I took a moment to process the information glowing on my screen. If ever there was a case that an upside-down horseshoe brought bad luck, then the kingdom of Kherrash was the epitome of that superstition. The people of the land were beset on all sides by the encroaching orcs. I began at the south-western tip of the land which was separated from the south-eastern by water and small islands.

“Marshal, there are a huge number of orcs amassing along the coast down here,” I explained, placing three large figurines on the land.

“I feared as much,” Randulf muttered. Turning to the door, he yelled, “Fetch the crowmaster. Tell him to ensure his apprentices prepare the birds well. They’re going to be busy.”

An unseen guard outside hurried away at the order.

“Fortunately, we have control of the islands between the two fangs. The Great Lighthouse of Kanad has been used to guide traders into the southern ports of Kherrash for centuries, but it was also a beacon to other enemies which is why we constructed fortresses on the small outcrops. The goblins may have ascendency on the land, but we have it on the southern seas. For now.”

I moved more pieces into place within all the fallen citadels along the western sweep of the kingdom all the way up to Whitespear Mountain. “They control all of your old castles, Marshal. There’s one bit of good news, not that it makes much difference.”

“And that is?” he asked, wearily.

“The actual mountain is relatively free of orcs.” I put a single, small figurine in the area. On my screen, the heavy red of the surrounding lands was only a weak tinge of pink on Whitespear itself.

“Because they are all nearing our frontlines?”

I nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so. They’ve got massive numbers all throughout the forest here, here, and here,” I explained, putting three large pieces on the table. “With more coming from the rear.” I added another six.

“That’s under two week’s ride from here!” Randulf gasped. “Could you be mistaken?”

“No. They’re there, and they’re coming.”

“By the gods. They’re trying to crush us as if they were a pair of pliers,” Randulf groaned. “I don’t think we have the men to hold on three fronts. It’s hopeless. We’re finished.”

I looked at my map which only had two sizeable concentrations of orcs. “Three, Marshal?” I asked in confusion.

He moved a series of humanoid looking pieces into place. “Sunlith’s kin are attacking our eastern flank from the sea. Their attacks have been regular, but nothing notable so far. They’re testing the defences before they launch their full force at the weakest part of the port and its fortifications. If they manage to gain a foothold there, we’re as good as finished. The barbarians will have cut our remaining forces in half. What’s left of our army will be attacked from the front and the rear. We’ll be slaughtered.”

“Marshal, it might be for the best to retreat to the great wall and consolidate there. Leave Pitchhollow for the orcs, or burn it to the ground ahead of time.”

“They need more time to complete construction. With the barbarian and ogre attacks, many of the stonemasons have been pulled to the Port of Ishalon to rebuild after each assault. We’re stretched to breaking point. It won’t take much for us to finally snap.”

For the life of me I couldn’t see how the aliens deemed this world one of the easier among the list. A first pager no less. The odds were heavily stacked against everyone still living within the western fringes of Kherrash. I was a lone guy trying to singlehandedly change the course of an entire war. With the aid of a heavily tattooed Amazonian warrior, but that was still two against thousands. Tens of thousands. Maybe more. What on god’s green earth waited on page two? Or three? Or beyond?

“A little help here?” I called to the aliens.

Unsurprisingly, I received no answer.

Randulf looked at me oddly. “Who were you talking to? Your gods?”

“You could say that. Marshal, I’m going to go and speak to the prisoner. I’ve promised him a final meeting with his family before you execute him. I expect that promise to be met.”

“There’s something very strange about you, Englander,” muttered the marshal. “But I’ll honour your promise. Do you think he will have anything of note to say other than begging for his miserable life?”

I shrugged. “That’s what I’m going to find out. I also need time to think on what to do next.” I stopped before admitting I was totally lost. A relaxing spell in the cells with Bart was in order. “I’ll be back soon. It might be worth getting your… generals? Commanders? The men you were with before, I mean. They might have some good ideas.”

Randulf scoffed. “They make good warriors, but great thinkers they are not.”

“It’s still worth a shot. I’ll be right back.”

“As you wish,” said Randulf, bowing slightly.

Unaccustomed on how to reach the dungeon without a dirty hood, I asked the guards I passed and they pointed me in the right direction. My short, muddled journey to the bowels of the keep felt akin to my overall mission. Rudderless. Without a clear path before me. Scab was tearing at a half rotten leg of mutton at the filthy table outside the cells.

“Isn’t that bad for you?” I asked as he took another bite of the grey-furred meat.

“Ain’t done me no ‘arm yet,” he replied between chewing.

If the mouldy meal was bad, his blackened teeth made my gut churn. I was going to recommend an electric toothbrush and a visit to the dentist until I realised their dentistry amounted to strong booze and a pair of pliers while two strong men held you down.

“You ‘ere to see the coward?” he asked, chewing audibly with an open mouth. “I ‘ope we get ‘im in the chair.”

“He won’t be going in your chair, Scab. He’ll be going straight to the block. Or whatever it is that you people do to traitors.”

“Mores the pity,” Scab grumbled, opening the door for me. “Want me to stay wiv ya?”

“Is he chained?” I asked.

“He ain’t going nowhere wivout my say so,” he replied proudly, jangling his keys.

“Then no. Would you mind if I took them?” I replied, pointing to the set. “You can lock me in with the main dungeon key and pass the ones for the cells through to me. I just need a bit of time to myself after I speak to Godbert. Some time to think on my own.”

He regarded me with vacant eyes and a slack jaw.

“Alone. Quiet.”

“Huh?” Scab was acting as if I was the one with single digit IQ and abysmal hygiene.

“I can pay,” I offered, summoning a dozen silver coins that clinked in my closed fist. “You can buy fresh meat.”

His pig eyes studied my hand greedily. “Got no need for good meat. But good ale?” he licked his greasy lips.

“Ale it is,” I said, dropping them into his open palm from a safe distance to avoid touching him. “Where is he?”

“Last cell on the left. If you get hurt, I ain’t taking the blame,” he warned, closing the door after me and locking it.

I reached up and took the small ring of cell keys through the hatch. “I won’t get hurt, Scab. I’ll knock when I’m done, ok? Keep everyone out until then, even the marshal.”

He grunted and sat back down to his meal.

The familiar cries of the damned broke out as they heard the musical notes of the jumbling keys passing by. Water, food, freedom; they begged until I drowned them out. I knew not their crimes, but I would make Scab fetch some sustenance as soon as I was done with Godbert and Bart.

I unlocked the thick, wooden door to my prisoner’s cell and swung it open. Other that the bruises he’d received on the road, the deserter was undamaged. I sat down at the threshold in a similar pose to that of Sun when she’d visited me.

“The marshal has agreed to a visit from your family, whoever that might be.”

Godbert sighed, the sound like a slashed tyre deflating. “Thank you.”

“It’s more for their benefit if I’m honest. At least you can try and explain your actions before the marshal kills you.”

“I’m not sure my parents will even want to see me after the shame I’ve brought down on them,” said Godbert, shifting in his chains.

“They’ll have the choice; what they do with it isn’t up to me. Do you have a wife, children?”

He shook his head. “The army was my life. I was hoping to earn enough coin to buy a plot of land and start raising a family.”

I used the safe zone to conjure a bottle of Maker’s Mark bourbon. Popping the cap, I took a sip and passed the bottle over.

Godbert’s hands trembled as he took it. After a healthy slug of liquor, he wiped his lips and asked, “What are you?”

“A concerned citizen, I suppose. Someone just trying to help out and make it through the day.” I took the bottle back and took another hit of the delicious alcohol. “Tell me about the orcs. Why didn’t they just kill you out of hand when you approached.”

Gobert’s face dropped. “They were going to. We were all tied up and ready to cook, but the captain managed to convince them we were better off alive. We could do things the orcs couldn’t.”

“Such as?”

“God’s help me,” Godbert sobbed, staring at the ceiling. “We would approach the villages as guardians, promising protection.”

I didn’t like where this was going. “Then what?”

“Then we would disarm them and leave them to the orcs. We would wait in ambush and take our pick of the ones who got away.”

“The women? The girls?” I snapped, snatching the whiskey from his hand.

“Mostly. We knew the end was coming, so why not? They were dead anyway.”

“Why not?” I demanded, rising to my feet. Godbert shied away, expecting a kick. “Because you’re meant to be a protector, that’s why! I’m a nobody and I’m willing to risk it all for them. You could’ve helped those farmers, those villagers, but instead you served them up on a platter. I’ve seen what those fucking monsters do!” In my rage I threw the bottle at the wall above his head. Shards of glass rained down on his cowering form, the alcohol plastering the greasy hair to his head. “Tell me something now or so help me I’ll have you begging for torture!” The flail was in my hand, the malignant glow lighting up the cell.

Godbert was utterly broken, sobbing into his hands as blood tricked down his face. “We have a way of communicating with them!” he blurted. “It’s how we could tell them about the defenceless villages.”

I raised the weapon above my head. “How?”

“A green sash, tied around the neck or arm. Anything will do, a scarf, a cloth, whatever you can find.”

“And they let you pass?”

“Yes.”

My pulse was racing with the need to lash out, but I let the flail drop to my side unused. I’d argued the case in front of the marshal about men who had seen too much killing. For most it meant a complete retreat from reality. For others, the betrayal of everything they had once been. Godbert had fallen as far as it was possible for a man to fall. The pain of his shame was worse than anything I could inflict. It would follow him all the way to his end.

I created a small cloth and tossed it in to him. “Clean yourself up.”

“They promised they would spare my family! All of our families!”

“Then they lied,” I snapped, slamming the door.

Moving back into the corridor, I locked the misery in with Godbert and shuffled to my previous home across the dungeon’s narrow hall. The only thing I wanted to do was sit in a comfy chair and close my eyes for a while. With a pop of displaced air a plush recliner appeared in the vacant cell, taking up most of the space. I slumped into it, the leather creaking and moulding around my body like a lover’s arms. It was beyond everything I’d hoped for.

I laid my head over the backrest and drifted away.