Another half-day passed, and it was into the night when Sif sensed people with hostile intent approaching the road to the village.

He had never killed a person before; he did not want to. But when it came to protecting his home, he figured he could grievously injure them without guilt. He still felt that his heart was caught in his throat, as they moved through the trees to intercept the people coming down the road.

In the darkness, he could see many torches.

He took himself from the trees, and went to stand in front of them, holding up his hand.

The man in front was the armored man who had first threatened them. He stopped in his tracks as well, his face solidly blank.

" Witchgod of Hélna, do you mean to stop me? It is too late, for Calsar himself demands it," he said.

" I will allow you to leave with your life if you return to him," Sif said. " I will give you one last chance to resolve this without conflict-"

An arrow soared, errant, and struck him in the side. It hurt; and the armored man looked back at his men, annoyed.

" Who shot without order? We were ordered to hold this witch prisoner!" he barked.

Sif found that information very interesting; he wretched the arrow from his side, annoyed that both Helna's body and his clothes had been damaged, and threw it down.

" Your lot are really unreasonable," he said, trying not to show his pain. This injury was healing slower than it should have. " I suppose we have no choice but to battle with you."

He gestured then for Yrnhold's men to fire upon them.

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