“My name is Garulf, second son to Lord Eadric of Blackhill, a small town in the northwest of Byrne. I’ve been a part of the King’s Rangers since I was but a lad of 17. The past isn’t what matters in this case.”

“Recently I received an urgent message from King Godric saying the Skuldi were raiding nearby lands. Normally it wouldn’t be a concern of the Rangers – hells, they are some of the best damned men I’ve worked with, and some of the best trained men under the King’s own Captain of the Guard. Considering the missive was from Godric himself, I rode, hard and fast as I could to Greyhall to see what my assignment was.”

“The High King of the Skuldi, Thorgnyr, had been raiding near our lands. At least he wasn’t a damned coward like so many of their kings. Obviously this was a prime opportunity to take out the king of our rivals. Thankfully, since the journey had been long, Godric let me stay in Greyhall’s keep for a night. Sure, it wasn’t home, but better than an inn for sure.”

“I set out early the next morning, scouting around their camp and setting up well back from it, perched in a sturdy oak. When they returned that second evening, they indulged far too much, drinking to victories and battles.”

“They never saw a thing. They thought they had won, but they had lost.”