Niall: The Black Targe

Eadred opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. For a moment he thought he was blind until slowly his eyes adjusted and he could see the twinkling of stars in the black above him. His head felt as though it had been split with an axe and hastily sewn back together and the coppery taste of blood was all his dry, sand caked mouth could distinguish.

Suddenly, he became aware that something was crushing his legs, a powerful ache pulsated all the way into his chest, but the pain meant that he at least still had them. He tried to pull himself free but the object was too heavy, or he was too weak. His head swirled as the pain surged each time he would try and his eyes would darken again almost fading to black until he steadied himself again.

When he looked to see what was pinning him he could only see the dim glint of metal in the starlight.

Is there blood? He wondered.

He gave another pull but the loose dirt made it difficult to find the leverage he needed. He layed back, panting and exhausted, the pain made his eyes see double and made it appear as if there were twice as many stars spinning above him. His head throbbed and he felt as though he might vomit from the motion, but there was nothing left in his stomach to come up. As he gazed out at the moonless starry sky, one by one the stars started to dim until it was nothing but black again.

“Eadred, bring the wood here.” Tevda said, ushering Eadred into the hall.

With an arm full of split logs, Eadred entered the hall and followed him towards a great hearth in the middle of the room.

“See how the fire burns low, but the coals remain hot.” Tevda said to Eadred, grabbing his hand and holding it near the embers to feel the heat. “This is our clan’s hearth, our heart fire,” he continued, “it has been burning since before the birth of my father and his father’s father and all the way back to when our clan first landed on these shores.” Tevda knelt down to one knee and put a brawny hand on Eadred’s back.

“When I was young, it was my responsibility to keep this fire burning, every morning I would chop the wood and feed the coals. My father bestowed this important role to me when I was only two winters shy of ten.” Eadred stared into the coals, watching the gleaming and shifting of the fire within them, giving them the appearance of glass glinting in the sun. “It has been my responsibility ever since.” Tevda went on.

“Today, I want to bestow this honor to you, Eadred, and from this moment until you whelp a son for yourself someday, this will be your responsibility.” Tevda paused and searched Eadred’s face for a reaction. “You will place the logs in the hearth, but there is one more step.”

Eadred did as he was told and watched as Tevda grabbed a small chest resting on the shelf above the hearth and opened it. Inside was a pinkish mound of sand-like material with black marbling throughout. Tevda reached in and pulled out a chunk the size of his finger nail and showed it to Eadred.

“This is a special salt, mined from a place in Isles said to be the ancient nesting grounds of Strygavort the dragon herself.”

He quickly tossed the rock into the hearth and a blinding light flashed for a moment and a powerful rush of heat and embers flew from the opening like the tongue of a dragon, licking at Eadred’s face.

Eadred stared as the flames within the hearth grew to full size in an instant and the wood cracked and hissed violently as it burned.

“This fire can never be allowed to go out, boy, we must keep it alive as we keep our clan alive.” Tevda continued, “someday you w—” suddenly there was a sound. Eadred’s ears perked up at the sound, it started faint but grew louder by the second. He strained to listen and as he did so all the noise of the fire and of Tevda began to fade.

He recognized the sound as a sort of sloshing, or a kind of wet sound like water poured from a bucket onto the ground. But there was another sound beneath it, like the tearing of flesh or a hide and the crack of bone. The sound grew louder and louder and Eadred began to feel unnerved. He turned to Tevda for comfort but was shocked to see that the sound was coming from him.

As Tevda opened his mouth to speak only the sound came out instead of words. It grew louder and louder until it sounded as if something was gnawing directly on Eadred’s ears, ripping them from his skull and slurping up the blood and sinew. He closed his eyes and tried to cover his ears but something was breathing and hissing now louder than anything else. Suddenly Tevda reached out and grabbed Eadred roughly by the shoulders and shook him.

Eadred’s eyes shot open and was immediately blinded by the sun of the early morning, shining white light over the field of blood and corpses in the valley between the dunes. Something moved near his legs and he looked down to see them pinned under the corpse of a rider, some of the scales from his mail digging into Eadred’s thigh.

The rider was half crushed by a dead horse whose weight was pinning Eadred partly under the man’s torso. Eadred noticed the wet sound he had heard had continued and each time he heard it the horse’s body moved slightly as if being pulled.

Something is eating from its belly He thought, looking around him for a weapon, My sword, where is my sword? He winced as he twisted his body around just enough to search the area around where he was pinned. Around him the bodies of Hunar’s and northern men littered the battlefield along with several other dead horses and the charred remains of palisades.

There was a ripping sound and the horse’s corpse lifted for a brief moment allowing him to pull on the body of the rider in an attempt to free himself from under it. He pulled on the body, some of the scales from its armor digging deeper into his thigh as he did. The horse fell back down on top of them as whatever was eating it tore something loose from the other side. Eadred stifled a scream as the scales of the rider’s mail dug deeper.

He layed back down on his back breathing heavily to keep himself from making a sound. Whatever was on the other side of the horse seemed to not notice. After Eadred regained some composure he twisted around again to search for his sword. Half buried in the sand nearby he saw a familiar hilt with three long blades of grass etched in the pommel.

Eadred reached with his arm as far as he could but could only touch the pommel with the very trips of his fingers. Each time he stretched to reach the pain in his legs grew hotter until it burned worse than anything he had ever experienced. He strained harder and harder, almost able to grab the end of the pommel with his thumb and forefinger.

Suddenly he realized the gnawing noises had stopped and could only hear his labored breathing. He turned slowly back to the rider and the horse and froze as a pair of tanned, bloody hands reached over the horse and a woman’s head with full and silky black hair rose from the otherside. When the woman spied Eadred she perched herself atop the horse’s corpse like an animal, mouth and hands bloody with chunks of flesh and sinew.

She looked like a beautiful woman from the south with smooth tanned skin, naked with full breasts only her eyes were like two holes, blacker than ink. Though she had no pupils Eadred could tell she was looking straight at him. A slow smile crept across her face as Eadred held her gaze, her teeth sticky and red with gore.

For a moment they stared at each other and it was quiet. The only thing Eadred could hear was his breathing and his heartbeat beginning to pound in his ears. Then after a moment, the woman’s smile grew wider and wider to either side of her face unnaturally until it split and her jaw cracked as it unhinged, exposing multiple rows of teeth and a long snake-like tongue. Her arms shot out towards him, her hands morphing into blackened elongated claws. They bent at an unnatural angle as they shot down to meet him.

Eadred rolled quickly to the side as the claws struck the ground hard where he had just been and rolled again as she struck again. She screeched with a guttural sound like gurgling behind chunks of flesh and a throat saturated in blood. Eadred grabbed the rider’s body by the torso, made himself as small as he could and used it as a shield.

The creature’s claws struck the rider’s body with such a force that it pierced through its mail easily and began ripping at its innards. Eadred struggled as the creature was slamming her claws over and over into the body attempting to dig through it to get to him. He noticed a long steel dirk still in its scabbard at the rider’s belt and grabbed it with one arm while bracing with the other.

The creature shrieked as he plunged the dirk into its arm while it was ripping at the rider’s body. Her head extended suddenly from her torso with her neck extending like a snake’s body, her jaw closing hard on the face of the corpse and pulling the head off by the neck. Blood sprayed on Eadred’s face and into his mouth as he prepared himself for another strike.

The creature crushed the head in her mouth as easily as a horse would an apple and leaned her head back to swallow. Eadred could see the hunks of flesh and bone move down her elongated neck as she did. One of her claws punctured the back wall of the rider’s torso and began to scratch at Eadred’s studded leather cuirass underneath. Her head shot down toward him, screeching and dripping blood as she did.

Eadred screamed as pulled the knife from the creature’s arm and at the last moment plunged in through her mouth and out of the top of her skull, the force of her strike sending a shockwave through Eadred’s arm. A loud crack resounded from his shoulder and he felt it move from its socket. He continued to scream from the sheer adrenaline as she choked and tried to bite down on his hand but could not.

After a moment she went still and Eadred pushed as hard as he could on the body until his legs were finally free from under the corpses. Bloodied and breathing hard he tried to crawl a few feet away but his shoulder cracked again and he fell, burying his face in the ground. After a moment he rose to knees and felt his shoulder and before the adrenaline wore off, slammed his palm into the ground with a straight arm.

Another loud crack burst from his shoulder and he screamed and crumpled into a position lying on his side, and then to his back. Slowly his pained breathing turned into sobs and he wept. After a moment the blue sky and the light from the sun faded again to black and the sound of his breathing began to grow quieter and quieter until it was gone.

“Lord Tevda, I was wondering if Eadred could join me to play by the shore?” A young voice called into the hall.

“Joren, a pleasure to see you young drotten, I hear you’ve been helping your Da with the boats as of late.” Tevda called out from a table where he was counting a stack of silver coins.

“Yes lord, Da says I am to sail my own longship soon.” Joren said trying to make himself seem bigger.

“Eadred is just inside, and I believe he would like some reprieve from helping his mother.” Tevda said loud enough for Rudda to hear.

“Yes I’m sure he’d rather be counting his wealth then help prepare the food the wealth buys like his father.” Rudda said, entering from the room behind the hearth with Eadred in tow.

Tevda grinned and stood up to embrace her. Eadred stood by his mother’s side waiting expectantly. Both Tevda and Rudda looked back at him wide eyed.

“Yes, you are released Eadred, for now, but food will be ready soon.” Rudda said to him.

As soon as the words left her mouth Eadred bolted for the door and towards Joren. As he approached the doorway the light from outside grew brighter and brighter until it was blinding. Eventually, Joren became completely obscured by the light and when Eadred passed through the door he found himself staring at the dim blue sky of an early evening.

Eadred sat up slowly half expecting to see the shore of the Nifir Sea but instead was greeted again by the windswept dunes and the sun scorched battlefield in the valley. Feeling his dry mouth he tried to spit and struggled to his feet. His legs stung with every move and fresh blood seeped from under his breeches. He found his sword and held it firmly in his hand, looking back at the bloodied creature before putting it in its scabbard and scanning the battlefield.

He saw the bodies of Hunar’s men and of the men he marched with strewn about everywhere. Some were unrecognizable and had either been burned or gored so savagely the only thing he could distinguish was the armor they wore. Eadred walked among the bodies looking for any with the black studded armor and the insignia of the Black Targe company.

He found the body of a soldier with a satchel of old dried food and a water skin half-empty at its waist. Eadred drained the water skin in one swig and shoved a chunk of stale hardened bread into his mouth and part of a stick of dried salt beef, putting the other half in his waist pouch. He hacked and coughed as the water loosened up the sand and blood that had caked in his throat and when he spit it was like spitting wads of chewed sting weed.

He tore the cloak from one of the southern men’s bodies and ripped it into long strips, tying one tightly around his thigh where the scale from the rider’s armor had pushed into him. Nearby he found another body bearing the armor of the Black Targe company with the broken tip of a spear pierced through the front of its chest. Eadred moved closer to look.

Einarr. He thought solemnly. he spied another body a few paces away wearing the same armor, half of its head missing. Rann. He thought, recognizing the black hair and the multiple silver loops pierced through the right ear. Another he found with one of Hunar’s soldiers on top of him, sword pierced through his abdomen and sticking out his back. When Eadred looked closer he saw that a dagger was stuck in his comrades throat.

“Giedrik.” He said out loud to nobody, his voice rasp from dried blood.

Near the edge of the battlefield he found the body of another Black Targe mercenary, half eaten by some beast or bird.

It looks like she was alive when they drug her out here to feast on her. He thought mournfully.

Eadred walked a few feet from where she was and picked up her sword which was engraved with vines on the cross guard and a chunk of polished larvikite embedded in the pommel. He walked back and fell to his knees beside her, placing her sword in her hand.

“Fraega. . . you deserved a warrior’s death.” He whispered, squeezing her hand tightly on the hilt of her sword.

Eadred spent the last of the light searching the battlefield for the rest of his comrades, and collecting any food and water he could find from the bodies of the soldiers.

Some are missing, Joren is gone too. . . Eadred thought. He wondered if that meant they were alive, escaped somehow.

The sun had already retreated behind the last dune and it was beginning to get harder to see the faces of the bodies as he searched.

I should light a fire to keep away the beasts, I would not survive another encounter like before. He looked over at where the body of the creature was, half-expecting it to be gone from where it lay. I should sever the head, Valka always told me the only way to truly destroy a faerie is to sever the head or it will regain its strength and seek revenge.

Eadred found a half burnt bedroll in the ashes of their old camp and laid it out next to the fire he had built on the far side of the valley, a small distance away from the battlefield. He unwrapped his leg wounds which had since soaked through his breeches and the cloth bandage. He carefully cut open his breeches to examine the wounds and was dismayed at their condition.

Sand had gotten into the wound and the edges had begun to turn black and congealed. He winced as he cleaned the wound as best as he could with another piece of ripped cloth wet with water. He pulled out the flask he had tucked under his breastplate containing some kind of strong spirit and shook it.

Almost out. He thought, wearily.

He took a heavy breath in and out and took a deep swig from the flask, cringing as he did. He then dumped the rest on his wounds, clenching his teeth tight and holding back a scream.

He pounded the ground next to him with a fist and made a wheezing sound from the back of his throat as he clenched. Before allowing himself to sit with the pain for too long he retrieved the dagger he had placed in the fire, now almost red hot, and pressed the flat side of it across his wounds cauterizing them. This time he did scream as his flesh melted and blackened under the blade and his temples started to pulsate..

Though before he inevitably would black out from the pain he managed to tie another clean strip of the cloak he had ripped earlier tightly around the wound, fighting to secure the knot before falling backwards in the sand. This time he was not given visions of home or of his family, this time he saw the faces of his fallen comrades, mangled and bloody, half-eaten and bleaching in the sun.

Several hours passed and Eadred woke feverish just before the sun rose again. He was shivering as he tried to relight the fire which had since been reduced to a few smoldering coals and smoke.

I will keep it lit, father. He thought in his feverish delusion. I just need to fetch more wood, I’ll be back I promise.

Eadred barely managed to his feet and began to stumble up the side of a dune nearby. The sun’s light was just beginning to hit the tops of the highest dunes and slowly begin its path to the valley floor. As the warmth from the sun hit Eadred in the back he turned to look at the blinding white light.

“No. . . I wish to remain here, do not take me away again.” He said raggedly to the light.

In desperation he quickened his pace to the top of the dune using both hands and feet to climb. When he reached the top he collapsed, closing his eyes and laying his head across the thin peak of the dune, panting and shivering still. When he opened his eyes, his breath had stilled as he gazed out across an endless horizon of unbroken sand, rising and falling and rising and falling again.

The sky was a striking blue against the orange and yellow of the landscape, broken only by small clouds that floated in and then out of view. Eadred thought the view was strangely serene, he watched the clouds creating shadows across the land and eventually dissipating in the sun’s heat. He imagined himself as a cloud, from birth, subject to the whim of the wind’s direction, and to death, simply breaking apart into smaller pieces that would soon disappear into the void as silently as they were formed.

As Eadred scanned the expanse in front of him he noticed a small dark disturbance in the land halfway up another dune a few away from the one he was on. He rose slowly, squinting his eyes to try and focus on the object but the air was already beginning to distort in the heat and he couldn’t discern what it was. Before he could even make up his mind to investigate his legs had already moved to begin the descent down the otherside of the dune.

After multiple pained descents and reascents up and over a few smaller dunes he reached the bottom of the dune where the object was. From the bottom he could see what looked like the edges of a black cloth moving in the wind. It wasn’t until he was a few steps below the object that he realized it was another body, lying face down in the sand.

A body. . . Black Targe. He thought as he approached. Egret. He knew from the black scaled brigandine the body wore. Suddenly the black cloak broke loose from the body’s shoulders and flew into the air, floating gently a few feet above them. Eadred thought it was strange as the wind was not nearly powerful enough to even lift the sand from the tops of the dunes. He stared as the cloak seemingly floated in place and then slowly began to make its way towards the top of the dune.

Something inside him urged him to follow and before he had even a moment to think he was hurrying after it.

I will get your cloak, Egret, hold tight. He thought as he ran on hands and knees up the dune. The cloak arrived at the top of the dune before he did and floated there as if to wait for him and then moved again when he came close. A low hum was building in his ears accompanied by the sound of wind chimes gently ringing in the wind. His vision shimmered as he looked on at the cloak floating away from him, as if diamonds in the cloth were catching the light from the sun.

He could feel his chest beginning to burn as he breathed in the hot air as he ran. A faint whisper of a soothing woman’s voice pervaded his mind, echoing as if traveling through a long hallway to his ears. Although his legs ached, chest burned, and head throbbed, he found a strange comfort in the sound as he struggled to keep up.

The cloak moved as if suspended underwater, being tugged along by an invisible hand, gently rolling in the currents. Each time he tripped and fell over the cloak would stop and each time he got close enough to reach out his hand to touch, it moved away. After what felt like an hour of following the cloak, it blew over the crest of a dune in front of him and out of sight, the sounds fading away as it did.

Now the only thing he could hear was his ragged breath, rattling of his sword belt and his haggard steps in the sand as he climbed to where he saw the cloak fly over. When he crested over the top of the dune he saw that the cloak had completely vanished, leaving not so much of a trace as even marks in the sand. Eadred fell to his knees as he tried to catch his breath looking all around him for anything other than sky and dunes.

He sat quietly for a moment before the feeling of hopeless dread overcame him and he began to weep.

I lost it, Egret, I’m sorry I couldn’t get it back for you. He thought bitterly as he wept. I lost the cloak and now I have lost myself.

Eadred knew that his legs could not carry him back to the valley and he had left the satchel of food and water at his fire in his fever.

“Forgive me. . .” He cried, thinking of Egret and all the others who perished in the valley. “Joren,” He said, pulling his dagger from its sheath and with both hands pointing it towards his chest, “know that I tried, and I was proud to serve you.” He calmed himself, tears stinging his eyes and cheeks, tightening his grip on the hilt of the dagger.

Eadred took a few deep breaths in through his nose and out his mouth and focused.

“I will meet you all in the feasting hall, have some meat and mead ready for me.” Eadred said quietly to himself.

Then he saw something move from behind the dune in front of him. At first he thought it could be the cloak again but he looked closer and there was nothing. A few moments passed and suddenly he saw the top of a cloth wrapped head, and then another, and another until there was a line of 12 men coming over the dune in front of him. Some were riding on the backs of hump backed beasts of burden, others were walking alongside them, another was steering a cart pulled by another of the humped beasts.

Eadred thought they didn’t look like Hunar’s men or anybody’s warriors for that matter, though a few of them did hold spears and swords. They wore long desert garb of light pastels and most had head wraps, thickly rolled up around the crown of their heads with a long portion to cover their necks. Their skin was tanned and what facial hair Eadred could see was black.

As they walked along the crest of the dune one of the riders broke from the line and made his way towards Eadred. Unlike the others he appeared to have a pointed half helm and a vest of hardened leather over his long tunic. Eadred lowered his dagger to his side but remained on his knees as the man approached. The man reared his mount in front of Eadred and said something to him in a language he did not know.

The man pointed at Eadred’s chest and then at the line of the others walking as he spoke. Eadred noted the sword at the man’s belt and the spear attached to the saddle of his mount. He wondered if the man was a slaver or some agent of Hunar’s and if they planned to take him captive. Eadred found his hand resting on the hilt of his sword without even thinking to grab for it, the man seemed to notice.

He reached down towards the spear affixed to his saddle and Eadred’s hand stiffened on the hilt of his sword, readying himself to pull it from its scabbard. But instead of reaching for the spear the man grabbed a water skin and tossed it to Eadred. It fell onto the ground at Eadred’s feet and the man said something else in his language. Eadred scooped it up and poured a tiny bit of it onto the sand.

Once he saw that it was clear water he brought the skin to his lips and greedily drained more than half of its contents into his mouth. The man pointed at the dune behind Eadred and then his chest and the line of men behind him again. Before Eadred could attempt a reply the man turned his mount and began trotting back towards the others. Eadred followed in tow, draining the rest of the water skin as he did.

When they approached the line, other men called out to the one who had broken off to investigate Eadred. They had a brief exchange before Eadred was ushered to the back of the cart where two other men were already sitting rather uncomfortably amongst small crates and various trade goods.

“Eadred!” one of the men exclaimed in surprise.

Eadred first saw the black brigandine over black chainmail, then he saw a big round face adorned with a long beard tied into a knot under his chin and two pale blue eyes almost white against the dirt and blood that caked the man’s face.

“Young Leof!” Eadred exclaimed back, astonished.

Eadred almost didn’t recognize his comrade under the blood and grime that clung to every part of his body. His normally blonde beard and hair looked almost a gray brown color and there was a gash that started on his forehead and traveled to the side of his head almost all the way back. His armor had been scratched and cut all over his body and a bloodied bandage was wrapped all the way around his torso, covering where the white targe would have been painted on his breast.

One of Leof’s hands was bandaged completely and Eadred could see that two of his fingers were gone all the way down to the last knuckle. Leof saw that Eadred was looking,

“Good thing it’s just my shield hand eh?” He said almost humorously. “Guess now I have to become a better swordsman.” He said, a toothy grin pervaded his face. “Though I’d still prefer an axe.” He finished.

“I could not find your body among the dead,” Eadred started, “I had hoped that meant you were alive.” He said, tears beginning to well in his eyes.

“Aye, of course, What would they want with the likes of me in the eternal feasting halls eh?” Leof said as Eadred gawked at his wounds.

“Is Joren with you? After the battle started I lost sight of him, and I didn’t see his body with the others either.” Eadred asked, snapping his focus back to Leof’s face.

“He is alive I presume,” Leof shifted uncomfortably on a crate barely big enough for him to sit on. “He took a blow to the head from a wailing and bloody horse but I’ve seen him take worse.” He paused for a moment glancing over at the other man crammed into the back of the wagon with them, then back at Eadred. “They took him unconscious with some of the others that surrendered, hauled off to Southstar most like.”

Eadred noticed the other man in the cart now for the first time. The man looked as if he had almost forty winters, was slim but well built, dressed commonly in a loose linen shirt and short brown breeches. His salt and pepper hair was short and his beard was kept to almost a stubble. His hands and feet were wrapped in cloth, soiled with dirt and patches of old dried blood. He wore simple sandals made from some sort of layered flat bark and simple leather straps.

Eadred thought he didn’t look to be native to the deserts as his skin was white and sunburnt and his eyes were a mix of green and blue. The man seemed to be listening to Leof and Eadred with great interest but occasionally perked his ears towards the men walking and riding around their cart as they spoke. Eadred eyed the man for a moment before turning back to Leof,

“What happened to you, Leof?” Eadred asked. Leof scoffed at the question, and looked down at the bandage around his hand.

“When it was clear the battle was lost, Egret, a few other kingsmen and I retreated to the dune behind the camp.” He paused, licking his lips. “The idea was to use bows and crossbows to take out as many of Hunar’s men as we could as they struggled to climb up to us.” He paused again, exhaling heavily out of his nose, his face twisting in anger. “When we got to the top we took up our positions, but the other men turned on Egret and I. They were saying if they captured us they might be able to use us to bargain for their lives.” He spat off the side of the wagon in disgust and contempt.

“One of them tried to hold a dagger to Egret’s throat and you know how she is, the hot headed she-demon.” He let the brief flickering of a smile break across his face before it darkened again. “She broke the bastard’s nose on the back of her head and stabbed him through the throat with her sword. Then his mate ran her through the leg with his spear before I split his head in two.”

Eadred felt his face growing hotter with anger as he listened to what Leof was saying.

“Earlier in the battle, one of Hunar’s rider’s tried to run my head off with his spear and I swear he would’ve had Egret not shoved me aside.” He said pointing to the long gash on the side of his head. “Blood had made my left eye useless and I didn’t see the man approach until it was too late and he was already mid-swing with his sword. I stopped the blade with my hand and lost these fingers.”

“I tried to bring my axe around but the bastard was too quick and gave me a good slash across the chest. When I fell I thought I was done, Egret broke the spear and yanked it out of her leg and threw it like a dagger at the man catching him through the back of the neck and out the front.” Leof shook his head in disbelief as he recounted.

“We were both wounded and bloodied but Hunar’s men were still coming so we had to retreat further onto the next dune. But before we made it to the top Egret collapsed, she had lost too much blood from the wound in her leg.”

“You left her there?” Eadred asked.

“She gave me no choice, when I tried to help her up she shoved me off and then. . .” Leof’s voice caught in his throat for a second, his eyes grew red and glistened before he spoke. “She refused to die as a captive, Eadred. . . you have to understand she commanded me to send her to Aedern’s feasting hall as a warrior.” He paused, took a deep breath in and looked up to meet Eadred’s eyes. “And so I did.”

Eadred remembered how Egret lay in the sand before her cloak flew from her body. He wondered for a moment if that was even real or if it was just something he saw in his fever. Leof waited for some kind of response, a half-worried expression on his face.

“How did you end up here then?” Eadred wondered. Leof’s blinked his eyes at the question and regained some composure.

“I wanted to go back and fight. . . to be sent to sit at Aedern’s table with Egret and the others, but over the dune I saw the fire.” He paused, his good hand clenching tightly. Eadred nodded his head in understanding. “So I hid. . . over the crest of the dune and watched as they burned the camp and loaded the prisoners into a cart, Joren among them.”

“After that I fled further into the desert, I ran all night until my legs gave out from under me. I was exhausted and weak from loss of blood, I don’t remember even blacking out. I woke up sometime the next day already in the back of this wagon with my wounds cleaned and wrapped. Cenric here changed my bandages and kept me drinking water.” Leof finished, gesturing to the other man in the cart.

“As we will need to do for you as well.” Cenric said to Eadred. “We need to keep our strength up, I fear we will need it soon.” He said, shooting a glance at the men walking beside the cart.