Everybody made the Elder Sign against evil with their right hand. He looked at their own wizard’s impassive, partially masked face. Fight magic with magic was one of the oldest rules of warfare.

It certainly explained why scryers could never find the Prophet’s men. If they had a wizard shielding them, they would not be easy to view. Of course, that begged several other questions. For instance, what was a mage doing in this god forsaken place, and why had he aligned himself with the local riffraff?

Any wizard competent enough to thwart a Magister’s scrying could surely find service with someone willing to pay. Unless, of course, he was one of those so mad or so dark that no one else would have him. That would make him an outstanding specimen of depravity.

“Take him alive if you can,” said Severin, speaking for the first time. His voice was surprisingly deep and musical when he addressed a crowd.

“That might be easier said than done, master,” said the Sergeant.

“It will not be. I shall overpower his defences and leave him paralysed. All you need do is slay or drive off his guardians and claim the body.”

“How will we tell which one he is, master?” The Sergeant asked. It was a not unreasonable question.

“He will be the only Terrarch present barring the Lieutenant and myself. I trust identifying such a one should provide no insuperable difficulties.”

Supercilious twat, Rik thought, but the more subservient types chuckled fawningly. There were always plenty of those in the army, even in the Foragers.

“Alive if you can, dead if you must,” Master Severin said.

The Lieutenant looked on, not a little displeased at having his place at the centre of attention so summarily usurped and decided that the time had come to exert his control of matters once more.

“The bandits are camped out down in the valley. They have occupied a ruined manor house; its walls are thick but holed in several places and hopefully they too should provide no insuperable difficulties.”

Rik was impressed by his confidence. If he ran true to form Sardec would lead from the front. Personally Rik didn’t fancy charging a fortified position in the teeth of mountain marksmen.

“The moon will be out this evening,” said the Lieutenant. “We shall commence the assault once it is full dark. Anything to add, Master Severin?”

The wizard nodded. “Make sure that you are all wearing your Elder Signs. Do not get too close to the mansion house until after the signal to attack is given. Tonight the Crimson Shadows will descend on our enemies.”

Men muttered to themselves. It looked like very powerful sorcery was going to be unleashed. Master Severin raised his hands for quiet.

“Do not worry. There will still be work for you. We want some prisoners taken for interrogation, and it is quite likely the sorcerer and any bodyguards he might have will be protected against my magic.”

“Thank the Light for that,” muttered Weasel. “I mean we would not want our lives to be too easy now, would we?”

At least Sardec had given matters that much thought, to give him credit. Their arrival had obviously been timed with this plan in mind. Perhaps he was more competent than Rik had thought, or perhaps the whole plan had been thought up by someone else.

“Any questions, men?” Sardec asked.

“How many enemy, sir?” asked Sergeant Hef.

"About forty tribesmen. The so-called Prophet’s band.”

“The Prophet, sir? Zarahel?” Hef asked.

“Zarahel, indeed. The preacher of the resurrection of the Old Gods.