Chapter 389: Graveyard of Hattan

Because of my injuries, I was eligible to accompany a cart of the wounded back to Narrow Valley. I figured safety in numbers, but like usual, I was wrong.

Oh not from the beasts of the plains, nor of the dwindling woodlands.

The night before we reached the checkpoint, they came at us. Not screams and sickles and pitchforks, but sneaking around in leathers made gray by fireplace ashes. If they'd had any skill with their bows and crossbows, our guards wouldn't have even gotten off a shout.

I clambered to my feet, still wiping the sleep from one eye. I had a shield, but there was little enough time; I pulled Heart's Protector from inventory.

They had knives and sickles, and not a pitchfork among them. They smelled of starvation and desperation, one of jaundice. What followed was a slaughter, just not the slaughter they had been planning on.

"You! Big Nose!" one of the guards shouted at me.

"Yes?" I asked.

"You can track by scent, yes?"