Even in the darkness it was easy to tell that these were Yarmdon men, from the sheer space that they took up. They made the rocky ground that much harder to navigate as Vol and his men climbed up deeper into the ruins.
"There's only three of them!" Came the shout – the Yarmdon tongue, if they needed any further proof.
Three they might have been, but they were three of the most ruthless warriors for hundreds of miles around.
The screams were near endless, and Silverfish's laughter was the only thing that could compete with it.
It wasn't long before they found him in the centre of a mound of bodies. There must have been more than thirty men on the ground already. A torch had been knocked from its nestling place in between two rocks, and the remains of a fire had been scattered around, their embers offering just the dimmest bit of light.
