He had been traveling through the wilds for near a fortnight and everywhere was signs of Red Caps. Homes and villages were razed, livestock herded over cliffs and the half-burnt bodies of travelers hung from trees. Deglan had not dared use the old elf roads, but even in the backcountry the goblin presence harrowed his steps. He should have reached Toad Holm by now, but too often had he been forced to hide from a patrol or go long miles out of his way to skirt a goblin encampment. Deglan now realized the band that had burned Hog’s Wallow was just the tip of the sword. There was no way to know how many goblins Torcan Swinehelm had wearing the Cap. The presence of a Flame Binder would have brought fanatics out of hiding from across the isle, all ready to marshal under such power. The exact count made little difference. When it came to goblins, you were always outnumbered.

But two to one were the best odds Deglan was likely to get. He had heard the attack through the trees and cursed himself for being unaware the enemy was so close. Had it not been for the charcoal burner’s hut, Deglan might have stumbled on the raiding party unawares. Lynched and burnt was a merciful end compared to what Red Caps were known to do to gnomes. He asked the Earth to accept him and hid, waiting for the sounds of slaughter to cease and soon the patrol marched past, blood on their weapons, laughter on their lips. He hated them almost as much as his own helplessness. There was little hope of survivors, but the habits of a healer do not cower and Deglan snuck close to have a look. He found these two murderous lice taking their ease amongst the remains of their victims. He could have snuck off and been back on his path, but this was a rare chance and Deglan meant to take advantage of it.

The Red Caps had not yet burnt the collier’s hut, nor the pair of outbuildings. Likely these two meant to spend the night in the hut before putting it to the torch, but for the present they sat outside, making it difficult for Deglan to make any move. His skin had darkened to the color of rich soil and his body was entwined with a thicket of brambles and saplings. Dead leaves crowded around him as he lay close to the ground, shielding him from Canker’s nervously roaming eyes. It was blood Magic, ancient and pure, but only effective if he remained quite still, so he waited and watched.