Clapping echoed through the forest.

'The Blood-Mage is nearby.'

'I noticed.'

Beorn immediately drew his dagger and held it at Roderik's throat.

Roderik slowly looked down at the dagger and back, realization dawned on his face, "It wasn't me. I swear. Look it doesn't even make sense, you know he'll kill me too."

Silas looked like he was out to stroll in the forest appearing carefree. His skin was pale and his face now had a gaping hole where his right eye used to be. He hadn't bothered to wear an eyepatch, exposing the empty socket to the world. Coupled with that constant sickening smile it gave his features a well-deserved villainous cast.

"Oh, how touching the bandit wants to reform. Enemies turning into allies, guess it's the perfect timing for the villain to make his entrance.," He looked around before continuing, "Oh wait that's me."

Leif pointed at the Mage and let loose the hounds, "S-S-Sic 'im boys."

The hounds done with their meal were up for some exercise. They flew at Silas like arrows released from a bow. It looked like they would be able to reach the Mage before two gray blurs intercepted them in mid-air. The four animals tumbled to the side snarling and clawing at each other.

The hounds seemed to have come off poorly in the exchange. They separated and started circling, with the two hounds on the back foot. Their opponents were revealed to be direwolves. With coats as black as ink, a size that stood a bit shorter than Roderik's horse, and fangs as big as a human palm the hounds were outmatched. It was unknown whether it was pride or loyalty kept them from running.

Silas seemed content to just watch the fight. Taking advantage, Beorn moved the danger away from Roderik's throat and handed him his hatchet, "Try and keep those wolves busy. They don't go down unless you pierce the brain."

Roderik accepted the hatchet from Beorn. Testing its weight, he asked, "What are you gonna do?"

"I'm gonna try and kill that slimy bastard once and for all."

Beorn, attached the brooch to his chest before he threw aside his cloak and pack. He switched his dagger to his left arm and drew his sword. Silas finally turned his attention to the two of them. His infuriating smile turned even more mocking. He stood there without movement.

"NOW!"

Roderik sped towards the hounds.

Beorn leaped at Silas, danger pointed outwards and sword pulled back overhead to unleash a downward slash.

"YOU KILLED MY BROTHER, YOU BASTARD!!!" He shouted, his face twisted in an expression of utmost rage. It wasn't very hard to act since he genuinely hated Silas' guts. He twisted his torso and swung the sword with all his strength behind it.

Silas finally reacted. He brought up his twin daggers to block the blow.

'Why are you screaming? Your brother is still alive'

'But he doesn't know that.'

'Ahh very clever. Continue.'

Beorn swung in a wild manner but was calm enough to keep his head about him. He kept to Silas' blindside but it seemed he had already adapted to fighting with the disability. Beorn pressed on, If Silas showed any weakness he'd pounce onto it.

He felt the shock run up his right arm as he continued to trade blows. Silas looked effortless as usual, but Beorn had noticed that he could see the Blood-Mage move this time around. He kept on with his barrage of blows before Silas locked their blades and pulled in closer to Beorn, licking his lips, "I must thank you for the souvenirs you left me. They were delicious."

Beorn drew away, "Souvenirs?"

Silas merely giggled in response. Beorn was puzzled before his eyes widened in shock and anger, "The Fangs! You animal!," he spat. He saw red as he pounced onto Silas, only this time he was genuinely enraged. He came close to hitting him several times but distracted by his anger, he was drawn in by a feint and kicked in the chest. He flew a good two metres before falling to the ground. It took all he had to stay conscious and keep his grip on his weapons.

'Concentrate, he's only riling you up. He's still injured.'

He risked a look at Roderik's situation. One of the hounds lay unmoving on the ground. While a direwolf had had its limb chopped off by Roderik. Leif and the surviving hound were dealing with the other.

Getting up he rubbed his chest and saw Silas rushing towards him. Taking a brief moment to center himself and calm his breathing, he sheathed his dagger and threw a knife from his belt. He followed up with the rest in quick succession. They were accurate but Silas deflected most of them. Except two that managed to draw blood from his hands and face.

He's slowing down.

Silas looked unperturbed but Beorn knew better. Deciding to change tact, he gripped the sword with both hands and fell into his Family's style. He thrust the sword, before linking it into an upward flick. Silas deflected the thrust but was caught unprepared for the second move. The sword lacerated his face cutting a scar across his empty socket, Silas cried out in pain. Beorn grinned at the sight of Silas' blood dripping from the wound.

"Where's that smile of yours now?"

Silas hissed as he came in fast, his daggers striking with rapid efficiency. Beorn barely managed to keep up, using the hilt and crossguard as often as the blade to block. His shirt of maille helped guard him as well. He relied on its and the leather jerkin's enchanted toughness. Letting blows through to get a chance to return with some of his own.

He wasn't always successful though as he felt cuts that went through the sleeves of his doublet. A few slashes came close to injuring him. The closest one was a cut above his brow. The droplet of blood welling from his wound distracted him. Worried about being blinded by the blood and tired of fighting at such close range, he deflected a dagger slash with his vambrace and shoved him away.

Now he had enough room to swing his sword and take advantage of its reach. He wiped the blood with the back of his hand before swinging in wide slashes.

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As he fell into the groove of fighting, he started using punches and kicks to distract or deflect. He felt himself getting smoother, moving faster despite the increased fatigue. His blows became more concise, efficient and he started giving more injuries than being received.

Wounds and exhaustion accumulated on both their bodies.

They drew apart as though connected by the same thought, panting from the exertions of the pitched battle. Beorn felt his lungs burn from breathing in the frozen air. Both struggled to catch their breath before resuming the duel. Silas held onto his knees, half-crouched. Before suddenly standing up and grinning. He looked directly at Beorn and licked the blood off the blade of his dagger.

'SHIT! I forgot he could do that.'

A crimson light shone. Beorn panicked in his mind, as he felt his body freeze.

'Wilhelmina? Can you help?'

She sounded strained, 'I'm trying the Dragonstone is too far'.

Silas grinned and walked towards him, "Finally, the Draigkyn bloodline ends in my hands. I will be rewarded richly for this. You have my thanks."

'Wilhelmina?! Any time now.'

No response.

He slowly thrust the dagger into Beorn's stomach piercing his armor. The pain was blinding, like a hot poker shoved through his stomach. Beorn wanted to scream but his mouth was still. Silas twisted it, "I'm going to take my time with you."

'MINA!!!'

'DON'T CALL ME THAT!!!', Wilhelmina shouted back but Beorn didn't even care.

A pulse of light bloomed from the Dragon-brooch. Silas stared as if noticing it for the first time.

"What..."

Beorn swung his sword, nearly bisecting the Blood-Mage. The movement tore the wound in his gut further but Beorn fought through the pain and followed through on the blow. Silas leapt back leaving his dagger buried in Beorn. Only his Beth-ranked reflexes saved Silas from dying instantly.

His innards were visible through the gaping hole in his stomach, Silas clutched at them, "How?"

Not bothering to answer, Beorn swung the blood clean from the blade before stalking towards him. Fat droplets of sweat beaded his forehead. The veins of his forehead bulged as he fought to stay conscious. The pain from the dagger increased with every move but Beorn held it there. He took deliberately slow steps while swinging his sword.

"Also my brother is still alive. You failed, just as you failed now."

Silas turned even paler. For the first time since Beorn had faced him, the Blood-Mage looked at a loss.

The sounds of battle across the clearing had also stopped. Beorn glanced over to see Roderik, Leif, and the remaining hound covered in countless injuries.

"It's over Silas."

Beorn moved in for the kill. A quick thrust to the heart. As he got close enough to see himself reflected in Silas' eye, the Blood-Mage's creepy smile returned, but this time with a touch of madness, he muttered "The ancient blood..."before leaping at Beorn. with his arms outstretched. A crimson light shone with blinding intensity.

Two warnings cried out at the same time.

'Look out'

"Look out," Beorn saw a hatchet come flying and knock Silas off-balance just as he was about to reach him, Silas tripped on a protruding tree root before falling to the ground.

'Get away'

Beorn dove to the side and covered his head. The dagger pierced deeper into his body. He heard the sound of a thunderclap just behind him before he blacked out from the pain. He was awoken almost immediately by a searing sensation all over his back. His ears were ringing. Unable to focus on anything but his breathing he lay still. The ringing lessened, he could hear the sickening sound of flesh and blood hitting the ground and covering him with gore. He felt the hot blood seep through the gap in his armor and soak him.

Groaning, Beorn rolled onto his back which immediately made everything worse. Fighting to stay conscious he gripped Silas' dagger, grit his teeth, and pulled it out.

The pain was like the shock of cold water to Beorn, it immediately brought everything into focus. Beorn wished it hadn't, he could feel the burns on his feet, his arms, and the back of his neck. Thankfully, the armor had protected him from the worst of it.

'Wilhelmina help...'

He felt the warmth from the brooch concentrate near his waist. Wilhelmina was apologetic,' I'm so sorry Beorn, I can only staunch the blood from your stomach, you'll have to get closer to the Stone.'

'That's enough.'

He managed to reach across the back of his waist and pull out a health potion. He downed it in a single breath. The pain immediately lessened allowing Beorn to at least sit up.

He saw what was left of Silas. Two armbands, a twin of the dagger beside Beorn, fragments of silver, and a pair of smoking boots. The rest of him was in chunks dying the snow in a crimson flower. It was a morbid sight.

'Thanks, Wilhelmina.'

'You are welcome.',

Beorn rubbed some snow onto the burnt areas and sighed in relief as the burning subsided. He heard footsteps approaching.

Roderik walked up to what was left of Silas and spat on it, "Blew himself up, the crazy bastard. Good riddance."

Beorn struggled to his feet. He glanced at Leif and his hound, relieved to see them unmoving from the corpse of direwolf. He spotted his sword a few feet away. He looked at Roderik's back and grasped his dagger.

Roderik turned at noticed Beorn's stance, he raised his hands, "You gotta give me some credit. I nailed him with your hatchet."

Beorn nodded slowly, "I'll give you that. Doesn't change the fact you broke into my house and chased me halfway to Ingoldtshold."

"Look you can still take my horse and all the supplies. All the Fangs are dead and I'm heading south anyways. I won't ever appear before you again."

Beorn thought over it. He walked past Roderik to the mess and picked up the armbands.

'The armbands have concentrated essence in them. They should prove useful in the future.'

He wiped the blood on the ground before putting it in his pocket. Looking at Silas' dagger in distaste he left it there.

"Keep the daggers."

Roderik refused, "You're the one that fought him, I just threw the hatchet."

"Take it or leave it. I don't care."

Not bothering anymore, he picked up his sword on the way to where he'd left the cloak and pack. Sheathing it, he wore his cloak and put the armbands into the pack before shouldering it. Beorn proceeded to Roderik's horse

He patted down the horse down checking its teeth and its shoes. He also examined the saddle and the stirrups, the leather was old but well maintained. He brushed the fur a bit, it seemed docile enough. Looked to be a good steed. Beorn hung his pack from the saddle and swung himself onto it, grunting in pain. The stallion trotted towards Roderik and Leif who was trying to bury his dead hound in the snow. The surviving hound growled warning them to Beorn's approach.

"What's his name?"

"Tyvjyo."

Beorn patted the side of the horse's neck, "Good name."

Giving a curt nod to Roderik he turned Tyvjyo around.

The sun was just rising, kissing the snow and the forest with its golden rays. As shafts of light pierced the gloom through the trunks of the pines, Roderik watched as Beorn rode into the dawn.

***

Leif was finally finished burying the hound. He was still moping along with his other hound. "H-H-He was a very brave hound, Duke was."

He blew his nose into his ragged coat.

Roderik patted him on the back to comfort him, "Yes he was really brave. Saved us from those huge direwolves."

He continued with a slight bit of trepidation, "I'm planning to head down south, Leif. It's time I took back what's mine. Do you want to come?"

Leif patted his hound, "I-I-I'll follow you wherever you go, boss, Hunter too." The hound started slobbering all over his foot.

Roderick managed to extract himself gently, "Great. Now we just need to gather enough money for the trip. I wish I'd taken some of the gold from that chamber."

Leif fidgeted slightly, "A-A-About that boss,"

He reached into his coat and took out a pouch filled to bursting with gold coins and gems and showed it to him.

Roderik's jaw dropped, "What else are you hiding in that coat?"

"W-W-Well if you insist boss, I'll show you"

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and a feeling of doom descended on him. Something told Roderik he did not want to know what else existed inside that patched, sorry excuse of a cloak, "NO! That's alright, Leif. Maybe later."

"If you say so boss"

***

A few hours later

The creeping mist had returned, flooding the valley. Silver fragments glinted from a pool of crimson. A distance away lay the corpses of the two direwolves, their twisted forms a result of the rituals performed by Silas.

Black smoke seeped from the corpses and the silver fragments of the medallion and coalesced into a shadowy hand. A sigh of disappointment echoed across the abandoned forest.

The hand drew from the gore that stained the snow-encrusted ground. A tiny, insubstantial crimson flame appeared. Flickering like it was about to die out. The hand trapped the struggling flame in its palm and enclosed it. Morphing into a ball it disappeared into the forest.