The darkness engulfed Erasmus in a cold embrace. From the small clay jar in his hand, the fungal glow which emanated from within was pale and faint, seemed little more than a fragile memory of light, little comfort against the shadow.

Erasmus walked forward slowly, right hand holding aloft the jar, his left trailing against the cold stone wall beside him. The light in his hand was hardly enough to illuminate the underground passage, revealing only impressions of the walls and floors.

On he went through the tunnel as it twisted and turned occasionally, ever angling somewhat downwards. The only noises he could hear were his own breaths and steady footfalls. The darkness seemed to coil about him, its cold fingers brushing against his skin. His hairs stood on end.

How long he passed through the tunnel, he could not say, time seemed meaningless there. Whether he had been passing through the tunnel for a minute or a day, Erasmus could hardly guess. But suddenly, the feeling of his free hand against the stone wall ceased, touching nothing but open air. It was like a shock to a sleeping man that suddenly awakes him. Erasmus halted and held up the jar, trying his best to get a better view of his surroundings. Before him there was no longer any walls, only the black dome of shadow and the cold earthen floor beneath. He must have exited the tunnel into some large chamber. He strained his hardest to see what might be contained within, but the light of his jar could reveal nothing.

“Well Erasmus, you’ve done what was asked. No shame in turning back now before you get your dumb arse lost in here,” he said to himself, the darkness swallowing the echoes of his voice.

He turned to retreat back into the tunnel, switching the jar into the other hand in case he accidentally made a sudden turn into an unseen passage. He took a few steps forward and paused, confused. Another few steps. Still, there was no portal before him, nor any kind of wall, only the endless dark.

“Oh shit.”

The endless dark now spread all around him, as though he had emerged out of the earth and into a world devoid of sun and moon and stars.

“Don’t panic now, Erasmus. You’ve been in tighter spots before. This is no worse than those hedge mazes back home. Just keep one hand on the wall until you reach the exit. Simple as that.”

Erasmus quickened his pace to a jog, coming to a stop in frustrated confusion. “If you could find a damn wall in this place. Well, nothing better to do than just pick a direction and march forward.”

So he did that. And for what felt like a lifetime, Erasmus continued to his journey, finding nothing.

“Maybe you’re already dead. That makes sense. Probably fell into some hole and broke your neck. Or maybe a monster caught you from behind. A rather miserable end… but oh well, you did what was asked.” He said nothing for while. “Maybe a pit full of spikes…”

He began to think about the companions he left behind, something he had done often throughout his life. He felt bad for Myra.

“I was probably her only friend left in the world. What will she do now? I should not have let her come, marching to war among strangers and former enemies. Why did I even allow that? You fool, you’re weak to women, that’s why. You’ve done stupider things just to have women look at you like you’re a damn hero. That’s why you swore that oath, because a beautiful princess asked it.”

A chill crept up the Paladin’s spine. He saw a vision of himself, returning victorious from some battlefield, warriors cheering him from behind while Erda rushed into his arms. Deep within the cold earth, the thought of a woman’s warmth awoke a hunger within him. The things he might do, if only he had Erda beneath him…

Erasmus didn’t see the wall as he walked into it, making him stumble backwards. The jar fell from his hands and crashed on the floor, the sound of the clay smashing sounding like a thunderclap. The glowing contents spilled over the floor, and in the light Erasmus saw the wall before him.

In the pale light, he saw the wall’s painted pictures, saw human figures and unfamiliar letters sprawled across. To his surprise, he could see the paintings quite clearly, even if their forms seemed strange and ancient. Whatever substance was used to create the pictures seemed to glow with a fire of its own, reflecting the light of the broken jar ten times stronger. Erasmus remembered that this place was supposed to have once been an Elven hall. He did not know much about the mystic arts that Elves were said to have practiced, but he guessed that this mural was somehow magical, the ghost-light enough to show the colours come to startling life.

He scooped up some of the fallen spores into a clay shard and inspected the wall closer. What he had at first thought to have been symbols were actually images of people, or perhaps Elves, abstract yet startlingly clear, the swirling patterns seeming to make the still images move.

He saw human figures dance in joy amongst green gardens while giants looked down upon them. Saw birds and beasts peer from forests, stalked by fierce monsters rendered in black. Erasmus moved further along as the mural’s story unfolded before him. The details were clear, yet reluctant to remain in his memory for long. He stopped suddenly. There was blue sea, and a green island rising from the waves, crowned with a white city whose towers touched the stars themselves. Erasmus gaped in wonder, remembering his island home far to east, the jewel of Palladium which he had turned his back from. He looked in the black portal of the city-gate, opened wide, and in that shadow Erasmus thought he could see a small figure emerging, or entering, he could not say which.

He moved on. There was a forest, not in the vibrant greens as of before, but darker shades in which half-glimpsed forms suggested horrible things crouching in the shadows. Through it all a lone man walked, straight and proud and heedless of danger. Erasmus followed the trail of the traveller through many trials, until at last the figure was knelt before a woman, tall and queenly in robes black as midnight. In her hand she offered the traveller a sword whose blade like onyx.

Next, the traveller was marching against various enemies, men and beasts and monsters, bearing aloft the black sword which burned with fire. He cut down all before him, leaving a trail of slain behind. The traveller now wore armour as golden as the sun, and a cloak red as blood. He stood before a sea of people, all knelt before him, as his eyes peered out like fiery jewels from his horned helm, black sword at rest on his lap. Erasmus shivered, the eyes of the king looking deep into his own. This must surely be the High-King, the one whose throne sat empty on the Sacred Isle at the centre of the world.

All the crowns of the world were laid before the King’s feet. The broken swords of his enemies lay scattered to the wind, yet one enemy remained. Blocking the path the final throne, a black shadow crouched in waiting, watching with the eyes of a wolf. The king challenged this wolfish shadow, but the beast would not let him pass, raising up a pale sword, cold as hate. Swords poised, the king and the beast rushed at each other, swords cutting deep into both the others’ chests. Trembling, Erasmus moved on to see the climax of the battle, but a sound from behind broke the vision.

He whirled on the spot. And there, standing in the light reflected from the mural, stood Erda.

“Lady Erda! What are-?”

“Hush now, loyal Paladin,” she said, her voice soft as silk. Her eyes, bright as emeralds, fell upon the mural. “You have found the beginning of this place’s treasures. Your trial is almost at an end.”

“You should not be here Erda. This place is more confusing than anything, but All-Father knows what else might be in here…”

Erda laughed. “That’s just what fools think. Lesser men might jump at shadows, but the wise know that the greatest rewards lie only in the darkness. She glided past the bewildered Erasmus to brush her delicate fingers against the image of the golden king. “You are walking in the steps of giants, brave warrior. The path of godhood…”

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“Then, all these pictures are a legend? A history?”

She nodded. “And… a prophecy. The throne of earth has been long unruled. The Elf Lords are now little more than memories and shadows. Lesser Men swagger in pride of their little kingdoms and grovel at the feet of petty gods. But once, the High King held dominion over all. Men and beasts, birds and trees, all recognised his authority. Even the oceans parted for him and surrendered their secrets.”

Erasmus looked up at the golden figure in awe. “Well… that’s a grander tale than what I’ve heard tell. But… what does any of this have to do with the trial?”

“Follow me,” Erda said. She walked past him, turning her head to glance back at Erasmus, a teasing smile on her lips. A shiver ran up the Paladin’s spine, watching the rhythmic swaying of her hips as she led the way through the darkness.

She led Erasmus through a tunnel entrance, yada yada. And bing bang boom, suddenly Erasmus saw a large room, filled with treasure and shit. There was no need for the shattered remains of Erasmus’ glow jar, for the gold seemed to give off its own light. The Paladin gaped wide eyed at the treasure hoard. There were gold rings and torcs, gilded helms and silvered mail shirts, swords with jewelled hilts and rods bearing gems the size of fists. Erasmus had never seen so much wealth, a wealth that could only exist in the tales of ancient times. He could hardly believe the sight, could never imagine even an Elf hoard containing this much splendour.

“This is… but this cannot be…”

“It surely is,” said Erda, standing beside him. “This is the hoard of a king…”

Suddenly, Erasmus’ eyes were turned towards a new site. He saw a great seat of stone resting atop a raised dais. And upon that seat there rested a sword, its blade like gleaming jet, its hilt red-gold.

“You have braved the darkness, Erasmus” continued Erda, “where others have fled. You are a man chosen by fate. All this by rights is yours…”

“The treasures of a king…” Erasmus said breathlessly.

“Aye… and of his queen…” She moved in closer, pressing her body against his. The Paladin’s blood ran hot, feeling the curves of her body, her cool breath upon his skin.

“Lady Erda…” he gulped. “This is… what are you doing?”

“You are so strong, so brave. Ever since I first saw you, I have desired you, as much as you have desired me. But first you must be a king. Go ahead. Take the sword, claim your birthright. And then, you may claim me…”

Her lips brushed his, and Erasmus returned her kisses hungrily. For a moment, he was lost in ecstasy, then suddenly he pushed her away.

“No… no this is not right. I am no king…”

“But you are, Erasmus. You must be. It is no less than you deserve.”

“No. I have known too many men who thought themselves the only ones deserved of ruling others. I have fought them. I have fought for them. And I will not be so quick as to make the same mistakes as they did.”

Erda laughed, mocking and cruel. “And what have you chosen instead? A life of servitude? Fighting and dying for barbarians and outlaws? If you insist on continuing this foolish quest, you will meet only defeat and death.”

Erasmus shook his head. “Foolishness… death… those have always been the companions of the great heroes. I’d rather die a happy fool than go back to living in shame and regret.”

Suddenly the fiery light of the treasure hoard vanished, plunging Erasmus’ world back into darkness. The only thing he could still see was the light in Erda’s eyes, brights and green like the eyes of a shadow-cat.

“Then you have chosen… death…”

Erasmus felt long talons slash his chest, felt the warmth of his own blood against his skin. He stumbled backwards in pain. He landed heavily against the earth floor, and when he looked back up he saw a shadow, darker than even the total blackness surrounding him. It stood tall like a cloaked giant. Erasmus couldn’t help but think it looked like Pike.

“Well, Paladin… you’ve made your choice. Come… come die like a Hero.” It lifted up a black sword, its edges burning with flame. The black sword lunged forward. Erasmus threw himself back, tumbling on the floor and rolling back to his feet. Without looking backwards, the Paladin raced into the darkness, sensing the Shadow following close behind. The words, strategic retreat, repeating in his mind like a chant.

He seemed to be running in a narrow tunnel now, walls pressing in tighter and switching directions in mad angles. Erasmus half ran, half stumbled his way through the dark, danger ever close behind. Terrible laughter sounding all around him. As he ran, he thought he could feel several pairs of eyes upon him, watching… waiting.

He lost his footing, stumbling suddenly into shallow water. He thrashed about, trying to force his head above the water, but the more he struggled, the deeper he sank. Still, he could not shake the feeling of the eyes watching him. He lessened his struggles, felt weightless as he sank deeper into the pool. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and there he thought he saw a faint glimmer of light in the darkness beneath him. He moved closer, his limbs slow and unresponsive. He thrust his hand toward the glimmer, his fingers touching cold earth and rocks. He gripped what felt like the hilt of a sword. With great effort, he wrenched it free, the weight of it seeming to drag him back to the water’s surface. Erasmus gasped for air, and saw the shadow loom above him. Its eyes burning like stars, wolfish fangs gleaming, black sword in its hands. Where once Erasmus thought the terror looked like Pike, now he thought that it looked horrifyingly like himself.

Erasmus looked down, in his hand was a sword, its blade long and wide, shimmering silver like a full moon. Its hilt and blade were long, not like a normal two handed weapon, but like a sword meant for the hand of a giant. The Paladin struggled to lift it.

“Come on,” he said through gritted teeth. “If you want my life, come take it… if you dare.”

The Shadow laughed again. Once more it spoke in Erda’s voice. “You are just a mortal. This world belongs to us. Why struggle so vainly against fate?”

“Because I’m a fool who listened to too many stories. Come on then, what are you waiting for?”

The Shadow howled terribly, raising up its black blade and rushing forward like a tempest, growing larger as it grew near. Erasmus let out a battle cry as he swung the blade. The swords met in an explosion of light, and Erasmus knew no more.

So everyone was sitting outside the barrow, cold and wet and miserable. Some sharpened daggers, some rolled dice, but no one spoke. Pike watched moodily at some Thanes who were smoking from pipes, he had lost his own somewhere. But always his gaze returned to Erda, sat amongst her Rangers. He could not help but remember the words she spoke to the Paladin as knelt before her. He kept trying to banish the thought from his mind. It was making him angry and confused all at once, and yet also a feeling he knew to be sadness. He could not see Erda’s expression, but he pictured grief on her face, and somehow that thought was more unbearable than all the rest.

Looking for a distraction, he glanced over at Myra, who was sitting not too far from him, glaring hatefully at him over her knees.

“Fuck are you looking at?” Pike sneered. She said nothing, not even blinking. “I know, it’s my fault, everything is apparently my fucking fault. Well I didn’t ask your dumb boyfriend to do this. Always has to show off, doesn’t he? Got to look for the princess. Idiots like him always do that sort of thing, and what does it get you? Dead. Stone-cold dead.” He picked up a rock and contemptuously hurled it into some bushes.

“Manhunter?” said Myra abruptly. Pike went to glower at her, prepared for a witty remark. But there was none of the usual ire in Myra’s eyes. “Have you not ever done anything foolish for the sake of a lover? Or even a friend?”

Pike’s typical sassiness died in his throat. He scowled. “I was raised to know better. Only reason I’ve lived as long as I have.”

Myra looked at the Manhunter with a new-found pity. She had lived a hard, unforgiving life, full of pain, but also she had known love. How could this killer begin to understand what he had taken from her, if he had never known it? She looked up to the sky, and smiled.

“I ran away from home to be with him. How could I not, I was just some sappy shepherd girl, and he was so handsome, so gallant with his smile and his cloak. From the first day I saw him, to his last…” She pulled her red-cloak tighter about her. Pike looked up at her curiously. “I chose to be a bandit, live like an animal, all so I could lie next to him. A part of me died when I watched his head fall to the ground. It hurts to not have him at my side anymore, the gods know it hurts…” Her eyes began to well up. “But even if all I have left is memories, I wouldn’t give them up for the world.”

Pike fidgeted uncomfortably. He preferred it when Myra was threatening to kill him. That kind of thing he understood. He pretended to inspect an ant that had crawled onto his hand. “He wasn’t afraid, you know.”

“What was that?” Myra said.

“I was saying that he… Garm… wasn’t afraid. Warriors know these things. His eyes had the look men get when they know they’re about to die. Sometimes the fear makes them go mad, fight like animals. But he didn’t. I think it was because… that somehow… he knew I would let you live.”

Myra looked at him with curiosity. “And why would that be?”

Pike shrugged. “It was only ten silver…”

And then there was a creepy scream, echoing from the barrow’s entrance. Everyone jumped, the Thanes reaching for weapons they didn’t have. The creepy scream’s echo continued, then faded, and was gone. For a few moments, everyone just stood there, expectantly. Nothing happened. Myra’s head drooped.

“So… that’s it then.”

The company started to turn their backs on the mound, all of them quiet as the grave. Some began to openly weep. Only Pike remained standing where he was, staring silently into the stone gate. Then, his keen eyes picked up a faint light. Erda, passing him, noticed Pike’s concentration and followed his gaze. Footsteps could now be heard, from within the barrow. Everyone stopped. And saw Erasmus emerge, soaking wet, his chest torn and bloodied. His eyes were deep pits of shadow, and in his hand there was the most magnificent sword any of them had ever laid eyes on. Myra held her hands to her mouth, beginning to cry once again.

Erasmus, breathing heavily, looked towards the sun where it was half hid by clouds, drinking in the sight. With an effort, he raised the sword above his head, the blade shining like white fire.

“ERASMUUUUS!” cried Conn, thrusting his fist in the air.

The others took up the cry. “ERASMUS! ERASMUS! ERASMUS!”

Pike gave a snarking grin and turned away, hobbling past Myra.

“Bloody peacock…”