Levi stared in disbelief at the gentle ripple running along the surface of the water, the only trace left of Captain Erwell, the foreigner who had risked everything to rescue Levi’s people and his own. Beside him, the company sergeant major removed his helmet and held it over his breast, murmuring a few words before putting it back on and turning to the rest of the party.

“You heard the captain, lads. Let’s move.”

“Where are you going, Groth?” Levi called after him in despair. If they went after Erwell now, there might still be a chance they could save him.

“The fort,” Groth replied over his shoulder. “Captain’s gone. Blood in the water now. More drakes’ll be coming. We can’t swim in anymore,” he paused, just for a moment, and looked back at Levi. “I’m sorry.”

And then he was gone, disappearing into the dark of the jungle.

Levi remained where he was, transfixed as the sergeant major’s words sunk in and the marines at his back resumed their stealthy march. If they couldn’t swim in, they couldn’t capture the causeway. They couldn’t protect the Aluwai captives. After what felt like an hour, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked back to see the chief staring at him with sad eyes.

“Come, Levi.”

“But Erskine… our people!”

“There is nothing we can do for him. But we may still save the people, his and ours. This fight is not done yet.”

Levi knew in his heart that the chief was right. Erskine would have chided him for falling to despair had he still been here. He would have reminded Levi that they still had a job to do, and that falling short at the eleventh hour would do the fallen a disservice.

Levi spun and stalked into the jungle.

A few minutes later found him crouched in a jumble of vines at the edge of the fort. He peered through the vegetation, taking stock of the fortifications. He ground his teeth when he realised the Skjar had forced his people, their prisoners, to build their own prison.

The Skjar wouldn’t know Ironbarks from Blinding Willows, or which vines could be used for lashing, and which left tiny envenomed needles in your skin that caused agonising pain for months on end.

Having the Aluwai build the fort had protected the reavers from further losses to the jungle too. Despite the corpses Levi had seen at the village and on the march, warriors still patrolled every stretch of the central sector’s perimeter wall, their bright blue woad warpaint starkly contrasted with the pale skin on their bare torsos. They peered into the darkness beyond the ring of light cast by their torches, their axes, spears and swords at the ready.

But the numbers on each stretch weren’t equal. While the central area was lousy with reavers, the wall surrounding the Calandorian pens only had a single drunken warrior stumbling back and forth. Levi slipped soundlessly back into the jungle, making his way swiftly back to where the others waited, and told them what he had seen. The chief nodded, and Groth grunted, a strange glint in his eye.

It was time to get their people back!

They stalked towards the slave pen, stopping just outside the light cast by the torches mounted along the wall, and spread out, dozens of pairs of eyes trained on the lone Skjar drunkenly patrolling. The moon’s light couldn’t penetrate the thick canopy of the jungle, and the alliance had daubed themselves in mud to further conceal themselves. The fool on the wall kept stumbling along, swigging from a jug, unaware of the devils in the night marking him for death.

Levi stopped alongside his chief, intending to ask how they would deal with the sentry, while Groth scrabbled around in the bushes. Levi gave him a disapproving glare at the noise he was making, but the reaver, thankfully, remained oblivious.

“Do we wait until he’s gone?” Levi asked.

“We must. We cannot risk killing him from here. If he topples back into the camp, he will alert the others.”

“We have no idea how long that might be.”

“I don’t think we have much choice, Levi. We can’t risk raising the alarm before we are over the wall.”

Levi clenched his fists. The chief was right, of course, but Levi itched to coat his weapon with the blood of these bastards and save their people.

Apparently, Sergeant Major Groth had the same idea.

“Step aside,” he growled as he shouldered Levi out of the way, hefting his javelin.

“Sergeant Major, wait!-“ the chief said, but Groth fixed him with a strange look.

“Calm yer tits, chief. I know what I’m doing.”

He hurled the javelin, the missile arcing gracefully through the air and right into the reaver’s neck. A spray of blood, black in the torchlight, erupted into the night air as the steel tip burst through. The reaver tottered, a look of shock on his face, as he started to fall into the camp.

“No yer don’t ya bastard,” Groth said as he tugged hard on what Levi now saw was a vine in his hand. It was Builder’s Vine, a harmless and tough plant that the Aluwai used for building lashings and rope. He realised the significance as his gaze followed the vine’s trail; through the circle of light, and up over the wall to the back end of the marine’s javelin, where it jerked the dying reaver back towards them. With a barely perceptible gurgle, the Skjar plummeted over the side, a squad of marines quickly swarming from the shadows to finish the job.

“Yer up, chief.”

With a look of surprise and amusement on his face, the chief gave a hand signal, and the tribesmen sprinted to the base of the wall, grapples at the ready. They threw them over the parapet; the hooks biting into the wood, and within seconds Calandorians were scaling them and dropping over the far side. There wasn’t so much as a peep from behind the wall.

Once the last marine was over, Levi ran forward, leading his tribesmen. He deftly slithered up the rope and landed silently on the far side, finding himself in a surprisingly well-lit courtyard. He had been expecting to drop into darkness, but there were more torches burning inside the fort than on the walls. It seemed the Skjar were afraid of the dark. Or at least they were in his jungle.

It hadn’t saved them though, as the torch light revealed a score of dead reavers, overwhelmed and slaughtered by the Calandorians in the few seconds it had taken Levi to join them. Levi looked up from the bodies and found most of the marines already stacked up on the gate into the central area, while a few moved among the captives, releasing them from their bonds and tending to their wounds. Groth was with the group by the gate and, locking eyes with Levi, he waved him over.

Before starting the assault, the chief, Levi and Groth had quickly discussed a change to the plan. They couldn’t reach the Aluwai slave pens directly anymore, so once they were all in, the Calandorians would burst into the central sector and force open a path for Levi and his men to fight across to the causeway. It was risky, and would probably see the two forces separated from each other once the Skjar counter attacked, but it was their only hope of getting to the tribe before the Skjar.

Levi counted the last man over and nodded to Groth. The big Calandorian gave him a grim smile and tapped one of his marines on the shoulder. A second later, they kicked the gate open and poured through.

The shouting started almost immediately. The attack had caught the Skjar by surprise, and the marines carved a path towards the causeway while the reavers reeled under the onslaught. The Skjar fell back towards the fort’s walls, leaving only a few stragglers, too drunk or stubborn to move, scattered through the centre. It was as close to a clear path as he could get. Nothing but a handful of fighters and a single large tent in his way, and Levi sprinted for the gap, desperate to punch through to his people. A reaver got in his way, brandishing a woodsman’s axe with a snarl, and Levi put his spear through his chest, the hardened wood forcing its way between two ribs and through his heart. He dropped into a growing pool of crimson as Levi stepped over him and roared to his hunters. They streamed past him, falling upon the reavers and spilling towards the slave pens. Though the Skjar were renowned warriors, savage and strong, they couldn’t match the fury of the Aluwai hunters. Levi smiled at the reaping before him, but movement over the top of the melee drew his attention.

It was a couple dozen reavers streaming from the tent, led by one dressed in ornate plate armour, no doubt the clan Jarl. Not only were they bearing heavier arms and armour than the other raiders; chainmail coats, iron helmets, and ornate axes. They were sober.

Hauskarls.

The karls split, half of them making for the causeway with their lord while the rest thundered towards Levi’s men.

“Sergeant Major!” Levi shouted as he rushed forward to meet the group charging towards him. He heard swearing and barked orders behind him, and a squad of marines streaked towards the causeway to intercept the other group, but he couldn’t make out anything more as he joined the battle and his world rapidly narrowed in the hack and slash of the melee.

He ducked an axe swing from a snarling karl and thrust his spear at the man, but the tip caught in a chainmail ring. The Skjar grinned, exposing sharpened teeth, and grabbed the haft, twisting his body and ripping it from Levi’s hands. Levi cursed and danced away from a follow up backswing, but immediately charged again, tackling the burly man at the knees. He smiled as he felt a knee pop and the Skjar cried out in pain before Levi drew his belt knife and slit the reaver’s throat. He spat in the dying man’s face as he retrieved his spear and went hunting again.

“Their armour is too thick!” he shouted to his men. “Work in pairs, find their weak points, and kill them!”

He stalked through the melee, attacking from behind while his hunters kept them distracted, targeting the chinks in their armour; exposed calves, knee joints, and the gap in the coat sleeve that gave ready access to their hearts through their armpits. The Skjar still put up a fierce fight though, and by the time the rest of the marines launched into the fray, Aluwai and Skjar bodies littered the ground in almost equal measure. The tide turned quickly once the Calandorians were involved, and the Skjar remnants collapsed under the combined onslaught, but it was too little, too later. The Hauskarls had done their job.

Levi cried out in despair and rage as the other half of the bodyguard finished mopping up the Calandorian squad and rushed through the gate to the causeway. He was too late.

He finished with the Skjar warrior kneeling in front of him, slashing his throat with such ferocity that he cut through the flesh and cartilage completely, his knife scraping across the vertebra in the reaver’s neck. As the man gurgled, helpless, Levi booted him aside and stalked over to the gate. The Hauskarls had shut it behind them, and Levi paused while he waited for the marines and his hunters to finish the stragglers and catch up. He heard some sort of commotion on the other side, and some muffled voices, but the thick wood prevented him from clearly hearing what was going on. No doubt they were debating what to do with his people now the fort had fallen.

“Levi,” Groth said, walking up behind him, soaked in reaver blood, “I’m sorry. If I could have sent more…” he said, trailing off, eyes downcast. He knew what this meant as well.

The hostages were lost.

But for all his rage, all his hopeless, pent up frustration, Levi knew he couldn’t find fault with the Calandorian or his men. Their captain was gone, and they stood among the bodies of the foreigners who had valiantly tried to stall the Jarl’s entourage. They had done more for the Aluwai than Levi had ever expected possible from people outside his tribe.

“No, Groth. You and yours have done more for us than we had any right to ask.”

“You didn’t ask, Levi. We offered. And we would do it all again. The captain was a soft touch like that.”

Levi scoffed and nodded. He hadn’t known Erskine long, but even so he knew it was true. Groth put a hand on Levi’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes.

“How do you want to play this?”

Levi’s words caught in his throat. The truth was, he had no idea. His mind raced, running through scenarios, but none of them ended well.

Behind him, the fort’s main gates creaked open, and he turned to find the chief hobbling through with his escort. The chief was the wisest man Levi knew, if anyone could think of a way to save their people, it was him. Levi hurried over and filled him in. The chief listened through it all, his wizened face stoic. When Levi finished, the chief nodded once, straightened his back, and strolled purposefully towards the causeway.

“Chief? What are you doing?” Levi asked.

“I don’t know if we can save our people, Levi, but we still need to try.”

“What are you planning?” Levi demanded as he hurried after the chief, a sick feeling taking root in his stomach.

“If we go through in force, they may panic and kill our people. One harmless old man, though? I may be able to negotiate.”

“Chief, no,” Levi said, scooting in front of him. “More likely they will just kill or capture you too.”

“That is a risk I am willing to take.”

“But not I!” Levi shouted. “The tribe cannot lose you!”

The chief stopped, and reached out a hand, and gently cupped Levi’s face as tears started streaming down the young warrior’s cheeks.

“The tribe is more important than any one person, Levi. Even me. You know this.”

Levi shut his eyes and turned away as the chief let go, stepped past him, and through the gate. Levi held his breath, waiting for shouting or screaming or, something. But instead, he heard laughter.

Levi spun and ran for the gate, throwing it open and shooting through. He found the chief doubled over, his whole body heaving with the force of his laughter until it devolved into a coughing fit. Levi looked over the chief’s shoulder and realised why.

There was Erskine. He was whiter than chalk, his hair matted to his face by mud and swamp water. He was covered in blood, some of it clearly his, but most of it belonged to the slaughtered Skjar littered around the causeway. He was barely upright, a sword in one hand, a reaver axe in the other, the weight of them almost pulling him off balance. But still he stood. When he saw Levi, a brief, tired smile crossed his face.

“I told you we’d save your people, Levi,” he said, gesturing behind him with the axe. “You’re welcome.”

And then he keeled over, the smile still in place.