“Ogres, why are there ogres?!” Prince Barbro shouted to his staff.

The half a dozen noble sons had no clear answer, they stared around at one another and at their Prince as dumbfounded as he was angry. Outside, soldiers were eating their rations and setting up the tents nobody thought would be needed for a fight nobody thought they would really face.

The few casters that came along had run out of mana already, the priest or two intended to tend to the spiritual needs of the army had run dry also. So… some bled to death. Some infections festered, and some wailed in pain while they were bandaged, and had to be given copious amounts of alcohol to ease the pain.

“With respect, my Prince, what matters is that they are here.” A mustached nobleman said, gesturing toward the exit of the tent that faced the walled village.

Barbro ground his teeth, but the man wasn’t wrong. He shot his gaze down toward the one who dared to speak. Better armor than most, it was an obvious clue that he came from a prosperous family. Prince Barbro’s estimation of him went up another notch.

“You’re right.” The Prince looked away from the sandy haired noble, though the flap to their command tent was closed, he could practically feel the silent walls sneering at him. “It’s strange isn’t it, how silent they are?”

There was a general rumble of agreement, and the Prince turned away from the flap and back down to the table they surrounded. “At least we know the layout now, our best bet seems to be to surround them.” Prince Barbro pointed to the wall they had unsuccessfully stormed. “They can’t concentrate their archers everywhere, and their ogres are useless on the walls. This is still just a village, once our soldiers are on the wall, we’ll hit the ogres with spears, surround them, and bring them down one by one. Their walls will be our safety.”

A series of approving nods followed, “At least they don’t have more than one magic caster.” Prince Barbro added, “Those are more trouble than I thought…” He stroked his beard, “have some of our soldiers make ladders all night, we’ll delay the fight until tomorrow afternoon, and if they try that trick with the ogres again, we’ll use cavalry with long spears.”

It was a sound enough, and simple enough plan that the command staff could think of little to improve it.

“Fucking trash…” Barbro muttered when he stormed out of the tent, his feet squelching in the mud all the way back to his own space. The red and gold clad prostitute was already cowering in the corner. “Get over here, Lakyus.” He spat into the muck, and waited for her to obey.

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Enri sat around the table with the former Swords of Darkness, her husband, Brita, and Jugem. “That went well,” their would-be Queen said with a tight smile.

“It did, but tomorrow will be harder. They know they have to try now. They’ll surround us. They have numbers on their side.” Peter shuddered. “I hate being outnumbered.”

“Who likes it? Lukrut asked with a full shoulder shrug. “The fact is we hurt them, bad. There has to be two hundred dead out there, and they’ve been staring at a village that casually exterminates offensive people and sends demon screams overhead. That’ll rattle any ordinary heart.” He said and put his feet up onto the table before leaning back in his chair.

Ninya frowned, “I guess, but I was just remembering something Lupu taught me. She said confusion stops every intention. We’re not surrounded yet, we can get some lamias out our back gate in the dark, they can slither on the ground like snakes, and really fast. We don’t need a lot, we just need to make one side break and run, then we can hold the other two. If the left runs, the front will see it and they’ll break. Then we can outnumber the remaining side.”

“All that’s fine.” Jugem remarked and reached for his mug, “But how much longer do you think this will go on? Eventually they will get in, then what?”

Nobody wanted to think about that. Enri reached for the little horn that hung from around her neck. Her slender, rough peasant hands closed around the smooth surface. “I can use this again, a dozen more swords couldn’t hurt to have, but…”

Nfirea placed a hand on Enri’s shoulder. “We should save it, if we have to evacuate the children, some fresh swords might stand a better chance at getting them to the forest.”

Enri didn’t answer, but Brita quickly filled the silence, “Look, we need to attack, right now we’re just taking what they have to throw at us, I say we attack, hit them hard, if we put their supplies to the torch tonight, then they have no choice but to leave when they fail tomorrow.”

“Right, remember that time we got trapped in those ruins? How much longer would we have lasted if we hadn’t found a hidden passage?” Peter gave a deep, grim laugh that didn’t really suit the usually cheerful faced young man.

“Not long. Not long at all.” Lukrut replied, “It’s a good idea, we have the equipment for it, and it looks like rain tonight, so let’s give it a few hours and we’ll take some volunteers.”

The thunder that rolled overhead outside seemed to endorse the plan, and planning turned to idle chatter, until even that died away and the sound of pouring rain began in earnest.

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Prince Zanac grunted when he got down off of his horse and went to his tent. He was walking bow legged, and his entire body was sore, but still, he did what he could to keep some dignity about himself. He didn’t reach around his rotund body to arch his back until ‘after’ he was alone.

However, as soon as he had his privacy, he let out a long, drawn out groan and shook his head with the vigor of a wet dog. “How does water get ‘under’ a helmet?” Prince Zanac asked himself and ran his fingers through his hair. His soaked gloves did little good, and he slowly peeled himself out of his armor. Servants would normally have been expected, he knew his brother had them. But the very thought made the Prince uncomfortable. ‘He’s always looked better than I have. He got father’s body, I got father’s brain. If only he had one ounce of loyalty in that muscle bound body of his, we might have been able to reach some kind of an accord.’ Prince Zanac cursed his brother and kicked his boots away.

“Four villages… what a waste.” The Prince cursed, a part of him felt the swelling empathy and urge to vomit over the gruesome sights his brother left behind, but at the core of it all was his contempt for his stupid older brother’s infantile destructive nature.

‘Just like when we were boys and he broke my toy sword after his broke. He hasn’t grown even a little in all that time. What he did to Climb, I know my sister never forgave him. How petty… it’s chilling to know how far she’ll go for revenge though. My brother will never take the throne after this. But… maybe Climb should know what he’s getting into.’

That at least was a comforting thought, and it eased his mind when the fat Prince lay back on his cot and fell promptly into an exhausted sleep to the constant pitter patter sound of rapidly falling rain.

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Brita and Lukrut ran over the field as fast as they could. In the new armor they’d been given, it was a shockingly easy thing to do, so much lighter and stronger than what they wore before. At their backs were half a dozen goblins and six peasants, all of them were armed with bows, swords, and carried bottles of burnable alcohol as well as flint.

The peasants knew the way best, and were able to guide them the long way to the forest by following the river. The rushing water provided ample cover as nobody would go too close to it in the driving rain, fearful of slipping in and drowning.

However, under the watchful eyes of those born to the village, navigating the way safely and avoiding the risk of slipping into the raging waters was child’s play.

Brita felt her breathing become shallow as the moment drew closer. Step followed squelching step, the blades of grass were crushed underfoot, and the circuitous route, though it took ample time, provided them with relative safety.

The cover of rain and darkness and their total lack of torchlight provided greater security, but their finest cover was the doubts of their enemies. Thinking the raid unthinkable had made the impossible raid possible.

Confidence that at least in camp they were secure, the guards were few. Lukrut crouched down, his sharp eyes piercing the veil of water falling constantly from the sky, his hand went smoothly to the arrow and drew it back on the wet slick string.

He took slow, deep breaths, narrow eyes focused, acutely aware of the ones at his back, then there was nothing. Nothing but him, his arrow, and his targets.

They were young men, shivering beneath thick green wool cloaks and resting lazily on spears, they stood close to share warmth that the rain would have sapped away.

He waited still, then a great roll of thunder hit the world below from the sky above. In an instant, Lukrut’s fingers opened and the first arrow left the bow. Another came immediately after. The two arrows hit their targets in their throats before either realized the other had been hit as well. Wide, disbelieving eyes looked into the impenetrable raining dark for a killer they would never spot, and they splashed down into the grass before the noise of thunder faded.

Lukrut made a fist, and the fourteen rushed into the gap. Brita took the lead as soon as they stepped over the bodies of the fallen. Lukrut fell back, late as it was, few would be out and about, and those were barely aware of anything, making it easy to avoid danger.

Once again, Lukrut looked at the former iron ranked adventurer with a mix of curiosity and respect, ‘How she knows her way around a camp like this… I’ll have to ask her someday.’

Brita pointed to an area where a little glow of flame could still be seen winking in the darkness.

They ran the long way, stopping behind every tent, avoiding the few guards who mostly grumbled to one another or ignored everything in favor of keeping their heads down and their hoods pulled tight in the futile battle against the downpour.

Then they were there. A series of tents erected in a row, a pair of guards in front of each entrance.

Four to a tent, they slit the backs of the tents and crept in on their own individually.

Brita looked over her own, it was pitch dark, but that proved no obstacle, her hands did the seeing for her, no worse than any dungeon. ‘Though Lukrut is probably seeing just fine. I swear, that guy…’ Against her will a little sardonic smile formed. ‘...that guy is something else.’ She roamed her hand over the barrels and sacks, rattling things lightly as she searched for anything flammable to further add to the conflagration she intended to create. Lamp oil, pitch, anything that would serve her ends.

Her sardonic expression grew almost ecstatic when she heard the rattling of glass vials. ‘Ah ha!’ She waited until the thunder rolled again, and popped the top off the small box. She shoved the tip of the bottle between her teeth, bit down on the cork, and pulled it open. She took a sniff to confirm the contents, and began to pour it over grain, meat, vegetables, everything she could, casting the bottle all over the various stored goods.

Then she reached for the bottle she carried, yanked the cork, spat it on the ground, and shoved a dry rag into the hole. It stood upright on a box while she pulled her flint out of its pouch and began smacking the stones together. A spark jumped to life at the sharp cracking strike of stone to stone and it caught the dry cloth. The fire leapt to life, the offspring of the spark illuminating the grinning face of the red haired Brita.

She snatched up the bottle, raised it overhead, and threw it hard against a barrel full of grain. It shattered with a crashing noise, and the offspring of the flame became an all-consuming inferno. Protected from the saving rain, the flame spread unchecked while Brita made her escape out the back.

Even the laziest of guards weren’t going to miss that. Elsewhere in the same large tent, the trio of goblins to enter with her, finished their objectives and rushed out the same way.

It was far, far too late for subtlety now as the shouts went up in earnest. “Run for it!” Brita shouted over the rain and the fourteen began to sprint.

“To arms! To arms!” Guards shouted and like a swarm of bees whose nest had been disturbed, swords flashed out and caught the flashing lightning. The little band of impromptu raiders was then forced to fight.

Brita felt the whistle of air and the screaming noise of Lukrut’s arrow as it rushed past her ear and lodged into an unfortunate face.

Their new equipment was put to the hardest of tests, and Brita grunted as a sword thrust toward her gut knocked the wind out of her and sent her sprawling back into the mud, but to both her surprise and that of the soldier who struck her, there was no blood or death. For a brief moment, they each looked at each other with stupid faces. In his face Brita felt she could read his mind, ‘You’re breaking the rules, you’re supposed to be dead!’

He was still wearing that face when she rolled forward and with a banshee cry she ran her sword through his iron armor like it was paper and shoved him to lie dying in the grass.

“Go! Go!” Lukrut shouted as they made their way toward the forest, behind her the sound of soldiers fighting the blaze was fading, but the noise around them as other opponents appeared, only continued.

‘But father, I don’t want to sit around and do nothing… I want to go out there and see the world!’ Brita recalled saying to her old man in their pathetic excuse for a hovel.

‘Bah! Just tend the farm…’ His glib dismissal of Brita’s dreams only fueled her determination, and that year she’d snuck off to E-Rantel to pretend to be a part of the levy for the army. ‘Just one time taking the knights charge with those scared boys, I knew I’d rather face monsters, now here I am again… only I’m killing those same boys because they’re the monsters… what a bitch this world is.’ Brita cursed and swung her sword, an enemy head went flying into the darkness and the body toppled with a thud she never saw.

But they kept coming. The goblins fought like maniacs, stronger than the average soldier, each one took on two or three, and then five or six, the improved equipment giving them an advantage over the more crudely armored soldiers.

A shriek off to her right caught her attention, one of the peasants took a spear to the face, and a goblin took a sword through the ear that sprouted out the other side of his head. ‘So close!’ She scrambled on, the way they’d come would lead them into the forest. Pursuit would become dangerous or impossible soon. ‘A little more!’

“Hurry up!” Lukrut shouted from up ahead, he’d whirled on them, firing arrow after arrow into those who threatened to close in around their little band.

“Just die!” Brita roared and tackled one of the soldiers who raised an ax with both hands, they rolled over and over on the slippery grass, the gap was widened, and both peasants and goblins brushed past.

Brita raised her blade when she rolled on top of the soldier, he raised a hand and screamed into the night, her face twisted in wrath and illuminated by a flash of lighting at her back.

Lukrut bellowed into the rain, “Hurry up Brita!”

Even for his eyes, the dark and the rain were not as bright as day, but in that flash of lightning that lasted several seconds, he saw the growing numbers closing in. The forest was close, but every second counted.

“Hurry up!” He roared and drew a light dagger, he flung it full force, spinning end over end, it pierced the eye of a soldier close to where Brita was rising to her feet. She glanced behind her, and Lukrut felt his stomach drop.

‘Adventuring is the way to go.’ Brita recalled the thought, ‘Camaraderie! A team, not just a bunch of cowards, and nobody’s orders but the ones we’ll take!’ Only to find, ‘No, we don’t take women…’ The bitter words were ashes even now.

She took up the weapon in the hands of the man who lay dead beneath her and flung it into another.

“Brita!” She heard Lukrut’s voice behind her, and despite herself, she glanced back his way. The lightning was gone, only rain and dark and she couldn’t see that far.

She yanked the knife out of the face of the man Lukrut killed, and squared herself off in front of the host of foes.

As if they sensed her resolve and it was a weapon all its own, they hesitated.

In that moment, Brita screamed out her defiance and ran at them, away from the woods and into the forest of blades, her sword sang as it never had before, her armor fended off so many blows that she should have died a dozen times before she did. She swung and swung until her fingers ran slick with blood and the knife slipped from grasp when it lodged into an unfortunate face.

She felt the blade that went into her armpit, and the blade that pierced her thigh.

Still she swung the sword with her other hand, till she was down on her knees, and with it raised up for one more blow, swaying in the rain like one of the windswept trees into which her friends had gone, her sword came down again.

Then a spear found its mark in her eye, and so, Brita died.