The three of us could all make out the soft orange glow of a torch peeking out from behind the crowns of trees. Then another. Then, upon closer inspection, we realized at least ten different torchbearers were slowly making their way to the fishing village.

“I know we already have our hands full with the lightning magus, but shouldn’t we at least briefly talk about how we want to deal with his lackeys?” Wulfram asked, still a bit groggy from being shaken awake.

“The Lord who contracted us didn’t so much as mention other bandits the magus was working with,” I explained, “either because their magick isn’t dangerous enough to mention…”

“…Or because the lightning magick is that much stronger than whatever they’ve got.” Rum finished.

We all thought in silence for a moment, unanimously agreeing that it’s probably the latter. I picked the conversation back up.

“So, what about the magus himself? Have we actually settled on anything?”

Wulfram suggested we try shooting at him from a distance. This tactic was almost immediately rejected by Rum, who proposed all three of us ambush the magus from different directions.

“I think that could really work! Let’s all get within an arms-length of the man who can fry us with just a touch.”

“Great idea! I was just thinking that we need someone to be the diversion.”

We glared hard enough at one another for Wulfram to change the subject.

“I was meaning to ask you Erland – how do we know this guy’s magick can instantly kill us?”

“You know, the fact he turned everyone to ash in that scout’s reconnaissance group colored my expectations a smidge.”

“What I mean is that people have survived being struck by lightning before.” His eyes rolled into the back of his head. “There was this carpenter in my home village for example. Nasty scar, but he lived.”

It was strangely comforting to hear that.

“What happened to him?”

“He didn’t remember a lot – droned on and on about every muscle in his body clasped down on him, like a shirt that was too tight.”

Rum cocked her eyebrow.

“Lightning tenses up your muscles?”

“Apparently.”

The various sources of light from the thicket drew closer.

“Wulfram, aside from the weapons you found here, did we buy anything at the last village?”

He shrugged, pointing only to his quiver.

“There wasn’t even an armory or smithy there, if you can believe it – the only thing I was able to get were these arrows.”

His gaze shifted to the weaponry scavenged from the fishing village, laying at our feet: a bow, a sword, and a javelin. But these weapons looked… off.

“Wulfram, are these made entirely of metal?”

The tattooist nodded.

“Ferroth is a nation of metallurgy, but not much else. Materials like wool, wood, and especially leather are extremely scarce in comparison.”

He picks up the bow made entirely of what looks like tin. Not even the handle is leather-bound.

“So, the cheaper weapons end up looking like this.”

Myself and Rum both stare down at the armaments left over.

“I’m keeping the bow, so decide amongst yourselves who’s getting the sword and javelin.”

I looked at Rum. She looked at me. We both dropped to the ground at almost the same time, scuffling to get the knight’s blade. Unfortunately, my courageous thrashing was no match for Rum’s kicks in my ribs, which I distinctly remember banning the previous time we fought like this. Defeated and swordless, Wulfram kneeled down to my level.

“I also found this, which I figured I’d only give to whoever got stuck with the javelin. For fairness’ sake.”

He handed me a relatively dull knife, distinct only in its tip, which was sharply angled backwards. It was the only ‘weapon’ here with a wooden handle.

“This is a knife for gutting fish.”

“And it will serve for gutting people as–”

Rum’s yell broke up our bickering instantly.

“They’re here!”

At a moment’s notice, Wulfram drew an arrow out of his quiver and into the bowstring, while Rum prepared to jump down, sword in hand. By contrast, I awkwardly stood at the scaffolding, unsure of whether I should throw my javelin once, or keep it for later. Then, the most bizarre sight unraveled in front of us. Ten shirtless men burst out of the forest at almost the same time, each carrying what looked like halberds, and portable oil lanterns. Despite the confusing circumstances, Wulfram prepared to release his first arrow, when suddenly…

“Don’t shoot!”

Quickly, the singular voice seemed to multiply, until all ten men produced a cacophony of begging and pleading. We all looked at each other, unnerved. After Wulfram relaxed his bowstring, the men’s wailing seemed to calm down, and yet, they continued to approach the wooden palisade wall. Having each spent some time as mercenaries in The Five Thousand, all three of us were probably thinking the same thing – these men have never been in a fight. All of them were holding their halberds far too high into the sky. What were they doing here? And more pressingly, where was the lightning magus?

Wulfram raised his voice, calling to the fodder approaching Cupram village.

“MEN! Drop your arms, and stop where you stand! If you continue approaching this village, none of you will survive!”

Perplexingly, the threat had an opposite effect – foot soldiers who seemed fatigued began to sprint with renewed vigor. Their chanting of ‘don’t shoot’ did not let up, even as they ran towards their death. Something was deeply wrong, but while myself and Rum tried gathering our thoughts, the tattooist jumped down. Both of us reflexively yelled out behind him.

“Wulfram, what the hell are you doing?!”   

“Testing something!”

After landing, the archer drew his bow a second time, aiming dead ahead at one of ten men charging towards the village. Shockingly, nobody changed their path of attack – everyone continued running at the wall. Even if they’ve never been trained, why were they ignoring such an exposed archer?

The whistle of an arrow flying through the air rang out, followed by a loud scream from one of the bandits. Wulfram had shot him in the leg as a warning, but to our astonishment, the man continued running through the pain, clumsily swinging his halberd at the tattooist. Wulfram sidestepped the thrust, grabbing the bandit by his shoulders. Both of them were close enough now that we could hear their conversation.

“None of you came here to fight, have you?”

The man yelled back in a frenzy: “Let go! I have to be there when it happens – I have to!”

“Explain yourself! Who are you all?! Where is the lightning magus?!”

There was a deep rumbling above us. The clouds – they were blackening, fast. The man Wulfram was firmly holding became more distressed.

“He’ll kill them, you understand?! Once he’s here, he’ll check every corpse, and those who aren’t ash… their families…”

The tattooist stepped back, stunned. I could tell from his body language that he seemed to notice something – something on his hands. Wulfram smelled them, and though I couldn’t hear any of what he said, I could make out just one word from how his lips were moving.

“…oil?”

For a second, everything went white. A tremendous crack of thunder followed in the same instant; the sound was deafening – enough to make me immediately check whether my eardrums had burst. My eyes were still adjusting. I could feel the coarse wooden floor of the scaffolding dig tiny splinters into my palms as I felt my way into standing upright. I could also feel… warmth?

“Wulfram! Shit!”

Even though her voice was muted, I could still tell that was Rum screaming. What happened to Wulfram? After forcing myself to blink, my vision finally began returning.

“Oh God…”

The ten men sent for by the lightning magus were burning to death. Each of their corpses ended up sprawled out on various parts of the wooden palisade, slowly but surely igniting it. I could smell not just singed flesh – an odor I’ve become all-too familiar with – but also the overpowering stench of fish, far stronger than anything we’ve come across in Cupram. The closest thing to it was…

Whale oil.

The lightning magus didn’t send soldiers – he sent kindling. Innocent men from some other fishing village, drenched in their product and forced to use their bodies as tinder for burning the wooden wall. Once they got close enough, all it would take was a spark, or if you wanted to be certain, a bolt of electricity. But if he used lightning to ignite them, then Wulfram…

Scanning the ground below me, I spotted the tattooist passed out on the ground. He was right next to one of the villagers when lightning fell – could he have gotten electrocuted himself? For a second, I considered jumping down to help him, but thankfully, Rum had realized what happened far sooner than I did. The fire was spreading rapidly to the scaffolding I was on, but I could at least see her beginning to do something to Wulfram’s limp body. He might survive.

By the time my feet touched the ground, the front gate became a spitting image of the hellscape that was The Five Thousand’s encampment in Czarnia. With my hearing slowly returning, I could hear as the ropes holding together the palisade snapped from the heat; smoldering logs fell onto already dilapidated homes, spreading the inferno further. What little semblance of a plan I had was literally going up in smoke. The front gate had all but turned to ash. In the faraway sky, I could see thunderclouds forming, and almost reflexively, I tightened my grip on the javelin.

And then, off in the distance, lightning.

For a moment, I could’ve sworn I was seeing the world in slow-motion. Before the boom of the thunder even reached my ears, I could make out a bulge forming in the gate. The outward pressure scattered bits of charred wood and rusted nails as though a cannon had gone off. The force carried with it plumes of smoke from beyond the wall, obscuring my immediate surroundings, and before it dissipated, a voice spoke up from behind its veil.

“The hell? Where is everyone?”

The silhouette quickly materialized into a man of Wulfram’s stature, which is to say: quite a bit taller and more muscular than me. He was remarkably exposed for a magus without any allies – the only armor I could discern was a thick leather vest, plates of which hung from the waist down, protecting his thighs. No weaponry either. Strangely, strands of his blonde hair appeared to be pointing upwards, as though someone was individually holding them in the air. This man, who was now casually examining the village around him, just burst through a wooden gate built to withstand a battering ram at a velocity I could barely register. I could feel my extremities shudder against my will.

“And who are you, exactly? D’you know what happened to the villagers here?”

It’s frightfully difficult to string coherent sentences together.

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

The lightning magus cocked his eyebrow. Was he genuinely confused? He took one more look around, and this time, let out a long, guttural groan.

“Oh for–” He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Did you light this campfire?”

I cautiously nodded. In response, he crouched, some of his hair getting stuck in mid-air on his way to the ground.

“I gave the residents an ultimatum yesterday: leave behind anything expensive, and flee, or stay, and deal with me the next day.”

The magus pauses, seemingly waiting for me to ‘get’ it.

“So tonight, I see the front gates closed? Smoke comin’ from behind the palisade? An archer perched on the scaffolding?”

He clicks his tongue, and mutters something under his breath I can’t quite make out.

“Seriously though, what’s that make you? One of that knight’s buddies?”

The magus pointed behind him, where the fried corpse of this village’s gatekeeper still laid. I need to stall for more time – at least until Wulfram or Rum get here.

“I could be. Who are you?”

“Oh, you’re a special kind of stupid. Or do I need to run through another gate for you to clue in?”

I feigned ignorance.

“Lightning magus. Bandit extraordinaire. Et cetra et cetra. People I work with call me Fulgir.”

He gives me side-eye.

“…but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Suddenly, Fulgir’s eyes widen – a connection forming in his mind.

“Oh! Oh! He mentioned something about mercenaries for hire, that you?”

He? Who’s he?

“Alright, this works out great – I’m just going to ransack this place a bit, burn some boats, all that. You can tell whoever hired you t’was valiantly fought…” he searched for the right words. “…but you were no match, so on and so forth.”

It took a second for the surrealism of his command to hit me.

“You’re asking me to just look the other way?”

“No honor amongst thieves, right? I’m not huge on the whole ‘thrill-of-the-battle’ shlock – I have an agreement I intend to fulfill, because it pays well. Anything other than what it demands is a headache, understand?”

I cursed my past-self for getting me caught into that damnable contract. I’m going to have to fight him, and if I want to have any chance of walking away alive, I need to understand his magick better, now.

“Hey…” Fulgir stood back up. I could’ve sworn he wasn’t this tall a moment ago. “I can’t help but notice you aren’t puttin’ that javelin away.”

I’ve never held anything tighter in my life.

“We doin’ this?”

Oh God, I’m really doing this.