Two fugitives on the run stumble upon a village in need of help warding off the undead. In exchange for their help to exterminate the wights, the town offers them asylum from their pursuers.
Things couldn't get much worse for Daroníus and Valeriána.
After being double-crossed by their "partner" in Durral and blamed for the whole incident, they've been chased east toward the large capital city of Herom. A long stretch of roads makes its way from the Westerlies to Herom, with a few villages and towns spread out along the way.
They've avoided the road and the villages for fear of being caught by the company of guards hot on their tail.
But there supplies were running low and they hadn't slept in nearly three days.
Daring to take a quick nap in the middle of the third night, they woke to the muttering of men and horses. They found open branches in a sturdy oak on which they rested. The forest around them did not stir.
The company of horsemen click-clacked their way along the edge of the forest, peering into the wood and looking for the fugitives.
Daron saw them first. He whispered to his twin sister. "There's at least eight of them, all armed with longswords. Only a couple of them are archers."
In the open plains between the Westerlies and the forest, this company of guards could have easily run down Daron and Val. But in the forest, where their ranger skilled were honed, they were now the ones with the upper hand.
Still, between them both, they only had six arrows in their quivers. That's one for six of them, assuming we don't miss, Val thought. And we'd still need to handle the two that would be left over.
It seems Daron read his sister's mind, pulling out his bow and readying an arrow.