As I entered the commons area where the bandit's dined, I began to wonder if my luck had finally run its course. The commissary was full of at least fifty bandits, many of whom had obviously been at the trade for a long time, given the assembly of their composite armor and the well-used gleam of their weapons. Their bodies were well hardened from combat and rough living, and the food they consumed was as fine as any rich man's dinner, meaning they were in better shape and much better fed than I. As the hopelessness, the fear of failure, began to settle in I saw the kitchen across the way, and the cellar door beyond. The last man emerging held a bottle of wine in his dirty hands, drinking it as if it were the last water in the desert. That meant that the young master was beyond the heavy wooden door, and fifty bandits would not nearly be enough to forestall my task.

Drawing his hood up around himself, Gremio plunged into the dense crowd of hungry bandits, his eyes locked on the cellar door ahead. He counted the steps as he walked, memorizing the path to freedom, in case his retreat needed to be much faster. Shedding the splint and bandages, he examined the injured arm; where the arrow had struck him had regained much feeling and was now a dull ache. The potion was working its magic, but the broken bone would take longer to heal, meaning he was still at a strong disadvantage should it come down to a fight.

He was almost to the kitchen when a hand grabbed his cloak, pulling him aside. "Hey, here he is!" The bandit from the hallway threw his arm around the soldier's neck, "Glad I caught ya, c'mere!" He dragged Gremio to a table full of bandits, shoving him into a seat. "This is the guy who lipped off at me earlier."

The six bandits at the table watched him with dangerous eyes. His hand had begun to creep to the hilt of his axe, when the group's impromptu leader flopped into the seat across from him. "It takes a lot of guts to mouth off to me, Vargas of the Four Winds, so I gotta give you praise for your bravery." He slid a mug to Gremio, "You're drinking with us tonight!"

As the group erupted into a cheer, Gremio relaxed, taking a swig of wine from the offered mug. "Good, I was wondering if I was going to have to fight my way out of here!" He laughed and took another swig, raising it to the others as they joined his toast.

"Isn't this kid great?" Vargas slapped the table top and laughed, "Whaddya say, Sydonia, should we let him join?"

The black-haired woman beside Gremio eyed his face sternly, "Too fresh-faced, come back when you get some scars."

The group's laughter boomed again. Gremio set his empty mug down and climbed to his feet, "Since we're drinking together tonight, lemme get the next bottle. Gaston keeps all the best in the cellar. I'll go grab a bottle."

"Whoa there," one of the bandits grabbed Gremio's injured arm, "No one goes down there but Gaston's chefs."

"What do I care?" He struggled not to show the pain as he jerked the hand away, "Gaston's in a meeting with that General 'What-is-his-name', not like it'd stop me if he wasn't. He's a little too interested in the male recruits to be any real threat." The rest of the bandits laughed uproariously as Gremio left them, crossing the floor to the kitchen.

As the soldier entered the cooking area, one of the chef's approached him. "Hey, no visitors!" He shoved Gremio with one hand, not realizing just how poor a choice he had made.

Gremio grabbed his hand and twisted it, coiling the chef's arm up behind his own back and making him cry out in pain. He put his mouth a mere inch from the man's ear and hissed "If you ever try to touch me again, you'll be buying your shirts at a discount. Now, I'm going to get a bottle of Gaston's finest, and if he has a problem with it, he can trade in his Sunday dress for some battle armor and come be a man, instead of a mare." He shoved the chef hard, sending him to the floor in a jumbled heap. The other chefs took notice of the exchange, but said nothing, opting for ignorance as Gremio plunged into the wine cellar.

As the musty, earthen stink of the underground hole swamped my nose, I began to grow apprehensive. This place was nothing like the wine cellars in Gregminster, where the worst thing you might encounter was a cat eating a mouse; this place was a foul, filthy hole in the mountain. Their dried food stores were anything but, besieged by dripping fluid from cracks in the old stone, as well as covered by insects and other nastier things. I recalled a child who lost fingers to a hungry rat when his parents left him with a drunkard nanny. As I crept into the din, all I could do was pray that Teo's son would be found well. Finally, as I rounded the bend at the bottom of the filthy hole, I stumbled upon the still form of a tiny boy.

It was all I could do to not scream as I dropped to the floor, scooping up the small body and cradling it. I felt a numbness start to creep through me as his death tore at my guts. I had failed him, the boy who I thought of as my own son, the boy whom I loved with more than I ever thought I would have to give to anyone. I was lost, supremely lost. And then, he stirred. The boy moved just a little, opened one eye at me. He took my thumb and squeezed it once, before going limp again. He was alive, and so long as I had power over that, he would live forever.

As Gremio emerged from the wine cellar, the commissary's occupants stood around the kitchen's door, watching him, weapons drawn. At the center, Gaston stood with arms crossed, a sword hung on each hip. "Ah don't know 'ow you 'ave gotten insahd mah fortress, baht you weel not leef alahf." He extended a hand, "Geef me tha boy."

The chef who had accosted Gremio earlier emerged from the side, leaping at the soldier with a snarl. The axe flashed once, and the man howled as he hit the floor, blood pouring from the ragged stump where his arm had been seconds before. The soldier set the boy behind him, closing the cellar door. "I am Gremio LeFell, loyal soldier of . . . no." He tightened his grip on the axe, "I am Gremio LeFell. I swear an oath on this axe, that so long as there is life in this body, whoever would seek to bring ill on Tir McDohl will find only death at my hands."

Gaston drew his swords, sweat forming on his brow. Something about the fire in the blonde warrior's eyes scared him. "Beh smahrt, you fool, you cannot possibly win."

One of the bandits rushed at Gremio, his sword raised as he screamed a battle cry. The soldier's axe left a shining arc as it descended, shattering the blade as it separated the man's head from his shoulders. The corpse hit the ground with a thud, spraying blood across Gremio's chest and face. The blonde man didn't flinch as he smiled, "You are wrong, Gaston, I cannot possibly lose."

As the first rays of the sun touched Barbarossa's encampment, armored soldiers were shuffling around the camp, preparing for battle. Teo McDohl, his eyes circled with sleepless bruises, stood at the tent's entry as he watched Geil Rugner's troops amass at the other end of the battlefield. His generals moved around him, preparing whatever means they could devise to make the battle swift. None of them had slept either.

As I emerged over the hillock astride a gul-horse that was clearly not of Barbarossa's army, they all stared at me as if I were a ghost. Indeed, looking back, I am sure I must have resembled some corpse propelled by a life not its own. My face was stained with red, much of it from an x-shaped wound upon my cheek. My golden hair was matted with gore, as were my clothes. The fabric of my traveler's cloak and tunic was tattered and torn from various weapon strikes and wounds. My breeches were dark with blood that was, thankfully, mostly not my own. The axe, still red with blood, was locked in my right hand, while my wounded left arm cradled the sleeping form of the young master against my chest. I had done what I had set out to do. The boy was safe.

Teo bolted for me, his armored boots thudding heavily against the ground as he ran to meet me.

"Tir!" Teo reached the soldier first, taking in the sight of his ragged form; Gremio swayed slightly on his feet, his eyes slightly glossy and out of focus. The collection of wounds were unbound, the blood flow staunched only by great patches of clot. As the armored commander approached, Gremio's eyes came into focus, his grip on the weapon reflexively tightening. "My son, is he?"

"Alive, sir." Gremio's voice was a gravelly whisper, strangled with exhaustion. "He has not been fed for some time. I will prepare some food for him immediately."

The other generals reached them at last. Sonja stifled a sob with her hand, tears of relief running down her face. The other generals regarded Gremio with a sort of standoffish skepticism. "The bandits?" Barbarossa finally asked.

"Dead, sir. All of them." The statement was delivered in a hoarse, deadpan tone.

Kwanda scoffed, "Impossible, no boy could have killed so many men."

Gremio rasped the blade of his axe across his belt, cutting a knot of hair and allowing Gaston's severed head to fall to the ground. His wide eyes were frozen in terror, his mouth twisted in mid-plea. "Once Gaston fell, their wills were broken." Gremio's hand on the axe relaxed slightly, "The confines of the cave were small enough to strangle their escape, like a crowded hog's pen. They were remarkably easy to kill." Kwanda paled slightly as Gremio's dead eyes passed over him.

"Well done," Kassim approached the soldier, "Now get into armor, there's a war to be won. Give me the boy."

Those four words sparked something within the soldier: His grip tightened on the axe. His feet slid into a warrior's stance. He turned his torso so that Tir was shielded by his body, protecting the boy as he lifted his weapon. His eyes, hollow and lifeless seconds before, came alive with a fiercely animal gleam. Within seconds, the half-dead soldier became a feral wolf, ready to die to protect its young. "No."

Kassim stepped back, intimidated. The generals were struck mute by what they saw. In that instant, no one doubted that the lone soldier had killed so many only hours before. Not one of them, not even Barbarossa himself, would have challenged him for the boy.

"Gremio," Teo spoke softly, "I want you to do something for me." He moved to face the taut soldier, "I want you to take Tir home. I charge you, guardian of my son, and entrust you with the task of safeguarding him from anyone that might seek to do him harm. Your one, true loyalty, is to him alone. Do you swear this, to me, and to him?"

"I am Gremio LeFell. I swear an oath on this axe, that so long as there is life in this body, whoever would seek to bring ill on Tir McDohl will find only death at my hands."