The land was drenched with mud and blood. Arrows were spread alongside the land. Many bodies splayed out, eyes or mouths opened, some with faces demolished or their bodies crushed.

There were still those who were charging, but not near the display of death. They regrouped to a much farther place, except those of which are the archers. However, there were two that were on horseback, on the graves of these soldiers. The hooves thud, a small bit of dust forming. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I swear, I didn’t mean this to happen.” the rider said, murmuring the same sentiment over and over again. The person who he was talking to was on his arms, the weights of their body covered in armour slowing their steed. 

With a hit on a side and a crack, the horse neighs loud and galloped faster. 

Arrows flew to their side, some missing and a few hitting the back of this young lad. He was grateful for the kite shield at his back. He rode and rode up until the highlands, riding to the hill.

The boy heard wheezed panting. “Max…” he heard. “Maxi, I’m fine.” The man himself was holding on, arms on the other’s neck so that he wouldn’t fall. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

Sneering, he said “I’ve heard that shit once, you know they all lie.” 

The man laughs, pained but still joyous. “Indeed they do, Maximillian.” They grunted from each slight jump, clear eyes yet fading sight. The farther away they were from the battle, the more none would chase them. 

Horses over there were already far away anyways. “I’ll— don’t you dare die on me yet, Bertram. Do you understand?”

“I… can’t promise you that.” he answered. His eyes become droopy, head becoming blank. His sight became cloudy, breaths wavering as he gave out a groan of pain. 

Murmuring in deep regret, he said “I know… I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Stop— just shut up already about that. We had no choice, Maxi.”

“We could have stayed out of this," Maximillian gritted out. "If it weren’t for your commanders, this mess of a skirmish wouldn’t have hurt you.” 

Bertram couldn’t focus on what the other was saying. He was phasing in and out. He felt the blood he spilt before becoming dry. 

Upon his fuzzy sight, Bertram saw something behind them. He forced himself up to find out what that was, even if it was blurred. 

It was only a black hooded figure. He couldn’t see the face hidden on it, but he saw that they were riding a horse. 

The animal was sickly and pale, its bones were shewn upon them. Their mane, left in tatters as it was balding. It flexes its muscles, galloping to them as its rider kicks its side.

Bertram wailed loud, fear coming on his eyes. “Go faster, Maximillian,” he murmured. The other hummed, not hearing what he said. 

The hooded man had sped up to them, still on a trot yet moving swiftly to them. Gripping the mail coif of Maximillian, he yelled out “I SAID GO FASTER!” 

The panic on his face and his shaky voice fully persuaded him to do as told. Maximillian didn’t know what he was scared of. He knew it was something that terrified him so that it reinvigorated him. 

Their steed was moved around haphazardly. They ran in a zigzag motion, traversing between trees. 

The horse was becoming fatigued, going up the hill they were in. Bloodshot eyes darted, surveying the area. That hooded figure let their horse catch up to them, pace slow yet elegant in a way.

Maximillian tugged on the horse to let it rest and felt the blood of Bertram pour out once more. 

Jumping off the horse, Maximillian dragged down the lad. He started taking off the thin cloth that shows his coat of arms he had on his body, one that covered his torso to his legs. Then he pulled off the mail coif and mail shirt that went from his neck and draped down to his thighs. 

“What are you doing? Why aren’t we moving away? Maximillian, why are you taking away my armour?!” Each and every question Bertram had was delivered in quick succession. He was agitated.

“I’m trying to let your bleeding stop,” Maximillian said. Since the body of Bertram had been weakened by his wound, there wasn’t much power to his struggles. “If you want to die, then be my guest.” Maximillian cringed at what he said. 

The metal armour was thrown aside. Beneath it was linen armour, alongside with a coif of the same material.  

“I’m going to push you off of your gambeson, alright? Don’t panic.” When he heard this, Bertram felt as if his ears were deceived. He couldn’t question why, however. 

The steed of the unknown figure tread to them. They gave out a weakened huff, the sickly horse stopping near theirs. 

This figure slid himself off of their horse. Bertram’ heart raced, him slowly going mad as he rambled repeatedly that “He’s here!” 

For now, Maximillian didn’t care about his ramblings. He only wished for him to survive. He wrapped the gambeson on the abdomen of Bertram. He made it as tight as he could, startling the wounded man.

Maximillian put pressure on the wound as well. The act made the other scream profanities and cries, the pain not subsiding at all. His own fatigue finally caught up to him, eyes slowly but surely closing. Before he fainted, Bertram murmured “Don’t let him…” The rest was incomprehensible.

Maximillian glanced at the young man. The eyes were closed. He came near to his face and let his hand touch his chest. His heart was beating fast, gradually going slower but his breath. 

It was soft. Weak. Short. And Maximillian hugged the wounded man. “May God forgive me for the sin I did to you.”

He looks behind, cautious if something was amiss. There was nothing behind him. Not even the horse of the hooded figure. “What did you see that I did not, Bertram?” he whispered. 

He knows that he wouldn’t get an answer, as the man who he talks to was asleep. He carried him to the front of the horse, alongside his weapon and armour. He petted the horse before he rode it once more.

“Let’s go, Gerda.” She turns, moving forward. He hit her side, gaining speed. He guided her with a pace that she can manage without making herself weary. Maximillian held the hip of Bertram and even put pressure on his wound.

The lower and lower they went, the faster they rode. He weaved his way over the forest. Gravity drags them down, their speed quicker as they fall. It wasn’t a long trek after they came out of the hill. “We’re nearly there, Bertram.”

There was not much hindrance afterwards. Mostly on this day, however. No one knows if ever those bastards would bring the war here. The hooves of Gerda ran alongside the wind. It was small, but they saw a town. 

A town both knew well. The walls there were made of uneven stone, connected by mortar. There were those at the top who patrol what came to be outside.

He went to the gates, tearing off the helmet he wore. There was a loud horn that was blown. He came inside, to the small gap that welcomed him. “What happened, sir?” one of the soldiers asked.

With a harsh hiss, he told them “Raiders.”

“Then why are you here, Landgraf Jakob Klug?” one of them asked, suspicion rising.  Compared to the rest, this man had a dulled, green chaperone on his head, wearing a brownish, long-sleeved tunic and a tight doublet coloured in light blue.

The rest seems to have a duller pigment in their clothing that gives it life. The richly coloured man then said to Maximillian “Are you a coward, taking shelter whilst some of the soldiers fight for their life?”

“Burgmann Johannes,” Maximillian seethed. “You speak to me as if I’ve blasphemed on my countrymen. Why don’t you try and fight where many have fallen already, lest you wish to live inside and be free of the waking death that surrounds you?” 

Maximillian scoffed. “Then again, you’d adore petty squabbles that result in shedding blood.”

“It’s better to be enclosed in what we call safe than to become irrational and fight on the field,” Johannes answered.

Maximillian told him “Those Markgrafin and Archbishops make messes. We’re caught in it because we are of lower rank. Your neighbouring towns are vulnerable, yet you worry about yours. We couldn’t even have a wink of rest before another fucking raid comes here.” He shook his head as he said ““Under one banner” my arse.”

The civilians came near, seeing an unfamiliar figure. “Who is he, Landgraf Klug?” one of them asks.  He gazed at the body of Bertram. 

“An old friend of mine, nearing his death. And it’s all but caused by this bullshit thing that they themselves caused.” Maximillian sighs, hearing people gossip about the situation.

“Get me a physician, Burgmann.” With a scowl and a huff, he said “Yes, sir.” He pushed himself off, letting his friend lie down on Gerda. 

Maximillian pulled on Gerda’s bridle, letting her go to the nearest stable he saw. He knew of it by asking the locals. 

With their brows raised yet their eyes half-lid, the stablemaster said to him “You haven’t been here for a long while, Langdgraf Klug.”

The boy nodded, telling him “That is why I still know where you are.” 

The man gave him a large smile, telling him “Come back once in a while, count. The village ‘ere isn’t that bad at all.”

“Another day, but it will take long before I do, Henrik. I’ve been given many duties to attend to and I can’t do much about it.”

“True.” Henrik took the reins, guiding the horse to the stables. “We have no choice but to work. Doesn’t matter if it’s small like mine, or carryin’ over a lotta people on your shoulders.”

Maximillian sighs, pulling over the body that hangs upon the steed’s back. “I’ll… try to at least come here once in a while.”

“Sure hope you do,” the stablemaster chuckles. He sighs, petting the horse’s side. Not really knowing what to do after, he opted to leave. 

“It was nice meeting you again.” Maximillian told him.

“You’re not going to wait for burgrave Johannes? You called for him didn’t you?”

“I did, yes, but I would go back if I must,” Maximillian answered.

Henrik shook his head, carrying the horse feed that was on the outside fences. “Burgmann Johannes isn’t stupid, Landgraf. He saw you walking with your horse, he’ll assume you’re still at the stables when he comes here.”

He stuttered and fumbled over what to say that he only made a sound. “I didn’t mean it to sound like that. Makes me sound horrible!” The man chuckles. 

Maximillian heard a pained groan. It was quiet, yet he heard it. He looked at him, his complexion pale and his breathing short. 

Too short, in fact. He checked on his heartbeat. That thumping. Oh, that thumping. Suspiciously weak and sluggish. He shot up, saying to Henrik “Is there a physician?”

“No,” Henrik answered, scratching his unkempt beard. “But there are monks near that might treat your wounded friend.”

“Where?” Maximillian asked.

“Go left. The moment you find a tavern, go into the alley next to it. You’ll find the monastery there.”

“Thank you,” was the only thing he could utter, leaving Henrik on his own. He followed the path that he was given, strictly going forward and finding that tavern.