While he instructed Ishmael in their use he told stories of how simple men had beaten great warriors with swords and axes. With a quarter staff whirrling in his hands Ishmael understood why. The weapon was swift and struck hard from and at places where you least expected. Ishmael who had used the spear only for hunting before was amazed by it’s efficiency in combat.

Thor and Carl, a tall blonde young man with a chainmail that fitted him as if it he been on him at birth handed his education with the sword. Ishmael felt that the sword was a good weapon, but also one of the hardest to become good at, Carl mentioned that Thor had been one of the famous swordmasters of Egaram. "He never talks about it but when he’s had a drink too much, and that happens seldom."

The training with swords took most of time, but then again Ishmael had the most problems with it.

All the way south the training went on only with pauses for food and darkness. The only one that realy showed any intrest in the training was Alvin that sometimes participated in it when his other chores was done. A week passed and the first sighns of human habitation started to show. Carl and Thor that Ishmael spent most time with explained to him that they were going to Ampar, a town similar to Mehr but larger in size and population. They would be there by nightfall. After Ampar they would probably be going to Solenar, the capital of the land of Sommer.

In the afternoon when they had had dinner and the sun was starting to touch the horizon Milan gathered his guard on the fore deck and spoke to them. Our buisness in Ampar will be brief. I have only need for our guard in land. Everyone else is forbidded to walk ashore unless the work crave it. And be ready to unload and load new cargo. That’s all. I leave the boat along with my guard as fast as we put into harbor. Dissmissed." Milan ordered in a special kind of way, even though he seemed to ask his members they all felt a certain urge to do what they were told.

The town of Ampar had many similarities with Mehr just as Saul had explained to him earlier. But what Ishmael could not realy grasp was the enourmous size of the town, or city as would be a more proper name to it. Compared to the curtin wall of thick stones that surrounded Ampar with high towers and the banners of Sommer flying high over every house, Mehr had looked like a small part of Ampar, not even as big as it’s core. As the small ship lurched closer to the city and the walls the flag of Ampar and passage was put up into the highest mast. And the thick iron chain that was streched over the river was lowered so that ships could pass. The machinery that was used was located in towers on each side of the river and they shrieked and groaned at the labor. As the ship silently glided in through the walls Ishmael saw a city sparkling with life. Even though the night had started to bereave the city of it’s light, the city itself started to light up. There was people everywhere.

Thor acompanied with the beautiful Selinda joined Ishmael at the rail, they too staring wondering into the city.

"First time in a city eh? Thor spoke silently. Ishmael nodded. "It never stops amazing me, all these people."

"But then again, you are a man not hard to amaze" Selinda said almost defiantly looking straight into the lights of the city, every ray reaching hers dark eyes reflecting as if hitting the surface of a still pond.

"Well, we’d better get prepared to disembark. What we are to do is follow Milan in a circle. He would probably not need us all, but I think he’s trying to state his growing power in this city. His father was once the mayor of it, but he was overthrown and accused of being connected to evil powers, and shortly thereafter killed. The mayor’s four sons was taken away and placed in families in the city, Milan’s three older brothers was killed by people that never got caught, only Milan survived in the care of a wealthy merchant. When the merchant died, Milan tried running the company on, but the fear of his name was to great. He was unjustly sat in prison for fifteen years, when he got out he started stealing and soon got caught again. This time he got thrown out of the city. But he didn’t give up, he worked his way up, bought a ship and… well, buisness is going great."

The ship slowly closed in on the beach and people probably working in the docks ran to fetch their lines and started pulling them in.

"Oh by the way Ishmael, I have something for you" Thor walked away and disappeared into the cabins for a minute and came back with his hands full. Solemnly Thor handed over a pair of metal sleves and a leather armor just like Saul and Worth had. "They’re yours, a guard must be able to travel safe with his master." Ishmael held the armor in his hands for a few seconds.

"Put it on. Maybe you’ll need it. And here’s a shirt to wear under it, it kind of sores." Selinda watched with hungry eyes as Ishmael pulled of his old worn shirt and put on the fresh white one and donned the armor. Ishmael made a couple of swings in the air with his axe and found that the armor did not hinder him as much as he had though.

"Gather around guard" Milan screamed from somewhere and the body of men that was his guard gathered around him and the group of people moved off the boat on the plank that had been laid down to the dock.

As Milan grciously walked the streets of Ampar in the small circle that the guard made for him. Ishmael soon got the hang of the idea and worked along with his twelve companions through the throng. The streets of Ampar was filled with people and there was sound coming from everywhere.

Even though the sun had gone down a while ago people busteled in the streets going in and out of taverns and houeses that rose not only two but three and four stories into the night sky. Ishmael believed he could spot even higher houses further into the city. Though the city was big and magnificent Ishmael soon noticed the backsides and the reason why Milan kept himself with a personal guard. Beggars and people with doubted aims lurked at every street corner and alley. The city was a dangerous place for someone with the smallest of wealth. The group of people moved on easily between the houses and after about fifteen minutes of pushing and fighting for street space they got to a tavern called the Broken wheel. It showed a little more class than many of the other taverns they had passed on the way, and Milan had been knowing where he was headed. Four armed guards stood at the entrance and chose to let in whomever they wanted, and as Milan approached in a very regal way they bowed their heads slightly and opened the door letting out the heat of the inside.

The raven looked down on the party that had left the boat they had been on for the last week and wondered where he had landed. The nest had been bigger than any other he had ever seen, some of the men on the battlements had tried to shoot him down as he had passed them but he had outmanouvered them with grace. He was worried of the pictures that came to him once in a while. Or it was more like a whole experience with emotions he had never felt. The wingless one was hard to understand sometimes. But the raven was patient. Change would come. The raven shrugged as a sensation came of being closed in where he couldn’t fly wherever he wanted. He soon regained the composture and realized it had been one of the wingless one’s experiences. They had come close.

Ishmael followed Milan and the rest of the guard to a small table at one end of the tavern and soon the inkeeper came runnning, sweat on his forehead and a clean white apron. Milan ordered wine for himself and ale for his guard but Selinda who did not have anything at all. No one said anything. The guard stared carefully at everyone close as to be prepared for any unawaited attack. Ishmael noticed when Milan carefully tucked away his money that he was wearing a mail shirt under the fine clothes he wore. People was looking at them, Milan seemed to be the only one to have a guard of more than two in the tavern, and it seemed to bring attention to them of being so many. After a while a cute waitress came in with their drinks and soon after came the tavern owner hands by his sides looking very noble himself. Milan started conversating with him in a very friendly way as the two already knew each other. Probably they did since Milan was from the city. The tavern owner soon left them after a brief conversation and Milan leaned over to Thor. Whispering a few word in his ears and Thor nodded and rose, guesturing to Ishmael and Selinda to come with him. Ishmael did as told.

The three of them walked passed the guards that gave them a nod in recognition, but it was not until they had come more than a hundred yards from the taver that Thor whispered to them.

"We’ve been sent to fetch Arnan Tolbar, a merchant that should have been here when we came. I’m not realy sure but I believe it to be about a old debt or something. Just act polite and nothing will probably happen, just keep your eyes open." They walked on into the finer parts of the city and Ishmael almost considered after just ten minutes of walk to be in another city, the streets was not as crowded and was definitely more clean than before. Thor seemed to know exactly where they were going and Selinda and Ishmael followed him, carefully regarding every corner and every window. Ishmael noticed how Selinda drew many gazes at her and the sword by her side. Specially from the male sex wich Ishmael could understand. She was probably as deadly as she was beautifull. She had been one of the few that had not taken part of the training on the ship. And not many of the crew mentioned her.

The raven watched as the three walked down the labyrinth of streets and found the situation very worrying. Not just the large amount of people worried him though as it had in the beginning around men, there was something else in the air they were passing through. He could not make out what it was, all he knew was that it was something bad that was coming.

The party of three turned a last corner and came up to a house four stories high and delicately carved statues and vines along it’s façade. There was only one gate of the house and in front of it stood a guard firmly holding his halberd in a exact angel from his body. The three of them approached the guard until they were a few yards in front of him, that’s where they all stopped but Thor that approached the guard with a salute.

"We’ve come with a message to Arnan Tolbar of a meeting." The guard tensed his eyes in thor and watched his sword for a second.

"And from whom may I present this message from?" The guard hardly moved anything but his jaws.

"Tell him that it is from Milan the trader and he will know. We are here to escort the Lord Arnan to the meeting now" Thor’s voice was somewhat commanding but all the same casual as if he did this every day. Ishmael looked around and got a strange feeling in his gut. Selinda looked at him uncertainly.

The air smelled of something… wrong. Ishmael wrinkeled his nose as if the smell had been real and shrugged. The raven was up there somehwere. He let a carefull glance up into the sky and was not surprised to see a small shadow pass over the rooftops and setteling on one of the statues.

"A raven, couldn’t someone just make a good job and kill all those damned birds" Selinda said watching first at the raven and then at Ishmael. Ishmael slowly turned to Selinda and gave her a cold stare. And for a second he believed her eyes was about to divert from his, finally he returned his gaze to the surroundings. The guard had opened the door and went in. There was low voices from inside and it did not take long before the guard returned and took his place in front of the gate noe along with two others. Ishmael noticed how both Selinda and Thor tensed like an animal being thretened, their hands resting on their swordhilts.

" In Master Arnan’s place I am sorry to report that he has no time for this meeting today or any other day and he would like you to remove yourselves from this city and never to bother him again."

The three guards looked really tensed as if they were prepared to fend of any attack whatsoever.

Thor gave the men a second disgusted look and turned on his heel. Ishmael could almost feel the stiffness of the air before the gate and was not more than happy to see that they were leaving.

"Second rate scum" Thor muttered as they had come a couple of yards away, just loud enough to be heard by the guards and Selinda giggeled like Ishmael had never heard her, or any other woman for that matter before. Just like a fifteen year old girl having her first kiss. But even as the immediate tension left them with Selinda’s giggle Ishmael still felt the smell of wrong. And as they had walked something like half the way to the taver images flashed into Ishmael’s mind. First he could not make out anything by the images but the sense of urgency in them. But as Ishmael concentrated it all was clear to him.

"Thor, Thor!" he whispered as loud as he dared, "Don’t look back, but I think we’re being followed",

the warrior tensed even more than he had when being confronted with the guards.

"You sure" he whispered back over his shoulder making it look like he was just turning his head casually.

"Yes, three men in blue cloaks with some kind of insignia, I… I couldn’t make out how it looked though. Red I think." Thor hesitated in his step and quickly turned right into a narrow alley. Ishmael and Selinda followed quickly.

"You very certain? This means we have to ask ’em who they are and what they want." Selinda smiled furiously under a strand of her blond hair hanging down in her face.

"You take charge now An’toom, when they turn around the corner you face them straight and ask what their buisness is with us, ok?" Ishmael nodded and the two others spread out to his sides as much as the alley permitted. They waited. Images flashed in Ishmael’s mind.

"They’ve stopped before the corner." He stated to his friends.

"You sure you’re not just imagining this whole thing?" Thor’s voice sounded very hesitating.

Ishmael concentrated on the raven not far away. Images flashed before his eyes.

"They’re gone". Thor raised an eyebrow questionalingly.

"We better get moving then" Selinda said in her voice smooth as velvet setteling a dagger back into her sleve that Ishmael had never noticed her pulling out.

The three left the alley in turn. Ishmael last, still with the feeling of wrong in his stomach. More than once he concentrated on the raven but the result was negative. No one was following them or the raven failed to spot them. Somehow the raven urged a sense of caution into Ishmael’s mind. And he could tell none of the other two felt comfotable with the situation.

Well back at the taver Thor hurriedly went forward to Milan and whispered in his ear. Milan’s face twisted for a second as Thor finished his report and shortly thereafter finished up his wine and rose. As did the rest of his guard not already standing and the party started for the door.

If the circle had been tight around Milan before it was now even tighter. People had started clearing the streets now and only those drunk enough to dare showed themselves alone in the dark of alleyways. The group moved swiftly now when nothing was there to stop them. Or was there? Ishmael felt his stomach churning. Every shadow seemed to be holding a archer or an assassin. But soon they were at the dock that stood empty for a few guards watching over some ship or cargo. And just as they felt that they had reached security of the ship the thing that Ishmael had been waiting for occurred.

Arrows seemed to rain in from everywhere. Ishmael felt the burning pain of the tip of an arrow just piercing his leather armor and digging in to his back, there was a groan from several of the guard but noone fell to the streets. Thor and Saul grabbed Milan by the shoulders and hauled him towards the ship while the rest of the guard formed into a protecting halfcircle around the retreating Milan. More arrows came down at them. Worth ended up with one straight through his arm, Marnar had one sticking out of his chest but it seemed like his chain mail had stopped most if it. Saman the archer already had his bow up firing back at the targets he could not see in the dark. Slowly they retreated towards the boat and as they had come halfway a dussen men ran into the open space of the docks, weapons drawn.

The guard already had theirs up.

"Hurry on!" someone screamed to the boat. By the sound of it the crew was already making the ship ready for departure. A couple of more arrows was fired at them again but they missed their targets and clattered softly to the stone quay of the docks. The charging group of men came closer and closer.

Ishmael started moving his axe in the pattern as he had been taught, ignoring the pain in his back as best he could.

There was the sound of metal hitting metal as the first of the attackers crashed into the guard. Ishmael came up with deflecting a blow from a hatched from a man that apeared to lack teeth in his whole mouth, they were dressed like thieves with dark clothes and hoods on their cloaks pulled low as to not reveal their faces more than neccesary. The fight was short, as the attackers realized they had met experienced soldiers they started to retreat, Ishmael fougth his foe long enough to get another cut over his newely aquired metal bracers. The man suddenly fell as Ishmael struck home with his axe at the end of the man’s neck almost severing arm and shoulder from the rest of the body. The man uttered no screams of pain but fell into a heap in front of him. Ishmael’s eyes searched the dock for another prey, he could feel the taste of blood in his beak. Ishmael hardly had time to deny the thoughts as his own before he realized the fight was over. It all had happened so fast. Feor stood not far from him leaning on his spear, the feathers of an arrow sticking out from the front of his leg and the tip on the opposite side. Ishmael searched the faces around him and found that no one was missing among the standing. Tarien was walking forward, seemingly unhurt to retrieve a dagger from the throat of an opponent.

Time seemed to stretch out as he remembered the pain in his back. Thor came by him walking slowly.

"Is he allright?" Ishamel asked as Thor passed by.

"Yes" Thor answered with his back to Ishmael. Turning around to face Ishmael he stated.

"You did a good job, you were probably right about the followers, forgive me for doubting. YOU ALL DID A GOOD JOB" he shouted to the somewhat hurt bodyguard.

"Now back to the boat, I want guards set out on deck so that no one tries another time. And bows and arrows to be in hand for everyone. They all started walking at best effort back the twenty or so yards to the boat. Ishmael tried not to look at the dead men laying everywhere on the stone before the boat but his eyes seemed drawn to the blood somehow. Once again the thought of food struck his mind and this time Ishamel could not help vomiting at the picture of himself tearing away flesh from the dead bodies with his mouth. Thor grabbed him under the arm, carefull not to touch the arrow in his back and led him onto the boat.

Not more than a half an hour later a small body of men walking in a tight formation entered the docks, their breastplates and blue cloaks showing off in a defiant way.

"The city guard" Thor muttered under his breath. The twenty or so soldiers made a halt when coming something like twenty yards from the Whispering wave and formed up in a line. Ishmael noted with one hand on the ship rail and the other trying to reach the shaft of the arrow in his back that half of them was armed with crossbows and the other half with spears and shield. The one’s more seriously wounded of the guard was already tended to by those with more adequate healing skills than the guards themselves, those consisting of Selinda and Antanar the chief chef of the boat. One of the officers took a step forward trying to ignore the dead body he was almost standing on. There was a morbid sound as he smacked his sole down in a very military way and the puddle of blood it had landed in stenched his black leather boots. From the distance it looked like he could have stood on a exercise field just as well as the bloody ground of a fight just minutes ago.

"I Ofein Captain of the city The city guard here declare the trader Milan and his guard under arrest for atempt of extorsion and murder" He gave the bodies around him a quick glance.

"If you do not put down your weapons and everything that could be used as one down and surrender we have orders to use neccesary means of violnce to bring the light of justice down upon this matter."

Milan opened the door to the cabin and came out, the stains on his fine clothes showing that he had not come through unharmed. He came to stand in between Ishmael and Thor by the rail watching the guard patrol.

"I see that you have raised in rank since we last met captain." The Officer did not stir but stood firmly, his face as blank as a wall. "Have you enough deaths on your conscience that noone dared having you as a corpral anymore in fear of their own safety? Giving you your own patrol so as not to worry about being stabbed in the back by their second in command."

The Captain made a half turn, now facing his soldiers.

"Archers, take aim." The crossbowmen hightened their weapons. "This is your last chance of surrendering Milan". The whole ship stood still, noone worked on cutting loose or prepare defences.

Milan stood defiantly by the rail. Ishmael did not feel afraid nor pain. Time seemed to stand still.

The captain heightened his arm where he had his sword. Ishmael started solemnly into the eyes of one that had his aim on him. There was a short period of time that streched out to what seemed like hours and then suddenly Ofein let his arm fall. Ishmael expected the pain to be enourmous and closed his eyes in reflex. What made him open his eyes again was the yelling of captain Ofein. The row of soldiers stood reluctantly with their weapons lowered looking at Captain Ofein screaming at them. Milan smiled and turned on his heel and went into the superstructure again. Ishmael couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. The men still stood in a straight line staring straight ahead at their captain when Ishamel turned to Thor with question in his face. But it seemed like Thor understood what he was about to ask and just shock his head. "Just don’t expect it to be over" He said silently. "It never is".

After a few minutes the city guard scattered with their captain shouting threats about cutting their heads off for insubordination, and finally he was alone among the corpes in the harbor. His hand still holding the worn sword he turned his stare at the ship.

"I will be back, YOU HEAR ME MILAN? I’LL BE BACK TO GET YOU". The lonely man turned his back to the ship and ran off into the dark. Ishmael thought he could see the man running for several minutes in some odd perspective when he woke up from the dreamlike state someone was pulling at the arrow in his back reminding him of the pain that had grown by time. Taking hold of the arrow Selinda smiled to his face, "I’ll have you fixed up in notime" and with a jerk she forced Ishmael to drop his axe and clutch hard to the rail.

The raven shivered at the feeling of something removed from it’s back.