Saiko sidestepped his opponent, almost lazily bisecting it with a flick of his wrist. The vine fell lifeless to the floor, the forest rapidly learning to leave him alone in favour of easier prey. Currently, easier prey was the Honourable Sir Olteph of Nydyll. The heavily armoured warrior was finding the forest to be slow going even without the aggressive agricultural assault; the thick plate mail so heavy that his feet sunk a few inches into the dirt rapidly turning into bog, the mud clinging to the nullsteel alloy of his boots, forcing the man to wrench his foot out of the ground with each step. But now, he wasn’t moving at all as vines and roots had managed to ensnare all four limbs whilst a thick root from a stout oak was making a valiant effort to pull his head off whilst it sizzled and cooked where it touched the metal.

Out of the goodness of his heart, Saiko decided to intervene. Hacking through a bramble patch busily growing to block his path he made it to his comrade’s side, noting Olteph’s sword was at the man’s feet, squeezed from the paladin’s fingers; going from the blood dripping from the gauntlet, the roots had actually been successful in crushing his hand.

To the knight’s credit, he was still fighting, his sheer physical strength managing to tear some of the vines apart, though the roots proved of sturdier stock, holding firm against Olteph’s attempts at movement.

Firstly Saiko slipped a dagger from a wrist-sheathe, forcing a small gap using the point as a lever to push the finely sharpened blade under the root wrapped around his colleague’s throat, then he twisted the edge sideways, cutting through it with ease as he fought off another floral attack with the other hand, the slim falchion making short work of the varied tendrils trying to rip him apart as he laid about with it as though it were a forester’s machete rather than an instrument of war, each root, vine and branch falling still at a touch from the enchanted blade.

Olteph choked out his thanks; the thick root had managed to crush the steel plate guarding his throat but not quite enough to crush tender flesh behind it. The dagger was resheathed in a gentle flourish as the falchion was brought down in a two-handed strike, freeing an arm, a series of hacking slices freed another arm, but then disaster as the forest lashed out, binding him in place. Defending the paladin had been enough of a distraction that the dryad legion had got past his guard.

Straining against the vines, Saiko quickly realised he was a dead man, the trees applying enough pressure that it was only a matter of time until his arms were wrenched from their sockets and then from his body entirely. He intensified his struggles, dropping his beloved blade as he grabbed the vines, his movements too restricted to reach the arming swords on his back or any of the smaller weapons upon his person, the human barely managing to avoid screaming as the vines grew thorns in retaliation. They wouldn’t have done much good anyway; only his dagger and the falchion were nullblades.

Just as he was sure he could feel flesh beginning to tear the pressure on one arm stopped, the resulting imbalance wrenching him sideways where he fell in a heap, though rolling smoothly to his feet, the dagger being palmed from a wrist-sheathe and used to saw through the vines on the other arm. His rescuer pressed his main blade back into his hand.

“We even?” Sir Olteph asked in a voice reminiscent of gravel being milled.

“We’re even,” The Swordsman confirmed as the paladin stalked off to aid another of their beleaguered fellows, but it proved unnecessary, for, without warning, the attacks ceased, vines going limp and roots going still.

For a few moments, the only sounds were the irritated shouts of the squad hacking their way free of their entrapment.

As they grouped back together, Saiko took the time to take a headcount. Twelve out of a platoon of fifty. Alas, the rank and file were dead almost to a man, though only he seemed to view this as a great loss.

Sadly Lutan’s personal retinue had mostly survived, a group of self-entitled toffs and sycophants with more titles than brain cells whose only collectively redeeming feature was the ability to wave a sword around in such a way as to prove dangerous; although Olteph, was, in Saiko’s own words, decent enough when spoken to over a flagon of ale, hence why he’d focused on saving him over any of the others so ensnared. The good news about all this was that it made the former mercenary indispensable. Lutan needed at least one man by his side with an idea of how battles actually worked.

It was the two surviving soldiers that were currently causing trouble, at least for the retinue, having, upon the arrival of leafy vengeance, both stabbed the Honourable Lord Cisk, Commander of the Lord Protector’s Guard, in the back of the neck, short swords driving smoothly through the weakness where helmet met breastplate. In Saiko’s opinion, it had been neatly done; the snob probably wouldn’t even have felt it.

Nullstone, that was the problem. The rare mineral was the only substance that naturally neutralised magic, and whilst every knight of the Paladin Order received a set of nullsteel armour, be it chain or plate, the footsoldiers did not. Even paladin coffers did not run that deep.

Needless to say, that faced with magical opposition, the two cut-throats had decided a touch of mutiny was very much in their best interests, stripping the lord of his armour with a speed and efficiency to leave squires in awe, splitting the pieces between them.

“The penalty for treason is death!” proclaimed Sir Bareth as if volume were a sufficient substitute for logic. Though, to be fair to the man, he was correct, a novelty that would probably have stunned a lesser constitution into silence.

“So, more often than not, is the penalty for gross stupidity. We are surrounded by enemies and you want to kill off a sixth of our number for keeping their heads in a crisis,” Saiko snapped sharply, hoping that his rather generous interpretation of events would be an end to it.

“Why are you protecting a pair of common murderers?” Lord Owen, Keeper of the Lord Protector’s Peace. “The law in these matters is quite clear.”

Saiko’s eyes flitted to Lutan; the paladin nodded ever so subtly.

“Well, far be it for me to interfere with the law. Particularly after what we’ve done, because massacres are so lawful, but I digress, what trial shall we give them?” the master swordsman’s voice was sickly sweet, like a rare poison, cloying in the ears and mind. Most men would have taken note of such a tone, but not Andun Owen, the Keeper of the Peace was convinced he had right on his side, or at least the law, the man under the common misapprehension that the two were one and the same.

“Trial? This is war, we are fully within our rights to summarily execute them,” Owen declared imperiously, drawing his sword.

Saiko was faster; by the time the broadsword was halfway from its scabbard, the tip of his falchion was making gentle orbits an inch from the odious paladin’s Adam’s apple. “I do believe the precedent is for officers to receive a trial.” Around him, there was the silky screech of blades being drawn. “After all, justice doesn’t just have to be done, it has to be seen to be done.”

To Owen’s credit, he seemed entirely unphased by the threat, though the broadsword didn’t slide a millimetre further before, after much thought, sliding back into its scabbard, “These men aren’t officers, sir, they aren’t even corporals.” Somehow Saiko suspected the sir wasn’t for him. “Now Sir Bareth please arrest this man.”

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

The knight took two steps towards the mercenary. There was a flourish of the wrist, and suddenly a knife was in Saiko’s hand, eight inches of steel tapering to a point with violent intent written all over it. For example, said point was pressed ever so slightly into Sir Bareth’s throat where he’d failed to stop his charge in time, a single droplet of crimson rolling down the blade’s edge as the knight tried not to breathe. Throughout this, Saiko’s other arm hadn’t wavered in the slightest.

With consummate calm, he looked up at his allies, who were looking menacingly upon him, “Might I point out I only have two arms? If I am attacked again, then either Sir Bareth or Lord Owen is going to have to die for me to defend myself. Now while I don’t personally view this as a loss, I feel you may view this differently. Just a thought.”

“Swords down, Sai, swords down,” a quiet voice ordered softly; that was always the first thing anyone noticed about Lord Protector Lutan. No one noticed him until he spoke, just a face in the background; his armour was grey and dull, the result of a high null alloy. It was battle armour pure and simple, unadorned and unapologetic, pitted, scratched, and in a couple of places partly slagged, it was armour with a single purpose: the hunting and killing of mages. Naturally, Lutan loved it more than he would his firstborn, should a woman ever turn his head.

Grudgingly the sellsword obeyed, the knife disappearing back into the mysterious recesses of his sleeve.

Triumphantly Owen rubbed his hands together, “As I was saying, execute the two privates Sir-”

“And as I was saying, and thank you for allowing me to interrupt you, your lordship, but I am technically a general in the glorious army of the paladin order. This does give me the right to give promotions in the field I do believe, so please tell me on what grounds you are refusing Acting-Captains Ghash and Molchester a trial?”

The Keeper of the Lord Protector’s Peace ground his teeth in frustration, “This is an abuse of power, and you know it!”

“True, but I believe it to be a necessary one, can you say the same of your own?” General Saiko deflected calmly, watching the man almost explode with hypocritical indignation.

“How dare you‽” came the affronted response of applied idiocy.

“I dare because I observe,” Saiko stated in the same calculatingly infuriating tone of calm. “I could tell tales of your actions that would terrify generations to come so please don’t try to get out of this by bluff and bluster. Accept my actions and my lips will remain sealed on yours.”

Lord Owen glared venomously for a few moments before conceding his defeat. “Very well, it is your right to give battlefield promotions, we will have this trial you so dearly desire, here and now.”

Saiko looked to Lutan, seeking help to end this lunacy. He got a wink instead; clearly, he would have to resolve this on his own. “May I point out that there aren’t enough of us to properly conduct a trial, nor witnesses, character witnesses and evidence collected?”

“That won’t prove necessary,” the Keeper of the Peace said smugly, “I am qualified to both review the evidence and pass judgement.”

“Why do you want these men dead so much?” the sellsword asked tiredly, gesturing to the two soldiers who had remained silent throughout this; after all, there was no point arguing; they were guilty. Still, now that Lutan was making sure it didn’t come to blows, they had migrated to guarding what passed for the perimeter. “And if you have the gall to say justice, I will run you through here and now.”

Once again, Saiko got to watch his lordship swallow his anger and pride as he took a deep breath. “They broke the law, isn’t that enough?”

“Not for me, no. Please, Owen, see reason, as much as we will all miss Lord Cisk, now is not the time, nor is it the place.”

For just a moment, it looked as if the paladin would argue but, albeit with poor grace. “Very well, my hanging can wait.”

There was a laugh from Lutan. “Not for too long I hope. Now if you’re done wasting our time I’d like to talk to my advisor.”

Owen grinned, “You heard the Lord Protector, on your way sellsword.”

“It was the sellsword’s advice I was after,” Lutan chastised mildly. “Perhaps you could assist us by lending your strength to the perimeter.”

With the Keeper of the Lord Protector’s Peace safely out of hearing, the two relaxed, Lutan going so far as to take out a small pouch of tobacco, tearing a small lump off and popping it into his mouth to chew. “Want some?” he proffered his companion.

“No thank you Lutan, can’t stand the stuff I’m afraid.”

“You’re far too professional at times, Sai. You should find yourself some source of fun, every man should have a vice I always say.”

“I already have a long list of vices, one more would be hazardous to my health I think.”

“Very well, your opinion?”

“We should turn back now,” Saiko said bluntly. “The trees here are young and weak but were still enough to reduce the soldiers we brought to fertiliser, if we go deeper then nullstone will mean little, particularly if they have forestguard; which they will.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before,” Lutan said expectantly, one hand going to the belt of equipment on his waist to play with a deep green gemstone about the size of a thumb, green sparks seeming to play across the surface in anger.

“Once, a long time ago,” the killer lamented with a sigh, “it’s not something I’m proud of, dryad killing is a dark art for any man.”

“We have need of your dark art, old friend.”

There was another sigh, “Why must we pursue? The forest wants to kill us and even if we survive the dryads, the trail is cold.”

“Ah, but I know exactly where Erebus is heading.”

“Erebus is it?” Saiko chuckled. “I never thought you’d be on first name terms with a necromancer.”

“I was duped by him a long time ago, before I understood how evil they could be. Now please change the subject.”

“Very well, why do you keep Owen around? The man is a liability.”

Lutan laughed humourlessly, “You see this armour? It came from one of the best and largest smithies in all of Contemnere, his family own it, Lord Owen’s rapid rise in the Paladin Order is the reason our weapon shipments always arrive on time.”

“So much for a meritocracy,” Saiko quipped shaking his head in a despairing understanding.

“I will admit the man has little merit in and of himself but have we ever had a late arms shipment? No, our armour and weapons are always on time and always of superior quality. And all because we put up with Andun Owen.” Lutan smiled, “Not a bad trade‑off all things considered.”

“Not all of us have your patience,” Saiko pointed out.

“True, Lord Owen for example. On the subject of Owen’s patience, or lack thereof, your two new protégés, are they any good?”

“Well I certainly can’t fault their initiative and their bladework was pretty handy under pressure, though Ghash needs to guard his right side better. Other than that… not sure, they’ve got the raw talent but they’ve already picked up too many bad habits to be worth the extra time to break them.”

Saiko finished his analysis, looking at his employer to see if he agreed.

Lutan stayed quiet for a long time, deep in thought. “Would they be worth keeping around as bodyguards?”

“You’d have to invest in training them, and find a way to secure their loyalty, but yes, I do believe so.”

Lutan smiled, “I may know just such a way, once we’ve caught the necromancer-”

“Erebus,” Saiko said mock helpfully.

“Yes, Erebus. Once we catch him here’s what I want you to do…”