Saurus swung high, low, then high again, forcing his opponent off balance. Against full plate, it was wise not to commit to a single cut unless you knew the cut would be fatal. The Royal Guard swung his large great sword in response, attempting to part the head from Saurus’ shoulders; Saurus ducked.

His sword arm was growing tired. He did not feel the onset of fatigue but noticed it in his strokes—that was once a blur—become slow and clumsy. He would need to finish this fight soon or risk making a fatal error due to exhaustion. His adversary: A tall Royal Guard with a chest built like a barrel, seemed relentless. Never tiring or showing a wince of fatigue. He saw a flash of steel and parried awkwardly; the oncoming blade glanced off his pauldron with a screech.

‘Finish the fight or lose your head. This man has you beat.’ He thought. Saurus saw another strike coming to his right. Instead of blocking the sword, he spun, allowing his enemy to make contact. He only hoped it would not make it through the layers of mail and cloth hidden below the plate, now with his enemy off-balance and open, he countered, bringing his own blade down with vicious intent. It severed into the joint behind the knee, burying into the mail to meet flesh. His adversary fell in silence.

On his back, a man in full plate might as well have been a naked boy. Before the pain in Saurus’ right side sent burning tendrils of pain to torment him, Saurus raised the tip of his sword high, driving the point down with all his might and weight. The sword punctured through the plate and plunged deeply into the breastplate. The man inside the suit remained still as black blood pooled beneath him.

Saurus felt alive. He looked around the city courtyard with a sense of pristine clarity. This is what he was made for, what he was meant to do, he simply forgot. All around people swarmed. The city had awoken like some sleeping beast and chaos was now so fierce, quenching it would be like trying to quench a fiery tornado.

“Saurus…Saurus…Saurus.”

The words were diluted among the tumult of rebellion as people screamed, yelled, and fought all around him. Saurus turned to see Hadwin, his face half shadowed in dried blood.

“The gate is open. The WC flees.” Hadwin shouted, his eyes darting around anxiously. In each hand, he held an axe.

It was true. The WC were leaving and those that had arrived to reinforce the gate were deciding otherwise. The only fighting force left was the Royal Guard, but despite their strength, they were simply too few. Men and boys alike, dove at the armoured men like rabid dogs bringing down a bull. More Royal Guard would come Saurus knew, but when they arrived, it would be against an even better-armed mob. Saurus saw the courtyard laden with swords, old axes, and bits of armour from the friend and foe alike.

“The city’s ours Saurus, my Lord.” Laughed Hadwin, hardly believing it.

“Not until the pretender king is dead.” Answered Saurus and set off at the jog, Hadwin followed.

Every street or so, Hadwin would stop to give answers to some city folk, wondering what was happening in their city.

“Your people rise,” roared Hadwin. “you are no longer prisoners to this false spider King.”

Deeper into the city it felt to Saurus like he was walking through a dream, a dream not yet forgotten. The streets were bare and empty of life. The city bell rang ominously like the toll to some undead. Ahead he saw the throne room and the dream became real. He stopped.

“My Lord?” Hadwin asked. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Said Saurus but remembered the blow to his side and checked. He hadn’t felt any pain there but that never meant there wasn’t a wound to be treated. The lower breastplate had taken all of the impact, and only some of the mail rivets below were broken. If he hadn’t turned his body away from this blow, it might have cut deep enough to greet flesh, possible bone.

“I’m not sure we can kill it.” Said Saurus.

“Sure we can my Lord, with these axes right ‘ere.”

Hadwin lifted an axe to reflect the sunlight as if to confirm what he meant.

“The Queen laid a trap and if not for my son, a Magus. We’d both be dead.”

Hadwin readied a response then captured it. He looked up at the throne room with a troubled face, his bear belt sticky with black blood. Then something struck Hadwin like an enlightened none-believer discovering his God.

“What about your own magic Saurus.” He said wide-eyed. “The thing you did with the birds and the elk. Can you not call upon such boons now?”

Saurus felt his heart leap and instinctually reached up to touch the Nymph bean that was longer there. He had given the bean to the healer outside the wall. Saurus closed his eyes to try and call upon the animal skins he had taken before but saw only darkness. He opened his eyes again to see Hadwin’s gloomy face.

“I can’t control it.” He admitted. “The feeling just…comes.”

Hadwin considered. “Then maybe your green Gods will answer when we do battle with the king?”

The thought had crossed Saurus' mind too, perhaps that was why he was here. Why the elk had taken him from Wetbrook to Leeside. Why the birds had helped him take the city wall and open the gates. Maybe the Tree Nymphs and their green Gods were guiding him. But to what purpose? Leeside was miles away from their enchanted forest.

Saurus turned to notice a burning building from where they had come. The people were flooding through the city like a plague of locust, consuming any WC or Royal Guard they happened upon. They would eventually reach the throne room, and there they would face whatever the Spider King had awaiting for them.

“Let’s get this done,” Saurus whispered. He felt the heavy hand of Hadwin pat his back.

“I’m with you brother. Till whatever end.”