Clouds hung overhead as was common in Modena's winters. The sun might appear for an hour out of the day, but even so it was rare that it even had a warming effect. The breath of Ulthraki barbarians left poofs of white cloud out into the air. The sound of firewood and axes hacking filled the cold morning air. The great plains that the camp was set up in was void of real grass. Rather, frozen dirt was marred by patches of thin weeds that struggled to grow in the growing absence of the winter sun.

"This one comes from Scourden, Jarl. I believe he was one of the royal noblemen of house Sudor."

"Very well Miro, set him aside and let us wait. If they come after us, they'll surely bring a high ransom. Did you leave tracks so they could follow?"

"Yes, our horses left hoof prints through the Main Road as you asked, my lord."

"Good, let us hope they find us. And if they bring a large host, we have a large host as well." The Jarl puffed out his chest and jutted his grizzly chin of hair.

"I agree, Jarl."

"I'm no longer in need your presence, be gone." The Jarl nodded him away and he scampered away in a hurry.

The Jarl turned to the group of men who stood around him.

"it's a bit cold, yeah?" The Jarl turned to three men who sat chatting behind him, "Fire. Now. Gather the wood you just collected from this morning. Be quick about it."

A different man spoke now, his furs were a made from a magnificent white cat, faded leopard spots dashed across the furs skin. His hair was long and stringy, but his face was still youthful, and his eyes were deep and calm.

"Jarl Egil, my people are a patient group. But they must know much they will receive as part of the ransom. Tell me, or I may withdraw."

"You are always so kind, Whitewire. I always have admired your patience and tact, but we've always had our differences. Leave those details to me—and I will tell you when the time is right."

Whitewire grimaced but held his mouth shut. Instead a man named Palfrey spoke up, "I haven't a clue if we can even expect a host from Scourden. They sit down in that gulley behind their solid walls under the protection of those hills. I have a hard time seeing the king getting off his rear to chase down a stolen nobleman by some wild Ulthrakis."

"Aye, you didn't hear?" started Whitewire, "The King of Scourden's dead. His successor is guided by a young Necromancer."

"I hate Necromancers. Cocky and full of wit, I'd split one in the head with my axe if they tried to use that slippery tongue on me." It was a man named Gleb who spoke, his voice as deep as his seven-foot frame would suggest.

"They should come. They are not expecting multiple Ulthraki tribes to band together. 'Tis unheard of," said Jarl Egil. His fingers were running through his beard anxiously.

Whitebeard's bright white furs began to collect white flurries from the sky. The men didn't seem to notice as the white flurries settled down into their long unkept hair. Palfrey's jet-black hair contrasted with the fluffy white snow that began to sprinkle his hair.

"Necromancers are powerful now. Be wary, they trick often." Gleb's words fumbled out clumsily from his slow mouth.

Jarl Egil snarled, "No wonder your people respect you Gleb, they cannot ever understand what you're saying."

"Shut up you fat sack of blonde pubes. I would sooner clap your head into bits with my bare fists."

"I think you'd put me to sleep with that slow voice of yours before I could defend myself. You're probably right." Shouts of laughter met Jarl Egil's jape and Gleb looked around for support on his side and found none. He felt sheepish, realizing he was the only one not laughing now.

Palfrey was standing now, but he was looking past the men centered around the fire. His eyes narrowed and his face tightened as he looked. "Who is that? One of our men or no?" Palfrey's loose hair flapped in the gust of flurries.

The group of men slowly rose from their seats to try and identify the figure beyond. He was approaching them slowly by horseback.

"The Necromancer sent just one to take us down, did he?" Jarl Egil's remark was met by a couple nervous laughs. Men didn't dare leave his jest un answered for.

"A Necromancer could do it on his own if he got his sorcery right, I'll bet." It was another man who spoke, his voice thick with an accent from the rolling hills of the farther Ulthraki reaches.

"Never mind him, he's probably a wanderer who's lost his way. We'll help him find it." Jarl Egil ran his finger along the flat of his axe, peering at himself through the reflection of the axe's blade. The men around him slowly returned to their seats. He was no more than a speck in the distance even still. Gleb had not returned to his seat but instead still stood and stared at the horse and its rider.

A rock hit Gleb in the head from behind him and he turned, flustered. "Who threw that?"

"Me, you idiot. Sit, you're making us all anxious." Jarl Egil was at his wits end with the giant.

"Treat me like that again and I'll have all my men resigned. I will not hesitate."

Jarl Egil nodded his head and turned to Whitewire, "I hear that your camp was attacked by Rotten Raiders a little while back. How much did they loot?"

"Ahhh, they took much of our jewelry we had died for. It was a lot, but we got it back, eventually. Tore out the heart of Narion Jarl and fed it to Keopur. Whitewire led his hand fall upon the head of a sleeping hyena that rested at his feet. He didn't budge at the touch.

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Gleb had resumed his watch from a seated position but became anxious now, "I don't see him. He and the horse are gone. Where?"

"Oh, shut up Gleb, they probably noted our camp and decided to take an alternate route. It's one man, will you give it up already?"

Gleb stood now, towering over Jarl Egil.

"I won't hear more insult from you Jarl. I smash your head in."

Jarl Egil stood now, facing Gleb imposingly. He glared at Gleb and spit angrily at Gleb's feet. Palfrey and a few others moved in to separate the two, netiher refusing to back down.

Two Ulthraki men approached the group around the fire now. Jarl Egil noted looks of concern upon their faces.

"What's wrong? Don't tell me it's the fool who's lost his way."

"Yes, it's him, Jarl. Erm, we don't know how to say this, but...his horse has been found nearby our perimeter, but he is nowhere to be seen. What shall we do with his—"

"—don't worry about the horse. He's likely a spy of Scourden. I'm sick of all this concern, I'll find him and kill him myself." Jarl Egil grabbed his axe in one hand, a spear in the other, and departed from the fire. Whitewire exchanged perplexed glances with those around him. The guards tried to follow him but Jarl Egil waved them away.

Jarl Egil made it no farther than one step over the marked perimeter. A small throwing knife pierced its way through Jarl Egil's forehead. His body collapsed on the frozen ground and men from all across the camp fell quiet. Whitewire's hyena perked up from its sleep and glared curiously at the flattened body.

"Assassin." Another knife found its home through Palfrey's mouth and into the back of his throat as he said the word. Blood guzzled busily from his throat and chaos erupted. Whitewire and Gleb ducked down below the cover of the logs. Men from the camp tried to assemble themselves and grab their spears and axes but they had no idea where the knives had come from.

The flurries from above turned to heavy snow. It was difficult to see. Gleb's clunky body rose from his position behind the logs and a blade sliced his throat from thin air. A white cloak whirled through the snow like a white sheet and the broad longsword was wielded by a lightly cloaked swordsman. He chopped through five guards and was yet hardly seen. Whitewire sent his hyena on the man but the hyena shied away at the smell of him. A man who was sat beside Whitewire set his jaw and took up his mighty battle axe, but it was no use. The longsword stabbed straight through him from behind now, entering his back and protruding from his chest.

The attacker was a ghost. The snow continued to disarray the men and the blade swept throughout the camp. A few times he was spotted but screams and shouts were muffled by their quick and decisive death. At was only minutes later that the snow returned to flurries, however, and the white cloak was no longer able keep the assassin concealed. The stone glowed brightly now on his sword's hilt. Men clustered at his sight, working in teams to surround him. It seemed to be useless at first, but eventually fatigue set in. The killer yelled out the name of a man as he swiped his blade but the Ulthrakis did not recognize the name.

Whitewire approached the chaos where tens of men could not seem to tame the swordsman.

"You fool, have you not wielded an axe before? Stop him, he's after the prisoner! He is an assassin." Whitewire had lost his sense of calmness now. His white fur was off and below it he wore royal garments that had surely been stolen. They had purple trim and a gray base. Jewelry hung from his neck and jingled together as he swung his axe in a harsh down blow.

"Take him down! We will flay this man over the fire and serve him to the creatures of the night. This one has gone too far! Ulthraki, let us capture this beast!"

Whitewire lead a charge of men and their numbers were too much for the white warrior. The spell of white concealment wore off on the killer's cloak. His gem glowed a brighter green, but he could not fight off the swarm of them. He took down two that charged from the front, but he was struck by the flat of an axe from behind before Whitewire jammed the butt of his axe into his stomach.

"A Magi Knight...no wonder he took so many of us, he's got his god on his side. A shame it is, indeed, he'll make a fine sale. No doubt the jewel upon the hilt of that sword will make us rich. Take his garments and tie him to the boiler!"

The men gathered around and took turns landing a harsh kick to the stomach or groin. Fintan was doubled over in a heap on the ground. His sword was taken already, and he felt is aura leave him. The stone's warmth and strength left him weak and alone. He was finished. This was how he would have preferred it though. He was warm soon enough. The fires flames licked hungrily up at his hanging body. He would die warm, and his death would make a man rich. It's only justice. Lord Magnar had ordered it himself and here I am to pay the price.

It was then that a thundering host of horses came from behind a rock outcropping. Whitewire and the men who surrounded their new prize stole a surprised look towards the approaching men. Ulthraki began grabbing axes and pikes, but the noise stopped.

"They're behind the rocks," whispered Whitewire. He froze and then ushered his guards forward towards the rocks. Fearful that they could be as skillful and troublesome as the one Magi Knight had been, they reluctantly made their ways towards the rocks that stood taller than Gleb had.

They were ten feet away when Whitewire's hyena was tossed out from behind the outcropping, dead. Whitewire's blood boiled and out he came from the safety of the camp. His men followed him, but once they got within the ten feet most of them shied away.

"Reveal yourselves. You can have your man, but it'll be a costly price. Don't be a coward now, this can be settled without any more deaths."

A voice returned, "Death for the Ulthrakis, none for us." From that, two men in black chainmail and thick robes jumped atop the boulder and unleashed a volley of fire arrows into the chests of the Ulthraki guards who stood closest. Six men went down. The Ulthrakis began scurrying away back towards camp.

One Ulthraki began to untie Fintan as he hung over the fire. An arrow found its home in his back, and then his head. Men were running for their lives. Many of the men began fighting each other as they fought for the horses that remained in the camp. One man was being dragged by a horse as his pant leg had been caught by a stirrup. Whitewire grabbed a spear off his guard and launched it up at the two men on the boulder. The one man caught it, turned it, and sent it spiraling towards Whitewire where it sunk into his chest, sending him paralyzed to the ground. In the end, there were four men in black chasing down over two hundred Ulthrakis.

Many of the Ulthrakis realized their fate and ran. One man yelled, "It is the Magi Council, they've gone mad!" Abimelek snorted to himself. Yeah, I guess you could call this the modern-day Magi Order. This is what we've become—murdering, ransacking assassins. Abimelek withdrew an arrow from his quiver and dipped it in tar that sat in a small pouch at his hip. With a lick of his tongue the arrow tip was wettened and dipped into the tar and bright red and blue flame danced through the air. As the arrows found their homes into the tents, the Ulthraki camp was soon completely engulfed.

Abimelek arrived at Fintan's side and removed the gag from his mouth and worked to untie him as another man put out the fire below him. Fintan's face was discolored and sour.

"You should have let me die. I will not go with you."

"Yes, you will," said Abimelek.

"Give me one reason why I would accept my rescue after breaking all the codes of the Magi. I am not like you."

"Oh, far from it. I'd say you're worse than me now. But aside from that, I'll tell you one thing I know to be true."

"What is that?" Fintan stared at Abimelek. This better be worth living for, or I might just lose it again.

"Your apprentice, Vince, is it? He's alive."

"No, can't be." Fintan's eyes flashed a glimmer of hope.

"He is. He never was here. Come, I'll show you."