Blood drenched my clothes. My hands were wet.

“Please, no more. Please!”

Scarlet droplets splattered across the floor. The clink of metal instruments sounded greedily in my ears.

“Have mercy, please!”

A metal hook gleamed in the dim light. It had not been used yet, but like the rest of the implements, it had been made for one purpose and one purpose only. To break men.

“Ahhhhhh! Oh God, please stop! Please stop!”

Thick and red, the blood spread across the floor in a slow wave. Light no longer reflected off of the hook.

Laughter bubbled out from someone behind me.

“Oh yes, it should happen soon now. There's only so much he can handle!” came an oddly accented voice. The speaker sounded cultured and refined, at odds with the vicious glee that filled the words being spoken.

A choke and then a gurgle.

Disappointed, the voice muttered, “Well, if at first you don’t succeed…”

I woke up with a shout. A dream lingered on the edge of my awareness before disappearing into the cobwebs of my groggy mind. I strained to keep hold of it, hoping it was a memory of my past life, but it disappeared like a wisp of smoke in a powerful wind. I felt so weary, and my head was pounding. My eyes began to close to seek more rest when suddenly the memory of the Orc Leader's axe descending to separate my head from my body flashed through my mind. My adrenaline surged within me and banished any hope of sleep.

What had happened?

I lay on a sleeping mat. Above me was a cloth ceiling that swayed slightly. The sounds of shouting men and whinnying horses assaulted my ears. I sat up quickly and then immediately regretted it as sharp pain spiked through my skull. Bringing a hand to my head, I realized that my helmet no longer protected me. All I felt was a large bump through my hair.

Looking around, I saw that someone had taken off my helmet and placed it next to my side. A large dent marred its roundness. I ran my finger against the depression and marvelled that my skull wasn’t cracked.

Concussion - your balance and movement speed are penalized by 50% until this condition is removed by either rest or healing.

Wow. These words...they turned everything into numbers!

Whoever had pulled me from the field of battle had left my armor and clothing alone. I guessed that once they took off my helmet and realized I wasn’t dying they hadn't felt the need to check me anymore. I was grateful. Whoever it was had probably saved my life, and my Bag of Holding still hung on my belt.

Veritas! Where was she?

I looked frantically around and then heaved a sigh of relief. She lay next to me, opposite the helmet. I picked her up blew a thankful breath out of my lungs.

“Do you know what happened?”

I saw through your eyes that the Orc Leader was about to kill you, but then you went unconscious. All I can tell is that I was carried and then left here next to you. I can feel eddies of mana all around us. If I had to guess, I would say that healing spells are being used on the wounded.

“I wish someone had used a healing spell on my head. I have a concussion, and the pain flares up every time I move my head quickly,” I muttered.

Until you get that healed, you may want to have someone watch you when you sleep. A concussion--

“Can cause a person to die unexpectedly in their sleep. Yes, I know.”

I frowned.

“How do I know that? It’s so strange. I know it, but I can’t remember where or how I learned it.”

You clearly have an affinity to swordplay. That suggests that you were once a warrior of some kind and might have been aware of the effects of different kinds of injuries.

That made sense, though it once again brought up the question of who I had been. Everything seemed to come back to that. It was so maddening.

With a groan, I pushed myself up until I was on my hands and knees inside the tent. I didn’t know if the person who had dragged me from the field had wiped Veritas or if she had simply shed the orc blood herself, but my blade was sparkling clean. I sheathed her, and shimmied forward on my knees and poked my head out the tent flaps.

Soldiers from the battle were bustling all around me. Brown and green decorated their clothing and armor, and I assumed that those were the colors of their lord. I could only imagine that being where I was meant that the humans had won the battle. There didn’t seem to be any special urgency to those around me. We were clearly not in the process of hurriedly packing in preparation for a desperate retreat.

Holding my damaged helmet in one hand and gripping Veritas’s hilt in the other, I slowly made my way out of the tent. Almost immediately, a soldier approached me.

“Sir!” he addressed me. “How are you feeling? I apologize that we have no healer to spare for you as of yet, but they are being reserved for the seriously wounded at the moment.”

“My head is pounding as if someone is beating it like a drum, but other than that I’m well,” I answered him.

The soldier was young and had an odd yellow stripe on his arm. Perhaps a symbol of rank? A short sword graced his left hip, and a dagger adorned his right. His eyes were a clear and intelligent brown, and dun-colored hair fell from his head in a curtain that had been coarsely cut above his eyes. Slender but wiry looking, he bowed slightly before meeting my eyes. His gaze was respectful and steady. Why was he being so solicitous?

“Sir, my lord has commanded that you be presented to him once you were feeling well enough to walk. Are you able?”

I grimaced.

“Yes, I can walk. Not quickly, but I can move.”

“Please, come this way. We can walk slowly,” he requested.

He turned to move deeper into the camp.

“Wait, what’s your name?” I called out to him.

“My apologies! I’ve forgotten my manners. My name is Barnabas. And you?”

I replied, “I am Paol. Who is your lord?”

Barnabas paused and then turned slightly so that he could look me full in the face.

“How can you be here and not know the lord of these lands?” he asked in a confused tone of voice.

“I’m a traveller from afar,” I said. “Is this the kingdom of Paravel? Is your lord the king?”

The young man smiled.

“You are indeed in Paravel, but my lord is not the king. We are in the Duchy of Creshey, and my lord is Duke Benedict, scion of the House of Creshey. We were fortunate that he was traveling nearby when the orcs began raiding here in Bermindon. Without his aid, our losses would have been great. My lord the duke is a fierce warrior, and none of the orcs could stand against him.”

“Have you heard of this duchy or this duke?”

I have heard of the Duchy of Creshey, but it has been over a hundred years since I fought in Paravel. It is unlikely that I will recognize the duke.

Barnabas wove his way through the confusing campsite until he stopped before the largest tent I had yet seen. It was made of a finer, more tightly woven material than the tents of the common soldiers I had passed, and it was large enough that at least 15-20 people could have slept in it. I would be able to stand up straight without fear of rubbing my head against the tent ceiling. The shelter had been dyed green and brown, and some kind of white bird had been knit into the fabric.

Two tall, grim-faced soldiers dressed in well-worn chain mail guarded the tent flaps and watched the two of us carefully as we made our way to the entrance.

Just as we were at the entrance, the one on the left ordered, “Halt!”

The two men looked almost identical, from the clothes to the face to the body shape. Twins perhaps?

Barnabas sighed in exasperation.

“Thomas, Duke Benedict asked specifically to see the warrior who distracted the orc band as soon as he was awake.”

In the exact same voice and tone as the man who had first greeted us, the soldier on the right asked, “And this is he? The man who turned the orc flank?”

“Yes,” Barnabas insisted while rolling his eyes. “I’ve been outside his tent for two hours waiting for him to wake up. Now will you please let us pass?

The twins grunted and slid to the side, flipping open the flaps in eerie unison. Beckoning me forward, Barnabas disappeared into the tent, and I followed. All of a sudden, a hard, unmoving hand came up and stopped me.

Thomas murmured softly, “Thank you for your efforts on our behalf. Many more of our brothers-in-arms would have died if you hadn’t intervened.”

What? I had only killed a few orcs. I didn’t think it could have made that much of a difference.

Inside the tent was just one cot for sleeping and a long table with several chairs around it. At the head of the table stood the man I assumed must be the Duke. His clothing was richly embroidered in green and brown, and I glimpsed a bright set of heavy armor sitting on the floor next to him. His brown eyes narrowed on me before laughter lines asserted themselves over the grim look on his face.

He rounded the table and strode towards me, holding out one hand in greeting. We clasped forearms, and he beamed.

“Well met, sir! Your brave assault on the orc flank distracted them at precisely the right moment for my men to push forward and break the orcs’ formation, causing their attack to splinter. We would have beaten them regardless, but your aid enabled us to turn the tables on those filthy beasts much sooner than I had expected. Many lives were saved for which I thank you.”

I stammered, “Yes, uh, well, you’re welcome. I’m not sure if I really made that big of a difference, but I suppose every little bit helped during the battle.”

The duke looked confused.

“A ferocious fighter and humble to boot," declared the duke. "Not a common combination at all, which speaks well of your character.”

I must have looked puzzled as I said, “Ferocious fighter? I did feel quite heated during the battle, but I’m not sure I’d call myself ferocious. It was just a few orcs after all.”

Duke Benedict lifted one eyebrow.

“Just a few? Do you remember how many of those filthy creatures you killed?” he asked carefully.

“Well sure, I think it was 3...maybe 4.”

Next to me I heard Barnabas make a strangling noise in his throat.

“Sir,” began the duke.

“Paol,” I interrupted. “Please, just call me Paol.”

The duke nodded.

“Thank you, Paol. So you remember killing 3 or 4 orcs, is that right?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” I answered confusedly. “Except for the Orc Leader, they weren’t really much of a threat to me.”

Duke Benedict gazed upon me for another moment, a look that lasted just long enough that I began to feel uneasy before he opened his mouth to say, “Paol. You killed twenty-two orcs in your rampage down the orc band's attacking line. Had they ignored the threat you presented, you might have completely dismantled the entire right wing of their raiding band.”

I stood stunned.

Twenty-two? I had killed twenty-two orcs? But it had all happened so fast! How could I have possibly killed twenty-two orcs in that amount of time? Surely they were mistaken.

It was twenty-two. I remember them all, Paol. You were in the grip of some kind of battle frenzy, and you attacked the orcs fearlessly and flawlessly. Check your Swords skill.

Eighteen. Eighteen! I had gained three levels in Swords? And wait--I was Level 10 now?

While I stood there, poleaxed by what I had learned, Barnabas murmured some words to his liege lord..

Duke Benedict continued, “Barnabas tells me that you are a stranger to our lands. Tell me, what is a martial warrior like yourself doing here in Creshey?”