A slow hand-clap made him lift his head though exhaustion weighed it down. A man walked from the trees, lacking the soldiers` urgency though moving with more care. Others emerged behind him, all armed, not soldiers though. Bandits, road men, the scum that roamed the borders of any war, picking at the wound. Alann looked from one face to the next. Hard men all. Each different from the next, short and tall, young and old, dirty and clean, but he recognized something in each one. Every man a killer born.
Their leader stopped clapping. A young man, tall, wild, a dangerous look in his eye. "You cut men like an art-form, brother. I watched the first six... magnificent."
Alann wiped his mouth and spat, the copper taste of blood across his tongue. "You watched?"
The man shrugged. He was younger than Alann had first thought. "Some men just want to watch the world burn." He grinned.
"I`m the fire."
"That you are, brother, and which of us is worse?"
Alann had no answer to that.
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