It was a cold morning. Fog covered almost everything as the clan was preparing the boats. No one really wanted to get across the ocean but they had no choice. Aztaroth held the clan by its throat. And the axe was the only thing that would save them. As they put together the final peaces and took their supplies onto the ships he shaman started to think about Dura. What was she doing right now? Was she still alive? What of the vision? Had he sent her right? Was perhaps this young human he saw their rescue? And above all, why didn't the spirits warn them? What was so special about Aztaroth?
'Zurak! Get on board we're leaving now!' the chieftain yelled and he obeyed. This was going to end badly for them. Zurak actually hoped they would fail. If Aztaroth got hold of the axe of blood he would be unstoppable.
Perhaps the spirits would give them a sign once they reached the shores of Kandiva.
YOU ARE READING
Tales of Nyandor 4: The Blood Hunt
FantasíaThe six territories have all but fallen and Aztaroth aims for the capital, but the witch hunters hinders his progress at every turn making an already difficult task harder. Elena, Eldarin and the rest of the party now travels north to the Kandivan...
