As quickly as it had begun, the battle in the ruins was over and we were suddenly faced with several dozen prisoners and the fact that most of our group had suffered injuries. Many of the bandits had been injured, crippled or outright killed but it still left us with a group that still heavily outnumbered us as prisoners.

  For several long seconds the call for further bloodshed thundered through my mind and the blood-wet length of the Light of Dawn trembled in my grasp as I forced the darkness away. Every tooth in my head was tingling, as were my jawbones in the desire to continue killing and inflicting pain and it was with difficulty and some regret that I resisted the urges. Taking the briefest of moments to wipe the ancient sword clean on one of the corpses at my feet I steadied myself and tried to find a measure of calm while keeping one eye on the huddled group of bandits in providing us with a wide berth.

  “Who’s not dead?”

  My voice echoed startlingly loud in the night air now that there wasn’t a chorus of screaming and the clashing of metal. As my heart threatened to burst with a combination of adrenaline and finally stopped hammering as Viconia called out and I was somewhat surprised to hear our entire party respond to my shouted question. We had been ridiculously successful but it was not without cost as not a single one of us was uninjured.

  I was covered in bruises, insect bites and several of my bones felt like they were creaking where blades and blunt weapons had failed to penetrate through my armour. As always, the Moonstone chainlink and daedroth scales riveted to it was incredible at dispersing blows but it was not infallible. There were several painful days awaiting me while I healed but I was one of the least injured out of all of us.

  Viconia had broken her hand, either through punching or striking at a foe or being struck in turn and while it wasn’t obvious she was favouring her left leg. An enormous gash ran down the length of Detane’s forearm from a dagger or edged weapon ripping through his poor armour but otherwise he was none worse for wear. As it had earlier in the night, the fact that he seemed to have been alive to claim victory seemed to irk him even more than everything else seemed to. As intimidating as ever, Falid’s unnatural presence diminished somewhat to the relief of the bandits as the illusionary flames and smoke ceased billowing from his armour. He still left many of them aghast as he removed his helm and pulled a crossbow bolt out of his bicep with his teeth, after being unable to reach across with his other hand due to the breadth of his chest while fully armoured.

  Our two Argonian scouts were the least injured from their hit-and-run tactics during the battle and while they were cut and bruised they were far better off than the rest of us. The worst off by far was Mazoga, who stood over the whimpering and badly injured Mogens with blood running down from a multitude of injuries and from several rents in her armour. Normally green-brown in colour, the spattered mud and blood of those she had slain was being mixed in with a considerable amount of her own blood and her skin was already several shades lighter.

  A spear was lodged in the side of her chest, the shaft broken away like a handful of arrows and bolts that had managed to penetrate through her armour. She was also sporting a deep gash that left a chunk of her scalp hanging loosely and drenching the side of her head in gore from a blow that had nearly cloven her head in two. On other beings such injuries would have been incapacitating from the pain alone, but she simply ignored them as though they were little more than leeches, reaching down and dragging the badly injured Mogens up by the hair.

  Turning away satisfied that we were all still alive for the moment, I turned to the bandits shifting into a group away from their fallen weapons and took several steps in their direction. They to a man were terrified and rightfully concerned at what our next actions would be, and I knew that it would not have been too much more effort to have simply killed them all. Instead I crushed away the bloodthirsty desires, frowning at them all and feeling every set of eyes on me as I approached.

  “I am Kaius Desin, and you are all now our prisoners. Resist and we will finish what we began. Comply, and you will live.”

  Looking over the group of them, I fixated my gaze on one of the nearest of the group, seeing myself framed in the wide eyed expression of a rough faced woman with hair long since turned into dreadlocks. “You.” My finger pointed at her with as much force as a sword thrust and she flinched away from it. “Is any of your number have any experience with healing or treating injuries.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “A f-few. Some of our prisoners are healers.” She stammered urgently as though even a fraction of a second of hesitation would cause my swords to be unsheathed.

  “Fetch them immediately.” My growl sent her scurrying off in the direction of one of the portions of the fort that was still standing and I nodded after her after catching Weebam-Na’s eye. He followed her as she almost broke out into a run in her haste to obey my command and I turned back to the rest of them, stabbing my finger again at half of them who didn’t fail to shy away from my attentions. “You lot, start gathering the wounded and take them somewhere dry. We will treat everyone we can.”

  Bejeen moved over without hesitation and began supervising the handful chosen to shift what wounded they could and I felt rather than saw the enormous presence of Falid at my shoulder as he moved closer. His greatsword was returned to its place down his spine and there was a collective muttering as they beheld the armoured giant.

  “Are you wounded?”

  I saw the way that he shifted at my question and the heavy clanking of his armour as he shook his head. “Negligibly Sir Desin. I will supervise these.”

  “Good. Have them start collecting the dead and help the others with the wounded as needed. My skills are needed with the others.”

  “It will be done Sir Desin.”

  There was no mistaking the way that the group before us looked amongst themselves as the Black Knight stepped closer and began issuing orders in a voice so deep that it could be felt in their guts but I was already turning back to the others. The sight that greeted me was several score meters covered with blood, gore and bodies and my mind was slowly trying to relax and shut down after such a riot of sensation. Even with my experience in fighting and death it was still my normal reaction to seek out somewhere quiet and peaceful away from everything but I was not in the situation to do so. My hands were beginning to shake as the adrenaline began to wear off and unless I found myself something to do quickly I would begin suffering shock and fatigue.

  Seeing Viconia cradling her broken hand and hissing in her breaths in the vain attempt to ward off the pain, all other emotions and instincts were brushed away and I moved over to her to the exclusion of all others. She did not fail to recognise my actions and while her face was pinched in agony there was still scorn on her expression.

  “Triage you jaluk. There are others worse than I.”

  Feeling my embarrassment even as I gently cupped her injured hand in both of mine I willed the healing magicka between them and forced myself not to look into her eyes. “We need every one of us who are able to lift a sword in case these lot become unruly.”

  Not for a moment did she buy my excuse and for a moment her uninjured hand caressed my face. “Shcrten wael. I can recognise a broken slave when I see one. They will not give us any trouble.”

  “I hope so.” Quickly checking over my handiwork I saw how although it would be a few days before she regained strength in her hand it was no longer entirely broken. “Are you well?”

  “Other than the broken ribs....” She saw the way that my eyes moved up to her breastplate where a minor dent revealed where a mace or hammer had struck and she roughly pushed me aside. “Go. I am not some fragile waif in need of nurturing. The orc needs your attentions more than I.”

  “Where is Mazoga?”

  I received a nod in return as she moved over to assist Falid with supervising the bandits shifting the dead and wounded and I saw Mazoga limping and staggering her way towards a portion of the fort’s interior. Between the overgrown stonework and the mud covered cobblestones that seemed to fill the expanse inside of the outer walls, a portion had sunk over the centuries and filled with water. It was in the direction of this puddle that Mazoga was dragging the wounded Mogens by the hair. Despite her injuries she was bent upon reaching it and before I could catch up to her she had cuffed the bandit’s hands away and threw him into the tiny pond.

  For the few seconds that it took for her to step into the shin deep puddle and put her boot onto his chest she was silent and appeared not to have heard me at all. With a sick fascination I watched as she forced him back into the water, forcing him down by her bodyweight alone and holding him with her foot despite his panicking struggles.

  “You know there are easier ways to kill a man than that.”

  “Yeh.” She replied, ignoring the way that he broke his fingernails scrabbling on her armoured leg and simply pressing down harder. “But they be too quick.”

  By the time that the bandit’s frantic movements had ceased and she had been satisfied that he wasn’t faking anything it was obvious that she was becoming light headed with blood loss and pain. Only when she reached down and checked the body lying on its back in the puddle slowly turning reddish brown from blood for a pulse did she finally relax.

  “It’s over.”

  Taking shaky steps out of the pond, the last reserves of her considerable willpower finally ran out and she fell to her knees with a squelch. The corpse of the Nord bandit was bobbing lightly in the bloody puddle but she no longer had any interest in him and knelt with her eyes closed.