Another awkward scene transition later (it’s been a hard couple of months, okay, leave me alone), Erasmus was in a private tent, inspecting his weapons and armour. He tested the edge of his sword’s bright blade, keen as ever. His gaze turned to the black blade that lay in the corner. Twice had he felt the sting of that cursed blade cut his flesh, felt it steal away his strength like a hungry parasite. Once, the sight of that predatory sword had filled him with dread. Now, it only brought feelings of deep melancholy.

Wretched thing. He thought to himself. It would have been better if you were never born. He thought of snapping the thing over his knees, but he sighed, and relinquished the thought.

No. What good is to blame a weapon for the way it was forged, forged to know only death. Is it truly a foolish hope, that some good might eventually come from such a thing?

“Mister Erasmus?” came a hushed voice from outside the tent’s entrance. “I have a message to deliver.”

“Come in,” he said, absentmindedly, too lost in thought. At the sounds of rustling fabrics, Erasmus turned to look at the newcomer, a thin frame wrapped in a ranger’s cloak.

Erasmus smiled softly. “To sneak past an army of rangers… you really are something else.”

Myra pulled the hood back from her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll return the cloak. I haven’t gone back to thieving.”

Erasmus chuckled, and then went silent. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay with you, Myra. I do love you, I realise that now. But I know it in my heart that my place is here. To what end, I’ve no idea. But this is something I must do.”

“I know,” said Myra, sitting beside him. “Ruadh was ready to die to protect his secrets, the secrets he gave up to save my life. And I betrayed him, and you. I made that deal to lure Pike into that trap, because Talon promised he could restrain you, keep you safe until all this was over.”

Erasmus shrugged. “You never made any promises. You are free to wash your hands of all this, if you want.”

Myra shook her head. “That Wudu girl is dead because of me. And yet, I feel worse for… for trying to ruin your quest.”

“You were trying to protect me from this fool’s errand. Why do you think that?”

“Because Erasmus, this quest is what makes you… who you are. Because you are set on doing this, being here, for these people, it’s what makes you beautiful. Were you anything less, I wouldn’t have fallen for you as much as I have. What I did was selfish…”

Erasmus wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I promise you Myra. If we both somehow make it out of this, I will take you for my wife, and live life however we please.”

“I would like that more than anything,” she said. “But it would be cruel of me to keep you just to myself. Your like a star, Erasmus, surrounded by a sea of darkness, but all the more brilliant for it. I remember, long ago, something Garth, my dead husband once told me. I once said that I would pluck the stars from the sky for him, but he only laughed, and said that I shouldn’t take such a beautiful thing from its seat, where all can look up at its glory.”

Erasmus paused for a long while, only holding her close to him, until he said. “Shut up and kiss me.”

And then they kissed, it was romantic.

And they they had hot, stinky sex, which was a little less romantic.

The next morning, Erasmus awoke to the sound of distant trumpets blaring. He was alone, with no sign of Myra, or of Pike’s sword.

Suddenly, Bran poked his head through the tent flaps. “Erasmus! The enemy camp is stirring, they’re on the move!”

Erasmus looked over to his armour display and reached for his sword.

“So it begins.”

In the goblin’s camp, Talon emerged from his own tent, arrayed in his own heavy armour, flanked by his lieutenants and other mercenary captains. Amongst the bustle of the army gathering up its weapons, and the teams of engineers rolling their heavy guns into positions, Talon and the mercenaries approached Lord Hobb, the goblin chief resting upon his chariot, drawn by a team of two great boars.

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Talon held up his hand and took the spyglass that Sting had placed in it.

“Bit of a bother,” he said, observing the great fallen log. “But impassable. I’d say you ought to leave that one to us professionals, Lord Hobb.”

The large man grunted in his chariot. “For another flat payment, I presume?”

Talon looked around at his fellow captains, who had taken him as their de-facto leader and representative. “As per the contract. Can’t expect our boys to be rushing into a proper battle without some reward.”

Hobb waved his hand, dismissively. “Then hold your boys until I have need of them. Are the batteries entrenched and prepared?”

“Aye.”

“Then you may commence the bombardment on that tree and suppress whatever archers might be inside it. My warriors will storm that ridge.”

“The rangers are good bowmen, aren’t they? A volley from them would be…”

“Hah!” Hobb spat contemptuously on the ground. “We know their tricks. Let them sling their little arrows. Assemble the formation! Begin the assault!”

Teams of drummers began beating their heavy instruments, their deep, booming calls mixing with the thousands of stamping feet making the earth rumble. From the Sentinel and the Barrow, the rangers peered at the milling horde and strung their bows.

“Open fire!” Talon called out. Trumpeters gave out the order, and the cannons roared and spat, showering the Sentinel tree in hail of lead. Where they struck, explosions of wood shards burst like clouds. Some hit their marks, smashing the peepholes on the trees face, forcing the rangers within to seek shelter, or else risk being torn to pieces by the splinters. Men with rifles and crossbows, set behind makeshift barricades, kept up the bombardment while the cannons reloaded.

With the Sentinel besieged, goblin chiefs mustered their assault force, a motley crowd of large shields, with banners looming overhead. As a body, the goblin-folk began marching, their voices raised in battle-chants.

Peering over the barrow, Erasmus watched the oncoming tide, decked out in armour like his fellow paladins. They all gripped the handles of weapons and shields and grit their teeth. All wore mad grins they could hardly suppress.

Sure enough, as they drew nearer, the goblin-folk slowed their march, raising their heavy shields and clustering close together. Like some monstrous tortoise, the host crawled closer to Barrow, the flare of muskets appearing from cracks in shell. From behind the Barrow, rangers whooped, yelled obscenities and sent the occasional arrow flying into whatever gaps appeared in the shields.

Closer the host came, to the base of the Barrow itself. The goblin chanting was deafening now. They were halfway up the ridge, until suddenly, the shrill notes of the rangers shell-horns cried out and the heads rangers appeared from over the crest of the Barrow, pushing great boulders and logs down into the sea of shields. A wave of wood and rock smashed into the front rank of shields, crushing them or hurling them back into the ranks behind. All became a confusion jumble of broken wood and tangled limbs, the goblins trampling each-other to break free from the mess.

“Now!” boomed a deep voice. Rangers leaped onto the Barrow’s height, sending a volley of arrows flying point-blank into the ruined formation, the darts slicing through mail and flesh with ease and destroying whatever order was left.

“Paladins! Chaaaarge!” came the call. “Palladioooon!” came the answering cry. Erasmus leapt over the crest, his armour gleaming silver from the light that seemed to burst from his pale sword, his band of paladins beside him. They were followed by a host of rangers, waving aloft swords and spears, their tattooed faces twisted with animal rage, howling like vengeful ghosts as they hurled themselves at their invaders. With a deafening crash, Erasmus fell upon the nigh defenceless enemy like a bolt of lightning. His sword flashed, slicing through a heavy shield to tear apart the warrior behind it. His sword made a wall of death as hacked and slashed at the goblins. Whatever morale they had left was utterly demolished, and though they tried to turn in flight, the confusion of the melee only made them impede their fellows as they were torn apart by their destroyers.

A great goblin chieftain swung a heavy sabre at Erasmus, only to be cut from shoulder to hip in one great swing from the paladin’s blade. Others tried to come at him from the sides, but one had his helmet and skull crushed by a blow from a paladin’s war-hammer, while the other was hurled backwards when Conn pole-vaulted himself with his spear and delivered a sick flying drop-kick into the sucker’s face.

The battle had truly become a massacre. The front ranks of the goblin-folk were utterly smashed. The ranks behind saw the carnage and fled. Erasmus waved his sword, crying out with joy at the victory. But a sudden shock made him stumble to his knees, a shower of dirt falling about him. He looked up, and saw a nearby ranger’s chest suddenly disappear in a red mist, the ground behind him bursting apart.

The mercenary batteries, seeing the rout, had turned their guns to the Barrow.

“Back over the ridge!” Erasmus yelled. Now it was the rangers turn to rout as they scrambled over the Barrow, vengeful cannonballs falling around them. As Erasmus neared the crest, Joren turned to grab his hand, but a sudden explosion of dirt in their faces sent them both tumbling back down the Barrow. Quickly, Erasmus grabbed Joren’s wrist and hauled the other paladin back over the crest and into the safety of the far side. Erasmus lay there, panting, allowing his sword to slip from his fingers.

“Damn, I hate cannons,” groaned Joren. “That one was too close.”

“Much too close,” said Erasmus. “Looks like you left your leg behind.”

Joren looked down at the red stump below his right knee. “Bugger. So it has.” The paladin let his head fall heavily to the ground. “Don’t suppose you mind giving me the rest of the day off?”

“If you insist,” said Erasmus as hauled himself to his feet and saw to bandaging his companion’s bloody wound.