Heric winced.

A buzzing persisted in his ears, and his breathing laboured. Yet it was not his own injuries that made him quail, but the cries of Lera as her armour was removed. The goblin’s sword strike hadn’t punctured her mail, but it had driven several rings through the underlying gambeson and into her flesh below. It meant that stripping off the armour, so that the wound could be treated, was agonisingly painful.

A well-skilled team of four women worked on her. A couple of them dressed like the Wardens, but the others just appeared to be common folk.

They were camped on the banks of a fast-flowing river. The Silversage, Ifonsa had called it. The Wardens had aided them as well as they could after the battle, but it was agreed that they needed to be away. There were still enough goblins to launch a counter attack.

The Wardens led them through the forest at an accelerated rate. Heric had insisted that Lera ride, but she refused.

“The horses are worse off than I,” she said. She did allow Falduin to aid her though....eventually.

It had still taken them most of the remaining night to reach the tents. When they arrived they found freshly cooked food waiting for them, and places to rest and have their wounds tended. It was almost like being on campaign again.

Yet Heric was too busy to indulge in any of the offerings. Despite his injuries, his first concern was making certain that the horses were being cared for properly. They were in a bad way and would need several days (perhaps a week) to fully recover. Rianio was already lying on a bed of hay fast asleep when Heric looked in on him.

They couldn’t afford to remain camped here for a week. They needed to leave as soon as they were able. Despite the reassurances from Ifonsa and the other Wardens, he wasn’t sure that any magic could indefinitely stave off the nameless horror that had confronted them in the battle.

The Wardens had shot a score of arrows into the thing, yet it kept on coming. Falduin’s light spell had been cast too far away to reveal much. It was at least as tall as the Hobgoblin, and its skin glistened in the light as though it was covered in black oil. It wasn’t some plodding hulk either. It could move fast when opportunity demanded.

Heric had witnessed one of the Wardens battling the last of the goblins, when the horror emerged. The creature lurched forward and grabbed the Warden, and tore him in two as though he was a rotten beam. It flung away the two halves, then charged straight for Heric.

It had ducked away from Heric’s thrust, but it couldn’t avoid the slash that followed it. The creature raised its arm to ward off the attack, but Heric’s sword cut clean through. The forearm fell away into the leaf litter. Heric could hear it wriggling about as they jostled for position.

Heric delivered several more strikes that would have felled a normal man or goblin, but the horror kept fighting. The creature lashed out, slamming Heric against a nearby trunk. The monster towered over him as it rushed to finish him.

“Heric!” Falduin cried. “Move!”

Heric sliced at the leg as he slipped aside, placing the tree between him and the horror. Several wardens threw oil upon it. A spark flew from Falduin’s fingertips and oil caught alight.

The flames troubled the horror, but didn’t stop it. Even fully ablaze, casting forth wavering light upon the greenery, it lumbered forward, pursuing Heric.

They fled before confirming it had fallen, once and for all. Behind them they cause see the orange glow, as the trees caught aflame.

How were they going to get away? They couldn’t walk. Heric was certain the goblins had scouts watching the peripheries of the forest. They’d be hunted down within a day even without Lera slowing them down.

“We’re going to pull away the gambeson now,” one of the healers called out. “On three. One...two...”

Lera screamed, desperate and shrill.

Heric’s hands trembled. He hated hearing his people in pain.

His gaze sought out the far bank. A few hundred paces upriver, he could see the wall of a settlement, its lights twinkling in the dawn twilight. The wall was nothing like the palisades he had seen surrounding other towns and villages further down the slope. It appeared to be woven and carved from the surrounding forest itself.

“Go see the healers. You’re going to end up with a scar” Tegalie said as she drifted over to him like a strong sea breeze, invigorating yet disturbing everything in its path.

Fahesha trotted along behind her, like a trained dog. Heric found that troubling for some reason.

He turned to regard Tegalie. She had fought well during the battle, not just because of her skill with the sword, but because she kept her head at the critical moments.

“My future husband cannot have a scar on his face,” she continued. “It would distract me during out love-making.”

At some point during the battle (he wasn’t certain when) something had clipped him, slicing across his chin despite the protection of his helmet. It didn’t trouble him, but it continued dribbling blood.

“Are you planning to continue with this foolery, Highness?” Heric asked.

“Teg. We agreed, remember?” Tegalie insisted. “I saved you...again.”

“Teg,” Heric repeated, stiffly.

“To answer your question: yes,” she said, “I like watching you squirm at the thought of being married to me. There is something entirely too proper about you. It makes you appear boring.”

“I am boring.”

“That certainly needs to change before our nuptials. Now, how are you?”

“Trying to work out how we’re going to escape.”

“Boats.”

“Boats?”

Heric glanced toward the river. It’s current raced along at a brisk rate with rapids further down stream. One rock in particular stood out. It resembled a small island, its jagged surface jutting from the water. He did not like the thought of navigating along such a course. To be honest, he did not like the thought of boating at all. He hated boats. Barges were fine but small boats unnerved him.

“Ifonsa has already spoken to her great grandmother about it. She wants to speak with you.”

“Who? Ifonsa or the great grandmother?”

“Yes,” Tegalie said playfully. She took his hand, “But first we must see you don’t end up with a scar.” She led him toward the healer’s tent.

“This is Mairpeanlo,” Ifonsa said, “My great-grandmother.”

Despite her white hair and fine wrinkles, Mairpeanlo carried herself as one that was still filled with vigour, not bent with age. She was a tall and striking woman, and Heric could see that she had been exceptionally beautiful in her youth. The creases on her face were laughter lines, not the leftovers of worry.

As someone that had barely known his parents, let alone his grandparents, Heric found it difficult reconciling the woman before him as Ifonsa’s great-grandmother. Mother, yes, grandmother, maybe, but great-grandmother.... she looked way too young.

Mairpeanlo smiled at him as though she had read his thought. “He does know how to speak doesn’t he, Röá?” she whispered to Ifonsa. “Or did our healers remove his tongue while tending his wound?”

Heric’s cut had been sutured. It looked ugly, but the healers had reassured Tegalie that there would not be a scar as long as Heric didn’t lick at the ointment. It was made from honey.

“He has learnt the importance of being frugal with words,” Ifonsa said, “That’s why I like him.”

Mairpeanlo gave Ifonsa an astonished look, “I thought you didn’t like anyone.”

“I don’t, but he annoys me less than most.”

Mairpeanlo waved her hand in front of her face, “So much mímháráts.”

“I am what I am.”

“I am pleased to meet with you...” Heric hesitated, not knowing what to call the elderly woman. My lady sounded too formal and great-grandmother too casual.

"Mairpeanlo,” Ifonsa prompted.

“Mare pay an lo,” Heric said.

Mairpeanlo sighed, “Never have so few words been spoken so well by someone so handsome.” She smiled sweetly.

“No. Never,” Ifonsa agreed, offering Heric a mocking smile.

Heric glanced between the two women, uncertain about how to react. Their smiles broadened. Ifonsa didn’t look much like her great-grandmother, but she had inherited her smile.

“Boats?” Heric said, eventually.

“Log boats,” Ifonsa said.

“And the horses?”

“Will stay here until they’re fully recovered. Then the wardens will deliver them to Milardus, or wherever else you desire.”

“I don’t much care for boats.”

“Ganthe has some experience. He’s already familiarising himself. Plus there’s also me.”

“The plan was that you would be staying.”

“The mission is not done. You’d only get lost and then we’d have to come looking for you,” Ifonsa said grinning. “Besides, Lord Fastri’s Keep borders the Moor. I need to see him,” she explained.

“Thelna Moor?”

“Yes, why?”

Heric shook his head. “No reason.”

“Good. Then I shall go and make the preparations. We will leave in a few hours.”

Both Heric and Mairpeanlo silently watched as Ifonsa departed.

“She’s never brought any friends home before,” Mairpeanlo commented.

“I doubt she would have this time, had our need not been so desperate.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m concerned about this creature,” Heric said. “It might still be alive, or there may be others. I wouldn’t want you and your people to suffer because of us.”

“You need not worry,” Mairpeanlo reassured him. “Long ago elfs inhabited these lands. It was only a brief respite on their journey to see the world. A few centuries or so. Yet they left a legacy that remains to this day. The magic of this place protects us. That’s why the Wardens are trained here. If they are not pure of heart they cannot even enter.”

“I have fought this thing. It is evil and terrible. I saw what it did to the faeries.”

“Elf magic is much stronger. They say there are still elfs living in this forest. Both Pan and Röá believe they’ve seen them on occasion, but in all my years I have never witnessed one. The thing about elfs is that you could be surrounded by a hundred of them, and you’d never ever know. I am certain that should this ahmthairné pose any threat they would rally to our defence. As for the fae, their magic is weak but persistent. Xnaxel te col Säóts will be filled with light and wonder for at least another thousand years, until the fae finally get bored and wander away.”

Heric nodded. “I hope so.”

The conversation appeared to be at an end, but suddenly Heric remembered something that had caught his interest earlier. “You said...mim-something,” he said. “In reference to Ifonsa.”

“Mímháráts,” Mairpeanlo answered, “It means many things, but with Ifonsa it means unhappy.”

“I understand. She still grieves. Losing a twin must be devastating.”

“Yes, but also no. She was like that before the terrible tragedy. Such is the way with twins. One happy, the other unhappy. Áeráts and Mímháráts. And so the balance is maintained.”

“Balance?”

The old woman smiled as though she was well used to explaining the obvious to children, “As a warrior, isn’t every strike or guard based upon maintaining your balance?”

Heric nodded.

“Why would the world be different? Water flows downhill, but only until a balance has been achieved. Fire heats, but only until its fuel remains. Balance in the physical, mental and spiritual.”

“Are you saying I am not balanced?”

Mairpeanlo’s smile broadened, as though a child had correctly pronounced a new word or achieved some milestone.

“When you are twice as old as you are now, you will look back and know you were not.”

“Isn’t that the same for any age? We are constantly learning and changing.”

“Yes,” she grinned and kissed him on the cheek. “And so is the world.”

Heric stepped gingerly into the boat. It wobbled unsteadily and threatened to tip over. He stepped back onto the short pier. It had been built just below the rapids he had seen earlier.

“Slowly,” Ifonsa said.

Heric threw her a dark look.

“Concentrate!” she warned him. “If this tips over everything is going straight to the bottom. You might find a few pieces washed up a league or two downstream.”

Heric’s armour, sword, and kit was crammed into the small logboat, along with the belongings of Tegalie, Fahesha and Ganthe. There was barely enough room for them. The other boat, with Lera and Falduin already seated, held both their and Ifonsa’s kit.

“Now get into the boat so Tegalie and Ganthe can,” Ifonsa prompted. She held one end steady, while Ganthe held the other end.

“It’s as easy as riding a horse,” Ganthe said, grinning.

Heric sighed.

“Remember, balance,” Mairpeanlo said, and Heric realised that he had attracted a crowd. Almost twenty Wardens were watching him, including Mairpeanlo and Gadfri. They all had a look of amused expectation upon their faces, as though they were hoping he’d fall in.

“Perhaps you should have packed the boat after he got in,” Gadfri said. “You’d lose less.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Tegalie said. “I’m certain we’ll find all our things... eventually.”

Annoyed, Heric practically leapt into the boat. It swayed, sloshing from side to side, as he stood arms outstretched trying to not fall.

“Oh no,” Fahesha said.

Then he just dropped, slamming into the bottom of the boat. It rocked precariously, but did not capsize.

There was a applause from the shore.

“See,” Ifonsa said, as if she planned it that way.

Heric ignored it all as he retrieved the short paddle.

Moments later, the other three were in the boat, with Tegalie and Fahesha behind him, and Ganthe seated at the stern. Ifonsa hugged Mairpeanlo and said her goodbyes, then she too joined the others in the second boat.

Ganthe and Ifonsa guided them out into the river. Heric felt the current catch them, and they began to build up speed.

“Heric,” Mairpeanlo called, from the shore, “Remember, water and fire.”

And then they were away.