Drokin killed most of them himself. The dwarf had turned his grief into rage, and it fueled his strength. When the Scourges were dead, Drokin was covered in blood and entrails. Kirin tried to hide his disgust. They stood in silence, both breathing heavily from exertion.
“We part ways here,” Kirin finally said.
Drokin nodded, but didn’t say anything.
Wiping his blade clean on one of the dead creatures, Kirin sheathed it and headed back towards the Verge.
Kirin’s fears of another attack were justified. He’d crossed back through the Verge and stopped at one of the villages on the border. A small place, housing only sixty people. Elves and dwarves mingled here like they did in Thanalian, but there was a line that divided the village. The two races respected the imaginary border and remaine
