The bleak shores of Morn seemed to glower at the paladins, as they let the sail carry them through the choppy waters of the wind battered coast. Bored, anxious, and seeing no immediate danger, the crew counted their loot while smoking pipes and humming half forgotten songs.

Erasmus, nestled in the prow, stared glumly at his fellow paladins. One of them was already clearly drunk. He might have said something to Sir Hector about this dereliction of duty, were the captain not currently putting away his small box of cocaine and rubbing irritably at his nose. Without the badges of the Palatinate to mark them, these knights-marine played the part of common pirates too well. Erasmus blinked sea-spray out of his eyes, and, clutching the bronze sword in his arms, looked towards the misty hills of the Lonely Isle.

The pale sun climbed higher into the sky, and dispersed the morning’s fog. The boat sailed slowly and surely on, when Erasmus rose to his feet.

“Smoke.” The paladin’s voice was flat, but the wind carried his voice down the length of the boat. Hector sniffed and craned his neck to see where Erasmus was looking. Sure enough, a column of black smoke could be seen rising beyond the shore. No cooking fire or charcoal burner could produce a smoke so thick. Soon, the entire crew was alert.

“That’s a house on fire,” said one man, wiping whiskey out of his beard. “Or I’m a chimp.”

“Must be several,” said another. “It’s a ways off, but look how heavy it is. It must still be burning.”

“And despite the rain.”

Sir Hector grunted. “A raid?” he said, voicing the thoughts of all onboard. The thought sent a cold shiver coursing through his blood. He knew the coasts well enough, that smoke was coming from Palatine territory.

“It’s not spring yet,” said a gruff marauder from the highlands. “The Thanes never go to war until after the rains.”

“We did…” muttered Erasmus, eyes wide.

Violence on Morn was as predictable as the seasons. Raid and counter-raid was the order of the day. But if it had been discovered that the Paladins were behind the defilement of King Gram’s tomb, every Thane in the country might descend on Palsgrave with fire and sword. Erasmus shuddered at the thought, and made the sign of the Star.

“It’s coming from the land of the Rowan family,” said a paladin, already priming his short barrelled carbine. “I’ve visited there enough to know…”

“Ease off,” a former mercenary interjected “If there are raiders nearby, all the more reason to pass by and let the border wardens deal with it. We’ve got a mission and all that.”

“Old Man Rowan is a great friend of Palsgrave,” replied the paladin. “And he keeps a wineshop. Sells at a discount to soldiers.”

“By Heaven,” roared the mercenary, “we can’t sit by and leave our countrymen to the wolves! What say you Captain? Shall we go ashore?”

Sir Hector glanced blearily from his men to the shore, sniffed, and rubbed his nose with quivering hands. His face was turning red, and Erasmus saw that he was getting worked up with a fire that was unknown to the man when sober. With swelling chest, he drew out his saber and thrust it into the air.

“By my faith! Could we call ourselves men, if we turned our backs on enemies! Furl the sail! Row her to shore! Deliver me to the foe!”

The men did as commanded, and soon the raiders were knights-marine once again, on their way to deliver their people from the enemy. Erasmus soon forgot his melancholy and felt his chest swell with pride, eager to get lost in battle.

The longboat was steered toward a thin strip of sand below a steep bank. The men threw an anchor overboard and leapt into the ankle high water with Hector in the lead, brandishing their weapons. Leaving two men to guard the loot, the paladins surged over the bank and began their march towards the smoke. Erasmus, not trusting to leave it behind, carried the ancient sword in its bundle over one shoulder.

The distance, broken up by several grassy mounds and hidden depressions, was deceptively far. Trudging through the mud, the band soon lost their enthusiasm. It was a long time before they crested a steep ridge, and looked out upon the smouldering remains of the Rowan family estate. The large farm house, surrounded by a wooden palisade, was now spewing smoke from its windows. Even the few hovels and sheds that stood outside the compound had their roofs fired.

Brandishing their weapons, the men of Palsgrave approached the flaming ruins cautiously. There was no sign of any living man or beast. Though as they drew closer, a number of men could be seen lying dead in the grass, some transfixed by the broken shafts of arrows. One of the men from the highlands crouched by a dead man and inspected the arrow that had killed him. The highlander scowled and tossed the bloody shaft into the grass.

“A shoot of hoarwithy,” the highlander spat. “Only Rangers use those…”

“Rangers?” Erasmus suddenly glanced the far hills in the distance, and the great misty peaks beyond them. “From the Deep Weald?” Little was known about those vagabonds from the forested wilderness of the Mornish heartland. A few solitary rangers could be seen from time to time, as wandering medicine sellers or toymakers. Yet they were held in deepest suspicion by all other peoples as robbers and magicians. It was not unheard of for bands of rangers to turn to banditry, but this raid was much bolder than even the darkest rumours suggested.

“Thieves… murderers,” Sir Hector’s face was now red as a beet as he waved his sword in the air. “Were have they gone? By Heaven, all see them hang, every mother’s son of them!”

“All the animals have been driven away,” said another soldier, “and all the women and children. The tracks go off in every direction.”

Erasmus shrugged his shoulders. “They will be long gone by the time we find their trail. And we can’t get far on foot. The smoke will have alerted the neighbourhood by now. We ought to get back to the boat…”

“Balderdash!” snapped Hector. The Paladin’s rage, so easily suppressed, had now come roaring to the surface. “This is an outrage! We cannot… we can…” His outburst was cut off by a sudden sneeze. Hector rubbed, his eyes now bleary and tired.

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“If anyone got away,” Hector sniffed and sheathed his sword. “They might come trickling back. Look for survivors men! We’re getting to the bottom of this.”

“But captain…” Erasmus protested, suddenly all too aware of the weight of the ancient sword in his arms. “We’re not even supposed to be here, remember?”

But Hector wasn’t listening. He had his pipe between his teeth and was fishing in his pockets for his tinderbox, when he went suddenly still, staring at a cluster of hovels at the edge of a small wood nearby. Sir Hector raised his hands above his eyes and squinted. Sure enough, he caught another glimpse of something pale in the darkness of an open doorway, before disappearing again. Hector shoved his pipe back in his pocket and marched toward the hut.

“Ahoy! You there!” Hector bellowed. As he drew closer, he could see better the pale face that peered from the door. But at the sight of the helmeted man with a sword at his side, followed by a dozen fighting men, the face darted back into the hut.

“Wait, stop!” cried Hector again. “We are friends! Knights Palatine!”

But the face did not listen. Hector ducked into the hovel, followed by his curious men, but the stranger had thrown open a back door and gone racing up the stoney path that wound into the woods behind. Hector followed at a walk, the poor frightened creature could do little but hobble.

“Captain… we shouldn’t…” Erasmus pleaded again, but Hector only followed the trail, and came upon a dead end. The stranger could flee no longer, had seemingly collapsed and was now leaning against the face of a small cliff. Hector saw now that the stranger was a woman, garbed in a dirtied shift and shivering in fear. Eyes wide, she stared up at the soldiers through a tangled mess of chestnut hair.

“She’s gone mad with fright captain,” muttered Erasmus, glancing at the thick clusters of trees around. “We can do nothing for her…”

But Hector took a step forward, which prompted the woman to flinch and curl into a ball, huddling against the rock wall. Hector held up his hands. “There’s no need to fear anymore. We are here to help.” He approached slowly and, going down on one knee, placed a hand on the woman’s skinny shoulder. She trembled at his touch, but when no harm came, she slowly turned her eyes up at him. Hector tried his best to give a friendly smile, despite his missing teeth.

“I am Sir Hector de Maris. We are from Palsgrave. Are you hurt badly?”

The woman shook her head.

“We are here to arrest the men who attacked the Rowans. Did you see what happened?”

She shook her head. “Yes…” she managed to mutter. “I saw it all.”

“And the men who did it?”

“Men from the wilds. Robbers and Rangers.”

“And their leader… did you see who was leading them?”

“They said… he said… his name Garth. Garth the Great Bow.”

The name caused a stir among Hector’s men. They stopped suddenly as they came up the forest trail, and glanced at each other nervously.

“I should have known,” Hector hissed through clenched teeth. The Great Bow was a notorious outlaw, who seemingly had a particular hatred towards the Paladins. The Exemplar-governor of Palsgrave had placed a bounty of five hundred thalers on the ranger’s head, though the Great Bow’s campaign of terror across the lowlands had him an enemy of every clan and city.

“He came like a storm,” the woman said in a hushed voice. “The fighting men didn’t have a chance. You can’t fight him.”

“The Great Bow is a thug and coward. He’ll dance the gallows jig before I’m done with him. So tell me lass. Did you see which way the villains went? Where have they gone?”

The woman looked deep into Hector’s eyes, while tears welled up in her own. “You promise… that you’ll catch him?”

Hector nodded. “Upon my honour.”

“But he is too strong.”

“Not for a knight-marine. Not for me.”

“Yes…” she said, she started to sob, smothered her face in her arms. “I’ll tell you… where he is.”

“I thank you, ma’am.”

She uncovered her face, and Hector’s blood went cold as he saw the sudden change in her eyes, which were now alive with malice.

“He’s right here…”

There was a strangled gasp from behind. Hector turned, and Erasmus drop the sword and fall to his knees, an arrow in his shoulder.

“Hello friends!” called a voice. Standing at the lip of the stone cliff above them, a lithe man wrapped in a cloak and bearing a longbow smiled insolently down at them. “Fine day for a walk in the woods.”

“Bastard!” one of the men went to level his musket, but an arrow sliced through his throat before he could even touch the trigger. The woods about them were suddenly alive with cloaked figures. Some had bows, others muskets, and all were raining hell upon the trapped men. Hector turned, the woman was standing with her back against the rock wall, grinning demonically as his men were torn to bits arrow and shot.

“You bitch!” the paladin roared, drawing his pistol. He aimed and fired, filling his face with the pungent smoke. But the shot only tore a stone from the cliff. The woman was standing beside him, pressing a dagger against his throat.

“So much for your honour…” she sneered, and, with a flick of her wrist, opened Hector’s throat. Sir Hector de Maris took a shaky step forward, let all his weight rest against the stone wall, and slid down the rock with his back against the wall. He sat there, blood running down his breastplate, a tear running down his cheek, as his misting eyes took in the sight of his men, slaughtered in the trap which he had led them straight into.

Myra brushed her hair out of her face and tucked her dagger back into its sheathe. Landing on his feet as lightly as a cat, Garth appeared next her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Excellent showing dearie,” he said with a handsome smile.

“And you said it wouldn’t work,” Myra chuckled as she gave Garth a playful punch in the chest.

“I didn’t expect you to play the part so well,” said Garth. “But bugger me dead, almost had me fooled. You should’ve been an actress.”

“An actress?” Myra gasped in mock horror. “You would think so low of me? I’m a hard working girl to the bone. Now shut up and let’s loot these arseholes.”

“Hey chief!” the towering figure of Small Roody called out. “Take a look at this.” The large man was standing above a prostrate Erasmus, who was trying to crawl towards the sword he had dropped. The cloak wrapped about it had come loose, and the bronze hilt was gleaming in a raw of sunlight. Small Roody prodded the broken arrow in Erasmus’ shoulder with his foot, forcing the paladin to clutch it in pain. The man took up the sword and whistled approvingly.

“Now this a good haul,” Small Roody said, offering the hilt to Garth. The outlaw ranger took up the weapon and admired it.

“Singer’s Song,” breathed Garth, “a thing fit for a king.”

“The King of the Forest!” Myra giggled in delight.

“They’ll have more stashed in that boat they came in on,” said another outlaw, bearing the same ranger tattoos as Garth. “These dogs were on their way back from a raid of their own, I’ll bet.”

“Disguised as common reavers,” Garth shook his head and rested the blade against his shoulder. “And they call me a bandit.”

“Murderers…” Erasmus was heard. His teeth were clenched in pain, and though his eyes were screwed shut, tears still flowed freely. “Murderers… murderers…”

Garth sauntered over to the wounded paladin, swinging his new sword clumsily in the air. Taking the weapon in both hands, he seemed about to strike off the paladin’s head, before reversing its grip and plunging the blade into the ground, in front of the paladin’s face. He knelt and yanked the arrow out of Erasmus’ shoulder, drawing out a howl of pain from the young man.

Erasmus looked up at Garth’s smirking face through blurry eyes. “You’ll… you’ll die for this…”

“Oh… are you upset? Does it hurt? Watching your brothers die? I know that feeling all too well. Go crawl back to your den of pirates and cry about it. Tell them to send real men with some bollocks. Some real knights worth the killing.” Garth stood up, and gave the Erasmus a last kick in the stomach for good measure.

Erasmus, delirious with pain, his blood filled with the numbing poison that had coated the arrow, could only listen to mocking laughter, as the outlaws stripped him of everything, leaving him naked in the mud. But the loss of the sword hurt most of all. The quest had ended in miserable failure. That he had been left alive had only added to the insult of it.

Soon, the bandits had melted away into the forest, laughing like children. For many nights afterward, the sound of that laughter would haunt Erasmus’ dreams. But most clearly to his ears, came the voice of the woman among them. The woman who had deceived them, and betrayed the honour of a knight.