A Knightess' Tale - Full Version

The exact moment that Eleanor realised she had found a worthy adversary was probably the moment after the shield slammed into her gut, but before she stumbled back against the lists with an agonised gasp. Desperately trying to catch her breath, she stared up at the wielder of the shield. An enthusiastic grin spread over his face as he held his arms out to the crowd, nodding in satisfaction as they cheered.

Eleanor met his eye and the grin widened – not in arrogance, but seemingly in sheer enthusiasm. Eleanor’s tail flared and she smirked back at him. He stepped back and resumed his stance as she got up, and said something that she didn’t catch. She was far too busy committing his face to memory.

He rushed forward, again trying to punch her with the edge of his shield. Eleanor stepped back to avoid it and aimed a counter, but he turned it aside with his sword and bashed her again. This time there was no avoiding the shield. The crowd collectively winced as it crunched into her ribs, and she stumbled back out of range, reeling.

Despite it all, however, Eleanor was overjoyed; three months in the pits, fighting whatever man, mamono or beast they put before her. This was the first time in a while that she found herself at a disadvantage. And this one… he was special. His technique and manner were clearly those of a trained soldier, albeit very offset by the alcohol that brought a hearty blush to his cheeks and an infectious exuberance to his demeanor. Not the usual village scrapper or street scum that Eleanor too often found herself against.

“S’there a prob’m, lizard girl? Will y’ not fight me proper?” he slurred, and gave an almighty belch.  The words would have infuriated Eleanor, were it not for the roaring laughter that followed. She turned her head down to hide her blush. Quick as a fox, fierce as a lion and merry as a cheshire cat; he was the one. She stood up and spared a momentary glance at her arms that gripped the wooden sword and shield.

Her crimson hair had come loose of the simple ponytail he kept it in, and spilled over her shoulders which led down to arms of sand-coloured skin stretched over taut, defined muscles that lent her feminine figure the unmistakable quality of a warrior. And a warrior she was.

She turned her amber eyes up to her opponent, who was pacing around the other end of the ring offering mock bows to the crowd. There was nobody in attendance who did not know Eleanor – all had seen her fight many times, had seen her meet every challenge she was given and come out on top. Which was why they were so eager to have a new champion who could give Eleanor the fight of her life.

Eleanor knocked her shield and sword together, grabbing his attention. “So, it’s a proper fight you want, is it?” He nodded wildly, the stupid grin never leaving his face. “Alright then! How about you tell me your name so I can put it to the face I’m about to smash into pulp!” The man threw back his head and laughed even harder. “The only thing y’ll get from me, milady, is that I’m the man who’ll be leaving this place a v’ry rich man indeed!” Eleanor knew that she should be furious at the audacity of fighting her drunk, but instead it made him… endearing. Such a shame she had to ruin his pretty face.

He charged forward with an incoherent roar, and aimed a clumsy swipe at her head. She raised her shield to block it, and delivered a quick stab to his abdomen that doubled him over. She promptly drove her knee into his face, and he staggered back before suddenly spinning and whipping his sword into her shoulder. She grit her teeth at the pain, but aimed shield a bash of her own into his chest. He stepped back, but she stepped forward and placed her leg between his, and grinned before slamming her forehead into his face – she heard his nose break even as she felt it.

He stumbled back, but hit the list and began to fall. He took one step forward and grabbed her by the abdomen, lifting her up and wrestling her to the ground. Eleanor struggled under him for a brief second, but looked up and met the deep brown of his eyes. Time seemed to, for a moment, stand still as she again asked him his name – the roar of the crowd, the pain of her wounds, all forgotten as she stared into his unblinking eyes. He opened his mouth to speak and slumped onto her, unconscious. Eleanor snapped back to reality as the crowd cheered again, chanting her name as they always did. Every time she won.

A tall red oni – Riya, the fight organiser – swaggered over, pulled the man off of her and dropped a coin purse onto her stomach. The oni winked at Eleanor as she slung the unconscious man over her shoulders and paced off toward the medical tent. Eleanor didn’t even move. He was the one, she thought. Him, without a doubt. My future husband.

--

A short while later, Eleanor was sitting outside the medical tent, tossing the coin purse in her clawed hand. It was heavier than usual – a good sign, Eleanor mused, as that fight must apparently have been worth a little extra concession from Riya. Eleanor thought back to the fight for what must have been the thirtieth time – the adrenaline rush she loved so much, the joy of combat and the guilty thrill of almost being outmatched – nearly having been beaten and thrown into the dirt by the one man who had proven himself her worthy opponent. Her tail flame roared. She didn’t get his name. She had to know his name.


Riya emerged from the tent, wiping her brow and followed by a tense-looking angel with a wooden box of medical supplies who hurried off without breaking stride. Riya placed her hands on her hips and exhaled, turning to grin at Eleanor. “Fuckin’ stellar performance out there, hun. They were going wild for the pair of you. I honestly thoug-“
Eleanor quickly stood up and flicked her tail. She felt herself blush, but she had to find out. “Is he alright? Who is he? What’s his name?”
Riya stepped back and held up her hands. “Whoa, whoa, one at a time. He’s doing fine, staggered off a while ago. You really did a number on him.”
Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. She’d got carried away during the battle – not a bad thing in itself, but she didn’t want to have really hurt him. Or would he be impressed? “What’s he called, who is he?”

Riya’s grin quickly became a frown. “Eleanor, you know I can’t tell you that. It’s the rules. Not after last time, remember?”
Eleanor’s blush deepened even further, and she turned away. About two weeks ago, a danuki of all creatures had entered the ring against Eleanor. After she got over her initial surprise, she decided to treat the danuki as any other combatant, and see what she could do. As it turned out, not only did the danuki employ every underhanded trick in the book, she had even paid off a few members of the crowd to hurl insults – and rubbish – at Eleanor the entire fight through. She won despite all this, but later had found out the danuki’s name and had gone to give her a pointed lecture about real combat. The point being that of the practice sword.

Eleanor returned to the present with a start. “This is different, Ri. I promise. I have to tell him something.”
“Yeah, sure. I mean, almost beaten by a human? You’d better make sure he learns his lesson, right?”
“No! No, I just… I want to thank him! I haven’t fought like that in ages! I haven’t ever!”
“Uh-huh.” Riya turned back into the tent. “I’m sure you’ll get a better one soon.”
“Please, Ri!” Eleanor cried. She felt her blush deepen further still, and the sting of tears welling up in her eyes. Her tail flame was soaring such that it threatened to light the tent aflame.
Riya sighed. “He’s a sellsword. His troop’s in town tonight, and he came and put his name down.”
“His name?”
Riya fixed her with a glare. “Hell no. If you’re trying to say what I think you are, you can find him yourself. But I’m not having another fuckin’ danuki incident. That poor girl couldn’t even walk right.”
“What’s their name, then?”
“He mentioned something about… The Gauntleted Hand? No…ah…the Dauntless Hand! That was it.”
Eleanor’s eyes were sparkling. “Thank you so much, Ri. I won’t forget this.”
“Yeah, well, don’t. You’re my star attraction, girl. Don’t make me regret this.”

--

Unbelievable. Four taverns, an inn and even a whorehouse and nobody had even heard of the Dauntless Hand. The grandeur of the name had initially led Eleanor to believe that they were some grand mercenary company, stopping in town for resupply or leave or some such. This impression had faded with every shaken head and quizzical stare. She was beginning to suspect they were nothing more than a band of adventurers with an overly pretentious name.
Eleanor sighed deeply as she entered the fifth tavern of her search for any trace of the Dauntless Hand, and was greeted with a blast of off-key lute playing and the drunken shouting of The Vile Grouse’s unwashed patrons. She stepped out of the way of a man rushing past her to vomit in the mud outside, and began to warily cast her eyes about the room. Finally, she located four figures in shabby-looking armour and crudely-painted shields sitting at the bar, apparently engaged in a tuneless rendition of some drinking song. With her tail flaring, Eleanor approached.

“Come landlord, fill the flowing bowl, until it doth run over!”

Now that she could see them clearly, Eleanor could make out a man in a tattered chain-coat with a longaxe leading the song, a crooning manticore with a similarly ragged coat of mail swinging her tankard and tail in time with it, a small man in a padded jack with a crossbow who seemed to be singing something entirely different, and a holstaur in the garb of a monk who was sound asleep over the bar.

“For tonight we’ll merry, merry be,   For tonight we’ll merry, merry be…”

As she inspected them further, Eleanor could clearly see that they were, in fact, adventurers – the manticore had a mace slung at her belt, the short man had a sword and dagger both, and – Eleanor had initially mistaken it for a beam of the bar’s woodwork – propped up against the holstaur’s sleeping frame was a bundle of long spears. Clearly, these were fighters of some description – if they were adventurers, they were as good a place as any to ask about the Dauntless Hand.

“For tonight we’ll merry, merry be….. tomorrow we’ll be sober!”

Both men and the manticore clanked their tankards together and took a long drink. The armoured man sat up in his stool and raised his drink high, splashing what remained of it over the bar.
“Here’s to us, lads and lasses! May all the kings in all the world forever know the name of the Dauntless Hand!”

Even better.

Eleanor cleared her throat to speak when suddenly she saw him. He stumbled in through a back door and made his way over to the bar, smacking the holstaur on the arse and jolting her awake before taking his seat next to the man with the longaxe. He quickly got himself a drink and set about draining it dry.
Eleanor snapped out of her reverie when it looked like they were about to start singing again. She marched over to the man and placed a clawed hand on his shoulder. He slowly turned and stared, uncomprehending, into Eleanor’s eyes. “’Ere, I know you, yer that…lizard…from earlier, aye?”
Wasting no time, Eleanor fixed him with her amber eyes and proclaimed “I love you.”
At this, the man was somewhat taken aback. “Say again, girl?”
“I love you!”
“How c’n… whuh?”
Eleanor suddenly became aware that the four others were now staring at her. “An’ who might you be, lass?”
“I am Eleanor. I am in love with this man.”
The four sellswords turned to stare at him, expecting an explanation. He had none to offer.
“Look, how the fuck c’n you love me if we only met… a few hours ago? Do y’even know my name? I dunno yours…”
“I just said. My name is Eleanor. I love you. Tell me your name!”
“It’s… no, this is jus’ too odd fer me.”
The man got up to leave, but Eleanor swiftly stepped into his path.
“No! I love you!”
The axeman placed a heavy hand on Eleanor’s shoulder. The overpowering smell of mead and sweat became several times stronger, instantly. “Look lass, I dunno if this one knocked you up or whuddever, but I think ye’d better go. Yer interruptin’ our drinking.”
Eleanor ignored him. “Please, tell me your name! I love you!”
The man merely turned back to his drink. Eleanor opened her mouth to speak again, but the axeman grabbed her shoulders and began to pull her away. “Time to go, ya crazy bi-“
“Wait! You’re sellswords, right?”
The axeman let go of Eleanor to put his hands on his hips and puff out his chest. “The Dauntless Hand Mercenary Company, at yer service.”
“Let me join you!”
“…eh?”
“Please! I don’t care what kind of tests you need me to do, I can fight, I can cook, I’ll take half wages, just, please!”
The axeman looked around at his compatriots and received various shrugs and grunts of indifference, all except Eleanor’s chosen who still sat dumbfounded by the entire state of affairs.
“Arright then. Welcome to the Dauntless Hand, miss…”
“Eleanor, for the third time!”
“Whatever.” The axeman mumbled, pushing a tankard into Eleanor’s hand and re-seating himself at the bar. “I’m William, that’s Betha, Sigrid and Small John.” He said, gesturing to the manticore, holstaur and crossbowman.
“And this one,” he said, gesturing to Eleanor’s chosen, “Is Osgar.”
Osgar took a long drink.


----


“I stood upon the field green, I stood me with my true love,                                                                   My sad heart strove the two between, my old life and my new love…”

Eleanor sat at the bar, entranced. They were singing again, these five sellswords whom she had just met, after walking up to them and declaring her love for the man of their number who now sat across from her. They were singing when she walked into the tavern, they were singing as she walked up to the bar where they sat, they had taken a brief respite whilst she bared her soul before the five of them and now they were singing again as if nothing had even happened. Drinking and singing. Somehow, Eleanor got the impression that that was all they ever did.

“Twas hard the woeful words to frame, to break the ties that bound us...”

Eleanor spared a look at the one next to her. William, he said his name was. A giant of a man, whose two main features seemed to be the rusty mail he wore and the crow’s nest of a beard that was half-tangled in its coif. These, along with his shaven head and the massive axe he had slung over his back, gave indisputable the impression that this man was born to be a mercenary. Not even a soldier, just a mercenary. Going where the money was, taking it from fighting and losing it on drink and pleasure. To Eleanor, William appeared to be that very concept made into a man.

“Twas harder still to bear the shame, of foreign chains around us...”

Looking to next to him, Eleanor saw a holstaur in what appeared to be the robe and hood of some priest or monk. If this one was indeed a monk, she did not act like one – she leaned on William’s shoulder, head held back, taking a long pull on her tankard. After she finally finished, she gave a mighty belch and, with mead dribbling down her face, held the tankard high and resumed the song. Her grass-green eyes sparkled as she sang, and Eleanor recalled her name as Sigrid. She closed her eyes and sang even louder, until her swaying tankard knocked the bundle of spears that were leant against the bar and they began to fall – Sigrid squawked and spat out her drink, flung down her tankard and wrapped both arms around the spears, swearing furiously. Despite herself, Eleanor grinned; the contrast between all the dour, grim priests she had ever met and the jovial Sigrid was nothing less than heartwarming.

“While sad I kissed away her tears, my fond arms ‘round her flinging…”

Next to Sigrid sat a manticore singing at the top of her lungs while swinging her tail in melancholy. This one, Eleanor remembered, was Betha. What Eleanor had heard of manticores was that they were vicious creatures who stole upon men in the dead of night and claimed them as their own. This manticore, on the other hand, partly looked as though she could have been one of those men – she had a deep voice, a crooked nose and a hideous, winding scar running from her temple, across her face and stopping just short of her chin. This, contrasted with her long pink hair and full breasts, made her a ridiculous figure. She was either the most soldierly-looking woman or the most feminine soldier Eleanor had ever seen.

“The foeman’s shot snapped on our ears, from out the wildwood ringing…”

Eleanor moved her eyes away from Betha, and on to the man sat next to her. William had called him Small John, and it wasn’t hard to see why – he was shorter even than the holstaur, who barely came up to William’s shoulders. Small John rested his head in his palms with his eyes shut, and Eleanor couldn’t tell whether he was actually singing or just mouthing the words. His dirty blonde hair was tied back behind his head, poking out the back of the simple commoner’s cap he wore – in fact, Eleanor noticed, he wasn’t wearing any armour at all aside from the brown gambeson which covered his entire upper body halfway down his thighs. Abruptly, he opened one eye and met Eleanor’s stare – she quickly looked away, for his eye was devoid of iris or pupil. His other eye opened – a piercing blue – and a smirk broke over his face, before he closed them both again.

“An arrow pierced my true love’s side, in life’s young spring so early…”

Eleanor looked at the man she had come here to meet. He was not tall like William, or rugged like Betha; nor was he charming like Sigrid or intimidating like John. Osgar, in fact, looked remarkably plain compared to his compatriots – his long hair was brushed behind his head, a little of it spilling over his shoulders – but it was simply black, his eyes were simply brown, his face was entirely ordinary. But his looks were not why Eleanor loved him. She knew he was the one, even if to anyone else there would be no reason why he should be. Of all the men Eleanor had fought in her career as a pit fighter, only Osgar had swaggered into the pit drunk, belched and apologised, offered her a clumsy bow and given her the fight of her life. He tail roared just remembering it. Osgar noticed her stare, and she blushed and turned her eyes downwards.

It also seemed to Osgar, unfortunately, like there was no reason why he should be the one. The poor man didn’t even know what was happening when Eleanor had walked up to him and professed her love on the spot. But she was not discouraged. She knew she had to make him see why. And if she couldn’t, she would make him love her anyway.

“And on my breast in blood she died, while soft winds shook the barley!”

All five of the Dauntless Hand raised their tankards and roared. Eleanor quickly grabbed her drink and did the same, but she was entirely out of time with the rest of them. John glared, Sigrid giggled, Betha gave her a sympathetic look and Osgar turned away. William let out a hearty guffaw and slapped Eleanor on the back, hard. “Not t’worry, lass, you’ll get it eventually! In fact, refill yer mugs boys and girls, I want to make a toast!”

At this, the barkeep waddled over and accepted a coin from Betha’s outstretched paw, placing a fresh bottle of mead on the table. It was passed around the group, and William snatched Eleanor’s tankard from her hand, and began pouring as he muttered “Say when.” She did, and he ignored her and filled it to the brim anyway.

He pushed it back towards her, splashing it over Eleanor’s chest. It was cold, and she grimaced but she didn’t flinch; there was always the chance that he did that deliberately to test her. Or he didn’t, and he was pissed. Either was likely. The latter was more likely.

William clumsily raised his mug again, and the others did so too, including Eleanor. “Honnered memb’rs of the Dauntless Hand Mercia..mace...Mercenary Comp’ny! I woul’ like to formally welcome t’our ranks the lizardress Elly!”
“Huzzah!”
“Actually, it’s Eleanor. And I’m a salamander.”
“Right, sorry. Anyway, listen well, Eleanor the dragon!”
“Salamander!”
“Whaddever! Do you swear to uphol’ truth, honner an’ justice!”
“Aye.”
“Say again?” he smirked, and the rest laughed. Eleanor blushed fiercely.
“Aye!”
“Huzzah!” cried the Dauntless Hand.
“Do y’swear to fight an’ die for glory, wealth an’ good strong drink!”
“A-Aye!”
“Huzzah!”
“Do y’give yerself to us, takin’ us t’be your brothers and sisters as we take you t’be ours!”
“Aye!”
“Huzzah!”
“Then, as cap’n of the Dauntless Hand Mercenary Comp’ny, I William, son of Edward, son of Edmund, son of-“
“Get t’the point!” yelled Betha with a grin, and Eleanor smirked herself.
“Right! Wher- yeah! I hereby make yer one of us! Lads and lasses, welcome to the Dauntless Hand our sister, Eleanor the gargoyle!”
“Come on!”
Ignoring her, the five of them roared “Huzzah!” again and took a long drink. Eleanor thought she caught a glimpse of a smile on Osgar’s lips before he raised his mug to them, and she smiled too.

--

A little while later, the six sellswords stumbled out of The Vile Grouse and began to trudge through the street. This time their song was something else entirely – in fact, it didn’t seem to have any definite words or tune, just slurring in a vaguely harmonious fashion. As they walked, Eleanor took another look at Osgar – he was staggering through the mud, blushing deeply and grinning like a moron. It was exactly the expression he had had the entire way though their fight, and the sight of it made her tail flame roar into life.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, girl! Y’almost burnt my tits off!” exclaimed Betha, and the six of them burst into laughter. Eleanor was about to tactically stumble into Osgar’s arms when William, who was walking directly in front of her, abruptly stopped and yelled “Wait!”
“Whuh…what is it, boss?” mumbled Sigrid.
“Where’s the fuckin’… the tents?”
“Aw fuck off, Will!” Betha again. “We ‘aint even been here a full day yet, let’s find an inn!”
“You fuck off, tailpussy!” grinned William. “We might’ve gold fer an in if you hadn’t bought that extra bottle!”
“That was ‘cus you wanted to make a toast, arsehole!”
“Well I didn’t-“
As they argued, Eleanor was struck with the realisation that she was going to have to leave town with them. She was born on a farmstead in the countryside and moved here when she grew up, finding work as a serving-wench but mostly earning her way through the fighting pits. She had been here her entire adult life. And now she was going to leave to… become a sellsword fighting under a man she didn’t know with people she’d just met. She might die. She might never see this town, or her family, or anyone again. The thought cut through the haze of alcohol like a sword through butter.

She looked up and – saw Osgar. He was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking around when he met her eye. She blushed. So did he. He offered her a sheepish grin and stammered “T-they’re always like this…” In an instant the doubt melted away, and Eleanor was reminded why she was doing this. To fight him again, to fight alongside him, to make him love her, mate with him, marry him – the answer was him. Eleanor smiled back.

“-so it’s settled! Get yer shit, boys and girls, we’re camping!”
Grumbling, the Dauntless Hand found a clearing on the outskirts of town and pitched camp. The tents were small enough for one man and his belongings, and easily pitched. Soon enough there were five tents in a small circle. Osgar trudged off into the woods while Betha and Sigrid dug a messy-looking firepit, Small John chopped some firewood - missing the wood more than a few times -  and William stood staring back towards the town. Sigrid got up and practically fell inside her tent – Eleanor began to laugh, but realised the problem with this scenario.
“Hey, er, William?”
“Yes, lass?”
“Where do I sleep?”
“In a tent, I’d say.”
“I don’t have one.” She said pointedly.
“Well, I suppose you’d bes’ find one, hadn’t you?” said Small John from behind her.
A lecherous grin spread across William’s face. “Tell yer what, since y’were so eager t’ come up to Osgar like that an’ start sounding off about how you loooove him,” he said slyly, “why don’t yer jus’ nestle yerself in his tent? I’m sure he wouldn’ mind… I know I wouldn’t, find a pretty lass like you waitin’ fer me under the covers…” he took a step towards Eleanor, and she stepped back instinctively. William grinned cruelly and walked off, chuckling.

Eleanor turned around to see Small John had already escaped into his tent, and Betha stopped at hers to wink at Eleanor and make an obscene gesture with her fingers and tongue before disappearing inside. Eleanor grit her teeth and looked around – unless she wanted to sleep in the dirt, she didn’t have a choice.

--

Eleanor sat on Osgar’s bedroll, waiting for him to enter. William’s words still echoed in her mind, and she blushed deeply as took her shirt off, hoping in vain to fall asleep before he returned from whatever it was he was doing.
A rustling of chain and a drowsy muttering from outside dashed this hope immediately. Eleanor burrowed under the blanket and waited for his reaction…
Osgar stumbled into the tent and collapsed onto the bedroll, almost falling on top of Eleanor. He pulled himself under the blanket and Eleanor squeaked as his freezing mail brushed against her bare skin. “H-hey, what are you doing? You c-can’t just come in like that while a girl’s changing!”
He closed his eyes and drowsily murmured “Fuck you, s’my tent…”. Eleanor stared at him incredulously for a moment.
“So you don’t care at all that I’m in here?” She got no reply. “R-right. Fine. Sure.” She turned away from him and squeezed her eyes shut, only to practically leap out from under the blanket when she felt two mail-clad arms envelop her fiery tail. She blushed deeper than she thought she ever had before and trilled “Just whaaaat the fuck d’you think you’re doing?”
“Mmm...yer like a big warm pillow...”
Eleanor took a few rapid breaths and eventually broke into a huge grin. This… surely this was a good sign? After all, she’d never let her fire burn him, and if he knew that maybe he’d find himself touching it more often; or it touching him…
“W-wait, so you just grabbed my tail without even knowing if it’d burn you?”
Osgar only snored in response. Eleanor didn’t know whether to laugh or bow her head in shame, so she just repositioned herself under the blanket and silently prayed that his hands didn’t wander any further during the night.
And, a little deeper inside herself, she prayed that they did…

--

A man. A shield. Metal. Impact. Pain. Dirt. The ground. Blood. Pain. Dirt. People watching. Osgar. A grin. His grin. His sword.
Riya. The oni. The pit manager. Dirt. Her grin. And his. Lots of grins. People watching.
Riya’s voice. You win. Take your prize. Her hands. A purse. Gold.
His grin. His voice. No gold. People watching.
Her voice. Then what.
His voice. I want more. My prize.
His hands. His grin. And hers. His hands. People watching. His hands. On her. In her hair. On her breasts. In her mouth. Between her legs. His grin.

--

Eleanor woke with a start. She didn’t recognise her surroundings, and she cast her eyes about her in the fear that can only come from the mind partly awake. She was in a tent, under a blanket, with-
“Oh gods.” She whispered to herself. She looked down at the man asleep next to her, still in his armour, snoring away just like he was last night. He still had his hands on her tail, and was lying half-out of the blanket, his midnight hair messily strewn about his head, over his shoulders, down his back…
Eleanor looked away with a blush. She instead focused on the alarming wetness between her legs; a product of her dream, no doubt. Just like the other day. The fight, the exhilaration of combat, and then…
She shook her head; that wasn’t how it happened. She made a mental note to fight Osgar again, many times. Especially when his blood was up.
She pulled a shirt on, thankful and yet rueful that he was still asleep, and tied her own hair back into its characteristic tail. Extracting her smoldering tail from Osgar’s unconscious embrace, Eleanor emerged from the tent and took a lungful of the morning air. The sunlight forced her eyes into a squint, and she suddenly became aware of how much she’d had to drink last night. In fact, her head felt as though a battle was going on inside it. She took a look around the camp – everyone else was already up, with William and Sigrid standing at a small table having an argument – though not too loud – Betha boiling some porridge in a bowl over a fire, and Small John wordlessly restringing his crossbow. Betha noticed Eleanor and gave her a cordial smile, beckoning her over and patting the ground next to her for a seat. Small John did not look up.
Eleanor strolled over and sat down next to her, and Betha spooned some of the porridge into a bowl and handed it to her. Nodding her thanks, Eleanor blew on a spoonful and shovelled it into her mouth – it was hot, but good. Just what she needed, in fact.
“So… how was Osgar?” Betha said with a smirk.
Eleanor almost choked on the porridge, setting the spoon and bowl down and shooting Betha a glare.
“Nothing happened. He just walked in and fell asleep.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I was all ready to catch you in the act as well~”
Eleanor blushed and cast her eyes down.
“Aaw, don’t worry about it. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re after him. He’s the kind that needs a woman to take charge and make the first move, or poor little Osgar’ll end up like this miserable prick here.”
She gestured to Small John with a claw, who spat “Eat shit, tailpussy.” without looking up from his crossbow. Betha merely laughed and blew him a kiss.

A hoarse voice sounded from a few feet away. “Betha, could you come over here please?” Eleanor looked up – it was William, and by the gods did he look rough; his beard was even messier than last night, his eyes were bloodshot through and he was paler than a ghost. Betha’s smug grin only grew wider. “What, you want me to fetch you some water?”

“Come here.” William was not smiling. Even that unnerved Eleanor a little, just by how radically different this apparition was to the boisterous, roaring man she had met last night. Clearly Betha thought the same. “I’d better go, I actually shouldn’t piss him off when he’s like this. Let’s talk later, little sister!” she winked at Eleanor and got up, walking over to William and Sigrid, swinging her tail. Small John said nothing.
A moment passed.
“So…” Eleanor began. Small John said nothing.
“John, right?”
“Small John.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Another moment passed.
Eleanor summoned a smirk. “W-why do they call you Small John?”
He looked up and fixed her with his mismatched eyes. Still he said nothing.
Another moment passed.
He looked back at his crossbow.
“Sorry. I can see you’re not one for small talk.”
His eyes snapped up again. “That a fucking joke?”
“N-no! No! It just slipped out, honest!”
“You want me to gut you, girl?”
“No! I’m sorry, please!”
After another moment of cold staring, Small John returned to his work.
“That’s a fine weap-“
“Fuck off, would you?”
“R-right.” Eleanor got up and wandered over to the table where the others were gathered. Now that she saw him up close, she could see just how bad William looked. He looked as though he were about to die. Sigrid stood next to him, rubbing his back and holding a mug of water.
“Aah, wyvern. Good t’see you.” Eleanor chose not to correct him this time.
“We’re going to be looking for work today,” William croaked, “or more exactly, these two are. Our main contact is through Sigrid here, and th’ lovely Betha never fails to draw some attention. I find her horrific disfigurement t’be her sexiest feature.” Betha stuck her tongue out, but did not interrupt.
 “That leaves us with the decision of what to do with you. Be honest with me here, lass, how good are you with a spear in yer hand?”

Eleanor was somewhat taken aback by the bluntness of the question, but answered anyway. “I mainly trained with sword and shield, although I got a bit of practice in with a spear. I suppose you could say I know the basics.” William nodded.
“Good, that makes our job a little easier. While the girls here are findin’ us some gainful employment, Small John will be replenishing our supplies and myself and Osgar will be giving you some lessons in how to properly handle a spear. Betha, wipe that grin off your face.”
“Hee hee. Sorry.”
“Speaking of yer boyfriend, why don’ you go and wake him up. I’ sure he slept like a baby with yer attentions t’ lull him off.” Eleanor nodded and began to walk away, when William said “This’d be the part where I smack your arse, but I’m feeling a little too weak to move. Betha, please smack her arse for me.”
Betha slapped Eleanor’s rump, open-clawed, and she gave a little cry and a jump. She blushed and glared at the manticore, who merely shrugged.

“Thank you.” William rasped out. “Now lass, go and fetch Osgar. Let’s see how ready the boy’s feeling this morning.”

----

Eleanor strode quickly over to Osgar’s tent, her buttock still stinging from where Betha had slapped it. She took another glance back towards them and saw Betha and Sigrid gearing up to leave, no doubt to head into town in search of work for the Dauntless Hand as William had ordered them. As she watched, Betha and Sigrid slung packs over their backs and idly chatted, until William stepped over to Sigrid and quickly whispered something in her ear. Sigrid seemed to pause for a moment, before she and William walked over in the direction of her tent. Eleanor would have watched further, but it was at this point that Betha noticed her stare and smirked, giving her a coy wink. Eleanor’s face reddened and she turned away, marching towards Osgar’s tent. Even from where she was, she could hear Betha’s giggling.
She stopped at the entrance to Osgar’s tent, the flap gently billowing in the morning breeze. What if he was awake? What if he didn’t remember any of last night? Was it worth telling him? Eleanor racked her brain trying to come up with the best course of action; she imagined peering in, and finding him shirtless, his messy black hair and deep brown eyes still bearing the vestiges of sleep. In her mind’s eye, he beckoned her into the tent, and as she would reach inside he would grab her by her scaly arm and tug her onto the bed and caress her face, and...
Eleanor shook her head. He might still even be asleep. But then she would have to creep inside, and wake him with a kiss, and as he jolted awake she would crawl on top of him and strip his armour off and...
Eleanor’s reverie was interrupted by the sound of a voice coming from the direction of the woods. It was faint, but it seemed to pierce through the wind and the birdsong straight into her mind.

“Oh, listen for a moment lads, and hear me tell my tale,
How o’er the sea from my homeland’s shore I was compelled to sail…”

Him. Eleanor’s tail roared into life, and she marched off into the woods in search of her mate.
Barely a minute later, she found him, standing at a tree and humming to himself. Eleanor ducked behind a nearby oak and listened.

“The jury said, ‘He’s guilty, sir’, and then that judge, said he,
For life, my lad, I’m sending you across the stormy sea…”

Eleanor risked a peek out from behind her cover. Osgar was still in his mail, fumbling with his trousers and absently droning out some folk song. Eleanor’s eyes widened as she realised that this was the perfect time to make a move, as they were both alone in the woods and she could be on him before he even knew what was happening. As she stepped out from behind the tree, another sound joined his voice – that of liquid spattering against the woodland floor. Eleanor stopped and stepped back as she realised that she had followed him into the woods to find him doing nothing so much as pissing against a tree.

At this moment, however, Osgar suddenly whipped his head up and drew a dagger from his waist, cursing and fumbling with one hand to return his cock to his trousers. Eleanor froze in panic, and Osgar practically jumped back as he saw her. “What the f- lizard girl? What the hell are you doing?”

Eleanor blushed again as she stepped forward, raising her hands in apology. “Osgar! No, I just... er, I was following y- I mean, I was looking for you, and, ah...”
A moment passed, Osgar still staring in disbelief at Eleanor and she trying desperately to avoid looking at his crotch. “My name’s Eleanor, by the way, in case you forgot...”
Another moment.
“Eleanor?”
“Yes! Er, yes, Osgar?”
“D’you mind leaving me to finish my piss?”
“Yes! I mean, no! I mean, r-right away!”
Eleanor tried her best to dignifiedly turn on her heel and march away, but she was acutely aware of how utterly foolish she must have looked to him. Without thinking, she turned around and blurted out “I love you!” to him again, to which he turned back with a fuming red face. Eleanor couldn’t suppress a cowed ‘eep!’ as she scrambled away through the woods.

Returning to camp, Eleanor silently thanked the gods that nobody else had seen that humiliating episode. Avoiding Small John’s quizzical stare, she was walking over to William when he turned and, with a hearty belch, extended his arms out in greeting. Grasped in one of his hands was a leather waterskin with the letter ‘S’ crudely drawn on it, and the colour that had returned to his cheeks along with liquid already matting his beard told Eleanor that he was in all likelihood back to normal. That is to say, drunk. She supposed it was impressive to so quickly go from sick as a dog to just as lively as he had been last night, but she was quickly learning that William was a man capable of many things. “W-what’re you drinking there, William?”
“Th’good stuff, lass, th’good stuff! An’ call me Will, ev’ryone else does!”
“Right. Will, did you say we were going to be training this morning?”
“Oi! Din’ I jus’ tell you t’call me boss?”
“No.”
William paused and scratched his chin. “Huh. Didja get Osgar?”
Eleanor blushed and looked away from him. “He’s busy.”
As if to contract her, Osgar strolled over to them, yawning. Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, but William cut her off. “Mornin’, boy. I trus’ you had a pleasant night!” he grinned, and Eleanor quickly stepped away from him in case of another of his signature smacks on the arse. Osgar merely yawned again and nodded. At least that was something.
“This fine morning the girls are out findin’ us some work an’ Small John’s to go foragin’. Which leaves just you, me, an’ this one,” he said, gesturing in Eleanor’s vague direction. “Grab yer spear, I want you t’show her a few tricks. An’ not the kind ye’ve shown her already!” he said with a toothy grin,.
“Leave it, Will.”
“Oooh, a sore area, is it?”
“Leave it.”
“Heh. You grab a spear an’ shield too, lass. Y’said yer know the basics, so les’ start with some slightly more advanced defesn…er…defense.”
“Are you sure you’re up to this, Will?” Eleanor ventured.
“Lass, yer new, an’ I like you a lot. But y’ever quesshin my sobriety again an’ I’ll split yer head to groin an’ sell yer meat t’ghouls.” he chuckled and brandished his wicked-looking longaxe, and gestured for her and Osgar to take fighting stances.
“Now, this one’s a fairly basic manoover for when a prick tries to hook yer shield. Osgar here will demonstrate, an I’ll be the prick in this scenario.”
“You sure you’re not making this too unrealistic, Will?” said Osgar, deadpan.
“Hur hur. Right, watch closely, lass. As I come in with th’axe, what you wanna do is pull back an’…”
Eleanor drifted out of focus, too distracted by Osgar’s serious expression. Wherever it had come from all of a sudden, she hadn’t seen him like this before, and certainly not while in combat. Granted, this was just a training exercise, but as she again reflected on the first time they met she remembered the hearty blush and dopey grin that never left his face as they fought. She dearly hoped it was an expression he saved just for her.
“Y’get all that, lass?”
“Er, n-“
Suddenly, William was closing the distance between them, axe held high. He quickly knocked her spear aside, hooked her shield away and slammed the blunt tip of the shaft into her gut. Eleanor gasped in pain and doubled over, and William placed his hand on her head and effortlessly shoved her into the dirt.
She looked up to see William standing over her with an irritated frown. She sat up and saw Small John smirking as he walked away and Osgar with a concerned look on his face.
“Bloody hell, lass, I don’t think you even tried. On yer feet and let’s give that another go.”

Several sweaty, painful hours later, William let the two of them go, having “imparted jus’ a snippet of my wordly wisdom an’ expertise in matters’f combat.” Before long, Small John returned with several sacks of supplies, and minutes later Sigrid and Betha returned to the camp. The six sellswords gathered around the firepit in the mid-afternoon light and, passing round a bottle of mead from Small John’s requisition, discussed their next moves.

“I couldn’t find a bloody thing,” scowled Betha, her horrid scar twisting over her face as her expression soured. “Too many fat old knights and poncey nobles either want a suicide mission in return for three pieces an’ their ‘gratitude’, or take one look at you and decide they’d rather give the job to some saps in their own levies. Pack of fucking farmboys and beggars with bent spears and no discipline.”

“Hmph. Well, bad luck I suppose. Shame too, the tough-sexy-lady-fighter act never usually fails. Maybe yer getting’ on a bit, perhaps little Eleanor shoul’ give it a shot!” William broke into a high-pitched giggle at his own joke, while not even Small John would dare join him. “Hee. What about you, Sig?”

“I spoke to Eddie again, boss. She said she had something she wanted to see us about; didn’t say what it was exactly, but I’d wager it ‘aint just the usual.”
“Very good. Shall we go an’ see her now?”
“I think that’d be best, boss. She looked kind of… flustered.”
“Huh. It must be bad then, never in seven years have I seen that woman even mildly worried about… anythin’.”
As they spoke, Osgar leaned over to Eleanor and murmured to her. “Edwina’s our main contact here in town. She an’ Sig go way back, to when they were both in the watch. ‘Course, Sig’s with us now but Eddie’s still there. In fact, I think she runs the bloody show by now.”
“So the Dauntless Hand does a lot of work for the watch?”
“Whenever we’re in town. This place is a right mess pretty much anywhere too far from the keep, an’ the watch is in a sorry state. Not enough bodies an’ not enough gold, or so I hear. Anyway, we do bits and pieces for them when we’re about. We might make a little less, but ol’ Eddie owes us a dozen favours!”
William turned to the two of them sharply. “Oi, lovebirds. If yer can manage to stop whisperin’ sweet nothings t’each other for a minute or so, we’ve got a job to do.”

An hour or so later, and Eleanor was cramped into a laughably small office with the five other members of the Dauntless Hand, awaiting the detail of their contract. To be fair, she thought, the office itself wasn’t overly tiny – but the powerfully built centaur on the other side of the dented wooden desk took up almost a third of the room by herself.

Edwina was large, like all her kind. Her equine lower body defied reasonable proportion just as much as her long, swishing tail and ludicrously oversized bust. Her hair was a deep chestnut brown, although a few streaks of grey were beginning to make themselves visible – a product of the stress of being commander of the pitiful town watch, no doubt.

“I’ll get right to the point.” stated Edwina in a stern, austere voice. “As good as it is to see all of you again, particularly a fresh face among your ranks,” she nodded to Eleanor without smiling, “a very pressing matter has arisen for which I am forced to seek your assistance.”

“So is’ not jus’ the usual, then?” said William.
“It is not. You may have heard that we have been under increasing pressure from bandit raids in the recent weeks, or you may have not. The fact is, we have. And while these miscreants were up until now mere nuisances to be captured and hanged, in their last cowardly attack on my town they made off with something immeasurably precious to me.”

“Precious how?” asked Small John. “Like a family heirloom, a jewel, some such?”
“Even more so. What these wretches took from me this time was nothing less than the most valuable treasure of my life. My brother, Alban.”

At these words, Edwina’s fists clenched so hard that Eleanor saw them turn pure white. She abruptly slammed one down onto the table, and without looking up she gave the Dauntless Hand their mission. “Find the curs who took Alban. Slay them. Rescue my brother, and whoever else the lawless scum may have imprisoned. Burn their miserable camp to the ground. Return my brother to me and you shall have your fee and more.”

Betha spoke in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. “What if he… can’t be saved?”
“Then you will return his… you will return Alban to me anyway. Along with the head of whomever their honourless leader is.”
There was a tense moment of silence. William broke it first. “What’s this worth?”
“The watch has fallen on hard times, due in no small part to the aforesaid bandit attacks. As a result we are unable to effectively enforce the law across much of the town. Even so, for the successful return of my brother and the head of the chief evildoer who thought to trespass in this deplorable way, I offer you three thousand gold pieces, five hundred of which I shall surrender now in security.”

The sellswords could not express hurried glances between themselves. Five hundred alone was more than they usually got on a job for the watch. Three thousand was unheard of. “Three thousand it is, then. We’ll get straight on’t, Eddie. Have no fear.” The six stood up and filed out, William offering a curt bow to the centaur who nodded stiffly. Even from the back of the room, Eleanor could see the tears forming on her face.

Once they had entered the hall of the watch-house, William wasted no time in gathering the members of the Dauntless Hand. “Orright, boys and girls, listen here. I don’ have to tell you that three thousand is a fuck of a lot, and we’re doing this for Eddie herself. So les’…er…les’ not fuck it up, I s’pose.”
“Inspirational, Will.” said Betha, the grim look still on her face.
“Firs’ things first, we’re going to need to find out who exactly these bandits are. Fer that I sugges’ we split up. I’ll go with Sig, Small John with Betha, an’ of course the two lovebirds!”

Sigrid immediately stepped forward to William’s side, and they marched out of the watch-house without another word. Betha sidled up to Eleanor, grasping Eleanor’s wrist in her claw. “I expect the two of you might visit a few alehouses. Purely to look around, of course.” She leaned in closer.  “Try an’ make sure the two of you get some work done~”
Small John stood at the doorway, scowling. “Oi, tailpussy. Get yer fat arse in gear.” With that, the pair walked out of sight, already bickering. Leaving just Osgar and Eleanor. He coughed and spoke up.
“Shall we, er, get going then?”
She nodded and scratched her head, but neither of them moved. Eleanor broke the silence.
“D’you… want to get a drink?”
He smiled, and her heart leapt. “We should probably start there, right?”
“Indeed.”

--

“No, no! S’true, honestly! An’ he doesn’ even move, right, he just stands there an’ says something like “Yer want to get that fucking thing away from me, love, before y’get hurt”.” Osgar knitted his brow in an intense frown and put on a comically deep voice as he tried valiantly to imitate Small John’s perpetual belligerence; it was a poor impression, but Eleanor was overcome with drunken giggling anyway. It was all she could do not to drop her spear in the muck as she shook with laughter.

“S-so what happened next?” Eleanor wasn’t quite sure how the evening had led up to this point; she and Osgar had wandered into a tavern searching for information about the bandit attack, and naturally they’d had a drink or two. Then they had expanded their search to the next tavern, and the next, and the next, until she was stumbling through the muddy street listening to Osgar’s spirited retelling of the time Betha had apparently had one too many and made a move on the diminutive crossbowman.

“Well, I dunno if our sweet, lovely Betha likes being… resisted or whuddever but she gets a look in her eye like she’s aboutta jump his bones, an’ she goes all red, and she’s basically about to pin him down in the dirt at this point, right? And she gets this ‘orrible grin, an’ says “You don’t get a fuckin’ choice, John, yer gonna touch this tail whether yer want to or not! Jus’ let it happen, John!”

“And Small John’s… he’s not had a single one this whole night, right?” Osgar held up one finger in front of his face and snickered, grinning from ear to ear. “So John’s jus’ had enough’f her by this point, an’ fuck me if he doesn’t jus’ pick up a stone and pelt it right at her! Fucking thing hits her dead in the face an’ she’s out like a light!”

Both man and lizard broke into uncontrollable laughter; the thought of the lecherous Betha’s advances being shut down so abruptly was too much for Eleanor, and there were tears streaming down her face as her spear fell from her hands and she stumbled into Osgar, who was wiping his own eyes at the hilarity of the memory. He took a step back reflexively, but Eleanor stepped into him, placing her hands on his shoulders and locking her amber eyes with his. Without really thinking, Eleanor said “Y’know… I’d let you touch MY tail if y’like…”

“W-wouldn’t I get burnt?” stammered Osgar, nervously eyeing her tail flame which had roared into life since she had begun leaning into him.
“Nah… salamander’s tails burn alla time, but the fire never harms the man y’love…”
“Oh yeah. I’d forgotten about that whole thing, hah…”

Eleanor took a step back and fixed him with her stare again. “How d’you jus’ forget when I come up t’ya and say ‘I love you’?”

“Look, Elly, yer a nice girl an’ all, but y’have t’understand it fuckin’ took me by surprise! I didn’t even know you before yesterday, an… it’s all a bit sudden, y’know? I’ve fought Betha an’ Sig plenty of times, and they never tol’ me that!” Eleanor turned away from him to stare at the ground.
“…salamanders.”
“Eh?”
“It’s a salamander thing. Well, with most lizards, but us especial. Whenever y’see a man whose y’can tell is a fighter, you challenge him. An’ the man who gives you the bes’ fight, he’s the man you fall in love with. Win or lose, it only happens once. An’ you know it when it happens.”
“So back in th’pit, when we were goin’ at it…”
“It was amazing. I felt like I was alive for the first time, y’know? I mean, I’ve fought men and mamono and animals and whatever else, but you were the first time I… it was breathtaking. Like a big rush of heat came an’ set my blood on fire. An’ it still feels like that right now.” She looked into his eyes again. She could see her own eyes reflected in his, their usual amber colour replaced by a burning gold. Her tail was blazing.
“Elly.”
“…Osgar?”
“How… how much’ve you had tonight?”
“What?”
He took a step back and raised a quizzical eyebrow. “You’re saying you fell in love with me ‘cause we fought in the pits? How th’fuck does that work?”
“I told you, it’s a salamander thing! We’re told it all th’time growing up!”
“So did y’fall in love with Will when he knocked you on yer arse this morning?”
“No! I love you! Why can’t you understand that?!”
Osgar would have responded were it not for a blood-chilling scream that burst out of the darkness, coming from down the street. After a moment a terrified-looking villager came sprinting towards them, followed by another, and then more of them; each eye was wide with terror, each face pale with fear. The sound of further screaming and splintering of wood followed the fleeing townsfolk up the road, and not one of them turned back as they ran. The two sellswords looked again at each other, their argument forgotten.
“S’it trouble?” wondered Osgar aloud.
“I’d wager so. Let’s take a look.” Eleanor retrieved her spear and unslung her teardrop-shaped kite shield from her back, and Osgar did the same. They cautiously advanced down the street as the last of the panicked villagers fled past them. Reaching a house squatting at the end of the road, Osgar leaned his spear against the wall and peered around the corner. Eleanor pressed herself against the wall next to him and he turned back to her, the merriment gone from his face.
“Three of’m. Bandits, looks like. I think they’re lookin’ fer valuables.”
“Do we take them on?”
“If we don’t, I imagine they’ll tear up another house after they’re done with this’n. Les’ put a stop to this. I’ll draw’m out back here, an’ when they run roun’ the corner you get the las’ one through, alright?”

Eleanor nodded, and Osgar grabbed his weapon and shield. He crept around the corner of the house, and Eleanor broke into a huge smile as soon as he was out of sight. Finally, a chance to fight by his side! To prove herself worthy! To-
“Oi! Where the hell’re you goin’, cunt?!” shouted a voice Eleanor didn’t recognise. Footsteps sounded and within seconds Osgar was running past her, and two more figures followed him. Eleanor didn’t get time to see them properly before a third figure joined the two pursuing Osgar. Her cue.

With a burst of flame from her tail, Eleanor drove her spear into the third bandit’s back, just at the base of his spine. He screamed in shock and pain, and turned to look over his shoulder, and Eleanor slammed her shield into him, pushing him off the spear and into the dirt. He writhed on the ground, but didn’t stand.
Eleanor looked up just in time to see a furious-looking dragon girl armed with a maul barrelling down on her. The dragon swung for her legs and Eleanor barely managed to step out of range, the maul smashing the bottom half of her shield to splinters. Eleanor thrust with her spear but the dragon girl knocked it aside with the shaft of her weapon.
Eleanor backed away from the dragon, retreating down the path Osgar had lured the bandits out from. The dragon girl didn’t waste any time on words, the enraged expression still painted on her face – she advanced and raised the maul to strike again, swinging for Eleanor’s arm.

Unbidden, William’s lesson from earlier appeared in her head. Snippets of it flashed past her mind’s eye; the weight of the shield, the blinding brightness of the midmorning sun, the spittle flying from William’s beard as he’d charged towards her, roaring. It had taken her several painful failures to successfully perform the technique, but after she had it seemed as simple as clockwork. Pull your spear back, wait for their strike at your shield, step back and-
The dragon girl swung. Eleanor’s half-shattered kite-shield was completely annihilated by the crushing blow from the maul, and Eleanor’s nerves screamed as splinters dug into the flesh of her arm. But even as the dragon girl pulled back for another swing, it was too late. The dragon girl was wide open, and Eleanor’s spear took her in the chest, parting her ribs and piercing her heart with a muffled thud. Her eyes bulged; she froze and dropped the maul. The dragon girl turned her violet eyes to Eleanor’s, the intense rage gone from them now – and for a moment, Eleanor froze too, staring into the eyes of the woman who had just tried to kill her. Then the dragon girl collapsed, dragging the spear downward with her. She landed face down in the muck, and unlike the human man, she did not move.

Eleanor stood paralysed for a brief moment. She expected to feel a wave of remorse, a sickening nausea, a tide of anguish at having just taken a life. Indeed, while she had spent her entire life fighting whatever came along, she had never killed anyone before today. Certainly, she had skinned rabbits and butchered goats for food, but never had she taken a sapient life. This poor girl had found herself before Eleanor, and had lost her life because of it. Lying dead in the dirt, she was no threat anymore. No threat to her. No threat to him.

Satisfied, Eleanor placed one clawed foot on the corpse and pulled her weapon from it. Gripping her spear with both hands, she ran to her beloved’s aid.

Rounding the corner to step in front of the house, Eleanor saw Osgar on the ground, and bleeding. A tall Jinko in a mail haubergeon stood over him, and Eleanor saw her discard her sword and crack her knuckles, claws glinting in the moonlight. Wasting no time, Eleanor stepped forward and drove her spear two-handed into the Jinko’s back. She stiffened and dropped, wordlessly. Eleanor dropped her weapon as she stepped over the body, and practically threw herself on top of Osgar, who sharply inhaled and gasped with pain. Eleanor’s eyes widened and she crawled back, still leaning over him. “Osgar! Are you hurt? That looks bad!”
“F-fine.” He grunted. “Never better.” He arched his back and let out another pained gasp, and even in the darkness Eleanor could see the blood spattering his mail.
“Don’t move, alright?! Jus’… gods, just don’t move!”
“I’ll be fine!” He tried to sit up, but fell. Osgar took several deep breaths. “This’s… nothing…” He tried again, but slumped backwards, unconscious.
“Oh, fuck!” came a shout from several yards away.
She whipped her head up to see more figures racing towards her, weapons brandished. She fumbled for her spear in the darkness, but they were on her before she could stand. She tried to throw a punch, but her assailant had her pinned.
“Get off me, y-“
An open hand slapped Eleanor across the face, and she froze in shock.
“Shut your bloody mouth, girl! What the hell happened here?!”
Eleanor blinked and stared into the snarling face of Small John, with his one blue eye. “What happened?!”
He looked her up and down and prepared to slap her again, when she said “Wait! W-wait, calm down!”
“Tell me to calm down?! You fu-“
“That’s enough o’that, John!” came a booming voice from behind him. Sigrid stood over them both, a fierce look in her eyes. “The girl jus’ saved Osgar’s life, an’ you run up an’ hit her? You do that again, I’ll hit you!”
She stared in disbelief from Small John to Sigrid, and behind her as William and Betha ran over to Osgar, examining his prone form. John edged his face closer to hers, and Eleanor could clearly see the barely-restrained fury in his awful eyes. “What the hell happened?!”
“There was… we were looking fer information on the bandits, and then there was this scream… so the two of us went to look, and there were these three, an’ they ran ‘round the corner and I stabbed one, then I stabbed another, then there was this tiger girl about t’kill Osgar so I killed her as well, and then he was all bloody, an-“
“You killed all three of these yerself?” asked Sigrid, without hiding her surprise. “Not quite,” cut in Small John. “that one’s still breathing.” He gestured to the male bandit, who was writhing in the muck and moaning in pain.
William stepped over to them, Osgar’s unconscious form slung over his shoulders. “Right. I’ll take the boy back to camp. Sig, get your healin’ stuff ready, I’ll need your help with him once we’re there. Small John, get up and get their weapons together. Take everything they’ve got. Betha, I want you to grab that one over there and take him back with us. Understood?”
“Yes, boss!” The sellswords answered in concert, and hurried to begin their tasks. From the ground, Eleanor feebly asked “W-what about me, Will?”
William looked down at her, his serious expression softening. “You jus’ take a moment, lass. Good work.”

--

A little while later, Eleanor sat alone in the middle of the Dauntless Hand’s camp with a small mug of tea. Osgar was in William’s tent – the largest – having his wounds seen to, Betha had gone to alert the watch of the incident and Small John was interrogating their prisoner, who’d been rudimentarily bandaged by Sigrid and thrown out of the tent so that she could join William in healing their own wounded man.
Eleanor sat alone.
With the adrenaline rush from the fight gone, she was tired as all hell. The drink from earlier that night had long since worn off, and she was struggling to keep her eyes open as she looked into the fire.
Dimly, she recalled the time she’d first met Osgar. She found herself doing this more and more often, except this time she didn’t recall the fight between them but the aftermath; her, waiting outside a medical tent for him. Him, wounded. The first time, it was her doing. This time, she had saved his life. The first time, she had felt guilty; it was an exhilarating fight, and he’d given as much as he got, but in the end Eleanor had beaten him unconscious. Afterwards, she had felt such guilt at hurting him that she’d sat outside the medical tent for an hour waiting for him.
This time, she’d killed two people and traumatically injured a third. And she felt no guilt. They were bandits – but even more importantly, to her, they had tried to harm Osgar. For that they had paid the price, and Eleanor felt just fine.
“Just,” she said aloud, “fine.”
“What’s that, love?” came a voice from behind her. Turning, Eleanor saw that it was Sigrid, coming out of William’s tent and walking over to the fire. Her priestly robes had dark stains blotching them, and Eleanor could easily see the weariness in her big green eyes.
“Nothing. Just… thinking.”
Sigrid sat down next to Eleanor and placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’ll be alright. Pretty sore for the next week or so, but he’ll be alright. I have a feeling you stopped whoever it was before things got too hairy.”
Eleanor couldn’t suppress her smile. Seeing it, Sigrid smiled too. “I’ve been meaning to talk t’you about him, actually.” Eleanor looked up at her, and Sigrid’s grin turned mirthful. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious!”
She looked away and took another sip of tea. “What’s on your mind?”
“All I was going to say was, you didn’t exactly make a secret of how y’feel about him. And I understand it. But love, you spooked him good.”
Eleanor could feel indignance rising in her, but Sigrid continued. “I know plenty of girls – particularly Betha – might tell you t’just jump his bones an’ fuck him. And plenty of guys seem to like that. But some… some really don’t.”
Eleanor turned to face her again. “Sigrid?”
“Look, it’s not really my business. But you ‘aint known each other long, and I can tell he likes you but you jus’ come up to him and tell him you love him on the spot. My advice would be to just let him figure out where he is in all of this before you try’n push the issue, you know?”
Sigrid got up and stretched. “Anyway, like I said. It’s none of my business. He’ll be sleeping where he is tonight, and I don’t think anyone’s going to disturb him.”
“Wait, then where’s William going to sleep?”
“Not in there, that’s for damn sure. You should think about getting some rest too.” She smiled warmly. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“Any time, love. ‘night.” With that, Sigrid strolled off towards her own tent, whistling a little. Eleanor got up herself and put her arms behind her head, stretching. She stood there for a moment until Small John came pacing into camp, muttering to himself. He walked over to his tent and began fumbling with a leather bag.

“Go to sleep, girl.” he said without looking up at Eleanor. “You look like shit.”

Too tired to argue, Eleanor trudged off towards Osgar’s tent. She still didn’t have one of her own, and she wasn’t going to complain. Entering the tent, she let her hair loose and began to pull off her shirt when she heard footsteps outside, and the tent flap being pulled open. Hurriedly, she pulled her shirt back down and turned.
“O-Osgar?”
A paw came out of nowhere and clamped over Eleanor’s mouth. A sultry voice whispered as Betha’s scarred face emerged out of the darkness.
 “'fraid not. Let’s talk, little sister.”


----



Eleanor tried to speak, but Betha clamped her paw even harder over Eleanor’s mouth as she smirked and leaned closer, closing the tent flap with her tail. Betha cocked her head to one side, allowing a thin beam of moonlight that poked through a hole in the tent to play across her hideous scar as she giggled like a schoolgirl. It was always this jarring contrast about Betha that unnerved Eleanor most.

Betha must have seen Eleanor’s eyes widen, as her smirk grew even wider. “Have no fear,” she whispered, “loving, caring Betha is here. Good to see I spooked ya though, after what William said earlier I was worried I’d lost my edge.”

“What d’you want?” said Eleanor, muffled by Betha’s paw – her claws were pressing uncomfortably tight on Eleanor’s cheek, but she chose not to protest. Whatever Betha was here for, her sadistic grin told Eleanor she was enjoying herself immensely. Now, thought Eleanor, Betha really was acting like a manticore.

“I’m worried about you, sweet little sister. Here we’ve all been together a full day an’ you haven’t made one proper move on poor Osgar. I imagine he’s feeling all lonely.”

Betha brought her tail forward, the bud hovering between their faces. “If it was me, I’d have jumped ‘im the second we were alone. An’ possibly a few more times when we weren’t.”

Eleanor became acutely aware that Betha’s tail had slipped over her shoulders, and was slowly winding around her neck. She moved to grab it when suddenly Betha jumped forward, pinning Eleanor against the bedroll and looming over her. Betha’s wings spread over the two of them, casting a shadow over Eleanor’s trembling form; in the darkness Eleanor could barely see Betha’s face, but she could easily feel the manticore’s hot breath on her skin.

“I know William’s been teaching a few things t’help you fit in with us. Such a good boy he is.”
Betha leaned in even closer, her lips against Eleanor’s ear. “I’ll teach you a few things too~”
“W-what?”
“How to deal with Osgar, of course. I’m not jus’ in here because I like you, little sister.”
Eleanor gulped. Betha’s evil smile grew wider still, and her face flushed with delight. “Yer so damn cute, you know that? Are y’trying to get him to move on you? Ooooh, jus’ imagine it, a big strong lad throws y’down and ‘as his way with yer…”
Eleanor blushed herself, and averted her eyes. Perhaps that was what she was doing. She’d certainly thought about it.
“Bullshit.”
Surprised, Eleanor looked up. Betha’s characteristic smirk had disappeared entirely, replaced by a businesslike frown not unlike the one Osgar had worn earlier when they were training. Perhaps it was something you picked up as a mercenary.
“Let me give yer some actual advice. We live inna world where there’s more’f us girls than there are blokes. Perhaps that’d be okay if they didn’t die so damn much – whatever kind y’are, mamono are tough. Humans tend ta die a lot easier.”
Unable to do anything but lie there and listen, Eleanor watched in awe as Betha spoke.

“Have y’heard the story of how the world was before we came along? There were men like today, and then there used to be humans kind of like us – without wings and tails an’ whatever, but humans with tits and a twat, right? Human girls. Then mamono showed up, an’ they vanished. Some say they all got together and fucked off someplace. Some say the firs’ mamono killed alla human girls. Some say we just took all the men fer ourselves, and they jus’… stopped being born. Point is, there weren’t enough blokes to go around and there still aren’t. Which is why when you fin’ one you like, you go an’ get him before someone else does.”
As Eleanor watched, Betha’s smirk returned. “As fer how to do so,” Betha shifted her weight on top of the salamander, trapping her limbs. “Firs’ you pin him down…”
Eleanor opened her mouth to protest, but before she could utter a word Betha leant down and kissed her. It was a deep, passionate kiss, and Eleanor’s eyes widened in shock as Betha’s tongue parted her lips and pushed into her mouth. She grabbed Betha’s wrists in an effort to stop her, but the manticore tightened the coil of her tail around Eleanor’s neck and she squealed. Finally Betha broke the kiss and sighed in contentment, looking down at Eleanor and seeming to delight in the shocked expression on her face. “Then yer do that…”
“Betha, what the fu-“ Eleanor squeaked as one of Betha’s bony claws slipped between her legs and brushed against her crotch. Even through her cotton trousers, Eleanor felt the pressure against her womanhood. Despite herself, it was already dampening.
“Ooh, enjoying this, are we? Perhaps yer really are the type to jus’ lay there an’ take it…”
Eleanor’s face reddened in indignance. “I-I am not!”
“I hope not, little sister. Make me proud.” Betha leaned in again and kissed Eleanor on the cheek, and got up – chuckling as she left the tent. Eleanor was left lying alone in the darkness, blinking incredulously as she vainly attempted to process what just happened. She thought of Betha’s words, and thought of Osgar lying alone in William’s tent, before sleep claimed her.

--

A man. A shield. Metal. Impact. Pain. Dirt. The ground. Blood. Pain. Dirt. People watching. Osgar. On the ground. His face. Her hands. Her sword.
Riya. The oni. The pit manager. Dirt. Her grin. People watching. Eleanor. Her sword. Her tail. Fire. People watching.
Riya’s voice. You win. Take your prize.
Eleanor. My gold.
Riya. Her grin. No gold.
Osgar. No weapons. No clothes. People watching.
Eleanor. Her eyes. His eyes. Her hands. On him. His lips.

--

Eleanor’s eyes fluttered open as the morning light streamed in. She squinted and looked up – the hole in the tent could well have been the sun itself, for the beam of light it was directing into Eleanor’s eye. She grumbled and sat up, massaging her temples, until the events of last night came flooding back.
Firs’ you pin him down…
Eleanor could feel her cheeks burning. How the hell would she face Betha this morning after that?
Perhaps yer really are the type to jus’ lay there an’ take it…
The words floated though her mind. Eleanor hadn’t even considered… jumping Osgar. Certainly not last night, while he was still wounded.
Point is, there weren’t enough blokes to go around and there still aren’t. Which is why when you fin’ one you like, you go an’ get him before someone else does.
Of everything Betha had said, this stuck with Eleanor the most. Osgar would be recovering from his injuries for a while, so any chance was limited unless Eleanor wanted to injure him further. Surely it wasn’t as if all the monsters they found were going to be fighting over one man. A wounded man, at that. Eleanor hadn’t ever heard anything about any shortage of men. Surely Betha was exaggerating.
And yet, even as she told herself this, doubt was already worrying its way into Eleanor’s mind. Maybe she wouldn’t make a move on him in his current state, but that was just her. Sigrid didn’t seem like the type, and Betha was clearly more interested in seeing Eleanor and Osgar together than claiming him herself, but that was only for now. What if the Dauntless Hand ran into an oni, or a hellhound, or another manticore, or any other monster? She pictured herself watching helplessly as Osgar was violated by a burly hellhound, then an orc, than an oni, then a-
Eleanor shook her head, clearing her thoughts. “That won’t happen,” she furiously whispered to herself. “That can’t happen. I won’t fucking allow it.”

With a look of resolute determination on her face, Eleanor re-tied her hair and crawled out of the tent. She stood up and stretched, relishing the cracking of her bones as they stirred into motion. Casting an eye about the camp, it at first appeared deserted, until Betha stepped out of William’s tent and beckoned to her.
The mere sight of the manticore was enough to induce a slight blush to cross Eleanor’s face, but her determination did not shake. She strode over to Betha, who swung her tail idly as Eleanor approached.
“Good mooooorning, little sister! How’s my lovely Elly today?”
Eleanor glared. “I didn’t sleep so well.”
“Ooh, so serious~ I hope I didn’t offend by offering yer my… advice last night.”
“Tell me, Betha, d’you act like that around all the girls?”
Betha’s eyes widened in surprise, but the manticore’s expression quickly changed to a toothy grin of mirth.
“Nice try, Elly, but I don’t swing that way. I do so love yer attitude though. Come in, William’s briefing everyone.”

The two stepped into the tent, and Eleanor saw the rest of the Dauntless Hand. Small John was sitting on a small stool in the corner, holding a knife with an apple impaled on it. William and Sigrid were crouched in the centre of the tent, either side of-
Osgar was stripped to the waist, lying on his back with his head against a small bundle of clothes. Bloody bandages were wrapped tightly across his torso and arms, as well as one disconcertingly covering his left eye. He noticed Eleanor and gasped sharply before immediately exhaling again, letting out a soft moan at the apparent pain of even breathing too suddenly. Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of her intended’s discomfort, and her tail flared.

“I’ll thank you t’not burn down my tent, lass.” William’s gravelly voice sounded, and Eleanor cast a cautionary look over her shoulder before meeting the tall man’s eyes.
“S-sorry, Will.”
William’s expression softened immediately at her comment, and he cracked an amused grin. “It was a joke, lass. Osgar here tells me yer tail can’t actually set fire to shit y’ don’t want to burn. A rare trait indeed. How are y’feeling?”
“Fine, Will. What’s this briefing about?”
“Ah, right. That indeed.” William looked about him for a moment, before holding out his hand in Small John’s direction. Grumbling, the crossbowman sat up and passed William the stool he’d been sitting on, taking a seat next to Sigrid. Eleanor noticed the comforting hand he placed on Osgar’s shoulder as he did so, and hid her surprise.
“Alright, lads and lasses, here’s our plan. We have a lead on th’ fine people who took Edwina’s brother, Whassisface.”
“Alban.” put in Sigrid.
“Thank you. We have a lead on the people who nicked Alban. Small John, why don’ you tell us what the prisoner had t’ say fer himself.”
Small John took a bite of his apple, speaking around the mouthful. “According t’our friend, the bandits we’re looking fer call themselves the Red Sash Gang. They recently embarked on a successful raid on town, during which they plundered a wealth of items an’ prisoners. Their leader,” he smirked before continuing, “is known as Mad Margaret of Lodwick Keep.”
Eleanor spoke up. “How’d you get him to tell you all that?”
Small John shot her a withering glare. “I asked him nicely.”
“Anyway,” cut in William, “those are the lot we’re looking for. According to this map I… acquired from Edwina, Lodwick Keep is about two days’ march from here. Of course we’ll be movin’ a little slower on account of our wounded man.”
“S-sorry about this, Will.” murmured Osgar, downcast.
Sigrid spoke up before William could. “Oh, no, love! This ‘aint your fault, it’s not like you intended to get all cut up!”
“Unless yer did,” scoffed Small John, “in which case perhaps ye’d like ta get a few more impressive scars nex’ time. Like the tailpussy, fer example.”
Before Betha could retort, William clapped his massive hands together. “Right. We all know what we’re doing. Osgar, stay here until we’re ready ta leave. Everyone else, I’ll need a hand getting all the shit ready to move.”
The five of them got up to leave, when Eleanor felt a hand grip hers. She looked back and her eyes widened when she saw that it was Osgar. “Wait a sec.”, he said weakly.

The rest of them filed out, Eleanor briefly catching the start of some barbed insult of Betha’s aimed at Small John. She sat down next to Osgar, crossing her legs and resting her tail in her lap. She didn’t know if she was supposed to look expectant or worried, but he started talking before she could decide.
“Look, I jus’ want to say, thanks for having my back las’ night. Things got a lot hairier than I expected, an’, well… thanks.”
“D-don’t mention it…”
Osgar stared into her eyes for a moment before he spoke again. “Oh, that’s right, I’ve got something for you. Could ya just fetch my bag over there?”
“This one?”
“Yeah, thas’ it. Jus’ root around inside until yer find something wrapped in brown paper.
After a moment of rummaging, Eleanor retrieved the object. It was about the size of Eleanor’s bicep, and surprisingly heavy. Eleanor shuffled back over to Osgar and offered it to him.
“No, no, unwrap it. It’s fer you.”
Eleanor removed the paper to reveal a broad-bladed seax inside a leather sheath, the brown leather of the sheath and the polished, cream-coloured wood of the handle both engraved with a small ‘E’. Eleanor’s eyes sparkled as she drew it from the sheath, the angular blade gleaming even in the dim light of the tent’s interior. “W-when did you get this?”
“Las’ night, before the little… altercation. Yer remember how I pissed off for about an hour after the third tavern or so?”
“Thank you! Oh Osgar, it’s beautiful!”
“Y-“
Before he could speak, Eleanor dropped the seax and kissed him. She did it just as Betha had shown her, deep and passionate, gripping his shoulders in her clawed hands. Osgar winced painfully, and Eleanor pulled back with a furious blush and began to apologise when Osgar reached out and took hold of her hand. He smiled warmly, the colour already returning to his cheeks.
“Yer very welcome. I s’pose I do owe yer my life, now.”
Eleanor opened her mouth to respond, but thought better of it. Words would only complicate this perfect moment. Osgar let go of her hand, moving his to softly brush against her cheek. Eleanor stared into his brown eyes, again seeing her own eyes reflected in his. She also saw the blaze her tail had erupted into.
“N-now, piss off, girl. I need my rest.”
Eleanor nodded dumbly, sheathing the seax and attaching the sheath to her belt. She got up to leave, but turned back at the entrance of the tent.
“I love y-“
But he was already asleep.

--

Several hours later, the Dauntless Hand were well on the move.  All the camp equipment had been loaded into a rickety cart pulled by a mule with a dour expression that frankly gave the mule the impression of lamenting its life choices. Osgar sat atop the mule, his wounds cleaned and re-bandaged, while the rest of the Dauntless Hand walked alongside. Spirits were high and Eleanor was filled with a sense of contentment as she walked with the sellswords, who had only paused from cracking dirty jokes, recounting embellished stories and reciting slow marching songs to drink from one of the multiple bottles of wine and mead that were in circulation among the six – save William, who still drank from his skin with the cryptic ‘S’ marking.

“An’ I rode out there, in front of the whole army, an’ I challenged th’ greates’ man among them t’face me man to man! An when that bloke rode forth, I split his skull clean in half an’ pissed on his brains!” William let out a burst of roaring laughter so mighty that Eleanor thought he might shatter the cart with the force of his merriment.

“Will, you beggar, that was never you! Ev’ryone knows that was King Robbie at Bantuck Bairn!” Sigrid almost tripped, stumbling after William and placing her hands on his shoulders. William turned his head to snap his teeth at Sigrid’s fingers and she drew them back sharply with a yelp of mock surprise, a drunken smile plastered across her round face.

“Shows what th’ fuck you know! It WAS bloody me, an’ good King Robbie was so impressed he made up th’ story that it was him! An’ he left out the brain part, an’ I didn’t even get a word of thanks, let alone a fuckin’… knighthood or anythin’!”
Betha sat on the back of the cart, sipping from a tankard. “An’ I ‘spose you wants us to call you Sir William of… of… hey Will, jus’ where are you from, anyway?”

William drew himself up to his full height, and placed his hands on his hips as he began yet another grand and probably entirely false story. “Why, I was born onna ship in th’middle of the wors’ storm the world ever saw! An’ the very moment I popped out of me mum, a bloody great bolt o’ lightning split th’ ship in two, an’ it sank beneath the waves! An’ little baby Will grabbed a piece of driftwood ta sit on, and grabbed this axe I carry today fer a paddle, an’ I rowed my own self ta shore before I was even a day old!”
Small John spoke up, typically more sober than the rest. “Will, you were born on a fucking farmstead barely a day’s walk from the town. Yer mum span flax, and yer dad worked the fields. You nicked that axe from yer aunt when you were fifteen, an’ you fucked off down the road to join the militia.”
William hiccupped and inspected his bottle for any last dregs of mead. “That is… anuvver story that goes around…”

Eleanor walked alongside the cart, inspecting her new seax. She ran a finger up its angular spine and pressed her thumb over the ‘E’ on the hilt, smiling warmly. She threw it up and caught it by the blade, admiring the polish of the wood, and returned it to its sheath just before she walked straight into William’s back. He stood immobile, not even bothering to turn to Eleanor, and as she looked around she saw the rest of the Dauntless Hand had stopped as well. Sigrid stood next to William, a hand on the pommel of her sword; Betha stepped forward from behind the cart, a clawed paw on her mace, and Small John quietly slipped a bolt onto his crossbow. Even Osgar leant over to the cart and retrieved his spear.
Looking ahead, Eleanor saw the reason for their wariness – a cart not unlike theirs was approaching them from the other side of the road, pulled by a powerful-looking ox. Holding its reins was a man who sat atop the cart, arrayed in armour of glimmering scales and wearing a flat-topped helmet with a thick faceplate riveted to it. In his lap he cradled a vicious double-headed axe with a haft that looked as thick as Eleanor’s leg. He gripped the reins of the ox with one hand, drumming on the axe’s blade with the fingers of the other. As he approached them, he calmly dismounted the cart and, walking over to the assembled mercenaries, removed his helmet – the sellswords collectively flinched at the sight of his face.

The man was a mess. One of his eyes was crudely sewn shut, the stitching loose and flapping about the side of his head. His jaw was lopsided and misaligned to his skull, a part of his jawbone clearly visible poking out from beneath his cheek. Most shocking of all was his nose; or lack of it. A gaping hole sat where it should be, the rough wheeze of his breath making Eleanor’s hair stand on end. He smiled a gap-toothed smile and poked his tongue out of his mouth; a large chunk of it was missing, lending it a disturbing crescent shape. The state of this wretch made Betha’s face look like a vision of perfection; whatever business this ruin of a human being could have with them Eleanor dreaded to think. She gripped her seax, feeling the engraving press into her palm.
“Good afternoon,” he croaked. His mutilated tongue flapped loosely in his mouth as he spoke, air whistling through his broken teeth. Nevertheless the man bowed politely to the mercenaries before he continued. “Pardon my intrusion, but might you lot be swords-for-hire? You have the look of it. If not, please forgive me.”
William placed a heavy hand on Sigrid’s shoulder, and she stepped back – although her hand did not move from her weapon. William returned the man’s bow, although his was quick and shallow; he folded his arms haughtily before speaking.
“Aye, we are. Although, t’be honest you don’t have the look of a man who needs the services of any swords-fer-hire.”
The man smiled and looked upwards with a brief and throaty chuckle. “If you’re referring to the state of my face, I can assure you it wasn’t caused by any unpleasant conflict. Merely the end result of a series of poor decisions.”
He chuckled again before continuing. “They call me Shank Roughly. I’m a purveyor of weaponry and the like.”
“A blacksmith?” Eleanor spoke up. Shank Roughly snapped his one eye to her, and she stepped backwards involuntarily. Suddenly Small John’s eyes didn’t seem quite so unnerving.
“No, I don’t make the stuff. I just acquire it and sell it on. It keeps me busy.”
William stepped in front of Eleanor. “Well, we’re sufficiently armed, cheers. ‘ave a good one.”
The man tilted his head and grinned again. “Truly, that is a shame. Still, if you don’t mind, I have a little story I’d like to share.
“A man in my profession naturally comes into contact with all manner of wondrous feats of smithing. I myself have a particular affinity for beautifully made swords. And it was not long ago that I took possession of a very beautiful sword indeed. This sword’s previous owner called her Lucy, and Lucy was as rare a thing as ever you might find. Oh, I was loath to part with this sword, and I turned down many an offer even more attractive than Lucy was.
“Unfortunately, the other day I ran afoul of an unscrupulous character who, while he agreed that Lucy was priceless, interpreted this to mean that he did not have to pay. And so my path and that of my treasure were… forcibly diverged.”
“An’ you want us to go an’ retrieve it for you.”
“A smart sellsword. It’s my lucky day.”
“Where and how much?”
“The ruffian is based out of a cave not too far from here. Just keep travelling the way I came and you’ll come upon it. Just knock on his door, convince him to surrender my property and return it to me. As for how much, I’ll offer you a hundred pieces, and you can tell your sellsword mates that Shank Roughly recommends you personally.”
William looked over his shoulder, at each of the Dauntless Hand in turn. “Hundred pieces? Sixteen each, four fer the pot?”
William received varying degrees of satisfaction from the five others, and turned back to Roughly, who was scratching his chin with a three-fingered hand. “Hundred it is. We’ll find y’when we’re done.”
“I’ll be in town. Know you of the Vile Grouse Inn?
“We’re… familiar.” said William, and Eleanor hid a small smile as she remembered encountering the group for the first time. It quickly faded when Roughly spoke again.
“Perfect. You can find me there. A pleasure dealing with you, mister...?”
“Ye can call me William. This fine group are the Dauntless Hand Mercenary Comp’ny.”
“Splendid. See you soon.”
Roughly replaced his helmet and returned to his cart. As the two parties passed each other, he spoke up.
“One final thing. Should you get the idea to keep Lucy for yourself, or sell her on… well, I’d just like to advise you that that would be a very poor decision indeed.” Roughly lifted his helmet and flashed them another mutilated grin before he left.

Once the man was out of earshot, William turned to the group. “If that creepy cunt’s jus’ a humble salesman, I’m the Emperor of all the world!”
Osgar grinned and reached over to the cart to grab another bottle of mead. “By the gods, his face!”
“Who th’fuck names a weapon Lucy? Matter’f fact, who names a weapon anyway?”
Sigrid, her jolly spirit already returned, elbowed William in the side. “Will, that axe has had about ten differen’ names since y’stole it!”
“True, but Tough Love earned its name!”
Betha caught the bottle thrown to her by Osgar, pulling the cork out with her tail. “Will, didn’t you spend four months calling it Bianca and taking it t’bed with ya?”
“Ah yes, after I met Sig’s sister…”
“You-!”
As the sellswords began drinking and bantering again, Eleanor’s eyes were fixed on the retreating form of Shank Roughly’s cart as it trundled along the road. It was stuffed with all manner of glittering treasures, just as the man had described. Polished metal shields, expensive-looking swords with jewels set in their hilts and, curiously, a rusty coat of plates with what appeared to be an attached helmet reclined against the back. Eleanor caught a glimpse of thick ropes binding it against the wood before the cart rattled down a slope and out of sight.

--

A short while later, the company was gathered outside the cave. Eleanor was quite securely convinced that this was the cave they were looking for, on account of the two pikes that framed the entrance – and the skulls impaled on them.
“Now, if I was an evil, thieving ne’er-do-well, where’d I hide?” smirked Betha. William hooked his thumbs in his belt and strolled over to one of the pikes. He gave it a kick and it wobbled, but remained embedded in the dirt.
“Looks a little dramatic just for nicking a sword, dunnit?”
Eleanor was forced to agree – mounting two heads outside this thief’s lair certainly seemed conspicuous, to say the least. “Abandon hope all ye who enter here,” muttered Osgar from behind them, dismounting the donkey and grabbing his shield from the cart. William turned to face him.
“You aren’t going anywhere, boy. Yer still wounded.”
“Will, I’m fine. It was just a few cuts, Sig fixed me up.”
Small John, who had been standing behind Osgar, took this opportunity to slap him open-palmed across the back. It wasn’t particularly hard, but Osgar howled in pain and stumbled forward. William chuckled as Osgar regained his balance and shot Small John a vicious glare.
“Hah! I beg t’differ, boy. You’ll stay here an’ guard the cart. Everyone else, weapons ready. Let’s take this nice an’ easy.”
The five fighting members of the Dauntless Hand formed up in front of the cave mouth, preparing to enter. Sigrid, Betha and Eleanor formed a small shield-wall, spears pointed forward, whilst Small John and William took position behind them – the former to fire through any gaps, the latter to bellow orders and occasionally elbow his way to the front for devastating strikes from his longaxe. It was by no means a professional technique, but it hadn’t steered them wrong so far. William took a long pull on a flask, belched and threw it behind him.
“Forrard.”
As they set off into the cave, Eleanor looked behind her for Osgar. He leant against the cart, irritably drumming his hands on the wooden frame. He noticed Eleanor’s gaze and gave her a half-hearted wave, and Eleanor would have responded had William not delivered one of his signature smacks on the arse to the distracted salamander. Eleanor jumped forward and dropped her spear, flushing with embarrassment as she retrieved it and rejoined the group. William gave a hearty laugh.
“Plenty of time fer flirting later, lass! We’re working!”

--

Minutes passed. The sellswords marched in good order deeper into the cave, long having left the evening light behind. Thankfully, Eleanor’s tail flame filled the role of a lantern, the light glinting off of their armour and casting shadows all about them in the oppressive darkness. The only sounds around them were the rustling of mail and the rhythmic percussion of feet. So far, they had encountered neither hide nor hair of the sword thief.
Eleanor glanced to her left – Sigrid stood at her side, her kite shield overlapping with Eleanor’s. Eleanor could easily see the tension on the holstaur’s usually placid face; clearly, she was also perturbed by the lack of contact with their theoretical enemy.
“Hol’ it.”
Eleanor almost jumped as the thick bass of William’s voice cut through the quiet and echoed into the cave.
Betha spoke, still staring straight ahead. “What’s wrong, Will?”
“We’ve been in here fer much longer’n we should’ve wivvout finding anyone. I don’ like it.”
Small John spat on the ground, as surly as ever. “Plan?”
“Elly, go onward by yerself for a minute or so, an’ then come back here an’ tell us what you find.”
“M-me?”
“Just bloody do it, girl.” Small John snapped at her.
“Lass, yer the only one with a light. Jus’ walk on fer a minute an’ come back with what ye find.”
Taking a deep breath, Eleanor steadied herself and stepped forward. She stood for a moment, staring into the inky abyss before taking another step. And another.
“Girl, if you don’t hurry up I’m going to shoot you in the back.”
Her mind made up, Eleanor locked her shield arm and pressed on into the darkness.
Trudging through the cave, Eleanor kept expecting to be ambushed and set upon by bandits, or a walk straight into a cave bear, or at least encounter something. She’d lost track of how far away she’d got from the others, and her heartbeat was loud in her ears. She was tempted to scream just to break the awful quiet.
Suddenly, Eleanor became aware of a coppery scent to the air. It was extremely potent, and seemed to be coming from up ahead. Eleanor swallowed hard and stepped forward, when she abruptly stumbled over something large and heavy on the cavern’s floor. Cursing, she whirled around to illuminate it with her tail – and jumped back in shock.
It was a corpse. The minotaur bore several deep wounds, and in the dim light Eleanor could see that the body was wet with blood. The minotaur lay propped against the wall of the cave, her hands in her lap. Eleanor poked the body with her spear and the minotaur slowly fell over onto her side, a bloody smear visible along the wall.
“I think that probably counts as something I should tell them about…” Eleanor muttered to herself, and stepped over the body to rejoin the rest.
After a few minutes, Eleanor was back with them.
“I found a body. It was all sliced up, covered in blood. About two minutes from here.”
“Nothing living?” said Betha, a twinge of unease in her voice.
“Not as far as I got.”
“Arright, lass, good work. Fall in and let’s press on.”
As the Dauntless Hand ventured deeper into the cave, they discovered several more corpses in various states of injury. The final one was that of a man. In a small chamber at the very end of the cavern, he was sprawled face-down in a sad little puddle of his own gore. Unlike the others, he wasn't wearing armour - in fact, he wasn't wearing anything at all. Small John nudged the body with his foot, as though he were expecting some response. He got none.
“What caused all this?” wondered Sigrid aloud.
“Never min’ that,” replied Betha, “where’s our sword?”

“I can tell you both,” answered a smooth, sultry voice out of nowhere.

Immediately the sellswords were alert, weapons pointed in all directions. From a corner of the room there suddenly burst a bright red glow and a noise like water splattering onto the ground, until it cut off as quickly as it had begun. Where before there had been nothing, now stood a woman with tumbling black hair illuminated by the glow of a gleaming red eye. She was dressed in rusty scale armour and carried a long, ornate sword with a curiously painted blade.
“An’ exactly who are you, miss?” asked William, confident despite himself.
The woman lifted one hand to her mouth and bit her nail with a playful smirk, looking over each of the mercenaries in turn the way a cat might regard a group of pigeons. “They call me Lucy. I’m the sword.”
There was a long silence. The woman giggled before continuing. “You don’t look happy to seeeee meeee~!”
 When nobody responded, Lucy pouted girlishly and spoke again. “What’s the matter, never seen a Cursed Sword before?”
“A cursed what?” said William, furrowing his brow.
“Cursed Sword. I know there aren’t many of us, but you must’ve heard the stories? Human women who find powerful magic artefacts, turn into mamono?”
Small John snorted. “Pull the other one.”
Lucy’s smirk finally faltered. “Eh?”
“Human women? Magic? Turn into monsters? Sounds like a load of bollocks t’me.”
Lucy stood incredulous for a moment, before her predatory grin returned. “You know, I like you~”
Betha took a step forward. “Anyway, miss Lucy, we’ve been hired to take you home. Come along with us an’ we can avoid any trouble.”
“Oh, my home has long since disappeared. But if you mean to take me back to Shank, I suppose I can oblige.”
“Good enuff. Let’s go then.” said William, nodding to Sigrid. Both of them stepped quickly over to Lucy, grabbing one arm each and dragging her off towards the entrance. “S’just a precaution, miss.” muttered William, staring straight ahead.
“Of course, I don’t mind. My, you’re so strong…”
Sigrid grunted and tugged Lucy stumbling forward. Small John shook his head and muttered something to himself, trudging after them. Betha started forwards, before she turned to Eleanor.
“Come on, little sister. Let’s not stay here.”
Nodding wordlessly, Eleanor followed them.

--

“Oh, my! And you said there were three of them?”
The company was back in town, in the hopes of locating Shank Roughly as quickly as possible; Small John had complained about having marched all day just to turn back, to which William had pointed out that if he disapproved of the endeavour then he was more than welcome to forfeit his pay and take a nice nap in the cart. Although, Eleanor thought, he hadn’t expressed it in quite so many words. Now, they were making their way back on foot – except the wounded Osgar, of course. Lucy had also managed to evade walking, as William had decided that as she was technically cargo she should go in the cart. Although, it was also possible that Sigrid had been the one to suggest that, perhaps to contain Lucy’s incessant flirting, which was now directed at Osgar. The situation did not sit right with Eleanor, Betha’s warning from last night flashing though her mind.
“Well, Elly managed t’get them. I was more the…er, distraction.”
“Still,” cooed Lucy, leaning forward over the cart towards him, “that was awfully brave of you, taking on three raiders to protect her…”
“He wasn’t protecting me!” cut in Eleanor. She looked up and saw Osgar’s cowed expression, and realised her mistake. Clearly Lucy realised it too, judging by her smug grin.
Lucy leaned further out of the cart, until she was practically resting her head on Osgar’s shoulder. While he looked uncomfortable, he didn’t move. “Oh, I do apologise! A strong girl like you, I imagine you could slay three men by yourself! Such an admirable trait in a woman, to be able to make it alone…”
Small John, irritable as always, interrupted. “I never found a sword who talked so bloody much. I think I prefer the ones that don’t speak.” In response, Lucy just laughed and blew him a kiss. Betha scowled.
William, apparently tired of the company’s banter for once, spoke. “Enuff. We’re here.”
The inn was seemingly exactly as the group had left it the other day, with tuneless lute music and inebriated shouting practically flying from every crack in the building. The surly-looking grouse on the sign stared down at Eleanor as if defying her to enter. She could see William smiling fondly at the sight of the inn before turning to the group; instantly his serious expression returned.
“Osgar, stay with the cart. Miss Lucy, let’s get you t’yer… er, owner?”
“Oh, can’t you just fetch Shank out here? I want Osgar to tell me the rest of his story~”
Infuriated, Eleanor whirled to face the Cursed Sword. “Look, you. I don’t know if you’re really a magic sword or whatever the fuck you claim to be, but until we get you back to him then you’re under our watch. Which means you follow ou- er, William’s orders. Understand?”
There was a long pause. Eleanor glared at Lucy, her face reddening as she tried to ignore everyone else’s staring eyes on her. Sigrid coughed and broke the silence. “Er, indeed. William?”
Before he could speak, Lucy slid down from the cart to land in front of Eleanor. She began to walk over to the inn but stopped to lean in closely to Eleanor.
“I was only trying to be friendly, darling~”
Without waiting for a response, Lucy winked at the blushing salamander and walked away into the inn.

--

“Lucy, my dear. It warms my heart to see you again.”
Shank Roughly was sitting alone at a large round table in the corner of the tavern, his helmet on a seat beside him and his hideous face on display.
“Shank. You’re as lovely as ever.” Lucy slid into the seat next to him and leaned in close, planting a kiss on his mangled lips. Eleanor shivered with revulsion; she wasn’t exactly fond of Lucy, but the thought of even touching Roughly, let alone kissing him, made her stomach turn. ‘Lovely’ was about the last word to describe the man.
Roughly returned the kiss – as well as he could – and turned to the assembled sellswords. “I’m sorry to have to ask this, but would one of you be so good as to get me a drink? I’m not without money, but the barmaids in this place seem half afeard to come near me. Can’t imagine why.”
“I’d hope yer not without money, considering we’ve held up our end of th’ bargain.” said Betha, placing both hands on the table. Her wings slowly unfurled behind her as her claws dug into the wood.
“Of course. Seventy gold pieces, as promised.” Roughly pulled a small coinpurse from a leather pouch at his side, placing it on the table and sliding it towards Betha. She grabbed it and tossed it to William, who stared at Roughly as he spoke. Eleanor glared at Lucy.
“Strange. Here I recall yer offered us a full hundred when we met earlier.”
“I’m afraid I have no such recollection. Regardless, you have my thanks for returning Lucy to me.”
William was unfazed. “I also recall we ‘ad a brief discussion regardin’ the consequences of poor decisions.” He turned to the group. “Lads and lasses, surely yer remember that part?” The Dauntless Hand all nodded and growled their assent.
“Surely, mister Roughly, you’d prefer to avoid any ‘unpleasant conflict’ tonight?” cut in Eleanor, momentarily turning from Lucy to glare at Roughly, who returned her glare and smiled. Eleanor did her best to ignore the way his serpentine tongue poked out between a gap in his ruined teeth.
Lucy, for her part, turned to Roughly and tapped him on his un-nose, as if she were playfully chastising a small child. “Shank, be nice! They went to all the trouble of rescuing me, and they were ever so heroic~”
Roughly appeared to think it over for a moment, before sighing and retrieving another, smaller coinpurse and throwing it in Eleanor’s direction. “Oh, very well. Since I am so fond of Lucy.”

Sigrid reached over and took the purse from Eleanor’s hands to count the gold pieces inside, while Roughly sat back in his chair. He gestured to the empty seats at the table with one arm, looping the other around Lucy’s shoulders. She placed a hand on his chest and grinned up at him.
“Now that our business is concluded, how about a friendly drink? It’s been so long since I was a soldier, I’m sure you could regale me with a few tales of adventure!”
“We’ve business’f our own t’attend to, so I mus’ apologetically decline.” William’s tone of voice gave no indication of an apology. Small John and Betha simply walked out of the inn without a word.

--

“Well, I’d say we can certainly afford an inn tonight!” roared William, and the Dauntless Hand cheered in agreement.
“Now, ye’ve each got yer sixteen from today’s work, so don’ spend it all in one place! Have a good night lads an’ lasses, an’ I’ll see yers on th’morrow!” with that, William took a long pull on his wineskin and stumbled off, almost pitching forward in the dirt as he ambled towards a tavern across the street. Sigrid rolled her eyes and shook her head, smiling, as she walked off after him.
Small John was back at the cart, idly chatting with Osgar as he stashed his crossbow in a large linen bag. “Whaddaya say, Os? Me an’ you, an’ every shitty alehouse in this town!”
Osgar broke into a wide smile, but even as he was about to respond Betha had walked up behind him and grabbed him by the shoulders. He winced in pain as Betha rested her head on his shoulder and smugly addressed Small John.
“Don’ you think y’ought ta let Elly do that sort’f thing now, John?” Betha turned her eyes briefly to Eleanor, and then to Osgar. “Now, Osgar, promise me you’ll show Elly a good night.”
“I-if I say yes, will ya let me go?”
“Certainly.”
“Fine, I’ll do it!”
“Don’ tell me, tell her.” Betha beckoned Eleanor over with a lecherous grin. Small John watched the entire spectacle with unamused derision.
“Elly, woul’ ya – gods above, Beth, yer killing me – woul’ ya like to get a drink with me?”
Eleanor’s tail flared; she stepped forward. “Yes! I mean, er, sure.”
Betha winked at Eleanor, before turning to kiss Osgar on the cheek and shove him forward. He was practically propelled into the salamander’s arms, and Betha walked off by herself, chuckling. Eleanor looked apologetically at Small John, whose characteristic scowl had returned.
“Well, don’ let me interrupt you, lovebirds. ‘Spose I ought to make sure the tailpussy doesn’t kill anyone.” He spat in the dirt and trudged off after Betha, muttering angrily to himself.
Osgar stood up straight, and scratched the back of his head with a bemused expression. He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it and closed it again, looking away from her.
Eleanor looked away likewise, internally seething. Why was he still this awkward around her? They’d slept in the same tent, he’d got her that gift, hell, they’d even kissed once. He knew she loved him. So why couldn’t he just say something?
Osgar narrowed his eyes in apparent confusion. “What?”
Eleanor almost jumped at his voice. For a moment, she was afraid that he’d somehow heard her thoughts. “What d’you mean, ‘what’?”
“I thought ya said something.”
“N-nope.”
There was a long pause. Eleanor was about to speak when Osgar whipped his head around, as though looking for something. “There it is again.”
“There what is?”
“Thought I heard a voice.”
“Well, we’re standing outside an inn…”
“No, like it was talking to us.”
“…ver here!”
This time, Eleanor heard it as well. A soft, high-pitched voice, very faint and almost desperate. Coming from the direction of- Eleanor turned to face it, and saw Shank Roughly’s cart. It was still adorned with all the metal treasures exactly as it was before, save an odd blue luminescence reflecting off of the polished surfaces of swords and shields. Osgar stepped over to Eleanor, following her gaze.
“Isn’t that what’s-his-face’s cart?”
“Why’s it glowing like that?”
“No idea. Let’s take a look.”
As the pair walked over to the cart, the glow seemed to intensify. Osgar reached in, tugging a large rectangular shield aside, and revealed the source of the voice.
“Oh, bloody hell.”

----

“Now there’s something you don’ see every day.”
Buried among the cart’s contents and bound to the wooden frame, the rusty coat-of-plates that Eleanor had spied earlier. Only, this time, it was occupied.
The armour, Eleanor realised, looked perfectly normal; except for the rays of ghostly blue light that filtered through tears and puncture-marks. Only the wispy white hair pressed down by the heavy-looking helmet gave any indication of a human – or, at least, corporeal – occupant.  The armour’s  hands were bound behind its back by the thick rope with another tied around its torso. The occupant’s glowing eyes widened urgently through the faceplate as Eleanor and Osgar approached. “Quick, before he comes back, get me out of here.”

Eleanor stepped forward. “What the hell’s this? What’re you doing in the back of a wagon?”
“There’s no time to explain. Just, please, get me out of here.”
The armour spoke with a high, female voice – albeit with a strange, ethereal quality that lent it the sound of a winter breeze. The speaker’s tone gave no indication of panic or alarm, but it (she?) was betrayed by the visible wideness of her ice-coloured eyes.
Osgar simply stood, confused. “Why’d he tie you up in yer armour?”
“What?”
“Why’d Roughly let you keep yer armour on after he got you? Wait, why’s he ‘ave a girl tied up anyway?”
“Please, I’ll tell you later. Just untie me.”

Eleanor cast a quick glance at Osgar. He still bore a befuddled expression, but eventually he looked back at Eleanor and nodded. Eleanor drew her seax and began to worry away at the armour’s fetters. As she looked closer at the figure, she noticed that what little of her body was visible was formed of the same cyan, gas-like substance as her eyes. The armour cast a nervous glance towards the inn.

“Can’t you work any faster? Please, that man could be back at any moment.”
Osgar drew his own knife and began to saw at the rope on her torso. After a minute of work, the armour’s bonds fell away and she picked her way out of the cart, casting a nervous glance at the inn. She quickly began to hurry away from the cart, beckoning the two sellswords to follow. She ran with heavy footfalls into a back alley, her luminescent glow visible against the brick. Osgar and Eleanor joined her, and she took a furtive look back at toward the inn before catching her breath.

Now that Eleanor could get a good look at the ghostly-looking girl, she could see just how strange she was. She was arrayed from head to foot in armour of various materials, her leather boots and gloves curiously fastened to legplates and bracers. Her thick, padded trousers were shot through with holes from which more of the strange blue luminescence shone, and the tattered gambeson and the sleeves of her chain-coat were likewise riddled with light. Only the thick armour that covered her chest, a tough-looking brigandine with parts of the large metal plates poking through the canvas, was devoid of holes through which the unnatural glow would pour. Her wispy white hair messily protruded from her flat-topped helmet, from which a thick faceplate covered her expression. More of the light poked through the breathing hole in the faceplate, and a smoke-like trail of it trailed from the eye-slits.

Osgar spoke first. “What the hell’s going on? Why were y’tied up like that? An’ just who are you, anyway?”
“I am Matilda. I’m what you would call living armour.”
Eleanor’s brow furrowed. “Living armour?”
“Yes. Never heard of them?”
“Afraid not.”
“A spirit finds an enchanted set of armour, and comes to inhabit it. It’s not that common, but it happens.”
Osgar coughed. “If yer say so. Why were you tied up in the back of Roughly’s cart?” Eleanor smirked, grateful that Small John wasn’t here to remark on this.
Matilda’s eyes narrowed. “That filth. He thought I was just some antique piece he could abscond with like any other object.”
“Abscond? You mean, he stole… er, he stole you?” mused Eleanor, as Osgar stepped to the edge of the alley to watch for any sign of Shank Roughly.
“The mutilated rat and his foul sword-woman took me from my master’s possession and roped me up in that cart. I’ve been there for weeks.”
“By the gods…”
“Regardless, you have my sincere gratitude for rescuing me from such swine. I am unsure what I can offer you in recompense, as I have no possessions of my own and my master’s wealth has disappeared.”
“What d’you mean by ‘disappeared’?”
“I cannot say.”
“Why? Who was your master?”
Matilda turned her head away. “…this line of questioning is unwelcome.” Eleanor could only guess at her expression through the plate that covered her face. Osgar spoke without looking away from the inn. “How about you tell us, an’ you can consider yerself un-debted.”
Matilda remained silent. Eleanor began to walk over to Osgar when she spoke again.

“I do not like to think of my master. I worry for what has befallen him since we became separated.”
“But who was he?”
“…he wa- is the lord of this town of Caester. He owns this town and manages its affairs from his residence at Lodwick Keep. Or, he did.”
Osgar placed a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder and pulled her a step closer. She hid her gasp.
“Lodwick Keep?” he whispered. “Isn’t that where we’re going?”
Matilda, not looking at either of them, continued. “It was until recently that I lived in blissful peace with my master. Taking the affairs of government. Hunting. Riding. Copulating.”
“Er-“
“It changed when that accursed band of vagrants arrived. They came in the guise of weary travellers fleeing some distant catastrophe – my master has a gentle heart, so he gladly offered them shelter and sustenance. He even extended his magnanimity to offer work to those who could – scullery work, stable-keeping, he even permitted a few of the able-bodied to serve in his garrison. My master’s charity was inspiring. And it was repaid with treachery.
“Distracted by his work as he was, he could not see the writhing network of lies that the newcomers spread throughout the keep. They whispered that he was a tyrant, selfish – a few claimed to be from Caester, here to entreat him to lower their taxes that they might survive winter. Anyone with a modicum of intellect should have seen this for the disgusting lie it was but, alas, my master was too preoccupied with the affairs of the town to put these slanders to rest. The increased bandit raids on Caester had commanded his whole attention, and he as well as the good Lady Edwina were working tirelessly against them. And so, in the kitchens as at his court, the occupants of the keep were turned against my good master. By the time the torches of revolt were lit, it was too late. Now the scum control my master’s noble home, and his treasonous former retainers swell their number. He and I escaped the initial violence and made our way here, when the lowlife Shank Roughly separated me from my master. I do not know what became of him after that, but I have heard that he is back at Lodwick, made prisoner in his own castle by the ruffians that occupy it.”

Osgar stood dumbstruck, scratching his head. “Er, well, that’s quite a tale. Fergive us fer asking.”
“Of course.” With a rustle of mail, Matilda got up to leave. Eleanor stopped her.
“Wait, when you say they ‘occupy’ the keep… exactly how do they do that?”
“There are close to three hundred of them manning the castle’s defences.”
Instantly, Eleanor’s stomach turned. Three hundred? She had been expecting the Red Sash Gang to be a band of footpads, or maybe a barbarian tribe. Three hundred was practically an army! How were six adventurers supposed to fight three hundred soldiers in a castle?
Eleanor cast a worried look at Osgar. From his expression, she could tell that her beloved was thinking the same thing.

--

“An’ that’s the gist, of it, Eddie.”
“I see. That… rather complicates things, doesn’t it?”
The centaur placed her slim fingers on her temples and rubbed, sighing audibly. Edwina looked even more desperate than when Eleanor had seen her last.
Then again, all of them were on edge, and for good reason. Having met up with the rest of the Dauntless Hand the next morning, Osgar and Eleanor were now packed again into the claustrophobic office while William briefed Edwina on the situation so far. The situation being that the sellswords were woefully underprepared.
Small John, even surlier this morning than usual, spoke up.
“I don’t s’pose you knew about there being three bloody hundred of them before you gave us the job?”
William shot him a rebuking glare, but Edwina merely chuckled. “Had I intended to send you six against that many, I would have offered you a lot more gold. In any event, this situation must be resolved, and you’ll have your pay as long as you co-operate. If not, I’m sure I could put three thousand pieces to some other use.”
“What are we going to do, then?” ventured Sigrid, quietly.
“Given this new information, it seems that stealth is off the table. I have every confidence in your capabilities as soldiers, but infiltrating a manned and fortified castle is another matter. No, there will have to be a battle.”

Eleanor almost flinched at the word. She was still acclimatising to life as a sellsword, and she liked to think she was doing so quite well. And yet, the mere notion of being in a battle filled her with dread. Eleanor swallowed hard, and looked around the other faces in the room. Not even William was smiling at the prospect of a battle.
A clawed paw gripped Eleanor by the shoulder, and she almost jumped. Turning in its direction, she saw Betha. The manticore stared straight ahead, but kept her paw steady on Eleanor’s shoulder. Eleanor looked back towards Edwina and focused on maintaining her composure as the centaur spoke.
“Lodwick Keep is built deep into the side of Mount-Saint-Dahlia. There are only three walls, and one point of entry; the fortified gates, protected as they are by towers either side and more along the walls. It will be difficult to assault, even with superior numbers.”
“Speakin’ of which, I hope you don’ think the six’f us are going to be able t’ besiege that big bitch on our own.”
“Ahem. Of course not. I shall rally the Caester levy, or what remains of it. Even accounting for them, and you, I fear I shall have to seek extra mercenary assistance.”

Edwina cleared her throat, before addressing the door at the back of the room. “You may enter, sir.”
The door creaked open, and in stepped Shank Roughly.
Eleanor recoiled in horror from the wreck of a man. Roughly flashed her a broken-toothed grin before turning his noseless face to Edwina. “I am no sir, good Lady. Just a humble tradesman.”
“When we spoke earlier, you mentioned that you had mercenary contacts. I should like to make use of them.”
“Certainly, Lady. For fifty thousand pieces, I shall have my friends assembled by this evening.”
 Small John spoke up. “Fifty thousand?! Yer out of yer mind!”
“I can marshal a hundred soldiers. How many do you have, sellsword?”
“What’re you doing here anyways, you creepy fuck?” snarled Betha.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but stopped by earlier to report a theft. An antique set of armour that I purchased recently has mysteriously disappeared.”
Roughly stepped forward. The floorboards creaked under his armoured bulk. “You wouldn’t have seen it, would you?”
“You fu-“
Edwina stamped her hoof, the crack of horse-shoe on wood instantly silencing the argument. “Enough! I SHALL see these villains driven from Lodwick Keep, and if I must empty our coffers to do so, then so be it. Assemble your contacts, mister Roughly. You shall have half tonight, and half after the castle is retaken.”
Roughly smiled his hideous smile, and left with a bow. Eleanor shuddered as the man walked past her, between herself and Osgar.
William turned back to Edwina with an accusing stare. The centaur’s stony expression did not budge. “I wouldn’t trust that one, Eddie.”
“Unless there are ninety-four armed men concealed beneath your beard, William, I have little choice. In any case, the treasure within Lodwick is widely reputed, as I am sure you are aware. Should we succeed, fifty thousand will not be a problem.”
“An’ if we don’t?”
“Then I expect there will be a problem.” Edwina rose from her long seat, running a hand through her chestnut hair. “I shall entreat the local nobles for more soldiers. I am sure I can convince them to aid us. Until next time, friends.”
The Dauntless Hand rose as well, grim-faced. None of them spoke.

--

Later that day, the sellswords were conducting their usual ritual of sitting around the campfire, passing a bottle of mead between them and grumbling.
“A battle, then?” mused Betha with a belch.
“Aye, looks like,” said William. “Not exactly what we signed up fer, I realise, but we’re already paid some and this is fer Eddie. So I’m saying we do it. Any problems, let’s hear ‘em now.”
Sigrid took the bottle offered to her by Small John. “I’m not sure about taking the field with that Roughly character, boss. After he tried to shaft us one in the inn, I’m not trusting him again.”
“I’m aware o’ that. But this is Eddie’s choice, not ours. Let’s just stay on the other end of the line, eh?”
“Terrain’s gonna be an issue.” Said Osgar, grimly. “We’re all going to be pressed into one uphill struggle. If they have archers, it’ll be bloody.”
“Eddie knows what she’s doin’. There’ll be plenty of time to think’f a proper plan one we’re up there.”
“I’ve never been in a battle before.”
Eleanor hadn’t said it to anyone in particular, but all conversation stopped. She looked at her clawed feet.
Sigrid, sitting next to her, put a hand on her shoulder and offered her the bottle. “It’ll be alright, love. I can’t promise you’ll enjoy it, but stick with us and you’ll be right as rain.”
Small John scoffed. “Unless you aren’t.”
Sigrid glowered at him, but he continued. “You think that little scuffle you got into the other night was bad? Wait ‘till it’s all around you, girl. Wait ‘till the killing starts. Wai-”
“John.”
Osgar’s voice stopped him cold. Eleanor turned to look at her intended, who stared expressionless at Small John.
A moment passed.
Small John scoffed again and looked away. “Hmph. It’ll probably be a load of wank anyway, just a pack of fucking lowlives cowering behind a wall. Give the drink, Sig.”
The holstaur threw Small John the bottle, slightly harder than was necessary. Osgar broke the tension.
“Hey, since Elly’s not been in a battle before, how about some formation training or some such?”
William clapped his massive hands together, his normal humour restored. “Excellent idea, boy! Get yer arms, lads and lasses, and line up on me!”
A few moments later the Dauntless Hand were standing in a rough and ready line, spears and shields in hand – except Small John, who watched the entire thing with unamused derision as he chomped noisily on an apple he’d dug out of his brown leather bag.
“Orright,” bellowed William, “the basic line is a perfectly simple an’ thrurrerly effective formation. The main idea is that…”
“Shouldn’t have suggested this, Os.” Muttered Betha. “You know how he gets when he starts teaching us shit we already know.”
“Yeah, but Elly mightn’t know some of this.”
“Pfft.” Betha looked over at Eleanor. “You were with us in th’ cave, little sister, where we stood in a fucking line. That’s pretty much all there is to’t.”
“Weapons UP!” roared William. Osgar, Betha and Sigrid planted their spear butts in the earth, points to the sky. After a second of watching, Eleanor did the same.
“Shield wall! NOW, you lazy beggars!”
The three stood tightly together, Osgar shoving Eleanor slightly as he took his position next to her. They locked their wide kite shields in an overlapping formation, looking straight ahead.

“The shield wall is a thing of beauty, Elly my lass,” explained William with an exaggerated wave of his bottle-bearing hand. “Yer all watching each other’s ba- er, well, anyway, yer all looking out for each other. Obviously it gets better with more people, as the wider the thing is, the harder it is t’get around, right? And when y’get enough people, y’can have a second rank as well, an’ the second rank can poke their shields over yer heads, the possibilities are en’less!” he giggled with a mad grin.
“An’ yer nice an’ bunched together, too, so any archer with at leas’ one eye is boun’ to hit something.” said Small John, still with the unimpressed look on his face.
“I’m glad you brought that up, Johnny boy! Find a spare shield, an’ I’ll demonstrate the advantages of bein’ packed in the wall, close as lovers.”
Eleanor’s tail flared. Osgar visibly pretended not to notice.
Small John, grumbling, took a battered shield with peeling paint and moved to stand next to Eleanor when William stopped him, motioning for him to stand before them instead. William threw his longaxe into the mud behind him and cracked his knuckles, still grinning.
“Now, the idea behind overlappin’ yer shields like that is simple. O’course, it’s not the only way to stand in a line, but it has this going for it.”
With that remark, William sprang forward and aimed a flat-footed kick at Betha’s shield. The wall buckled, but held. William smiled and walked back over to Small John.
William opened his mouth to speak, before suddenly planting a similarly powerful kick on Small John’s shield. Caught unawares and with nothing supporting him, he flew into the dirt with a yelp. Betha roared with laughter, clattering her spear and shield together in applause. William bowed exaggeratedly before walking over to help Small John up.
“Y’see? Now, let’s run through the basics again. Stand easy fer a moment, lads.”
The shieldwall disassembled and stood, awaiting command.
“Weapons UP!”
A rattling of spears.
“Shield WALL!”
A clattering of shields.
“Spears DOWN!”
Four spears dropped into position as the Dauntless Hand gave a war shout. William smirked, impressed.
“Not bad. Shift yer back foot a little further, Elly, give yer more strength.”

An hour or so later, training completed for now, the mercenaries were finishing packing away camp. The sun was low in the sky, and there were only a couple of hours before the muster on the outskirts of town. Eleanor wandered idly over to Osgar, who was busy placing a sack of oats into the cart and swearing every time it threatened to fall. “Everything going alright?”
Osgar turned to face her and ran a hand through his long, black hair. She shuffled awkwardly as his deep brown eyes met hers. “Yeah, jus’ about. I think we’re about ready to go, so there’s not mu-“
“Could we fight?”
Osgar, taken aback, narrowed his eyes. “Eh?”
“C-could we fight again? Please?”
“…why?”
“I mean, only if your wounds are healed, I just… I loved it last time…”
“Er.. if yer like, but I just packed away th-“
“I’ll get them!” Eleanor practically shouted, as she clambered atop the cart and began frantically searching for the practice swords.
“Aw, Elly, be careful, I just got all that shit in there!”
Finding them, she flung them out of the cart along with two shields. Osgar armed himself and walked into the centre of the camp, giving the sword a few practice swings.
Picking up her own sword and shield, Eleanor could hardly contain her joy. Finally, another chance to prove herself to him! She’d managed to knock him unconscious the last time they’d sparred. It was also the first time they’d met, and after that fight she knew she loved him. It was an exhilarating experience, and she’d never wanted it to end. For another bout, she was practically giddy with excitement.
Osgar beat his sword and shield together. “Ready, lizard girl?” He grinned like he’d done during their first fight – perhaps he was remembering it as well. The thought set a fire in her heart, and upon her tail.
Eleanor grinned herself, and assumed a fighting stance. The two cautiously circled each other for a few moments, before Eleanor stepped forward and struck. Osgar deflected the blow with his shield and she struck again, a high stab, which was likewise blocked. Osgar went to counter with a stab at Eleanor’s chest, and she placed her shield tight to her body to absorb the blow. Osgar battered her shield with his and followed with a brutal kick. She fell back under the onslaught.
Unrelenting, Osgar moved in with an overhead swing. Eleanor raised her shield to block it, and Osgar swiped her shield wide with his own before hammering it into her. She stumbled back with a cry and Osgar stepped back, smirking.  “I remember y’ being better than this, Elly.”
“Don’t get so aggressive, little sister!” called out Betha. “Remember, it’s not like you!”  Eleanor briefly looked at the manticore, leaning on the cart with an amused grin, before returning her attention to Osgar. He frowned, turning to Betha and opening his mouth to speak, when Eleanor rushed in again. Feinting low, she forcefully kicked his shield. It hit him in the face, and he stepped back. Sensing her chance, Eleanor stepped in and struck, but Osgar swatted her sword away with his own. She stepped back again, vaguely aware that William and Sigrid had now joined Betha by the cart.
Rubbing his bloodied nose with his forearm, Osgar grunted in pain. Eleanor, torn between her remorse at hurting him and her thrill at having struck a successful blow, turned to look at Betha. “How’sat for ‘aggressive’, Beth?”
“Don’t get cocky, girl.” Came Small John’s gravelly voice. He sat at the entrance to his tent, away from the others, but nonetheless watching the fight unfold. Eleanor, blushing at being watched by the entire group, looked back at Osgar. He spat a gobbet of blood and phlegm into the ground and grinned at Eleanor. Her heart leapt.
“If I recall correctly, Elly, I beat you last time we fought. Good t’see you’re looking to even th’ score.”
“You what? I beat you bloody, my love.”
“N-no you didn’t! I distin’tly remember pinnin’ you on the ground.”
“Only because you fell on top of me.”
Sigrid chuckled. “’ere, is this a fight, or pillow talk? Get on with iit!”
Osgar shook his head, still smiling. “Tell y’what, since whoever wins this one’s clearly better, they must’ve won the last one!”
Eleanor stepped forward again. Closing with Osgar, she blocked his swipe and began to swing one of her own when Osgar’s shield whipped around, knocking the practice sword flying out of her hands. Shocked, she fell back. Eleanor’s cheeks burned at the group’s laughter as she took her shield in both hands.
Circling him warily, she watched as Osgar retook his stance. With a flick of his wrist he spun the sword, and closed in again. He swung high, and Eleanor blocked with the shield. He loosed a kick, but Eleanor stepped back to avoid it before he slashed again, and again. With each impact, the shield buckled, until an overhead swing lodged the practice sword in the top of it. Eleanor pushed forward, and was rewarded with a yelp and a crunching noise. She stepped into his guard and swung the shield into his wrist, forcing him to drop his, before she swung it back and knocked his sword flying.
Quickly, she discarded the shield and leapt forward, bearing Osgar to the ground. She drew her seax and held it to his throat, only to find he’d done the same to her. For a moment they stayed there, weapons at each other’s necks, immobile. She saw her golden eyes reflected in the blade of her seax, and moved her gaze up to his eyes. Time seemed to stop, until the world came back to Eleanor with a jolt as the rest of the Dauntless Hand walked over, hooting and clapping. She didn’t look away from Osgar’s wide eyes until two massive hands landed on her shoulders. Numbly, she let William drag her to her feet.

“Good work, lass! We’ll make a killer of yer yet!”
Eleanor didn’t respond. She was too busy staring at Osgar, who got to his feet and sheathed his knife before smiling at her again. Eleanor’s tail roared.
“Ooh, stand back, everyone!” chuckled Betha. “Elly looks like she’s ready t’explode!”
There were more words, and more laughter, but Eleanor heard none of it. Not even bothering to sheathe her seax, she only stared at Osgar.
He stared back.

--

“There were three ravens sat on a tree,
Downe a downe, hey downe, hey downe…”

Osgar’s melancholy voice drifted over the winding, grumbling column as it slowly made its way up the cobbled mountain road.

“They were as black as they might be,
With a downe…”

Eleanor, walking behind the Dauntless Hand’s cart, took little glances up at him. He was absently strumming at a battered lute he’d got off a satyr from Lord Ponsonby’s detachment in exchange for a bottle of spiced rum, and he was singing a soft little tune as the march pressed onwards toward Lodwick.

“Then one of them said to his mate,
‘Where shall we our breakfast take?’”

Close to three hundred and fifty soldiers, man and mamono, levy and sellsword, veteran and amateur alike. All marched around and between the train of carts as the army trudged on.

“With a downe, derrie, derrie, derrie downe downe…”

William, in his armour as he always seemed to be, walked in front of the cart, gripping the reins of the depressed-looking donkey with one hand and gulping from his waterskin with the other.

“’Oh, down in yonder grain field,
Downe a downe, hey downe, hey downe…”

Sigrid walked beside him, muttering a passage from her prayer book and occasionally gesturing with her free hand. Eleanor had almost forgotten that she was of the clergy, and Sigrid’s serious demeanour unnerved and reassured Eleanor at the same time.

“There lies a knight dead, under his shield,
With a downe…”

Small John and Betha were arguing as always. Eleanor could only catch snippets of their conversation, but it appeared they were arguing over some detail of one legend or another. Supposedly, the great warrior king Arbert was either entirely celibate and devoted himself to conquest or was secretly enthralled by his manticore lover, a nameless noblewoman from a rival court. Eleanor couldn’t follow the story, but it didn’t even seem like they cared themselves. They were just arguing, it seemed to Eleanor, because that was what they did.

“His hound she lies down at his feet,
Well does she her master keep…”

Nobody, it seemed, was even listening to the song. Osgar had his eyes fixed on the lute, his fingers dancing over the strings, his voice soft and mournful. Eleanor wondered if he was playing for her.

“With a down, derrie, derrie, derrie downe downe…”

Eleanor spared a glance behind her. More carts followed them, and more soldiers – the road was clogged with carts and people, as far back as she could see. A forest of spears bobbed overhead, and the occasional banner fluttered in the evening breeze. Eleanor poked her head out to behold the entire column, and a few carts back she saw Shank Roughly sitting atop his own cart, his hand around the waist of the Cursed Sword, Lucy, as she caressed his exposed cheekbone and whispered into his mangled ear. Wherever that Matilda girl was, Eleanor hoped she was far away from him.

“His hawk, she flies so eagerly,
Downe a downe, hey downe, hey downe…”

Shank Roughly’s men seemed mostly as he was. True, most were not disfigured, but they seemed as brutal and intimidating as he, carrying wickedly pointed polearms and well-worn armour. One bore a banner depicting a large sword piercing a heart. Roughly had claimed not to be a nobleman, but it didn’t seem as though anyone was going to comment on his use of heraldry.

“There is no fowl dare near him come,
With a downe…”

Up ahead fluttered a banner of a naked centaur bearing a lance in one hand, and pointing ahead with the other. Edwina’s banner, or more precisely, the banner of the town of Caester itself. Although she was only the captain of the town watch Edwina was a noblewoman, and had taken on many of the administrative affairs of the holding since the lord of Ceaster, whom Eleanor knew was Matilda’s master, had gone missing. Eleanor thought of the prisoners in the keep – the lord of Ceaster, Edwina’s brother Alban, and doubtless more besides. When this host arrived, they would meet either rescue or death.

“Upon him comes a fallow doe,
As great with young as she might go…”

Other banners too decorated the column – three suns for Lord Birling, a pair of dragon’s wings for Lady Kilburn, a black cross on a red field for Lord Ponsonby, and the spade of a succubus’ tail for Lord Ferk. Many of the local nobles had heard Edwina’s plea for assistance in the retaking of the keep, but only a few had provided any soldiers – and only at demand for great repayment from the treasure of Lodwick. It was a gamble that few were willing to make, and the nobles’ absence themselves was proof to Eleanor of their expectations for this expedition.

“With a downe, derrie, derrie, derrie downe downe…”

Still, Eleanor was content. She was nervous about being in a battle, but there was little to be done about it now. True, she could slip away in the night, slink back to Caester and find Riya, and resume her old life beating up beggars and drunks and whoever else came along to the pits. She could grow rich, retire, perhaps buy a home of her own. She could seduce the son of some noble looking for a battlemaiden to bed, ‘persuade’ him to get married, bear his children, and live out her days in peace and comfort. But then she wouldn’t have Osgar. Then she’d never see his smile, or feel his touch, or ever hear from him again. For those things, and this life, Eleanor was willing to live.
For those things, she thought as she looked up at him once more, Eleanor was willing to die.

--

Lodwick Keep did not look like the place for a battle.
This thought occurred to Eleanor as she leant on the wooden battlements of the hastily-constructed siege camp, looking out over the field to the castle before her.
The keep itself was an imposing enough sight, with all the crenelated towers and arrow-slits in the walls that Eleanor was expecting from a castle. But that was the only thing that suggested that any sort of conflict might ever take place here. Barely blew in the breeze in a field outside the camp. Sheep frolicked in the grass. A hundred yards from the gates, lit by torches, a tiny hut squatted in the mud. Behind the camp, woodland trees swayed gently in the wind.
And yet, this contrast made it all the more unnerving. The pits were simple. Ground, lists, and your opponent. One gate. The only variables were who went down first. Out here, the salamander thought with a shiver, anything could happen.
The squelching of footsteps in the mud made her turn. Betha was walking over, her the breeze tousling her pink hair over her scarred face.
“Chin up, Elly. It won’t be so bad, I promise.”
“That’s not what I… never mind. What d’you need?”
Betha smirked. “Can’t I jus’ spend a few minutes alone with my little sister?”
There was a pause, Eleanor recalling the last time she and Betha has ‘spent a few minutes alone’. From the manticore’s gleaming grin, clearly she was too. She giggled softly before speaking again.
“Nah, actually there is something up. Edwina’s holdin’ a… well, she’s callin’ it a war council, but it’s fucking ten of us in a tent with a map an’ a lot of arguing. William wants you there.”
“Do I have to?”
Betha shrugged. “Do what y’like. But it might be worthwhile t’know the plan before we take th’ field tomorrow.” With that, she turned around and walked away. A man in a tabard bearing Shank Roughly’s livery whistled at her, and she spat at him before walking off.
Eleanor smirked despite herself. Clearly Betha wasn’t panicking. She shouldn’t either. Taking a last look at the keep, Eleanor trudged off toward the command tent.

--

Stepping inside the large tent, Eleanor made her way over to William and Sigrid. Betha, Small John and Osgar had clearly declined to attend, but Eleanor might have suspected that William would be here. And she was summoned, after all.
Shank Roughly was there, as well, with the ever-attached Lucy by his side. The cursed sword noticed Eleanor and winked. Eleanor blushed and looked away.
Representatives from the four noble detachments were likewise present, all looking varying degrees of bored. Edwina stood at the end of the long table, gesturing to a crudely-drawn map of the field.
“I am aware of our lack of siege equipment, sir,” she growled at Lady Kilburn’s commander, “but I do not believe it will be a problem. We have the numbers to sustain an effective siege, and our supply lines are more than adequate. I believe that the enemy will sally forth to attack us rather than starve, where we might meet them on something closer to equal footing. Their main advantage is the castle walls – and yet, we shall force them to surrender it.”
“What makes you so certain these criminals will simply leave their sanctuary?” asked a tall-looking man with a large moustache, decorated in Lord Birling’s livery.
William shot him a glare. “Y’ should listen before yer speak, mate.”
“Why-!”
Edwina slammed her fist onto the table. “Silence! The plan of action is decided. I am of the belief that they will likely attack us tomorrow, before starvation or fatigue sets in. Of course, we shall have scouts in position tonight and fresh supplies coming in for if they make their move any sooner or later than expected. All the preparations have been made.”
Edwina’s stony expression did not change. “I will not allow Lodwick to remain in the hands of such dishonourable creatures. I will not.”
“Er… very good, then.” said the moustached man, cringing slightly at her rebuke. “Now, considering th-“
At this moment, the tent flap was pulled open and a young-looking harpy in a linen tunic stepped in. Her claws clutched an envelope, slightly torn and stained. “Lady Edwina! Th’ bandits’ve sent us a message!”
At once, Edwina’s eyes widened. “Well, what do you wait for, girl! Give it here!”
Sigrid stepped forward and took the envelope from the cowed-looking harpy, who curtseyed apologetically before leaving. “Read it, then!” snarled Edwina.
Eleanor turned to stare at Sigrid as, clearing her throat, she read the letter.

“To the foul horse-bitch and all her sorry minions,
This castle is mine. These lands are mine. All these men are mine. If you do not leave at once, your lives will end up mine as well.
On the field or not, I can make you suffer, horse-bitch. Perhaps you forgot that your brother is mine as well. Let this little present remind you.
I extend to you this offer. Leave this field and live. Stay, and die.
Signed,
Margaret Wooder,
Lady of Lodwick Keep”

Eleanor looked back at Edwina. The centaur was practically shaking with rage.
“What… did she mean by… present?”
Sigrid, frowning, tipped the envelope upside-down. Something small and pink fell out of it, and landed with a smack on the table.
Eleanor looked at the object. It was difficult to tell in the low light, but in another moment someone brought a candle over and Mad Margaret’s gift was revealed.
A finger, messily cut at the base, bearing a ring with the image of a naked centaur.
All eyes turned to Edwina. Her face had returned to its usual unyielding expression.
Nobody spoke.
Edwina extended a shaking hand, and reverently picked up the bloody digit. Carefully, she removed the ring from the finger and placed it on her own, slipping the severed finger into her pocket wordlessly.
Lord Ferk’s commander, a red oni with a patchwork of scars, spoke. “Y-your orders, Lady?”
Edwina was silent for a few seconds before she spoke, softly.
“We wait for their attack. It will be tomorrow. I will command our centre. Roughly will the right. William has the left. Get out.”
As one, the soldiers rose and bowed before leaving.

--

Walking out into the midnight air, over to Sigrid and William, Eleanor was still struck by how Edwina had acted. Clearly, they were as well.
“How about that then, boss?” said Sigrid, a sad expression on her round face.
William shook his head gravely. “I’ve been all over the bloody world, I’ve seen all sorts of pecul’er things, but I never saw something that could get t’Eddie like that.”
He shook his head again. “Fuck me, I need t’ get drunk. You coming, Sig? Elly?”
“Sure, boss.” Replied Sigrid, some of her normal spirit returning.
Eleanor spoke up. “Where’re the others?”
William shrugged his great shoulders with a rustle of mail. “Who knows? I imagine Betha an’ Small John are havin’ some kind’f fight. Why’nt find Osgar, see if he’s up fer anything. There’s a battle tomorrow, make sure yer two do summat tonight. We’ll be with Poncey’s lot.”
“Ponsonby, boss.”
“Tha’s what I said.”
As they wandered off, Eleanor’s mind stood on William’s words. There would indeed be a battle tomorrow. She and her beloved should do something together.

--

It was well and truly pitch black by the time Eleanor found her way back to the Dauntless Hand’s tents. Briefly, Eleanor considered finding a torch, when she heard him.

“She lifted up his wounded head,
Downe a downe, hey downe, hey downe…
She kissed his wounds, that were so red,
With a downe…
She brought him up upon her back,
Carried him to earthen lay,
With a downe, derrie, derrie, derrie downe downe.”

Purpose filled Eleanor. She stepped over to the tent, which she opened silently as to not disturb his singing. Osgar sat on his bedroll, strumming the lute, facing away from her.

“She buried him before the prime,
Downe a downe, hey downe, hey downe…
And was dead herself, ere ev’n-song time,
With a downe…
Gods send to every gentleman,
Such hawk, such hound, and such a woman,
With a downe, derrie, derrie, derrie downe downe.”

Moving on instinct, Eleanor turned him to face her. He barely had time to widen his eyes before she kissed him.
It was a kiss much like the one they had shared days ago, when he was recovering from near death. But it was better still, because he kissed her back. Her hand found the back of his head, and the lute fell from his hands. They stayed like that for what seemed to like Eleanor an hour.
Eleanor pulled her head back and gently pushed him down to the bedroll, straddling his hips.
“Elly, wha-“
She placed one clawed finger over his lips, and he fell silent. She discarded her shoes and unbuckled her belt as Osgar slid his hands onto her waist. Without ceremony, Eleanor pulled off her commoner’s trousers and her underwear, until her womanhood was exposed to the night air of the tent.
“Now you, my love.”
“But the battle-“
“T’hell with the battle. T’hell with everything. I love you, Osgar.”
“I… Elly…”
“Now you.” She repeated, her skin dimpling and her tail roaring. Eleanor was positive the light from her tail would show in shadow everything that they were doing, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was the man she loved.
Osgar fumbled with his belt, quickly removing his trousers and underwear as quickly as she had done hers.
“S’good to see you’re… enthusiastic.” murmured Eleanor.
“Yeah, well. M’not exactly gonna say no to you, am I?” he said, slowly lifting her shirt.
Eleanor grinned, pulling it over her head and exposing her bare breasts, her crimson hair messily strewn about her shoulders. Osgar ran his hands up her body and took one in each hand, teasing her nipples with his thumbs. Eleanor bit her lip at his touch, sliding herself forward and over his growing erection.
“Ready?”
“G-go ahead.”
Eleanor slid down onto him, gasping at the sensation. She paused briefly, her tail blazing, and Osgar’s hands found their way to her hips. She stared into his flushed face and smiled, sliding down until she’d taken him whole. “Gods, that’s…good…”
“W-well, don’t stop now!”
She smiled again. “Course not.”
Eleanor placed her hands on his shoulders and gently rocked her hips, arching her back. Osgar let out a low moan of pleasure as she moved, exciting her even further. “Elly…uff…Elly…”
Eleanor continued rocking back and forth, relishing the sounds she was enciting from him. Osgar slipped his hands behind her and squeezed her buttocks, eliciting a squeal of surprise. “Ooh! Osgar, don’t be so… r-rough…”
Eleanor stopped rocking and lifted herself up before sliding back down onto him. Osgar grunted as their hips met, and she began to slide up and down, over and over, biting her lip to suppress a long moan of ecstasy. Osgar moved one hand from her buttock and roughly pulled her flaming tail, and Eleanor cried out at the sudden sensation as Osgar smirked in satisfaction.
“Liked that, did you, lizard girl?”
“S-shut up… jus’ took me by surprise is all…”
“Oh, so y’won’t mind’f I just…”
Another pull on her tail and Eleanor cried out again. The heat from her own tail was intense, and Eleanor looked over her shoulder as she bounced, eyes fixed on her tail, marvelling at the way the flames roared and yet Osgar remained unburnt. She felt her hands being moved from his shoulders and looked back at Osgar to see that he had taken hold of them, their fingers interlacing.
“E-Elly!”
“Osgar…”
“Elly, I’m…I’m going to…!”
Eleanor intensified her movements, sliding up and down on him with the vigour she normally reserved for combat. She felt heat rising in her loins, and her blush deepened even further.
“Elly…Elly…Eleanor!”
Crying out her name, Osgar came. Eleanor felt the warmth blossom inside her and she came with a moan, before collapsing onto him, their fingers still intertwined.
“Osgar…I love you…”
“I..I love you too, Elly!”
She shifted to look into his eyes. “R-really?!”
“Elly…of course… you’re so strong, you’re beautiful, you’re sweet… I love you, Eleanor! I love you!” he said, and a huge grin broke out over his face. Eleanor couldn’t help but smile just as wide, and her lips met his in a kiss that seemed to last the entire night.

--

A man. A shield. No blood. No pain. No dirt. His face. Her face. His hands. Her hands.
Peace.

--

Eleanor awoke to the sound of footsteps. Lots of them, in fact. And shouting. She lay on top of Osgar, where they’d fallen asleep last night. He cracked open a single brown eye and smiled at her.
“G’morning, you.”
She grinned, leaning in to kiss him. “G’morning yourself.”
“That was fun, eh?” he said, his smile turning playful.
“Much more fun than fighting.”
“Speakin’ of, we’d better get up. Sounds li-“
“Oi!” came a voice from behind them. Eleanor turned her head and saw Small John staring at the two of them in undisguised disgust.   “Get yer arses up, lovebirds! The cunts’re sallying out!”
“What, now?” asked Osgar, groggily.
“Yes, right fucking now! Cover yer shame an’ MOVE!” Small John disappeared, leaving the tent flap fluttering.
“Shit.” Osgar looked over Eleanor’s shoulder and grabbed his trousers.
“Osgar?”
“Yeah, lovely?”
“Can we just stay here?”
“Eh?”
“I don’t want to go into battle, Osgar. Not right now. Let’s just stay here.”
“We don’t ‘ave a choice, Elly. Come on, up. Get yer clothes on and get some kit from the cart, I’ll join you in a moment.

Hurriedly, Eleanor replaced her clothing and stumbled out of the tent. She jogged to the battlements and looked over the field. There was a huge block of the enemy massing outside the castle gates, and a few bandits at the opening to the besigers’ camp, skirmishing with some of the Caester forces. Already, Eleanor could see men and mamono of both sides lying in the dirt. She gulped and ran over to the cart, finding a mail coat and pulling it over her head. Slipping her arms into it, she cursed as it got stuck over her head. She started wriggling when a pair of hands grasped the mail coat and pulled it down over her body, and Osgar grinned at her. “Happens t’everyone.”
Eleanor blushed, and smiled. “Stay close to me, alright?”
Osgar’s grin turned smug. “Well, look who’s a tough sexy warrior woman all’f a sudden! Ye’ve never even been in a battle, Elly, am I not the one who should be sayin’ things like ‘stay close ta me’?”
Eleanor’s smile didn’t falter. “I’m a salamander, Osgar. Combat’s in my blood.”
“Yeah, an’ that’s not all!” he grinned, grabbing two spears and passing one to Eleanor. She reached into the cart and retrieved a shield, checked and sheathed her seax, and pulled on a pair of thick leather gloves. Osgar pulled his own mail-coat on and fastened a nasal helmet, knocking his fist against it to check the stability. Satisfied, he put his hand on Eleanor’s shoulder.
“Elly.”
“Osgar?”
“We’ll be fine. Trust me. We’ll be jus’ fine.”
“Y-you think so?”
“Course. There’s more’n six hundred on the field today, what’re the odds we both get killed?”

--

A short while later, Eleanor and Osgar joined the other members of the Dauntless Hand at the entrance to the camp. The wave of bandit skirmishers had bene beaten back, and the stragglers fled in panic in the direction of the castle. Small John let fly a crossbow bolt, and was rewarded with a scream. He grinned savagely, and it didn’t even fade when he saw Eleanor and Osgar approach.
“You done ruttin’ like a pair of horny pigs, then?”
Eleanor blushed. Osgar stuck two fingers up at Small John, then grinned and embraced him.
As if summoned by the lecherous remark, Betha appeared from nowhere and delivered one of William’s trademark smacks on the arse to the unsuspecting Eleanor, who yelped in surprise and dropped her shield. “An’ a very fine morning to you, lovely little sister! Make sure you catch up wi’ me after the battle, I’ll hear all about it!”
William, sporting a new helmet like Osgar’s and carrying his longaxe in both hands, walked over from the battlements.              “Betha, tha’s entirely unnecessary. I do recall I foun’ you watching the entire display through the ten’ flap.”
Eleanor practically jumped. “What?! Y’what, Beth?!”
Betha stuck her tongue out. “Should’ve done it from behin’, then you would’ve seen me!”

“Who should have done what?” came a wheezing, voice, and Eleanor turned to see Shank Roughly standing a few metres away from them.
“Non’f yer business, mate.” Said Osgar, his grin disappeared.
“Oh, do forgive me. I actually came over to offer my amends. It offends the gods to enter battle distracted by petty rivalry, you know.”
Small John spat in the earth. “There’s yer ‘amends’, cunt. Off with yer.” William only stared.
Roughly’s mirthful expression did not change. “Well, if that is how you feel, so be it. My conscience is clear. Good luck today!” Rougly sauntered off, chuckling to himself.
William shook his head. “Some fucking people. No decency.”
“Issat a shot at me, Will?” smirked Betha.
Small John hefted his crossbow. “You don’ shut up, tailpussy, an’ I’ll take a shot at you.”
“Ooh, yer’d like that, wouldn’t yer John?”
“No, you daft bint, I meant-“
Eleanor shook her head, her smile restored. It only brimmed further when Osgar’s hand slipped into hers.

--

“How come we don’t have a banner, Will?” asked Osgar for possibly the fifth time since the lines were drawn up. Edwina commanded the levy of Ceaster, the centaur banner proudly held aloft and fluttering in the breeze. On the right flank, Shank Roughly’s host stood, the sunlight glinting off of their heavy armour and wicked gisarmes. Roughly himself stood behind them, with Lucy bearing his pierced heart banner. The Dauntless Hand stood on the left, surrounded by the soldiers and standards of Birling, Kilburn, Ponsonby and Ferk. Their colours fluttered defiantly in the wind, and the sight stirred Eleanor’s heart.
“Because, boy, firs’ we aren’t nobles an’ second someone’d hafta carry it.”
“Alright, but that Roughly bloke gets a banner, why don’t we?”
“Because the gods think yer a prick, so we don’ get a banner. Sig tol’ me so this morning. Now shut up.”

On the other side of the field, the Red Sash Gang drew up their line. Although, thought Eleanor, to call them a Gang was a little misleading. The Red Sash Legion, perhaps. Red Sash Army. Red Sash Horde. They assembled in a wide line – from where Eleanor was standing, it looked at least five ranks deep. There were tons of them.

Edwina stepped forward. She was resplendent in a kind of armour Eleanor had never seen before, thick overlapping plates that covered her equine body while she wore a coat-of-plates and a surcoat bearing her heraldry. She carried a lance in one hand, like the centaur on her banner, and a greathelm in the other. She shouted something to the Ceaster levy, and they quickly formed a tight shieldwall. Donning her helmet, she galloped behind her line and signalled the advance. The centre moved forward, maintaining their formation. She had drilled them well.
“Right then,” muttered William, just loud enough for Eleanor to hear. “Form up then, yer sons’f whores! Three ranks, NOW!”
Man and mamono jostled for a moment, until the left flank formed into a wide block. William waved his longaxe and yelled for an advance. Small John and the rest of the flank’s archers walked behind them.
Eleanor gulped, and stepped forwards. The soldier behind her, a jinko in a rusted mail coat, walked into her, cursing. “Forward, y’dumb lizard.” Eleanor growled, but complied. Soon enough the left flank had advanced to join up with the centre. Roughly’s men remained stationary.

William turned to Eleanor. “Do us a favour, lass, get Small John an’ tell him to set loose a volley or two. We’ll try an’ make them come to us.”
“C-can’t you do it?”
“I’m tellin’ you to do it.”
Eleanor swallowed and moved to step out of the rank. Osgar squeezed her shoulder, and she smiled. “Back in a second.”
She jogged over to Small John, who stood with the other archers some metres back from the main group. “What d’you want, girl?”
“William wants you to start shooting.”
“Tell ‘im to fuck off, they aren’t in range yet.”
“You tell him.”
Small John glowered at her with his mismatched eyes for a long moment.
“Hmph. You sure you don’ want to go an’ tell Eddie yer in command now?” he scoffed, but signalled for the archers to move forward. Eleanor slipped back into her place in the infantry block as Small John and the archers moved out in front of them.
“Load!” he cried. The men and mamono slipped the bolts into their crossbows.
“Aim!”
A moment passed. Eleanor prepared herself for what was to come next.
“Shoot!” Eleanor flinched at the twang of the crossbows. By the time she looked to track the bolts they had already hit their targets. Many got stuck in shields. Many didn’t. The cries floated over from the other end of the field.
“Load! Aim! Shoot!”
Eleanor watched the second volley go. The sounds of the bolts hitting wood and flesh seemed like the pattering of rain to Eleanor, and as she watched some of the bandits fell or keeled over. It wasn’t especially gory, but somehow that unnerved her more.
“Load!”
Birdsong from the trees.
“Aim!”
Someone behind her yawned.
“Shoot!”
Across the field, people died.
Eleanor jumped as something touched her. Looking around for what it was, she saw Osgar had taken hold of her wrist. He looked into her golden eyes intently. Eleanor leant her shield against her body, and took hold of his hand.
“Load!”
Osgar gripped her hand, firmly, but comfortably.
“Aim!”
His thumb affectionately brushed across her knuckles.
“Shoot!”
A harpy was plucked from the sky as she tried to fly away.
“Load!”
Betha cracked a dirty joke.
“Aim!”
The soldier in front of Eleanor sneezed, and apologised.
 “Shoot!”
A man’s shield was pinned to his body.

“Look there, lads!” said William, gesturing to the right. Edwina’s own archers had followed suit, and now a hail of bolts and arrows struck the bandit line. More were killed. A horn blew, the note deep and clear, and the Red Sash Gang surged forward. “That’s what I was looking for, lads!” Another horn blew, two sharp notes, and the archers ran back behind the lines.

“Shield!” screamed William, “Wall!”

All three ranks on the left flank overlapped their shields and readied their spears, and a guttural war shout went up from the lines. The Red Sash Gang charged forwards, roaring their own battle cry.
“Steady, boys and girls!” yelled William above the din. Osgar gave Eleanor’s hand a final squeeze, and let go, lowering his spear.
Eleanor picked up her shield and overlapped it with Osgar’s. Her tail flared.

The Red Sash Gang slammed into the shield wall with an almighty crash. The line buckled, but held firm. “Let ‘em have it, lads!” cried Osgar as the thrust forwards with his spear.
Eleanor stabbed left and right, desperately attempting to land a killing blow. The man in front of her in the first rank shoved forwards, pushing his adversary back, and Eleanor stabbed through the gap. Her spear lodged in an ogre’s torso, and she grunted and dropped. Beside her, Osgar and the others in the second rank stabbed over their comrades’ heads, slaying more of the bandits. The wall was holding. A new bandit, this one a human, barelled into the man in front of her, and he shoved back – only to stumble forwards as his opponent jumped backwards. The soldier cursed and tried to step back when a sword was shoved clean through his neck. He fell forwards, dead.

On instinct, Eleanor stepped into the gap in the first rank. Either side of her, Sigrid and a hinezumi in Lord Birling’s levy shoved against the enemy. Sigrid dropped her spear and drew a dagger, thrusting around her enemy’s shield. Sigrid withdrew and stabbed again, her the sleeve of her robe now stained with blood. Eleanor changed her grip on her spear and, with a cry, forced it over her opponent’s shield – there was a grunt, and her spear was pulled from her grip as its victim fell backwards. Drawing her seax, she readied herself for another opponent, but no more came. Peeking over her shield, she saw the Red Sash Gang’s flank retreating, fleeing in fear back to the castle. “Hold!” came the cry from William. “Hol’ here, don’t go chasing ‘em like a bloody moron!”
Looking around her, she saw Sigrid and Betha, both bloodied but very much alive. She frantically turned around in search of Osgar, and her eyes met his. She stepped over and embraced him, shoving an elf out of the way.
“There, Elly. Yer alright.”
She kissed him, deeply, before William yelled again. “Pay attention, lads! They’re up t’something!”

Looking over the field, Eleanor saw evidence of the other commands’ struggles. Both the centre and the right were bloodied, bodies at their feet. Looking over at the enemy, Eleanor saw that the gates of the castle had swung open, yet the bandits made no attempt to retreat inwards. In fact, they seemed to move away from the gate.
“What th’ fuck are they doing, boss?” asked Sigrid, unease apparent in her voice.
“No idea. Let’s watch an’ see fer a moment.” A deathly silence fell over the battlefield, as all the soldiers on the Caester side watched with nervous anticipation at the events unfolding by the keep. As Eleanor watched, a large mamono with eight legs and a huge abdomen covered in black fur walked out of the gates, two twisting horns sprouting from her head and a red cloth over one of her eyes.
“Mad Margaret!” whispered someone.

The Red Sash Gang’s leader, the Ushi-Oni called Mad Margaret, cupped her hands and yelled something at the Ceaster lines. Eleanor strained her ears to catch what she was saying.
“...the king’s daughter!”
Peering closer at the gates, Eleanor saw a large wooden cart with a large sheet of linen cast over it being wheeled out of the gate. The bandits dropped it in front of the gate, and Margaret removed the sheet to reveal what looked like an enormous barrel made of iron. Eleanor had never seen anything like it.

What was more alarming, however, was the sudden activity on the Caester right. As one, Shank Roughly’s men turned and fled at the sight of the iron barrel. William stared in their direction, disbelief painted all over his face.
“What the fu-“

A sound from hell itself tore the air apart.

Eleanor dropped to her knees, hands pressed over her ears. The impossibly loud boom seemed to come from everywhere at once, and her ears rang as the sound echoed over the field. Desperately searching for the source of the noise, Eleanor saw a thick black smoke wafting from the end of the iron tube. The bandits around it cheered and laughed insanely, and Mad Margaret folded her arms in quiet satisfaction. Eleanor followed their pointing and jeering, and saw the Ceaster centre.
A portion of the eighty-strong shield wall was gone. Eleanor saw a red welter where it had been, and several bodies lay on the ground in various states of ruin. The iron thing had killed at least seven soldiers just like that.
She slowly turned her head to Osgar. He wasn’t even looking at the mess that the iron thing had made of their lines. Osgar was looking at William, whose mouth was agape and whose face was white with horror.
Mad Margaret yelled something at her bandits before she hefted a huge iron ball and dropped it into the metal tube, cackling wildly. The Red Sash Gang charged forwards, whooping in murderous glee.
“William!” cried Sigrid. “Will!”
William stood mute in disbelief.
Eleanor’s heart sank as she looked out over the battlefield. Their entire right flank had fled, and soldiers from the centre were fleeing as well. She saw Edwina furiously trying to rally them before looking at the state of the field and, throwing down her lance, galloping away herself.

Another titanic boom sounded, and Eleanor threw up her arms to protect her eyes as an explosion of mud shot burst forth mere feet away from the line. She staggered backwards as the dust cleared, revealing the Red Sash Gang mere moments away from them. And then the cry went up.
“F-flee! Flee for your lives!”
Eleanor wasn’t sure who’d said it, but it was obeyed as though it were an order. Birling’s troops, Kilburn’s, Ponsonby’s, Ferk’s men and the Dauntless Hand. All turned about and fled the field.
Panic swept over the fleeing solders. They fled in all directions away from the castle. Eleanor, her spear and shield forgotten, ran faster than she had in her life. Some were too slow, and Eleanor spared a glance over her shoulder to see several soldiers being set upon and carried off in the direction of the castle to await some awful fate. A knot of despair twisted in her gut when she saw Osgar among them.
With tears of bitter regret in her eyes, Eleanor ran for the safety of the woods.

--

Clambering down over the rocks, Eleanor landed in a small stream. She dipped her shaking hands in the water and rubbed her face, noticing in her reflection a cut wound in her shoulder. She’d missed it in the adrenaline rush of the battle and then confusion of the rout, but Eleanor knew that before too long she’d be feeling that. Wincing at the pain, Eleanor splashed some water over the wound and placed her hand over it. Staggering back out of the stream, Eleanor leant against a nearby rock and tried desperately to collect her thoughts.
They’d lost the battle, obviously. The bandits had procured some monstrous artillery piece and blasted chunks out of their formation, taking them apart with ease. Shank Roughly had betrayed them, possibly out of revenge for her and Osgar’s freeing of Matilda. Her beloved Osgar and quite probably more of her friends were either dead or captured. Edwina had fled the field in disgrace. And she was alone.

Eleanor slid down onto the ground, curled up into a ball, and cried.

----

They were gone. All of her friends, the people whom Eleanor had even dared to think of as her new family, were all gone. He was gone.
Just like the world, to bring Eleanor to the highest point in her life only to bring it all crumbling down. She was getting on with her new life, finally getting a taste of true adventure, and the man she loved had confessed his love for her as well. And now her friends, and her lover, just like Eleanor’s new life, were gone.

Eleanor cried.

And yet, even as she wept, Eleanor felt something new. It wasn’t as simple as anger; Eleanor felt as though her very soul had been affronted by what had happened. Whoever was to blame – Mad Margaret, Shank Roughly, even the gods themselves –  Eleanor had been deeply, profoundly, attacked. Everything that Eleanor could describe herself with; her occupation, her loved ones, her martial skill, had been upset and put in jeopardy. She didn’t just feel angry. She felt insulted.

Eleanor wiped away the last of her tears; even if she’d wanted to cry further, no more would come. Instead, Eleanor felt a swelling of indomitable determination in her chest. She stood and drew her seax.
“I’ll put iron upon my heart,” she declared, “and I’ll not remove it until I see Osgar again.”
Survival, the first priority. She couldn’t find him if she was dead.

Wandering through the forest, Eleanor soon found what she was looking for. A young tree, not tall but with strong branches, squatted in the shade of a much taller oak. Grabbing a heavy stone, Eleanor hammered away at one of the branches until it was weak enough that she could pull it off. It was about six feet long, not perfectly straight but without too many bumps and knots.
That would do for a spear.
Dragging the branch back the river, Eleanor sat down on a rock and unsheathed her seax. The way the afternoon sunlight glimmered on the blade enraptured her, and she saw her amber eyes reflected in its polished surface. She recalled the same sight days before, after her and Osgar had fought again.
Eleanor tore her gaze away from the blade and squeezed shut her eyes. She tried not to think about watching Osgar be dragged away toward the castle to become the prisoner of that horrific beast, Mad Margaret. Who knows what she or those bandits would do to him, if they hadn’t killed him already? Maybe they’d torture him. Maybe they’d make him fight the other prisoners for sport. And there were a lot of mamono among the Red Sash Gang. Maybe they’d do the unthinkable.
Eleanor shook her head. One thing at a time. She began to slice at the end of the branch with her seax. One thing at a time, thought Eleanor, as she watched the vicious point form.
And yet, while she sharpened the spear, her mind found its way to other things anyway. What was she to do next? Returning to Ceaster seemed unlikely – the town was much too far away to travel by herself without food; and even if she made it to Caester, what then? Nobody would follow her back.
Although, attempting to rescue Osgar by herself was equally unlikely. Even if she could get inside Lodwick Keep by herself, that still left almost three hundred bandits between Eleanor and her beloved.
Perhaps, she thought, the best course of action was to wait for a while. Survive on the edge of the battlefield, scout the castle, and see if an opportunity presented itself. It wasn’t as though she had much of a choice in the matter.
In terms of survival, the first thing to organise was food. Eleanor wasn’t confident about eating wild berries, although perhaps she could harvest some nettles for soup, assuming she could find something to boil it in. Fire, at least, wouldn’t be a problem.
With a final slice of her seax, Eleanor sheathed it and inspected her new spear. A little crooked and obviously without a steel tip, but it would serve for now. Briefly, she considered sneaking onto the battlefield and scavenging a real one. Something to do tonight, perhaps.
Shelter was the next thing to consider. Eleanor got up and, hefting her spear, walked off in the same direction she had before. After a few moments of wandering, Eleanor came upon the same tree she’d seen before, its missing branch now the spear Eleanor clutched. It had several other branches of similar size and length, as did many of the young trees around here. The picture of a small round hut began to form in Eleanor’s mind.
Over the next few hours, Eleanor combed the forest for branches and logs to create her shelter. By the time the sun had set, Eleanor stood before a round wooden hut set into the ground, set in the shade of the large oak tree and concealed with moss and leaves. It was hardly the Vile Grouse, but it’d do.

--

The pale moon rose high in the night sky as Eleanor crept towards the battlefield. As well as she could do so, anyway, with her flaming tail behind her. She desperately willed it to dim, but to no avail.

As she reached the edge of the forest, Eleanor realised that her endeavour might be a little more challenging than first she had thought. The battlefield was littered with bodies, most likely killed during the rout. Not many had made it into the forest. Some of the bodies were in shocking states of ruin; victims of that huge iron device, no doubt. Carrion birds fluttered and cried overhead. What made Eleanor most uneasy, however, were the Red Sash Gang.

Looters, alone or in groups, combed the battlefield picking equipment from bodies. Several pulled carts behind them, overflowing with stolen weapons and armour. Many carried lanterns that swung to and fro, their shine reflecting off of torn mail and bloodied swords like a macabre light show.

Ducking behind a tree, Eleanor thought quickly. For the moment, the looters remained close to the castle – however, she would still have to sneak quite far towards the castle to reach any potential equipment. The biggest problem would be her tail – it burned like one of the lanterns the looters carried with them, and the closer she got the more likely she would be detected.

Growling in frustration, Eleanor squatted behind the tree and, resting her spear against it, pulled off her shirt. Wincing at the chill of the night air against her bare skin, Eleanor twisted her hips and slipped her tail into the shirt. She knew it wouldn’t catch fire – salamanders’ impressive ability to burn only what they wanted to would assist her here. Curling her tail back on itself and tying the sleeves of her shirt together, Eleanor hid her tail as best she could. It didn’t smother all the light, but she hoped it would make enough of a difference.

Eleanor crouched low and slipped out from behind the tree.  Gripping her spear with both hands, she crept across the battlefield as quickly as she dared. As she got closer, Eleanor began to hear the bandits; bickering over equipment, gloating about the battle, laughing cruelly. Eleanor flattened herself to the earth and crawled ever closer until she reached the nearest body. A kobold, from the look of it. The dead girl bore a peaceful, almost serene expression; jarringly contrasted with the crossbow bolt lodged firmly in her back. Probably killed as she tried to flee, like most of them. The kobold wasn’t even wearing any armour, only a simple tunic and trousers. A bow sat in the mud by her side – not what Eleanor was looking for.

Eleanor took a deep breath and crawled forward. Several few metres from the kobold’s body lay another corpse; this one of a man, in what looked like heavy armour. Silently creeping past several other bodies, Eleanor soon reached her target. The man was huge; had he stood he would have towered over Eleanor. Her heart skipped a beat as she realised that it could be William – she hadn’t seen him get away. Her stomach turned as she thought of discovering his corpse, and her tail flared involuntarily. Panicking, she threw herself down and covered her head with her arms. After a moment, she risked a glance around; if the bandits saw her, they gave no sign. Wriggling over to the body, Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief as she saw that it wasn’t her friend.

The dead man was pitched face-down in the mud, and arrayed in a thick brigandine that covered his body, with mail sleeves and chausses that protected his limbs. He wore a gleaming bascinet, so proudly polished that Eleanor could see her eyes reflected in its sheen. Curiously, Eleanor couldn’t see any wounds upon him and, placing her spear by her side, rolled him over.

The first thing Eleanor noticed was who he was; he had been the moustached commander of Lord Birling’s troops who had argued with Edwina in the command tent the night before the battle. The second thing Eleanor saw was how he had died – his sturdy-looking brigandine had a deep dent in the front of it, just below the man’s heart. Placing a trembling claw to the wound, Eleanor realised what had happened to him; one of the iron thing’s explosive shells had blown a sizeable chunk of stone shrapnel into the man’s chest. His expensive brigandine had folded like paper under the impact.

Grimacing at the fate of the dead man, Eleanor reached over his body and retrieved his weapon, an arming sword with a heavy-looking blade. She retrieved his shield as well, a kite shape like hers but with Lord Birling’s heraldry of three suns painted on its surface.
“Sorry about this, sir,” muttered Eleanor as she pulled his gleaming helmet off his head and placed it on her own. “But I s’pose you don’t need these anymore.” She made a mental note to return the equipment to Lord Birling, if she ever made it back to Ceaster.
Helmet donned and sword and shield clutched tightly in her claws, Eleanor turned around and began to creep back in the direction of the forest. Initially she crawled as she had before – the bandits were still very much present on the field. As soon as she dared, however, Eleanor got up and took furtive, sneaking steps away from the castle.

Risking a glance back towards the bandits, Eleanor saw that they had mostly filled their cart. A heaving pile of pilfered equipment lay inside it; sometimes even the body of a better-armoured soldier was thrown amongst the loot where the bandits clearly hadn’t bothered to remove what they wanted. Even though it was little different from what Eleanor was doing, the sight still made her snarl with contempt.

Suddenly, Eleanor stumbled forward as her foot caught on something on the ground. Cursing, she looked to the ground and saw that her claw had caught in some frayed chainmail belonging to a dead chimera. Eleanor tried to pull her foot out, and gasped in pain as the barbed metal of the torn rings dug into her foot. The salamander cast a nervous glance back towards the bandits before crouching down to examine her foot. In the low light it was hopeless trying to see where the rings that caught her foot were – smothered by the shirt, Eleanor’s tail was of no help. She could see what she had to do.

Taking a deep breath, Eleanor reached behind her and pulled the shirt off of her tail, exposing the flame to the night air. Immediately her surroundings lit up, and Eleanor quickly set to work freeing her foot.

Holding her tail close to her foot, Eleanor used her seax to pry the offending rings out of the way, wincing in pain as one by one they came free from her foot. Halfway done, Eleanor almost jumped as she heard a raised voice carry over from the direction of the castle.
Eleanor worked hurriedly, having removed the last ring and, holding the torn mail away with the blade of her seax, pulled her claw free. She would have taken another look back towards the castle, but as she went to do so a crossbow bolt flew out of the darkness and stabbed into the earth a few feet away from her. Eleanor yelped in surprise and quickly grabbed the sword and shield she’d taken, and briefly turned around to retrieve her shirt. Even as she did so, another crossbow bolt landed near her. Eleanor swore and took off running towards the forest, and she did not look back until she had reached the safety of the trees.

Eleanor’s new helmet slid down over her face as she leant against a tree, catching her breath. She’d lost her improvised spear, but gained a quality sword and some protection. More than worth the dangerous excursion onto the battlefield – at least Eleanor could now pursue her quest with more than a sharpened branch at her disposal.
Although, she quickly realised, the spear wasn’t the only thing she’d lost. In her haste to escape the bandits, Eleanor hadn’t had time to retrace her way back to where she’d left the forest – and she had no clue where her shelter was.
“Shit. That’s… shit.”
Pulling her shirt on, Eleanor took her salvaged equipment and trudged deeper into the forest.

--

After almost an hour of searching, Eleanor found something promising. Her tail illuminated a small cave that squatted in the side of a steep hill – Eleanor couldn’t hope to see the top in the darkness, but she imagined that it must be of considerable height. Clambering over smooth boulders, Eleanor approached the cave with her sword drawn. The cave remained lifeless.

Cautiously, Eleanor stepped inside, her shield held tight to her body and her sword at the ready. After only a few steps, Eleanor became aware that she wasn’t alone in the cave.

Out of the darkness ahead came a low, guttural sound, like some animal grunting or growling. Silently, Eleanor cursed her luck – there must be a wolf or perhaps a cave bear that made its home further inside. She turned to leave when, seemingly out of nowhere, a high, giggling laugh floated out of the cave towards Eleanor. Unnerved, she held her sword out.

The low sound continued, and Eleanor resolved to check it out. As she crept forward, Eleanor was reminded of the cave on the road from Ceaster – where they had found the unpleasant sword-woman, Lucy. That time, Eleanor had advanced alone into a pitch-black cave. Although, that time, there hadn’t been any unsettling noises to set Eleanor even more on edge than she already was.

A few metres into the cave, Eleanor saw a light dimly flickering at the end of the narrow tunnel. It looked as though the source, perhaps a torch, was around a corner. Eleanor crouched and crept towards it – the sounds coming from within the cave became louder and louder as she advanced. After a few seconds, Eleanor arrived at the corner and peered around it to catch a glimpse of whatever it was that shared this cave with her.

Around the corner, Eleanor saw, was a wide, room-like clearing lit by a torch as well as a sputtering fire in the middle of the room. – Eleanor realised that this cave must have been dug, like the past one. What was most of interest to her, however, were the two figures who occupied the room.

A human man and a manticore, her sitting on his legs while she – Eleanor blushed as she saw the characteristic tailpussy of the manticore clasped over the man’s penis. The man struggled half-heartedly, but made no real attempt to get the manticore off of him. His struggles only seemed to please the manticore, her crimson eyes gleaming and a smug smile on her scarred face.

Eleanor gasped and stepped back with a start – it was, unmistakeably, Betha. But who was the man she was with? Eleanor peered around the corner again, and her eyes widened as both the lovers stared back at her. Betha’s grin grew even wider, and Eleanor moved her eyes downward until they met the snarling, fuming face of Small John.

Eleanor stared.
Betha looked away from Eleanor, blushing.
Small John looked so explosively livid that veins bulged in his forehead.
Stepping out from behind the corner, Eleanor tried her best to defuse the situation.
“E-Evening.”
Even on his back with a smirking manticore on top of him, Small John was possibly the angriest Eleanor had ever seen the man.
“Fuck off right now.”
“I didn’t mean t-“
“Fuck off right now,” he growled, “an’ come back in about twenty minutes so I can kill you.”
Mutely, Eleanor tucked her sword into her belt and plodded back along the tunnel. She didn’t even make it halfway before she heard Betha burst into laughter.

--

Not long after, Eleanor sat on the cave floor, in awkward silence. Small John sat on a stool, stirring some stew with a knife; he had, as he’d put it, ‘negotiated’ some salted meat from one of Lady Kilburn’s soldiers before the battle, and along with some water and carrot was preparing an evening meal. He had snatched the shiny helmet from Eleanor to use as a pot, but she chose not to complain. The stew bubbled away, brown meat clustered at the surface; Small John stared into the pot, muttering to himself. Betha watched him with an air of amusement.
“Y’sure there’s enough fer all three of us, John?” said Betha, the smirk still not gone from her face.
 “I didn’t know we were ‘aving company.” Small John took his mismatched eyes off of the pot to glower at Eleanor, who shrank back under his furious glare.
“So… how long’ve you two been…er…”
Betha looked over at Eleanor. “Oh, John’s been all over me from th’first!” the manticore grinned, swaying her tail exaggeratedly. “Haven’t ya, John?”
“Piss off, tailpussy,” He snarled, turning his glare to the manticore. “You started it. Yer lucky I didn’t shoot you in the tits the first time yer snuck into my tent.”
Eleanor raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I jus’ never… you two didn’t seem like y’even liked each other.”
“We don’t.” remarked Small John, his eyes returning to the stew-pot.
Betha pouted. “Oh, don’ be like that, Johnny! Last time y’even said you looooooved me!”
Betha closed her eyes and bit her lip, lowering her voice in a mocking impression of the crossbowman. “Mmf...Beth...oh...B...Beth...don’ stop…”
In one smooth motion, Small John withdrew the knife from the pot and hurled it at Betha. She dove to the side, laughing, and Eleanor couldn’t suppress a smile of her own. Small John glared at the two with what looked like genuine fury, but Eleanor suspected it wasn’t. At least, not entirely.
He unsheathed his dagger and resumed stirring the stew. “Women. Why do I even bother with ‘em?”
After a moment, he looked up at Betha. “An’ don’ call me fucking ‘Johnny’, either!” Fuming, he got up and walked over to a leather bag lying in the corner, rummaging around until he found three wooden bowls, angrily throwing them down by the cooking pot. Eleanor thought he was about to explode.
She turned to Betha. “Does… do the others know?”
Betha shrugged. “Dunno. Probably. I think they could’ve guessed. I’m surprised you didn’t, tell y’the truth.”
“Who gives a fuck, anyway?” snapped Small John, scooping the stew into each bowl. He marched over and thrust one into Eleanor’s hands – she winced as a little of the boiling stew splashed her, but thanked him.

Small John didn’t acknowledge her, instead wordlessly holding out a bowl to Betha, who took the bowl and blew him a kiss. Small John stuck two fingers up at her in response, picking up his own and stabbing chunks of meat with his dagger. Betha did the same, and Eleanor unsheathed her seax and began to eat. She was loath to stain the blade’s lustre, but she didn’t have a choice. Besides, her new helmet was going to need a clean anyway.

“Sig an’ Will grapple as well. They were afore we were.” He chuckled. “They’re prob’ly fucking right now.”
There was a moment of silence.
“We lost the battle.” murmured Eleanor.
Nobody spoke.
“We-“
“Shut up an’ eat.” said Betha. “We’ll talk about it later.”
 “But what if-“
“Stop.” growled Small John.
Betha and Small John expressionlessly ate their stew, not even glancing at each other.
Numbly, Eleanor did the same.

--

“When’d you find this place?” asked Eleanor. Small John had taken the helmet down to the river to wash it, along with the bowls and knives. He had also taken the torch with him, leaving the cave lit only by the dying embers of the fire and Eleanor’s smouldering tail.
Betha took a pull on her wineskin before she responded. “Right after we… er, well, afterwards, I saw John run this way, an’ so…” she trailed off.
The only sound was the wind howling about the entrance of the cave.
“Hey, remember las’ time me an’ you were alone in th’ dark together?” said Betha. Despite their situation, Eleanor chuckled.
“I hope Small John doesn’t mind you sneaking into girl’s tents an’ accosting them like that.”
“Hah! Filthy beggar prob’ly whacks off t’ the thought’f it!”
Just then came a clattering noise, followed by almost a full minute of swearing. The tide of profanity slowly came nearer as finally Small John rounded the corner and threw the heap of equipment into a messy pile. He walked past Eleanor and retrieved a piece of firewood from a small pile in the corner.
“Don’ keep the fire going, you silly bitch.” he growled at Betha.
“Oh no, yer not angry with me are yer?” said Betha in mock timidity, placing her paws over her heart and folding her wings. “I never want to annoy ya, Johnny…”
“All yer good for is annoyin’ me.” Small John held the piece of wood to the embers, swearing when it failed to catch. He chucked it in Eleanor’s direction. “Light this.”
The wood clattered to the cave floor at Eleanor’s feet. “Why’re you such a bastard, Small John?” she scoffed.
The man finally looked at Eleanor, baring his teeth. Betha spoke before he could. “She raises a fine question!”
“Both of yer shut yer cock-traps. We got fucking killed yesterday. We’ve lost Will an’ Sig an’ Os. We’ve got fuck-all gear, barely any food, no money, an’ no plan. So forgive me fer bein’ a little fucking agitated when all I want is a fire!”

Eleanor shrank back from his outburst. Even Betha looked cowed. Small John turned away from the two of them and spat into the firepit, the gobbet of saliva hissing as it met the hot ashes.
Eleanor stared at him. “We don’t know they’re d-“
“Course they’re fucking dead.”
“They were taking prisoners after the lines broke. They took Osgar. He’s alive.”
“Bullshit.”
“I saw it. He’s alive, an’ Will and Sig might be as well.”
Small John was silent. Betha looked up at Eleanor.
Eleanor kept staring at Small John. “We won’t know until we get inside the castle.”
Both of them looked at Eleanor, incredulous. “The fuck’re you on about, girl?” snarled Small John.
“You wanted a plan? Here’s your plan. We get inside the castle and find the others.”
“How’re we going t’do that?” asked Betha, her eyes wide.
“Those lot are still looting the field, right? It’s full of bodies that they’re jus’ loading onto wagons and bringing inside.”
The two sellswords looked expectantly at Eleanor.
“I think, with some assistance, they might accidentally throw three living soldiers in amongst the bodies and bring said soldiers past th’gate…”
“Won’ work.” said Small John pointedly. “They check that yer dead afore they sling yer on th’cart. An’ if they find you breathing, well…”
“No, I like that idea,” said Betha, scratching her chin with a claw, “if we could jus’ distract them fer a moment, we could sneak onto the cart an’ the stupid bastards would drag us right in!”
“There’s no way in hell,” muttered Small John, “that we’re going to manage that.”

--

Eleanor awoke to the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the voices of the Red Sash Gang. She lay motionless on the field outside Lodwick Keep, the morning mist gently dimpling her skin as she waited for the bandits to approach. She looked to her left – there Betha lay, her mane fluttering in the gentle breeze and her wings folded behind her. The manticore flicked her eyes around, searching for any sign of the bandits – she momentarily looked at Eleanor, and gestured with her head in the direction of the keep. Not long now.

Eleanor, resisting the urge to rub her sleep-tired eyes, looked over to the castle. Even in the gloom of the morning fog, Lodwick Keep was an imposing sight, as was the mighty mountain behind it. Somewhere behind those walls, thought Eleanor, was Osgar. And between them were the accursed vagabonds. The Red Sash Gang. Mad Margaret.

Soon enough, the mist revealed Eleanor’s target. Three looters, two grim-looking men and a red oni with rippling muscles that pulled a cart already laden with stolen goods. Eleanor spied a few bodies in there as well.

Eleanor watched them wander by, and for a moment she worried that they wouldn’t stop. The bandits chattered amongst themselves, occasionally laughing, but showed no intention of stopping. Eleanor risked a glance over at Betha – her worried expression told Eleanor the same thing. Betha nodded.

Eleanor looked back at the bandits – they were moving away steadily. Eleanor, staring in their direction, made her move.
“Caw!” she cried. “Caw!”
Instantly, the bandits stopped. They looked around, hands on their weapons – clearly they knew they hadn’t heard an actual bird.
“Caw!” she cried again.
A crossbow bolt pierced the mist and took the oni in the shoulder. She cursed and dropped the cart, rattling the looted equipment inside, as the other two bandits drew their weapons and looked about furiously for the source of the projectile.
Another bolt flew out of the gloom and embedded itself in the cart. The oni grabbed a large shield from the cart, readying it in the direction of the bolts, and with her wounded arm gestured at the other two bandits. The three bandits rushed off, roaring.
Eleanor looked back at Betha. “Now!” she whispered.
Betha got up and sprinted towards the cart, and Eleanor followed her. Betha reached it first, and dragged a body off of the pile to lie down where it had been. Urgently, she gestured for Eleanor to do the same.

Eleanor wrapped her arms around the discarded corpse’s chest and dragged it over. The dead man was young-looking, with yellowish stubble covering a square jaw – the rest of his head was obscured by his olive green hood. A quiver of arrows, slung from his belt, flopped about his leg as Eleanor dragged him. Holding tightly, she flung herself into the cart on top of Betha. The manticore grunted, but didn’t cry out. Eleanor whispered an apology while she pulled the corpse over the two of them and began to cover herself with stolen equipment. With a bit of luck, the bandits wouldn’t notice the difference – Eleanor’s tail was well concealed, this time underneath a thick woollen blanket.
Shortly thereafter, the bandits returned. Eleanor heard them talking.
“What’ll be done wi’im?” asked one of the men.
“Hmph. Hopefully the cunt gets thrown in the pits. At least that one could fight.”
“After trying that?” chuckled the oni, her voice gravelly, “Fuck no. He’ll suffer for that.”
“You don’ mean-“
“Indeed I do. He’s goin’ to Maggie.”
The bandits all laughed again – a throaty, sinister laugh. The oni flung the shield onto the cart, blotting out Eleanor’s vision.
“I ‘ope he lasts longer than th’ last one.”

--

The armour and weapons rattled and clanked around Eleanor as the cart was drawn onwards. Half her mind hardly dared to breathe lest the bandits discover her, while the other half told her she could sing at the top of her lungs and it would still be drowned by this metal cacophony. Beneath her, Betha lay still – although Eleanor swore she could feel the manticore’s rapid heartbeat.

Abruptly, the cart stopped. Eleanor felt the massive weight of the oni disembark, and the two men as well. Eleanor pushed a small scaled gauntlet out of her way and peered out through a gap in the cart’s frame. It seemed as though the cart had been left in the castle’s stables, the few bandits milling about in the courtyard all had their attention on something else; Eleanor suppressed a gasp when she saw the oni unsling Small John’s unconscious form from her shoulder.
Having done so, she pulled the crossbow bolt from it and threw it aside, chuckling. The oni gestured at another bandit who stood by a well – the succubus brought over a pail of water and dumped it over Small John’s head. He woke, spluttering, and lunged at the succubus; he barely got to his feet before the oni restrained him. The bandits laughed maliciously and spat at his feet.

A rustling below her told Eleanor that Betha was also watching the display. “You seeing this, Elly?” she asked, her voice grim. Eleanor was about to respond when suddenly the bandits fell silent. Out of the large inner gate leading to the bailey strode Mad Margaret herself.
The ushi-oni wore a silken robe of purple and gold, although it did not fit her well; clearly, it had not been made for one of her kind. She wore several silver rings on her claw-like fingers, and around her neck she wore a glittering golden necklace with a gleaming amulet bearing the heraldry of the naked centaur. Her flowing black hair, adorned with shining trinkets, fluttered in the breeze, and between her two horns was stretched a fine golden chain that sparkled even in the overcast sunlight. Her sash of crimson cloth was drawn loosely over her face, threatening to reveal her hidden second eye in too sudden a gust of wind. Her claws clicked on the stone floor of the keep as she moved languidly toward the bandits clustered in the centre, and she smiled cruelly when she saw Small John.

Eleanor dragged her attention away from the bandit leader and began to carefully move looted arms and apparel away from her. “Betha,” she whispered urgently, “we have t’move now, or we mightn’t get another chance.”
The manticore didn’t respond. “Betha!” whispered Eleanor again.
“R-Right. Right behind yer.”
As quickly as she dared, Eleanor cleared the space around her until just the corpse she hid beneath was in her way. Holding onto the body, Eleanor dropped from the cart and landed in a crouch. Without stopping, she dragged the body behind the cart and knocked twice on the wood, signalling for Betha to join her. While Betha dismounted the cart, Eleanor spared a hurried glace over to where the bandits stood.

“My dears,” said Mad Margaret in her smooth, breathy voice, “what have you brought me?”
“We were out taking of th’ spoils when this one took some exception to’t.” said the oni who gripped Small John. The crossbowman stared up at Mad Margaret in contempt.
“Did he now?” Mad Margaret licked her lips, leaning down to grip Small John by the chin. “A brave one, aren’t you?”

Small John, in response, spat in Mad Margaret’s face. The ushi-oni only grinned.

“Oh yes, you are a brave one.” She flicked her topaz eyes to the oni who held Small John. “Wash him up and have him with me by tonight.” she commanded, locking eyes with Small John again. She wiped the spit from her cheek with one clawed digit and placed it in her mouth, sighing exaggeratedly. “I’ll see that he receives his punishment.”

With a wave of her hand, she turned and strode away back toward the bailey. The bandits all laughed again, when abruptly Mad Margaret stopped. She turned in the direction of the cart, and Eleanor squeaked and ducked behind it. She dared not move – she heard Mad Margaret’s voice.
“And put that loot away. If it rusts in the rain, I’ll have your hides.”
“Yes, Maggie.” Spoke the oni.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, milady.”
“That’s better.”
Eleanor sighed in relief as she heard Mad Margaret’s claws click away past the inner gate.
The bandits gradually resumed muttering among themselves again, while the oni dragged Small John to his feet. Betha crouched behind the cart, next to Eleanor. “Bloody bitch,” snarled Betha, “over my dead body she’s taking John.”
“Good job we’re here on a rescue mission, then.”
Betha glared at Eleanor for a moment, before her anger faded and her characteristic smirk returned. Behind her regular bravado, Eleanor could tell that she was genuinely reassured.
Betha scratched her scar and thumbed her nose. “Alright, Elly, yer got us this far. What now?”
“I think if we can jus’ get to the armoury, we can at least arm ourselves. Possibly slip on some spare armour and make ourselves look more like they do. Maybe we can take a look around, should work as long as we don’t push our luck.”
“Clever stuff. But how do we get to th’armoury?”
“Er... still thinking about that bit.” said Eleanor, looking about herself. She peeked over the top of the cart and looked into the courtyard – the bandits were conversing among themselves over what was to happen to Small John. If the crossbowman was at all afraid, he hid it well under his furious expression. Eleanor stared at his mismatched eyes, wide with anger, and she almost jumped when Small John locked eyes with her.
Eleanor looked over at Betha – she was busying herself covering the corpse they had hidden under with hay from the stables. Turning back to Small John, Eleanor inclined her head in the direction of the inner gate, mouthing the word ‘armoury’.
Small John turned back to the bandits.
“Yer know,” he said to the oni, “if yer let me go I’d be more than willin’ to grapple with you over that spider bitch.”
The oni gave a short laugh. “Nice try, fella, but you’d need more than that t’convince me to get on Maggie’s bad side. You’ll fin’ out all about that later.”
“Of course, forgive me. Y’clearly don’t go that way. Bit of advice though, cut yer hair. I mistook yer for a girl.”
Several of the bandits laughed at that.
“Don’t get smart,” growled the oni, “I’m more’n enough girl for you.”
“Well, if y’think yer hard enough, why don’t we go right now?”
The assembled bandits laughed again.
“You've not fought an oni b'fore, have you?”
“I’m jus’ saying. I’m here, and yer just standing there like a daft slut. Go right now.”

The oni roughly threw Small John to the ground and cracked her knuckles. “Well, maybe I can rough y’up a little bit. Don’ worry though, Maggie’ll do far worse.”

At this, Eleanor took her chance. She crept quickly along the edge of the courtyard and slipped past the inner gate into the bailey, with Betha following her. Eleanor could see that the manticore was visibly trying to ignore the sounds of the oni’s fists striking flesh.

--

“That was too bloody close.” remarked Eleanor, pulling a leather vest over her shirt. The two had made it into the armoury and were presently dressing themselves from the array of spare armour and clothes that filled the room. Eleanor imagined that much of it must have belonged to the rightful owner of the Keep, presumably to outfit his retainers. Although, she thought, more still must be stolen goods – the Red Sash Gang’s heinous work.
“Alright, I’m thinking that if we can just stay out of their way we can probably get a decent knowing of this place, and where the gaol is.”
Betha didn’t respond, too busy fumbling with a shirt.
“Then it’s just get in, break their chains, and piss off with all speed.”
“Nah.”
Eleanor stopped. “What?”
“We need to off that spider cunt as well.”
“Er…why?”
Betha glared intently at Eleanor. “John.” she said.
The salamander gulped. “Point made.”
Eleanor turned back to the shelves and stands, searching for a weapon that she could carry without arousing too much suspicion. A spear was too impractical, she couldn’t use a hammer very well...
Eleanor stopped when she saw a large axe hanging by its head from one of the racks. The blade’s scratched surface and long beard struck her as awfully familiar – as she retrieved it from the rack, she realised that it was William’s weapon. The thought filled her with a rush of hope; if his longaxe was here, then William could not be far away. And if William was here, then Sigrid and Osgar were sure to be near him.
“What’ve you got there, Elly?” asked Betha, her voice low. Eleanor threw her the axe, which she caught in her outstretched paws. Even Betha grunted under the weight of the thing. Examining the head, a smile slowly broke out over her face as she reached the same conclusion. “Tough Love,” she whispered, “William’s here.” Betha looked up at Eleanor, her face bright with excitement. “We’ll need this later, little sister. Can’t be walking around with it.”

--

Eleanor shuffled uncomfortably in her armour and checked her surroundings for the fifth time that minute as she stood in the courtyard. The sun was low in the sky, and the Red Sash Gang were conducting their usual work of drinking, fighting, and generally desecrating the once-proud castle. Graffiti ran up the walls, and filth was everywhere. Eleanor absently wondered what the owner of the castle would think of all this, were he here to see it.

The bandits were chattering amongst themselves, shouting and laughing. In places dice were rolled and coins changed hands. Torches and candles blazed. The sounds of fiddle and drum hovered over it all, although Eleanor couldn’t see where it was coming from. The sight of all this revelry might have heartened her, were she not in the midst of the enemy.

Putting a hand on the sword she had taken from the armoury, Eleanor stepped away from the wall she was leaning on and walked into the crowd of bandits, silently praying that her disguise was adequate. For the most part they seemed to pay her no mind, and she caught snippets of conversation as she made her way to the other side of the grounds.
“-in the pits tonight?”
“-think it’s annuver of the prisoners-”
“-aye, a bloke-“
“-new one-“
“-no need t’get rid of men like that-“
“-find a better use for him, I’d-“
“-Maggie can’t have ‘em all, heh heh-“

A knot of horror twisted in Eleanor’s gut as she made her way through. Obviously, there were plenty of mamono among the Red Sash Gang, and plenty of men were among those captured – including her beloved. Eleanor shut out the thought, if only to prevent her tail roaring with angry fire. A scowl was on her face as she reached the other side of the courtyard, where a great barrel of beer stood. Several men and mamono were clustered around it, dipping vessels into the huge thing and quaffing gulps of the stuff down. Eleanor took a tankard from a snoozing orc and took some from the huge barrel, stepping away to lean against a smashed shelf. Before long, someone came and leant next to her.

Eleanor quickly looked over the stranger – they were dressed in a thick-looking woollen jacket that covered almost their entire upper body, black linen trousers that looked similarly padded and a brownish hood that they had pulled over their head such that it obscured much of their face. From their belt was slung a small pouch and a ring containing a heavy-looking mace, as well as a dagger tucked into it. The stranger was clearly a mamono, as Eleanor could recognise the telltale bulges of wings stuffed inside their jacket, but beyond that Eleanor was clueless. The two stood there in silence for a minute, watching the revelry around them.

After a while, the stranger spoke. “You ever hear the one about the princess and the cabin boy?”
Not looking at the stranger, Eleanor responded. “I hear it’s not that lonely at sea.”
Betha pulled her hood down and smirked at Eleanor, her crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light.
“Tried that on a lizard I thought was you. She asked me fer the punchline.”
Eleanor chuckled, taking a drink. Betha smirked again.
“Ready to go, little sister?”
“Y’know, you really didn’t have to go to all that effort. None of this lot even know who we are.”
“Yeah, well. I’m not sure how well they know each other.”
“Fair point.” Eleanor took another gulp of beer. “What’d you manage to find out?”
“Fuck all, other than where the scullery is. So at least if yer get the craving fer some mouldy bread we know where t’go.”
“Doesn’t seem like the gaol is anywhere the regular lot have access to.” said Eleanor, gesturing at the main tower with her drink, “I’d wager it’s up in there.”
“I don’t doubt it. O’course, that’s probably also where the spider bint is.”
“So much the better.”
Betha gave a grin. “So, what’re we waiting for?”
“We can’t just walk in. Mad Margaret has some of her lot guarding the gate.”
“So we need them… preoccupied?”
“Indeed.”
The two sat in silence for a while yet before Betha spoke.
“Salamanders are very interestin’ creatures, aren’t they?”
Eleanor flicked her eyes to Betha. “What?”
“Yer tail, in particular. I love how it flickers.”
Eleanor raised her eyebrow quizzically. “What’re you getting at?”
“Nothing. I’m jus’ saying that it must be helpful t’have fire on hand whenever you need it.”
Now it was Eleanor’s turn to smile. “I see. Well, that’d certainly qualify as a distraction, I think.”
Betha winked. “See yer soon.” she said, before swaggering off in the direction of the tower.

Eleanor finished her drink and placed her mug down on the shelf she leant against, still smiling at Betha’s suggestion. Standing up, she walked casually through the crowd until she reached the stabled they had hidden in earlier during their infiltration of the castle. The cart was still there – the bandits hadn’t even bothered to unload it. Eleanor kicked a pile of hay and, sure enough, felt her foot connect with the concealed body underneath the surface. Crouching down, Eleanor felt around until she found the head – she took the hood from it, and felt around until she felt the quiver of arrows that he had. Withdrawing one, Eleanor inspected the head; a small rag was tied just before it. She gave it an experimental sniff, and smelt the oil that the man had daubed the rag in in order to light it. She smirked, and took a fistful of the arrows. Tying them together with the hood, Eleanor held the sheaf of arrows together and pressed them against her tail.

Her tail flickered as it normally did. The bundle did not light. Frustrated, Eleanor willed it to flare up, but to no avail. She scrunched her face up and closed her eyes, picturing a roaring fire in a tavern hearth, a blazing bonfire, a burning house. She opened her eyes – still the arrows stubbornly refused to catch fire.

With a deep breath, Eleanor thought about Osgar. How they’d fought like fury in the pit, when she’d told him she loved him, when he fell asleep next to her, when she saved his life from those robbers, when they’d…

Her reverie was interrupted by a whoosh of flame from her tail. She quickly ducked behind the cart, still blushing from the memory. Checking the arrows in her hand, she smiled when she saw that they had caught light and were cheerfully burning away. She placed the improvised torch down atop the hay bale, placing it for good measure in the hand of the dead soldier. Some posthumous revenge for the boy, Eleanor thought. With that thought in her mind she stood up and walked away, looking straight ahead. She slipped through the crowd as she moved toward the bailey, and before long heard shouts of alarm from behind her.

--

Eleanor spotted Betha lurking by the main gate, and was about to signal her before two bandits ran through the gate, their eyes wide. Eleanor pressed herself against the wall, but the bandits paid her no heed – too occupied, it seemed, with the rapidly developing blaze in the courtyard. The smell of burning hay and wood was thick in Eleanor’s nostrils, and she knew it was only a matter of time before the scent of the dead archer would be added to it, his funeral pyre serving as the diversion Eleanor needed.
She stepped out from the wall and moved quickly over to Betha, who, unsurprisingly, was grinning intensely.
“That was perfect, little sister! Drew ‘em right away!”
“Yeah, well. Let’s just be about this.”
“Took th’words out of my mouth.”

The two jogged over to the tower entrance.  Eleanor started to move toward the door when Betha put a paw on her shoulder. The manticore strolled over to some corner of the bailey in which a wagon sat, and bent over to reach under it. With a tug and a curse, Betha produced William’s mighty longaxe from where she had concealed it. With a smirk, she walked over and handed it to Eleanor, who couldn’t help but grin herself.

“He’ll need this.” she said simply.

With the axe in hand, Eleanor pulled open the large door that led into the tower. The steps inside were large and wide, clearly suited for some large type of mamono. Eleanor mused on this oddity for only a second before Betha began to rapidly ascend the stairs, and she followed. They arrived on a landing of sorts, and Eleanor stopped suddenly as the two almost ran into an oni that stood there. Eleanor recognised it as the one from that morning.
“What the bloody hell’s going on out there?” barked the oni, glaring at the two of them.
“Fire,” gasped Eleanor quickly. “Dunno how it started, but it’s all around the stables!”
“Shit.” The oni ran a hand through her grass-green hair. “Alright, here’s what we’re doing. I’ll to th’scullery and fetch some buckets. One of you go an’ get Maggie, an’ hope she doesn’t skin yer.”
“Right.” said Betha. Nobody moved.
The oni frowned. “Now’s as good a time as any.”
“Er, well,” stuttered Betha, “I, er… don’t know where she is.”
“What?” said the oni, her eyes narrowing. “How can y’not know where Maggie’s room is, we’ve been here…fer…months…” the oni trailed off. Her eyes widened in comprehension. “You-“
Betha drew the dagger from her belt and lunged at the oni, who stepped back in alarm and knocked the manticore’s arm away. Cursing, she drew her own dagger, and took a fighting stance.
Eleanor stepped forward, William’s axe in her hands, but Betha held out a hand behind her. “I’ll settle this one. Go an’ find the rest.”
“Betha-“
“Now, Elly.”
The oni spat on the floor. “Go on then, ‘Elly’. I’ll be along in a moment.”
Eleanor hesitated for an instant before she turned and ran up the stairs. Betha’s growling voice drifted after her.
“Now, I believe yer acquainted with my friend Johnny…”

--

Eleanor raced up stairs and peered into rooms, but there was no sign of the gaol. With each step she became more frantic, as the possibility of running into another of Mad Margaret’s lieutenants - or the bandit queen herself - began to seem more and more likely.

As she left the fourth room in her search, Eleanor suddenly became aware of an ominous silence. Neither the shouts of the Red Sash Gang out in the courtyard nor the sounds of combat between Betha and the oni floors below were audible to Eleanor - and she had no idea where the gaol was, or where any other exits might be, or even if Mad Margaret was staking these halls. Worriedly, she began to search even harder, opening every door she could and scouring the rooms as quickly as she dared. Her every step seemed absurdly loud, and her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. Surely, Eleanor thought, there isn’t much time left. Not at all. She almost jumped when she heard it.


“Lay me low,
Oh, lay me low,
Lay me low,
Where no-one can see me…”

The voice floated down the steps and washed over Eleanor like a cooling breeze. She knew that voice.

“Where no-one can find me…”

Osgar.

“Where no-one can hurt me…”

Eleanor almost dropped to her knees in relief. After all the uncertainty, all the desperation, all the fear, he was alive after all.

“Show me the way,
Help me to say
All that I need to…”

Numbly, almost teary-eyed, Eleanor ascended the steps. She forgot about the bandits, she forgot about Mad Margaret, she even forgot about Betha. For now, all she did was focus on his voice.

“All that I needed, you gave me…”

Reaching the top of the steps, Eleanor saw a door straight ahead. It was wooden, but bore metal barring across it.  A heavy-looking padlock secured it shut. Seemingly pouring out from between in and the doorway came Osgar’s voice.

“All that I wanted, you made me…”

Closing the distance in seconds, Eleanor raised the axe high.

“When I stumbled, you saved me…”

With one immense swing of the huge axe, Eleanor destroyed the padlock. The door, defeatedly, swung open. Behind it, wide-eyed in surprise, were the Dauntless Hand.

William. Sigrid. Small John. Osgar.


----


Small John looked Eleanor up and down, a sneer twisting on his face. “Took yer long enough.”
“Shut up, you tit!” exclaimed Osgar. “She’s come to save us!”

Grinning, Eleanor rushed forwards. She dropped William’s longaxe at his chained feet, before practically diving into Osgar as she kissed him. Her clawed hands cupped his face before moving over him, one getting tangled in his hair as the other clasped the back of his head. His hands were bound, but he returned the kiss with all the intensity he could muster. It was a full minute before Osgar squirmed and pulled his head back, sucking in a breath. Eleanor moved in to kiss him again, but he inclined his head and flicked his eyes at the others in the room. Blushing, Eleanor turned to them - Small John wore his usual scowl, William was smirking with a raised eyebrow while Sigrid had a big, honest smile on her round face. As Eleanor looked over her friends, she noticed another figure in the cave with them.

The man was, like the rest of them, chained to the wall. He wore tattered trousers and no shirt, and his torso was patchworked with marks and scars. In particular, Eleanor noticed, he was missing a finger on his right hand - a bloody bandage marked where his ring finger should have been. He coughed - a haggard, weary cough,  and spoke. “Don’t let me interrupt you.”

“Who’re you?” asked Eleanor.

The rest of the Dauntless Hand chuckled. The man frowned. “The owner of this dungeon, as well as the rest of the castle.”

“O-oh.” gasped Eleanor. “My apologies, m’lord, I didn’t-”

“Yes, yes, of course. As long as you’re here to rescue us.”

“Bloody good show, lass.” said William, the deep bass of his voice reverberating off of the walls. “I got worried when they chucked Small John in here. Is Betha with you?”

“She’s dealing with the guard. Should be on her way up. Let me get you lot freed.”

Eleanor took up William’s axe and turned to Osgar, looking at the chains which bound his ankles. “Spread your legs.” she said with a grin.

The prisoners chuckled, and Osgar presented his bindings. With one chop of the massive axe, Eleanor cut through the chain. She worked away at the rest of their bonds, each sellsword rubbing their wrists and ankles as they came free.

She turned to Alban. “Forgive me, m’lord,” she said as she cut his leg-chains, “but why has Mad Margaret kept you alive? Aren’t you a danger to her claim to the castle?”

“Hah! I wish it were so. She needs me in order to produce an heir that can inherit it, and she has been quite persistent in trying.”

Eleanor gulped, looking over the marks that patchworked Alban’s body. “I’ve never been in a battle.” he added, reading her thoughts from her disturbed expression.

“Yeah, you never explained that part.” said Osgar. “Why can she use you for a lawful heir when she took th’ castle by… er, unlawful means?”

“Because the story she intends to spread,” he said slowly, “is that I, the kindly Lord of Lodwick, took in a shivering Ushi-Oni on the run and fell in love with her, taking her for my wife. Naturally, my sister’s attempt to retake the castle was a jealous sibling’s rage at being denied what could have been her inheritance, enforced by mercenaries bought with her subjects’ taxes.”

William spat on the ground. “Well, she won’ be spreading it for much longer. Not after we get out of here.”

Sigrid turned to Eleanor. “On that point, love, I’m assuming you have an escape route planned.”

Eleanor blushed. “Well, we distracted them on the way in…”

Alban spoke up again. “Er, I may be of use in that regard.”

“How so, m’lord?”

Alban smirked devilishly. “Edwina urged me, when I planned this castle’s construction, to include some kind of hidden escape route. I am glad that she is so aggressive in argument.”

William smiled as well. “Where is it, sir?”

Alban’s face fell.“Er, you see, that’s the unfortunate part. It’s in my bedroom.”

“Where…”

“Where the bandit queen has since been sleeping.”

“Does she know about it?” asked Small John. Alban shook his head.

“No, I.. I’m certain she does not. It is well hidden. Of course, we have to use it… undetected.”

William sat up. “Let’s solve that when we hafta. For now - mercenaries, milord, let’s be about getting out of this fucking place. Er, no offense, sir.”

“Hmph.”

--

“Where’d you say she was?” growled Small John in Eleanor’s ear.

“Jus’ up here. She held off an oni while I got to you lot.”

“An oni.” muttered Sigrid. “That girl’s insane.”

“Shut it. There’s no way one of these cravens could take Betha.” retorted Small John, although Eleanor noticed his fists were clenched hard. Descending the steps and rounding a corner, Eleanor gasped as she found what they were looking for.

At the end of the room lay the oni. Her eyes were closed, her green hair tangled about her. Betha’s knife rested in her chest. Betha herself was slumped against the oni, still holding onto the knife. Both had blood upon them, and neither moved.

The mercenaries rushed over to the two of them. Small John and Eleanor knelt down by Betha - Eleanor placed a hand to her face, and a wave of relief washed over her when she felt the manticore’s soft breath. Betha stirred, looking first at Eleanor and then at Small John.

“H-hey there, J-Johnny,” she whispered, and as she moved her arm Eleanor saw her many wounds - the most dramatic-looking the deep cut in Betha’s bicep. She had lost a lot of blood, and more oozed out of the wound as she moved.

“Quiet, tailpussy.” said Small John, retrieving Betha’s other knife from her belt before removing his shirt and slicing the arm off of it. Eleanor hadn’t paid particular attention to the shirt, but it wasn’t the same one that he had been wearing when the bandits took him that morning. It was clean and puffed, a pale cream colour, and the stitching was of fine quality. Small John clearly had no quarrel destroying it as he wrapped the severed sleeve into a tourniquet and tied it around Betha’s arm.

“D-don’t you normally prefer me tying you up, J-John?” whispered Betha, a measure of her smugness returning despite her obvious discomfort.

“You think I’d want t’fuck you after this?” murmured Small John. “Y’got so many scars you look like a man.” He tied the tourniquet tight, and moved his hands to her head as he kissed her. The manticore relaxed into the kiss and closed her eyes, her good arm raising to his cheek as her tail wriggled out from under her and coiled weakly about his ankle. Osgar knelt down beside Eleanor and placed his hand on her shoulder, and Sigrid leaned into William as the two stood over the rest of them.

Small John pulled back from Betha and kissed the top of her head, whispering something Eleanor didn’t catch into Betha’s fluffy ears. Betha blushed sharply, and turned to look at Eleanor. “I see yer found the rest of’m then. Nice work, little sister.”

Eleanor grinned in response. Alban fidgeted nervously. “P-please, sellswords, let us make haste!”

Small John glowered at their escortee, but William took a step forward. “Well, know that we’re all to touchin’ly reunited, let’s do as his Lordship says. Sig, Osgar, Elly, help me with this thing.”

William gestured to the dead oni, and the four took a limb each as they lifted her. Small John gathered Betha in his arms and lifted the burly manticore out of the way - the sight almost looked comical, given their heights, but Betha submitted to it anyway. She wasn’t, Eleanor thought, in condition to do much else.

They carried the oni into a small chamber off at the side of the landing, Small John following them in with Betha and Alban behind them. The sellswords stood for a moment, looking for somewhere to dump the oni’s body, when Alban opened a cupboard and retrieved a large, rich-looking tablecloth of green and purple linen. He draped it over a table, and the sellswords tucked the oni’s body beneath it, concealing the corpse from view. Wiping his hands on his mail, William made to leave, and the rest followed him. Eleanor reached the door first, but froze when she heard footsteps and voices carrying up the stairs ahead of her, Quickly, she shut the door and pressed her back against it. “Someone’s coming!” she hurriedly whispered.

Alban stood up. “Where? Who? Wh-mmph!” Osgar clapped his hand over the other man’’s mouth. “Quiet a moment, if you please, m’lord.” The nobleman squirmed, but said nothing else.

The others knelt down, and Eleanor pressed her eye to the door’s keyhole. Down the stairs came - Eleanor gasped - no other than Mad Margaret herself, still arrayed in all the shining finery she had been wearing earlier. The torchlight from the sconce in the hall glittered across the golden trinkets that decorated her body. Another bandit followed her down, a lamia, who took visible care not to let her brown tail touch the ushi-oni.

“Start the fights.” said Mad Margaret in her smooth, silky voice. “I’ve gone too long without some proper entertainment.”
“As you like, milady. Which prisoner should we put in first?”
“None of them. Have ours fight instead.”
“Milady?”
“I want those prisoners hale and hearty. After all, they’re my property now.”
The bandit attending her gulped. “O-of course, milady. Er, there was a holstaur among them - shall I have her put in?”
“No. She’s quite obviously wedded to one of my new toys. The big one.” An evil grin split the Ushi’s face. “I want her to watch me play with him.”
“Y-yes, milady.”

The lamia turned and, bowing to Mad Margaret, slithered quickly down the stairs. Margaret herself paused in the landing, striding over to a window that overlooked the castle keep. Eleanor saw her narrow her eyes, before pacing down the stairs after the lamia.

After a minute, Mad Margaret having not returned, Eleanor gently opened the door and stepped out, crouching. She took a look down the stairs - nothing appeared out of the gloom. Turning back to the door, she beckoned for the others to follow. Filing out of the chamber, they jogged as quickly as they dared up the stairs, as if their footsteps would summon Mad Margaret.

After several flights of stairs, they at last reached Alban’s chamber. Eleanor tried the door, but it was locked. Cursing, she shoved, but it would not budge - Osgar and William pressed themselves against it, but it remained unyielding. William readied his axe and prepared to stave in the door, when Sigrid stepped forward.

“Out the way, loves,” murmured the holstaur as she gently pushed them aside. Taking Betha’s knife from her belt, Sigrid knelt down in front of the lock and inserted the knife into it. Humming, she twisted it around in the lock, until she was rewarded with a satisfying click. Sigrid smiled as she pushed the door open and offered the knife back to Betha. “Thanks. Sorry it got a little bent.”

“Where’d you learn how t’ do that?” asked Osgar incredulously.

“Not in the monastery, that’s for certain. Shall we?” Sigrid stepped into the room, still humming. William stepped after her, a big grin on his bearded face.

As they entered the room, Eleanor was taken aback by how lavish it all was. Dressers and tables, cupboards hanging open with fine clothes inside, a fluffy green rug under their feet. A huge bed stood at the back wall, it’s sheets strewn about and ripped in places. At the head of the bed, a large painting sat on the wall - two thirds of it had been torn away, while the remaining third of it depicted Alban, in fine ceremonial armour.

“Just a brief moment...aha!” exclaimed Alban, as he peered behind some purple silk curtains into a cloakroom of sorts. It was large, and rectangular - at the back lay an open chest resting on a purple rug, with a few golden coins in the bottom.

“You, sellsword, help me with this.” he said, gesturing at Eleanor, and she walked over to him and grabbed the chest. The two of them pulled it out of the way, and Alban threw the rug aside to reveal a wooden trapdoor, its surface covered in dust.

“I haven’t actually had to make use of this yet.” He said as the others joined them. “I hope it works.” He lifted the handle and tugged, but the trapdoor stubbornly remained closed. William stepped next to him. “Stand aside, please, m’lord.”

Taking the handle in both hands, he pulled with all his mighty strength. The wood squealed in protest, but eventually the door broke open. William exhaled deeply and rolled his shoulders. “After you, milord.”

“Er, thank you, sir. Follow me.”

--

Eleanor’s breath fogged in front of her as the group made their way through the tunnel. The trapdoor had led down a short ladder that fed into a claustrophobic network of tunnels. The air was heavy and damp, and moss covered the walls. The noise of the sellswords motion echoed around them, added to by Alban’s nervous chattering.

“Of course, the labourers were suspicious when I told them I wanted this much of it going under my own chamber. They said the smell would bother me, but I insisted it wouldn’t - eventually, they just gave up and built it anyway. After the construction was completed - the whole thing took almost three decades, mind you, they were originally building it for Father - I came down here myself and bricked up the junction, and there you have it - instant escape route!”

“Fascinating, m’lord.” muttered Osgar, as they trudged down the sewer tunnel.

“Yes, isn’t it just! And of course, th-”

“Shht!” said William suddenly, holding out a hand behind him.

“I beg your pardon! Wh-”

“Something’s coming!”

All of them were silent immediately, and pressed themselves against the wall. Out of the gloom ahead of them floated metallic rustling and clanking.

“Soldiers!” whispered Sigrid. William turned to face them. “Back up to th’ last junction, double time!”

“Wait!” urged Alban, pointing in the direction of the noise. “Look there!”

They turned to follow his gaze, and Eleanor gasped as she saw the distant darkness illuminated by soft blue light. The light danced off of the cobbles and moss, and silhouetted against it was a hunched figure that stepped slowly towards them.

“Matilda!” cried Alban.

As the figure neared them, Eleanor could see that it was beyond doubt the living armour that they had encountered days before. As Matilda walked up to them, Eleanor saw her in detail - her armour was even more battered than it had been when last they met, and was ripped and punctured in many places. She carried a heavy-looking crossbow in her hands, and a chipped and worn sword was slung at her waist. Matilda stopped in front of them and tipped her helmet back on her head, the faceplate casting a shadow over her soft features as she regarded the group.

“Greetings, master.” She said to Alban in her characteristic monotone. “I am overjoyed to see you once more.” Matilda turned her face to Eleanor, and her stoic expression did not change.

“And they who rescued me. Now you rescue my master. It seems I am indebted to you twice over.”

Alban stepped forward. “Matlida, what… why are you here?”

“I came for you, master. My intention was to spring you from this place. It seems,” she said with a tiny smile, “that I was too slow, however.”

“Well, we’re leaving with ‘im.” said William gruffly.

“Certainly. My heart is fit to burst with relief at your safety, master. What of Mad Margaret?”

“She lives.” answered Osgar. “We’re bringing yer master back to ‘is sister, bu-”

“That will not do.” said Matilda flatly. “I cannot allow her transgressions to go unrepaid.”

“You intend to kill her?” asked Alban.

“Yes, master. Now that you are safe, I can proceed with all haste and be back with you at Caester.” The living armour turned to the Dauntless Hand. “Take good care of my master, sellswords. I must be about my business.”

“Not so fast.” spoke up Sigrid. She turned to William. “Boss, our agreement with Eddie said we ‘ave to put Margaret down as well.”

“N-no it didn’t.” mumbled Betha. “We...we’ve got what we came fer, let’s get out of here.”

Osgar frowned. “Even if it didn’t, we owe her this much anyway. I’m fer going back and giving that devil her due.”

“Fuck her.” spat Small John. “Beth’s right. We’ve got his Lordship, let’s bug. Right fucking now.”

“Quiet!” snapped William. “That’s enough out of all o’ you beggars!” Everyone cringed at his voice, save Matilda who watched the argument with an unaffected stare. “Eleanor.” he said.

“Will?”

“What should we do?”

“Y-yer asking me?” she stuttered, taken aback. The other sellswords turned to face her.

“Is there anuvver Eleanor here? You ‘aven’t weighed in yet.”

“W-well...er…” Eleanor stood up. “I say we go back. Mad Margaret came an’ took the castle, an’ mistreated a lot of people, an’ she’s killed a lot of others. Edwina’ll want her head. I want her head!”

William smirked. “That’s settled, then.” He rose as well, and the rest of them followed suit.

“Company! About face!”

--

After a short march back up the tunnel, the Dauntless Hand arrived at the entrance to the trapdoor and gathered around the rotten ladder.

“Elly, poke yer head up there and see what’s what.” ordered William.

The salamander nodded and ascended the ladder, gently pushing the trapdoor ajar and peering through the gap. Through the thick purple curtains, she heard Mad Margaret.

“Bring me my husband.” said the ushi-oni’s voice.

“A-again, milady?” came a whimpering voice. It sounded like a teenage boy. “But he’s…. Don’t you think you’re… hurting him, milady?”

“I said,” growled Mad Margaret, “bring me that little noble at once.” Then, her voice softened. “Or perhaps, if you’re so worried about him, you’d like to take his place?”

“Er… I shall fetch the prisoner for you, milady.”

“Oh, are you sure? Ah, well. Bring that new one as well, the one with the interesting eyes.” After a moment, she added: “Actually, just fetch all of them.”

As she heard the boy stumble out of the room, Mad Margaret spoke again. “Join us yourself, if you like. I’ve more than enough webbing to go around~”

Eleanor could hear the boy stutter, before the door creaked and his rushed footsteps faded away. She looked down at the assembled sellswords. “Quick, give me the crossbow!” she whispered. “She’s sent someone t’check the gaol!”

Matilda passed the weapon up to her, and Eleanor gently placed the trapdoor down before leaning back against the rim of the trap-hole. The curtain, unmoving, blocked her shot.

“Fuckin’ servant boy,” growled Mad Margaret, and spat into the rug. “Little runt thinks I ‘aint good enough fer him. Little shit. I’ll ‘ave him whipped.”

Eleanor looked downwards again, at the sellswords. “What th’fuck’s taking so long?!” whispered Small John furiously. Betha stirred in his arms.

“Someone come up here an’ hold this curtain! I can’t get a shot!”

Small John opened his mouth to speak again, but Osgar elbowed him out of the way and rapidly ascended the ladder. Deftly, Eleanor moved out of his way and crouched in front of the curtain - Osgar shuffled forwards, placing his hands on the curtain.

“Ready, lizard girl?”

She nodded.

Osgar pulled the curtain back, whipping it out of Eleanor’s way. Mad Margaret turned to look at the sudden motion as Eleanor aimed the crossbow. She said nothing as she squeezed the tickler.

--

Eleanor stared into smouldering yellow eyes, just like her own, that stared intensely back at her.

“What happened next, Mama?”

“Well, yer father and I went back down the tunnel with the rest of our friends, and we got Lord Alban an’ his armour-wife back to Lady Edwina at the city - and she gave us what she promised, three thousand gold pieces!”

“Wow!” the little salamander was giddy with delight, her eyes wide and her claws clasped together. Eleanor smiled at her daughter, and leant down to kiss the top of her head. Her daughter’s tail flame flared, and she leapt forward to embrace her mother.

“And that’s not all, either!” remarked Eleanor, holding up a finger. Her daughter took a step backwards, practically shaking with anticipation, as Eleanor stood up and walked over to one of the many trophy shelves that lined the large bedroom. Her daughter followed her every step, her little feet padding on the lavish green rug. Eleanor brushed an antique helmet aside to retrieve a tiny leather pouch, which she handed to her daughter. Both of them sat on the large, rectangular bed, their flaming tails leaving no mark upon the soft blankets.

“Go on, Joan. Have a look.”

The little salamander eagerly opened the pouch and pulled out a dust-encrusted golden coin.

“Is this-!”

Eleanor nodded, beaming. “That’s right. This is one of those coins she gave us.”

Joan stared at the coin intently, blowing some of the dust off just as the bedroom door opened behind her. She turned around, and Eleanor followed her daughter’s gaze as Osgar entered the room, their son at his side. Both carried wooden shields with them, the boy’s much smaller than his father’s. Joan ran over to her brother.

“Eddie, Eddie, look!” Joan held the coin out to her brother, and both stared at it in wonder. Osgar looked over at Eleanor with a warm smile. “You haven’t been telling that story again, ‘ave you?”

“She likes hearing it. An’ I like telling it.”

Osgar walked over to his wife and sat on the bed next to her. The two shared a quick kiss before he spoke again. “I do ‘ope you left out all the lewd bits.”

Eleanor smirked. “Why would I do that?” Osgar roared with laughter as their children ran over to them.

“Mama, tell me a story as well!” cried their son. Eleanor reached down and lifted him into her lap, and Joan leapt into her father’s - still clutching the coin. “What do you want to hear, Edward?”

“I want to hear about the time Uncle Willie slew the Shanker-Man!”

“We always hear that one!” protested Joan.

“No we never! You always want to hear the scary one about Auntie Beth and Uncle John!”

“She’s not scary!”

“Uncle John says she is!”

Eleanor chuckled, and placed her hand on her son’s head. Edward wriggled in her lap, and turned to face her. Joan gazed at her as well, and Eleanor smiled as she began the story.

“Well, your dad and I were with our friends, and we were looking for some work…”