Anyways, after many thrilling adventures and an indeterminate amount of time, Erasmus, Ruadh, and those other guys I didn’t name, at last arrived at their destination.

“Ruadh! Erasmus!” cried Conn as he leapt down from his hidden perch. Not far behind him emerged Bran, his eyes wide.

“By the Singer’s Teeth,” gasped Bran. “And here I thought… I thought you two were strangers, I hardly recognised you.”

Indeed, the two of them had changed much since that day they were separated from Erda’s party. Ruadh was much leaner, worn, and haggard. All trace of colour in his greying hair was gone, and his eyes were dark and sunken, though they gleamed with a fierce light now he had returned to his people, his bearded face split with a wide grin.

Erasmus too had changed much. Any hint of softness about his frame was gone. He seemed broader about the shoulders, and taller somehow. More rangers were approaching now, their tattooed faces peering at the paladin with no small amount of awe.

“Out of the way, you bastards,” Conn waved the others away, hopping from one foot to the other in excitement. “Let the heroes through. They must get to Lady Erda straight aways! Come on, move!”

Erasmus slapped a hand on Conn’s shoulder. “Don’t start overselling me, Conn. I haven’t done anything yet.” He let out a hearty laugh, it had been so long since he had. “It’s good to see you lads again.”

Anyways, the party made their way through the winding path. Erasmus sensed more than saw that they were entering into some kind of valley. The giant trees (which were retconned in, all the trees in the ranger’s country are giant), grew closer here, there roots forming impenetrable walls, the only path betrayed by a small, flowing brook. Trekking deeper into the valley, the path widened until before them lay a wide ravine. At the opposite end rose a single tree, rising straight as spear, black openings dotting all over its massive trunk like windows. Behind that and slightly off to right, the far exit of the valley was blocked from sight by what looked like a great, green ridge that stood like an earthen rampart. But it became clear that this too, was the trunk of another great tree that had fallen, long ago and half sunk into the earth. Now it was overgrown with moss and grasses, while remnants of its might branches poked through the greener. In the valley, thin wisps of smoke rose up into the canopy, and people could be seen milling around.

“This the place, Erasmus,” said Ruadh, “where we make our the stand.”

“The Great Fence, that guards the Heart of the Wild,” Conn nodded enthusiastically. “Pretty good scenery, don’t you think?”

“We’ll let the readers decide that,” said Erasmus.

“Bugger them,” said Ruadh. “The world-building can wait, I’m hungry. Come on sprouts, lead the way, while I’m still young.”

They made their way through the valley, past the small lake formed at its lowest point, and past the lone sentinel of a tree, which Erasmus saw was indeed dotted with window like openings, from which peered out the faces of rangers. More of them were gathered about its base, carrying barrels and quivers of arrows up a short flight of steps and through a gate that opened up into the tree between two jutting ridges. Yet somehow, neither the gate nor the windows seemed to be have been cut by human hands, but were seemingly natural developments of upon the trees surface.

Erasmus stumbled a little after nearly tripping over his own feet, so wrapped up was he in the sight. The deeper he ventured into the Wild (with a capital ‘W’ mind you), the more he felt like he stepping into an alien world.

Many curious faces were turned their way, though none stopped in their labours, preparing for the battle that was to come. He saw many that shared startling similarities to Conn and Bran, but others too looked only tangentially related, with wildly differing clothing and accessories. Erasmus wondered just how large this country was, tucked away in a forgotten corner of the world.

As they neared the ridge, a few more familiar faces popped into view. “About time you showed up Chief!” Joren, one of Erasmus’ band you forgot about, came skidding down the ridge.

“What are you on about Jor-, Dark Lord’s Balls!” the bearded giant Kregan called out. “Lad’s hurry about, the boss is back!”

Soon, the whole band of paladins that were absent for a good portion of this book were rushing over, crowding around their captain and palling around, generally punching shoulders and dishing out noogies.

Man. These touching reunions are tedious. Surrounded by their joyous companions, Ruadh and Erasmus were hurried into the main camp, settled behind the log-ridge. There, sure enough, was waiting Erda, that sexy bitch.

When she saw them, Erda ran over, throwing her arms around Ruadh’s neck for an embrace, and then Erasmus. She stepped back, the happiness in her eyes clouded by unasked questions.

“Thank Heaven,” she said softly. “Though I fear you two have only stepped out of the pan an into the fire.”

Erasmus chuckled. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He looked down at the black sword he carried in his belt, and then back at Erda.

“The others… didn’t make it then?” Erda asked.

“I’m afraid it’s a little worse than that.”

Ruadh snorted. “No need to ruin a good reunion by bringing up such things early. We’ll explain everything later.”

“Oh, of course,” Erda nodded. “As glad as I am, you’ve clearly suffered much, Ruadh.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The old ranger shrugged. “Nothing that a hearty drink won’t mend.”

Suddenly, a shrill, high pitched trumpet blast split the air. All eyes went back to the ridge.

“What was that?” said Joren, when the noise had died away, only to be replaced by another blast, nearer at hand.

“Those are the forward scouts,” Erda breathed. “It seems you two have arrived just in time.”

As a group, they gathered about the crest of the ridge. At the far end of the valley, where Erasmus and Ruadh had entered, a dark shadow was forming, spilling into the valley like the tide through a broken damn. The shapes of rangers riding atop elk-steeds were seen hurrying towards the safety of ridge. Any ranger in the open was now making for the ridge or to the tower-tree.

They continued to stare at the incoming horde, banners waving above them. The sound of beating drums echoing faintly on the still, forest air.

A paladin named Cyrus grinned wolfishly and gripped his sabre. “Well, it’s about time. I’ve been waiting for so long for this, Its hard to contain all this excitement any longer.”

“Keep it your pants, Cyrus,” Kregan laughed. “You’ll get all the action you could want soon enough.”

Joren strode forward and took the spiralling, seashell shaped horn at his belt and blew on it. The deep, thrumming call of the horn of Palladion drowned out all other sounds for moment. “Come here, ladies!” called out Joren to the enemy when the echoes had faded away, “Here’s a bunch of lusty Palladion boys waiting for ya!”

The other paladins whooped and cheered and waved their swords in the air. Erasmus blushed a little at their raunchy insults and smiled apologetically at Erda, but she only smiled back.

“They’re in high spirits. We rangers are grateful to have such fiery warriors with us.”

A nearby ranger nodded. “But you best save your fire for tomorrow friends,” he said, trying hard to be heard over them. “The day is late, and the goblin-folk busy themselves with making camp.”

“No doubt they’ll dig in and fortify themselves against counter-attack,” Erasmus said. “If they have any sense about them that is.”

Erda nodded. “They might threaten attack at night, but they know our eyes are keener in the dark than theirs. We have until daybreak tomorrow to prepare.”

“You heard the lady,” said Kregan, looking at the paladins about him. “So you’ll just have to hold it in or play grab-ass with each-other till tomorrow.”

One awkward transition later, Erasmus was sitting before a large fire, around which also sat Joren, Ruadh, Erda, and some other, respected chiefs amongst the Rangers. Ruadh had just finished recounting his version of events, from his departure to rescue Erasmus from the Dwarves, until their arrival at the fence.

Throughout the story, Erda sat quietly, staring into the open flames. Erasmus could not help but grieve over the pain she clearly felt at the tale. From Ruadh’s tortures, of Talon the mercenary chief who had learned so much of the Rangers’ secrets, and of Pike…

“This news is grave, brother,” said a stern looking ranger, his broad arms criss-crossed with many scars.

“Aye,” muttered Ruadh, “This creature, Talon, I fear him more than any goblin-man. I had hoped to trade my life for his, but to no avail. I can only hope to amend my wrong somehow in the battle. But it grieves me more, to have traded our secrets for the life of that woman, Myra.” At this, Ruadh gave a side-long glance at Erasmus which seemed apologetic somehow. “But the betrayal of the grey-haired bounty hunter. That is the most wretched pill to swallow. I knew he would be trouble. Erda cannot be blamed, but it was an evil fate that led to the waste of that magic healing juice on such a cretin.”

“It is not for us to say which fate is evil, who cannot see foresee the end of such things,” croaked the voice of an ancient elder. “The young lady Erda was chosen to bear the Gift, to use it by her own judgement. Who are we to judge so soon the fruits of such a decision.”

“But the man betrayed us!” objected Ruadh. “And murdered a companion…”

“So we know for certain?” Erda asked, hesitantly.

Erasmus averted his gaze from Erda’s. “I found Wudu’s body myself. She had… fought valiantly. Pike confirmed it too.”

“I remember he slew the troll-girl’s brother in that scuffle, remember?” said Joren. “You had to go through that trial and all. At least you got that nice sword out of it.”

Erda sighed. “I was afraid those two would come to blows at some point. But… is Pike...”

Erasmus shrugged.

“We left him bleeding out on the forest floor,” spat Ruadh. “If wolves didn’t get him, those men set to ambush him probably have. Better than he deserves, no doubt. We took his sword though. I don’t like the look of the thing, but its the only worthwhile thing he had that might be given to the Troll-men for justice sake.”

“And what of Myra?”

That question seemed to weigh heavily on both Erasmus and Ruadh. Ruadh could only shake his head. “She only disappeared. I can only imagine she went back to the enemy.”

“Who could blame her,” muttered Erasmus. “I should have never allowed her to come.”

“I think, Erasmus,” said Erda, “that could have only been achieved if you did not come yourself. You could not have kept that woman cooped up in a cage, no matter how safe it may be.”

“That’s all very unfortunate,” said ranger chieftain. “But that’s all in the past. We have more pressing matters right on our doorstep.”

“This is true,” said Erasmus. “I think I can already guess our strategy. But so we are all on the same page, tell me, what shall be the order of battle.”

At this, another ranger spoke up. “This place we are in forms a kind of valley. The ground near the Heart of the Wild. This valley is the only corridor into that place, so here shall be our front lines.”

“We tried to harry the goblins while on the march,” said another, “but the foreigners they’ve brought in had set up a ring of scouts to screen their advance. Little chance for us to ambush them.”

“Aye,” said another. “Best for us to hold them here. That great tree that stands not far from here, we call that the Sentinel. A few good men can hold it against an army. But it will only serve to be a thorn in the side of the enemy. While their are archers within to harass their passage, the goblins must spare the men to besiege the place and keep our men contained there.” The ranger had drawn his dagger and began scratching lines in the dirt floor, creating a rough sketch of the valley.

“But the main assault will fall here,” he gestured towards the long line representing the log-ridge, at the furthest point from the Sentinel. “This fallen tree we call the Barrow. It is a defendable position, but not one we can hold forever against heavy attack. We are certain that the goblin-folk must end this battle quickly, before their supplies run out. They will throw themselves at the Barrow and drive us away.”

“I’d hate to be the poor sod that gets put into the front lines for that effort,” chuckled Joren, a little half-heartedly. “One volley of arrows from your rangers would melt any army.”

Erasmus nodded. “We can only hope it will be so simple. I’ve seen up close. They’re well stocked for this kind of fight. Cannon, armour, shields and the like.”

“We know this too,” said the ranger, “but we are not unprepared for that.”

“Certainly,” continued Erasmus. “But these... hired hands they’ve brought in worry me the most.”

“Mercenaries?” inquired Joren.

“I wish they were. Any respectable, contracted soldier can be relied upon to settle for terms, if much bloodshed becomes unavoidable. But the ones I saw had that… madness in their eyes. Hardened killers and daredevils, the lot of them. The kind that welcomes the danger. This will be a hard, bloody business.”