Sterling sat by the campfire, drinking ale, his warriors surrounding him. He hadn’t known what Willow had been talking about when she had warned him of the Slayer. He had never heard of him and he didn’t worry over one man. He could handle him. Then he had noticed the men whispering and not staying close to him, almost as if he had been struck with a plague or curse and feared it would affect them.

He had finally demanded to know from his warriors what was going on. He was shocked to discover that the Slayer was an assassin who had been around for, who some believed, a hundred or more years. That he helps the unfortunate, the innocent who have no recourse when they suffer unspeakable crimes. Some believe the Slayer is the devil’s cohort searching for souls to fill his coffer while others believe him a warrior of God, demanding justice for the innocent.

Then there were the words one heard before the Slayer killed him.

Your time has come.

Sterling had laughed when his warrior had told him that. He wanted to know if the person died how was it known what the Slayer said. The warrior had shivered when he answered.

A whisper echoes over the land when someone dies at the hands of the Slayer.

“Tales of the Slayer date back a hundred or more years, or so it’s been said. I never thought much of it until I discovered the man my daughter loved, Lander, who was a good da to my grandson, was… the Slayer.

“But he’s dead,” Willow said confused.

“And therein lies the tale.”

Sterling didn’t believe such a foolish tale, but the more his own warriors avoided him, the more troubled he became. If his warriors believed that strongly in the tale, they wouldn’t dare protect him against this hungry demon or avenging angel, whichever the Slayer might be.

If he could get home, the walls of his father’s fortress would protect him as would his father.

The night grew late and many of his warriors fell asleep as did he, though he woke, needing to relieve himself badly. He called on two warriors to follow him and not take their eyes off him.

He stood with his back to the two warriors, thinking how he couldn’t wait to get home. He didn’t know what he would tell his father, but he’d make up some story that served himself well. And maybe even hire this Slayer to take care of Slatter for him.

“Your time has come.”

“The Slayer was born out of necessity and lives on for the same reason,” Seanmhair explained. “He helps the helpless, those who can find no justice, those wrongly accused. Lander saw the skills Slatter had for a young lad. How fast he could run. How soundless his steps. And how the forest took to him almost as if he was one of their own. So, he trained him.”