The morning sky was dark and cloudy. Fog clung heavily to the earth. None could say for certain exactly when the dawn had come, if it had indeed come at all.

The company, still camped atop the hill, were mostly huddled before their campfire and eating a cheerless breakfast. Pools of blood and stray pieces of gore still littered the hilltop, filling the air with a sickening, charnel stench. But still the Thanes ate and rested what they could before they must pack up the camp and continue their journey. It had been a night of hard labour, battling, tending the wounded, and burying their dead companion.

Buri, the young Thane, lay in a stone cairn atop the hill, the swords and spears and shields of the attackers ringed about it as testament to the battle which claimed the warrior’s life. The bodies of the slain attackers had been dragged from the hill and piled in a mound downwind from the camp. Despite the smell, Erasmus spent a long time beside that mound of corpses, taking in the features of the slain, looking into their cold eyes.

They were clearly northmen, come south of the mountains to raid the Thane-land while its warriors had their eyes turned eastward. They had been a terrifying foe in the dark of night, but in the light they looked little more than poor beggars, wearing poor cloth and hide, lean as stray dogs. How many cold, hungry nights did these men suffer? How many of them had children lost to the harsh northland? Erasmus knelt and took up a handful of earth in his hand and scattered it over the slain, singing softly under his breath. Someone ought to mourn their passing.

Erasmus left the mound and returned to camp. “It’s bad business that,” he said as he joined the Thanes at their fire. “Leaving all them for the carrion. But there’s nothing else for it…”

“We packing up soon ‘Rasmus?” asked Scale.

“Aye. We might need to double our pace too.” Erasmus looked up at the gathering clouds on the horizon. “Storm’s coming. A bad one too, by the looks of it. We’ll have to find ourselves better shelter before nightfall.”

Joren gazed up at the morning sky and sniffed the air. “That bad? I mean it’ll rain no doubt, but…”

“Its what Erda and the Rangers told me yesterday. They didn’t explain why, but they seemed convinced that we’ll be hit a large storm sometime today.”

“I guess if they say so, that’s good enough for me,” said Narn the Old. “But I don’t like the thought of barreling headlong into the Wilds with a storm at our backs. We could run straight into another party of Wargs if were not careful…”

“I think if there are any more enemies prowling around,” said Erasmus, turning his gaze back to the mound of corpses, now crowned with croaking black-birds, “they might think twice about attacking us…”

“With the Grey Rat on the loose out there,” said Scale. “They might not live long enough anyway…”

“Come off it,” scoffed Joren, “he’s a tough bastard sure, but he’s still only a man. Isn’t he…?”

The group went silent, turning their heads to Erasmus for an answer, but the Paladin only strode away. He made his way to where Erda and Nim were tending the wounded. The Ranger Queen was busy putting the finish touches on Brune’s bandaged leg.

“How’s the leg, Brune?” Erasmus said as he approached. “Able to walk on that?”

“Considering I got a spear through the bloody thing, I should be able to hobble along well enough.” The dark bearded man laughed, wincing a little as he did. He gingerly touched his swollen nose that had been broken by Pike the night before. “I don’t suppose you have anything for this, Lady Erda?”

Erda smiled. “Of course, but I’m afraid it will have to wait. For now we must make sure everyone is well enough for the road ahead. Nim, could you please take over from here?” Erda stood up and walked away, urging Erasmus to follow.

“Any sign of Pike?” she asked the Paladin. He shook his head.

“Some of them say they saw him give chase to the fleeing Wargs and disappear into the night. I dare say I feel sorry for them. Did you see him in the fight?”

Erda nodded with a sad, haunted expression. “I heard it in his voice. Such anger. Such bloodlust…”

“I have spent nearly all my life among fighting men. Nothing I have seen compares to what Pike can do. The whole company can see that now. But that won’t ease anyone’s doubt. I myself can’t help but wonder… if we’ve made a mistake in bringing him.”

“That is yet to be seen,” said Erda. “The jaws of defeat are already at our throats, none can deny. To place our hopes on Pike is a gamble, but I can’t help but feel that we crossed paths for a reason.”

“But still. He’s not exactly hero material. I don’t think he is untrustworthy, but he’s a pitiless killer. There rests a heavy darkness about him…”

“Aye. But I’ve looked into his eyes, heard a little of his dreams. His heart is hardened from old wounds that have yet to heal. But he’s not lost to us… not yet.”

The two parted ways and Erda returned to her campfire, Ruadh stirring a pot of stew. A little distance away, Erda could see Myra, sitting by herself a little distant from the everyone else, quietly watching the gathering clouds.

Erda took the bowl of stew offered to her by Ruadh and made her way over to Myra.

“We shall leaving this place soon,” Erda said as she approached. Myra looked up somewhat startled, too wrapped up in her own thoughts to hear Erda’s approach. She went to stand up.

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“Please sit. As I was saying, we are leaving soon. Here, you should eat something before we go.” Erda held out the bowl and Myra shyly took it.

“Thank you… my… my lady.” The words sounded awkward and forced, almost like a question. Still, Myra could hardly look the queen in the eyes.

“May I sit with you, for a minute?” asked Erda. Myra nodded, not sure of what else to say. Erda took a place beside her and took in the view. After a moment of strained silence, Erda spoke.

“I wanted to thank you for what you did last night. Throwing yourself in the way of that man. I’m sure you saved my life then. For that, I am in your debt.” She gave Myra a friendly smile.

Myra blushed. “I… I wasn’t thinking too hard about it. If the Fates didn’t decided to have that fellow get stuck on the end my sword, it could have easily been me.”

“Such is the way of courageous deeds. You give yourself little credit.”

Myra shook her head, forgetting a little of her shyness. “If I had only kept watch, you might not even have been in danger in the first place. And then when the fight started, I only hung back and watched like a dumbstruck child.” She sighed. “It should be me left to rot on this hill, not that poor boy Buri…”

“You are too hard on yourself, Myra,” Erda rested a hand on her shoulder. “You are no stranger to hardship and death. These kind of things happen.”

“I’ve killed men before, plenty of them…” Myra looked at the coarse palms of her hands, as if seeing the blood on them. “Hunted them like animals. Poor fools only trying to make a living. But Buri… I don’t think I’ll ever forget his face…”

“You are too hard on yourself, Myra.” Erda looked into the distance, a haunted look coming to her eyes. “The guilt you feel right now, I am well used to. I know already that I have asked these brave men to follow me to their doom.”

Myra nodded. Her attitude towards this strange queen was swiftly changing. She was beginning to see the kind of weight Erda carried on her shoulders.

“You’re doing what’s right by your people,” said Myra. “It’s not like you tricked any of them into coming. They chose to come because they admire you… you and Erasmus.”

Erda looked up, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Yes… men are rather over-eager to give up their lives for pretty women. It seems silly, but are we women that much different?”

“What do you mean?”

Erda couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “What I mean is… well… I’m sorry that Erasmus got involved in all this.”

“What do you mean by…” Myra started. But Ruadh and Erda’s handmaiden, Nim, approached the two.

“M’lady,” she said. “The others are ready to move out. It’s about time too, the wind is starting to waft the smell of that pile our way. I don’t know how everyone else can keep their breakfast down.”

“Very well. Let’s get a move on. Still no sign of Pike?”

“None,” said Ruadh. “Not that I’m complaining. As well as he fought last night, the air seems less heavy without him around. And we can’t afford to wait.”

“I know that,” said Erda. “I’m just concerned. He has been gone all night, out there, this close to the Wold’s border. Anything could have happened to him.”

“The way he ran off into the dark like that,” said Nim with a shudder, “I think that man is more suited for living in the Wold than we are.”

“We haven’t seen the last of him,” said Myra coldly. “Out in the wild, we wouldn’t be able to lose him, even if we tried.”

The Warg-man had time to raise his sword to put up a defence. It didn’t help. Pike’s sword flashed past his guard and ran him through. The other Warg, seeing his companion die, turned and tried to flee. But Pike was on him in a moment, hewing the fleeing man down from behind. Pike hefted his blood streaked sword and glanced about for more foes in the forest clearing, panting heavily.

With no other enemies in sight, Pike searched the bodies of the men he had just slain and found a strip of dried horse-meat and a chunk of old bread. A better haul than what he had all night. He allowed himself an hour’s rest before resuming the chase. It had been easy hunting the night before, the fleeing Wargs had left trails that a blind man could follow. Pike had caught most of them by midnight, but even he had to slow his pace and take time to rest, allowing what few Wargs remained to flee further into the woods. But Pike was the better woodsman, and most of them had already fallen to his blade.

After resting, Pike resumed the hunt in earnest. He was tired, beyond the breaking point for most. But once he had begun the chase, he was loath to leave it unfinished. There were, at least, two more Wargs he had yet to catch. It was not long before he found tracks, clear as day. Pike scanned the evidence even as he ran in a half-crouch, his pale eyes glancing back and forth. Heavy footprints not too deep, broken branches and bent leaves. Pike grinned wolfishly. These two had ran, as fast as the forest would allow them, but at a steady enough pace to keep their strength. Wise, thought Pike, these had neither attempted to hide their tracks nor pause for a rest as others had done. But whatever the case, Pike was on their trails as they led him deeper and deeper into forest, and over the border into the Wold.

Grey trees began to loom about him, their branches extending like gnarled talons. Normally Pike would have been unnerved by such a place, but the battle-rage still ran hot in his blood. He followed the trail, which became fresher as Pike followed it, the Warg’s pace apparently having slowed as they tried to navigate through the rocky forest floor. Before long, Pike too slowed to a walk. The footprints were fresh now, perhaps only minutes old. He held his sword at the ready and continued on. He thought he pick out their scent, like sweat and woodsmoke. He crouched low, sword ready, picking his way carefully through a screen of underbrush.

But what a twist, the Wargs were already dead. Pike emerged from the underbrush and saw the two of them lying there, sprawled in a bed of soft loam. Pike approached cautiously, until he saw that what had killed them, the broken shafts of arrows jutting from their chests.

“Oh shit,” Pike muttered, when suddenly a small arrow sped past, narrowly missing his head. He darted for the cover of the trees, but several squat figures emerged suddenly, as if out of thin air. In the dim light within the forest, Pike could scarcely make out their shadowy forms. But whatever they were, they seemed like some monstrous hybrid of beast and man.

The hair covered things burst out of cover, bearing spears and clubs, barking and growling, their pale eyes gleaming at Pike as they tried to surround him. But Pike wouldn’t give them time to complete their encirclement. With a bestial howl he charged at them. One of them tried to bar Pike’s way with a spear, but Pike knocked the weapon aside and opened the thing’s throat. The others scrambled out of the flashing blade’s reach as Pike slashed at them as he ran.

As Pike broke through the creatures, an arrow sliced into his arm. It hardly carried enough force to pierce his muscles, but the wound immediately seemed to burn with a fiery pain. Pike howled and yanked out the arrow, the shaft slick with blood and what seemed to be a black, oily substance. From behind him, Pike heard the enemies try to rush him from behind. A large brute charged him, trying to swing at Pike with a club, but a sword thrust from Pike took out its eye and left the creature howling in pain. The others tried to press in, but could not get past Pike’s flurry of attacks.

“Come on you bastards! Try to sneak up on me?! I’ll take you all on! Who’s next?!” Pike took a step forward, but his leg almost gave way beneath him. A surge of nausea swept through him. “Ohhh… thaaaaatshhh… not… good…”

Pike tried to take a step back, but he stumbled and fell, crashing heavily to the loam covered ground. His vision blurred, then gave way to darkness. The last thing he saw before consciousness left him were the eyes, staring down at him cautiously, full of fear and hatred.

“Bastards…” he muttered.