The lingering humidity that the storm had brought the previous night made it harder than Arthan had expected to burn the witch’s hut off, even with the roof made of straw. It did, however, mean that the fire was weak and there was no risk of it spreading to the rest of the forest. While they kept an eye on the burning hut, they made their camp on the other side of the river, which was barely a couple of foot deeps and therefore easily crossable.

Arthan proceeded to test Canil’s knowledge of knighthood. The boy showed eagerness, already knowing much about the knight’s code. Then he tested the boy’s improvement in the mastery of the sword and shield. Arthan had given a wooden sword since the boy was still lacking the strength to wield real weapons efficiently. Arthan decided to focus on teaching him footwork, the foundation of any fighting style. How could one execute a perfect swing of the sword if he was standing incorrectly?

Nevertheless, Arthan was quite disappointed in his swordsmanship. He didn’t quite remember how quick he had caught on, but the boy seemed less talented than Parceval’s page, which was irritating.

Canil was swinging Arthan’s wooden sword around like it was some sort of club, without any semblance of control though. Arthan evaded by simply getting out of his reach each time the boy attacked. And when the page became too frustrated and stormed forward a bit too fast, he stepped in close and parried the swing, pushing the boy away firmly.

“That was shameful.” He commented. “You have to be master of your balance at all times.

Canil nodded, breathing heavily. “Yes, sir.”

“Again.”

This went on for a while. Arthan didn’t fight back unless the boy made a mistake with his footwork, after which he would show how the opponent would exploit this mistake.

When night had fallen completely and they had eaten their fill, they went to sleep around the camp’s fireplace. The hut’s fire had gone out a couple of hours earlier, leaving only charred remains.

The next day, at Parceval’s insistence, they took the same way back. They didn’t need to sleep under a roof though, considering the sky, which was clear and blue. Nothing of the storm remained, except perhaps a soft and pleasant breeze.

They rode back through the fields buzzing with insects and smaller birds trying to catch lunch. Arthan noted that he heard Canil and Kensel busily discussing the biggest threat against a knight on the battlefield. They were switching back and forth between arrows and spears. In Arthan’s opinion, however, there was no true answer to the question, other than ‘it depends’. Factors like tactics and equipment had to be taken into account to even begin to formulate a response.

Gillick’s farmstead wasn’t far, and they reached it in the afternoon. They had stopped shortly to stretch their legs and eat lunch, but still, he was beginning to feel the days in the saddle.

As they approached, they noticed a couple of hens hastening away. It was strange seeing them so far from the farmyard, though. He glanced meaningfully at Parceval, who met his gaze. He too looked worried. They drove their horses to a faster pace and rode to the farmstead, quickly dismounting in front of the house. The main door was open.

“Jania!” Parceval called out. There was no response. He called again and entered the house where he suddenly froze. Arthan joined him.

There, in the middle of the room, lied Gillick’s corpse. His eyes and mouth were wide open, his crossbow had slipped out of his hands as he had fallen. He had been struck on the head with something like a club, judged by his hair which was drenched in blood while his skull looked to have been shattered.

Calder and the pages entered too, young Canil becoming dead-silent at the sight.

“Spread out, see if you can find Jania,” Parceval ordered. “Calder, take a look around.” His squire nodded and went outside. His hand vigilantly on his sword.

“What a shame,” Arthan commented. “These were good people.”

“We’re going after whoever did this.” Parceval suddenly declared. “If they’ve taken Jania…!”

Arthan narrowed his eyes, perplexed by his comrade’s erratic behaviour. “How? They’re long gone, and we don’t have the equipment to fight brigands.” Arthan argued calmly. “We would be fools to throw away our lives away in fruitless battles with every bandit we come across. Let’s get back to the capital, we’ll send a proper regiment of soldiers to deal with banditry in the region.”

“If they have taken Jania, then there is no time for that. Every second she spends in that camp… Imagine the things they do to her!”

Arthan glared at him with irritation. Parceval was free to throw himself into dangerous situations, but it was another thing to drag other people with him. They had the young pages to worry about too.

Calder came back in, looking slightly disconcerted by the two knights facing each other off. “We couldn’t find her.”

“How many of them?” Parceval asked, without removing his eyes from Arthan’s.

“Between five and ten I would say,” Calder answered. “They went west.”

“He is how we’re going to find them. His father was a hunter, he knows his stuff.” Parceval explained briefly, jutting his chin towards his squire.

“This is unwise.” Arthan insisted, but to no avail.

“You do whatever you think is wise, but I will be going,” Parceval said, striding out to his horse with Calder. Arthan cursed silently and followed. He couldn’t abandon a brother as he was heading into a fight, not if he wanted to retain his honour and pride. Not to mention the fact that he wasn’t inclined to lose a comrade, especially not to some lowly bandits.

They rode out from the farmstead without even burying the body of Gillick. There was no time for such trivialities, Parceval argued. The bandits had not tried to hide their tracks and Calder had no trouble following them.

“They’re half a day ahead of us.” He judged. “But they might have made camp, so we could find them sooner.”

“The sooner the better,” Parceval said darkly. His usual joyous mannerisms were completely gone.

They rode at a quick pace, as fast as the horses could handle on a longer distance. Canil and Kensel rode behind, but the boy caught up to Arthan, showing a determined look.

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“Will we fight, sir?”

“You won’t.”

“But…”

“Someone has to guard the horses, and that will be you and Kensel.” Arthan said, glancing at the other page. Despite their best efforts, the two of them couldn’t entirely hide their relief.

The squire led them vigilantly, as fast as he could without losing the trail. The tracks led them to a thick forest by the time that night began to fall.

“There, smoke!” Calder shouted, pointing to a thin, almost imperceptible column in the sky. “It must be their camp.”

From there on, they trod carefully. Calder jumped off his horse and led it by the reins to keep them on the bandits’ tracks. It was completely dark by the time they spotted the lights of fire amongst the trees. Arthan and Parceval slid down their mounts as quietly as they could. The pages were left to guard the horses while Calder led the two knights to the bandit camp.

They hadn’t drawn blank yet for fear of the fire’s light reflecting in their steel. Arthan heard laughs and shouts as they approached the camp, the bandits didn’t suspect a thing. They were crouching, their hands gripping the handles of their sheathed swords tightly. They spotted no guards, either. These bandits had to believe themselves quite sure, to be this lax. Then again, would he in their place have guessed that they suddenly had become prey instead of predators?

Calder suddenly stopped moving, motioning for them to get closer.

“Should we wait for them to fall asleep before making a move?” He whispered uncertainly while keeping a close watch on the camp.

Arthan was about to voice his objection but Parceval was quicker.

“No. They’re drunk and unprepared. We attack now.” He declared and slowly drew his sword. Calder gave Arthan a questioning look, but he simply nodded in support. He wanted this over with, and the camp didn’t seem nearly as well-guarded as he had feared. He had been worried that the bandits could have been a small raiding squad from a larger group, but his fears had thankfully been ungrounded.

Arthan unsheathed his sword and prepared to attack.

The bandits were happily feasting and drinking when the three men fell upon them. Their eyes were blinded by the fire and they saw only three shadows suddenly come out and begin violently hacking away at the nearest of their comrades.

A couple of brave ones desperately tried to find their weapons, which consisted of little more than daggers and clubs with the occasional bow, but the rest scrambled away without much hesitation as soon as the first few of the brigands had been cut down. They knew that only nobles and knights wielded swords, which meant they were facing trained warriors. They hadn’t taken the time to count their enemies since they knew that nobles rarely were alone. Their life was not worth throwing away to the defence of this camp.

Arthan watched the ragged and malnourished bandits flee with contempt while he killed off the wounded man wailing at his feet and wiped his blade off. Suddenly, he saw one who hadn’t fled. A small shadow behind a tent was holding a bow and fumbling with an arrow.

Without a second of hesitation, the knight darted forward to reach the man before he could nock his arrow. The man was probably a former hunter, but he wasn’t trained. The hunter panicked when he saw the charging knight and grabbed a club instead. A fatal mistake, he stood no chance in a straight fight. If he had been calm, he might have had the time to shoot a single arrow, which could have been deadly if shot true.

His face contorted into a scream which turned into a gurgle as Arthan’s sword sliced through his throat. He stumbled back while desperately trying to hold back the flood of blood pouring out from his open throat to no avail. Arthan left the man to suffer whilst he looked around for more fools. He found none, so he finished the hunter by shoving the sword through his eye.

Calder appeared at his side, his sword turned red in the light of the fire.

“Should we pursue?” Calder asked, looking hungry for more blood. It was enticing, the feeling of power and justice such an easy victory over such scum gave. Was this the squire’s first time? Unlikely, considering who he served.

Arthan shook his head. “We’ll never find most of them. They know this territory better than we will ever do.”

“Right,” Calder said, getting a grip of himself and calming down. The squire kneeled next to the hunter’s corpse and began wiping his blade off in a piece of clothing unblemished by blood, though he still vigilantly glanced around the camp. Suddenly, he froze. “Shit…” He let out softly.

Arthan followed his gaze to a large oak with low hanging branches, against which a woman lied. Her wrists were tied together to the tree and held over her head. Her simple robe was torn apart and left nothing to the imagination, while her skin was dirtied and bloodied. He sheathed his sword and approached, seeing dried blood and semen on the inner part of her thighs. She wasn’t unconscious, yet her eyes were emptily staring into the air, her once pretty face already displaying several swollen bruises.

Parceval joined them. “We were too late.” He said frustratingly.

Arthan nodded, feeling nothing but wrath for these men. He couldn’t help but imagine Stella in the girl’s place, and the image made his blood boil in his veins, and his sword screamed to be used. He regretted that he hadn’t made them suffer more than they had. More than anything, the urge to pursue the rest and punish them brutally took him, struggling against his rationality. “We need to get her to the nearest village, where they can take care of her.”

“I’m not touching her. Who knows what diseases those rats have infected her with?” Calder protested, earning a black glare from Arthan.

“No, we should put an end to her misery.” Parceval suddenly uttered, making Arthan snap around.

“After all this, you want us to simply kill her?”

“Out of mercy,” Parceval said firmly, meeting his eyes. There was nothing but pity and sadness in them.

“Why is that for you to decide? She could have a good life still.” Arthan protested, staring back at the girl. She seemed truly broken beyond salvation, however, despite his words.

Parceval shook his head softly. “No one would accept her as a wife, not after this, except maybe the most desperate. And she wouldn’t want a life with that kind of men. And her last family lies murdered in that house. This world has rejected her, the only thing we can do for her is to send her to the next.”

“The church would accept her.” Arthan countered. They were known for taking in strays and people with no family or future and offering them a home. “They would treat her and give her a life worth living, perhaps as a healer or a priestess. She is not out of options.”

“Look in her eyes. I’ve seen that look before, she has lost the will to live. She’ll never recover from this ordeal, not in this world. She’ll be better off in the next, with her family.”

Parceval drew a dagger, but Arthan caught his wrist firmly. “Arthan, I’ll take responsibility,” Parceval said as he met his eyes.

“I’m not worrying about responsibility, but whether this is right or wrong. Maybe we should give it a day or two, see if she comes to her senses.” He suggested with a frown. It was chilling his bones, to kill a victim in cold blood, even in mercy.

“You want to leave her for days in this state when we can send her to the Eternal Plains to reunite with her family? She will be purged from all pain there, and you want to keep her in this world? Then you’re a colder bastard than I thought.” Parveal said harshly.

Arthan finally relented with a sigh, releasing his wrist. “Just make it quick.”

“Of course,” Parceval said, suddenly driving the dagger through her eye and into her brain. The death was instant. Her body stiffened for a second, but then it relaxed. The knight let go of the dagger without pulling it out, not wishing to see her face in its ruined state. “She deserved more.”

“She will get the life she wants in the next world,” Arthan said softly, trying to suppress the unease that had replaced his anger. “But I’m glad Canil didn’t see this.” He muttered, thinking of his young page who still thought the world a better place than it truly was.

“You have a strange and pointless tendency to protect people from the inevitable, Arthan.” Parceval commented with a raised brow, as they left the macabre scene.

“There is no need to rush the loss of innocence.” He explained.

“Right.” Parceval didn’t seem convinced.

The trip back was uneventful and mostly quiet. The two pages tried to get a few stories of glorious battles out of them, but they were mostly left unsatisfied. Parceval teased them a bit about their need for glory. Calder was mostly quiet as usual, it seemed to be his most comfortable state.

Arthan spent much time thinking of Parceval’s philosophy, and their decision to kill Jania. To put an end to her misery, as Parceval had phrased it. He wasn’t entirely convinced of the rightfulness of their act, though he did understand his fellow knight’s argument.