Freedom's Price

The air still thrummed with the echoes of battle, a ragged symphony of fading roars and the whimpers of the vanquished. Smoke, acrid and biting, curled skyward from the scattered embers of what had been Danthil’s temporary stronghold. The raiders, their fierce pride broken and their numbers decimated, were a sorry sight, huddled like frightened sheep under the cold, assessing gaze of Kad and his companions. Shershey, her face smudged with grime and sweat, stood with her arms crossed, a triumphant, yet weary, smirk playing on her lips. Leif, perched on Kad’s shoulder, chirped softly, his small, leafy form a stark contrast to the grimness of the scene.

But Kad’s eyes weren’t on the defeated raiders. They scanned the makeshift cages, the rough-hewn enclosures where the remnants of his village had been held captive. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a desperate drumbeat of hope and dread. He saw them then, a huddled mass of emaciated forms, their eyes wide and vacant, like startled deer caught in the glare of a hunter’s torch. And amidst them, a figure that drew his breath sharp and sudden.

Martill.