The warriors moved forward, armed with torches rather than swords. The archers stood off, ready to shoot any runners. Ludwick stood in the stirrups but could see no further. “Fools,” he said to no one, “Where is the sense in choosing death over slavery?” Rickard’s voice spoke in his head again. “Do you really believe that?” Ludwick’s gaze rested for a moment on the hilt of his sword with its red insignia. Then he shook his head and roared, “Burn them! Burn them all!”

  His men, who had shown discipline in waiting for their captain, gripped their torches and set light the first of the wooden buildings. The dry planks caught quickly. Smoke rose into the air, straight up in the stillness, then twirling as the fire created its own wind. The soldiers did not need to move forward any more. The fire was spreading from building to building on its own.

  Still there was no sound, no movement in Worthe. Ludwick looked in vain for people fleeing the fire but no one appeared. The oxen continued to plod. The first wagon was quite close to him now. He rode over to it. Stretching out his sword, he lifted the edge of the cloth.

  The tarp flew off and a figure in a red cape and chainmail appeared and let fly. One of his guard contingent shrieked, a throwing ax embedded in his chest. Dropping his lance, Bugge stood in his stirrups and drew steel. He just managed to knock away the second ax as it flew towards him. Two more riders lowered their lances and charged the wagon. Ludwick saw his face. I know this man. He remembered the day Stenn had lost his arm, battling Bahri’s orcs. “He’s a better man than you,” said the voice of Rickard.

  Stenn had no shield. The riders targeted that side. The man had snatched up a sword and knocked the first lance aside as he sidestepped and then he thrust the blade up, scoring the rider’s face.

  “Die, traitor!” were the last words of Stenn of Worthe. Even as he said it, the other lance drove into his chest. He smiled grimly as his life’s blood leaked out onto the lance.

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  “A brave death,” said Rickard. Rage closed over Ludwick, red and heavy, as the old man’s image gazed upon him in judgment. “No quarter!” shouted the captain. His mind served up a brief image of Rickard again. “Seeking glory this way, boy?” He gritted his teeth. “No one leaves this village. Kill them all!”

  The soldiers gripped their swords and bows and squinted through the smoke. The fire raised its whirlwinds of ash and cinder. Pitched roofs collapsed as the fire spread into the center of the village. With a crash, the old warehouse came down, crashing into the jetty. The barge moored there capsized and began to drift.

  “Bring their heads!” shouted the captain. “I want every villager’s head on a pike outside this place! I want everyone to know what happens to people who resist! Every one of them! Go!” The solders were nervous as the village was still burning but advanced into the charred outskirts, poking through the ashes in search of bodies.

  “Where are they, Bugge?” murmured the captain to his lieutenant. “They can’t just disappear! Where did they go?”

  Bugge gripped his lance and spurred his horse, a veteran of the orc wars that had ridden through fire before. The charger reared and galloped down the main street, flames on both flanks, to the still-standing warehouse. Bugge tilted with his lance at the thin wooden walls, breaking them and bringing down the whole front of the building. No one was inside, nothing and no one. He laid himself flat on the horse’s neck and gave it its head. The fire that had become almost a solid wall now. Out of the gap he came, slowing to slap at cinders smoldering on his faded reddish cape.

  “There was no one,” he said.

  Ludwick rode around the flames to the upriver side of the village. “Any sign of them?”

  “No sir!” came the answer.

  Furious, Ludwick issued more orders: “Archers, put a watch on the burning village. Riders in groups of two to sweep the edges of the forest just beyond the village! Look for tunnel exits!” The riders organized themselves and set out, prodding at likely hiding spots with lances from horseback.

  Bugge dismounted directly onto the oxwain and used his sword to hew the grinning head from the old man’s body, knocking the helmet from it. Seizing the cape and the head by the hair, he mounted again and he rode back to Ludwick with the trophy head.