A slow descent of the night sky as the carnage seen from afar gradually met its terrible conclusion. Sencis sat meditatively on the roof of her cabin home, watching and questioning. "Who is the Creator that sits idly by, passively watching, no less passive than myself, as the blades of wicked hearts—bereaved souls lay waste to peaceful folk? Is it you, Ihirum? Art thou good but unknowing or all-powerful but blind? That would make sense. I could forgive you then."

Her solitude offered break from her disquiet--or the semblance of solitude. The occasional blowing of her new companion from below reminded her she was not alone. Crouching overhead, she peeked downward to inspect the horse's mood. The horse, that she confirmed was female, sat nonchalantly by the unused trough on the back of her cottage, now much more at ease than when she was found. "I hope you enjoyed the last of the stalks," she said half-jokingly.

She remained on the roof of her home after the sun's parting, watching by dusk as the distant smoke thinned. And she let her own wonder score her view of the yet unadulterated countryside.

What were those men doing here?

It had been years since the last war, and it was the end result that convinced her she'd never see another disaster in her lifetime. She could think up no answers for what happened in town, and could not imagine what might come next. But, against her desire, she also considered the prospect of leaving, leaving everything she knew.

***

This time the moon was hidden. Smoke had risen in the sky, and the view from her roof was bleak

Feeling a small tremble, she stared into the distance. Light still shimmered. She could make out the fading fire from what remained of the distant town, then flashes of light-- thunder--illuminated the fields and groves in successive instances.

It was not long before Sencis distinguished moving specs in the dark periphery. A new series of lights hastened along the dark, western glade, undulating - Torches on horseback.

Sencis gasped with a fixation on the lights, clenching her own scalp out of suspense and fear. She tracked them, analyzing their course, hoping to figure a motive out of their destination. But, they suddenly stopped.

Stationary flickers in the dark signaled a meeting between the riders. And during their moment of respite, Sencis finally remembered what lay in their path.

Knowing what she knew, she burst into her own cabin. Striking a candle in hand, she ventured into the room across from the hearth. Inside, she held the candle to reveal a space populated by non-perishables.

By the adjacent wall lay a large bed of wool sheets and a delicately-carved wooden frame. To her left, a long, pinewood dresser on top of which old books were stacked beside an overturned pot of dried ink, then racks of melted candles on dusty, rusted iron. Skipping all this, she approached a conspicuous armor rack on the right, which displayed a hauberk of riveted chainmail underneath kempt plate vestments: a full collection of shoulders, braces, greaves and centerpiece chest with a padded gorget.

Firstly, she donned the hauberk. Its metal ringlets snugly fit over her wool padded shirt to cover the entire upper body. As fast as she could, as properly as she could, she fixed the narrow breastplate straps around the hauberk. The plate's contours perfectly secured her chest and back and was stitched with a burgundy leather flap to wrap around her lower abdomen. Then came the gorget fitted over the breastplate – layered black wool covering the entirety of her collarbone, bound to the neck by one strap. She then fastened the slick steel pauldrons over her shoulders, the braces over her leather gauntlets, and the steel greaves over her brown pants. Everything fit better than she imagined.

Fully armored, she proceeded to retrieve something she never believed she'd need. In the parlor, she grabbed the sword from its place on the wall, her hand briefly trembling through the mere sensation of the scabbard. Then, fastening her cloak, she scurried outside to the dilapidated stable.

"Get up! Get up!"

The resting rouncey hastily responded to her anxiety, rising on all fours. And caressing the stray's face, she whispered in her ear, "I only just found you, but I need you now." Upon mounting, she hooked the reins and lashed forward.

"Hya!" They sped off into the night.

It was a gut-wrenching compulsion that dragged Sencis from the warmth of her home to the cold darkness of the night. The raiders had already reached the lone village, as signaled by the fleeting array of distant deathly flickers. They suddenly dispersed until they reappeared as one immolating flame under the moon. That flame was the village, and she could already hear the shrill cries. Witnessing it in the fast wind of her horse's hooves, she felt her pace may as well have been an agonizing crawl.

Hesitation poisoned her mind upon the sight of those burning homes. It almost made her fear the next step. But letting courage as her guide, she pressed on.

Down the dirt road, passed the rising smoke, she hopped off the saddle before the graceful steed even stopped. And standing on the precipice of thickening smoke, she listened to the ransacking noise coming from further down the road.

She had only been here yesterday when it was a village of fresh air, pastoral peace and harmless folk. Now it was an impending grave unsuited to a livable world. The screams she heard just ahead preceded her frightful imagination. How many yet live? was the question on the tip of her tongue.

The nearest cottage had yet to catch flame, but what hooked her attention was the yelling within. Without thinking, she sprung past the dilapidated doorway; several people lay inside.

A pair of armed men sat at the single table, heedlessly gorging down loaves of bread. Two more who stood apart spouted threats at the cornered family of four, maniacally waving their swords for their own amusement.

One glimpse and Sencis felt the terror borne by that family of four: A man, a woman, a tiny girl who may or may not remember these events, and the boy whose face was stark in her memory - He just wanted food. They were huddled together, absolutely scared for their lives, the father doing everything in his constitution to steer their eyes and allay their fears.

"It will end and they will be gone!" he said with dead belief.

The four intruders, however, shown nothing but malice in their eyes. Sencis knew these were the same savages who laid waste to the town of Virtagrad, just a small detachment. She could ponder the whereabouts of the main group but pressed those thoughts to the back of her mind.

A moment passed before the intruders noticed her standing at the broken door, eager blood flushing her face. Tensed by this intrusion, one of them rose from his seat with a mouthful of bread and drew his bastard blade. "You strange thing!" he growled, slurring his words. "Standing there, looking pretty in steel. Is it demise or fondling you seek?" She recognized his putrid voice immediately. There will be plenty of others to suffer in her stead. "At least tell me where you procured that steel."

Instead of replying, Sencis drew her sword. Though she wanted to speak, she felt the words knotted in her throat. That same tension worked in her muscles, intensified by the heat of their surroundings. Smoke was spreading within the structure. Presently, however, her thoughts were dwarfed by this belligerent, wicked hulk of a man; with his mouth agape, there were a few missing teeth underneath his blotched face and contorted nose. Despite his cruel affectation, she was at least relieved he was not the man in black from before.

Suddenly, the rest of the armed intruders rushed her with their weapons. She dodged the first man, letting him slam head first into the wall. But the rest brought a bitter struggle as she repelled their fierce slashes.

Two of the attackers slipped as they avoided the quick thrust of her weapon. Their leader then advanced, swinging precise strokes she could barely deflect. Sword faltering, she resorted to both hands. But after the other men returned to their feet, there were effectively four of them against her. Advancing as fast as they did, they quickly forced her outside.

Sencis fell with the grind of her armor against the road, then clamored back to her feet to reclaim her stance. Outside was a more harrowing reality, however. With the four men that initially stood against her, there came six, seven, eight, a dozen or so from the smoggy recesses of the village and onto the dirt road - Malevolent pillagers roused from their exploits, they approached from every corner to lend their malice, closing in a circle around Sencis until she was surrounded. To her, their arrival confirmed the rest of the village's suffering. With no other distraction, she was now their prey.

Visions of pointed helmets and metal arms wielding blades and axes. She felt the end of everything near until the leader then barked his orders, "Take her alive," and grinned rancidly.

The mere tone of his command made her feel dizzy, the putrid smiles of all the men shaking before her weary eyes. Mother, father, please watch over me now and spare me from a fate worse than death...

***

A sight as clear as a full moon unhindered and gleaming off clearest water: fire in the distance. Two men stood on a nearby hill, enraptured by the flames.

"A great furnace in the night," said Dane. "Uncommon near the east since the end of the last war. And I have not visited this land since." The embers if a dying village reflected starkly in his eyes of pale blue.

"That would not appear by chance!" replied Neleve. "Certainly not, just as kings would not leave their thrones to fools. I say this is an invitation to our scouting!"

"You must be the curious sort, Neleve."

"I suppose. Why wouldn't I be curious?"

Cloaked, invisible by the night, the two wanderers traveled downhill on the dead glade, towards the burning homes.

***

Stillness. Time hit Sencis with its peculiar nature, moving slower with the arrival her anxiety and desperation, slowing down as the men surrounded her. She kept her eyes wide open, defiant, refusing her adversaries an angle of attack. Both feet maintained motion, her stance nimble. Rotating steps, her opponents trod in a revolution around her. They maneuvered in gentle increments, gauging her defense.

A lifted foot, delayed in suspension, eventually set back down on the hard ground. With her blade leveled, she wouldn't let a single step undermine her guard: inside left, inside right; with each step forward and back, she levitated her blade between shoulders.

Stillness. Time distanced itself from sense.

Swiftly, boldly, one man attempted to grab Sencis from behind. She turned and slashed his arm, causing his painful jerk away.

But just as quickly, another man grabbed her sword arm and tugged until his arms pressed under her armpits. With bitter breath, she resisted, flailing and refusing leverage for the rest of them. Her arms and feet jerked wildly, marred by a faltering hope, and with all her haze of sight and thought, she still heard their words and laughs of amusement:

"That fire in her!"

"Where y' think she got that armor?"

"Maybe inquire nicely, eh?"

Then she heard the leader's approach from behind, his harsh voice sending chills down her spine.

"Here's one pretty, strange, and plagued by stupid defiance," he said. "Rid her of that sword while I think of what to do."

Another raider lightly hacked the wrist of her sword arm with his axe, and she shrieked helplessly as the weapon fell. "Brace's not even dented!" exclaimed the lackey.

Sencis achingly awaited the cruel man's next weapon stroke. I could not save them, and I cannot save myself. A whirl of swelling smoke surrounded her body, like a tangible ghost of her despair. Dropping her head, she shut her eyes for the terror to come.

"Evening!"

Startled by a loud and rugged voice, the brigands stopped and turned to witness two dark figures approach along the dirt road.

Sencis, lightly lifting her sight at the sound, noticed two strangers standing within speaking distance of their party.

"Are you of this stead?" Dane casually asked. "The fire here requires extinguishing!"

"No!" retorted the lead raider, stepping past Sencis and toward the duo. "Quite the opposite! Ho! Men, a rock in our mission comes hither--"

"What are you doing with that woman?" Neleve interrogated, pointing to Sencis. "Mother always said, 'a single woman surrounded by men is plenty cause for alarm!'"

"Get rid of them!"

Several brigands slowly advanced against the strangers.

"Neleve, I count a dozen," said Dane.

"I count fifteen," Neleve replied. "Very few, in any event."

"Normally, I take to maiming my foes. I would prefer to avoid that now."

"My friend, inform them of the fact. Maybe, they'll stop swinging long enough to listen."

With weapons raised under thin, moonlit smoke, the raiders charged.

Promptly, Dane pulled his hand from underneath his cloak. "Defend yourselves!" he warned, demonstrating nothing less than uncanny slight of hand. As quickly as he brushed his cloak aside, two raiders dropped their weapons and wailed--one screaming for the knife in his left eye, the other for the knife in his right. The rest continued advancing while the leader, along with two others, dragged Sencis away. "Neleve, the damsel!" exclaimed Dane.

"They shan't outrun me!" assured Neleve. With great haste, he sprinted around the pillagers' right flank, pausing for each foe who thought to stop him. They were sloth-like compared to his speed. Four of them would fall by his blades, his weapons like surging extensions of his fists. Left and right, when one opponent lunged, he evaded and closed distance faster than they could hope to defend.

Meanwhile, Dane threw his cloak at the nearest enemy and unstrapped his scabbard. His opponents then swung past his piece of cloth, swings Dane altogether avoided. After such terrible strokes, he had a good grasp on their ineptitude. Stepping back, he proceeded to dodge the next strike before pommeling his opponent's exposed head. A consistent Pattern of melee ensued where his assailants swung, lunged, missed, and found reprisal either in his crossguard or his heavy fist.

He handled his sword adeptly--one hand over hilt, one over the scabbard—dispatching each brigand through a series of bludgeoning attacks, transitioning into slices whenever he did not deflect. Such was the effect of his half-swording.

When the last charging brigand swung his hand axe, Dane parried. Then, exploiting the greater length of his blade, he shoved away at the axe and pressed the edge down against the wielder's cheek until he howled. Thus, the enemy collapsed quivering over his nasty, bleeding gash.

And we are close. Feel free to comment your thoughts. Anything about this chapter you liked? If so, a vote from readers makes it all worthwhile. Hope to see you soon.