Myra was grateful to find Erda already at the infirmary.

“What’s going on?” Erda asked, showing concern, but no panic. The wounded men and the nurses took up the question and fixed Myra with anxious stares.

“I don’t know yet,” Myra said. “It might be an attack. Someone set fire to gunpowder barrels left on the field, and now the woods are full of an awful racket.”

“Singer’s Teeth!” cried a nurse. “We’ve been fooled. They’ve come back to finish us!”

“Stay calm,” a one armed ranger said, though his shaky voice betrayed him. “We scattered them to the wind and took their supplies. They must only be a half-starved mob by now.”

“He’s right,” another nurse. “We still have Sir Erasmus. They wouldn’t be strong enough to break through now.”

Erda nodded. “There’s nothing for it but to be patient and wait for news.”

As if on cue, there came a rapping, a rapping at the chamber door. A nurse shuffled over to open it.

“Is Erda here?”

“Why yes. Yes she is. Do you know what’s… wait… you…” Her voiced died suddenly. Everyone in the infirmary could only watch in horror as the Black Sword was thrust through the poor nurse.

Talon strode into the room and lurched over the corpse, the tattered ranger’s cloak about his shoulder. His wild eyes found Myra instantly and burned with an even greater passion.

“Myraaaaa, my dear…” his demonic face made her blood run cold. “Oh… Fortuna has been good to me this day…”

Myra went for the dagger at her hip, but Talon was suddenly in front of her. A savage blow sent her sprawling against a bed. Squat goblin-men in stolen ranger-cloaks came bursting into the room, menacing the occupants with swords and clubs.

“Talon! You’re supposed to be dead!” Myra spat.

“Am I? But so are you. Surely you can’t expect the have all the miracles to yourself.” He turned to Erda and sauntered over to her. “Mistress Erda, I presume? My, you are a lovely creature indeed… Dare say you could tempt the devil himself.”

Erda studied the sword in his hand. “Where did you get that sword? Where’s Pike?”

“You don’t know? I wish I did. Shame… seems we can’t have it all. But no matter.”

“Get on it with it, Talon…” growled one of the goblins. “You said we needed to be fast. Get to point, or let us loose!”

Talon clicked his tongue. “Well now I almost don’t want to… but no matter. As you can see, Miss Erda, these unsavoury characters are rather desperate to make up for their tragic loss before. Either through blood, or plunder.”

“If it’s money you want…”

Talon pimp slapped Erda. Some of the wounded men tried to scramble to their feet, but they were held back by the blades at their throats.

“Our audience is getting impatient, Miss Erda. Surely our mutual friend over there has told you about me. Take me to this… treasure of yours. Or, I let these foxes lose on your little hens in here…”

“Erda… no…” Myra breathed.

Erda clenched her fists, tears welling up in her eyes. “I… I…” she stuttered.

Talon whirled on the spot. None saw the blade move. But all saw the poor nurse who fell to the floor, blood gushing from her throat. The others shrieked as they watched their kinswoman choke on her own blood.

“Bastard!” cried a bandaged man. “Monster!”

The man leapt at one of the intruders, thrusting his hidden blade into the goblin’s ribs. He kept knifing his foe, even as a club caved in his skull. The other wounded men tensed and made to attack their own captors.

“STOP!”

All movement ceased at the power of Erda’s voice. A deathly calm settled on the room. Though Erda’s face was ashen and streaked with tears, her expression was grimly sombre. She turned to an impressed Talon.

“Enough… if you want hostages, you need only me. Let us go…”

And so it was, that Erda marched through the Warren like a prisoner to the gallows. The nurses and the infirm were left bound and gagged, but Myra alone was made Talon’s prisoner and dragged along. And far behind, a quiet a limping shadow lurched in the same direction, leaving behind a trail of blood.

As the entered the inner sanctum, a heavy shadow fell over Erda’s eyes. A raging fire burned in Talon’s. There stood the Tree. Thin and delicate and adorned in white flowers. Erda could not bare to look at it. Talon approached it slowly, reverently, his hand outstretched to caress the pale bark.

“What is this?” Growled a goblin. “A tree? What worth is a tree to us?”

“Mister Talon,” Erda said in a strained voice. “The Tree will do you no good. Its fruits ripen only rarely. And only I can make the potions from them.”

Talon grinned. “The fruits? Potions? I’m not so small minded. I knew from the beginning that the power within your little concoctions could only be a shadow of their source. And I was right. I can almost taste the power stirring within this… marvellous creature.”

“Then… what do you intend to do…”

“Why… I shall put a little theory to the test.” He raised the Black Sword. A terrible understanding came to both Erda and Myra. Erda raised a hand. Myra tried to call out in protest. But time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. And they could do little more but watch as the bit into the Tree, Talon putting all his weight into the thrust.

A heavy pall of darkness seemed to fall over the watchers. They felt, more than they heard, a high keening wail. The Tree’s thin branches quivered, its flowers shrivelled and died. Talon’s face was taut, seemingly in pain, his body trembling. Steam rose up from his open mouth. His flesh trembled and shifted in unnatural ways.

And soon, it was over.

The Tree was dead.

Erda was on her knees. Myra, stared on in horror. All too aware was she of the Black Sword’s dark power. Ruadh’s fear of Talon proved more deserved than any of them could have imagined.

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While the goblins were watching on in a confused daze, Myra saw the butt of a pistol in a nearby belt. The hammer was drawn back at half-cock. She lunged for it.

Talon turned to face the onlookers, a strange light in his eyes. The crack of igniting powder broke the stillness. The shot was truer than Myra could have wished for, and Talon’s head snapped back suddenly. Myra, standing there with the smoking pistol, was breathing hard, waiting for Talon to fall.

But Talon did not fall. Instead, he slowly raised his head to look at her. A shaking hand reached up to touch the gory hole in his forehead. He stared at his bloodied fingers in mute fascination. A grin spread on his lean face. He laughed.

And laughed.

So everyone was so shocked and shit. Talon kept cackling like a madman.

“It worked… IT WORKED!”

“What have you done!” came a booming voice.

All eyes turned. It Erasmus, of course, standing at the entrance. He was breathing heavily, one hand clutching his sword, another trying to hold back the blood dripping from his stab wounds.

Talon rested the Black Sword on his shoulder. “Me? Why… I’ve won. I made a gamble, and it paid off. Ever since I learned that this sword exists, and what it does, I’ve wondered how far its power could go. What it could do with a big enough pool of strength to draw from. I made a guess, bet everyone I have on it, and it worked.

“I never wanted your little potions, your fruits. What need I for miracles. Now, I am the miracle. I am immortal. I am… a god. A GOD!”

Talon cackled again. Then eyed the stunned goblin-men with an evil stare. “Oh, you poor creatures. I promised you a treasure, didn’t I? Well, it seems we can’t share in it.”

He stepped forward, and the goblins shrank back. “The rangers can’t kill me. So… I don’t need you anymore. Unlike me, you’ll probably all die in here. But… silver lining. This pretty Erda woman. The apple of the Rangers’ eyes. And Sir Erasmus. Was he not the man who took your king’s head?”

The goblin men shook with rising anger.

“As for myself,” Talon brushed away the blood dripping down from his brain and onto his nose. “There’s only one thing left here that I’d like to take with me. For nostalgia’s sake.” Talon’s eyes rested on Myra, and he stepped forward.

The goblin-men parted to let him through as though he were a fanged serpent. Myra stepped back, still gripping her spent pistol. But Erasmus, spending what little strength was left in him, darted forward and stood in front of her. Both hands were on his sword, blood continuing to flow from his wound. Already, his eyes were black pits, and his skin was deathly pale.

“What’s this?” Talon sneered. “A heroic last stand? Is it?”

“You can’t have her,” Erasmus said with effort. “You say… you have what you wanted? Then go… leave. There need not be any more blood…”

The Black Sword slid past the Erasmus’ blade. Passed into his chest, and out his back. Time seemed to slow for Myra, watching helplessly as Talon peered down at his latest victim.

Erasmus gasped, blood dripping from his clenched teeth. Whatever colour remained in Erasmus’ face was drained. Talon pulled the sword free and let the paladin fall to his knees. The towering immortal ran the back of his hand over his own forehead, and wiped the blood away. There was no longer and wound there.

He smiled, his face twitched a little, still feeling the lead shot in his brain. “Well, it seems the sword still has some use to me after all…”

Myra cried out in pain and anguish, she ran to Erasmus’ side. He was still alive, and he looked up into her eyes. “Myra… I’m sorry.”

They had a said moment. Before Talon lunged forward and grabbed Myra by the neck. She snarled in grief and anger, lashed out with the butt of the pistol with inhuman strength. The blow caved in Talon’s eye-socket, the eye burst, while the remaining one glowered back at her mockingly. He struck her a blow on the head, and the strength in her legs gave way. Talon scooped her up and threw her over one shoulder. Before Myra’s consciousness faded, she saw Erasmus lying in a pool of blood, before the darkness engulfed him.

Talon, with his prize over his shoulder, Black Sword in his right hand, sped away into the dark tunnels. His mad laughter echoing behind him.

With Talon gone, the goblin-men slowly were realised from the spell of awe that was upon them. They were betrayed, left to die, and wrathful. Erda knelt beside the dead Tree, all strength gone from her.

One of the intruders, his rage overcoming him, leapt forward and pulled Erda up roughly by her golden hair. The man’s mouth was beginning to froth in rage. With a gnarled hand, he grabbed hold of her tunic and tore a sleeve away. The others pressed in closer.

Erda cried out and bit her assailant’s hand. The goblin roared and flung her away. He drew his curved knife, and stepped closer. “All the death…” he snarled, “all the pain we’ve gone through. For nothing. NOTHING. But you’ll feel it, wench. You’ll beg for death! Go on. Beg. BEG!”

Before he took another step, a shadow leapt darted over the heads of the predatory mob. It landed between Erda and her menace. The goblin-man saw a pair of pale, burning eyes, before the sword separated his left hand side from the right.

Erda gazed up at her rescuer. Erasmus stood there, seeming like a giant shadow looming over the watching mortals. The blood flowing his chest and stomach had slowed, but not stopped. A wind seemed to stir around him. All colour was gone from his flesh, but as he raised to head, his eyes burned with a ferocious light. Erasmus’ corpse like smiled softly, almost affectionately, at his foes.

“You poor, misguided lambs,” he said, in a voice that swelled up from unknown depths. “But let’s not curse the hand dealt us. We have chosen our parts.”

He raised his sword, burning with a light of its own.

“Come friends… let’s bring this performance to its crescendo…”

The goblins charged. And Erasmus met them with a smile on his face.

Through the darkened woods, Pike ran headlong back towards the tree fort thing. Heedless of the rocks he stumbled over, or the branches which tore at his flesh (he has a good immune system, he won’t get a bad infection, so stop worrying about it).

So anyways, Pike saw some of the confused rabble outside the fort. As he ran, two rangers stood before him with spears. But he bowled them over before they could stop him. As he entered the milling crowd, a terrible shape appeared among them.

Talon, riding a horse he got from somewhere, burst through the crowd, an arrow jutting from his back. With a great sweep of the Black Sword, he sent two rangers flying in an arc of blood. His howling laughter swallowed all over noise. Pike saw the limp form over Myra over saddle in front of him.

“TALON!” Pike cried out.

Talon reined in his horse. “Pike? There are you? I was wondering what happened to you.”

An arrow struck Talon in the chest, burying itself almost the quills. But Talon took no notice of it.

There was a brief exchange of words.

Pike said “What the hell man” or something like that.

Talon said “Haha, I’m immortal now. Screw you. Also I’m taking Myra. Bye now.”

Pike charged at Talon in a rage. He slashed with the ranger sword, but the black sword met it and shattered Pike’s blade. Talon did a weird spin in his saddle, delivering a pretty sick roundhouse kick to Pike’s jaw. Pike fell backwards, and some onlooking rangers gasped in Japanese.

Talon cackled. “Don’t you get it Pike? I can’t be killed! But your friends can!” He cackled, and rode off into the night.

Talon’s words struck Pike heart like cold daggers. In a moment, he was up, rushing past the confused rangers. See a brief scene him running through the dark corridors in a panic. No music or anything.

At last, he entered the sacred chamber. Without a word, almost without any thought or feeling, Pike strode over the body strewn ground. Haggard goblin-men in dirty cloaks lay bloodied and broken over the once quiet grove. The pools were red with their blood. A pale stream of moonlight fell over the white tree. Its flowers fell from its withered limbs like snow. They fell upon Erasmus’ chest, and his pale face, mingling with Erda’s tears.

Pike approached. Erda lap was stained red, as she cradled Erasmus’ head, his face caked in blood. His chest war torn and bloody. One arm was hanging on only by a few tendons. The left hand side of his head was caved in. But still, he gripped the white sword over his knees.

Erda looked up at Pike. She said nothing. But new fountains of grief entered her heart, as she saw the expression on Pike’s face.

A single, misty eye opened amid the red ruin of Erasmus visage. A smile appeared on his dry lips.

“Pike… thank Heaven. You’re here…”

“Erasmus…”

“He took her, Pike. He took Myra. I couldn’t stop him. It was you who swore to fight for Erda. And it was I who ended up failing in the end.”

“No…” Pike forced his voice up from the pit of his stomach. “I brought the sword… I should never… I should never have been here.”

“No… dear friend… you were lead here. The Tree… Erda, they see something in you. And now… so do I.”

Erasmus, gripping his blade below the guard, lifted it up towards Pike. Eyes wide and bleary, Pike stared at it for a moment, before reaching out a trembling hand.

Erasmus closed his one eye. He let out a deep sigh and smiled softly. “It won’t end here, my friends. The story must go on… and on, even though we must leave it, when our parts are played. To what end… who can say. But for my part, I’m glad… to have lived.

“Please, it’s not much of an apology, but tell that to Myra, for me. Myra…

“My love…” the last word was but a whisper.

A few quiet moments past. But Erasmus spoke no more.

For the first time, in years, Pike wept.