'Nookhaven Guardsman, Level 3', one read. He glanced at the hounds. 'Packleader Soliman – Level 4'.
The other hounds ranged from between level 2 and level 3, whilst the soldiers ranged between level 3 and 4. He didn't know what to do with that information, apart from comparing it to his own. What had the System called him, when he had first received it? Level 5? What was he now?
He crested the hill, and nearly stumbled. A sea of further information filled his eyes.
'YARMDON RAIDER – LEVEL 10' 'YARMDON RAIDER – LEVEL 11' 'YARMDON RAIDER – LEVEL 9'
For as far as he could see, that red text rang, enough to give him a headache. He wished he could ignore it, and the moment he wished for it, it blinked, and faded away.
These were armed men, at least thirty of them. Thirty of the cruellest sort. They lined the mountain path, their shields extended outwards. He slowed his step, intimidated by the sight. He had to slow rather suddenly, for they were right in front of him – he almost crashed into them.
But when he neared, they opened up, revealing a man that he had already seen once before that evening. A man bigger than he, with black teeth, thick black hair, and a long black beard. This time, he wanted to see the man's level.
"Yusman Blackbeard, Leader of the Crooked-Tooth Raiders – Level 35."
He read it aloud this time.
Chapter 4 – Another Path
"Hurry up then," Blackbeard said, wearing the same grin that he had in Lydia's store. Before Vol had much to say on the matter, the man's massive hand gripped his shoulder, and forced him through the line of hardy-looking men.
Just a glance at them – even ignoring their levels – confirmed that they were something different to the civilized folk that he'd grown up with. He could hardly find a face that wasn't marked by scars and filth. All of their eyes contained a thirst for blood. They looked at him like hyenas, without the slightest shred of friendliness.
There was no civility in these men. There was no off switch. They were completely unlike the guardsmen that hunted him, men that would spend their days watching, threatening violence, but hardly carrying it out. Men that would go home and tend the fire next to a loving wife, and settle.
These men never settled. They simply took. When they saw a weak man making shelter, they came forward with their superior strength and took all that they owned from them.
There were three ranks of them, all of them with shields and axes. They were a gang of murders, that much was clear, but there was a strange cohesion to them that would be difficult to overcome.
Blackbeard pushed him past all three ranks. The men laughed when he nearly fell over in the snow, half-exhausted as he was, with arrows sticking from his shoulder. The shields clacked back into place once he was through them, and the men stood in intimidating fashion, closing off the full length of the mountain pass.
They weren't as well armoured as the guardsmen, but somehow, that didn't seem to matter. Some wore chainmail, some wore mismatched helms, others wore nothing but furs. There was hardly a man amongst them whose clothing wasn't stained in some sort of way. These were men used to hard living.
The first of the mules ascended the hill, and almost reared as its rider panicked at the sight of men. The pack of dogs came skidding to a halt ahead of them, sensing danger and slipping from their run into a half crouch, as they raised their hackles and growled at the enemy.
The rest of the mule riders came shortly after, just as the lead man was beginning to curse.
"Blackbeard! What the hell is all this?" It was Usar again. That man had been hot on Vol's trail like a bloodhound, a step ahead of his comrades at every stage. Of course, he would have secured a mule for himself and led the charge. The man seemed to take personal responsibility for bringing Vol in.
"What the hell's what?" Blackbeard asked, innocently, but his wolfish grin did not match that innocent act. He was making it clear with more than just words that the situation was exactly what it looked like.
"You're defending a murderer?" He asked in disgust. "Earl Nookhaven's permission doesn't extend to shit like this. You hand him over."
"Hand him over?" Blackbeard asked, watching as the soldiers began to gather behind the pack of mule riders. It was the veritable building of an army. "Or what?"
Usar shook his head incredulously. "You're really going to risk it all, over this? Even your damn raiders need somewhere to sell your wares. Just because the Earl's given you his seal doesn't mean you can do whatever you damn well please."
Vol shifted his position so that he could see better. Usar locked eyes with him. He'd known he was behind the shield wall, but he hadn't quite been able to pick him out until he presented himself. "That bastard is wanted for murder. More than just one, as the crow has it. Earl Karf sent a missive that four of his lawmen were discovered murdered. My hunch is he's the one that done it."
"But you ain't got proof, do you?" Blackbeard said lazily. "Without proof, there's nothing much I can do for you. I'm a man of the law, you see. Innocent 'til you got the evidence to hang them as guilty. That's me, that's what I'm all about."
"We walked in on him whilst he still had the bloody axe in his hand!" Usar raged. "What more proof do you want than that? The fact that you burned down Lydia's shop to get rid of evidence, blatantly, whilst we were there."
That part seemed to surprise Blackbeard, for he glanced at Vol, and his smile broke out even further. "Did he now? I was already sold on taking him in, no need to go for the hard sell, Usar."