And now the predator hunted across the top of the Tor, his head uplifted, his body still, sniffing the fierce wind. Faabar wore loose fitting woolen breeches and soft leather boots, but he was bare from the waist up save the leather harness that held the greatsword strapped firmly to his back. Fafnir’s work was impressive, it could not be denied. From pommel to tip the weapon was as tall as Padric, the blade almost as wide as both his hands and solid steel. Padric’s steel knife was a weapon of utilitarian beauty, but next to the colossal sword, it looked fit for nothing but spreading butter. In addition to his new sword, Faabar also carried a long hafted maul of heavy wood with a head banded in bronze.

“A keen edge and sharp point are little use against a foe without flesh,” the fomori had said when Deglan kept complaining about the excessive arms. The herbalist was worried about the extra weight and the strain on Faabar’s injured leg. Had the gnome his way, Faabar would have stayed in bed entirely, but the fomori had been firm in his determination. Deglan only relented on the condition that he go along as well to tend the wound. They were freed from his fretting when they reached the Tor and the gnome refused to go up. He was waiting now at the bottom astride his huge toad. As they started up the steep trail, Padric thought he heard the cantankerous little man muttering something about the last time he had ridden to the top and a vow never to do so again.

The climb had taken the better part of the morning and the going was difficult. Faabar carried the maul in his right hand, using the haft as a makeshift crutch as they hauled themselves over boulders and root-choked inclines. Padric wondered if that was the true reason he refused to leave the weapon behind. Rosheen had an easier time of it, her wings carrying her almost effortlessly up to the summit where the ruins lay waiting.

And the wind.

Rosheen was grounded by the force of the gusts as soon as they reached the top and now huddled at the base of a gnarled tree growing within the broken leavings of what was once a standing tower. She sat well away, not looking in his direction, still wroth with him for coming along. That was fine by Padric. He was cross with her for trying to leave him out of the hunt.