He awoke with a jolt in his body and a pain in his head. Daylight was spilling from the clouds above, irritating his eyes, causing him regret to have awakened. It was the bumps along the trail that had awakened Myers. The simple rocks and chunks of earth which had awoken him back to his nightmare.

These two weeks have drained me, Myers thought as his nameless horse guided him down the hill and through the last thicket of forest. Two weeks ago he had set out from Firstfall, his blade Whisk wet with the blood of a depraved lord. He had been ailing then. Frail. What Myers had become since then he did not want to know. What he did know was enough. I am worse. The way his body shivered, the way his nerves ached, all warned him it was only going to get worse.

As he stirred toward lucidity and found his tongue dry and unwilling to freely wiggle, the first sign of civilization emerged in a clearing. However, it brought no signs of life. A crumbled longhouse and the uninviting, opened barn door with a trail of blood either leading into or out of it. Myers did not investigate. His stomach yearned for a proper meal but Myers was not so sure he could keep down what he might feed it. I know I can only grow sicker. I cannot take this long hunting down the others.

It was Melony who put him on this dark quest. It was Melony who brought him to the cliff outside the woods, granting him the spectacular view of Sunbury. The city under siege.

Beyond the drop of earth, beyond the stream hugging it, the spent farmland and camps of besiegers, stood Sunbury. There stood two walls around it. The sturdy, shorter wall with small blotches slugged across it and the taller one behind it. The towers on the inner wall were larger than the front, blockier ones. The two towers along the inner walls in the front were particularly massive and fitted with red roofs above them. Behind these walls were more red roofs and beneath them the denizens of the city set between two streams and a siege.

So it is a nice city. The view he had from his ledge was generous though unable to fit a catapult. Those he saw below, past the abandoned hovels, at the sides of the camps. The city won’t be so pretty once those get some use. Though strange to see the walls in so decent shape when this siege is over half a year old. A grim realization came to Myers then. They want them to suffer. He rode on.

Eyeing the city as he trotted down the trail, the smell of wet grass cutting its way to his nose, Myers remembered what brought him to this difficult position. It was Melony who put him here. But Jos. Always for Jos.

Myers halted his horse at the first feeling of eyes on him. He was always good with sensing others spying on him. To his right, away from Sunbury. One of the small hovels was still standing. Its gardens, stretching deep into the fields beside it, still tended. At the side of the fence stood an older man, patchy clothes and tattered straw hat, glaring his way. His hoe stuck in the soil below, his gloved hands resting atop it.

“You have not fled,” the Prince of Steel said.

“Why would I?” The voice of the farmer wasn’t as grouchy as he looked. Though still it did not sound impressed to see Myers.

Looking further down the trail, Myers saw the rest of the small homes left in ruins and at best merely broken into. “Few stick around to see their homes under siege.”

At this the farmer snorted, “Tell that to the city behind you. Near all of them stuck around, besides the pedlars maybe. And Davey, bloody coward. You look mightily sickly, man. Death on a horse, that be you,” the farmer snorted again.

“Aye. Death on a horse.” That be me.

“But now you’re wondering why I stick around. Well, could be I’m stubborn. The best gardeners are. ‘Cept the ones that starve, I reckon. No, these lads at the end of the trail aren’t brigands. I’ve been promised repayment for what I’ve grown for the lot of’em.”

Why would these siegers come back after their war to pay back some old coot? “That sounds kind of them. Did you chance see the trail of blood by the barn up the trail?”

The farmer snorted, “No. That I didn’t. What business you have in Sunbury? I hope that camp down there isn’t news to you.”

“It’s not.” But it is in my way. “I’m looking for a friend. They’re supposed to be in Sunbury.” Down the trail two men in white over chainmail staggered out from one of the hovels. One swigged down his drink until the other pointed up toward Myers. Meanwhile, a scrappy looking farmhand came out the back of the hovel near Myers and the farmer. Crooked teeth and bruises on the cheeks, Myers’ eyes saw.

The farmer waved the young lad back inside, “Ah, best come back in three months to see if they’re still alive. From the soldier's talk, I doubt it. That’s part of why I’m staying to keep the officers fed. You though, well, we don’t get many travelers bold and dumb enough to trot this close to the camp. Getting some stares already. Best you turn around now, I think.”

“Not before you tell me anything you might know about my friend,” Myers said, keeping his eye on the two soldiers dressed in white down the trail. They seemed to be watching him, waiting for him to make the first move. “It’s important that I find him. A local might know a thing or two about getting inside.”

“Fool on a horse. That’s talk enough for me to decorate the branch on my apple tree. You think if I knew a way in I wouldn’t have told the Red Hand already?” The Red Hand, Myers thought. Yes, they do wear the bland white don’t they. Marked only by bloodied hand prints over their hearts. Thieves and other petty criminals often recruited out of dungeons from the castles they snatch in war. These are professionals hired to torment Sunbury. “Besides! I never considered myself a local. I’m local to Stringer’s farm, not bloody Sunbury. Say, would you grant me a favor? Assuming a rogue fellow like yourself does manage to slip inside the city.”

He means to sell me over to the Red Hand. “And what favor might that be?”

“My daughters happen to be in Sunbury. Sent them there with all the other farmers that were too yellow to stand their lots. But they’re girls, mind you. Can’t have them around these mercenary types. Their names are Lyla and Lilly. Hair sort of like yours, just not so sickly. If you chance see’em at the Sunset Inn or wherever you might find’em. Would you tell them I’m okay? Tell them I’m thinking of them everyday and to, well, to remember everything I told’em before.”

He sends his daughters to the city under siege. For safety? Witless man. The Red Hand will slaughter everything they can once they're in like they always do. If the siege breaks the people of Sunbury will take this weaselly man and he’ll make a decoration for his apple tree yet. Everywhere I have ever gone, men ask in all manners of language to die.

“If I can, I will honor that favor. Now, about my friend.”

“Aye, maybe I know of them. What is his name?”

Removing himself, the Runt, and the fattest outlaw he had ever known, Myers knew there were eighteen possible names. “They would be a former outlaw. Once a member of the Thatch gang.”

Myers watched the farmer’s eyes narrow and his jaw drop. He knows. The farmer gave a snort and spoke with a gruff voice, “Might be you don’t have to look inside the city.”

Some riddle I was left to chew on for two weeks, Myers thought bitterly as he followed the two mercenaries escorting him into camp. Melony keeps the name a secret and the first witless farmer I find knows the man right away. Of course this one is alive. Of course this one holds a siege on Sunbury.

“How long ago did you say you knew the commander?” The first mercenary asked as they turned heads crossing through camp.

“I didn’t say.” There were mercenaries sharpening their swords in front of tents. Others were tossing small, red sacks in some sort of game. Both of each lot seemed rough and able to kill.

“We’ll tend to your horse. What’s their name?” The other one asked.

“Doesn’t have one.”

The two members of the Red Hand eyed one another suspiciously. “Stay put,” the first one said, “I’ll see if the commander wants an audience.” This man wants fewer things in life than an audience with my head on a pike.

“Hey, stranger,” a Red Hand yelled out from a table covered with drinks. “Where you from? Hey! You hear me over there? Where you from!?”

“A ways,” Myers answered without looking at the man. The side of his eye caught the man returning to drink before whispering something suspiciously to a Red Hand holding a spear.

The Prince of Steel found his hand tighter around Whisk than the mercenaries around their own blade’s hilts. He watched his chestnut horse give a bow and shoot him a sad kind of wink. Then the beast was led away. Standing alone for a moment, Myers glimpsed again the city of Sunbury. Here I thought I would find a rat hiding in the slums or the back of an old bar. I did not expect to find my target as the head of the city’s siege. Somewhere, Myers knew, Melony was laughing.

Myers couldn’t remember being inside a tent so large. At least one that wasn’t on fire. The war tent of his old companion was a small villa in itself. Two rooms storing supplies and weapons on either side of him upon entering. Then a courtyard ahead. Like the tents peasants would put for their festivals, Myers thought. The master tent even had the touch of a festival as well.

A table in the back, brightened by colorful fruits, seating several of the Red Hand officers. At another end was a row of exotic weapons and out of place artifacts that looked to belong in the Runt’s art gallery. There were helmets on display, a chest of rubies, stained silks and broken crowns. A magnificent carpet of red and gold took the main stretch of the ground. It looked expensive despite being so exposed to rain and muddy earth. Then, across from the front row of worldly weapons, was a seat no less extravagant than a throne.

On that throne sat the commander of the Red Hand. Myers’ outlaw brother. Eyeing the Prince of Steel as he entered his private war court, cladded in armor draped in the white surcoat of the Red Hand, was Grissle.

I knew he would be one of the survivors. I knew it would be the Beast.

Though nine years later he did not seem so much a beast. His ragged, leathery armor had been traded for more civilized apparel, yet of course no less able for battle. His cloak of three goat skins was gone however. His beard too seemed more straightened and groomed. Worn more like a man than an animal. But there was something else off about Grissle.

He doesn’t look a day older than when I saw him ride off from Belcan. Myers stood still at the very center of the open court. His hair is still raven black. Not a single grey strand. Nor a wrinkle. He’s retained his youth. What more, Myers took a whiff of the air in amazement. He’s even bathed. Not for nothing, Myers saw there were lean candles surrounding Grissle and his throne. Incense, he knew, now that’s worldly.

After a pause Grissle smiled, his teeth pearly and neat. “Don’t you seem a little scrawny for a recruit?”

Myers glanced to the left side of Grissle and his splintered throne. A greatsword with a blunt, flat guard over a wrapped grip. Clearly something new but something he was used to. Then Myers glanced to Grissle’s right side. Kneeling was a wavy haired girl. No, wait. That’s a boy. Boyish and too scrawny for what Grissle took as fit for fighting. This one Myers knew was fit for something else. The young creature was like the sword beside Grissle. Flat and likewise wrapped up around the chest. New and something else Grissle liked to keep around. His hair might be combed but he is still the beast I knew.

“You never seemed like a siege man, Grissle.”

“Why might that be?”

“Never took you for the patient type.” Though the merciless part makes the Red Hand a good match.

Grissle’s scowl lasted for only a moment. He laughed and the Red Hand gathering around the court laughed with him. “Myers! Oh, did I miss you. Uglier than I remember. But I did miss you. As for sieges, well,” Grissle threw up his arms, he returned the right arm to his side and the boy beside him placed a tin tankard in his left hand. “I’ve grown most fond of them.” He sipped down the drink he had been provided before realizing he had left Myers dry, “Mm! Would you like some water?”

“I appreciate the offer,” Myers said gently, his tongue and lips begging him to reconsider, “but I’m not here for drinks.”

“Of course you’re not,” Grissle returned the cup to the boy before he stood. He stood for so long a tinge of uncertainty mixed into the sick pains Myers was feeling. He is taller than I remember. All the health I have lost has been poured into him. How am I supposed to cut this beast down? “No, I think I know why you’re here. But before that! Did you spot my collection?”

Grissle snatched up his greatsword, fitted it against his shoulder, and lumbered toward the collection in the back of the tent. The pleasant smell of incense, something like a ripe garden, lingered behind the commander. “I delight myself with little prizes I win from the sieges I conduct.” He does not speak as I remember either. Is this truly Grissle?

“The Red Hand has kept you busy,” Myers said. They kept us busy once before, Grissle. You and I slew many of them once.

“For five years they’ve kept me busy,” Grissle said. “My sieges usually last several months. Half a year. The Tusks took nine months but oh the day was sweet when it fell. Yes, they’re slower than what you and I were used to back in the day. But there’s something about a good siege that warms me. You make entire cities tremble before you as you put up your camps and launch your first catapult. That’s always exciting. The anticipation. Knowing what’s to come.

“Then we get to the siege itself. You might believe that to be dull. Many do and they are mistaken. Ah, so much to do. Poison the wells, the streams, repel attacks and manage supply lines. A pain those. But there is so much fun elsewhere to be found. Castles are intricate and cities are so full of people. People are so fun to play with, Myers.

“That’s just the work, you know. The leisure is something else entirely. I’ve found myself with a lot of time during these contracts. You can only train the body so much. I’ve learned to handle new weapons. I’ve taken more than trophies from each conquest. I’ve taken books and I’ve taken their ideas. Did you know how many complications can arise from drinking? They hardly touch it across the red wastes. Water fuels the sound body.”

So he is an educated beast now. There’s been many changes to Grissle since I last saw him. His excessive talking is new. I knew he liked to talk but I suppose sieges have allowed him to grow long winded. “Tell me, Commander,” Myers said, “how exactly did you find yourself in the position of command?”

Grissle gave Myers a strange, lasting look. Then he spotted someone in the back and waved them a command before returning his sight to his guest. “I told you just now. People are fun to play with. I came to the Red Hand looking for some good fighting. I showed them what I had learned in our time with Xander and Thatch. I showed them how to make men sing. How to break them in properly. A lot like breaking castle walls in a sense. That’s where they put me. On the front line of their most important sieges so I can widdle down the enemy and break their will. When walls fall and white flags wave, my men earn their fun.”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Grissle. Always the bully. He treats his forts like he treated his victims back in the day. I know his hot blood had a hunger for battle. But he was always cruel and he enjoyed slowly hurting those he could. The Red Hand selected him well. Only now he’s taken his ability to torment to a scale I never imagined possible for him.

Suddenly there were two Red Hand behind Grissle. One placed a stool on the ground and the other climbed it to match the Beast’s height. They were holding a modest sized plate. A shield, Myers realized. The shield was round and dark, designed with a series of engravings alien to Myers. Some sort of wide eyed lion was faced at the very center of the shield with boar tusks sticking from its mouth. Stranger yet was where the Red Hand was placing the shield. Not at the end of Grissle’s arm but rather strapped to his left shoulder.

A shield’s a shield. “That’s an interesting ornament,” Myers said, gripping the hilt of Whisk. No offer of dinner. He’s more to the point than the Runt.

“Taken from Alrica far across the red sands. They have the most interesting style of fighting which involves two shields.” Sure enough as Grissle spoke, a Red Hand appeared with a larger version of the sturdy shield attached to his shoulder. This one bronze and held as tradition by his left arm. “The upper shield offers protection to the vitals around the neck and is maneuvered by the shoulder. With the lower shield combined, nearly the entire side becomes guarded.”

“I’ve never seen this style before,” Myers said coolly. “That upper shield must come in handy whenever your hand is severed from your wrist.”

“Hm. You sound like Hands. I’ve a thing or two to say about him but he’s not the member of our old crew I would talk about. I know why you’re here, Myers. The news from Firstfall was half a day ahead of you. I got the report at dawn. You’ve slain the Runt. Or the Lord of Firstfall is the proper way of putting it. Him a lord. Hah! You know, I’ve thought a lot about marching up to that little castle of his and putting him under siege. You took that chance away from me.”

“How about the chance to take me?”

“Aye,” Grissle gave a nod to one of his men. “You do realize you slew a lord, ill-born as he was. Whatever pardons you had since Belcan are forfeit. As is your life. Rotten as the Runt was he was one of them now and the good lords of the land need to correct this. They’ll hunt you. They’ll kill you. Look at you. How weak you are, oh yes! They will kill you.” A Red Hand appeared with a helmet. Grissle took it and began to put it on, “But I will take that chance from them.”

The helmet covered Grissle’s face and gave him the mask of the same monsters on his shields. A wide eyed lion with sharp tusks. Now he looks like what he is.

“I want no interference from your men,” Myers said, placing the sheathed Whisk ahead of his waist. “There’s no need for them to die.”

“Was that a jest?” The muffled voice of Grissle asked. “They’ll stay out of it. This is between you and me. That is why you’re here, isn’t it? I doubt you’re here on behalf of Sunbury.”

“No. Only you.” And the four after.

“The Prince of Steel. Come before the Beast. Dying. He cuts down the Runt in his little castle and now the last two of Thatch’s ranks duel to death as honorably as neither of them deserve. Sounds just like a fucking storybook.”

“I’m not here for glory, Grissle.” I’m here for her.

Grissle toed his way around Myers, the gathered Red Hand watching on at the far ends of the tent. “No. You’re here for the good death whatever disease you have is denying you. Tell me, before I give you what you have come here for. Tell me of the Runt. Did he squeal the way I like when you drove your Whisk through his heart?”

The Prince of Steel unsheathed Whisk, “You talk too much.”

Grissle held his tongue for a moment before shrugging, “Aye.” Then it began.

With one arm the great slab of steel was swung over Myers. He fell below the weight of Grissle’s sword, sensing the density which could have effortlessly split him in two. Woosh. The sword sluggishly sang over him. Fwoosh, the sword came again, this time requiring Myers to step far back from his adversary.

His range is considerable between that sword and his arm. But Whisk was also a long blade and Myers sent it forward to taste the steel of the Beast. Red Hand hooting all around, the first clash of steel came with a spark. Grissle was always a clumsy fighter. His stance shows he still is.

A second taste of steel. A third. That was enough flavor for the Prince of Steel to see how weighed down Grissle was with his own blade. By the chest of glittering rubies a Red Hand cried, “Hack’em in half!” Yet Myers knew such a feat could not be done timely for the Red Hand commander.

On Myers went, testing Whisk against the steel of the Beast. He doesn’t step back. He blocks with his sword lazily. The greatsword was too much and too slow for the Prince of Steel to guide with Whisk. I can’t disarm him but I can still bleed him.

Turning a slash to stab, Myers sent forth Whisk off the edge of the Beast’s sword. More sparks against the grind. Then Grissle maneuvered his body in an instant and his two shields stopped the blade. Caught off guard by the act of defense, Myers stuttered with his effort to return his own sword. Those shields. It’s as if I’m fighting a pillar of steel. How am I supposed to bleed that?

Just as Myers had decided Grissle to be the same clumsy beast from nine years ago, the grip on the greatsword’s hilt flexed. Miraculously, the blade Myers could sense to weigh more than the horse he rode in on to camp, was swung around by palm and fingers like it were a key to a tiny chest. Jumping out of death’s way, Myers felt his cloak rip from his body as Grissle cut down where he was in a flash. It was a strike that he did not anticipate possible for the heavy armored giant.

The duel was changed. Where at the start the Beast was slow and his attacks lagging, returned was the energetic savage from nine years prior. No, Myers realized as he desperately fended off the incoming strikes of the greatsword. These are not mindless swings. He’s adopted technique.

The dust-up, destroying the fine carpet of the tent. Grissle rolled the tip of his sword across the floor and sliced upward before slicing again through the screen of scattered dirt. Then the fly-swat. Stabbing forward just to slam the blunt of his sword against Myers. The Prince of Steel rolled across the floor, wind knocked out of him. Then moves Myers had never seen before. An elegant, almost ritualistic dance as Grissle swung the blade. The anticipation, Myers remembered Girssle saying moments earlier. This is not excitement, Myers thought. This is a terror.

The Beast was far too fast for his size. Faster than Myers thought should be possible. Full of unbefitting grace as well. How can he have it all? Myers struggled to ready Whisk against the latest, fluid and difficult to predict strikes. He’s bigger than a bear, yet fast as an eagle. He’s aged better than most and he really has learned the art of the blade. All that I’ve suffered. All that he has enjoyed. Then Myers knew the collections of conquest within the tent were no mere trophies. From the boy to the rubies. While the Runt had hoarded what his title had afforded him, the Beast had paid for his with sweat and blood.

With a dread that made the Prince of Steel choke, he understood he was not the one gaging ability earlier. It was the Beast who was testing the water. He sees me for the sick creature I have become and now he shows his ferociousness. Then Myers felt that ferocity in full.

Trying to take Grissle’s lower leg where the two shields did not guard, the Beast’s greatsword caught Whisk and changed its momentum. Myers’ blade was thrown up and pierced the ground away from the two former outlaws. My own trick, Myers felt the hand of death on the back of his shoulder as his own two hands floated up empty. I’d be flattered if I didn’t seem like I was about to die. To the Beast’s credit, Myers realized just how likely dying had become this day.

“He’s got’em now!” A Red Hand shouted.

“Lop his head off,” another advised as the rest cheered.

Fools. They don’t understand why their commander fights. They don’t understand how Grissle has spent the better part of his life waiting for this exact moment. Nor do they understand why I fight him.

It was the woman he loved that the Prince of Steel knew he had to win. That he knew he had to survive. He would need Whisk for that and so he leapt away from the latest slice from the Beast’s sword.

Schrrt. A shearing sting took hold of Myers as his back became aflame with pain. He’s hit me. In the back. He felt nothing but his back and by his back he wished to feel nothing at all. A draft seeped into his body, a violating spell he knew he ought not to be able to feel. From the slice tracing his shoulder to the side of his lower ribs, the Prince of Steel felt the sensation of molten bile being poured into his feather light body.

The Red Hand laughed as Myers stumbled onto his hands. He nearly fell but he knew if he were to fully hit the ground he wouldn’t have the endurance to stand back to his feet. So he continued to tumble over to Whisk like a drunken fool. Though he was drunk on pain. And fear. A very real fear was upon Myers. Not quite of death but rather failure and what that would entail.

I have to win this, Myers thought as he reached for Whisk within the expanding shadow of the Beast. I have to win this. I have to win this.

I have to survive this.

It was a sight of shame to pull on Whisk and fail to free the blade from the ground. More laughs from the Red Hand. Myers gave all his strength to the second pull and managed to take Whisk back up. Then the blade fumbled out of his hands as he discovered them to be shaking.

“He can’t even hold his blade,” cried the astute observation of a nearby officer holding a drink. Yet more laughs.

My hands, Myers cursed. I should never have fought this fight with my sickness. Damn me for trying to make this quick. He bent down to grab Whisk once again as the Beast paced his great form over. A shot of pain. At first Myers thought the officer behind him struck him with his sword. Blood sprayed from his back. The mere act of bending down tormented Myers and his spewing, fresh wound. I have to survive this.

“Grissle! Grissle!” The Red Hand began to chant as Myers’ arms visibly shook from holding up Whisk. “Grissle! Grissle!”

Myers had his own chant in his head. I have to survive this. But he knew he had only the strength for two, maybe three, more whisks of his own blade. I have to survive this. For her…

Though Myers appeared to dash forward as Grissle arrived to cut down on him, he spun around and used the force of Whisk not on the Beast but rather the officer attempting to take his next drink. The officer let out a rather meek cry. Though Myers had meant to cut the man in two he only succeeded in painting a great red dash across the handprint stained on the mercenary's chest. Knowing there was only enough strength for another swing, maybe two if he were a gambling man, Myers swung Whisk back and up and escaped through the hole made in the tent.

“COWARD!” The Beast roared. “COWARD!”

The Red Hand likewise tossed out obscenities and mimicked the obvious cries of, “Get after him,” and “follow him!”

I have to survive this. “YOU BLOODY COWARD!” I have to survive this.

Like that the duel was over. Myers could feel his back becoming soaked. He could feel the draft entering his body become worse. All along with the breeze on his bear skin thanks to his cut cloak and pierced chest plate. He would have killed me if I had stayed a moment longer. Yes, it is cowardly. But I will survive. Somehow scores of Red Hand foot soldiers were already swarming ahead and cutting Myers off in the camp. I will at least have the chance to survive, Myers corrected himself.

Down a long lane of tents the city of Sunbury poked up toward the sky. Then the end of the lane filled with the Red Hand. Myers looked to the next direction. More Red Hand. He was being surrounded as shouts continued to cut him down where he stood.

The Runt ran from me when I came for him. That won him five minutes. There are thousands of Red Hands here but with five minutes I-

Fud! A horrible pain topping the renewed. A flash of white over bloodshot eyes. The blunt force smashed Myers at his side, causing his body to bend crookedly against the impact. As he squinted and spat in response to the sudden hit, the Prince of Steel just barely managed to catch Whisk mid-air.

To his side was a heavyset Red Hand, fully armored and swinging a morning star. I’ve the energy to cut him down but no more. No, Myers thought as he felt fresh blood pool at his side and more spill from the wound on his back. This one isn’t worth it. Dodging the second swing, the Prince of Steel made for the incoming charge of Red Hand with Sunbury behind them.

He was feeling more sluggish than Grissle’s sword arm first appeared to be. What a mistake it was to go against him like I wasn’t already dying. His suffering, severe as it was, felt deserved as well. The swarm of Red Hand neared. Myers dashed to the side, between tents, as to loop around them.

Around the corner of the tent into the next lane was a lone Red Hand. This one holding a spear. By that time Myers realized that much he had already made his move on instinct, seeing the tip of the spear turn toward his face. His blade whisked and the Red Hand fell against the back of the tent, cradled in its sheet like an infant held by its mother, all while he clutched at his bloody throat with his very own red hand.

For a moment Myers froze where he stood, looking down on the Red Hand. They were young. Barely old enough for war. Especially by the eyes that reflected their killer. This is a boy.

“There he is!”

Myers snapped back to the danger around him, as did something torn in his back. His right arm hung limp, whether by fatigue or the stretching of his wound he couldn’t say. But the danger was all around him and so, with a limp arm thankfully holding tight to Whisk, the Prince of Steel fled. Perhaps it was cowardice. Perhaps instinct. What was the difference, he wondered as he rushed through the camp of a thousand Red Hands coming to claim his life.

At an intersection, where the yard rounded to make room for a spent fire, a Red Hand was preparing to mount a horse. Wherever the horse Myers arrived on was beyond his concern. He had enough strength left to backhand and break the collar bone of the Red Hand and mount the spotted horse. With a neigh it charged forward and once the arrows began to fly, Myers knew he was leaving the mercenaries behind.

A sick and bleeding mess, Myers escaped under a hail of arrows. Eventually, as his vision began to blur, the horse let out a terrible cry. Knowing it had been hit, Myers found himself rolling off the horse as it crossed the field toward Sunbury. The sound of a hundred trembling hooves could be heard making up the pursuit but the warm water of a stream embraced the Prince of Steel first.

The water was deeper than he thought. The current stronger than he would have assumed. More arrows, he saw. Coming from the wrong way…Sunbury. His vision darkened.

Grissle’s voice could be heard with an echo. “You can’t beat me, Myers! You can’t ever beat me!” If it was truly Grissle, or rather a memory from the back of his mind, the bleeding Myers did not know for certain. Feeling the Beast before him again, as if their duel was still occurring, his eyes shot open and the world returned to him.

Alive. I am alive, the Prince of Steel thought. The blue sky was directly ahead of him. Again, he was with regret to have awakened. He felt his burning back to the ground. The rest of his body drenched. He was in Sunbury. Its outer walls at the bottom of his vision, a pair of guards running down its sides while paying him no mind. He gave the last of his strength to roll his head to his right side. There was grass on the lot he found himself on. The sound of running water behind him. A drain. I came in from a drain. His body felt drained of everything.

He looked next to his hand. The fingers moved as he twitched them. That much is good. But wait…where is Whisk? He found his hand empty, free of his fearsome blade. Though no longer blurry, his vision had a double take to it as he moved his eyes. Moving them, seeing double, he spotted across the lot and up the stairs a young boy. Ginger hair in a stained, white shirt. Their mouth was agape. Surprised to see me breathing, no doubt.

Even from afar, once his vision at least steadied, Myers’ hawk eyes saw the boy’s teeth had a gap in them. Common town welp. And in that common town welp’s hand, Whisk. Understanding Myers was still alive just as Myers understood the boy had taken his blade, the boy fled. Down the alley between two blocky buildings at the front of Sunbury’s defenses.

Yet before the Prince of Steel could even stand he felt a tug on his feet. Lifting his head up he saw two men at the end of his body. One tragically bald, greasy, and fat. The thinner one dark haired with a likewise thinner stash. Seeing Myers alive, they yanked off the bleeding out survivor’s boots and ran. Yes, I am a survivor, Myers thought as the sound of screams culminated in an eruption against the wall. However that much is worth.

Standing up, he felt the catapults of the Red Hand do their work against the walls. Great chunks of stone were launched away from the damaged walls before the Prince of Steel was even back on his feet. I suppose I brought the siege in. Which suggested to him the duel was in fact still on.

Directly in front of him, where an angled pool fed into the needle before the motte, were the walls of the besieged Sunbury. Soldiers above shouted commands and more pieces of the upper wall were blown apart by the impact of the Beast’s vengeful catapults.

To his left was the child, still in view down the long alley, running off with Whisk. To his right, still running up their set of stairs into their own scummy alley, were two men who had looted his long, fine leather boots. On his back was the wound, fresh from Grissle’s terrible greatsword, aching, begging to be the first torment the Prince of Steel would address.

Rolling the blood in his mouth casually, tasting its sweet iron, his tongue was at last free from its sickly dry spell. Considering his options in the city in peril, the Prince of Steel sighed. He felt the wet grass between his toes, staggered his way through the dust of the latest blast against the walls, seeking his leather boots.