The first hour inside the low ceilinged tavern was absolute pandemonium. The second hour was marginally calmer, mostly due to Finneus setting up a table of guards near us to make sure we came to no harm. Edric had drained two dozen cups and was asleep on the floor beneath our table, snoring loudly. Sun was only on her third, as was I. The need to get bladdered had passed with each bout of congratulatory praise. I just felt drained if I was being honest with myself. I appreciated their words, but they only served to reinforce how much my actions were integral to their family’s survival.

The owner of the tavern, Osmer, came over and refilled our drinks. He glanced at the passed out figure under my feet and shook his head with a wry grin. “That fool always dives in when the ale’s flowing. It’ll surely drown him one day.”

I thanked Osmer and returned to my quiet brooding. The flush of energy I felt at finally having a sound course had ebbed away. Finneus’s constant scowls had me on edge as well. I noticed he was in a great deal of discomfort as he shifted position on the wooden bench. He was like a fart in a lift; inescapable, tainting the celebration that was taking place with its stench. Finally having enough, I waved him over. His glare intensified as he stood with a grimace of pain.

“Join me,” I said, patting the empty space at my side. Sun gave me a warning look which I brushed off with a subtle shake of my head. I wasn’t looking for trouble here. I slipped Edric’s untouched honey mead over to him and raised my own wooden mug in a toast. “To the people of Kherrash!”

The crowded bar erupted in unison and even Finneus cracked his mug against mine. “To the people!”

I leaned in close to his ear. “You’ve been giving me the stink eye all night. If you’ve got something to say, get to it.”

He met my challenging gaze and lowered his mug. “I’ve never been thrown from my horse. I still haven’t been thrown from my horse. How did you do it?”

I feigned ignorance. “Do what? You beat it with your whip and it decided to send you a message. It’s nothing to do with me.”

“I felt it… disappear. I thought that perhaps the blow to my head was the cause, but I know that to be false. It was beneath me, and then it wasn’t.”

“That’s generally what happens when you get thrown, Finneus,” I replied nonchalantly. “Now are you going to simmer down and enjoy yourself, or are you going to have a stick up your arse the whole night?”

“What does this mean?” He glowered. “A stick up one’s arse?”

“It means you are too highly strung. You need to relax and enjoy the festivities. If I’m not mistaken, I don’t think this place, or any place for that matter, has had much cause to celebrate for a while.”

“If I’m highly strung, it’s because I take my duty seriously. Everything I hear about you tells me you’re not such a man. Backtalking the marshal no less,” he huffed. “I’d have had you flogged.”

“Well it’s lucky that you’re not in charge, my old mate,” I exclaimed, clapping him on the back. “And how far has your duty got you? You’re cowering here the same as all of them.”

The conversation was souring by the second but I couldn’t help myself. I fully expected the table to be upended and for us to go a few rounds in the ale and puke soaked sawdust. Finneus tensed, his hands curling into fists. He looked to the adoring patrons who were still talking about my bravery. Sun’s palm was resting on the hilt of her axe.

With a grunt of disgust he jumped to his feet, knocking the table askew and spilling the drinks. “Enjoy yourself this eve. I doubt Daulf will be such an easy target.”

“Probably not, but I’ll fight him nonetheless,” I called as he barged through the patrons.

He snapped an order at his troops to keep me safe and was lost to the night.

“He’s a weak man,” Sun warned me.

“He looks strong enough,” I replied. “I was worried I’d have to have a punch-up.”

Sun repeated my words. “A… punch up? You mean a fight with bare knuckles?”

“We call it all sorts. A scrap, a straightener, a ruck, a dust-up. It’s all the same. He looks like he can handle himself. I wouldn’t call him weak.”

“I mean weak in character. He hides it behind his honour, but I can feel it. He’s the type who would take an insult badly and cut someone’s throat while they slept. You need to watch yourself.”

“I’ll bear that in mind. Come the morning, he’ll be forgotten as we ride for the wall.” I almost said that the orcs might take him out while the scouts harried their lines, but that would be a dickish thing to wish for, so I shut up.

I felt movement under my legs and Edric popped up, blinking erratically, his eyes glazed. “Young master,” he slurred, reaching for the half empty mug. “I’m glad you came to our town.”

“I’m glad too, mate. It looks like you’ve got your second wind, Edric.”

He finished off the ale, belched, then slipped down out of sight again like someone had let the air out of him.

“It seems his second wind has blown itself out,” said Sun, giving him a playful kick.

I crouched down and placed him in the recovery position so he wouldn’t choke to death on his own sick. I shuffled out from behind the table and offered my apologies. “I need to go to bed. This is just a little bit too much for me.”

“Rest well, Mark. I’ll make sure we are ready to ride at first light.” Sun had a gleam in her eye that had only grown following the news of my decision. She figured it was a chance to get revenge. With the numbers of warriors surrounding Daulf, it was more likely a suicide mission for us both.

“What do I owe you?” I asked Osmer at the bar.

He recoiled as if I was infected with the pox. “Nothing. Your coin will stay firmly in your pocket, sire.”

I made to argue until I saw the set in his jaw. It would be insulting to push further, so I slipped the serving girl a handful of coins as I headed towards the stairs that led up to the tiny bedrooms. By the look on her face I’d given her a king’s ransom. She blushed and curtseyed, pocketing the money before anyone could see.

Trudging up the creaky steps, the general tumult of the tavern lowered by a few decibels. I pushed through the warped door into my bedroom and found the locals had made it fit for a king. Fresh cut flowers sprouted from a large clay vase, doing their best to fight the smells from the bar below. The boards were still wet from the fierce scrubbing that had taken place. The sheets on the straw mattress were as clean as they had ever been. A lump formed in my throat at the kindness shown by the common folk as Randulf called them. Hearts of gold wrapped within people draped in rags. I poured a small mug of fresh water and looked out of the tiny window. It was actually just a hole with an opened wooden slat that could be secured against the frame to keep out the light and weather. The party had spread out into the shit streaked streets. Several of the homes had opened their doors to strangers, as if my presence was a virus taking over the garrison. Some of the townsfolk noticed me and cheered. I gave them my best royal wave and slipped from sight.

I left it open after careful thought, letting the revelry from outside warm my soul. I’d lost a part of myself amidst the horror. The humour. The snark. My sarcasm tank was in desperate need of refilling. A good night’s sleep would help massively. With the tavern being a safe zone, I summoned a pair of ear buds to help hold the ruckus at bay. As I made to slip them in, the sounds of celebration died like someone had yanked the speaker cables. In the sudden silence, I had the uncanny feeling I already had the little plugs inserted even though they were still in my hand. I moved to the window and peered out. The dancing had stopped and people were staring up the street. Craning my neck from the window, I saw Randulf and his personal guard approaching from the direction of the keep. He looked like a fish out of water, hesitant and awkward as he studied the people of his home. I noticed the same fear amongst the people at this bewildering appearance that was quite obviously rare, if not unique.

“To Marshal Balchester!” I roared from my window, raising my decidedly non-alcoholic water in his honour.

The crowd turned towards me, then turned back to their master. “To Marshal Balchester!” they chorused, toasting him with their own drinks or raised fist.

The subtle apprehension vanished from both factions; the ruler and the ruled. His stern gaze warmed with a smile as he greeted people while walking towards the tavern, making small talk and thanking them for their efforts in the war. I could see in the faces of the people he’d passed that the effort was going a long way. Randulf and the heavily armed entourage passed through into the tavern below my window and I heard the ripple of excitement carry up through the floorboards.

I popped the earbuds in my pack and created a passably ancient chair in readiness for the inevitable knock on the door. When it came, I was already sitting on the soft bed. “Come in.”

Randulf slipped inside while the guards clinked and clanked outside as they moved into position. I motioned towards the chair and the marshal pulled his cloak in tight and plonked himself down. He looked as wrung out as I did.

“Evening, Marshal.”

“Good evening, Mark,” he replied.

I stood and poured him a mug of water. I guessed Osmer had assumed I would have female company judging by the pair of cups that were waiting for me in my room. Leaving Cris aside, nothing was further from the truth. When I was stressed, I often preferred to retreat into my own company.

Randulf took it gratefully.

“They’re just people. You didn’t need to worry,” I explained.

He was full of nervous energy. He rose and walked to the window, bringing another wave of cheers from outside. “I wasn’t sure what to expect,” he replied, toasting their health in turn.

“Can you see how positive your visit’s been? They were happy before, but now they’re going nuts. How long has it been since you walked amongst...” I was about to say your people and stopped myself. “Amongst the people?” I finished.

“Do you consider marching through to war walking amongst them?” he asked.

“Were you on horseback?”

“Of course,” he replied.

“Did you stop at any point and talk to them?”

“I did not.”

“Then no, I don’t consider that walking amongst them.”

“In that case, decades is your answer,” he replied gruffly, slumping back into the chair. “Your customs and manner make my head pound, Englander.”

“I have that effect on people,” I replied. “But now the talk of the town will not only be the crazy stranger, but the marshal who came down from his ivory tower to thank the people. Everyone’s going to be more motivated. They’ll work harder, and when the time comes, they’ll fight harder if that’s your order.”

Randulf glowered at me. “Why do you say fight with such disdain?”

“Because I worry this place will become a graveyard when the orcs finally arrive. If they’ve crushed the fortresses to the west, what chance does Pitchhollow stand?”

“Little,” he replied. “But such is our duty. We need to hold strong so that the great wall can be constructed. Our deaths will ensure many thousands more will survive.”

“As long as I succeed in killing Daulf.”

“Indeed,” Randulf replied.

I wrestled with the knowledge that he was probably correct, as much as it kicked me in the nuts. The greater good or whatever bollocks they called it. A noble sacrifice in the name of ensuring the continuance of an entire race of people. I wasn’t even making the decision and the burden felt like a bag of rocks on my chest. I couldn’t imagine how the marshal was feeling. He maintained the outward façade of inscrutable power, while inside he knew the time of his end was fast approaching.

“I think I’m starting to understand you, Marshal. Sorry if I’ve been a bit of a dick.”

“Worry not, Mark. As much as my pride is a shield, so too is it a blindfold. Never in my life would I have considered my mere presence would receive such a warm welcome amongst the people. Never in my life would I have sought to forgive desertion, though I have witnessed this thing you call PTSD. I would go as far as to say I’ve experienced it. I’ve never shared this knowledge with anyone,” he whispered, leaning closer, “but there are times I awake with a scream in the dead of night. In my dreams I am trapped with my men as they are slaughtered all around me. I try to save one from the falling blade, only to have two slain at my back. I attempt to give aid, and the one I’d saved is cut down in turn. It haunts me. I think this is what you mean when you say it can become too much for warriors to bear.”

“Even the bravest soldiers have their limit, Marshal,” I replied. “The leaders are not immune from the effects. Especially when the commanders are in the thick of battle. That time has long passed in my land.”

Randulf was taken aback by my words. “Your generals don’t fight?”

“No, they send men to fight. It used to be that they would rise through the ranks and earn their position, but often times these days they get into the jobs through political connections rather than combat experience.”

“That sounds like a recipe for failure.”

“Having sycophantic yes men promoted by corrupt fuckwits instead of war fighters? It often is a failure. We have a saying; lions led by donkeys. It wasn’t always like that. There were times when kings rode at the head of their armies.”

“How else could the men draw strength, if not at the sight of their ruler standing at their side?”

“As I said, our wars are far different now. I might tell you about it someday.”

“I’m not too sure I want to hear it,” Randulf replied, finishing the water in a single gulp. After setting the mug down, the marshal looked momentarily lost.

“Was there something else?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t even going to mention it, but after you’d left I started to ponder if you might succeed where others have failed.”

“Try me. I’m at your disposal, Marshal.”

He stood up and began pacing the very small room. “On the road to the coast, there’s a mountain pass that houses the Timeless Tower, the home of the Kherrash sorcerers. The elders among them would train apprentices who would then serve under the Dawnstar family as advisors. As the elders fell to age, the apprentices would take their places with all the knowledge they had gained in the world and so the cycle continued.”

“They sound like they’ll be a great help in the war,” I replied, sensing something was amiss.

“They would have been,” agreed Randulf.

“Would’ve? What do you mean?”

“Alwyn, the Arch Sorceress, summoned all of the elders and apprentices back to the Timeless Tower for an audience to discuss the war.”

As the marshal tapered off without continuing, I got a bad feeling in my gut. “What happened?”

“No one knows. When a fortnight had passed without their return, we sent a party to investigate. It’s as if the place is abandoned.”

“How is it I can help if they aren’t there?” I asked.

“When I say it seems the place is deserted, we have no way of confirming the fact. You see, unless you are invited in, the tower is inaccessible to anyone unless they can fly. The door is magical, only opening when the sorcerers deign to open it. No torches burned on the balconies high above. At night, the place was as dead as a tomb.”

“I can’t fly, marshal,” I warned.

“Oh I know. I just wanted to get some eyes on the place who have the ability to see things that myself and my soldiers might have missed. They’ve probably turned themselves into chickens or something equally as disastrous.”

I had another alternative. “Could the orcs have got past your lines and attacked?”

“There’s no sign of battle. No blood, no bodies, it’s as if they just went up in a puff of smoke. I only ask this of you if you have the time to spare. The diversion will take a day or so, no more.”

At the marshal’s words, a new quest appeared.

Quest – Magical Mystery Tour (Optional)

Description – Investigate the disappearance of the sorcerers. In a world beset with goblins and orcs, it’s probably sensible to assume the worst.

Reward – Tattoo (Random)

20 Realm points

“I’ll get it done, Marshal,” I promised.

“Most excellent,” exclaimed Randulf, heading for the door. “And now I’ll allow you to rest. I might try this honey mead that the people seem to rave about so much. I’m normally a wine drinker, but this sweet ale has me intrigued.”

“Watch yourself,” I warned. “It’s deceptively strong.”

“All the more reason to try it,” replied Randulf excitedly.

I had a sudden epiphany and halted the marshal’s exit. “Do you have anyone else apart from the sorcerers who might be good with dangerous…” how could I put it? “Chemicals? Powders that burn fiercely and hurt people?”

“I do have some scholars who dabble in remedies and poultices. Why?”

“I’ll leave a little package buried between the two saplings to the east that lean toward each other. This stuff is extremely dangerous. I’m talking kill-you-dead-if-you-make-a -single-mistake dangerous. Please explain the hazards and if they don’t want to risk it, that’s fine. I’ll leave a note with it too. If they could try and recreate something similar, it might aid in the battles to come. Just make sure they are well away from the garrison when they practice. Find an abandoned home or something nearby.”

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You have me intrigued, Mark. I shall do as you wish. Good hunting. I eagerly await your victorious return.”

And with that, the marshal and his men joined the party below. I removed the chair, slipped in my ear buds, and fell into bed. Sleep was quick in coming.