Only Marcus was left now.
The valley that had been full of hired mercenaries was now a graveyard. Bodies lay everywhere, torn apart by the old man's weapons. The smell of blood was so thick it was hard to breathe.
Marcus still held his sword, but his hands were shaking so badly he could barely grip it.
Hobbren turned to face him, wiping blood from his hands on a dead man's shirt.
Marcus instantly felt pure terror wash over him!
But he didn't run. He had no thought of running.
The only thought that filled his mind was that of a cold winter night seven years ago. He had been just a scrawny kid then, maybe sixteen years old, stealing bread from a merchant's cart. His stomach had been empty for three days, and the pain was driving him crazy.
The merchant had caught him, of course. Had beaten him with a stick until he couldn't move, then left him bleeding in an alley to die.
That's when she found him.
