‘I’m sorry,’ Lothar said.

‘But why?’ Ashlyn demanded.

‘Mada?’ said Murder.

They stood over Mags’ body. He’d died protecting Mila. The girl sat at a table in the inn, not speaking. She was in shock, and Lothar felt bad about the whole thing. He had plenty of blood on his hands from a career as a mercenary. He’d led men and women into disasters far worse than this. But still, he felt bad.

‘I was desperate,’ he said. ‘I sent Wade and Femke to bring Stricken and Rosalind here. I thought one or both might help us. You have to admit, we faced overwhelming odds.’

Jaelin had been patched up, but like Mila, he’d come close to being another of Stricken’s victims. ‘He did kill a few orcs before he turned on us,’ The Explorer commented.

‘That’s not the point, Jaelin,’ Ashlyn told him.

‘I know.’

‘Stiff,’ she continued. ‘You promised me you wouldn’t hire him again. You knew his history. You didn’t even tell us he was here.’

‘I’m sorry. I just thought, if he could have made a difference, and I didn’t do it, I’d regret it.’

‘You’ve lost our trust,’ she told him.

Jaelin and Mila stared at him with pale, drained faces.

‘Mada,’ said Murder, mournfully.

‘I don’t think we can work for you anymore.’

‘I understand. I wouldn’t blame you.’

Lothar knew better than to argue. Accept their ire, and they might come around eventually. Everyone was tired and emotional.

‘Stiff!’ It was Christoph. Something sounded urgent. ‘There are goblins approaching from the south.’

Ashlyn and the others stared at him.

‘Come with me, Christoph.’ They exited the inn and hurried across the street. ‘It won’t do any harm to let the goblins see I have at least one merc who isn’t half dead.’

Rosalind waited for them, and wordlessly joined them as they marched to the outskirts of the village.

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Half a dozen armed goblins waited on Eisenberg’s boundaries, among them the stern faced one with the sword, whom Lothar had identified as the leader. In the distance, he could see the rest of the force. They waited—at least for now.

The goblins looked them over. None of them had as much as a scratch. It maintained the illusion that they were still a force to be reckoned with.

‘Brid is dead,’ Lothar said casually. ‘Along with all but three of her warriors.’

The goblin looked impressed, as well he might. ‘Then, according to our deal, we have peace between us.’

‘What is your name?’

‘You can call me Steer.’

‘Alright. Thing is, Steer, I offered you Darkspike Dungeon and the hillfort if you would join with us. But you didn’t.’

‘True,’ said Steer, unperturbed by the comment. ‘We will retire to our old home of Strong Club. Out to the west. As for the hillfort, it’s far from ideal having to garrison that place. But neither would we want it in human hands. That makes it a threat to us.’

Lothar considered this. It would be easier for him, as well, if the fort remained empty. With nothing to fight over, it might bring some peace to the border. ‘Very well. I can agree to that.’

Steer offered his hand. ‘Deal?’

‘Deal.’

The families of the miners returned to their homes. Their church was destroyed, but the rest of their village was saved. It was likely that it would be a lot safer from now on. Some of the refugees from the outlying settlements left immediately, keen to return home.

Mayor Steben began the clean up operation. This included carting the orc corpses out of Eisenberg to a gorge near the mine. It was agreed that Stricken was undeserving of a place in Eisenberg, and so he was treated as an orc.

The bodies of those who had fought for the village were given places of honour in the graveyard.

Lothar stood before the graves of Cap and Mags. It was easy to identify the differences between the two in life, but they had both died as Apples, and so why not bury them next to each other?

Cap’s death was a short term boost to Lothar’s position. He would never have been able to trust the man, especially after Wilson’s warnings. Killing him would have been difficult, not knowing who would have sided with Lothar over him.

Now, at least, his position as leader of The Apples was secure.

In the longer term, however, the death presented problems. If Cap had indeed been planted by Sal, the leader of The Golden Blades had intended to wrest The Apples away from Lothar. Now that hadn’t worked, his tactics would probably become more direct.

A conflict between the two companies was coming. Lothar knew that. He also knew he wasn’t yet in a position to win.

***

The orc bodies had been burned, hacked, skewered, crushed, sliced, and carved. Then, already bloated, they were deposited in the gorge. The rotting, cloying smell attracted carrion birds and other wildlife, presented with enough meat to fill their bellies many times over.

It was midnight when a chill descended on the chasm. The birds flew away; the wild cats and dogs ran. Even the beetles scurried away, some tunnelling underground to avoid what came.

The figure moved amongst the dead, unaffected by the stench—searching for something. It pushed aside torsos and limbs, until it found what it wanted. It grasped onto its prize, pulling the body over the other corpses, then along the rocky ground.

Stricken’s lifeless form had been claimed.

It was removed; the chill departed; and the orc dead were left to putrefy in peace.