Big John IV

Big John opened his eyes and wished he hadn't.
    The sunlight sneaking past the tent flap was blinding. His throat was raw and there was a smell of sweat and blood in the air. And something else.
    Decay.
    Other men lay on linen spread out on the ground all around him. He tried to move and was welcomed by a lance of pain shooting through his back.
    "Where am I?"
    A shadow leaned over him, thankfully blocking the bright light. A sweaty hand touched his face and pried his eye open, the man squinted at him and huffed foul breath his way.
    "Army's tent for the wounded." He made a clicking noise with his tongue. "You're a lucky one alright. Our surgeon took an axe to his skull during the battle. The wounded ain't getting the help they need. Not many pulling through, but you, you have a will to live."
    "Water?"
    "That I can give you. Nice and fresh from the stream."
    Big John raised his head and wanted to grab the flask the man offered him, but another jolt of pain shot through his arm as he moved.
    "Don't worry. I got ya."
    The flask was brought to his dry lips, the water trickling into his mouth. It was good, sweeter than one of Marla's apple pies.
    A pale face and blood-soaked bandages flashed before him. He coughed and spat the water out.
    She was dead. It all came back to him in an instant. The Orcs had killed her and everyone else from Duranham. Everyone but him and his son.
    "Whoa! Take it easy. Nice and slow."
    The flask came back to his lips and this time he swallowed. His throat ached, but the water did him good. He let his head down on the linen, hardpacked earth underneath. He hadn't noticed how tense his muscles were, how much he had strained. Now, he could relax.

"You are a righteous one. Your perseverance is a clear sign that you were chosen by the Gods and they will continue to look over you."
    Big John opened his eyes and was relieved to see that it was near dark out. Only a sliver of the day's dying light slipped into the tent. Not enough to hurt his eyes, but enough to see by.
    The man hunched before him had curly blond hair and clear, penetrating blue eyes. They had a gleam to them even in the semidarkness and their focus never wavered. The man was looking straight at him, a smile spreading across his lips.
    "Water?"
    It had to have been hours since he last drank. His mouth was dry, but his throat was no longer aching.
    "Yes, of course. Even the blessed have need of sustenance."
    The man poured water from a metal flagon into a matching chalice and brought it to Big John's lips. The water carried a metallic taste with it, but it was cool and that was all that mattered.
    "Who are you?" Big John asked.
    "My name is Eddin. I came to look over the warriors of our Faith and to pray for them. I never imagined I would find you though. I knew the Gods had something in store for me, but that I would be the one to find you is a sign of divine intervention."
    A rumbling chuckle escaped Big John's lungs, ending in a gasp as his wounded back protested.
    "What? Do you you not believe in your calling?"
    "It's not that." Big John tried to sit up, but thought better of it and remained lying down. "Truth is, I don't know what to believe in. I'm a woodcutter, no more, no less. I once had a wife and a good life. That is behind me now, but I still have a son, as far as I know, and finding him is my future. Nothing divine about that. I'm only a man."
    "Wise words, my friend. Wise words. But you left out what all men are talking about. They know it and I know it and so do you." Eddin raised his eyebrows at him as if Big John truly knew what he meant. Big John did not reply and after a moments hesitation Eddin continued. "You were in the clutches of Demons and not only did you survive the evils they must have done to you, you managed to escape. Arrows that would have killed any other man - that did kill dozens - struck you down, but here you are, one of only a few recovering from his wounds. You, my friend, have been through purgatory and the Gods have seen you worthy. You are meant for more. You will play a pivotal role in these dark times that lie ahead. That is the truth that I know."
    Big John said nothing and took a moment to think about Eddin's words. He didn't know much about the Gods, but he knew they hadn't been there for him when Marla was killed and the rest of Duranham as well. It did not feel like they had been watching out for him. He had to fight in the Orc camp to stay alive and he only had himself to thank for his survival.
    Even if he did believe in the Gods and their power to protect him. He wanted none of it. Whatever blessing they had given him was too little too late. Marla was dead and that couldn't be changed.
    Big John furrowed his brow and grimaced. "I've heard enough for now. I'm tired."
    "Yes. You should rest and think about what this mean to you."
    Eddin left and with him the day's light reached its end. Big John had made up his mind, but the Gods were stubborn and remained in his thoughts. Even though his head would not come to rest easily, his body needed more energy and soon he slept.

Rud III

    Rud wiped his hands on his trouser leg, damp earth rubbing into the cloth. The three graves in front of him now held four bodies and a key. Swindon and Podd had wanted to bring Adam back to camp on the night that Rud had saved them, but he had known that there would be too many questions.
    The questions had come anyway and Bron had paid the price for asking them. For now, Rud kept Bron's demise a secret, letting the rumor spread that he was sick and didn't want to be disturbed. Not even Swindon and Podd knew the truth.
    Rud couldn't help wondering if Bron had been right to worry about the spring and the water's effects. Had he overreacted by killing him? No. It had to be done. Bron would have gotten in the way. He would have had the authority to seal off the spring and let no one near it if he thought it was a danger to others.
    It was no danger though, Rud knew. It was water sent from the Gods that would give every man the strength and vitality they needed to fight the Orcs. Rud was sure of it, just as he knew that he was the one who would have to spread the Gods' gift.
    Boots scraping the ground of the path to the spring pulled Rud from his thoughts. Swindon and Podd appeared as if from the rock itself. The twilight of dawn making the entrance to the path even more difficult to spot.
    They were both carrying a barrel on their shoulder, the added strength of the spring water making it an easy task. "Two barrels filled with the finest water there ever was." Podd placed his barrel on the grave his brother was sharing with a key and one of the men they had first found in the cavern.
    "So, where should we hide them." Swindon put his barrel down as well and turned, undoing his trousers laces. "I think it should be close enough to camp for us to be able to refill our flasks when we need to, but disguised so they aren't easy to find. In a bush or something like that." He said while taking a piss on one of the other graves.
    "Actually, we won't be hiding them. We'll be exchanging them with the current water barrels of the camp." Rud smiled.
    Podd's jaw dropped and Swindon turned back to them, spraying Podd's boots. "Watch where you point that thing or I'll cut it off!" Podd's hand moved toward his blade in an instant, white knuckles clenched around its grip.
    "Calm down!" Swindon said as he pulled his pants up and laced them shut. "What do you mean, Rud? You want everyone to drink from the spring?"
    Rud was still eyeing Podd with his flushed cheeks. Had Bron been right to worry? Yes. But it had to be done. "We need more men like us, Swindon. Men who can be cut down and keep on fighting. The conflict with the Orcs is getting worse. Soon it will be a full-blown war. This is only the beginning of what needs to be done for us to be victorious."
    Podd still had his hand on his weapon, but his fingers were starting to relax. "I can see the benefit in that, but what about the Captain?"
    "He's sick. Everyone will have had some water before he's back on his feet and when he has a drink himself he'll be as good as new and will see why we need to use the spring to our advantage." The lie came with ease.
    Swindon pondered this for a moment, but nodded his assent in the end. The three of them went back to camp and made sure that the two barrels were lined up to be used as the day's drinking water. They had agreed to let the spring water spread through camp naturally without anyone making a connection to them immediately. Once everyone or almost everyone had taken a sip, then Rud would inform them of what it was they were drinking.
    As the camp stirred and slowly came to life in the morning light, Swindon and Podd went to the training grounds to keep at their regular routine. The lack of a good night's sleep was nothing to them after having had their fill of the spring's water.
    Rud was making his way through camp as he noticed some heated activity near the mine's entrance. His heart pounded in his chest. Bron had been discovered, it couldn't be anything else, he was certain. Rud retraced his steps mentally to be sure there were no clues leading to his guilt.
    With a calm he did not feel, he made his way to Bron's office. Hushed words were spoken between the guards on duty. They didn't seem to know what to do. At Rud's arrival he saw fear in one man's eyes and relief in the other. A spare glance let him see the door of the office, it was open and was marked by dried blood.
    The fearful guard turned away, not making further eye contact with Rud, while the other cleared his throat to speak, but couldn't utter a word. Rud made a show of seeing the door and widening his eyes in shock. "What happened here?"
    The relieved guard finally managed to speak. "We don't know. There's a lot of blood. It's everywhere. We found the office like this at first light and didn't know what to do. The door was open and there was so much blood."
    "Is Captain Bron alright?" Rud hoped his concern sounded genuine, although the guards seemed so flustered they probably wouldn't realize he was faking it.
    "I don't know. He's not there and we haven't been able to find him anywhere else in camp. He's gone."
    "Gone?"

   

Bron V

Something had changed.
    Bron's orders that no one should speak of Swindon's miraculous recovery or of the spring were being followed, at least whenever he was near. He hadn't expected them to not talk about it at all once they were gathered around their campfires at night. He only wanted to try to stem the exaggeration of the tale and not have it spread too far.
    Although, how one should exaggerate what truly happened, Bron didn't know. Swindon's head had been bashed in and now he was back in the fighting pit training hard and beating most of his brothers in arms. That was one of the things that bothered him. One of the reasons he had asked Rud to come to his office.
    The soldier stood before him at attention, his head dangerously close to the low ceiling. Bron himself needed to stoop occasionally where the top half of the room was unevenly cut from the mountain. He scowled uneasily and tapped on the flask that was stationed on his desk. The flask that now only held a quarter of a cup of the spring's water.
    "At ease, soldier. I want to know what the men have been saying about this." Bron indicated the flask once more, a sharp pain shooting up his still recovering arm.
    "I only hear an occasional murmur here and there, sir. After I relayed your orders not to speak of it most men kept their mouths shut about it when I joined them at the fire." Rud shifted his stance to something more comfortable, but still his legs and shoulders were rigged as if clenched tight.
    "I expected as much. Tell me, the last time we spoke you said that you felt more healthy than ever, has that changed? Have you noticed anything unnatural since?"
    "No, sir. Still as healthy as can be." A smile flickered across Rud's lips.
    Bron looked his man up and down and frowned inwardly. Rud was putting on a show, he had answered on the spot, but something in his tone told Bron that he wasn't telling him everything. The only question was what was he hiding and how could Bron figure out what it was?
    "What about your strength? Have you noticed being stronger or faster than before?" Rud's smile slipped, only for a second, but it slipped.
    Swindon had become a much stronger fighter than he had been before his accident, why shouldn't the same be the case for Rud?
    "I may have noticed a slight increase in strength. Like I said, I feel fitter than ever. I don't train much with the others, so I haven't paid much attention to any such changes." A bead of sweat formed on his brow.
    Not only had Swindon become a better fighter, but Bron had noticed a change in his personality as well. He had become more reckless and violent. When he beat others while fighting he often left his opponents with more than just a few scrapes and bruises. Nothing serious had happened yet, but Bron had the bad feeling it might.
    "And what do you know about the disappearance of Adam of Merryton?" Rud's eyes widened, betraying his calm demeanor. As Bron had suspected, he wasn't prepared for this question and was caught off guard.
    Adam had recently disappeared and his brother Podd was often found together with Swindon, showing the same signs of heightened aggression and physical prowess. Bron knew of only two men who had drunk water from the spring, but he supposed Podd may have as well and if that was the case, Swindon and Rud would most likely know about it.
    "I'd only heard that he'd gone missing. No more, sir." More pearls of sweat started to build at the top of Rud's hairline. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his right hand, bringing it to rest on the pommel of his sword.
    "You seem tense. Is there something you're not telling me?" Bron watched the cords in Rud's neck stand out as the man clenched his jaw. For the first time during the conversation, Bron wasn't sure what to expect. He wanted to pressure the man, but Rud's calm behavior from only moments ago had crumbled, rapidly turning into something angry with every second that went by.
    Before Bron could comprehend what was going on, Rud tore his sword from his scabbard, only to have the pommel jam against the low ceiling, the lower third of the blade still stuck in its sheath. The growl erupting from Rud's clenched teeth resembled that of a wild animal as he abandoned drawing his sword and leaped toward Bron over his desk.
    Though surprised, Bron acted instinctively, hefting the desk upward. As everything tumbled down, the solid wooden surface smacked Rud in the face, giving Bron enough time to unsheathe his dagger and ready himself for Rud's next assault. A dull throbbing went through his arm, but adrenaline was forcing away the pain.
    Why Rud was attacking him, he didn't know. That he would continue to do so, Bron was certain.
    Rud had been knocked to the ground by the desk, but quickly scrambled back to his feet, nose dripping blood everywhere. Even though Bron was armed Rud came at him with a will, arms stretched out to grab for Bron's neck, leaving his stomach and chest unguarded.
    Bron hesitated only a second, Rud was still one of his men and he didn't want to kill anyone if he didn't have to, but the wildness in the man's eyes convinced him of what needed to be done. Before Rud could get his hands near him, Bron slipped under them, ramming the freshly sharpened dagger into Rud's side.
    Rud clutched at air, his upper body slumping over Bron's shoulder like a dead deer being brought back to camp after a hunt. Bron took two steps back, expecting the man to fall, but Rud amazingly stayed on his feet. He lifted his head, eyes focused on Bron, with a smile spreading over his blood smeared lips. His right hand crossed over to the hilt of Bron's dagger sticking out of his left side. Grunting, he pulled the bloody blade out inch by inch.
    Bron thought the man was barely able to stand, let alone wield a weapon, but he was wrong on both counts. Rud jumped at him with surprising speed and rammed Bron's own dagger into his chest. Pain shot through him, making every muscle in his body seize up. The blade had slid through his ribs digging deep into his right lung. He struggled for breath, spitting blood in Rud's face as he croaked, "Why?"
    Rud blinked. Then he looked down at his hand, slick with his own blood and Bron's. He pulled the dagger from his captain's chest, making Bron howl in pain, his body shuddering.
    "I'm sorry it came to this." Rud let the blade clatter to the floor and drew breath through clenched teeth as he straightened. He held his bleeding side and then quickly pulled his flask from his belt and took a sip. He sighed with relief and looked down at Bron, a renewed twinkle of vigor in his eyes. "But you gave me no choice. You were asking too many questions that would have led you back to that spring. My spring. Goodbye Captain Bron."
    With those last words Rud went to Bron's belt and undid his keys, he was helpless to do anything as more and more blood seeped from his chest and every breath became harder than the last. Rud stepped over the overturned desk and left the office, shutting and locking the door behind him, leaving Bron for dead.

   

Serah IV

Serah entered her quarters to rest for an hour as the Princess would be doing the same. Although the girl was full of vigor when it came to watching John in the training yard, Serah had noticed her health decline ever more. Each day, the climb up the rampart stairs became a little more strenuous. Each day, the Princess ate a little less.
    It was Serah's job to take care of the girl, but how could she deny her what she wanted. She had tried of course, but not letting the Princess go see John made her sulk and the drained expression on her face had finally convinced Serah that if it made her happy it was the best thing to do.
    A quiet knock at her door pulled her out of her contemplation. The knock had a specific rhythm that told Serah there was a secret messenger at the door. She detested the word spy, rather referring to them as messengers of secrets in her mind. There were things that some people at court did not care to have her know. It was better to have a way of knowing these things, thus her employ of secret messengers.
    Serah rushed over and knocked her own rhythm, saying the coast was clear. She waited a second and then a small bit of folded paper was slid under the door into her room. She picked it up and opened it, wondering what news had been kept from her this time.

The spring is real. It has been found, but the Captain is keeping it a secret.

Serah couldn't believe it. She had always thought the King's insistence upon searching for the magical spring was a fool's errand. But it wasn't, it had been found. Though why Captain Bron had not informed the King she did not know. Did he want to use the the spring for his own ambitions? Did he not care about the Princess's health?
    Serah could not sit idly by, something needed to be done. The King must surely have his own messengers that would have told him by now. She needed to know what he planned to do and give him counsel if necessary. If it had to do with the Princess, it had to do with her.
    Serah quickly changed into more presentable clothing for the King. After fixing the loose strands of hair back into her bun she was ready and went straight to his chambers. On arrival she looked at the two guards in front of the King's chamber and frowned. She did not recognize either of them.
    Their grim expressions did not brighten as she made to enter. She could not help worrying about the fact that they did not try to stop her or even question her. It was possible that they knew who she was, but that thought was not comforting either, since she did not know them.
    Serah made a mental note to herself to have her messengers find out who was newly appointed to the King's Guard. She knew that many experienced men had been transferred to the new battalion to fight the Orcs, but she did not like having men in the palace that she did not know. She liked it even less that those men were guarding the King.
    Serah bustled into the chamber interrupting Commander Arenson mid sentence. Arenson turned on her with a scowl, while King Theowen's eyes shone at the sight of her.
    "Ah, Serah. I'm glad you've come. They've found the spring. It's real and it will save my darling."
    Before she could say something Arenson coughed loudly for attention.
    "As I was saying, my King. We cannot know for sure that all we have heard is true. I've still had no word from Captain Bron, which worries me. Why has he not informed me about this wonderful discovery that we have all been waiting for?"
    Serah was not fond of the commander, but she could not disagree with his train of thought.
    "I too, was concerned about that. To my knowledge, Captain Bron has been a loyal servant to the throne, but who knows. The power of the spring might have corrupted him. Maybe he saw a chance to keep its discovery a secret and profit from it on his own."
    If Arenson had been offended by her view of one of his captains, he did not show it. On the contrary, he agreed with her. Serah wondered what that said about him as a commander, if he did not trust his captains.
    "We have to proceed cautiously, for we do not know what awaits us when my men should arrive at the camp. If Bron is hiding the knowledge of the spring and betraying you, my King, by doing so. Then he might react with violence if we come to fetch some of its water for the Princess."
     King Theowen stood tall as ever, but his narrow shoulders slumped at his commander's words. Serah had her own doubts about Captain Bron's actions, but hearing his own commander echo those thoughts was quite disheartening. She could imagine what was going through the King's mind, but was surprised when he raised his head and she saw fire in his eyes.
    "Commander, no matter what the cost, we need the water from that spring. I want you to send your best men to gather it. If there is any opposition from Captain Bron or his men, then do what you must. Those are your King's orders. Understand?"
    Arenson's eyes widened at each word the King jabbed at him, but his voice did not quaver when he responded. "Yes, my King."
    King Theowen turned to Serah, the steel in his voice still menacing. "You came to see what would be done. Now you know. As always, my daughter comes first."
    The fiery glare was once more pointed at Commander Arenson and then without another word the King left his chamber to find a more private place. Serah imagined him going to his bedchamber to sit at a desk and ponder the hard decisions he must make.
    Not unlike the King, Serah also had hard choices to make to protect the Princess. It might hurt the girl now, but it would be better for her health. The young girl's mind had been much too focused on John of late and seeing him daily was draining her strength.
    "Commander, if I could make a suggestion as to which group to send to the spring. I know you have much faith in Captain Jason March and his men, but he seems such a valuable asset to the Kingdom. The Princess and I have been watching Guardian Morrison and his men of late and he seems more than capable to take care of any problems Captain Bron and his men might present."
    To be honest, Serah thought Jason March was an asshole and although decent with a sword, not much of a leader. The only reason why he was rising in the ranks was his family name. Guardian Morrison on the other hand was an excellent fighter and she could tell that his men truly were in good hands.
    Morrison and his men, including John, would safely get the water from the spring to heal the Princess. While she would no longer be able to watch John in the training yard daily, giving her much needed rest.
    This was for the best, even if the Princess would not see it that way.

   

Damien IV

Damien lay on a lumpy bedroll in his tent, hating his duties as Chancellor after a bone wearying day. The small village of Greyfield had been full of panic. They knew about the Orc army heading their way, making most inhabitants want to flee.
    Damien tried to calm the townkeeper, telling him that their own army would crush the Orc invaders, but that didn't do much to appease the townsfolk. He spent hours talking, assuring them that the King would protect them.
    He did his best to pretend like he cared for their safety, convincing them that General Tarrik would defeat the Orcs in battle. While hoping Tarrik would do no such thing, since it would dramatically alter Damien's plans for the kingdom.
    Actually, he couldn't care less what happened to the people of Greyfield. They did little for the revenue of the kingdom and all Damien wanted was to make sure that they wouldn't flee to the capital as refugees, like so many other villages had already done.
    King Theowen was too accommodating to his subjects. The capital was overflowing with mouths to feed and once Damien's plans came to fruition he would take care of that problem, but for now, it would just have to do to keep as many people as possible in their small villages, far away from the city. Even if the Orcs ended up slaughtering them, there were always more citizens of Thecia in the south.
    A cough sounded outside of his sanctuary.
    Damien sighed, getting up onto his feet.
    "Come in!"
    "Excuse me, Chancellor. I thought you would want to hear the news from the battlefield. General Tarrik's sent an envoy to deliver the good news." Damien's attendant was elated by the report.
    Good news was not what Damien had been hoping for. Tarrik was competent enough, but he still didn't think he would have been able to defeat the Orcs in open battle. Maybe the beasts had underestimated the King's army and had been foolish, overconfident.
    "Send him in!" Damien let himself drop into the only chair in his tent, mulling over what this victory meant for his plans. A jug of water was placed on a table next to him. He took a swig and waited for the envoy, already trying to figure out his next move.
    A young man came in, bearing a sealed letter.
    "Lord Chancellor, sir. I bring great news. General Tarrik has defeated the Orc army heading this way. We took some prisoners and many were slain." The soldier spoke with excitement and pride.
    Damien noted that he said some and many, not all. That meant some had fled. He forced a smile on his lips, as it was expected of him when such "good" news was delivered. He raised his hand, gesturing for the report. "And our own casualties?"
    The young man's smile faded. "We suffered quite heavy losses, my Lord. The Orcs charged the infantry, pushing them back almost to breaking. The Guardian Torren arrived with the cavalry just in time to crush their advance and drive them off."
    Finally some good news, Damien thought. With many men killed or wounded he couldn't turn the victory into a defeat in the mind of those that mattered, but he could remind them what success had cost them. King Theowen's reckless behavior in starting the war and sending an unprepared army to clash with the Orcs will be remembered at his wake.
    Damien broke the seal of the report and scanned its content. "What's this about a prisoner that escaped from the Orcs before the battle?"
    "He was shot down before he reached the protection of the front line. He's alive, but seriously wounded. A giant of a man, I think he might pull through." Some of the envoy's cheery nature returned.
    "He might have gathered important information during his captivity. Have Tarrik send him to me once he's in a good enough condition, if he survives that is." Damien wondered what it must have been like to be in the clutches of those monsters. How long had the man been suffering under their harsh treatment?
    Damien shook off the thought and raised an eyebrow at the envoy. "Anything else to report?"
    The soldier stood at attention with renewed pride. "No, my Lord Chancellor."
    "Good! Then ride back to Tarrik and congratulate him. Have another envoy sent out to the King, he will be glad to hear of the victory. Also, have that envoy bring news to Commander Arensen. He should consider promoting Guardian Torren to Captain, it's quite possible that man's cavalry charge saved the army and all of northern Thecia."
    "Yes, my Lord." The young man left the tent with a quick stride.
    Damien took another swig from the jug, wishing it were a fine southern wine. His plans were drawing to a close and he wished to savor it. It wouldn't be long until Damien could give the signal for King Theowen's assassination.
    It would look like an accident of course, the King's personal guard would see to it. Then only the young, sickly princess would stand in his way and the throne, but not for long. Her health was never in good standings and the loss of her father would surely break her. Who else would she have to guide her and the kingdom, but the trustworthy Chancellor? At least, until she followed her father into the grave.

   

Big John III

Big John was breathing hard, sweating and wishing for rest. Though now was not the time. The King's army was on the move. He heard the horn blowing and could hear the clatter of men marching, but he dared not turn around to see.
    Mexta stood dazed, a deep gash in her brow covered the right side of her face in blood, but he could not underestimate her. One wrong move and she would make him pay. His sword had fallen to the ground behind her and she was still holding on to her axe.
    Blinking away the blood, she took a step forward. She only had eyes for him, not aware of the Orcs around her scattering, readying for war. Their fight was forgotten for all, but her.
    Following her lead, Big John took a step back. With her step, Mexta's head drifted off to the side, making her stumble to his left. She caught herself with a growl, shaking her head back and forth.
    Big John knew what a mailed fist to the head could do. His left hand still ached, but it had been his only option after having lost his sword. He was still faced with the problem that he was unarmed and Mexta was, but at least she was no longer fresh to the fight.
    What was once a circular fighting pit had quickly turned into an open space as the Orcs started to build ranks to fight the oncoming army. Big John could see Gwarr out of the corner of his eye. The Orc Elder had drawn his great sword, shouting commands. Though he scanned the formations of his clan, he also kept an eye on Big John and Mexta.
    Big John mouthed the words "I will not die" for courage, his eyes darting toward his sword. Mexta's imbalance had moved her far enough away so that he could go for it. He had no time to hesitate, his movements brought Mexta to action. She swung her axe, bringing it down into the soft earth with a thud.
    Big John was not only strong, but also fast. In Mexta's rocked state he was quicker than her axe, diving under it to grasp his sword. Coming back up on to his feet with a roll, he placed the tip of his blade at Mexta's throat.
    She drew in a sharp breath. Her left eye, clear of blood, tried to focus on him, pupil swinging from left to right as if seeing two of him. Her hands, still wrapped around the haft of her axe, let go as her shoulders sagged in defeat.
    "Do it."
    Big John held the sword tight, putting pressure on Mexta's skin. Blood welled up and dripped from the edge of the blade. He eased off the pressure, flicking his gaze toward Gwarr.
    "I will not die here! Let me go and she lives."
    Gwarr turned his full attention toward them, grunting. "Leave the sword and go. Run!"
    Mexta hissed as the blade dropped to the ground, turning toward her leader. "You let him dishonor me like this?"
    Big John did not waste time by listening to more. This was his chance, the only chance he would get. Gwarr had allowed him to leave, the King's army was rushing toward the Orc ranks, everyone would have eyes for the battle, not for him.
    His heart pounded as he ran for the safety of the King's ranks. He heard men shout at the sight of him. They did not slow their charge, but they recognized him as their own. He would be able to let them pass and would be safe behind their lines. More than one hundred men would be between him and the Orcs.
    The weight of his armor burdened him. He didn't know how much longer he could run like this. Thankfully, he was getting closer and closer to the safety of the King's men. As soon as he was passed them he could slow down and remove the heavy chainmail and plate armor.
    The second half of the King's army still stood on the other side of the field, making a slower advance. They would surely be able to take him in before they joined the fray. He couldn't keep his mind from wandering as he ran, thinking about the strategy his kinsmen were using to engage. Having reinforcements was good, but most if not all of these men had never fought Orcs before. The more they outnumbered them the better, in his opinion.
    The thoughts worried him, wondering about the outcome of the battle. How safe would he be if the King's men were defeated. Would he just end up back in a fighting pit, surviving one day to the next by defeating anyone pitted against him or would they just kill him straight away.
    He told himself that he would not die. That he would make it out of here and would see Small John again. All these things going through his mind helped his body cope with the strain of running. He was almost at the oncoming line of King's men when he heard the familiar sound of bows twanging. The army slowed, shields being raised. Big John dared not look back, so all he saw was the face of one of the King's men. He was young and reminded him of Small John. Not as tall, but full of energy.
    Big John watched the young man's demeanor change from an angrily charging warrior to a worried, helpless onlooker. That's when the first arrows fell around him. Some arrows sank into wooden shields with a thunk, others buried themselves in the ground and two found Big John's back.

   

Rud II

A group of his brothers in arms were huddled around a cooking fire. They had caught a rabbit and were making stew. An awkward silence hung in the air as they all waited for the rabbit meat to become nice and tender. After Rud had told them not to talk about Swindon and the miracle water from the spring, a hush fell over them whenever he was near.
    It wasn't that he was disliked. They still talked to him. It was just that no one was supposed to talk about what was on everyone's mind. Him having been the one to spread the news of what Captain Bron had commanded meant that they made sure to follow the orders in his presence.
    Rud got up and stretched.
    "What're you doin'?" Erwin, who sat on the log next to him, looked up.
    "Going for a walk. Not in the mood for stew."
    "'Tis better than army rations. When's last time you ate somethin' good?"
    "Don't know, but I'm just not hungry at the moment."
    Rud waved to the lads and they grunted their goodbyes. Now that he was gone they might start talking in hushed tones, but Captain Bron couldn't expect him to always be there to put a stop to such things. He had more important things to do.
    He headed off towards camp, but as soon as he was out of sight he swerved toward the mountain side. It was going to be a long run, but he'd get to the spring and back before morning.
    He had lied to Erwin. He was hungry, but not for food. He hadn't wanted food, water or even ale ever since he took that sip from the spring. All he wanted now was more.
    He had waited a night and a day since Swindon's injury and he could wait no longer. His clothing was drenched in sweat from running, but he was in good shape and kept going. There was no need for breaks, he kept breathing strong. At this pace he would make it there a lot faster than expected.
    Three fresh graves marked the spot of the secret entry to the path. Rud came to a halt, not even needing to catch his breath. The rest of the path should be followed at a slower pace. There were many rocks and pebbles that could make you lose your footing, but Rud had no time to spare. He ran through the narrow canyon that wound through the mountains to the cave.
    His knuckles and knees were bruised from slipping several times, but he barely felt it. Once he had taken another sip from the spring the wounds would heal instantly. He entered the cave and expected to be dazzled by the springs eerie light, but instead he was surprised to see a torch and three of his comrades sprawling near the edge of the lake.
    Recognizing the bald patch on the side of  Swindon's head, he dashed over to help. With Swindon were two young brothers, Podd and Adam. All three were lying on the ground, wincing in pain with every shallow breath they took. Their faces pale, eyes unable to focus on Rud as he inspected them. Only Swindon saw him and began to mouth something.
    "What happened to you?" Rud brought his ear close to Swindon's dry lips. His breath was fowl as it wheezed from his lungs.
    "Drank... from... lake."
    Rud understood immediately. They hadn't taken the small boat to get water from the spring. They all drank from the edge of the lake. The effects were obviously quite different from those of the spring itself.
    "Don't worry. The spring water will help. It must."
    Rud got up, took every man's water flask, emptied them and then dragged the small boat that Captain Bron had left behind into the water. It wasn't going to be easy maneuvering the thing on his own, but he felt strong. Each stroke of the paddles brought him closer to the spring.
    What if the spring could not help them? The three graves in front of the mountains slipped into his thoughts, a shiver running up his spine. It had to help. It was water sent straight from the Gods. If it could not save them, nothing would.
    The trickle grew louder behind his back and he knew that he was almost there. He stopped rowing and turned to see the boat slide through the dark waters of the lake into the crystalline clear blue of the spring.
    He held up each flask, one at a time, to fill them all to the brim. The leak between the planks was worse than on his last trip, the bottom of the boat slowly filling with more and more water. It was time to get back to shore. He turned the boat around and started to slowly feel the strength leech from his arms. The black water splashed onto his scraped knees and the abrasions on his hands. Rud started to wonder if he would make it back to shore.
    In an act of desperation he grabbed one of the flasks and took a quick swig. The sensation of power returned and the slight wounds he had suffered closed up. The black water no longer mixed with his blood, allowing him to row on in full strength.
    With a thud the boat reached the shore. Quickly jumping out of the boat, Rud ran to his fallen comrades. Adam was no longer breathing, while Podd's struggled breathes sounded like a death rattle. Swindon was the only one who had managed to bring himself into a sitting position, but his breathing wasn't much better than Podd's.
    Rud gave Podd the first sip and jumped over to Swindon. They both regained their color and breathed with renewed strength almost in an instant. After that he tried dribbling some water down Adam's throat, but no matter how much he hoped for it to help, the boy was dead.

   

Bron IV

Bron looked at the flask on his desk. An ordinary flask, but the content troubled him. He'd sniffed it, given a splash to a dog to lap up and nothing had happened. Everything spoke for it being plain water, but he just couldn't shake that feeling that it wasn't. It was different somehow.
    He grabbed the flask and winced. His arm was no longer in a sling, against the surgeon's advice. It seemed he should have heeded it. He unplugged the stopper and sniffed the liquid one more time.
    It still smelled the same. Odorless. Why was he so obsessed with this damned water? He sighed and put the plug back in the flask. He knew the answer to his question. The men they had found had died of dehydration with a giant lake only feet away. There had to be something wrong with it.
     Bron slipped the leather thong attached to the flask onto a hook on his belt. He got up from his seat and took three quick strides to his door. He needed to get out and breathe. Sitting in there and thinking about all that wasn't doing him any good.
    He closed the door behind him and stepped out into the entrance of the mine. His office was no more than a hole in the mountain. The same soldier who built the boat they used on the lake had also built him a desk and a bed. The desk wasn't much to look at, but it stood. The bed creaked and was uncomfortable. He really just needed to get outside where there was fresh air.
    The men had gotten used to him and his rounds. He didn't like it when they saluted. It was better if they just kept on working, which was what they were doing now. Some of the soldiers, those that were fit enough, were training in a fighting pit they had cleared.
    As Bron passed he heard the clash of metal followed by a meaty thud. Someone screamed and several men rushed to his aid. As Captain, Bron needed to stay on top of things. He had to make sure his men were alright.
    A few brisk strides brought him to the wounded man. He was on the ground, legs jerking spasmodically, helmet dented into his skull. The man he had been fighting against had to be Tod. He was huge with bulking muscles. Tod sat a few feet away, shield and sword lying next to him, head in his hands, rocking back and forth, muttering.
    "It was an accident. The swords... they slid past each other. The hilt... it broke. I used too much force. Oh by the Gods, what have I done!"
    No one seemed to care about him. They were all surrounding their dying comrade. Bron stepped through the gathered soldiers to helplessly watch. Now he could see who it was. The man's name was Swindon and he was about to die for no reason whatsoever.
    "Captain!" Rud was holding Swindon's crushed head in his lap. He looked up to Bron pleadingly. "The water. There's something I didn't tell you."
    "What are you talking about? It can wait."
    "No it can't." He was urgent. "The water from the spring. I drank it and it healed my wound from the battle."
    Bron couldn't believe it, but his hand was already reaching for the flask. If there was a chance to save one of his men then he would take it. There was no risk involved. If it didn't work Swindon would die anyway.
    Rud took the offered flask and pulled out the stopper with his teeth. He held the lip up to the dying man's mouth and slowly let the water trickle in. With his other hand he propped up the head and slowly removed the dented helmet.
    Blood flowed freely over Swindon's face, but when his head was free a bald patch with pale white skin could be seen where his skull should have been caved in. It was a miracle. His legs stopped twitching and his eyes blinked, looking back and forth at all the people around him.
    "What happened? Why am I on the ground?"
    Nobody spoke. Bron had no words for what had just happened. Everyone continued to stare at their comrade in disbelief. The drawn out silence was slowly being broken by whispers. Bron heard his men mumble about the water and the spring. Questions were arising to which the soldiers expected answers, but he had none.
    He looked at Rud who was trying to explain to Swindon what had happened. Rud had known. He had drunk the water against Bron's orders. Bron had to do something and quick. The men were becoming more uneasy by the second.
    "Alright men. Back to your posts. Get Swindon to the surgeon to have him looked at." Rud helped him up. "Not you, Rud. You're coming with me."
    The soldier nodded and followed as Bron turned to go back to his office. They strode through the camp and when they were inside, Bron quickly shut the door and confronted Rud.
    "Tell me all you know."
    "I already did, Sir. I'm sorry I disobeyed your order, but there was this uncontrollable urge. I was fascinated by the spring the moment I set foot into the cave. When I had the chance to drink from it, I didn't hesitate." Rud stood rigid, arms behind his back, chin up.
    Bron paced back and forth in front of his man, sighed and took a seat at his desk. "How do you feel now? Anything unnatural? Sickness or dizziness?"
    "No, Sir. I haven't felt this healthy in a long time. I think the spring is a gift from the Gods."
    Bron tapped his fingers on the desk. He looked up at Rud, who was resolute and burning with vigor. There was a spark in his eyes. "You're dismissed."
    "Yes, Sir." Rud turned to leave.
    "And no talk of the spring or of the Gods. I don't want this to get out of control."
     A curt nod and he was out. Bron hoped he would keep his mouth shut, but even if he did, twenty other men saw the miracle. He didn't know what really happened. Was it the Gods or some kind of magic. It didn't matter. Bron didn't have enough information to know how safe it was. He needed to find out more before deciding what to do.

   

Small John IV

"You have a shield. Use it!" Morrison's eyes were fixed on Karl as he fought against Graham. Graham had the upper hand as he was already an experienced soldier. Karl didn't have an easy time trying to dodge or block the oncoming blows.
    Small John couldn't blame him not wanting to get hit. He was still nursing his own aching shoulder after having taken a beating from Hugh, another trained soldier. Unlike Karl, he had made use of his shield, but Hugh's blows were so hard that his arm was still numb. Karl probably didn't want to end up the same way.
    "That's enough." Morrison stepped between the two fighters. He stepped up to Karl and grabbed the rim of his shield and tugged it upward into the right position. "Hold it like this. If an Orc tries to hit you, block it. You'll live longer."
    With a slap on the shoulder Morrison sent Karl back into the ranks. "Graham, well done. If you still got some fight in you, I've got someone who needs another round." His eyes wandered across the new recruits and settled on Small John.
    He had to be kidding. Small John was sick and tired of being beaten. He wanted to learn and get better. He wanted to become one of the best who could fight several Orcs at once, but that future looked dim. He felt weak and small compared to the soldier's like Hugh, who still had a big grin plastered on his face. He didn't move from the ranks.
    "John, you don't want to train?" The Guardian's jaw clenched as he ground his teeth. "Well, that's too bad, because the Orcs are coming, if you want them to or not. So get up here and fight! You still have a lot to learn and Graham's going to teach you."
    Small John suppressed an indignant sigh and tried not to wince as he rolled his shoulders. No reason to show them more weakness. He picked up his practice sword and shield, then went to face Graham. The soldier was smiling. Unlike Hugh's, it looked like a genuine friendly smile.
    "You're tired. Let's pretend you're in a battle. You've survived several clashes, but now you're losing strength. You might lose your life, but for now you still have to fight." Graham dropped his shield to the ground and looked toward Morrison. The Guardian nodded. "Come on, drop it. You'll have less protection, but more energy to wield your sword. What's the use in battering your shield anyway? We already saw earlier that you can use it."
    Was that a complement? Small John dropped his own shield and tightened his grip on the sword. Graham slashed the air diagonally in front of him. "I'm going to attack you like this. One stroke to your left followed by one to your right. Parry them."
    Small John let out a deep breath. He had expected Graham to just come at him the way Hugh had done, but he was actually taking time to teach him something. Morrison had turned his back to them and was talking to Karl. The pressure of the Guardian watching faded and he tried to prepare.
    When the first blow came Small John lifted his sword and stumbled backward from the impact. He kept his sword up and dug in his heels to prepare for the second attack. Graham swung his blade at his right, but not the way he had shown. His blow didn't connect with Small John's block, it came from the side and hammered into his ribs.
    Small John doubled over and gasped in pain. He was down on one knee, holding his side. What was that for? He tried to catch his breath. "I thought you were going to swing diagonally."
    Graham held out a hand. "I also told you to parry and not to hold up your sword to block the blow you knew was coming. You need to learn to trust your instincts and act upon what you see and not what you are told. An Orc would have taken the chance just like I did, but he would have hit a lot harder."
    Small John grasped the offered hand and was pulled back onto his feet. "An Orc wouldn't have told me how he would attack."
    "True, but you need to learn what to expect in battle, not what to expect int the training yard." Graham took a few steps back and went into a defensive stance. "Now you're also going to have to work on your footing. My first strike almost knocked you down. That can't happen in battle or you're dead. Attack me the way I attacked you and you'll see what I mean."
    "Alright." Small John shook his shoulders to loosen them up and suppressed the ache in his ribs. He strode toward the soldier and swung his sword diagonally at Graham's left. It was blocked. He didn't even budge.
    Small John could still feel his arm shaking from the clash of steel, but he drew his sword back and attacked Graham's side horizontally, the way he had done to Small John. Graham easily blocked the blade and took a side step, his own sword swinging at Small John's head. It was more instinct than anything else that allowed him to stop the oncoming blow. He was breathing hard, waiting for the next attack to come, but Graham had already taken a step back.
    "Good job. Lesson learned." Graham looked to Morrison, who had stopped training Karl and had watched the whole fight.
    Morrison's brooding stare was focused on him. The corners of his lips slid upward in a hint of a smile. "Yes, good job. Now do it again."

   

Rud

Rud entered the cavern.
    He had run up ahead to see what it looked like without a torch. He wasn't disappointed. The lake was more than a hundred paces across. The water pitch black, but at the far end of the cavern a silvery light spilled from the ceiling, trickling down into the lake.
    There was something divine about that silvery stream of water. If not from the Gods, it had to be some kind of magic. Rud longed to touch it, maybe even taste it. What would it be like?
    "Come on, men!" Captain Bron entered the cavern with a torch and like that all of the wonder was stolen from the cavern.
    Rud squinted and tried to see the silvery water, but all he could make out was a faint shimmer. He could still hear it trickle in the distance, but that was all.
    "Get the boat into the water." Bron directed the four men behind him. "I need two of you to row me over to the spring."
    "I'll do it!" Rud tried not to sound too eager, but there was no way he was going to give up the chance to be up close to it.
    Bron rose an eyebrow at him and smirked. "Alright! Rud and... Farley. You three take the stretcher and get those bodies outside. Bury them in front of the cliff entrance. That will make this place easier to find."
    The men heaved the small boat into the lake and got to work. Farley stayed put and kept the boat steady for Bron to climb aboard. Rud was about to get in as well, when the captain turned.
    "And nobody drink from the lake. I don't care how thirsty you are. If you don't have anything left in your waterskin then wait. We don't know what killed those men and I don't want it to happen to you as well."
    "What about the spring?" Rud looked at Bron hopefully.
    "I don't want to take any chances. We'll take a sample, that's all."
    Rud got aboard and Farley pushed them off. They each had a paddle and they made their way across the lake at a steady pace. Rud's left arm burned with every stroke. He had been wounded in the battle, but until now he had been able to rest. Each strenuous pull made him feel the stitches strain against each other. He hoped they wouldn't tear.
    Bron held the torch up high. It's flickering light reflecting off of the water. Rud could see the shimmering grow closer. His sweaty palms grasped the paddle and he rowed on. They were getting closer with each stroke.
    "Whoever built this boat did a half-assed job." Farley grunted with another stroke. "My boots are getting soaked."
    Rud looked down into the bilge frowning. He hadn't noticed the water sloshing back and forth. his boots were also wet and now that he was paying attention he started to feel the water seep into them.
    "We couldn't expect expert craftsmanship. Just keep rowing. It will get us there and back." The captain just kept on looking ahead toward the spring. The leak was no more than a slight nuisance to him. Rud thought they must be thinking the same thing. Only the spring in their minds.
     They kept on rowing. The ache in his arm becoming worse. The only thing that stopped him from complaining was that divine glow. They were no more than fifteen feet away and he could see how the shimmering water from the spring made a puddle within the black water of the lake. It was as if the two fluids repelled each other.
    "Slow down now. I don't want us to go through it. I just want to get close enough to have some of it drip into my flask." Bron eased himself forward over the prow.
    Farley and Rud slowed their rowing and tried to bring the boat to a gentle stop. the captain stretched his hand, holding the flask, out toward the silvery water dripping down from above. He was still a foot short.
    "A little bit closer."
    Rud and Farley stroked once. It was more than enough and the captain drew back quickly before the spring could trickle onto his arm. He carefully held out his flask and let it fill up. Rud longed to stretch out his own arm, just to feel it. He was so close now, he couldn't just turn back without at least risking it.
    "That's enough. Take me back to shore." Bron put the stopper on his flask and hid it away in his pocket.
    Farley started to turn the boat around and the captain was already looking to shore. Now was his only chance. Rud swiveled his paddle around to help turn the boat and when neither of the others could see he reached out and cupped his hand to catch some of the spring water. Without another thought he drew his hand to his mouth and drank.
    He shouldn't have acted so quickly on impulse. He should have thought about it more, but as he felt that fresh water slide down his throat his only regret was to not have savored it more. It was over and done with and he hadn't even been able to really enjoy it.
    As they rowed back to the entrance of the cavern, Rud thought about what he had done. He didn't quite know what he had expected, but he definitely thought that there would have been more to the spring than just plain water. Now that he had tasted it and nothing special had happened he wasn't so sure.
    It wasn't until they reached the shore and he jumped out of the boat to push it out of the lake that Rud noticed something. His arm wasn't hurting anymore.

   

Serah III

"Are you sure that you feel strong enough, my Princess?" Serah was worried, watching the frail girl climb the steps to the crenellations.

    All Serah had wanted to do was take a short walk in the gardens. It did the poor girl good to breathe the fresh air, but within minutes Princess Theowenna exclaimed her delight in hearing the new battalion training in the courtyard behind the garden walls.

   The Princess stopped going up the steps and turned around to look Serah in the eye. "I haven't seen Small John in days. I want to see how he's getting along."

   And that was that. She turned around again and kept climbing the steps. Serah followed, sweating from her brow. She watched each step that the Princess made, her hands always ready to dart out and catch the girl if she faltered.

   Serah sighed with relief when they reached the top. The Princess was breathing heavily, but she could now lean against the parapet and rest while watching the soldiers train below.

   "Can you see him?" The Princess scanned the gathering of men. There were five groups. Each group had a Guardian as a leader, except for the first. That was lead by Captain Jason March.

   Serah recognized him below immediately. Not by the wavy gold sheen of his hair, but by the arrogant stance he always had. Feet apart, elbows outward and fists pressed against his hips as if he were the hero come to save the day. She still remembered him running around the courtyard as a little boy. It was tragic what happened to the boys when they grew up.

   "Oh! There he is! Small John! He's right over there!" The Princess was pointing and leaning over the parapet with such vigor that Serah was frightened that the girl might fall over and drop off the wall or that she would collapse at any moment, having spent all the energy she had.

   "I see him, Princess. Now calm down. No need to get so excited." Serah held on to Theowenna's waist to make sure she would stay upright. The Princess kept pushing herself to get a better look, but at least she had a good hold on her.

    "He looks magnificent. Sword and shield in hand. He's taller and stronger than any of the others below."

   Serah couldn't help grimacing, but the Princess wasn't paying attention to her anyway. The boy, John, had nothing but a tourney sword and a battered shield in hand. He was wearing padded linens and looked much like the others. Small and inexperienced.

   Sure, they were high up and everyone looked small, but he definitely didn't look any taller or stronger. Especially, compared to the man he was about to fight against. Now that was a man. A soldier. He was wearing mail and armor and had to be John's Guardian.

   "I think it best that we return to your rooms, Princess. I wanted you to get some fresh air and not to become breathless from excitement."

   "Oh, Serah." The Princess pouted. "I just want to watch Small John a bit more. I think he is about to fight. Look he's raising his sword."

   Serah winced as John's attack was easily blocked and he himself was knocked to the ground by his Guardian's shield. He lay there dazed until some of his comrades helped him back to his feet.

   The Princess was outraged. Seemingly, lost for words she stood there watching until she finally let out a little huff and turned away. "I can't believe how that man treated him. No one should be allowed to beat Small John so."

   Serah grabbed ahold of the Princess's arm to guide her back down the stairs. "My Princess, John is being trained. He needs some harsh lessons so that he can learn. He is only beginning to learn the way of the sword and shield. Soon he will have made much progress and I'm sure if we come to watch him again, he will be the one knocking another to the ground."

    "You think so, Serah?" She looked at her, hope shining in her eyes.

    "Watch out where you're going now!" Serah reprimanded her and held on tight to her arm.

    The Princess looked back to her feet and kept taking one step at a time.

   "Yes, I'm sure he will get better." A dark thought crossed Serah's mind.

   John would have to get better and the others too. They would all have to get better soon. The King's army was already on its way to fight the Orcs. The new battalion was going to be sent next, but would they be ready soon enough.

   "Oh, I can't wait to see him again. Won't it be possible to have him visit me again?"

   They reached the bottom and Serah started leading the Princess through the garden, back to the palace. At a slow pace, not to exhaust the poor girl.

   "I honestly don't know if he has the time. John will be training as much as he can. He has to, to get better. You want him to get better, you said so yourself. So, i don't think he'll be able to visit you anytime soon."

   The Princess's smile wilted. The poor girl wanted to spend time with her friend, Serah understood that. She even understood that John might mean more to the Princess than just being a simple friend, but he was now a part of the King's army. It wasn't suitable for them to spend time together.

   Serah took the Princess back to her chambers and brought her to her bed. It had been an exciting walk. She needed to rest now. Maybe she could at least spend time with John in her dreams, if not during her waking hours.

   

Damien III

Damien's horse slogged through the mud. Rain was pouring down from the sky in heavy sheets. His guards looked miserable as the rain pattered on their armor. Much the same as he felt.
    Power had its benefits, but it also brought responsibilities. In these hard times Damien was forced, as Chancellor of Thecia to trudge around the countryside and see what damages had been done to the outlying villages in the north. To lend support and hope where he could. To let the common men and women know that their King is looking out for them.
    The King's army was several leagues ahead of them, on their way to battle the Orcs. There was little hope in them being able to do much against an organized and bloodthirsty band of those monsters, but they should have their superior numbers to count on. The main reason to send the army was to gain more time for the new battalion to be trained and to stop those beasts from harassing their borders.
    The little light they had on this cloudy day was starting to fade. Soon the guardian of his entourage would call them to a stop and they would make camp. Damien's thighs were chaffed and his buttocks was aching. He couldn't wait to get off this damn horse and relax in front of a fire in his tent.
    "Halt!" The guardian brought his horse to a stop. Finally! Damien couldn't take it anymore. "Chancellor Damien, Sir. Some riders are coming."
    "What!" Was there no end to his misery. "General Tarrik must have sent some of his scouts to inform us of their progress. Or the lack thereof in this damnable weather."
    "I can't see the King's standard, Sir. I'm not so sure their the general's men. Best be safe and stay behind us, Sir." The guardian drew his sword. "Line up beside me and protect the Chancellor at all costs."
    Damien drew in his reins watching as his guards formed up before him. Although they didn't know who was coming and if they were even in danger, Damien couldn't keep himself from shaking. The cold rain and the uncertainty of the situation made him uneasy as he drew in a rattling breath.
    "Who goes there?" The guardian shouted to the oncoming riders. They slowed and trotted up to Damien's protectors. There was tension in the air. Damien's mouth was so dry he could barely swallow. Funny, considering the massive amounts of rain pouring down on him.
    The figures could not be distinguished as friend or foe until they were only a few paces away. Their hoods covered them from the rain and made their features unrecognizable. They were carrying weapons, but they did not draw them when being challenged with his guards' cold steel.
    "No need to fear us, humans. We come in peace." The leader of the riders reached up to remove the hood from his head. It was an Elf. "The Druids have been discussing how to deal with the situation between you and the Orcs. I believe Chancellor Damien is with you?"
    "I am here." Damien nudged his horse forward. He was still shaking, but he contributed that to the cold and being soaked from head to toe. "Guardian, sheathe your blade. All of you, get to work and set up my tent. We make camp for tonight. The Elves and I must talk."
    The leader donned his hood again and waited patiently upon his horse for Damien's men to prepare everything. Damien lowered his own hood to not let them see the grimace on his face. Elves changed everything. This was not according to plan.
    Sooner or later they were bound to get involved, but he had hoped it wouldn't be so soon. The great battles that were to come hadn't even started yet. If they offered their support too early all his carefully laid out plans could be ruined.
    His tent was standing within a couple of minutes. He entered and was glad to get out of the rain, but he wouldn't have time to change before the Elves came in. It would be too rude to let them wait outside. His guards brought in four folding chairs and the Elves followed them inside.
    "Make sure to get a fire started. We don't want our guests to get a chill, now do we?" And he didn't want to get one either for that matter.
    "I'm sorry Sir, but with this heavy rain I don't know if we'll find enough dry wood, if any." Damien glared at the guardian and felt the wet clothes sticking to his body more than ever. How could the man expect him to be in this cold dark tent all night without a fire.
    One of the three Elves stepped forward. "Let me be of help in making the fire. The wood need not be dry, I will make it burn just fine."
    The guardian and his men exited the tent, leaving Damien alone with the Elves. "Please, be seated." Damien found his own chair with the help of a sliver of light coming through the air vent at the top of the tent. The chair wasn't very comfortable. There was no back rest, only a sheet of cloth bound over four wooden legs. Comforts were a rare commodity when traveling.
    "Nyf, some light, if you please." The leader of the Elves spoke to the one who had offered to help with the fire. The Elf pulled out a small bottle with tiny dots of light inside. He shook it, making the dots become bright little suns, illuminating the tent.
    It was like magic. Damien had never seen anything like it, but he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing that. He just smiled gracefully and nodded toward their seats.
    With the new light the Elves easily found their chairs and sat down. The leader was directly across from Damien and the other two were slightly behind him to either side. They all removed their hoods and only now did Damien notice that the third Elf was a woman.
    "Chancellor Damien, this is Conjurer Nyf of the third degree." He indicated the Elf holding up the light.
    "And this is Ranger Veala." The female Elf nodded with a cool glare in her eyes.
    "I, myself, am Lorian the Whisperer. We've come to inform you and your King of what the Druids have decided."
    "I didn't expect the Elves to be so well informed about the goings on of Thecia. I am of course glad that you have come to offer help and will let the King know immediately."
    "We did not come to offer help." Lorian's face was solemn.
    Before Damien could respond, the guardian came back inside the tent with a handful of firewood. "Excuse me, Sir. Here is the wood. It's pretty damp, so I don't know how easy it'll be to get a fire started."
    Nyf got up from his seat and unburdened the guardian. He placed the wood in the center of the tent and Damien thought he saw him add some powder on the logs. With a flick of Nyf's wrist fire burst forth and the wood burned greedily.
    The guardian's eyes opened wide at the sight. Some conjurer's trick, Damien was sure. It seemed like magic and it looked impressive, just like the light from the bottle, but he shouldn't let himself be distracted. "You can leave us now, Guardian."
    "Yes, Sir." He bowed and left the tent.
    "Excuse me for not responding quicker, but I did not want to discuss this in front of my men. What do you mean by not coming to offer help? Why did you come?" Damien said this with as much shock as he could muster, while grinning mischievously in the back of his mind. No help from the Elves, meant that his plans were still in tact.
    "The Druids have talked it over for some time. We were all concerned when we heard of the conflict between you and the Orcs. Most of us still remember the Great War and we still feel the pain and loss from over a century ago. We do not want a new war to evolve, but it seems like you are on the brink of one. If worst comes to worst, we don't want to be fighting the Orcs again. That and the fact the humans seem to have been the cause of this, are the reasons why the Druids have decided that we will not help you in this war."
    Damien gave his best impression of being hurt and surprised. "I don't understand. We're allies. The Orcs used to be your enemies too." A thoughtful pause. "The King will be very disappointed when he hears this."
    "I'm sorry, but our kind is just not willing to risk lives in a war that has nothing to do with us. You will have to accept that and so will your king." Lorian rose from his seat and his companions followed his example.
    "I will inform the King at once." Damien jumped up from his seat, following the Elves to the flap of the tent. "We were hoping to have your support in this conflict, but we'll fight bravely without you."
    "I hope you do, Chancellor. Fighting the Orcs is not an easy thing. I, for one, would have gladly stood by you, but the Druids have spoken." Lorian clasped his hand on Damien's shoulder, turned and left the tent with the other two right behind him.
    Damien smiled. The Elves were out of the picture. At least, for now. There surely must also be others like Lorian that are willing to fight. They just need a little bit of an incentive and Damien already had something in mind. He would just have to wait until the time was ripe.