The storm that Grimond had been watching hit Kalahath the next morning, delaying the brothers’ leaving for Urthendril by two days.

When the storm had passed, Lorvig’s ship, the Blessing of Altor, unfurled its sails and set off across the harbor to await the arrival of the brothers. Grimond watched it set sail from his balcony in the early hours of the morning before he turned back into his chambers. He closed the balcony doors against the lingering cold, and sat down to a breakfast of fresh sausage, eggs, and cold ham.

After eating, Grimond dressed in his rough, hunting leathers and pulled on his thick, heavy leather boots. Knowing that the storm had left behind a lingering chill, Grimond pulled on a fur lined leather coat and threw a waxed leather cloak around his shoulders.

Looking back across his room for the last time for several months, Grimond smiled, tucked his leather gauntlets into his belt, grabbed his pack and weapons, and left for the stables.

Jarlen and his guards were already waiting for the brothers in the stable. Five bodyguards stood behind their Captain with eight saddled warponies ready for their hunting party. Grimond stepped up to his mount, Storm Hoof, and began shifting his weapons from his pack to the sides of his saddle. Two fine black iron broadswords were strapped opposite a bristling quiver, and a hunting shortbow was slung over the saddle horn.

Lorvig arrived with his axe and shield while Grimond was throwing his pack behind his saddle. With his gear secured, Grimond swung up into Storm Hoof’s saddle.

“My Lords,” Jarlen said, stepping forward with two of the bodyguards, “May I introduce my Lieutenants, Cordin and Bramden; one of the three of us will always be on duty with each of you. It is our solemn duty to keep you both safe!”

Grimond nodded in respect to the Captain’s introduction of his officers, though Lorvig laughed at the formality.

“You’ve been guarding us for years,” Lorvig replied as he secured his weapons onto his warpony’s saddle, “We’ve both worked with Cordin and Bramden before! And the others behind you are Bastad, Thungras, and Reilgaeth! There is no need for formal introductions, friend!”

Lorvig clasped arms with each of the guards as he said their names, and clapped Jarlen roughly, yet jovially on the shoulder before climbing into the saddle.

“It’s good to have you along,” Grimond agreed, “You chose well, Jarlen.”

Together, the eight Urthendrain rode out of the stables, through the city, past the gates, and into the forests of Kalahath. The island was sparsely populated outside the two large cities on either side of the massive harbor. The group could have chosen to follow the coastline through several fishing villages, but that path would have been unlikely to provide prey for the hunting party. They considered going farther into the forests but decided against that as well due to several clans of goblins living deep in the hills that far outnumbered their small party of eight. They chose instead to stay to the edges of the forests, skirting their horses around larger hills but avoiding going too deep into the woods.

After five days, they had passed two of the fishing villages and were expecting to arrive at the last, Vongran, in time for dinner and warm beds that night. As they rode around a large hill, deeper into the woods than they had been for several days, they heard the distinct call of goblins and the scream of a young girl. Without a thought, both brothers spurred their horses into a gallop, careless of the difficult terrain.

Eight horses rushed into a clearing where a young girl stood screaming, surrounded by goblins that fought to drag her away. Jarlen called to his men and arrows flew from bowstrings, striking down the more distant goblins, while Grimond and Lorvig drew sword and axe to strike down from their warponies as they rode past the screaming child. Goblins however, while illiterate, were coordinated in their attacks. The remaining goblins reacted to the arrival of the Urthendrain by turning from their intended victim and leaping up at the brothers aback their warponies. Two leapt at Grimond, and he dispatched them easily with his broadsword. Five had attacked Lorvig however, and despite his skill with his axe they had killed his warpony and dropped him to the ground. They crowded him now, striking with clubs and fists at their fallen opponent.

Grimond knew that he couldn’t ride in again for fear of trampling Lorvig and loosing Storm Hoof. He began to dismount, hastily drawing his second broadsword as he did so, but Jarlen and his soldiers were there before Grimond’s feet hit the ground. Six bodyguards with shields and broadswords crashed into the distracted goblins, driving them away from Lorvig and forming a protective ring as Grimond arrived.

Jarlen knelt over Lorvig while Reilgaeth went to check the young girl for injuries.

“He’s unconscious, but he’s still breathing,” Jarlen announced, “We’ll need to get him out of here in case the goblins return. They know that we’re few, and weak; we won’t be safe from them until we’re in Vongran.”

“Is he dead?” a small voice asked as Reilgaeth approached with the young girl.

“He’ll recover,” Grimond replied, “though we need to get him, and you, to safety. Will you come with us?”

The young girl, who seemed older now that the danger had passed, only a few years younger than Grimond if he had to guess, hesitated.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Vongran, for now.” Jarlen answered.

“Vongran…” she said, seeming to consider the idea before answering, “Yes, I can go to Vongran.”

With the call of returning goblins sounding in the air around them, Grimond took Lorvig on Storm Hoof and Reilgaeth took the young girl and the group rode for Vongran.