Twenty-Five:
The ride was shorter than the run had been. We passed contingents of fae holding up the Scarlet in our passing. However, the Scarlet seemed to be adapting to the elements. By the time we reached the lycan camp, many stragglers were still lingering with injured and dead.
The Scarlet was already beating at the very gates of the make-shift village now manned by two crazy men swinging and blasting away a mile a minute.
“Heavens save my heart from stupid Viking men!”
I swore, as I caught sight of Olaf swinging his massive battleax in graceful arcs, cleaving darkbane and possessed lycan.
“Oye, you, back in bed!”
I snapped, as I galloped up and dismounted mid-stride. I came down with the bloody blade unsheathed from my belt.
I charged the throng of Scarlet, and the possess
