Chapter 5

Varen traced the patterns along the length of his rifle absentmindedly as he leaned on the parapet, looking out into the pitch-black darkness of the plains. The firearm was already locked and loaded, like those of the men alongside him on the walls, and now all Varen needed was a target. One that he would probably miss, but that was besides the point. I suppose I'm bound to hit something, anyhow, he thought with a mental shrug.

During the fight with the wolves, he'd simply fired into the more concentrated spots of the pack, which meant that while he missed his original target more than often, the shots still connected with something. And with fifteen thousand targets making their way over, it would have been a total miracle if he still failed to hit anything while firing in their general direction.

The number was still something he was unable to grasp. Peering over the parapet and down the twenty metre-high ramparts, Varen took in the torch-lit sight of his allies, trying to get a sense of scale. About two hundred close-ranged combatants of their defence force were gathered outside the town's southern gate, while the other two hundred waited within the walls. The plan was for the two groups to switch places every hour, to treat wounds and allow the men breaks, and the gates were kept open to easily facilitate that.

"Varen!" Turning around see who had called his name, Varen found Julien at the top of the battlement stairs, the boy waving animatedly at him.

"Private! Pipe down and get to your position!" the officer-in-charge of their section of the walls, a Sergeant Wallen, yelled. Julien immediately bowed his head in embarrassment, much to the amusement of the surrounding adventurers. The red-faced younger soldier hurried over to Varen's side, trying unsuccessfully to make himself seem smaller.

"You get a lot of flak, don't you," Varen observed mirthfully, and Julien let out a nervous chuckle.

"Yeah… I'm really starting to think a career in the military isn't for me…"

"Why'd you sign up then?"

"Military family," Julien grumbled, and Varen nodded in understanding. "I didn't have much of a choice."

"I see. How is she?" asked Varen, changing the subject before the brown-haired boy could launch into a tirade.

Julien sighed, "Furious doesn't even begin to describe it. I got hit a few times, and I'm pretty sure she was serious about her threats to stick her dagger between my ribs if I didn't leave her alone."

"Hmm, when you say it like that, I'm not sure who's scarier when they're angry now," Varen mused. "Which would you rather face? Kleven's calm, building anger, or Caelie's burning rage from the get-go?"

"No way, don't make me choose. Neither."

"Good answer," Varen laughed softly. His tone of voice shifted to one of concern, and he said, "I really hope they'll be able to talk things out after. It'd suck if their arguments drags on, for them, and for all of us as well."

"Yeah…" agreed Julien, and they fell into silence.

A cold wind began to blow, and the torch flames around them wavered. Varen shivered slightly, glad that his scarf had survived the encounter with the wolves. It was slightly torn, but it was just as comfortable as it was before. Some of his hair had been blown onto his face, and he swept it back into place. Suddenly, another shiver ran through his body from the base of his spine. This time, however, it wasn't from the temperature. A low rumble was building up in the distance, the noise almost imperceptible.

"They're coming," someone whispered, the wind carrying the sound.

Weapons shifted as bowmen nocked their bows, while crossbowmen and gunmen sighted their crossbows and guns. Varen swallowed, a cold sweat growing on his palms, and he shifted his grip on his rifle. A masculine voice began chanting something further down the line, and Varen perked up his ears as he recognised it to be the beginnings of a spell. One of The Purple Robes?

It wasn't too long of an incantation, and after a few seconds a large ball of fire streaked through the air across the dark plains towards the woods. The fireball exploded in a brilliant flash as it neared the end of the flats, illuminating the area momentarily.

"W-what the fuck…" Julien choked out as they were granted a brief glimpse of the enemy.

Varen echoed the younger boy's sentiments internally, nearly dropping his weapon at the sight. Every inch of the land was coloured pink as the goblin horde advanced out of the forest in an unorderly fashion – and as far as Varen could tell, that was merely a fraction of the enemy force. The rumbling stopped for a moment as the creatures paused mid-step, enthralled by the sudden light above them.

Then as the light faded, the entirety of the horde erupted into a primal war cry, and Varen felt his blood run cold at the uncomprehendingly deafening noise. The rumble of thousands of feet pounding on earth grew into a thunderous sound as the goblins broke into a sprint, and Varen's grip on his gun loosened as he stood with his mouth agape. He'd nearly died fighting a wolf pack, but they were nothing compared to the wave of impending doom before him.

Even then Varen had relied on Dorian and the twins to calm him down, but now they weren't by his side. The urge to turn tail and run grew, but what use was there running from such numbers? Thoughts of death – or worse, being eaten by the goblins, as they were wont to do – flashed through his mind, and he took an involuntary half-step backwards.

Strong hands came down on his shoulders as soon as he did, and Varen twisted around in shock to see Sergeant Wallen right behind him. The Sergeant fixed him with a stern gaze and whispered just loud enough for him to hear, "Look around you. Tell me what you see."

"E-everyone's scared…" Varen stammered after taking a quick look. Those who'd been visibly afraid like he was were the minority before, when they were gathered in the square, but now, Varen could sense an underlying fear in everyone present.

"That's right. Men may put on strong faces, but even the most confident veteran will feel a niggling of fear when faced with an enemy. It is that innate fear that gives us our sense of self-preservation. It is an instinct that helps us to survive, but only if it remains under our control."

"Right now, you're doing the opposite," continued Wallen. "You're letting it control you, and the moment your fear overtakes you, you will have doomed us all. For you will die with a heart full of fear, and it will spread rampantly to those by your side."

If I die, everyone else will die? The words rang through Varen's mind, and he realised it was true, even more so than the man had intended. If he died, he could cause his fellow fighters to perish in this battle. If he died, it would take time for the Head Majstor to receive the news, and even more time to put together another unofficial investigative team. A delay which could prevent them from figuring out how to stop another Cataclysm…

And if he died so stupidly, Eden would never forgive him. Steeling his resolve, Varen looked up to the Sergeant and nodded.

Returning Varen's determined nod with a satisfied grunt, Wallen released his grip and strutted back to the centre of the wall section. Staring out over the fields, he shouted, "Right! You all know what to do! Wait till the bastards are in range, and fire on my command! Raise your weapon and call out if you need spare ammo, and a runner will come along!"

The magician from before unleashed the same spell again, temporarily dispelling the darkness of the night and revealing that the first wave of the horde was now halfway through the plains.

"Weapons up!"

Control your fear, Varen… Chanting the words in his mind like a mantra, Varen shouldered his rifle. His hands still shook, but his mind wavered less. He glanced to his side and saw that Julien had did likewise, having pulled his bowstring taut. The younger archer noticed Varen's gaze and gave a nervous grin in return.

"Hold…sight your targets…"

Out of the corner of his eye, Varen could see that what few spear wielders below had formed a phalanx formation, the points of their weapons ready to receive the enemy's assault. The goblins' war cry was now truly ear-shattering, and he had to resist the urge to cover his ears. The creatures were still too far to be clearly seen, but Varen took aim, focusing on a group of silhouettes in the darkness. Then, the first of the horde – riders, faster than the rest on their boar steeds – emerged into clear view of the torches.

"Fire at will!"

xxxxx

Dozens of goblins fell as the first volley sounded from above, their bodies trampled up in an instant by their brethren as they advanced single-mindedly.

"Let us stand headfast, and like a rock in the path of a raging river we shall split them! These mindless creatures come to our lands out of hunger, and I say we let them starve! For the Kingdom!" the voice of the Captain rang out patriotically. He stood within their midst, the sword in his hand held high, and he hollered over the din as the horde came within a stone's throw, "Brace for impact!"

Kleven joined in as the men roared a war cry of their own. It was pitifully soft compared to the noise the enemy made, but the conviction was there. He'd torn the sleeves of his robe, the threads already frayed as they were, and his toned arm muscles tensed as he placed both arms on the back of the spearman before him. The man grunted his thanks for the support and leant forward slightly, keeping his spear level, just in time for the first goblin riders to crash into the formation and impale themselves on the spears.

"I'm good now, go put your sword arm to use!" the spearman tilted his head back and shouted, the spear in his hands jabbing forward simultaneously to end another creature's life.

Kleven acknowledged his shout by letting go and stepping back to give himself space to fight. He drew his sword from its sheath and unholstered his round steel shield from where it had been strapped to the back of his leather vest. Taking a quick glance around, he saw that nearly everyone was engaged in battle, the goblins already having managed to squeeze past the gaps in the front lines.

A loud squeal invaded his ears, and a rider bounded forward on its boar, the latter the largest hog he'd ever seen. The goblin clutched a crude piece of metal in its small pink hand, and it grinned devilishly at him, revealing rows of sharp, pointed teeth. It cackled, the sound slightly unnerving, and kicked the boar's sides. At the command, the tusked pig bristled with primal fury and charged toward Kleven.

It was fast, but Kleven reacted swiftly, stepping out of its charging path. It struggled to turn, carried by its momentum. The goblin swung its makeshift weapon as it passed, and Kleven raised his shield to block the hit. They really are weak, he thought as the attack glanced off the shield, his arm having barely felt the impact.

He remembered fighting boars once, when their father had brought him and his sister on a hunt. What age were they then? Nine or ten, if his memory served. Caelie had been so afraid of them then, and had vehemently insisted sitting out on the actual subduing of the wild animal. Father had relented, but ultimately still forced her to skin and gut it, which she did with tears in her eyes. Kleven smiled at the thought.

Would Caelie cry if she was faced with this beast and its rider now? Kleven didn't know, but he'd be damned if he was going to find out. It hurt him to see his twin so furious at him, but he had to protect her, now that no one else could.

The boar ground to a halt, digging into the dirt and tearing up grass with its hooves. Its rider spat out words, in a language that was harsh on the ears and seemed more akin to noise. Kleven watched carefully as the goblin began kicking the boar's sides relentlessly, rousing it into even more of a battle fury. I'll have to take the rider out first, he concluded. He couldn't afford to let it enrage the pig even further.

Another squeal indicated that the beast was about to charge once again. It frothed at the mouth and stomped its hooves, adding to the already trodden ground. In a split second, it was charging at a terrifying speed, but Kleven was ready.

Taking a step out of its predictable path like he had before, he spun, swinging out with his sword. The goblin made no noise as it died instantly, the blade biting deep into its torso and very nearly cutting its frail form clean in half. Its limp corpse was tossed off its steed by the blow, and its entrails spilled out as it crumpled onto the floor.

If the boar had felt any connection to its deceased rider, it didn't show in any way. As soon as it had managed to stop itself and turn, it was moving again. Kleven prepared to sidestep it a third time, when all of a sudden, a stone struck the back of his right knee. His leg buckled and he fell into a kneel as another stone bounced harmlessly off his shield. Raising his gaze, the blond watched helplessly as the rampaging beast neared.

Suddenly, a spiked warhammer slammed into the animal's side with an audible crunch, and Kleven winced involuntarily at the bone-breaking hit. The boar gave a panicked squeal as it was sent flying a few paces, and it fell onto its side. Before it could recover, the blade of a greataxe sunk into its throat, and it spasmed in its death throes as blood spurted copiously out of the arterial wound.

"Come on, boy! The battle's hardly begun, it's not our turn to take a break yet!" the axe's owner laughed belligerently. It was the heavily-scarred mercenary from before, and the man strode over to help Kleven to his feet. "Can you stand steady?"

A stone impacted on the man's leather vest before Kleven could respond, and the man caught the projectile as it bounced off. He stared into the distance, presumably at the offending goblin that had slung it. "I'm not usually one to return a gift…" the mercenary said to himself humorously, then flung the stone back with excessive force.

"Yeah, just need a second," Kleven replied, his eyes catching the now mangled form of the man's target as the weakness in his leg quickly faded. He looked around for signs of his other saviour, and found Magnar with his signature spiked hammer already further down the battle line. The aged soldier was wading through the horde, leaving broken and battered bodies in his wake.

"If you're fine, then I'm heading over," the mercenary grumbled and hefted his battleaxe, his gaze fixed on Magnar as well. "I'm not losing to someone twice my age."

Rolling his shoulders, Kleven chuckled in response, "Mind if I joined you?"

The man grinned widely and exclaimed, "That's the spirit! Try and keep up!"

Together, they made their way over to Magnar's side, pausing occasionally to deal with any goblins that got in their way. A stone flew as they approached, scraping the soldier's cheek and drawing blood, but Magnar barely even flinched at the injury. With a grunt, he lifted his hammer and smashed it down onto a rider and its beast, crushing the former into paste and dazing the latter. He finished the job with a horizontal swing to the boar's snout, breaking off one of its tusks in the process.

Sharp stones were crisscrossing through the air now, as the goblin slingers made their way forward into range, most of the riders that led the charge already dispatched. The slingers were at least five times as numerous as their beast-riding kin, and they hung back, pelting stones as the remaining riders and the main bulk of footsoldiers advanced. Their horrible aim was a saving grace, as they were more like to miss or hit one of their own instead of the defenders'. Still, the goblins had the numbers to spare, and with so many missiles being flung, some were bound to hit their targets.

"Shield wall, form up on me!" Captain Reid's voice sounded out, the command being promptly relayed down the line by several other soldiers.

The axeman groaned at the order. They'd just reached Magnar, only to be recalled before he could get to adding to his kill count. He ducked as a stone whistled past where his head had been, muttering curses under his breath. Magnar gave them a nod as they retreated into formation, standing directly behind Kleven.

Kleven hunched slightly and raised his shield in line with the rest of the shield-bearers. They were all using small to medium sized shields, which were only large enough to protect their vitals from the rocky bullets, and Kleven hissed as stones hit his legs. Those are definitely going to bruise in the morning, he thought in annoyance.

Thankfully, the wall commanders above were quick to act, directing ranged fire down upon the enemy slingers, and volleys of arrows and gunfire decimated the goblin ranks. A fireball found its way into a clump of slingers, sending their charred bodies flying. Roaring thunder preceded several tendrils of forked lightning, the latter of which lighting up the night sky with multiple split-second flashes. The tendrils spread as they came into contact with the enemy, lancing through dozens of goblins in a spectacular display of light and littering the ground with smoking corpses.

"What a sight! It's at least mid-tier spell, that. I wouldn't be surprised if it was even the mage's Magnum Opus," the mercenary whistled his approval as Kleven looked upon the scene of destruction with wide eyes.

The magicians' didn't attack again, as Kleven expected. There were still thousands of goblins before them, and they were rightly conserving their strength for any dire situations. Still, their efforts had been enough, and soon the hail of thrown rocks slackened. The few creatures in the front hesitated, for the first time since the beginning of the battle. The individually weak Vaettir took courage in numbers, and while they still had an army of their kin behind them, the concentrated attack gave them pause.

Their hesitance didn't last long as a larger, taller creature pushed its way to the front. Its skin was almost a dark-red, as if soaked in blood, and unlike the naked goblins, it was equipped with leather armour and a rusted sword, likely stolen from an adventurer's corpse. Waving its weapon about, it barked out at the surrounding goblins in its infernal tongue. With that, the horde surged forward again with newfound invigoration, the red-skinned monster leading the charge.

"Hobgoblin!" Kleven called out redundantly, grimacing at its hideous mug. He'd seen illustrations of them before – studied them, to put it more accurately – and they were much uglier in person.

"Finally! A real opponent!" the axeman laughed, baring his teeth in a bestial grin. Clutching the haft of his battleaxe with one hand, he pointed out with the other and yelled, "That one's mine!"

The other men shouted an incoherent but inspiring war cry at his yell, and some of the shield-bearers took to rapping their weapons against their shields. Pushing past Kleven, the mercenary raised his axe and added to the cheer with a primal cry, before barreling forward with the hobgoblin in his sights. Several of the surrounding men, Magnar included, swiftly followed suit. Kleven couldn't help but grin at their enthusiasm, and lifting his own shortsword, he joined them.

xxxxx

Varen fumbled as he reloaded his firearm, and the lead bullet he was holding slipped out between his fingers. It rolled into a small crack on the stone floor, right by Julien's feet. Shooting off an arrow, the younger boy reached down and picked it up with a small groan.

"Here you go," Julien said, passing the bullet back into Varen's palm. He then stretched out his arms and back with a moan, before drawing another arrow from his quiver and nocking it. "I wish the Army issued guns to us too, this is exhausting! Oh! Here's an idea, want to switch weapons for a bit?"

"Thanks, I was just a little distracted," replied Varen, rolling the lead ball in his palm. He watched as Julien pulled the recurve bow's string taut with no small amount of effort, while his own hands resumed the loading of his rifle. "And no thanks, we both know I wouldn't be able to pull that bow back, let alone shoot an arrow with it."

Julien gave him a silly grin. "I know, all the more I want to see you try it. What's on your mind, anyway? Still awed by that lightning spell?"

"Well, you know…" Varen trailed off as he shouldered his firearm for the umpteenth time that night. The men were advancing to meet the goblin charge, so he sighted an enemy further down the field. He didn't trust his own aim that much to shoot so close to his allies. The air cracked as he fired it, the sound quickly drowned out by the surrounding cacophony.

"I was right then!" Julien laughed, reaching to his quiver and finding it empty. He raised his bow and caught the attention of one of the ammunition runners, before turning back to Varen. "I've seen a few Majstors and adventurer mages, and it never gets dull. Actually, I change my wish – I wish we could all use magic! Can you imagine how much easier life would be?"

"Chaotic is the word that comes to mind, and I imagine there'll be quite a few people who would hate that idea. 'When everyone's special, then no one is' and all that," retorted Varen. Though, I would quite enjoy that woman's reaction.

He thought back to how she'd shown unrestrained hatred at his modicum of magic, and how satisfying it would be to rub it in her face. Even his father's face, if he got the chance to become a proper mage – which he never would, Varen reminded himself. It annoyed himself a little how much he was still hung up about them, a feeling he was now getting familiar with, after his sharing session with the twins. He didn't regret telling them, but now it seemed like the thoughts he'd kept close to heart now dwelled in his conscious mind.

"And no, you weren't exactly right," Varen added as Julien pondered his words. "I knew someone who used lightning magic, and the spell reminded me of them."

"Oh? A girl?" smirked the younger boy, wagging his eyebrows.

Varen rolled his eyes. "Is that all you think about?"

"Hah, your refusal to give a clear answer has revealed the truth!"

"…I thought of her as an older sister, nothing more."

"I'm not judging," shrugged Julien, the infernal smirk still upon the young soldier's lips, eliciting an exasperated sigh from Varen. "Okay, okay, I'll stop before you suck up my soul with your dreariness."

"You're insufferable, you know that?" stated Varen as he fired off another shot.

"The ladies love it."

"Do they?"

Julien's confidence faltered, and Varen stifled a laugh. "They will…" the brown-haired boy countered, though in a smaller voice than before.

"I don't know… Caelie seemed to be laughing at you instead of laughing with you most of the time," Varen pointed out, much to Julien's chagrin.

"Hey! That's a cheap shot," Julien said with a mock frown. "Besides, as long as she's laughing, I'm happy. Laughter is the way to a woman's heart, as my father used to say."

Varen nodded along but said nothing. A runner dashed up to them with a bundle of arrows in hand for Julien, and they fell back to firing their weapons in a silent rhythm. More hobgoblins were emerging from the horde now, and the Sergeant called out for the red-skinned creatures to be targeted over their lower kin variant, to provide the ground troops some reprieve.

"They're climbing the walls!" one of the soldiers called out, and Varen popped his head out over the parapet to catch a quick view. The main force on the ground could only stretch out so much, and the goblins had begun to flank them and scale the stone walls.

"Don't worry about them, soldier, keep firing! They'll be dealt with," Sergeant Wallen yelled his answer, "and those other fuckers still in the field won't keel over and die on their own!"

As he said that, a thin sheen of ice spread across the top half of the outer walls. The goblins ascended the lower half of the walls with ease, but slipped off as they neared the top when they found nothing but smooth ice to grasp. By itself, it seemed like a simple spell, but Varen wondered how much it must have taken out of the mage who'd cast it to spread it across the entirety of the southern walls.

"Like I said," Julien reiterated with a triumphant grin. "Life would be easier. We'd probably have wiped out the Goblin force within an hour if we all could do that."

"Doesn't change the fact that it's never going to happen, Julien," sighed Varen, wiping the smile of the younger soldier's face. He'd dreamt of the same idea far too many times after his banishment. About how different things would have turned out, if he had the least bit more magical power than the insignificant speck he possessed.

A loud bugle horn interrupted him before his thoughts could spiral further downward, signalling that an hour had passed, and Wallen's voice quickly followed it. "Archers! Prepare flaming arrows and wait for my signal!"

xxxxx

"Reform ranks! All servicemen, prepare your oil flasks and gather on me!" Captain Reid commanded as the bugle's brassy note overwhelmed all other sounds for a brief moment.

"Just a little more and we get to take a break," the axe-wielding mercenary said as he deftly decapitated his third hobgoblin. Kleven nodded, smashing in a goblin's face with the edge of his steel shield. It cried out and raised its crude metal weapon to retaliate, but Kleven's sword found its way into the creature's chest, killing it instantly.

Kicking the body off his blade, the blonde retreated back into the ranks with the axeman following him closely. A few other adventurers clapped them on the back, and Kleven flushed at the praise. He reached up with an arm to swipe the sweat off his forehead and immediately winced at the contact.

There was a fresh cut on his arm – when did I receive that? Looking down at his body, Kleven realised that he'd received quite a few glancing hits which he apparently hadn't noticed. His robes were in an even worse state than they had been before the start of the battle as well. Caelie would no doubt be mad at him for further ruining his clothes—

"Oh, right…" Kleven mumbled to himself, nearly forgetting that she was already apocalyptically furious with him. Hopefully seeing his sorry state would help her realise the danger that he was trying to protect her from…

When everyone was in their positions, the Captain called out again. Flasks of oil flew from the soldiers' hands, impacting on the mountain of goblin corpses before them and causing the monsters to slip and fall as they tried to claw their way over their kin's bodies. Flaming arrows flew from above in the next instant, lighting the oiled cadavers on fire and forming a barrier of flame.

Another wall of magical fire burst into existence directly behind the first. It added to the flames and caused them to burn even higher and hotter. Kleven shielded his eyes from the blaze as the sheer heat began to melt the goblin bodies, filling the air with the acrid odor of burning flesh. The intense heat deterred the enemy's front lines, searing those close enough and forcing them to shy away. Though, many were still pushed forward into the flames, as the rear of the goblin army surged forward unawares.

"There's our signal! Into the gates, men! On the double!"

Many of the men had already broken out into small talk as they filed in through the gates, and cheers were exchanged as they passed the second group who were making their way out to take their place. A few others wore sullen expressions as they held dead comrades, and Kleven averted his gaze out of respect.

"You know, kid, I never caught your name. Yours too, old man," the axeman said, looking at them expectantly.

"Neither did you give yours," chuckled Kleven as he sheathed his sword and holstered his shield. "I'm Kleven Trevek, Junior Archivist."

"We were in a fight then, Kleven. Pleasantries should be exchanged after blood is spilled in battle. It makes for a stronger bond," the mercenary grinned. "Orval Farridge, solo mercenary professional, at your service."

"Magnar Erhardt, Corporal in the Kingdom's service," Magnar introduced himself tersely as well.

Orval gave the older soldier a strange look, then asked, "You fight like you're possessed, Corporal. Surely a skilled man like yourself would have made Sergeant, at the very least?"

Kleven perked up at the topic, intrigued as well. He did find it strange that Magnar wasn't at least an officer, with how experienced the man was, both in age and battle.

Magnar gave the mercenary a hard stare for a moment, before grunting, "I was previously a Second Lieutenant, if that's the answer you're looking for."

"Previously?" Kleven asked, unable to help his curiosity.

The older man looked at him with an unreadable expression. "Yes. I made a tactical error when leading a mission, and accepted a demotion back down to Private as punishment."

"Our stories are similar, then," Orval said in a sombre tone. "I was brash, headstrong and overconfident when I was young and starting out in this business. Ended up leading my team into a situation we weren't ready for, and here I am as the only survivor."

Magnar remained characteristically silent, revealing no emotion. Kleven looked between the two older men, unsure of what to say. The blond glanced hesitantly up at Orval, and the mercenary caught his eye. Almost immediately, the man's glum expression faded, and he flashed Kleven a grin.

"Don't worry about it, lad. It is my shame, but it's no secret. I tell everyone who listens, so they don't commit the same mistake. My own little way of honouring my comrades, if you will."

"What were they like? Your teammates," asked Kleven after a moment's thought, carefully studying Orval's expression in case he offended the mercenary.

A wistful look crossed Orval's face for a second, though it quickly disappeared as he laughed aloud, "That, my friend, is a story to tell over drinks and a delicious meal! I won't accept any less if I am to speak of my comrades. Let us see this night through, and I'll tell you of them when we are making merry after."

Kleven nodded. Together, the three of them made their way closer to the southern square, where makeshift beds for the injured had already been set up. A few merchants had set up refreshment stands for the fighters to replenish their energy, and Kleven accepted a drink with a grateful smile. He gulped it down, greedily quenching his thirst as he watched Orval and Magnar clean their weapons of goblin blood.

The last of the replacement fighters were trickling out the town's gate, when suddenly, a familiar smattering of dirty blonde hair caught Kleven's attention from the corner of his eye. He turned to get a better view of the person, but whoever it was had already moved out of the gate and beyond his vision.

It couldn't be… Turning to their scarred mercenary companion, Kleven asked hurriedly, "Orval, do you know where the stables are?"

"Right next to the Adventurer's Guild building, why?"

"I'm just going to check on something, I'll be right back!"

Without waiting for a reply, Kleven pushed his way through the crowd and broke into a run towards the centre of the town. The short run seemed far longer than he liked, and his heart pounded in his chest, though not so much from the exertion. He shook off the 'what ifs' as they popped into his mind – Caelie tended to be reckless when she was angry, but she'd never outright defied his instructions. She knew better, and he knew she knew better. Still, he had to check.

The stables were crowded with a multitude of carriages and horses, tended to by a few stablehands. Kleven found their carriage being cleaned by a young stable boy, and he asked, doing his best to stay calm, "Have you seen a girl, shorter than me, with the same hair colour?"

"N-no sir, I t-think she might be gathered with the other women and children in the town h-hall," the boy stammered out, and the blond realised he must have come across much fiercer than he expected.

"I see… thank you," said Kleven, forcing a smile, and the boy scurried away to tend to another carriage.

Maybe I should check the town hall, the blonde thought as he glanced into the carriage, just to be sure that their things were all there. He frowned as he spotted one of Caelie's bags half opened. Thieves weren't too uncommon, but his sister would undoubtedly explode in wroth – as if she wasn't angry enough already – if any of her things were taken. Climbing into the carriage, he opened the bag, and immediately paled at what he saw.

A crumpled set of grey robes. Caelie's grey robes.

"No…" he whispered through gritted teeth, clutching the grey fabric tightly. "No, no, no… that stupid girl… what is she thinking?!"

With a burst of panicked anger, Kleven tossed the robes back on top of the open bag and clambered out of the carriage. He gripped the hilt of his sheathed sword and jumped onto a nearby white-coated horse that hadn't yet been unsaddled.

"S-sir! You can't just—" the stable boy rushed over, grasping nervously at Kleven's robes. "The stablemaster will have my hide—"

Kleven pushed off the boy's hands without any regard for his words. He gave the horse's sides a kick, and it jolted forward with a whinny. Pulling on its reins, he brought the horse to a gallop. The cobblestones shook as he pushed the horse to its fastest back the way he came, nearly colliding with several people.

He hurtled into the southern square at speed, parting the fighters who'd been resting with his sudden entry. Many shot him dirty looks as he ground to a halt at the centre of the courtyard, dissatisfied at the interruption of their well-needed break. Ignoring their gazes, he tugged on the horse's reins and steered it towards the gates. The soldiers moved to bar his way, but Orval's intimidating form was already blocking his path.

"Get out of my way, Orval!" shouted Kleven in frustration. He squeezed the steed's sides with his thighs and urged it forward, intending to run over whoever was in his path and hoping that they would have enough sense to move out of the way.

Orval, however, stood resolute in the blond's warpath. The mercenary raised an outstretched palm as the horse neared, and the beast of burden immediately slowed to a trot. Kleven growled and dug his heels into its sides again, but the horse ignored him and proceeded to nuzzle its head into Orval's hand.

"Pray tell, Junior Archivist Trevek," Orval began coldly, his eyes dark as he focused his gaze on the mount before him. "What are you doing on my horse?"

"I don't have time for this, Orval!" Kleven hissed, drawing his sword and pointing it threateningly at the man before him. "My sister's out there, and I need to get to her!"

The scarred mercenary slowly lifted his gaze and fixed the blonde with an icy look. "And how does that justify taking my horse? Go on, I'm waiting to hear it."

"She can't fight, you fucking bastard! I don't care if you killed your whole fucking team because of your ego, but I'm not standing around to watch my sister die! Now get the fuck out of my way!"

"Get. Off. My. Horse," Orval said with the same icy look, giving no indication that he'd heard what Kleven had said about his deceased teammates. "Get off her, and I'll help find your sister."

Kleven stared back at him defiantly, seething with resentment. Then, without another word, he climbed off the mount and began stomping over to the gates with sword and shield in hand. The guards moved to stop him once more, albeit hesitantly after watching the exchange of words, but backed off totally when the gate Sergeant motioned for them to let him through.

"Magnar, watch over Lucine, will you? Please," requested Orval as he handed his horse's reins over to the older soldier, who had come up to them during the argument. Magnar remained silent and gave him a solemn nod.

Sighing, Orval looked up at the night sky, his cold guise replaced by a worn and forlorn expression. His lips moved in a silent prayer, and for a moment the man's muscular figure seemed much smaller than it was. He sighed heavily again, shaking his head.

"It never ends, eh Lucine?" the mercenary mumbled to himself. He waited for half a moment, as if expecting a reply, but the stars remained unspeaking. Hefting his battleaxe with tightly clenched fists, he began stalking after Kleven with large strides.