Pike grunted in pain as the arrows which were embedded in his shoulders and legs were savagely pulled free, shredding his flesh to ribbons.

He snarled and glared up at the man. “You fu…” he was cut off abruptly by a kick to the jaw.

“It’s better than you deserve,” said Ruadh, flatly, holding the arrows in a shaky fist. “If we could spare the time, I’d gladly drag your sorry carcass back to the Troll-men, to answer for Wudu’s murder, you bloody-handed assassin.”

Ruadh stood grimly over the ragged shape of Pike and turned glaring eyes over toward Erasmus. The Paladin was sitting on a stone, staring at the black blade resting across his knees. “And to think, he owes his life to you, Erasmus. You and Erda.”

Erasmus only continued to look deep into the blade, as if trying to find the answer to some riddle within the cursed, folded steel.

“What’s done is done,” he said, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

“We cannot linger here,” said one of the two rangers. “The enemy’s vanguard is one the move. We must hurry, before they stand between us and the Fence.”

“So that is where we’ll make our stand,” muttered Ruadh. “How many have come?”

“About five-hundred of our people,” said the second ranger.

“Is that all?”

“It was at Lady Erda and the council’s insistence,” the ranger continued, “that only half of a clan’s fighters join the battle. The others were to scatter, and find what refuge they can.”

Ruadh nodded his head gravely. “Then Erda has arrived safely with the paladins then.”

“Yes. She is at the Fence as we speak.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Erasmus looked up. “At the front lines? Will she not go somewhere away from the battle?”

Ruadh shook his head. “She is… the one chosen by the Sacred Land. Her place is with it.”

“What rot…” gasped Pike’s voice. The ranger’s hands strayed to their quivers as they watched the wounded man struggle to his hands and knees. Pike knew he had suffered worse, but separated from his sword, even breathing was difficult. “You can’t… win. Not against that horde.”

One of the rangers huffed. “We are not frightened, of either your horde, nor of death itself.”

Pike grimaced. “You… tree-hugging monkeys can go get blown to bits for your sacred place nonsense. But why… why does she have to die.”

“Why waste words on you?” Ruadh sneered. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Like hell I wouldn’t. Holy ground… noble causes… what good is any of that crap… if it means destroying…” Pike’s hands were shaking and he clamped his eyes shut, angrily fighting back the tears, “…destroying the only beautiful person to be found in this rotten, ugly world.”

Erasmus slowly rose to his feet. He looked down at the wounded Pike. Only sadness was left in his eyes. He looked up. Through the tangled forest canopy, miles above, could be glimpsed the sky of early dawn. “Pike. It seems we are of the same mind. But did you not ever stop and wonder… where that beauty comes from? I think I understood, when I heard a story, long ago, of a woman who held in her hands a miracle, a chance to buy an army of paladins to defend that which she cherished the most. But she gave that miracle away, the save the life of one lonely, bloody-handed vagabond, when no one else would have…”

“We have no time for this,” said the ranger. “Come friend, leave him to the wolves.”

Erasmus turned his back on Pike and strode away, the rangers already disappearing from view. The paladin paused and looked back at Pike.

“No matter what you may have done, no matter what the outcome might be, Erda did not make the wrong choice.”

With that, Erasmus left the clearing, and he, and the rangers, and the black sword, were gone. When at last, Pike was sure that they were far away, he no longer held back the tears.

After some time, Pike tried to shuffle his way to a nearby pond, to cool his dry throat. Slowly, painfully, he dragged his wounded body over to the pond’s edge. He stretched forth a shaky hand to the water, but a booted foot stamped down on his wrist. The wolfish grin of Fang loomed over him. Pike could hear the footsteps of Talon’s men draw nearer.

“Thirsty are you?” Fang spat. “First, tell me where your fancy sword is?”

Pike wracked his brain for something witty to say. “Fuck you,” he said, satisfied.

Fang chuckled and grabbed him by the collar. Pike didn’t bother to struggle, as his head was held beneath the water’s surface.