“Well, that could’ve gone better.” Talon chuckled as he watched the tattered remnants of Hobb’s failed assault come limping back to camp. “I told you, should have left it to the professionals.

“Shut up!” snapped Hobb. “One more chirp from you, and I’ll…”

“Better save the inspiring words for your own men, good sir. Chin up, there’s always tomorrow. That sort of thing.”

Hobb angrily slammed his fist into the side of his chariot before rifling through his pockets and pulling out a small box. Sniffing up a pinch of snuff (basically crack), the large man sat back in his chariot with closed eyes and let out a deep sigh.

Talon strode back to his camp, past bands of mercenaries who drank and shared jokes at the goblin-folks’ expense. Making his way to a secluded corner of the camp, he entered into a dingy tent, surrounded by guards. Inside were two wooden poles driven into the earth, each of each held ends of ropes which were tied about the wrists of a naked man resting on his knees, arms splayed out by the ropes.

Talon grinned the wretched, bloody man. “Your paladin friend is something else. Once this is done, I’d love to get my hands on that sword of his, once all this is done.”

Pike made no response. Talon frowned and stalked over, grabbing Pike’s jaw and inspecting his blood encrusted face to make sure his prisoner was still alive. Though conscious, Pike refused to meet Talon’s gaze.

“Silent treatment eh? Poor thing. Missed your chance to save this… what is she? Some kind of princess? Must be rare catch. I’d love to see her for myself…”

Murder flashed through Pike’s eyes, though still he only stared off to the side. He snarled, though his voice was thin and weak. “Once… I’m free… I’ll enjoy killing you…”

Talon gave Pike a sharp slap to the cheek. “Your manners were always atrocious. And no. Don’t you worry about me killing you. You’re too wild to be let loose. But I just can’t stand waste.”

Pike spat out a tooth that will probably grow back somehow. “They took the sword from me. I can’t go get it back. You’ll get nothing out of me.”

“Perhaps. Of course, this torture business is only half for my men’s amusement. I have to consider the chance of you lying and keeping the thing hidden. And of course, no life is without value.”

“Dumbass. No one is going to pay for me.”

Talon chuckled. “There’s more to… life… than just money. That’s exactly why I’m here, old friend. Not for money, but for life…”

Pike at last turned his eyes on Talon, a dark shadow passing over them. Talon grinned broadly.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Of course you are. Surely you thought about it too? All that time carrying that sword, seeing its power. You must have wondered… the true potential of its ability?”

“Chief.” came a voice from behind. The woman named Thorn was standing at the tent’s entrance

“Yes? What is it?”

“Someone here, asking to see you.”

“Who?”

A deep scowl appeared on the woman fanged mouth. “It’s… her…”

In a flash, Talon was past her. Sure enough, flanked by Fang and Sting, stood Myra. She stood there, arms crossed, staring defiantly at the approaching Talon and heedless of the warriors around her.

Talon spread his hands and smiled wide. “Miss Myra… I was worried about you. Why didn’t you come back sooner?”

“You know why,” she said curtly. “I’m here to bargain with you.”

“Oh? Don’t tell me you were sent by the rangers to talk terms. Whatever’s on offer, I’m bound by contract to…”

“Don’t play dumb,” Myra snapped. “I know that you wouldn’t want to let on just how badly you wanted it. But I know. So I just… took the initiative.”

Talon’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes went dark, a predatory glare in them.

“You have it? Where…”

Myra nodded. “Agree to my demands… and I’ll tell you where I hid Pike’s sword.”

A sullen silence fell over the camp. Night had fallen on the second day of the battle, and the cost of the defence was beginning to show on the rangers. Behind the ridge of the Barrow, Erda and other healers like her had moved among the wounded defenders, nursing those she could save, and muttering prayers over those she could not. The stench of blood and smoke and death now permeated the once serene air of the Wild Wood.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Erda was now sitting in a quiet corner by herself, her gaze resting on the ground where many still forms were laid in a neat square. Their cloaks and puca hoods, which they had worn so proudly in life, now serve as their shawls. She shed no tears, for she had long been accustomed to seeing death in her work as a healer, but always would there be that feeling of hollowness that nestled deep within her.

She turned at the sound of clumsy footsteps drawing near. A burly paladin named Bruno was approaching, his dark, bearded face plastered in sweat despite the chill. He smiled weakly, “Miss Erda, sorry to disturb. I hope I’m not…” he grunted in pain, “imposing.”

Erda shook her head. “Not at all.” She rose up and help the paladin down to a sitting position, letting him rest his back against the earthen wall of the barrow. Beneath the man’s cloak, his bare chest was bound with bandages, old and crusted with blood.

“Those need replacing, Mister Bruno,” she said.

“Right you are, miss. But for now I just need these damn things of.” Bruno, took out his knife and sliced away the bandages, showing the paling skin beneath, and the round, open wound amongst a bed of purple flesh beneath his right nipple. Clearly the result of a stray musket-ball.

“That’s better,” grunted the paladin, “I can almost breath again…”

“Bruno… you should really be in resting.”

He shook his head. “I can see the stars from here. Miss Erda… do suppose you remember… from our journey here. After Erasmus disappeared, you were looking up at the night sky, and singing. I don’t think I’d ever heard it before… but somehow, it reminded me of a tune my mother used to hum. I don’t suppose… you could sing that again?”

“Of course.” Erda paused, and let the words forth in a calm, soothing rhythm, like gently lapping waters reflecting the sky above. Bruno closed his eyes and smiled contentedly, laying his head against the wall. As she sang, Erda closed her hands around the paladin’s and gripped it gently. The paladin returned the grip. But by the time the Erda finished the song, Bruno’s grip was gone, and the hand was cold. Erda let go of the man’s limp hand slowly, almost reluctantly. The dead man was still smiling, closed eyes turned up to the sky. Erda had not cried for the dead in a long time, but now, inexplicably, the tears came unbidden.

Erasmus and Ruadh approached, traces of blood and dirt still smearing their faces. Erda wiped her eyes and looked towards them. Erasmus’ head bowed wearily as he saw the still form of Bruno.

“Lady Erda,” Ruadh rasped through a hoarse voice. He was taken aback to see her face streaked with the tears. “I’m sorry… should we…?”

“No, I’m fine Ruadh. How are you two holding up?”

“Better than most,” Erasmus said glumly.

“That at least is good news,” said Erda. “You’re presence in the battle has made a great difference. Yours too Ruadh.”

Ruadh shook his head. “Perhaps, but we can’t hold off the inevitable forever.”

“We just left a meeting of the war-council,” Erasmus continued. “We must start falling back. They’ve asked you to lead the healers and the wounded back to the Grove.”

“Tonight?”

Ruadh nodded. “It will be slow going. But waiting till daylight might be too late. We’re spread too thin. Tomorrow, the battle will be decided.”

Erasmus made his way towards where his paladins were resting. Joren came limping over, leaning on a makeshift crutch after the loss of his leg.

“What the hell are you walking around for Joren?” chided Erasmus. “

Joren chuckled. “I’ve been stuck in bed all day listening to the party, give me a break. The bloody thing’s stopped bleeding anyway, and I hear the wounded are falling back. That true?”

Erasmus nodded. “Tonight. So no point going for a jog now.”

Joren shrugged. “I’m not going be carted around like luggage, not when there’s other chaps worse off.”

At that, Kregan spoke up. “Bruno went for a walk too. Where is…?”

Erasmus bowed his head. “He didn’t make it.”

The other paladins also bowed their heads for the seventh member of their little band to pay the price.

“It’s not fair…” muttered one of the ranger’s who was sitting amongst the paladins. Niall, Erasmus remembered, the little brother of one of Erda’s friends.

“What was that?” he asked gently.

“It’s just not fair,” Niall said again. “I mean, for you guys. You paladins. We’re… we’re not going to win…”

Cyrus the paladin scoffed. “You know it’s bad form to be spreading that type of doom and gloom among the ranks. Bad for morale and all that.”

“But… we all know it already,” Niall continued. “Every one of us knew that when we came here. We came here… to die. And now you paladins, you’re going to die with us. And for what? You should never have come…”

Erasmus smiled. Even in such an inhospitable country, how could these rangers hold the life of even foreigners so valuable? “Are you really fretting over these rogues?” he gestured at his men. “They’re really not the noble knights you think they are.”

“Speak for yourself chief,” laughed Joren. “You’re the real troublemaker here, I’d bet my last leg on it.”

Niall blushed a little. “Even so… it’s beyond doubt. The enemy will break through. They’ll take the grove. Probably scatter our clans to the four winds. It’s the end for us. You men, you’re all brave fighters. You could be with your own people. Having you stay here, it's such a waste. Why…?” he trailed off.

Erasmus shrugged and spread out his hands wide. “Who cares?” he said.

Niall stared wide eyed at him. The paladins chuckled and nodded in approval. Erasmus laid a hand on the young ranger’s shoulder.

“Listen lad. A life lived is not a life wasted. Right now… I’m more alive than I’ve ever been. You rangers are wild and free, simply and beautifully, something most of us city-folk daren’t even dream about as we shamble from one day to the next. I’d like to share in that life, even if its means dying for it.”

Niall brushed away a stray tear. “Do you… do you really want to die?”

“Of course not. I didn’t come to the Wild to die. I came here to be born again. Or perhaps, born for the first time… Here, I am glad to be… me.”

A paladin broke in with an uproarious laugh. “For pity’s sake, don’t bore the poor man with your poetry!”

“Yeah, take him to a room before you sweet talk him like that ‘Rasmus!”

“Save it for the ladies!”

Joren, leaning on his crutch, leaned against another ranger and stared wistfully at the sky. “Fear not for me, fair maiden,” he said, pouting his lips and waving his fingers through the air. “A life lived is not a life wasted. Tonight, I shall be born again, in your soft embrace…” The other paladins and rangers cheered and whistled uproariously.

With a sly grin, Erasmus kicked away Joren’s crutch and send the one legged paladin sprawling to the ground, bringing a fresh wave of raucous laughter.

“You really are a rabble of rogues,” he turned back to Niall and grinned broadly. “See, no need to pity this crew.”

“Especially not for Sergeant Sweet-talk here,” grunted Joren, wiping dirt from his face. “No sympathy, even for cripples.”