Chapter 13
Chapter 13 A most peculiar procession worked its way up the side of the craggy highland knoll: one glassy-eyed peasant boy; four frazzled, grey-bearded men clad in homespun; and eight motley but well-armed foreigners. The different groups kept as far away from each other as was possible under the circumstances. The boy feared the elders. If he hadn’t agreed to guide them today, they would have beaten him again and outcast what was left of his family. He feared the foreigners, too. They were loud and insulting and mean. They were also the ugliest men the boy had ever seen. Their leader was the worst of the lot. He wore a chain-mail helm which veiled his face, but it could not completely hide his oft-broken nose, or the freshly healed burns which gave his jaws a marbled, half-molten look.
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