As Restag left, Ecthar spoke once more, and though the tone indicated the words were directed at the Oathless, Restag felt Ecthar’s eyes upon his back as he said, “I shall watch for your return.”

Restag refused to acknowledge the words or their speaker. It was the last and greatest insult he could pay him.

Unlike Ecthar, the Oathless did not bother with secrecy but walked with confidence out into the full light of day. The mercenary kept a quick pace, one which any but one seasoned to long and hard travel, as all Asgradi warriors were, would struggle to keep. They passed through the hills and beneath the edges of the surrounding forest. Once hidden within the trees, the Oathless slowed his pace, taking a leisurely stride only just ahead of Restag. Off-handedly, he said, “So, are the stories true? Are you really able to see into a man’s soul?”

Restag did not answer. When the little man prodded again, the thanesman said flatly, “Take me to my thane, Halsk-worm. I need no companionship from you, and you shall receive none from me.”

The little man’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like you, Thanesman,” he said.

“You do not need to,” replied Restag. Muttered curses followed, which Restag pretended to ignore. He knew, however, that his bluntness had been foolish, considering the nature of the man with whom he currently traveled.

He used his Sight to catch a glimpse of the man’s soul. Only a glimpse. He could afford neither to stop nor to risk tripping over or walking into something as his eyes and ears left his immediate surroundings, which might alert the Oathless to his actions. A glimpse was all he could afford, but that glimpse of malice and ill intent drenching the man’s thoughts was more than enough.

A few hours later, they came to the remains of a stone building. The sun had begun to set, strengthening the forest’s shadows. Restag had seen the building before on hunting trips into the forest, though he had never bothered to investigate it. It was a human structure, though its purpose, whether as a fortress or a house or a temple, had been long lost. Moss and lichen covered the stones. Grass grew thick and tall, hiding the remnants of stone floors. Most of the wood was long-rotted, the windows empty and the walls crumbling. With caution, Restag followed the Oathless into the shadowed remains of a tower, climbing up not with the stairs, which were no longer extant, but over a pile of rubble that built a sort of pathway up to what had once been the second floor, judging by the windows in the surrounding walls, where all paths ceased. Following a sharp whistle from the outlaw, a thin rope ladder rolled over the side of the highest floor, granting access to the top of the tower.

The Oathless stepped aside, motioning with mocking courtesy toward the ladder. Restag stared suspiciously at the ropes. There were too many options for what could be done during the vulnerability of the climb, whether he or the Oathless went first. Risking a pause, his blood flared as he snuck into the man’s thoughts again, seeing nearly at once the image of his own throat being cut from behind the moment they both reached the top. Restag came back to himself just in time to hear the mercenary say, “Well? You going up first, or me?”

After quickly deciding the doom he knew was better than the one he did not, Restag took the ropes and began to climb, his spear in hand making it a bit difficult, the Oathless not far behind. His thoughts raced with each rung, trying to think of some way to escape the situation. By the time he reached the top, he had a plan. Not a very good plan, but hopefully good enough to buy some time to better assess the situation and gain some advantage.

Restag peered over the edge of the patched, wooden floor to the area beyond. It was a somewhat small space, perhaps half the size of the Elders’ Hall. Large gaps in the wall allowed a wide view of the land around them, but enough remained to provide an area of wind cover, which had been supplemented with what looked to be oiled deer skins to form a sheltered section on the floor’s far side. Nearby stood another man bearing the brand of an Oathless, though he appeared much more nervous than his companion and had not added decorative runes to his brand. Behind him, leaning against the ruins of the wall and looking absently out into the distant landscape, sat Witheric. A few bruises showed on his face, and he wore nothing more than a night shirt, but he was alive. In the surge of relief, Restag nearly cried out to him, but the Oathless below him interrupted his thoughts, shouting, “Hey! Keep going!”

The sharp command broke whatever mire had claimed the young thane’s mind, and he looked toward the ladder, gasping as he saw his friend’s face over the edge. He blanched, rising shakily, his eyes wide as he said almost despondently, “R-Restag… why are you–“

“I said move it, Halsk take you!”

Restag gave Witheric a pointed look but did not wait to see his response before pulling himself up.

“About ti–” began the Oathless, but his words were cut off as Restag spun around and shoved his boot into the man’s face, not quite knocking him off the ladder. In nearly the same movement, the warrior brought his spear around and sliced across the taunt ropes, cutting the chords enough that the mercenary’s weight snapped the remainder, dropping the ladder and its stunned climber two stories and hopefully killing him, but even if it had not, it would at least hurt. More importantly, it evened Restag’s odds.