Hi guys. Sorry if I kept anyone waiting, but this chapter's quite long. Thanks to all the readers out there, and also to the complimentary reviewer!

CHAPTER WARNINGS: MODERATE VIOLENCE, INFREQUENT LANGUAGE, FAIRLY HIGH SUGGESTIVE THEMES (BUT NO ACTUAL LEMON), USE OF MEDICAL DRUGS.

CHAPTER 6

INDECENT STRATEGY

When Sparrow regained consciousness, she realised that she was lying on something soft, but was too disoriented to notice much else. Her head throbbed unendurably, and every miniscule movement and throb of the blood in her veins, felt like a million maces were being struck against the inside of her skull. Although her eyes were shut and she was lying flat on her back, she could feel the world spinning around her. 'A concussion, I suppose,' she thought vaguely, remembering the blow to her head. Sparrow's eyes fluttered open, unfocused, and revealed to her sight undefined, swimming blots of colour. In addition, a sharp wave of nausea overwhelmed her. She whimpered in agony, and rolled her eyes shut once again.

'Here, drink this,' an unfamiliar, male voice murmured, as a cup was set to her lips. The liquid was bitter in taste and milky in texture, and she had difficulty quelling her nausea sufficiently enough to swallow it. However, the solution effected an almost immediate improvement: the nausea subsided, and her headache receded to severe, rather than unbearable. The vertigo did not diminish, but it was no longer distressing. The relief was accompanied by a pleasant, soothing drowsiness, and a strong desire to sleep. 'What happened?' She thought groggily, as she became able to focus on something besides pain, 'I have to work this out.' But her exhaustion and remaining discomfort, coupled with the effects of the medicinal remedy, dulled her mind, permitting only stupor, and presently, sleep …

Consciousness returned languidly, as Sparrow drifted from a deep slumber into a partially alert state. She felt warm, comfortable, and drowsy. She lay motionless, not opening her eyes, and feeling reluctant to greet the day: The day ahead, with all the training exercises, the soldiers, the work to be done …. She continued to doze, breathing evenly, and slipping in and out of consciousness pleasantly, until she noticed something stirring near her. A male voice soothingly crooned, 'Here, my dear, drink up,' and a cup was placed tenderly to her lips. She sipped, eager to get back to sleep, and sighed contentedly when she had finished. 'Wait,' she thought suddenly, as her foggy mind cleared, 'That's not right. What happened?' After a moment of reflection, Sparrow remembered the battle, and the situation with the balverines. In addition, she vaguely remembered something about being knocked unconscious, and about being ill: the pain, the man administering medicine to her and stroking her forehead, and her inability to concentrate or understand much of what was happening. There had also been a woman, she recalled, who had fed her and bathed her. She decided, in the absence of any other memory of recent events, to be cautious. She cracked her eyes open to slits, ascertaining that there were two human forms in the enclosure, whereupon she cautiously opened her eyes to investigate her surroundings.

Sparrow lay on a mattress in a sumptuous, red and gold tent. The mattress was downy, and sheathed in white silk. The sheets were silk also, of the finest, most pure variety; as white as a lily and as soft as virgin snow. The blankets were furs, presumably from large, white fauna of some variety, and were luxurious and warm. The deluge of white was broken by the soft, red, satin pillows, like bloodstains in the snow. Sparrow realised suddenly that a cool cloth was pressed against her forehead. She also realised, with trepidation, that she wore a filmy white nightgown, and that her weapons were nowhere in sight. An aged woman, creased and wrinkled as a brown apple, was kneeling near the bed, preparing a philtre of herbal tincture. At the foot of the mattress, also kneeling, and gazing keenly at Sparrow, was the traveller who had transformed into a white balverine.

Sparrow bolted into a sitting position, demanding fiercely, 'Where are my soldiers?' The stranger smiled, his grin toothy and sinister. 'They are all safe, and under guard at Mourningwood Fort. When I took you hostage, they were most compliant. They are, it seems, rather fond of you.'

'What do you want, balverine?' Sparrow demanded grimly.

'I want to negotiate,' the rogue answered, drawing her in with his dark gaze.

Sparrow protested, 'If you want me to negotiate, I have to be able to think clearly. If that medicine you just gave me is the same as before, I won't be in any state to do anything.'

'Don't worry,' the stranger laughed, 'It was not particularly strong. You were in far more pain before. Indeed, there is another draught here you should take to avoid further pain.'

'Very well,' Sparrow acquiesced reluctantly. Although they had doctored her efficiently, she was, understandably, reluctant to accept potions from an enemy. In addition, their cautious ministrations were somewhat redundant, since they themselves were the instruments of her brutalisation. 'Although I doubt the older one had much to do with this,' Sparrow reflected mentally, referring t the aged woman, 'I must thank her if I get a chance.'

Sparrow's hostage motioned towards the older woman. 'Luise has been tending to you,' he said, 'she bathed you, fed you, prepared your medicine … everything, really, that I couldn't do myself. I thought you may wish to preserve your dignity, and it is more appropriate for a practitioner of the medical trade to do these things.'

Sparrow graciously expressed her gratitude: 'My thanks, Luise, for your care. You are an accomplished apothecary and nurse.'

'You're welcome, M'lady,' replied Luise, standing and curtsying.

The stranger commanded imperiously, 'Luise, leave us until I call you. Ensure that we are not disturbed under any circumstances.' The crone complied, passing the phial of potion to him, and leaving the tent.

After draining the bitter solution offered to her, Sparrow inquired heatedly, 'How long have I been unconscious?'

'Three days,' was his unconcerned reply. Sparrow was entirely displeased, but said nothing as the man turned to her, kneeling near her and taking her hand. 'Now I can introduce myself,' he said, raising her hand and gently brushing his lips against it. 'I am Desmond, Lord of the House of Balvornen, and ruler of Strathford.'

'Balvornen?' Sparrow exclaimed, remembering the myths surrounding the origin of balverines. The balvornen family was ostensibly descended from the mighty belvorn, and was, Sparrow had previously concluded, a fabrication of power hungry nobility.

Indeed,' he replied, smiling again, 'We are not mere bedtime stories after all, my dear. I am surprised that you so obviously believed so. However, that is hardly important at the present time. I wish to apologize for our brutal attack on you and your soldiers. I would have avoided it if possible, most especially my inhumane actions towards your person. I'm afraid, however, that invasion is never a gentle thing. I did ensure that you had the best care possible, to remedy this minor inconvenience.'

Sparrow desired nothing more than to break his nose, and considered drawing his attention to the fact that giving her a concussion that incapacitated her for seventy-two hours was not a 'minor inconvenience'. However, she had more important things to say. 'You were not Lord of Strathford when I was visitng. I believe that, at the time, a Terrance Spear was in charge.'

'Yes,' Balvornen chuckled deeply, 'he met with an untimely demise. Most of my townspeople are superstitious, but he never was. In the light of this, I'm sure you must agree that there is much poetic irony in the fact that he was crushed by a brick that a workman dropped when the good man walked under a ladder.'

'And what of this invasion?' Sparrow proceeded, 'Your own personal invasion, or a general balverine invasion? Or are there more parties involved that I am not yet aware of?' As Sparrow made this inquiry, she noticed that she was becoming mildly drowsy and excessively relaxed. In addition, she could feel a faint tingle spreading throughout her body. Not an unpleasant sensation in any sense, but not one that Sparrow recognised, or was comfortable with. However, she decided that it was related to her recent concussion, and disregarded it when Balvornen replied: 'I aim to conquer the entirety of the western continent. When I've done this, and have become Albion's first King since the Archon, it should be a relatively simple undertaking to persuade the east to conjoin with us. After all, I'll have the army you so thoughtfully prepared for my arrival, and the east will be well taken care of under my regime. Just think, Albion could be a united nation once more, something beyond the wildest fantasies of any of these unambitious yokel leaders. The east will benefit from the west's superb technology, and the west will regain its sense of identity and history from the east. You will help to achieve this, naturally.'

'What makes you think that I'll help you saunter in and take over?' Sparrow retorted, regally lifting her chin, 'You have no right of any sort to that privilege. The west has, I admit, lost some of its magical charm, but it's nothing that some gentle guidance can't remedy. And I take great offence at the terminology you use to describe our leaders. Many of them are weak, corrupt, and dull-witted, but this has not always been so. Not to mention that my soldiers will hardly find your proposition appealing, either.' Sparrow was finding it unusually difficult to concentrate. The tingling was becoming more insistent, and her mind kept wandering to topics that should have been inconsequential: they all concerned Balvornen, and how breathtakingly handsome he was.

Sparrow blinked, and attempted to focus as Balvornen continued, 'Your soldiers will follow where you lead, and you will follow me. My dear, my goals are far more honourable than you give me credit for. Just think how life could be, if Albion where whole and stable again! It would be like it was in the age of heroes, only far, far better! I never considered it a selfish goal. I had hoped you would agree with me.'

While Balvornen spoke, Sparrow realised that she was becoming increasingly overheated, and that she was struggling to concentrate on what he said. She kept getting lost in the sound of that beautiful voice … but she was aware enough to be able to disagree, to interject, 'The goal is not dishonourable, but I have always believed that the end does not always justify the means. Also, there is a large proportion of self-interest in your strategy, and several things that make no sense to me. Why this sudden attack on Mourningwood Fort, for a start? We had nothing to do with anything, and if you want to conquer Albion, which, incidentally, is not going to succeed with the numbers you've transported, why start there?' Sparrow blanched as Balvornen gazed at her, suddenly realising that she was blushing, sweating, and trembling, and that her breathing was far too rapid. She asked shakily, 'Could I have some water?'

Balvornen gave her a glass of water, which she gulped thirstily. When she was satiated, he continued, 'Well, you see, one of my aims is to strengthen the hero blood that remains in Albion, for which I need a hero. Specifically, I wish for you to be my main project.'

'But even if the other three heroes were present,' Sparrow protested weakly, feeling dazed and dizzy 'you could hardly re-populate Albion with heroes.'

Balvornen smiled again, and replied, 'I hardly wish to rebuild the Hero's Guild. Even I must admit the impossibility of that. No, I was thinking on a more practical level. You see, ever since I saw you in Strathford, in spite of the fact that it was impossible for us to meet at the time, I knew that you and I were destined to be bound to one another. You will be my Queen, and the first balverine of the greatest hero bloodline in existence. Together, we will bind Albion in peace once again. I love you, Sparrow. I love you with such great passion that I have been barely able to bear the years in which I have not been beside you … but that is all past now.'

Sparrow groaned, and mentally chastised herself for not realising sooner why she was feeling so strange. 'Balvornen,' She gasped furiously, 'You don't think that a love potion will make me unfaithful to my husband and children, surely? Think about what you know of me, and you will see the impossibility of this.'

He chuckled. '"Love" potion is such a wishful name,' he replied. 'You can't bottle love. But lust, infatuation, compliance … these are different matters entirely, and I'm sure that they will be sufficient to persuade you, along with a few other little surprises I have in store, that you and I were meant to be. Love will come, in time.'

The monster lunged suddenly, pushing Sparrow onto her back and pinning her to the mattress. He pressed his lips to hers, taking advantage of her gasp of shock. The potion he had slipped her in the guise of medicine was potent indeed, to be capable of evaporating Sparrow's strength of mind and will so completely. She forgot everything but the kiss, and sighed happily as she lost herself in the sensations. They continued for some time, and when he finally pulled away, they were both gasping for air. He kissed her neck passionately, and she lolled her head back, eyes shut, mindlessly enjoying his caresses, which were intensified by the tingling of the potion coursing through her veins.

However, something was nagging Sparrow's subconscious mind, and distracting her incoherent brain: 'This feels so good, but there's something wrong,' she thought blearily. She lost track of her thoughts again when he kissed her collarbone, then resumed her rumination: 'What's wrong with this picture? Is it because it's different to how Bob … Bob? Is that it? Something to do with Bob … It's because I'm married to Bob, and this is an enemy!' Sparrow pictured her husband and children, and as her thoughts became coherent once again, she found the will to fight the concoction she had imbibed.

'NO!' Sparrow screamed, sharply bringing a knee to Balvornen's abdomen. He barked in pain, cursing harshly, as Sparrow leapt from the mattress, and prepared to make her escape. However, the beast within the man surfaced, and her escape was foiled before it could begin: Balvornen hissed, bolting upright, and dragging her back to the mattress. Sparrow thrashed, kicked, clawed, and bit, but could not break away from the brute's strength. He threw her onto the mattress, and produced two ropes, which he used to bind her wrists and ankles. This accomplished, he threw the blankets back over her, and stood. 'I had wished to do this in a way you would enjoy, but it seems that you are not romantically inclined. I will give you twenty four hours. If you do not choose to accept me willingly, I shall force a double dose of the potion into you, and keep you tied up while we're busy. You'll enjoy it, but it won't be your choice. It's up to you how you want to go about it.'

'I had no choice to begin with,' Sparrow spat, struggling furiously against the bonds.

'Well no,' he replied, smirking snidely, 'but then, you are an extraordinary woman. Anyone who can overcome this particular brew should have a choice.' He stepped out of the tent, leaving Sparrow simmering in a rage so strong that she had to force herself to calm down in order to think clearly. 'Ok, Sparrow,' she muttered, clenching her teeth, 'think of something that you can take your anger out on, something that'll cheer you up. Think of … Reaver. Think of how you would slowly rip out his fingernails …'

…

Major Engells and John Swift relentlessly paced the battlements, under the unwavering gaze of their balverine captors. Their defeat was no surprise, but their loss of Sparrow was a dreadful blow, and both men were concerned for her wellbeing. Rescue operations were impractical under the circumstances. They could only hope that, when Walter Beck arrived with aid, Sparrow would either free herself in the resulting confusion, or they could rescue her in the process of driving away the balverines. Whether she would be healthy enough to fight was another matter, however. Both men had been enraged when they saw the enormous, white balverine belt Sparrow across the head with the butt of a rifle, which it had torn from the grip of a soldier, and hold the shaft to her temple, roaring, 'Cease your resistance, soldiers of Mourningwood Fort, or I will kill your beloved Hero!' With no possible way to intervene without triggering Sparrow's demise, the Mourningwood Fort Company had universally dropped their weapons, and permitted themselves to be searched, and confined to the fort. Engells and Swift had watched, futilely, as a possibly concussed Sparrow was relocated outside the fort, presumably in the camp that the balverines had erected outside the walls.

Three tedious, tense days had grinded past. Their jailers treated them with dignity and thoughtfulness, and refrained from looting the fort, or invading their privacy more than necessary. They were permitted to eat, sleep, and even spar. Ranged weapons were confiscated without exception, however. The first order of duty was, to the unified sorrow of all, to bury the twenty originally deceased members of the company, and the five who had fallen in the most recent brutalities: among these brave souls, Lucy Parker was now resting in her grave at the fort. The valiant soldier had been unable to extricate herself from the knot of balverines that Sparrow had been preparing to liberate her from before the white balverine struck her. It was not particularly consoling to the company when the creatures apologised, and excused their actions on the grounds that they had not been intending to kill her. Indeed, they took the trouble to explain that, in the knowledge that their leader had captured Sparrow, they did not intend to take any more lives, but had been scrambling so wildly that they had not noticed Lucy's presence in their midst until she was crushed. Both Engells and Swift, in unvoiced recognition of Walter's relationship with her, pitied the man deeply. The nights of captivity had predictably been less dull, as the necessity to combat the hollow men had remained. However, the balverines' willingness to assist in combat decreased the severity of this tribulation.

Not long after the sun rose on the fourth day of captivity, Engells and Swift noticed a lone figure tramping the path to the fort during their mutual, restless pacings. Whoever it was wore the red and blue uniform of the Albion National Military. 'Zounds,' Engells muttered, peering surreptitiously at the approaching entity, 'I hope that's not Walter, back without any help.'

Unfortunately, it appeared that Engells concern was justified: Walter trudged through the camp, to the collective astonishment of the balverines therein, and stood at the base of Mourningwood Fort, entirely alone. He drew his sword, and took a defensive stance, apparently waiting for the invaders to charge him. The Balverines, both in the fort and in the camp, peered disbelievingly at him. After several seconds of profound silence, they burst into a shout of raucous laughter. Many commented on Walter: 'Look, mates, here's another hero – oh no, wait, it's just a suicidal lunatic!'

'What you going to do, little moron? Come back when you're old enough to grow a beard!'

'Got a high opinion of yerself, ain't ye? But you ran, all th' same, ran away from all yer friends when it counted!'

Their self-security faltered when a large form joined Walter, leaping from the bushes at his side, and wielding a gigantic war-hammer: it was Hammer. 'You know,' she shouted fiercely in reply, 'I've learned that it's only fair to make fun of people if they're stronger than you.' When the balverines ceased their mockery, in the realisation of who she was (as Hammer was more famed than she allowed herself to realise), she laughed, 'Chicken, are you! You should be, 'cause we're about to take you down!'

'Fascinating. Prey, do share the details.'

Hammer and Walter snapped around, and met the eyes of the stranger who had transformed into a white balverine. 'Watch it, that's the bastard who kidnapped Sparrow!' Engells exclaimed hastily, instantly receiving a blow to his head from a guard.

'Where's my friend, you slimy excuse for a sentient organism?' Hammer growled, whispering as an aside to Walter, 'I learned what sentient organism means at the monastery, though I don't think they meant me to use it as an insult.'

Balvornen smiled. 'Your beloved hero is under my extensive and secure care, and has decided to throw her lot in with me. Not necessarily voluntarily, it's true, but it will be her choice eventually, once she sees what I have to offer her.'

'You cad!' Walter bellowed, 'If you've done anything untoward …'

'Oh, spare me, boy,' Balvornen snapped, 'I'll do nothing that isn't good for her … or me, for that matter. Now, how do you propose to storm the fort? I know that the lump of lard in the habit is talented … now, now, you said only to insult people stronger than oneself,' as Hammer brandished her weapon, 'but two of you is, nonetheless, an insufficient force.'

'Really?' Hammer questioned, raising an eyebrow. 'Well, then, let your lads come down and pretend there's more of us, see how long you last, eh?'

Balvornen chuckled heartily, as did most of his soldiers. 'By all means, let's have some fun! MEN!'

Throughout the fort, the easterners doubled over, transforming into their nocturnal alter egos, and Balvornen took several strides backwards, eager to enjoy the show. Hammer simply stood facing the fort and smiling knowingly, and Walter readied his pistol. 'You know,' she whispered as the gate dropped, 'it's amazing how careless you can get when you've won a few rounds. He didn't even notice my hammer's silver.'

'Bloody good thing he didn't,' Walter replied, as the first balverines surged out of the fort.

Hammer and Walter held their own for exactly one minute. Fortunately, this was all the time they actually required. Hammer felled ten balverines with her silver hammer, Walter five with his silver ammunition. Balvornen snarled, realising too late that his westerners must have remembered the legends about silver weaponry, and roared, 'KILL THEM!' But he was too late; surrounding the fortress and the camp, the hordes of the Brightwall resistance materialised, bellowing war cries and surging towards the fort, trapping the balverines between themselves and the stone walls.

The battle was over with little ado. Although the balverines were prepared for a sizeable onslaught of enemies, Balvornen had fatefully assumed that the potency of silver against various breeds of monster was unknown in Western Albion. Presently, the fort and its surroundings were bathed in the blood of dead and dying balverines. Hammer, Walter, Swift, and a somewhat dazed Engells were as valiant as always, and after an hour of raging combat, the fort was retaken. However, they still had a problem, which Engells addressed after regrouping their troops in case of a fresh attack.

Engells gathered Hammer, Walter, and Swift around him, and began: 'Now, we have to talk fast. Firstly, Beck, congratulations on an outstanding job! I shall see to it that you begin your service proper at a good ranking. Swift, well done indeed! You too have proven yourself mature and capable beyond your years, and I will recommend you! However, we have a problematic situation: The white balverine, Lord Balvornen, as he calls himself, is not among the dead, and Sparrow is not anywhere in the camp. I suggest that we find them, quickly, before he takes her beyond aid and does something unspeakable to her.'

'Leave it to me!' Hammer proclaimed, 'I learned loads about hunting and tracking at the monastery. I can even track beetles!'

'First,' Engells interrupted, 'may I just say how honoured I am to meet you, madam!'

Hammer chuckled, rolling her eyes: 'Everyone acts as if I saved the world or something! Not that I mind,' winking, 'but it was Sparrow who did that.' She shook hands with Engells, and continued, 'Anyway, I'll just sort this out on my own. When I catch the hairball, I'll sort him out good and proper!'

Hammer departed and began scanning the ground, frequently stooping until her nose was pressed to the earth and grass, looking for the tiniest signs of disturbance. Swift departed to assist the troops, and Engells was forced to inform Walter of the thing he was dreading to say. 'Beck,' he said gravely, placing his hand on Walter's shoulder, 'there's something you need to know.' Walter's eyes momentarily registered fear at Engell's tone, which almost instantly faded into sad resignation. 'Lucy?'

'She's gone, Beck. I'm deeply sorry. She was brave to the end.' Walter nodded numbly, eyes blank and glassy, and requested tonelessly to see her grave.

When Engells left Walter to grieve, Walter somehow could not register that Lucy was dead. He could not comprehend that he would never see Lucy again, hear her laugh, converse with her, or observe all those little things that made her who she was, and made him love her. They had seen each other a mere three days beforehand, and he was going to propose to her once they left this accursed place. How could she be dead? How could she be dead? These thoughts recurred continually in Walters mind as he stood by the grave, dry eyed, reading and re-reading the epitaph inscribed on the headstone: 'Lucy Parker: Courageous recruit of the Albion National Military. Fell to balverine invasion at Mourningwood Fort. Albion salutes her sacrifice.' At some point, the thought, 'They forgot to mention she liked horses,' joined the circular, incoherent procession of Walter's thoughts, a personal response to her impersonal memorial. He stood there for two hours, numb, unable to comprehend or grieve. When he left the grave, he was as dry-eyed as when he arrived, and unceremoniously went to get some victuals.

Engells had been watching Walter anxiously, as had Swift. They were disturbed by his inability to mourn, because they realised that instability that oftentimes resulted from such repressed grief. Swift did not need to vocalise his concern to Engells: Engells simply commented, 'Sometimes, it's a hard thing to come to grips with mortality. Give him time. He won't let it interfere with his duty, come what may. I just hope that, one day, he finds another lass who he can adore that much … not that fate's generally so kind.' Thus, the Mourningwood Fort company waited, while Hammer, who had located Balvornen's trail with uncanny speed, tracked the villain through the hazardous terrain of Mourningwood.

…...

Sparrow had been scrambling to formulate an escape plan, but found inspiration entirely absent. Her hands and feet were firmly bound, and in the event that she freed herself, the balverine guards would immediately apprehend her. In addition, her missing weapons were a concern, as her bare hands were ineffectual in defence against the monsters outside. Nonetheless, she presently decided that the first order of business should be freeing her limbs, after which she would assess the possibility of escaping through speed and the element of surprise.

When Sparrow attempted to slide one hand out of the rope, holding her bonds in place with the other, she immediately knew that the ropes were too tight. She attempted a tentative bite, but the rope was thick and hardy. She scanned the tent for rough or sharp surfaces with which to abrade the bindings, with no success. 'There's nothing else for it, then,' Sparrow sighed, before resorting to her emergency reserve plan: she muttered a string of words, collecting will from her being, and her bindings loosened and slithered to the ground.

Unfortunately, no sooner had the ropes pooled beside her on the tent floor, than two burley balverines stumbled into the tent, Luise on their heels. Sparrow shot to the edge of the tent, intending to duck underneath and run for the forest, but was not able to evade the lightning-fast guards: They lifted her by the arms, and pinned her, arms wide, to the mattress. Sparrow struggled barbarically, drawing their blood to the bone with her teeth and nails, yet was unable to loosen their grip, regardless of how violently she writhed and squirmed.

'I'm sorry, deary,' Luise said sympathetically, bearing a cup in her hands, 'but th' master said ye were to be put to sleep if ye used that Will stuff. He set up some magic o' his own, y' see, to know if you were up to mischief in that way. He's been kind t' you, and he's given you th' chance to choose yerself, but we can't have ye hurting people around camp, now, can we? I am sorry though, deary, I wouldn't force you if I didna have me orders.'

'No!' Sparrow screeched, attempting futilely to free herself. When Luise brought the cup to her lips, she shut her mouth tightly. Although Sparrow realised the redundancy of her obstinacy, she did not want to submit meekly. As expected, Luise clamped Sparrow's nose shut. Sparrow took as large a breath as possible, but was eventually forced to open her mouth for air, at which point the drug was poured into her throat. She was unable to expel more than a portion of it, and choked as the bulk of the liquid slithered down. She continued to kick and struggle until the drug took effect, and she was too overcome with drowsiness and stupidity to continue. When she became still and limp, eyes fixed unfocusedly on the ceiling, her captors released her arms, and Luise said gently, 'Ye dunna have t' tie her up again. She'll be good now, 'till the master's ready.'

The two balverines left to stand guard outside the tent, and Luise tucked a stupefied Sparrow into bed, and gently stroked her forehead. 'I am sorry, luvvy,' she whispered sincerely, 'but we all have our trials in this world, and it does no good t' offend the master. There's more to him than you'd realise, more that makes him a dangerous one. But it won't be so bad, ye'll see. Ye'll be his fine lady, and get jewels and gowns and parties, better'n any you've hade before. And he loves you to death, y' know. If you put your mind t' it, you'll forget about your family, and be jus' as happy with him. I know how ye feel, I didn't want te be a balverine, either, but it's not so bad once ye get used to it. We're not all evil, at least, not us as don't go feral. I'll help ye to get through this.' Sparrow somehow registered what she said, before she was pulled down into a blanket of slumber, a fresh tear of appreciation sliding down her cheek.

…

Sparrow was jolted to minimal awareness when she was suddenly lifted up. Her eyes were too heavy to pry open, but she heard voices: There was Balvornen, saying urgently 'Quick, men, gather together all the indispensable items, and Luise, make sure you bring all the potions. The Hero can ride on my back, so she'll be quite safe. Hilarion, you stay here a moment.' A short pause, then a new voice; another man: 'What went wrong, My Lord? Everything was going according to plan …'

Balvornen again, snarling 'They remembered the myths! At least, one of them must have. I have no doubt that the silver weapons are compliments of my frustrating lover here, but no harm done for now. This is not a minor issue, but it can be overcome … providing we get away quickly. Fortunately, the other aspect of our plan worked perfectly. I knew that she'd act in such a manner, I simply did not realise that she was so frustratingly aware of the history of our kind. Even in the east, such myths are becoming obscure. It seems that Heroes have long memories.'

Sparrow did not comprehend what they said next. She heard them speaking in low, urgent voices, apparently forming plans. She knew that Brightwall was mentioned, and Bowerstone also, but beyond that, her befuddled mind was unable to grasp anything before she slipped back to sleep.

…..

The nightly hollow-man attack had ceased, and dawn was blooming across the landscape, when Hammer reappeared, jogging towards the fort. When two tardy hollow men accosted her, she sent one flying with a kick, and smashed the other into dust with her mighty war-hammer. When she reached the fort and had been permitted entrance, she was immediately joined by Engells, Swift, and Walter.

'Bad news, blokes,' Hammer stated grimly, 'I tracked them from the place they were camping. It seems that this Balvornen didn't want to stick around and get stuck with a silver sword. They managed to make away with Sparrow. To Brightwall.'

'Brightwall?' Engells exclaimed, puzzled. 'Why Brightwall? There couldn't have been more than ten of them left after we shot them full of silver, and the Brightwall militia will be on red alert.'

'Yeeeaaah,' Hammer was reluctant to impart the bad news, 'but they're on alert for us, not the balverines. It seems that Balvornen brought more people than we thought with him, and they're not all balverines. Apparently, while everyone was busy here, they've, ah, taken over Brightwall.'

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