The Grey

A storm was coming.

The sky above the camp was foreboding, clouds as grey and ominous as the walls of a fortress. Rumbles of thunder and the howling of the wind had driven the sun away hours ago, and it was already near dark in the middle of the afternoon. The encampment in the wooded clearing had been tied and hunkered down, the soldiers readying themselves to deal with whichever storm came first.

She sat on a stump outside her tent, sharpening her sword with a whetstone. The young knight was completely focused on honing the blade, not even looking up at the first crackle and roar of lightning across the sky. She'd been trained well, too well to let anything distract her from what would be keeping her breathing in the immediate future.

Sonon was a world ruled by kings and petty nobles, with authority going to whomever could hold it the longest. Her king had taken the vacant throne over his brother, which had angered the Lundites of the neighboring east. Since their tiny country had no real hope of regicide, they'd chosen to despoil his homeland while his power was still concentrated on securing itself. And so the knights and yeomen of Arman had ridden to this border forest, to harry and oppose the raiders and buy time for a larger response.

In her heart, she had been happy to go and secure peace with her sword. Not for the king, whom was only one man that she'd never met; but because it was the right thing to do. No one but the common folk and some forts had yet been attacked, but the battles had been massacres. She had no illusions about protecting all of the innocent on her lonesome, but knew she'd fight until she dropped and died to stop the wolves that looked like men from burning out another village of people who had no idea why they were being slaughtered. The priests of Vasa said all life was precious, and she'd kill any bastard who tried to keep her from protecting it.

She laughed a little to herself, before wiping the blade clean with a rag and sheathing it back into her scabbard. The red-haired girl stood up and tossed her whetstone gently onto the bedroll in her tent, turning and heading deeper into the camp. Her stomach was rumbling, and she was hoping to get in line in time for squirrel soup instead of hardtack and yams.

For the most part she was unnoticed, but every now and then a soldier would nod to her, or smile, or pass a few friendly words. She'd been fighting by their side for a few years now, and been wielding a sword since she could walk. Her father was a soldier, and she was squire to a paladin, so it had been inevitable she'd follow the way of the shield. If things had gone according to plan, she wouldn't have needed hers ready, but there had been... complications.

The town had seemed quiet enough, with some pastoral name like Stonebrook or Sunbrook or something like that. The men had remained camped on it's borders while she'd examined the marketplace for signs of sedition, instead only finding a crown of flowers and a ten-gold for a little beggar girl. Her liege, Lucas of the Iron Hand had also found nothing to bring him to suspicion...

Because the Lundites had been waiting in the woods outside of town, waiting for night to fall. When it had, they'd struck like a sledge to an anvil. During the retreat, she'd been able to see the village burning to the ground no matter how far they rode away. It had lit up the night like a mocking sun... They'd fought hard, but lost too many of their number to win through the day. Now they fled like rats before terriers, hurrying back to safe ground and reinforcements. If they'd been on foot they would still be running, but their horses were too valuable to run to death en masse.

Lucas was where she knew he'd be; sitting next to a pot of boiling potatoes, picking them out of the water one by one, and then eating them. His left hand had been hacked off by some rogue knight a long while ago, and the iron one he had in place let him grip the vegetables tightly enough to tear into. He looked up and nodded to her as she knelt down and looked around.

"...The men are afraid, lord." She said in a low voice. She took a knee and glanced around.

"And you're not?" He asked, with a small frown. Lucas looked like a brick of iron with scars and hair; His hard, square face and dark eyes gave the impression that punching him would just lead to a broken hand. It had taken her a long time to realize when he was joking and when he was serious, but serving a paladin known for never giving up and never compromising had been a reward all it's own.

"No! I'm ready to fight, not to run again." She said, still looking around for the stew pot.

"You're always a poor liar." He said, taking a roll of bread off a nearby plate and biting into it. There was a crackling sound as he winced and stared at the small indentation his teeth had left in the roll. "There's no shame in fear, only in what comes after. We're a stone's throw away from our own country, we'll make it. I've been in worse spots than this before." He continued, drawing a dagger and trying to leverage the rock-hard bread's crust open.

"There's no more soup, so quit looking so hopeful. Here, have a potato."

"I'd rather not-" She began, and before the first scream sounded she knew something was wrong. It was a change in the air, a new scent that hadn't been there before. One of fire. Lucas surged to his feet and she whipped around, her eyes widening at the sight of burning tents and men streaming out of the woods, their axes rising and falling...

She drew her sword, before Lucas turned her around with his good hand. "Go and form the rearguard! Muster as much of our armor and crossbows as you can, and lead them back here!" He yelled, pulling the heavy granite hammer off his belt and holding it to his side.

"But-"

"NOW!" He ordered, shoving her before striding towards the enemies pouring from the treeline and butchering his men. He slung his shield onto his metal hand and smashed his hammer to it, loping into a run and yelling orders to the mustering Armanites. She ran to do his bidding, already seeing how they would sweep from the direction of their own troops and the side to take the enemy unawares...

That had been five hours ago.

It may as well have been a lifetime.

It was a much different force that rode the King's road toward their borders, a ragged and chewed group that were as close to death and panic as anyone could be pushed and still function. Fifteen men were all that were left, and Lucas had been one of them. His shield had been splintered, and there was a thick gash in his leg that didn't seem to want to stop bleeding. As for her, she was unhurt- Scared and scarred and bruised and battered, but nothing that would not heal. Lucas had thrown his shield in front of her to keep her head from being hacked off her neck, and the fact that she was responsible for it's loss gnawed at her. The things she'd seen gnawed at her.

Lightning and thunder split the sky more frequently now, and the smell of rain was in the night air. She couldn't see the moon, but since it couldn't help her she didn't care that it was up there. She knew she was being fatalistic, but that was part of steeling herself to die. The horses were tired, and they were too few to stop another Lundite patrol, much less the group hunting after them in the shadows of the trees. It wasn't how she wanted to go- she'd always hoped for a heroic death Bards and Minstrels would put to story, something about fighting evil or saving many people, not being chased down a road in the woods like a winded, bloody fox at the end of a hunt. But no man or woman knew their hour. She would just have to make the most of it.

Lucas raised his real hand, and they halted. She was confused, and turned her horse closer to his, right up until she saw the scroll in his hand. Her eyes narrowed, and she frowned with real anger.

"Don't look at me like that, girl. Someone has to see these forest skulkers dealt with, and it won't be us." Lucas said tiredly. "Someone has to ride to your father and Lord Gunn, or the scum are going to cross our borders and occupy our lands from under us. I'm dead already, and these lot-"

"I want to fight! I don't... Please don't make me turn my back on you. On all of you." She pleaded. She hated how grateful she felt, how it twisted in her guts like an eel. She didn't want to die, but she didn't want to do something so cowardly as flee with her life either. She'd squired at Lucas's side for years- it couldn't end like this.

"It's not an issue of abandoning us; You're the only way we can keep the wolves at bay. If our forces don't stomp them out now, it will be too damned late for Arman, and too damned late for the people in it. Now quit bellyaching and do what I tell you!" He snapped, thrusting the scroll into her hand.

The clouds split, and slowly at first, it began to rain. She clenched the paper tight in her fist, before Lucas met her eyes one last time. He looked sad, but prepared to do what he needed to do.

"We last few will hold off their outriders and buy you the time you'll need. Remember all those things I told you about heroics? They all come down to one thing; Sacrifice. You can never give up. You're a fine knight, and you'll make a first-rate paladin on your own right. Here and now, I release you from my service."

"...Please don't make me go." Her voice didn't shake, but it was hard for her to keep it steady. "Please don't make me leave you."

"This is how it has to be; The gods ask nothing of us we can't give. There's no such thing as justice without the will to fight for it. Now go, we've wasted enough time talking. Go with my blessing, Alocyn."

She watched them ride away in the rain, none of them looking back, before she turned her horse on the road and galloped to her home.She gripped the reins until her fingers were white, and tried to to keep her focus on the road ahead. The rain kept getting in her face, kept making her wipe her eyes. The cold was what made her shoulders shake..

She forced herself not to look back either.