Rodo and his companions returned bloodied but mostly not their own. The fatigue was obvious. The transformation drained their exuberance. They slog through the mud with exhaustion tampering with their every move. Ellie and a few others ran with blankets and some other assorted pieces of clothing. More to protect them from the cold than to cover their nudity.

“We gave them a run. Cowards..... showed their turncoat nature..... scattered..... We made them cower,” Rodo spoke in between breaths.

“Take rest, Rodo. We will need you tomorrow.” I answered with a knowing smile. I was certain that Rodo noticed that.

Rodo gave a friendly tap of my shoulder as he left to seek some well-deserved rest.

Vitalia soon approached me almost as if she was waiting for them to return.

“How do you feel about them?” asked the fae.

“I never thought that I would ever warmly welcome werewolves but even at my age life throws surprises,”

“Well you are experienced but not that old,” countered the fae.

I knew better not to argue with her.

“Entertain me a bit, Provost,” I used her title more as a means for friendly jest than for anything else, “who do you think they will send first at daybreak?”

“You mean who we get to slaughter,” cut in Arlene. She still held one of the awl pikes coolly in her hand.

“Battle tactics is not my field of expertise but if I may make a guess, they would send in the Irregulars. That is what I would do to first infer the enemy strength before sending in my non-expendable forces.”

“True, that is what any reasonable commander would do but here is an alternate thought. We have never seen or heard reports of a supply chain behind them. They might not have planned for a long campaign and would want to end it immediately and they know we are holed up here. At daybreak, I am expecting mounted cavalry charge.”

“If you know the answer, why did you bother asking?” retorted Arlene with an accusatory tone.

“I wanted to make sure that I did not overlook any facts and your mentor would bring in a fresh new perspective,” I provided her with the answer that she demanded

“So how many do you think abandoned them?” asked Vitalia without paying heed to our conversation.

“I would estimate around two hundred to three hundred would have already ditched them.”

“So them two thousand and seven hundred left.”

“Appear so and fifty of us.”

*****

They came short after daybreak. They came in force promising to deliver death. A promise which they could not fulfil. For the mighty warhorses, they relied on failed in the bog terrain. A few mounts when urged by their impatient rider stumbled, throwing their riders off. Those unfortunate enough to be thrown were forced to wade through the knee-deep thick slush and became the easiest target for our arrows.

Arlene stood beside her mount, ready to ride into battle should the need arise. But the longbow in her hands kept her occupied. She was fully engaged on what she did best, taking those armoured knights struggling in the slush with her poisoned arrows.

Occasionally, a few lucky knights would manage to get close to us. Undisturbed by the weight of their armour and ignoring the thick viscous slough attempting to arrest their motion. Maapu rallied the other goblins and was the first to fall upon the knights, the rest of the goblins followed Maapu. Maapu swung the blunt end of his spear through the mud and splashed the mud on the oncoming knight. The knight’s attempt to parry would have been successful had it been on an even terrain but the footwork was not easy in the bog, especially for an encumbered knight. After trading a few blows and blocks, the knight lost his balance and soon the goblins lead by Maapu were upon him.

Theko was his usual self even in the middle of the fight. He avoided the fight if possible, only stepping in if he deemed that it was necessary. For his part, Theko was fairly contented with collecting scrap armours and weapons from the dead. In fact, Theko ventured further than the rest for his scavenging.

Taltil, in stark contrast to Maapu and Theko, usually preferred to stay low until the time for killing blow. She laid low till the knight was occupied with Maapu or overpowered by the other goblins, then her knife or spear would pierce a chink in the armour or eye-slit in the helmets.

The adversaries prided mounted cavalry, their ace unit, was reduced to a meagre number even before the sun fully rose above the horizon. The plight of the fallen knights discouraged the rest. The remaining forces tried to abscond from the field of death. That was our cue. I rode my mount first but Arlene quickly caught up with me.

My hand tightened the grip around the awl pike, as the freshly applied poison still dripped from the langet. The knights ran on foot or urged their mounts away from the bogs, towards their distant camps. A camp that promised safety. A safety they would never reach. A shock passed through my arms as the awl pike made contact with the back of a heavily armoured knight. The knight stumbled forward from the impact. I ignored him for the moment and urged my mount after another fleeing victim.

“Don’t let them escape the bog. Then they would regroup, “ I shouted at Arlene.

If they regroup, they would share information and formulate better strategies. My whole plan hinges on them fleeing the battle. Regrouping would run counter to my plans and to our survival.

Arlene was having far more success in reducing the number than I. The tusks of her mount were larger, sinister and sturdier. Sturdier enough to create dents in full plate mail of the knights. A full charge from her dire boar, Mr Snout, mangled the armoured knight in her path. She advanced her mount further knocking any fleeing opponents that she could. After covering a notable distance, she turned her mount and examined the havoc her charge left in its wake. She then let her mount slowly trot. The knight on the ground before her attempted to stand. The dire boar dug into the ground below the struggling knight and with an upward heave threw the knight in the air. The knight flew in an arc before falling with a heavy thud and started sinking in the mud.

I completed my course and made a turn. Before me lay a few knights still struggling to get up. One of the many disadvantages of being heavily armoured. I slowly trotted toward the nearest one. Sensing my approach, the knight, stimulated by the fear of death, collected all his strength and attempted to roll away. I held the awl pike firmly and thrust it below the winged pauldron of the knight. The knight twisted his body and tried to hold the awl pike strongly with his other arm. With the combined strength from both my arms, I shoved my weapon and turned the knight on his back. The knight sensed his imminent death and as a last resort clasped both his hands, appealing to my good nature. I answered by thrusting the awl pike between the eye-slits of his helmet.

Were the situation reversed, would he have shown the same mercy, a mercy he so begged? Probably not.

We both left a trail of dead bodies in the bog by the time we returned. We did not fight. We trapped a company of armoured knights in a very disadvantageous position and murdered them. We made them suffer under the weight of their own armour and killed them. We took their life as they lost their footing in the bog. We massacred them as they fell off their horses. We killed their horses with our arrows and the riders with our blade. There was no honour in what we did and yet I would make the same choice again in the following days to come, in the next attack wave to come.

*****

“Get Rodo ready, we are going on the offence,” I shouted to no one in particular as I approached the gypsies.

“Now?” asked a surprised Anselm.

“Yes, they lost their whole cavalry. The enemy is weakened. Attack them now and their troops will lose morale.”

A loud cheer went up as I spoke. The news of the defeat of their pursuer’s cavalry left them in high spirits. Some of the gathered people looked at me with reverence while the others had the look of admiration but the look of relief was clear on all of them.

Rodo soon made his appearance. Compared to his fatigued state from the last time, he seemed far more energetic and alert.

“Now is the time, Rodo” I spoke while pointing to the direction of our enemy camp, “hit them from the left. I would advance from the right.”

“We hit those dung eaters from both sides,” Rodo grimaced.

“Just harass them from the left. My target this time is their supply wagons. We cripple their supply and they cannot hold themselves here. They would be forced to leave.” I outlined my plan.

“We grab their attention and you burn the supplies?”

“Precisely, but avoid the orcs, archers and trained regulars. No shame in retreating.”

“I promise, they will feel the terror,” proclaimed Rodo.

And then we left on our different ways.

*****

“So how do you plan to destroy their supplies?” Arlene asked the essential question.

“We will improvise,” I stated firmly. I did not have the heart to tell her that I was hoping to cross the bridge when we get over there. In reality, I cannot even comprehend that we would be able to get closer to their supplies.

Aiming for their supplies is a huge gambit. For their supplies would be well protected with their trained units and guarded with archers. They made a mistake in sending the mounted cavalry into the bog. A mistake which we nevertheless took advantage of. But I cannot expect another blunder from my enemies.

Behind us at a distance, Maapu and the other goblins stood with clear instructions to retreat back should the mission go wrong. Even with the loss of their famed cavalry and the assault from the werewolves, they still have the superiority in numbers. In all probability, if we rushed in, none of us would make it out alive.

“I will go scout a bit,” volunteered Arlene and dismounted.

She returned after what seemed like an eternity. In the meantime, I picked howling from the distance, followed by tumultuous noise from the camp.

“They are not falling for it,” said a disappointed Arlene.

“I reckon around a few hundred guarding the supplies. Close to a hundred of them are archers, Not sure about the alchemists.”

“It is almost as if they are expecting us,” I uttered my thought loudly, “Let us give a charge from the back.”

“That will not work, they will reposition the archers,” replied Arlene with refusal in her words.

“I am hoping on that. We have mobility on our side. Attack. Retreat, Attack from another direction, retreat. I want them on their toes. Continuously guessing where our next attack will originate from.”

“And hope that somewhere along the way, they commit a mistake. That is when we swoop in.” She gathered my thoughts.

Without speaking any further, we urged our mounts further.

*****

The first group we ran into were the ones I was hoping to avoid. The Orcs.

Their green skin drenched in sweat glistened in the sunlight. Their protruding tusks were every bit menacing as the face that bore them. Their warpaint smeared face added to a measure of certainty to their brutality. Their arms bulged with muscles and ended in strong hands holding their barbarously jagged weapons. All of their faces held grim determination.

We both considered each other for a while, each waiting for the other to make the first move. After a brief pause, the orcs turned their back on us and proceeded in the opposite direction.

“What happened?” the ranger asked.

“They are deserting.”

“So that is a good thing, right?”

I simply nodded and dismounted.

“Stay, let me see if I can get close to their camp.” I ignored the orcs for the moment and tried to focus on the remaining threat.

There were far fewer sentries posted on the rear side of the camp.

“What do you see? You have far better eyesight in the day than me.” I asked my companion.

“Three sentries, medium armoured, Four further. A few more just idly standing and chatting. Two of them are archers.” estimated Arlene, “ You know we are lucky, if they had any elves in their army, we would have been spotted at a distance.”

Arlene unconsciously stated an important fact, even though she herself was not aware of the impact of her statement.

My breathing controlled, my movement like a feline predator stalking its prey and my hands read on my trusty dirk and tuck, I advanced with subtlety guiding my steps. The warmth of the sentries breath caressed my hands as I covered his mouth. The caress of the last breath. The blade cut across the throat is a deep stroke like a stroke from an inspired painter on a canvas. There was a moment of struggle and then it subsided. I let the body gently fall down so as to not alert my presence and moved towards my next victim.

The next two sentries, I relieved their soul. The other four sentries, I ignored. With cautious movement, I proceeded further deeper into the camp. The camp being a makeshift one, it was impossible to distinguish between the supply wagons and their command tents. There was a hustle in the camp. Orders were barked and pages or squires moved with every order. Rodo and his companions must be unleashing hell and I thanked them internally.

Further down, a few voices were arguing. Their voices mixed into one huge cacophony to infer their individual complaints. Some of them blamed, while others were excuses but it was always a pleasure to watch an element of discord among the enemies, When they fight with each other, blames others for their shortcomings, whine when things do not go according to their plan and try to take the easy way out.

More pages and attendants ran around conveying orders. A large group of well-armed sentries and archers were firmly rooted to the position they were allotted. No matter the arguments that raged inside. Irrespective of the orders that were delivered. They ignored the howling and the screams of their supposed allies. So they have learned and adapted. They will not leave the supplies undefended and the battle will drag on.

The children and the elderly on our side will suffer the most. Even with the fae’s protective power, the death and decay from the bog will permeate, slowly but definitely.

The inevitable truth is that the enemy has adapted and so should I if the lives of those people are to be spared.

In the camp, a lot of orders were passed around and complaints. The more the orders that were passed, the more the voices that complaint. There might be another way. Force them to issue more orders, more the orders more the complaints. With enough complaints, there would be more deserters or a mutiny.

I hate changing a strategy in the middle of a battle but adapting to a situation is what counts in the end. With resolve guiding my steps, I slowly retraced my path. The dirk and tuck were sheathed and in their place, my hands held the twin swords. A brief moment later, the blades were covered in a dark purple hue from the poison applied to them. I threw the empty vial, not caring for the noise it would make. For soon, they will know my presence.

I leapt towards the turned back of one careless sentry gossiping with some companions. The slash was delivered from the back of his neck running deep to the sentries left shoulder. A scream erupted from him drawing the attention of his companions. The one opposite to him had a clear line of sight to me and as expected was the first one to react. The other sentry towards his left turned his upper body to investigate the cause of the sudden scream from his companion. With an upward slash, I made a deep cut from his right all the way through his nose to his left temple. He collapsed holding his mutilated face.

One of the sentry, the first one to react, responded with a huge overhead swing of his long sword. With a deep breath, I mustered my energy, blocked the swing and extended my upper body in an attempt to deliver a one tempo riposte. The tip of my sword pierced the left cheek. An astonished expression flew across his face as he realised his whole life flashing through before eyes. With a flick of my wrist, I twisted the blade and slashed a deep cut across his face. His nose, partially severed, and hung from one side of his face, exposing a deep bloody hole above his mouth. He will survive but will be severely disfigured for the rest of his life.

I leapt back just in time to avoid another overhead swing from the last remaining sentry. With the full weight of his body behind the swing, the sentry leaned forward, his shoulders dropped and his hips fell to a crouching position. My arms rotated a short circle and brought my twin swords on the extended arms A shock passed through my arms as the blades made an impact with the bones. With a painful cry, the sentry dropped his weapon and kneeled to the ground.

A quick glance, none of them seemed fatally injured. They will live if treated immediately. The very air near the bog is filled with toxicity. They will require immediate healing and even with that, they will not wield a weapon for a while. Not dead but not wounded and not in a condition to fight is exactly what we needed. Exactly, what I needed. For the dead do not complain but the wounded living do.

An arrow flew past me. It missed its intended target by a huge margin. From the corner of my eyes, I saw that there were more sentries rushing towards my direction with outstretched weapons. Weapons which they brandished with menacing glee. I retreated back towards where Arlene waited and my pursuers followed. The first of the pursuing sentry realised their foolishness a little too late when Arlene’s arrow stuck them and threw them backwards. In a fleeting moment, a few more arrows from Arlene found their intended target.

One axe wielder covered the distance with great strides. His speed was complemented by his relatively light armour and as he swung his axe in a great downward arc, I rotated a full circle, avoiding the axe by a narrow gap. My right arm extended, I thrust the sword in his waist, gave him a shove and delivered a kick with my left foot. He fell aside like a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut.

I stood for there for a brief moment and took the view before me slowly. My opponents were flocking towards my position from multiple directions. With a flick of my wrist, I tried to clean the blood from my swords. The action, more to do with taunting them than the actual cleansing of the sword. Meanwhile, Arlene had three more. But they kept converging to my position.

If all goes according to my current expectations, We would pull them kill a few overly enthusiastic among the enemies, retreat, and when they abandon pursuing us, come back to harass them some more.

“A thousand grand Lira for anyone who brings the head,” a loud voice declared and continued, “a thousand grand Lira for each head.”

With that, my plan was foiled.

The number of soldiers chasing me increased. More archers unleashed their fury. The melee weapon users took confidence from the increased support from the archers and advanced towards my position with renewed courage. One thing was certain, they would not give up on their pursuit.

“Ride on,” I shouted to Arlene.

As we drove our mounts away from the direction of the bog, the shouts from our pursuers did not die down.

“They are still after us,” said Arlene and she turned her attention back to me, “But they are all on feet. Can shake them off but will take a long time.”

“They are determined. A thousand grand Lira is a great motivating factor.” I responded in anger.

After a brief span of riding, “We got company, on the right,” shouted Arlene suddenly. Panic washed over her face as she said those words.

The ranger’s hearing was far better than mine, at least, in the open. I sharpened my hearing senses and after a brief moment, I heard the sound of hooves converging on our position. The sound of multiple hooves could mean only one thing.

“Around thirty, I reckon,” Arlene said in a panic, “But I thought we killed all their mounted forces.”

“Reinforcements,” I spat out the word, “and just in the worst possible time and the worst possible unit.”