Bodrin’s feet ached. Weeks of labor had toughened his soles, but there was no time allowed for his muscles to recover. He was learning about muscles he didn’t even know existed. Still, when his companion yawned, the spirit of fatigue turned its eyes on him, causing the tough old man to yawn as well.

“Damnit, don’t start that now. You at least got some sleep tonight.” Bodrin chastised.

“Oh, excuuuse me, your highness. I spent all last night scouting. You should be glad I woke up for this little event in the first place.”

Bodrin looked at his new friend. The man was a fool, of that there was no doubt, but he was a noble sort of fool. He actually came back to save a bunch of strangers. Bodrin was convinced that their escape attempt was doomed to failure. That wasn’t a problem, he regretted nothing more than allowing himself to be taken by the empire. At least he would get one last chance to fight before the Earth Mother reclaimed his soul.

That was before Patrick had freed and fed the entire slave colony. He even produced arms for the uprising! Hope tried to worm its way into Bodrins heart but it was still tightly closed off. Only the strong drink Patrick shared with him so long ago proved effective at piercing that armor.

Bodrin’s musings were interrupted by the approaching guards. He waited until Patrick acted. Then he swung his sling around once to build momentum before letting one end of the cloth slip through his fingers. He was gratified to see that all the time he spent hunting squirrels as a child was finally paying off. His stone knocked off of the remaining guard’s head, dropping him to the ground.

As if his service wasn’t enough, Patrick went off alone to secure an even greater advantage while sending all the slaves he freed to safety. Bodrin didn’t watch his progress though, he was given another task.

As soon as the tower door opened, he saw the guards lurch. One of them started screaming and the door began swinging shut.

“Get up! It’s time to move!” He shouted back to the dozens of slaves following his lead. Before they rushed over the rocks, he gave another order.

“Bring those chains, you’ll want something harder than your fists to swing when this gets bloody.”

Bodrin watched as two of the goons Patrick recruited charged forward and barged through the door before it could close completely again. They stooped to bludgeon the guard in the doorway. By the time Bodrin arrived, the fighting was done.

“Everyone inside” He insisted, ushering people past the dead guards. He wasn’t sure what the rest of Patrick’s plan entailed, but it was working amazingly so far. Bodrin pushed his way up the stairs until he made it to the peak of the tower.

There was a ruckus coming from the cabin. He could hear it over the nervous murmuring of the slaves.

“What’s he doing?”

“Why did he leave us? Are we bait?”

“This is crazy, I should have stayed put. We can’t beat the guards!”

“That’s enough!” Bodrin growled. “Patrick came here to save us. He didn’t have to. I can tell you I’d never do something so foolish, but I want to believe he can succeed. I want to see what he can do. Every time I think he’s cornered, he surprises me. I doubt he’s in control but isn’t this better than dying when your legs or heart give out?”

Silence held for a moment after the speech.

“Why’d he come to save us? We’re not anyone special.”

“He didn’t come for you louts.” Said the biggest of the shield-bearers.

“He’s a Black Crane, a pirate, and a con-man. He’s just using you to destroy this sentry tower. He showed me his crest and everything. A pirate ship will be here on the morrow and what do you think will happen to all of us survivors then? I’ll tell you what, fresh chains and an oar to lean on. Why else would he go to so much trouble keeping us alive?”

That didn’t sound right to Bodrin. The Patrick he knew was an indentured servant, not some pirate captain. The man even puked at the sight of death. None of the children in his village were even half so naive. If he had to guess, Patrick was the son of some noble who fell on hard times. How else could he have such powerful magic like his invisible bag?

Bodrin was old enough to know when to speak and when to keep quiet. The majority of the slaves were on the fence. Their disbelief that someone would act out of pure altruism warred with their high regard for the man who freed them just minutes earlier. Bodrin might change some opinions, but not before the big guy could shut him up. His musings were cut off as a completely unexpected sound joined the muttering and the distant banging.

A fiddle rang out loud and clear, as the crowd at the top of the tower stared, flames grew. In seconds, a column of flames reached into the sky and illuminated a single figure, playing music in the middle of the slave-revolt. A particularly loud crash ended the music. Patrick ran towards the tower and the flames immediately halved in ferocity.

“The man can summon spirits with his music!” one of the slaves exclaimed in wonder.

No one corrected the man, no one was certain he was wrong. In short order, Patrick was at the base of the tower, calling for us to take the fight to the remaining guards.

“What did I tell you? He just wants to use you. Let’s show him we’re not his tools!” Said the shield-bearer. One slave who tried to unbar the door was knocked down by another goonish shield-bearer. The leader mounted the steps and called mocking insults down to Patrick.

That rankled Bodrin. He didn’t like it one bit. Using stealth skills honed from a lifetime of navigating the wilderness, he approached the leader. He was so confident in his position of power that he never considered any of the slaves could be a threat. He kept that misconception right up until Bodrin crouched, wrapped his arms around the man’s thighs, and lifted him over the partially-built wall. There was a short-lived scream followed by a crunching impact and then silence.

The nearby slaves stared at him in shock. They didn’t have time for shock.

“What are you waiting for? Your savior needs help! Are you the type to take a favor and then let your benefactor face certain death all alone, or are you men!”

The slaves roared. One of the crossbowmen had thought to reload during the tumult and loosed his bolt over the wall. The others began to prime their weapons but even Bodrin could tell they were inexperienced and slow. Many rushed down the stairs to crash against the remaining three men with shields and cudgels. They went down quickly, the chains used as clubs wrapped around the shields and struck the overwhelmed toughs. Unfortunately, the dog-pile effectively blocked the door from opening and Patrick was in danger now.

“Slingers to the roof! Volley on my command!” Bodrin didn’t wait for them all to assemble. When he had six people swinging their slings overhead, he joined them.

“Loose!” A hail of stones rained down on the approaching guard captain. Their poor aim and his superior armor made the attack ineffective. Panic nearly set in. There was nothing else he could do. This wasn’t the first time he was faced with a charging predator though. If you couldn’t avoid it, or kill it, that left trapping it.

“The chains! Throw the chains!”

First one, then four, then a dozen chains rained down on the guard. Bodrin was not an expert with bolos by any means, but his throw hit the charging captain's legs, bringing him down just long enough for Patrick to finish his spell. After the flash and the boom, everyone who could see the fight held silent, everyone else clamored, trying to figure out whether they were still in danger or not.

The door was finally opened. Several slaves rushed to Patrick’s fallen form, most stayed inside the tower where it felt safe. Bodrin waved for the crossbowmen to follow him. Unexpectedly, the rest of the slaves followed.

“Let’s put those four mutineers back in chains for now. Patrick might want some revenge.”

Bodrin’s order was taken without question. Several of the slaves clearly enjoyed having power over the old gang for a change and he had to give a followup order not to kill them. When he got to Patrick’s limp body, two former slaves were tending to him. One looked up.

“He hasn’t hurt anything serious, he’s just… tired. It looks like he put everything he had into that attack, the damned fool.” Despite the insult, the healer looked at Patrick with fondness and respect. The tarnished silver half-crown set with brilliant gems only confirmed Bodrin’s theory about Patrick’s origins. Only a noble would wear jewels like that, and only one fallen from grace would let their silver get so tarnished. If that wasn’t enough evidence, he finished the fight with a real spell, not a simple wand. Only time would tell if he was sincere or playing some nobles game using the slaves like pawns.

Before he approached the prone Captain, Bodrin made sure all the crossbows and slings were ready to fire. Four slaves even took up the shields and stepped in front of the ranged weapon users. They tried to march in formation but ended up in a strung-out gaggle due to the rough terrain and their complete lack of training.

There wasn’t any reason to be so cautious though. The captain’s breastplate was caved in and his sword-arm hung twisted and useless at his side. He feebly tried to unclasp his armor with his unbroken arm between weak coughing fits that produced more blood. The slaves stood vigil over the dying captain for a minute, then one stepped forward and kicked the dying man. He wasn’t alone for long and the mob hastened the guard's end.

“May your passage cleanse your soul. Start anew, and find a more peaceful life than your last.” Bodrin couldn’t help but recite the words of passage. Even a hated enemy deserved to rejoin the cycle.

“Freemen!” Bodrin called “We have work to do yet! Let Patrick rest, he has done enough. We can take it from here.”

This time when he “marched”, everyone followed him. The cowardly remaining guards surrendered. Despite the overwhelming desire for revenge, Bodrin wasn’t ready to slaughter enemies after they had surrendered. It’s much harder to collect ransom for a corpse after all. It was the work of a few minutes to finish quenching the fires. The island was theirs. Bodrin hoped that crazy bastard had thought past this point. For now, the slaves slept in the cabin. They didn’t care that one corner was charred and let in a draft. There was a fire, and there were blankets. It was practically paradise.