Weeks after I had left Kedrone and severed my fealty to its liege, word reached me that Dakor had returned to the North and was gathering a band of raiders. Reports said he had been laying waste to villages around Kedrone and swelling his numbers with every strike.
I knew exactly what he sought: to raise an army of rebels. Yet whatever the fate of Kedrone, whatever the reach of Dakor's plots, none of it truly concerned me. What had truly seized me was my revenge on that cold man; if fighting for Kedrone could not grant me that chance, there was no point in returning to her aid.
With knowledge concealed and sure to aid my quest, I set my route with haste. I rode lonely roads for days until I fell upon a village - and what I found there dazed me.
A thick cloud of smoke and a hazed sky greeted the little hamlet. Deeper in, the ground lay wrecked: debris, furrowed soil, the whole place as if it had been a battlefield. Bodies formed a grotesque trail. Desolation hung heavy; ruin and destitution were everywhere. Corpses lay in piles. Dried puddles of blood hosted clouds of flies. Unrecognizable scraps of flesh littered the ground. Of the houses, nothing remained but a handful of standing shells - a pick would have toppled them and revealed their true ruin.
This could have been an attack from a rival clan, or the work of a brutal gang. Where, I asked, was the humanity in this? The sight of such wickedness and injustice stung me - perhaps because I had tasted a similar grief.
As I moved on, my ire found worse sights. Men and women were gutted, children hung from trees or stakes. Monstrosity had reached its peak.
A few villagers staggered about, most tending the wounded. A handful came closer to gawk. By fortune I found a man who had survived with much of himself intact. I approached, keeping my voice low.
"What happened here?" I asked, though pain had rooted him and he barely noticed my presence.
"Please... tell me." My urging cut through the smoke.
"What would it change, strange man?" he answered, each word steeped in sorrow. "It won't bring them back."
"But it could bring justice," I said.
"What can one man do against such a gang?" he huffed.
"All I need is a name and the route they took. I swear I'll bring justice to your family." There was a steadiness in my voice he could not mistake. After a long breath, he spoke.
"He was a great man, solidly built - thick forearms, heavy legs. Full of stamina and cunning. He was terror itself, he and his host. He called himself Dakor."
The name struck me like a blade. A cold shiver ran through me - fear, or something like it; anxiety and a dark, burning eagerness.
"Dakor!" I exclaimed. Fear flared, then rage. Even he saw the hatred that crossed my face.
"You know him?" he asked, eyes brightening with a desperate hope.
"I do. He is a lunatic. I will not rest until I have driven my sword into him."
"Your paths have crossed bitterly then," the man confirmed.
"It has. By fortune, Dakor is just the man I have been hunting." I sneered at the thought of the villain and his deeds.
"He led his gang due west. They'll keep falling on villages and towns to loot and to swell their numbers," the man finished.
"Thank you." Rage stretched through me as the many images of what I would do to Dakor crashed upon me.
"Please," the man's voice cracked. "Make the maniac suffer." I nodded once and strode back to my beast.
If any testifies to Dakor's nature, it is I.
As days fell away they folded like memory. I remembered Keiya and the unborn child - the maniac had ripped the child from her; he had defiled and abused her to the highest degree; he had condemned her to the worst of deaths. No one hungered for vengeance like I did. Now Dakor roamed, raiding and murdering. Whatever his intent, my blade would end him before he accomplished it.
Following the guide I had drawn from the raided villagers, I struck a route through the wilderness. I rode a full day, questioning inhabitants and campers for direction. At last their lead brought me toward another settlement.
The farther I moved, the more certain I felt that Dakor and his gang were near, though at that moment the chase still felt futile.
Kazor lay before me - a village in the wilds. I had thought Dakor farther afield, but delays had slowed me. It seemed wiser to pass the night in the hamlet than to sleep in the cruel woods.
Perched upon my horse, I pronounced myself lord to the beast, masked in the fierce conviction of a warrior. Then a sudden thunder of sound stripped that audacity away. Instinct jolted me; I brought my mount to a halt and dismounted.
A quick survey demanded a drawn blade. I traced the crack of firearms and my hope curdled. A valley of inhabitants - seized by a brutal gang. They had taken greedily what they wanted, killed whom they chose, raped whom they fancied, burned where they pleased... and still they lingered.
Why should good folk suffer? How long would it persist? What was I but a single man? They were many, brutal, clearly fighters - and they possessed firearms. Even if I fought as a lone wolf and felled some, a hidden fool might end me with a lucky shot. This was a fight for the cheated; but it was not a fight for me to die in.
The decision to leave was keener than any blade. Once a leader, I knew the feeling of losing people; the choice sat like a wound.
Then a voice split the valley: "Bring that one too!" Familiarity clung to the cry. I had almost turned away when the sound gripped me.
Creeping forward on my belly, chest to the soil, I watched the speaker. My astonishment nearly made me leap. A huge man strode from a hut, enraged; his beard framed a face I knew well. The old, ugly scar on his left cheek - a scar planted by my blade. The cold maniac himself: Dakor.
Oh grievous fortune.
I had nearly lost him after weeks of pursuit. Dakor's presence steeled my resolve. Where before I trembled at numbers, a new surge of ire and purpose filled me. I would kill Dakor, grant these families justice, and still my turbulent spirit.
Yet even as the heat of rage begged for a blind charge, I knew better: recklessness would carry me to death. With Dakor's associates arrayed and firearms in hand, a direct rush would be suicidal.
If I was to reach him, it would be by stealth, under the cover of night.
In the dark would cruel justice come.