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By Darius Hinks

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His legs gave way and he collapsed gratefully into a forest of welcoming arms. CHAPTER TWO “There will be time for introductions later,” said a soft voice. At the sound of his own language, the baron felt a stab of guilt. He opened his eyes to see that he was still in the grand throne room. Then, with a gasp, he saw that his pale-skinned seducers were writhing over his body and eagerly unfastening his clothes. Their black eyes were rolling with excitement as their fingers pulled open his jerkin and slid across his exposed chest.

There was a screech of grinding metal. The baron looked up to see a door opening beneath a grand, latticed portico. At first it seemed as if the door had opened by its own volition, but as he and the other soldiers reached the top steps, they saw a group of figures marching out to greet them. The baron’s eyes glittered with excitement as twelve gleaming knights clattered out. They wore sculpted purple armour and each of them carried a sword and a circular, mirrored shield. They were almost as dazzling as the statues: tall, fair and perfectly poised as they formed a phalanx in front of the door.

Other than butchering our finest warriors, of course. ” The shaman slammed his carved staff into the ground and his face flushed with rage. “What would you have us offer a god, Sväla? Goats? ” He stepped closer to the flames and pointed his staff at the stars. “We must regain Völtar’s favour with human blood. The blood of heroes. ” Some of the crowd grunted their approval, but others seemed less sure and looked back at Sväla. ” muttered Sväla, flinging another splash of blood against the brazier.

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