Dren rode hard through the moonlit fields, his horse lathered and breathing heavily. Dried blood streaked his face like war paint, crusting in the corners of his mouth and along his jaw. His cloak was torn and stiff with more of it. He did not slow as the walls of Thornhold rose ahead.
The Redman Game*Chapter 32: Victory's Bitter Taste**
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At the edge of the city, two hooded figures guided their horses along a narrow back road. The Hound and the Whisper kept low, faces hidden beneath deep cowls. Torches flickered on the walls as search parties of knights swept the streets behind them. The pair finally slipped past the outer patrols and reached a waiting wagon parked in the shadows of an old oak grove.
The wagon was driven by the Red Fang — the grizzled father-and-daughter bounty hunter duo. The father gripped the reins tightly.
"You caused quite the scene," he growled. "The whole of Thornhold is looking for us. Did you get the boy?"
"Not yet," the Hound rumbled.
"What do you mean, *not yet*?" the father snapped. "The plan was simple — kill him."
"We'll get him next time," the Whisper said cheerfully, twirling a dagger between her fingers. "We know what weakens him now. he'll die for any of them, that's what makes him interesting."
"I just wanted to be sure killing him was worth the bounty," the Hound muttered. He spat a loose tooth into the dirt — a souvenir from Dot's kick.
"Is it?" the daughter asked.
"Absolutely," the Whisper replied, her painted smile stretching wide.
"I'll kill him first," the Hound said darkly. "I've got a score to settle."
The father cracked the reins. "We'll contact the others. They're probably already on the way to the Drought."
---
**Cut to Dren**
Dren rode at the head of twenty knights, heading toward a Greenwood stronghold sixty kilometers outside Thornhold — a squat, fortified castle perched on a rocky hill. He kept his silence, eyes fixed on the road ahead. The knights behind him exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing.
When night fell, they made camp beside a quiet stream. Some caught fish while others built a fire. Dren lay on a fallen log, staring up at the stars, saying nothing. A few knights watched him warily.
"Tch. Thinks he's better than us," one muttered.
Another chuckled. "You haven't heard the stories? He stood one-on-one against Boldr the Great and lived. Of course he's better than us."
The first knight stood, holding a wineskin. "I'm going to give him a drink."
The others watched as he approached Dren and offered the skin. Dren took it without a word and drained it in one long pull.
"Tch," the knight muttered.
---
**Morning**
The company reached a wide river crossing. The old stone bridge had been deliberately destroyed — Greenwood's last defense for their stronghold. Below lay a cold, deep lake.
"We have two choices," the knight commander announced. "Abandon the horses or swim them across."
The commander — the same man who had given Dren the drink the night before — stepped forward. "We cross with the horses. Form a line."
Ropes were tied from tree to tree and then to each saddle, creating a guided path across the water. The knights urged their mounts forward. The horses snorted and balked, but the line held. One by one they crossed, water foaming around their legs, until every man and horse stood safely on the far bank.
---
**Secluded thicket near the stronghold — Night**
The commander knelt over a rough map drawn in the dirt, pointing out weak points in the castle wall. Dren stood silently beside him, studying the plan with cold eyes.
When the commander finished, he clapped Dren on the shoulder. "We move at midnight."
---
**Midnight — The Stronghold**
Greenwood knights patrolled the battlements, torches flickering. One of them squinted into the darkness.
"Who's that?" he called as a lone rider approached at a steady gallop.
It was Dren.
Before the sentry could raise the alarm, an arrow hissed from the trees and struck him in the throat. He toppled backward.
Dren spurred his horse forward. Behind him, the rest of the knights burst from the treeline with a roar. In one thunderous charge they smashed through the main gates, wood splintering and iron screaming.
The battle was brutal and swift. Dren's sword carved through armor like it was parchment, shattering bones and sending men flying. Arrows rained down from the walls; several Thornhold knights fell. The commander answered with precise shots from his bow, dropping Greenwood archers one by one.
Fourteen minutes later, the stronghold belonged to Thornhold.
---
Dren walked through the smoke and bodies, sword still dripping. The commander approached, wiping blood from his cheek.
"Good work," he said, clapping Dren on the back. "How about I buy you a drink? I'm sure there's ale somewhere in this rat's nest."
Dren's mouth twitched — the closest thing he ever gave to a smile. "I do like a good ale."
---
**Later that night**
Dren stood alone on the highest tower, leaning against the parapet and sipping from a tankard. The conquered castle lay quiet below him under the moonlight.
The commander staggered up the stairs, clearly drunk, and leaned beside him.
"You'd serve well if you became a knight," he slurred.
Dren glanced at him. "No. Knights are too sloppy."
The commander chuckled. "Then what are you doing here? You could have refused Boldr's order. You've fought him and survived."
Dren stared out into the darkness. "I fulfilled the promise I made a long time ago. I think it's time I rested."
The commander laughed and grabbed Dren's arm. "Come on, then! Drink with us in the great hall. Plenty of ale left."
---
**Inside the great hall**
The knights raised their cups high.
"To taking back the stronghold," the commander roared, "and to our new brother-in-arms!"
They drank deeply.
"See?" the commander grinned, clapping Dren on the shoulder again. "You fit right in."
The stained-glass window behind them shattered.
An arrow whistled through the air. Dren shoved the commander aside and snatched the shaft out of the air with his bare hand. The arrowhead punched straight through his palm. Blood welled instantly.
Every knight surged to their feet, grabbing weapons.
The great doors exploded inward.
Skullbreaker stepped through, massive hammer resting on his shoulder, the bodies of two knights already crushed beneath his boots. Behind him walked the green-cloaked assassin, hood lowered.
"Long time no see, Dren," the assassin said with a calm, dangerous smile.
---
**Cut to Garon**
Garon rode hard along the moonlit road, cloak whipping behind him. Thornhold's distant lights grew brighter on the horizon. He spurred his horse faster, eyes fixed ahead.
**Chapter ends**