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Chapter 6. Escape from Ash Valley. Part 3.

For a week the mercenaries fled under relentless assault, sleeping fitfully in shifts and never releasing their weapons, not even during their sleep. The fomorians harried them mercilessly day and night, striking hard before vanishing into shadows like spectral phantoms.

Every dawn brought fresh horrors – dead comrades left to rot where they fell. Forronus pushed onward through exhaustion and despair, to get his men out of the Ash Valley.

– Halt! – he bellowed one midnight, sword drawn as he turned on his men: – Two hours rest only! I’ll brook no arguments!

Muttering protests died on parched lips at sight of their commander’s eyes, glazed with weariness, but still burning bright behind dark visor. They knew better than to question.

Around them stretched endless night, punctuated by distant howls that set teeth on edge and made battle-weary hands shake. This was madness, a never-ending retreat into hell’s maw.

Forronus collapsed next to