oon was shining as bright as it ever had. Owls hooted in their trees. Hawks circled overhead. The animals of the night could smell blood before it had even been spilled. The night was many hours away from running into the day, as eight men stalked their prey along the top of a ridge along the forest.

Erdezo ushered his men forward, peering between the thin bark of the trees down below them. Somehow their feet made no sound as they trampled the dry, deadly leaves of the forest. Down below the hill, men rode upon horseback in a group of no more than twenty. A broad chested man with flowing black hair rode in the front. He seemed to puff his chest out as he rode, a confident look upon his face.

Erdezo pinpointed the leader. He turned to his seven men who had positioned themselves in a perfect bow-shape formation around the bending hill that hugged the path that the men on horse traversed.

Erdezo's nearest man flung his green cloak hood over his head and pulled an arrow from his quiver. He knocked it to his longbow without a sound. It was second nature—the ease with which he did this—not daring to lift his eyes from the men below. Their horses and armor clang together loudly, almost clumsily.

They are overconfident of their strength. Erdezo knew too well what to expect from a group like this. Men from the west travel like elephants. Erdezo waved his man farthest up the hill forward. He leapt with great height and landed almost soundlessly bar the flapping of his cloak. The men in armor halted, and the Ki'vatsu warrior stood a few feet in front of them, wordless.

The Ki'vatsu's face gave no expression, merely stared into the face of the barrel-chested front rider. He said calmly, "surrender your horses, or be sorry about it." When the man laughed heartily, he sealed his fate. An arrow from the thickly wooded hill just above nestled its way through the back of his throat, the tip sticking out the front of his jugular. The slightest grin crept over Reja's face as he stood before the riders. Half the men withdrew their swords, the other half galloped their horses away in panic. Arrows from six different positions nestled home before the men with swords could fully remove their longswords from the scabbards.

The other half were getting away. Erdezo said calmly, "we cannot have survivors, we continue on in secrecy." Arrows found a home in six men, matching the number of arrows knocked. Erdezo emerged from the top of the hill, in sight of the riders below.

"Reja, you heard me. No one can leave here." Only a few men remained, and they had dismounted by this point.

The men begged, "Please, I won't tell anyone we saw your host. You can have our horse; I am known to be the council's most truthful man. Right Gallo?" Gallo stood silent, a perplexed look upon his face, "Rago, these men are not of these lands. These are Northman...Ki'vatsu."

And with that Reja swooped in with his long sword, a smooth blade that stunned the riders with its beauty as moon light gleamed off the blade. Gallo and Rago had no time to move even a step back when their heads were swept clean off. Toppling into the thick leaves and squirting warm blood everywhere.

The rest of the clumsy men had their swords drawn but they were no use. The weight of their swords far outweighed the elegant blade of Reja, who stabbed his blade through a larger man's gut, before withdrawing the blade and blocking an attempted strike and slicing the neck of the next man. By the time Reja finished the job, the other six Ki'vatsu had mounted the spooked horses and chased down the escapees. The faint sound of death cries rang through the woods and reached the ears of Erdezo and Reja. The two exchanged straight-faced looks and began on their way to catch the others, the green and black cloaks of Rednork fluttering behind them.

Erdezo spoke to his seven men, newly mounted. "Egalo Elgamar resides not too far from here. We continue our journey west to Sunswood."

The riders had stopped their mounts to the edge of a ravine. Beyond the pit below and along the horizon sat beautiful flat land amongst the forests of the mountains they traveled.

Erdezo began again, "The beautiful lands of Modena itself. And so, the fabled tale goes, the stones of Ertorin." He looked at his Ki'vatsu. Erdezo's hair was black as night as it blew behind him, mirroring his cloak. His horse matched with its jet-black mane and matching black furs. Reja observed the beauty before him and then replied, "So it begins my blood, my brothers of the slain King of Blades, our father who reigns above us." The men glanced to each other in contentment. They needed not to speak to know what they were thinking.

Erdezo urged his horse forward, pausing a moment before galloping away, "Just think my brothers, we don't do it for ourselves. Rather, in all we do, it is all for the King of Blades. We do it for our master and lord—Rakeworm, lest we forget, may we have the courage to slay our own brother of the Ki'vitsu by his own blade...we ride for Sunswood. We are Ki'vatsu."

And with those final words, Erdezo kicked his horse forward and the host of eight men went on their way behind their leader. Their immaculate blades resting in their scabbard, arrows in their quivers, and hair flying with the wind—a sight to behold.