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aBy the time Melanth had reached the camp once again, the place was in uproar. It had taken him less than ten minutes of hectic flight to reach the plateau and return to human form, and in that time every able bodied man in the camp had been roused and was dashing between the tents amidst a carefully controlled chaos. Weapons, armour and equipment of all kinds were being ferried back and forth to waiting soldiers, orders and confused shouts rang out in a tumultuous, deafening din. It would seem to the unaccustomed that everyone had lost their minds, which probably wasn't so far from the truth.

Indeed, to one person, it appeared they had. Cael stood like a stone amidst a surging and heaving ocean, holding his helmet like an anchor as he was jostled helplessly by the throngs. Melanth elbowed and shouldered his way through the crowds and snagged Cael, dragging him to a relatively quiet corner. That scream had unnerved him, and he had almost immediately figured out what had happened. He had expected the Rupert to lead a small scouting party to search for the luckless soul, and with any luck the snob would get himself ambushed and killed by Dogmen. The last thing that Melanth had expected was a full scale call to arms over one unfortunate stupid enough to go wandering through enemy territory in the pitch blackness.

"I've been looking for you!" The excited lad piped, taken aback by Melanth's sudden arrival. "Sarge is wants you, he says he's going to tear you a new one!"

"Oh, great." He groaned

Cael led him through the crowds to where Yriel and the brothers Grim and Tarq were stood stolidly like a living wall around the squad, creating an island of calm in the centre of which the little Dwarf sergeant was ranting so that foam flecked his lips. As soon as he saw Melanth he moved with blinding speed, and Melanth staggered backwards with the dwarf clinging to his chest like a demented limpet.

"Where the hell have you been? We've got an emergency here!" He all but screeched. One hand held onto Melanth by the collar whilst the other held a mattock and a large flensing knife, both of which were orbiting their heads in threatening circles. The dwarf had his feet planted on Melanth's belt and was staring him in the face with a single balefully bloodshot eye.

"Taking a shit in the woods sir!" He improvised, trying desperately not to breathe the fetid odour of the dwarf's breath.

"Get in line you horrible little man!" The creature screeched, leaping down and turning to face the squad as though nothing had happened. Melanth was about to make and acid retort to the 'little' comment, but decided that he wanted to go on living and bit his tongue, joining the line at Cael's side.

"Right, you lot all heard that scream, and that means that some poor bugger's been got! Those mother whoring Ashkar have them, and we can only hope that they killed the poor bastard outright, 'cause if they didn't they're not going to want to go on living. Nevertheless, it's out job to go out and bring them back, and the sooner we go the better, 'cause the Ashkar won't keep them in one place for long. You lucky lads just volunteered." He grinned evilly, the ruddy torchlight reflecting off those teeth not too rotten to shine. "You're going to be in the vanguard, that's right at the front Private Grim, before you ask. You lads just remember your training-"

"We haven't been trained yet!" Cael wailed despondently.

"-and you should come back with all your bigger bits still attached. Well, them's your orders, simple eh? Squad! Moooovvvveeooouut!

***

Brambles lashed and cut at Sara's legs as she was marched relentlessly through the trees. Within a few minutes her gown was in tatters, her legs ad apron cut to rags by the snaking, thorny creepers in the undergrowth. Her injuries stung, her head spun and ached abominably where the one known as Lurtz had struck her. Yet, for all the pain and humiliation, she dared not cry out. She had tried that a few times, as she had tried to escape. Each time they caught her easily, dragging her mercilessly through the thickets for a few paces before pummelling her some more, laughing their evil little snickering laughs sadistically all the while. She had no idea where they were taking her, but she knew in her soul that it did not bode well. Was she to be a slave perhaps? Or... she gulped at the thought, recalling Lurtz's earlier words... a sacrifice?

Her immediate thought was to rebel, to once more strike at her captors with fist and knee and tooth, but even as the thought was birthed within her, it died stillborn. Her courage wavered as the tidal wave of despair overtook her, flooding her mind with sorrow as she realised the sheer helplessness of her own position. If she tried to escape, they would only beat her again, sapping her of strength and morale each time until she gave up and lay down, hoping to die. Why had she left the inn in pursuit of such a flightful fancy? Why had she forsaken the warm comfort of her bed, and the attentive (if misguided) care of her father? All she had accomplished by running was to doom herself to death ignobly in some cold ditch far from home, alone. Forgotten. Morn would search and spit and curse her loss, praying to himself that she would do well in her new life. Bitter tears stung her eyes at the thought; she cursed her own pig-headedness, her flawed determination to be free and independent. Why hadn't she spent more time thinking it through, considering not only the means, but the ends? She hadn't stopped for a second to think that she could hurt those few who cared for her. She thought to herself that her captivity was a just punishment, and she almost welcomed the pain as more thistles and brambles lashed her shins with their barbed whips.

The foul creatures who had taken her prisoner were leading her deeper into the forest, into the dark boughs where not even the hellish light of the mercenary camp's cooking fires could fight its way into. Ghostly shapes of twisted, misshapen trees loomed from the darkness at her, appearing suddenly from the myopia of fog and night so that she often walked into them. In this place not even brambles grew, forsaking the benighted ground. It was further and further into this place that the things led her, yanking at her savagely when she slowed or stumbled upon a treacherous root. The one called Lurtz walked behind her, kicking her when she tired, dragging her back when he thought she was going too fast. He did not seem to have the same trouble seeing in the dark as she did, and she was perversely grateful for his guidance, bearing the harsh touch of clawed fingers with scowl and grimace. Often he would shout "Keep moving!" Too hurt and sorrowful to resist, she obeyed.

The further into the dread, lightless forest they progressed, the more uneasy she became. The low mist that skulked across the ground and clung to the boles of the massive trees seemed to have a ghostly, evanescent life of its own. All the while the feeling of eyes on the back of her neck persisted, like a baleful itch she couldn't scratch, that would persist even if she scratched the skin and flesh from her spine. She tried to shake the feeling, focussing instead upon the path she trod and her captors. A tiny, miniscule hope burned, like a candle flame to a man overboard in a storm that she would be rescued from the drowning despair, or would escape those freezing waters. Her captors didn't seem to be too intelligent, making up for their lack of mental capacity with sheer thuggery and sadism. Perhaps she could yet make a break for freedom in an unguarded moment, when they least expected it. She would have to wait until their keenness was dulled however, and wait for morning at least. She could barely make two steps without falling flat on her face in this gloom. Patience, she would need more patience. Certainly more patience than had led her into her current predicament.

They trudged on for what seemed like hours, until finally a light became visible in the murk. At first she thought it was a candle, some luckless soul searching the woods of a night time only to meet the same fate as herself, but discounted this when Lurtz, seeing her bemused expression, let out a bellow of bestial laughter that shook branches and sent the lurking, hidden creatures of the night scattering into their dank lairs. Yet another hour passed by, as a starving man slowly passes from life and the light grew bigger. Harsh cries, evil laughter made a whisper amongst the leaves, a whisper that became a roar. The light grew, swelling grotesquely into a raging fire surrounded by more Dogmen. At first she thought she was delirious with cold, fatigue and blood loss, but to her abject horror she realised that the stinking, horrid swarm was real to her eyes. Pure terror, as cold and numbing as ice slid down her spine, making her knees buckle and shiver as the things saw her and let up a great and terrible applause, congratulating the returning hunters whilst leering at their catch. Most were clad as the hunters, clothed in raw hide and rusty, tattered chain mail engrained with the grime of years. Many wore swords at their hips, the notches on the dull blades telling of past battles, numerous skulls dangling from belts by lank remains of hair gauging the kills. The ice hardened as she realised that these were soldiers of some description. The internal filing system of her memory threw up a card. Hadn't that mercenary said that there was a call to arms to turn back Ashkar in the north?

Her thinking was cut short when Lurtz picked her up by the neck and dragged her from the ruddy firelight, his claws digging into her flesh, lungs burning and stars going nova before her eyes. She hit the ground hard, landing at an awkward angle and twisting her ankle in an explosion of fresh pain. Cursing back tears she watched as Lurtz drew himself up to make an announcement to the other grinning, slavering monstrosities.

"Alright lads, I know's you're sick of hauling muck around in this god forsaken hole, and I know you're all bored rigid, so here's a little entertainment for yer!" The clamour of cheering was so loud that he had to draw his sword and batter a few of his fellows around the head with the flat of the blade just to be heard. "Shut up you louts! This is the first catch of what will be many, 'nd as soon as those bloody humies decide to come after us there'll be more in the offering! But for now, the damn Robes want to take this one for interrogation in the morning. Use 'er as you will tonight, but make damn sure she's alive when the sun comes up, or it'll be you's the Robes take for playtime." He grinned wickedly, revealing dagger long teeth. Sara saw that much of the levity had gone from the previously raucous creatures. What or who these 'Robes' were she did not know, and she assumed it would be better not to know. From what she had already seen of the camp, she knew that the interrogation would consist of more than just a lot of grating questions. She counted this as a mixed blessing. In the morning she would be tortured, but it seemed that none of the Ashkar wanted to incur the wrath of the Robes, so at least she could go to her death with her dignity. She could only begin to imagine what uses they would make of her.

"We 'aint forgotten what happened Nibs sir." Mumbled one from the cover of the crowds. A general sagging of shoulders and lowering of stares indicated that none of the others had either.

"Damn right you 'aint. Don't let it happen again, or this time it'll be me who hangs your flayed pelts from me door."

His piece said, Lurtz grabbed her in his strangling hold once again and threw her into an unceremonious heap near a hide stretching frame that had been driven into the ground. He took the chain from her neck and tossed it into a corner near a patch of crude tents, and bound her wrists to the frame with twine, wrapping it tightly to the wooden frame so that any struggling would only cause the bonds to cut deep into her arms. That done he spat on her, grabbing her face in a clawed fist and forced her to look him in the eye, drawing his face close to hers so that she could smell his foetid breath.

"Do you believe in a god?" He spat, jaws snapping millimetres from her face so she flinched. Out of terror she didn't reply, and so he took this for her answer.

"Well, if I was you I'd start believing pretty quickly, because divine intervention's the only way you are going to get out of here in one piece. Still, you're a pretty wench to bed, if one can stand the stench of human long enough." He snickered evilly, moving his hand down from her face to fondle her soft breasts, cupping them in his palms through her apron. He laughed again as she stared at him with impotent fury, her eyes filled with shame and rage.

"Heh heh heh, you're a fiery one. I'll have my fun with you before the night is done, Robes or no Robes."

Grabbing her hair, he slammed her head into the wooden post, making her cry out in sudden pain, and then laughing as she swayed dizzily. His message painfully driven home, Sara huddled into a ball and began bracing herself for what was about to come.

***

The squad had spread out through the forest, advancing in a line thought foliage with swords drawn, wary always for spider holes from which the enemy may spring unexpectedly. Behind them the rest of the army advanced, sweeping crack and crevices, trees and bushes. It was scarce comfort to the squad though, for the bulk of the forces were half a mile behind, lugging heavier equipment. By the time anyone realised the luckless scouts were under attack, never mind what to do about it they would all be dead. Melanth couldn't help but curse the Rupert for ordering this ridiculous escapade. He had sent untrained and untested soldiers to deal with a cunning and bloodthirsty foe. At least the Dwarf seemed to know what he was doing. The arrangement of the squads and companies was meant to deal with ambushes, even though the vanguard was seemingly expendable. Why the entire force had been mobilised to rescue just one person was beyond him, but those were his orders. A good soldier never questioned their orders, or so he had been told.

The forest was forbidding; there was no question of that. His human instincts were going insane, warning him that the place could only spell disaster. He struggled with the urge to return to his natural form, a form that would at least offer him a degree of protection from sword and arrow, a form that didn't stagger blindly, banging its knees off roots and fallen stumps. He jumped at the slightest sound, but then, they all did. No one spoke; the only noise was the snapping of twigs and quiet curses of those who tripped marking the progress of the others through the undergrowth. Occasionally the Dwarf would call a halt and examine the ground for sign of a spoor, often changing their path through the trees to foil surprise attacks. Yriel ranged ahead, reporting what she could see and herding them back into line if they strayed in the murk. No torches were permitted, crushing their already dented morale. Sometimes they would catch fleeting glimpses of figures in the trees, only to discover it to be another scout squad. Everyone was on edge, and Melanth feared that if the Ashkar didn't get them first, the terrors in the darkness or mistaken identity would. They had been moving through the forest for hours without success, and many feared that they could become lost in this forsaken place.

He was startled when the sensation of being watched returned suddenly and with piercing intensity, penetrating deep into flesh, bone and soul. Nervously he drew a dagger from its sheath and cupped it in his hand, his sword clamped firmly in the other. Human instincts reared, screaming a primate warning but he tried to shut them out. If he was going to survive, he would need all his wits about him, and the last thing he needed was to be distracted at a bad moment. With any luck there wouldn't be so many Ashkar in this part of the forest, and hopefully they could all get by unnoticed. With any luck they would all see daylight with living eyes again. The Dwarf led them on regardless of any perils the forest. Night sighted and surprisingly nimble amongst the roots, he forged ahead of the main body, leading by example, or so Melanth assumed.

They plodded onwards, drawing nearer together as the trees became denser. There was no wind amongst the boughs, yet the leaves whispered eerily in the gloom, as though plotting their demise. Cael drew nearer to Melanth and opened his mouth to ask a question, yet as he did the Dwarf came to an abrupt halt, a clenched fist raised to signal silence. He stopped so suddenly that Liren nearly stepped on him, and he was staring fixedly out into the woods, a bead of sweat, visible even in the darkness running down his forehead. His hand was clenched over his mattock with a white-knuckled grip, shivering. Melanth's blood ran cold.

"What is it sir?" Heller whispered, his voice quavering as he peered myopically into the darkness, trying to see whatever it was that had the Dwarf transfixed.

"The bastards..." The Dwarf breathed.

"What is it sir?" Heller repeated, his tone urgent his hand trying desperately to tug his sword from its scabbard. They all felt it; a sudden change in the air that made the blood turn as cold and solid as ice, freezing the veins so that the heart missed a beat. But even that wasn't a bad as the fear; the slow, choking tides of terror that rose from the pit of your stomach and flooded your body, turning your nerves and muscles to water.

The Dwarf turned slowly, staggering, an arrow sticking out of his gut, and then collapsed without a word.

Probably only a Dragon could have moved faster than Heller as the man leapt forwards, sword raised to protect the fallen sergeant as the Ashkar charged from the bushes. The dagger flew from Melanth's palm, striking something moving that let out a cut-off yelp. Melanth didn't see what it hit, didn't care. He barely managed to draw his sword in time to block the first blow that came from his side, nearly throwing him from his feet and parried the second, forcing the Ashkar back with rage and bloodlust burning in his eyes as it prepared to lunge, and got his sword in its gut for its trouble. It howled, flailing desperately at the metal in its bowls before Melanth wrenched the blood slick blade from its body and it fell to the floor, thrashing with a mortal wound. Beside him Grim and Tarq fought back to back, Liren and Cael trying to hold their own against a beast as Heller stood protectively over the commander, two foes already dead at his feet. Melanth was nearly bowled over by a second Dogman, regaining his footing just in time to duck a crude stone axe aimed for his head. It was impossible to tell how many of them there were, the very forest seemed to be alive with the creatures and their howling war cries that bead down on his ears as hard as any battle hammer. The Ashkar was a good fighter, blocked and weaved, trying to break through his guard and cleave soft flesh. It parried a strike that had been meant to gut it, but missed the riposte that slashed out its throat, spraying the clearing with scarlet blood like drops of warm butter in the chill foggy air. Yriel was joining the fight now, having rushed back when she heard the sounds of fighting and dived into the swirling confusion of the raging mêlée. No sooner had that creature fallen than another challenged him, hacking madly with an axe. He barely managed to block and dodge the blows it rained down upon him, forcing him back under the sudden and frenzied weight of its onslaught, trying to herd him from his comrades where he would be an easy target to slay.

Sparks flew as blades met. The rest of the world and the battle raging around becoming dim and far away as discipline and instinct took hold, pushing aside the fear and the adrenaline, becoming oddly slower and detached, as though he was a marionette and something deeper and darker rose through the seething surface of his mind to tug the strings. His opponent was strong and used that to its advantage, trying to knock his sword from his hand with great sweeping strokes. He lunged for it, and knocking aside its axe and hitting it head first in the stomach, wrestling it to the ground amid a flurry of slashing claws and snapping teeth. He dropped his sword, punching and kicking at the writhing, stinking body, noticing as he did that the Dwarf had staggered to his feet and was hefting the mattock with grim determination. Lashing claws tore into his armour, ripping through the tough leather and gouging into his stomach. He nutted it in the face, floundering for his one remaining dagger as hot blood streamed down his legs. He couldn't feel the pain now, but knew he would later. Another blow sent him reeling, clutching his spinning head. The Ashkar dropped the rock it was holding, trying to regain its feet. Melanth rolled away wildly, grabbing his sword but didn't have room to bring the edge to bear and smashed it in the gut with the pommel, stabbing it through the heart as it doubled over with the pain.

He sensed more than saw Liren running from the battle, running for his life into the trees with an Ashkar hot on his trail, sword and friends abandoned, forsaken. He made it about thirty feet at a mad dash before a beast caught up with him, severing his head from trunk with a backhanded blow from a huge rusted broadsword. The man fell amidst jeering cries and his head rolled into a thicket, the Ashkar laughing like loons as they defiled the headless corpse.

Cael was in trouble. Liren had left him to fight his opponent alone, and it was clear that he wasn't ready for a real fight. The Dogman he was facing knew it too, and grinned obscenely, toying with him like a cat toys with a mouse before making the final, ultimate kill. Melanth piled into it from the side, catching it by surprise and delivering it a deep slash across the thigh that made it roar; a cry borne more of anger than pain. It whirled, kicking out with its good leg and nearly tripping as Cael took the initiative and hacked at it, chipping up sparks as the blades clashed. Pain maddened it, and it swatted aside Cael's sword and mercilessly lunged at him before Melanth could intervene. For a moment Melanth's heart skipped a beat as he thought the lad had been run through, but Cael twisted away and dropped heavily to the ground, blood seeping through a graze on his side and staining his shirt oil black in the darkness. Melanth dived, locking blades with it, keeping it away from Cael while he regained his footing but it was quickly apparent he was no match for the despicable, foul creature. Tired and already wounded, his arms felt stiff and leaden like heavy lumps of wood, the sword a ton weight in his hands. Each movement was a chore, each parry and block felt as though it would jar the blade from rigid fingers. He could see Cael getting to his feet from the corner of his eye, saw the lad running at it, shouting incoherently with foam flying from his lips and saw the Ashkar see this too. Almost absentmindedly it pirouetted in the air and slashed him across the face, but this did nothing to slow Cael's momentum which took him full into its heavily muscled stomach. It must have been like running into a brick wall, because he rebounded and fell helplessly to the ground, knocked senseless be the force of the impact. The creature growled long and low, hacking at Melanth with such force he was thrown from his feet and could do nothing but watch helplessly as baring its teeth as it raised its sword to deal with the young lad, staring down with gleeful malevolence as it went to murder the human, and saw something else as it did; Cael's sword, lodged in its ribs.

It wasn't much of a pause, but it was enough. Melanth intercepted the sword as it swung amidst a howl of rage, bringing his own blade up as the arm went down and took it cleanly off at the elbow. The Ashkar watched the severed arm tumble to the ground dispassionately, staring at the denuded stump and falling to its knees. It was heedless of Cael struggling to his feet, wheezing. The boy regarded the creature with wide eyed caution, as though wondering what it would do next. He was injured, blood streaming down his face over bruises that were already spreading across his cheek. Melanth could see that he was shaking. He twisted his Ronin in his palm, offering it to Cael hilt first.

"Finish it." He said, watching fear and doubt flash in the lad's eyes for but a brief moment before they were lost to the darkness. Cael screamed and there was a sound like a steak hitting a butcher's block. Cael turned away and retched. Silence ensued, a strange silence punctuated only by howls and shouts as the lagging foot soldiers caught up, but nevertheless a silence in its own right. The fighting was dying down now. Having lost the element of surprise, the Ashkar were fleeing into the woods as the Dwarf had predicted, there to regroup and launch another ambush, unwilling to engage their more numerous and powerful foe directly if it could be helped.

"I've never... killed anything before." He murmured when he could finally speak again. Even through the darkness, Melanth could see that his face had taken on an ashen, pale hue and a patina of clammy sweat. A momentary twinge of sympathy made him lay his hand on the lad's shoulder. He took a quick moment to tally up the squad's casualties. Liren was dead, and the Dwarf wasn't as badly injured as he seemed, judging by the amount of swearing he was doing. Around them, nine Ashkar lay dead, and Tarq had taken a blow that had stripped the muscle from his right arm, bearing raw flesh that would probably require amputation. Everyone else appeared to be more or less whole except for minor injuries and cuts.

"It takes everyone that way the first time." He grimaced after a while, recalling his first kill and the bestial pleasure he had taken in it. "It gets easier the more you do it, believe me. You did well."

"Did well?" He snapped, rounding on Melanth, his fists clenched, seemingly about to say more but unable to voice the words. Melanth stared him down, locking gazes with him until he flinched and looked away.

"Yes, you did well. I know what you're thinking, and that was the best reaction I could've hoped from you. If you had done anything except regret what you had just done, I'd have run you through myself 'cause that would mean that you enjoyed the killing." He paced about for a short way, examining the headless creature. "Understand this; if you enjoy the killing that makes you no better than them and twice as dangerous to your friends. Regret it now all you want, and keep on regretting in the future and with every breath you take. But for the love of the gods don't stop killing! Not now. Out here it's you or them, and don't think for a second that if it was you lying there in the muck that thing would be feeling sympathy for you. If you hesitate even for a moment, you and your comrades will all be sharing space with the worms. Keep that in mind."

***

It was nearly an hour before Lurtz returned, and by that time most of the Ashkar camp had been spread out across the forest for its nightly guarding duties. Sara had been working at the crude frame for nearly an hour, trying to loosen ties she could not see with bound hands. She knew if she could lift the crossbar she would be able to slide her hands across off the edge of the pole, and this gave her a glimmer of hope, even if it was a faint one. He didn't see what she had been trying to do, for which she was thankful, but instead took a long skinning knife from his belt. Beyond fear, she closed her eyes, waiting for the first prick of the blade that would open her throat, a prick that never came. She felt the bonds on her hands slacken and go limp, then belatedly realised that she had been cut loose.

She didn't get very far before Lurtz caught her again, clasping in his arms what suddenly seemed to be a biting, clawing, elbowing ball of maddened rage. He got an arm around her chest and squeezed the air from her lungs until she stopped struggling, laughing that even when nearly asphyxiated, she was still making feeble attempts to fight him. Carried unceremoniously like a wet sack, he slung her over his shoulder and hauled her into an ox-hide tent amidst a shower of laughs and jeers from the sentries on duty. She winced as he threw her roughly to the floor and began stripping off his sword belt and chain mail, tossing them into a corner. Her eyes locked onto the sword at the far end of the tent, wondering how fast she could have it out of its sheath and if it would be fast enough to skewer the filthy creature before her. She knew what he was about to do, and she was damned if she was going to give up without a fight.

Her thoughts were interrupted when he leapt and grabbed her roughly, pinning her to the muck. She shouted, thrashing with her remaining strength, trying to throw him off but to no avail. Lurtz laughed vindictively, revelling in his prey's feeble flailing that only added spice to his lust. He pushed her to the floor, ripping mercilessly at the remains of her dress with sharp claws, holding her easily against her writhing. Within moments the human was nude, trying to curl up into a ball, legs crossed to protect her modesty from the ravages of the Ashkar. Her fear thrilled him, the tenseness of her muscles, the pathetic sobbing. Erection throbbing against his leather tunic he hauled her rump up, pinning her knees beneath her so that her rear and tender pussy was exposed helplessly to him. Roughly he tugged aside his tunic, penis swinging free, leaning forwards and raising his hips to shatter her resolve and make her worst fears realised...

The tent exploded inwards and an Ashkar officer in full battle regalia thrashed to detangle himself from the raw ox-hide, careless of the defiled act his commander was about to commit. Lurtz rounded on him like a thunderstorm, mouth formed into a savage snarl, hand reaching for his sword thinking this was someone here to challenge him for the right to the female.

"Sir! The enemy are in the woods! They nearly have us surrounded!" The officer shouted, finally freeing himself from the tent. He took one look at the human and snorted, waiting for his commander to rise.

"How the hell did this happen?" Lurtz snarled, tearing his sword belt from the ground. Sara could just see Ashkar in uproar around the camp through the tears and the scant protection of her arms.

"Scouts sir! The vanguard walked right into one of our ambushes, but there are thousands of them out there now! Patrols and pickets are being overrun; most of the rangers are already retreating. Our forward positions engaged them about ten minutes ago, but their couriers got ambushed by Metamorphicate infiltrators and this is the first we've heard of it!"

"Where are they?" Lurtz roared, lifting the luckless officer off the ground by his vest.

"At the picket sir! They're nearly on us!" The officer choked, eyes rolling wildly. Lurtz roared and threw him out of the tent, snatching up his mail shirt and racing out the flaps, pausing only long enough to snarl at Sara.

"I'll get back to you. We'll finish this later!"

She lay for a few moments after, trying to contemplate what she had just heard. Someone was coming, no not someone, lots of someones, and enemies of the Ashkar to boot. Hope, quashed, crushed and stifled like a banked ember rose on wings of fire. Someone was coming to free her! She took a few seconds to take scope of her surroundings, suddenly energised. Lurtz had forgotten to tie her back up again, and with the camp in disarray there was less chance of being spotted. On the other hand, the Ashkar would be jumpy and anxious and disinclined to ask questions. It would be wiser to stay where she was and wait for her mysterious saviours to come to her, rather than risk going out and getting shot full of arrows. Tense, adrenaline flooded her body, making blood run hot despite the chill and lack of clothes. That would soon be rectified. All she had to do was wait, and pray the Ashkar would forget her for the now.

***

The squad advanced at a fast trot, stealth forgotten. The Ashkar knew about them by now. All over the forest the full force of the army was being brought to bear against the Ashkar. The Dogmen were stronger and frenzied, fought like demons, but they were ultimately doomed and knew it too. They were engaging in a fighting retreat, a large rearguard hampering the army whilst most of them escaped. Not their squad though. Despite the earlier fight in which Liren had been killed, they had been relatively unchallenged since. Two more squads had linked up with them to storm a nearby Ashkar encampment, hoping to swing around the rear and cut off a portion of the retreat. Torches blazed in the darkness, hundreds of them, one carried by each man now that the need was speed and not subversion.

The arrow to the stomach had not slowed the Dwarf sergeant down much, and gave Melanth a new found respect for his commanding officer. Lesser soldiers would have been felled by the strike, but the Dwarf managed to keep pace with the rest of them despite the injury. He had killed four since being wounded, and seemed to be on a one-Dwarf warpath for revenge. Cael seemed to have recovered, though Melanth knew that his resolve had been shaken badly. He would have to keep an eye on him, for his own sake.

"Foes ahead and many of them!" Yriel shouted, waiting for the others to catch up. The Dwarf was in the lead, his mattock slimy with blood, his flensing knife having already been put to use, judging by the pelts slung over a shoulder. Heller was a close second, followed by the rest with Melanth and Cael bringing up the rear, mainly because Melanth had been lumbered with carrying Liren's corpse. Well, most of it at least. No one had been able to find his head.

"How many?" The dwarf said, poking at the hole in his skin that the arrow had made en-route to his guts. He winced, and adjusted the trophy Ashkar skins for comfort, looking extremely satisfied with himself as he did.

"About thirty of them." Yriel reported, staring out into the trees, the darkness doing nothing to hinder her keen night-sight. "There appears to be some sort of camp ahead, and a ridge of wooden stakes between us. They look pretty resolute sir."

"Too many for us, even with the reinforcements." He grumbled. "Thirty against twenty two isn't good odds, especially if they think they can't retreat. Ashkar may be cowards at heart, but they'll fight like hell if they're backed into a corner. We'll pull back and regroup with the main force. I doubt there's much more we can do out here on our own."

"Er, there may be a problem with that sir." Yriel said, raising her sword.

"What problem?" The Dwarf sagged. This was not turning out to be a good night for him.

"Light infantry sir, they're flanking us. We're surrounded."

"Again?" The Dwarf's tone was almost theatrical, and Melanth nearly laughed for a moment at the sheer exasperation in his voice. He would have laughed too, had they not once more been about to die.

He could see the Ashkar moving in the gloom, indistinct shapes, broader and stockier than he remembered Ashkar being. As they materialised through the fog he could see why; each creature bore a bundle of interlaced branches and plants on its back, so that all they would have to do would be to lie down and they would be part of the scenery. They wore no armour, but each Ashkar was carrying a short yew bow. Melanth saw the Dwarf shudder as her realised that not a single person amongst all the three squads carried a bow. They were as helpless as a strung up rabbit.

"Options, anyone?" The dwarf hissed as the three squads formed a circle with their backs inwards. They would be poor target practice. They had meant to be acting as scouts; travelling light and fast. No one even had a shield to cower behind.

"We could charge them; try to catch them off their guard." Suggested Heller, who regretted the statement even as it left his mouth. Most of them would be cut down before they got within sword reach, and the ones who did manage to close the distance would be fighting a hopeless battle. Melanth guessed that they were surrounded by no less than fifty Dogmen now, and the Ashkar had no reason to be merciful.

Melanth fingered the hilt of his sword, cold sweat running down his brow. Whatever they tried, it would be hopeless. They couldn't even count on reinforcements; the Ashkar would kill them all before any arrived.

The squads were slowly drawing into a huddle surrounded by a ring of leering faces and wicked blades. Evil intent gleamed in their horrid eyes, jaws agape and tongues lolling in anticipation of the kill and the blood to come. There was only one thing to do, only one thing that could be done. Melanth drew near to Cael.

"Do me a favour would you?" He whispered in the boy's ear. Beside him, the Dwarf turned and looked at him surreptitiously. Cael met his gaze with a terrified, white eyed stare, his entire body rigid. He tried to speak a couple of times, but couldn't make his jaw move. Melanth understood though. He made a decision, sighing. He had been really hoping to avoid this.

"Look after this."

He ripped the strange necklace, tooth, scales and all from his flesh, thrusting it into Cael's unresisting hands. Even as he started running forwards, sword raised to the sky and shouting his war cry the change started, the molten lead of magic coursed through his veins as fire consumed his body. For a brief moment, light flared, and then all was blackness once more. The Body Forge had begun.

In the darkness, someone screamed.

To be continued...