“Enough,” said Gram, his eyes dark pits in the dim lamplight.

The soldier’s arm halted mid-swing. Blood dripped from the knotted end of the leather thongs that dangled from the makeshift whip.

“You’re a tenacious old dog, I’ll give you that,” said Gram. He seemed disappointed. Despite the score of gashes that crossed the old man’s naked back, the Ranger hadn’t uttered even a whimper.

Ruadh chuckled. “Ranging is hard living,” he rasped through bloodied teeth. “You should try it. It would get rid of that paunch of yours in no time.”

Gram said nothing. Only tapping out the ember of his pipe onto the floor. He turned to one of his soldiers and took the lamp from the man’s hand. He approached Ruadh, making the shadows dance around the dingy old-cellar that was serving as a makeshift torture room.

Looming over the old Ranger that lay with his hands bound behind his back, Gram let a trickle of oil spill from the lamp. Ruadh’s flesh hissed and steamed as the oil poured over his shoulder. But Ruadh only grunted.

“Don’t think you can anger me into killing you,” said Gram. “There is nothing you can say that can match the hatred I have for all you Rangers. A hatred that can only be satisfied by the complete destruction of your order. All these years of preparation for that event has made a rather… patient man.”

“Patient, but not very wise…” said Ruadh through ragged breaths. “You’ve made some dangerous friends… Master of Hargrave. Even if you do defeat us, you’re own people will only suffer. The wolves we have kept from your doorstep… you’ve gone and invited them to guard your cradles.”

Gram gave Ruadh a savage kick in the stomach. “You’re empty threats don’t frighten me, charlatan.” A manic, desperate look was in his eyes. Ruadh caught the nervous glances that the Gram’s soldiers gave each-other. He grinned to himself despite the pain. He had struck a nerve.

But Gram must have caught on to Ruadh’s scheme. “Leave us,” he barked to his men.

“But sir…”

“He’s just an old man. I can handle him.”

Reluctantly the men filed out of the cellar.

“Why are you doing this Gram?” said Ruadh softly. “You were once a friend. An ally. And now you’ve sold your own people’s future to the orcs… all for what?”

“I’m the one asking the questions here,” Gram said, but there was no longer any anger in his voice. There was an air of grief and despair around him, like a man who knows the hangman’s noose awaits him the next day. A man who has nothing else to do but remember old wounds and forgotten joy.

“You want answers? But you know the answer already. You know that we would have saved her,” said Ruadh. “She was loved by all. But the Miruvor (name pending)… It is a rare and precious thing. There is never enough to save everyone. Every life saved means that another must perish. We cannot share the gift with everyone. We will not keep it for ourselves. It is no easy decision, to choose who can have a second chance at life. But not once has a Ranger ever accepted the Gift for himself. Your daughter understood her duty. She died so others might live. She understood her duty…”

“Enough already…” said Gram coldly. “You are right. I do know all that…”

“And yet you talk of revenge? You would destroy the order your daughter gave her life for? Why?”

“She may have refused a second chance at life, as you said. But does not a father have a right to choose what is best for his daughter…”

“What do you mean? She is already…” Ruadh went silent. “No. Whatever the orcs told you, I t won’t work. The Miruvor does not have that kind of power, no matter how much you have. You cannot bring her back.”

But Gram’s face was a dark mask. “I already swore an oath on her grave. I must try… no matter the cost.” Gram stood up and turned his back on Ruadh. “You will die tomorrow. And then we will march. The orcs will lead us to Rangerhome, and we will destroy it utterly. The orcs will see to it that every Ranger they get their hands on will die slowly and painfully. I can however, ensure that at least a couple can survive. Just tell me what you were doing when you were captured. Anything that might help us.”

Ruadh spat. “What would be the point. You’ve damned us all anyway. You fool. Just call in somebody to keep the torture going so we can get this over with.”

Picking up the lamp, Gram walked out of the cellar with nothing interesting to say, leaving Ruadh alone in utter darkness.

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Some time passed before the next scene began. There was a fumbling at the door. A soldier stepped in, filling the room red lamp-light. He stepped in cautiously, a truncheon clenched in his fist.

“Its safe miss. You can enter.”

In hobbled a woman, covered in a dark brown habit and a hood. Some kind of nun or priestess she must have been, her face and skin hidden entirely from view. “Does he still live?” she croaked in a hoarse voice.

The soldier shrugged. “He’s alive enough to breath.”

“The poor thing…” she clicked her tongue. “He’s torn to bits…”

“I don’t see why it matters, he just needs to live until the morning…”

“Oh? And are you the captain now?” the woman snapped. “Just hurry up and leave already. The master wants to question the prisoner again soon, and I must make sure he is healthy enough to talk.”

“I can’t just leave you alone with the prisoner. If something goes wrong, it’ll be on me…”

“Fine. But close the door at least. These old bones feel the draft better than you.”

“Alright alright,” muttered the soldier. “Bloody nuns…”

Ruadh barely saw what happened next. Through blurry vision, he watched as the soldier slammed the door closed. Then suddenly there was a sharp crack, and a heavy thud. The soldier was lying on the floor, the nun standing over him with a stone in her hand. Picking up the fallen lamp, the robed woman crossed over to Ruadh and removed her hood.

“M… Myra? How…”

She smiled softly. “These guards are as dumb as rocks, and I’ve been retconned to be more badass. But enough of that…”

She stooped and cut Ruadh’s bonds with a dagger, gently helping him to sit upright. From the folds of her habit she took a hunk of bread and a water-canteen. She poured some of the water on Ruadh’s ruined back and bade him drink the rest. Then she went over to the unconscious soldier, making sure to bind and gag him after stripping off his clothes.

“I don’t know how we’re going to smuggle you out of here, but we need to hurry. We’ll just have to improvise the rest. Can you walk out of here?”

Ruadh smiled weakly. “Of course I can…but-”

“Good, then put these on. There’s enough mercenaries outside the town. If we can just get you there, I’m sure you can blend in…”

“Myra, please…” he took up the knife she had dropped and offered it to her hilt first. “I thank you for trying to save me. But I cannot escape this place. Please… kill me.”

Myra’s eyes went wide. “What? Why? I can’t…”

“My life comes second to my duty… to my family...my friends. The longer I live among my enemies, the more chance they have of learning some secret from me. That I will not allow. I have already failed to rescue Erasmus…”

Myra bit her lip, then slapped the knife out of his hand. “You men are all the same. Ready to throw your lives away for stupid reasons. I didn’t mug a nun and come in here just to stab you myself. If you really want to die for your family, then fight tooth and nail to get back to them.”

“But… how…”

“We’ll figure it out later, come on.” She threw a coat about his shoulders and helped him to his feet.

But suddenly there came the sound of rushing feet outside the cellar door. Myra quickly dropped the lamp and dragged Ruadh into a shadowed corner. The door was flung open.

“Quick! Kill him! Kill the prisoner now! Before-” the soldier stopped, staring into the room with frenzied eyes, hand gripped a shoulder that was red with blood. He scanned the room, searching for the man who should be have been bound in the corner. But he did not have time to wonder about this, before the blade burst suddenly from out his chest. The shadowy figure drew behind the soldier pulled out his saber and kicked the body down the short flight of stairs. Ruadh and Myra held their breath as they watched the figure descend the stairs, a bloodied saber in his hand and shrouded in the green cloak of a Ranger.

The cloaked man looked around the room, then slowly turned, staring straight into the dark corner where Myra and Ruadh were, his face was shadowed by his hood and half-concealed with a scarf. He lifted up his saber. “You two. Step into the light where I can see you.”

The two of the complied, stepping close to the lantern on the ground.

“Myra?” said the stranger. “What the fuck are…” But before he could finish. Ruadh had dashed towards the lantern and snatched it up, flinging it at the stranger. The sword cut the lantern and extinguished the flame, but showered him with broken glass and hot oil. The room was thrown into utter darkness, with only a faint light spilling through the doorway.

The cloaked man spat and cursed angrily in the dark, while Ruadh quickly grabbed a stunned Myra’s hand and dragged her up the stairs with a speed that belied his sorry state. As they left the cellar, Ruadh slammed the door closed behind him.

“I don’t understand,” said Myra. “Was that man a…?”

Ruadh shook his head. “No. I’m sure of it. But something isn’t right here. We have to go. Now.”

They turned and raced down the hallway. They saw half a dozen slain soldiers along the way, laying where they had been cut down. They found a back door that opened into an alley and left the non-descript building they were in, being careful to not be seen. Myra threw off the nun robes that covered the normal clothes she was wearing. They hurried along, trying to get as far away from the building as possible, but trying not to be seen.

“Where to now?” asked Ruadh. “I’m not too familiar with this town.”

“Won’t do much good to hide in a hole while your still hurt like that. You need to get fixed up, even if its just a little. Lets just find a place where lots of people are drunk and see if we can’t blend in.”

Ruadh shrugged and silently complied. She found a man lying passed out in gutter next to an empty wine bottle and shoved it into Ruadh’s hand. “Now just lean against me and pretend to be pissed.”

They entered into the street, trying to look nonchalant amongst the random people who were all doing random things for whatever reasons, like playing dice or laughing at nothing.

The two of them plodded along nervously until the plot progressed.

“Excuse me miss,” came a slurred voice from behind them. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think you do,” said Myra curtly, not looking at the man. “Have a good one.”

“Oh… But I know I do.” A heavy hand grabbed Myra’s shoulder and spun her around. She looked up into the face of Snaga, leader of the sea-raider sell-swords.

He grinned drunkenly. “You’re that bastard’s whore, aren’t ya?”