As the burning arrow hit the red barrel a wall of flames bursted from it. The hot red tongues shot into the air, burning the green grass to ashes. Heat made the air flicker.

The screaming of people in pain filled his ears as Morvran took another arrow, covered in oil, and held the top into a fire so it would start to burn. Again, he prepared to shot. His eyes were fixed on another red barrel. It was far from him but there was no doubt in his eyes. Only the knowledge that his skills would not betray him.

The arrow cut through the air like a knife cuts through soft flesh. The tip buried inside the wood of the barrel, burning for a moment. Then, the barrel exploded and covered the sky with red and yellow flames. Their hot tongues licked over the tents, swallowing people whole.

Screams of pain and fear filled his ears. It didn't last long until half of the camp was on fire and almost everyone that was still alive was seeking safe distance.

With one perfect shot, the general managed to shot one of the thieves in the back. The arrow pierced the mans flesh, exiting his body at the front. With blood dripping out of his mouth, he fell to the ground and remained unmoved.

His hand was already reaching for the next arrow, as something missed Morvran's face only inches and got stuck in the trunk of a tree behind him. Struck by surprise, he let himself fall to the ground and hid behind a bush. Carefully, he raised his head and let his eyes wander through the distance.

A man was standing at the entrance of the ruins. His hands held a bow as if they never had done something else in life. He was cursing, probably angered because he had missed. He wasn't by himself, Morvran could see shadows moving in the hidden shadows.

So, the archer must have been someone important but not the leader. Maybe he was a general or a right hand man of some kind. Either way, he had to be removed as quickly as possible. If he was good with his weapon, he would be a serious threat.

Reacting quickly, the generals eyes got caught on another red barrel, that wasn't laying far away from the entrance if the ruins.

"Perfect...", he mumbled with a smirk and lit another arrow in the campfire.

Grabbing the remaining arrows be had, he threw them to the other side of his hideout to be able to use them later.

Now, he must be quick. The archer was already holding his bow with another arrow in it. If he was quicker than Morvran himself, he might would be able to kill him before the barrel exploded.

Taking a deep breath in, Morvran closed his eyes and collected all of his focus. Then, he jumped from his hideout and met the arrow leave the bow. Quickly, he rolled through the grass and crawled to the other side, seeking cover behind a huge tree.

Three arrows missed him. The forth one didn't.

A piercing pain chased through his body, as the metal piece of the arrow entered his arm on one side and came out on the other. Screaming, Morvran held the injured arm, while crawling the last few meters until safety.

Pressing his eyes shut, he could hear how the barrel exploded. His arrow had hit its target perfectly.

Voices screamed, somebody cursed. Then, all that remained was the sound of burning flames that chewed on wood.

With a deep breath, the general managed to open his eyes again. They were filled with tears of pain. With a testing gaze he checked if the arm was alright. The arrow had pierced his arm as if it had been butter. Blood was flowing out of both holes, covering the white shirt of his with a thin, red layer. Grunting, he broke the wooden part into two pieces and pulled them out of his flesh in one swift movement.

The pain made his shoulder twitch and he had to suppress a scream. Even more blood came flowing out. Pressing one hand onto the hole at the backside of his arm, he began to wrap a piece of cloth around it. It wasn't well wrapped but for the moment it would do.

His heart was beating like wild inside his chest as he threw a gaze over his shoulder and checked if the fight was over.

It wasn't.

Two more men had emerged from the shadows of the ruins. Hate was twisting their faces as they picked up the burned corpse of the archer and dragged it to the side in order to get some space. One of the men, a huge mountain, grabbed into his shirt and pulled out a small knife. He threw it, missing Morvran's head only by a hairs width.

Cursing, he pulled back and wanted to reach for another arrow. Again, he tried to focus, but the injury on his arm made it almost impossible to pull the string back far enough so the arrow would fly through the air. The feeling of blood dripping down his skin irritated his mind. His heart beat like wild in his chest.

Despite the little chance of hitting the target, he jumped out of hideout again and let the arrow chase through the air. It didn't kill the man with knife. But it pierced his leg, causing him to fall to the ground, screaming in pain.

Now, that two of three enemies were down, Morvran drew his sword, got back on his feet and dared to come closer to the remaining man.

A hateful expression lay on the thieves face, as he looked between Morvran and his own man. Without saying a single word, he let his blade sink into the mans throat, killing him immediately. The killed one didn't even had a chance to realise what was going on.

Surprised, Morvran shied away.

"Scared aren't ya?", the man asked with a grin on his face.

A little disturbed, Morvran frowned.

"Why?", he asked.

"Because an injured horse won't be able to carry you all the way. It is nothing but weight on your ankle. I can kill you by myself and find new idiots that will help me. Now, let's dance."