Arran ran until his lungs felt like they would explode, sprinting with all the speed he had in him. There would only be a single chance to get this right, and he would not let it go to waste.
Along the way, he encountered a lone raider scout. The man died as soon Arran caught sight of him, body bisected by a Windblade.
He briefly felt another stir of bloodlust as the scout fell, but with a ranged attack, the effect seemed weaker. Either way, he could not give into it — not now, with a far more devastating attack at the tips of his fingers.
When he finally thought he had gone far enough, he paused for some moments to catch his breath. The wind was still strong — that was good. It would play an important role in the battle to come.
If it worked, it would be a massacre that no sword could match. And if they were particularly lucky, it wouldn't just be the closest raiding parties that died. But either way, the attack would buy them days, not hours.
Arran took a look around and soon found a dried spot of brush. He flicked his hand, and a small stream of Fire shot toward it, setting the brush alight instantly.
With the wind feeding the flames, it only took seconds before the fire turned to a blaze, and when it did, it began to spread eagerly, rapidly moving downwind as if filled with a desire for more fuel.
He did not pause to watch. Instead, he searched for another shrub or piece of brush to set ablaze, and quickly found one.
Another flick of his hand, and another fire was started. Then another, and another still. Only traces of Essence were needed to set the dried shrubs and trees aflame, with the hot, dry weather having done most of the work already.
Then, he began to trace his steps back the way he came, this time leaving a long trail of fire in his wake. It wasn't long before thick clouds of smoke wafted upward behind Arran.
He did not hurry as he moved, taking care that the fire took hold everywhere. While the fire would spread as the wind drove it southwest, he did not want to risk even the smallest chance of leaving any gaps for the enemy to flee through.
As he moved forward, he looked in the distance before him, then cursed when he saw that there was still no sign of smoke ahead.
Although he had known that Stoneheart's injuries meant the novice would be slower in starting his task, he now began to feel some concern. Injuries or not, if Stoneheart was too slow, the entire thing might yet go awry.
Still, he continued onward undeterred. Stoneheart's actions were out of his hands, and the better the pace he made, the smaller the distance Stoneheart would have to cover.
By now, the clouds of smoke behind him were thick enough that the raiders would have noticed them even from miles away, and once they realized what was happening, they were bound to increase their pace.
He had already covered half the way back when he saw smoke rising far in the distance. Stoneheart had not failed.
Although Arran was relieved, he did not let himself get distracted. Even with miles of land already turned into a seething inferno behind him, there was still plenty of ground to cover.
The work took time, but finally, he reached the tracks their group had left earlier, and he turned to head for Stoneheart, with the smoke ahead of him guiding the way, and the trail of fire still growing behind him.
As he walked, he kept his eyes open for any sign of the raiders. While they should still be over half an hour away, any groups that were ahead of the rest might have noticed their route of escape closing and rushed forward to escape.
But no raiders came, and with Stoneheart and Arran now moving toward each other, the distance between them shrank rapidly.
Then, at last, he saw Stoneheart approach him. Quickly, they crossed the remaining distance, closing the last part of the wall of fire that now stretched well over a dozen miles across.
"All done," Stoneheart said when they met. "Although I still don't see why we couldn't have started from the center."
There hadn't been enough time for Arran to fully explain the plan before they set off, but now that it was finished, they finally had time to talk.
"If we'd started at the center, they could have gone around the fire," Arran said. "But the way we did it, the fire will already have flanked them by the time they realize their path ahead is cut off."
"Can they outrun it?" Stoneheart asked, his expression pensive.
"No," Arran replied. "With these winds, the fire will go faster than they can run. There's no way for them to escape."
"So they will…?"
"They will burn to death," Arran confirmed. "And if the main force is behind them, or if there are any other raiding parties, there's a good chance we'll get those as well."
"Huh." Stoneheart's forehead was creased in thought, as if he had just made some startling realization.
"What?"
"We killed hundreds of men? Just like that?" Stoneheart looked as if he could scarcely believe it.
"We did," Arran said. "They might still draw breath, but they're dead men walking — or running, I suppose."
When he glanced at the raging fire a few hundred paces downwind from him and Stoneheart, he knew that the raiders would already be running for their lives, but also that they would not escape the inferno.
"A few months ago, I would have called you a dishonorable coward," Stoneheart said.
"And now?" Arran asked.
"Now…" Stoneheart sighed, then let out a weak laugh. "Now, I think this was my best battle so far, and to hell with honor and bravery."
Arran did not disagree. Battle was an ugly thing at the best of times, and destroying an enemy force without ever having to face it was a great outcome by any reasonable standard.
Yet somewhere inside him, there was a part that was not at all reasonable — the bloodlust, which filled him with disappointment at missing an opportunity for battle.
With a start, Arran realized that it was urging him to run toward the fire and brave the flames, to catch and kill the raiders before the fire took them. The urge was a mad one, yet insane though it was, it would not go away. All he could do was suppress it.
Despite the heat of the blazing fire just a few hundred paces away, a chill ran down Arran's spine. If the rage of battle were to take control right now, he knew he would not be able to stop himself from rushing toward the raiders, fire or not.
Any doubts he still had about whether the bloodlust was a curse or a blessing instantly disappeared. It was a curse, and unless he found a way to handle it, his life would be a short one.
"Let's return to the others," he said to Stoneheart.
As they made their way back to the group, they did not hurry. With their nearest pursuers eliminated, there was no need. If any others came, it would take them days to catch up, and even then, the risk of falling into the same trap would prevent them from taking a direct approach.
At least for the time being, their group would be safe.
Even without hurrying, it didn't take Stoneheart and Arran long to find the group's tracks, and after that, they soon caught up — which came as a surprise, since they had instructed Kara and the others to keep marching while they burned the enemy.
Yet as they approached, Arran could see that the group had come to a standstill, with most of the recruits and villagers sitting on the ground. Something had happened, he realized.
He didn't have to wonder about the cause of the standstill for long, because when they came closer, he saw a tall figure standing at the center of the group, surrounded by a handful of recruits.
After a moment, he corrected himself. The figure wasn't just tall. If Stoneheart was a giant, this was a veritable titan, standing at least eight feet tall — and then some.
His surprise only increased when they came closer and he saw that the figure was a woman.