The battle rages on, and the right of Edmunds army is forced to the breaking point. Roger and his comrades are forced into brutal combat for their comrades to have any chance of victory. Hidden in the forest nearby, his Eldar allies try to gather their vanished warriors, while one of their number tries to settle an old score. But just as Roger finds a familiar face, the situation becomes dire to the point he may have to walk back on his demands for their neutrality...

Vretand was a strange land. The culture there was always different to Avalons, but there was enough similar that the two possibly had a shared heritage. Gascs looked down on them as foreigners on their native land, and Avalonians found them strange and similar to the Western Islanders, which was not a compliment. But they were loyal to their own Prince, a native, rare considering the other lands were under the control of the King on Avalon through personal rule or having a son installed as a prince. Wild, mysterious, and loyal. And now, having sworn support to Anglerre in serving its interests and providing its emergency tithe, they were pushed to their limits. And in the center of this storm of flesh and steel, was Lord Yann Diazon, hero of the War of the Lions, who even in his forties was a force to be reckoned with before he put on his powered armor.

"Stand firm! Stand firm!" he bellowed as he watched his men be pushed back.

"My Lord, we need to pull back, just a little!" one of his brother knights called out.

"We can't, Sir Abgrall! We have to keep the line, Edmund ordered so!"

A man at arms standing nearby Diazon was pierced by a spear and went motionless. Snarling in rage, he found the killer, lopping off the man's head in a single swing. He hated to admit it, but his knights were correct. He had seen the other regiments down the line, who had plenty of ground and time to spare. The Vretans had neither, the Krieger made defenses hastily finished, and the attackers, realizing there was a possible break in the wall, started moving towards it.

"Sir, you should move to the rear, you need to command, not to fight at this moment," another knight added, heaving from the sheer amount of exertion he faced with his comrades. Diazon sneered behind his helm, but quickly realized they were right. There was a time to stand and fight, and there was a time to lead, and one needed a clear head, one where blades weren't being swung towards it.

"I acquiesce," he growled before turning to the man at arms behind him. "Take my place, hold the line."

"We will My Lord," the man said with a bit of fear, but was strengthened by the knight patting his shoulder.

"The spirits are with us," he whispered to the man in the ancient, foreign language passed down from their ancestors on Terra. "They'll come to save us."

The man nodded and was thrust forward, and to Diazons satisfaction, no sooner hit the front line than he gutted an enemy. Pulled through the regiment, he arrived at the back, finding casualties pulled to the back, the wounded being cared for and the dead having been covered up and placed in a way to allow for quick removal and burial after the battle, standard practice in these types of combat. He noticed the runner he sent was still missing and lifted up his faceplate to reveal a disappointed frown.

"Kach, where is that kid?"

One of the other knights, left behind to take command should one of his comrades fall, shrugged.

"I'm not sure My Lord. I have gotten word the line is stable everywhere else."

"I should have told Edmund to push in and take some pressure off us."

"He wants to hold the line, My Lord, we should do so."

"And where is that damned commissar?"

"Keeping the men on our furthest flank in order. No easy task."

"And no better prick to do so. I pray that he doesn't come anywhere close to me. If I have to die today, I hope the last thing I see is anything but that hideous red coat of his. On the other hand-"

His thoughts were disrupted by the arrival of five figures heading straight towards him.

"The hell?"

The group closed in, looking like the rest of the men, a variety of helmets, red and blue surcoats, and swords or similar weapons.

"My Lord, Prince Edmund ordered us to report to you as soon as possible."

"And you are?"

"Serjeant Roger Wessyng, these are my men."

"That's all? Five men?" he said in pure exasperation.

He was about to yell curses or tell the serjeant to politely piss off, but he remembered something. That name, Wessyng, he heard it before.

"You're Edmunds problem solver?" he asked before closing in on Roger. "The one who works with Eldar?"

"Yes My Lord."

Diazon looked at the battle raging behind him and then at the new arrivals.

"Are the Eldar able to help us?" he whispered.

The serjeant frowned and shook his head.

"I am afraid not, My Lord."

"Damn. Worth an ask, right?."

"This fight is not theirs, My Lord. Would you risk your life and limb to save Xenos?"

"If it were them, yes," he whispered.

"My Lord?"

Lord Diazon shook his head.

"Nothing serjeant. I don't know what you can do for me, or your squad, but did Prince Edmund give any word of our situation?"

"He said to hold the line and that deliverance was soon."

Diazon nodded and turned to the fight again and spat. He was in deep shit, no lie, but he had to hold on and didn't have any idea how long.

"Thank you serjeant, but I need more men, not words of encouragement. The latter does not thin the enemy's ranks. And what of my messenger?"

"Wounded. He was taken to the rear for recovery. Arrow in the shoulder."

"I see. Well, I may have to throw you into the lines to give at least a few of my men respite. It may be enough to change things. I have heard you are a bit of a miracle worker for the Prince. Do you think you can do the same for anyone?"

The serjeant thought the comment over and nodded.

"I can't see why not."

"Good, then we'll-"

A massive roar came from nearby, and all behind, wounded or otherwise, turned to see what was happening. Diazons blood went cold.

"The lines are breaking," he swore before turning to the few men in front of him.

They seemed to understand what was necessary.

"We'll plug that hole for you, My Lord," one of them, an older, grizzled veteran said.

"Do so," Diazon said flatly.

And the Leopards rushed off into the third impossible task they had been given in a week.

XXXXXX

"Out of scabbards, let's go!" Roger shouted as they rushed towards a group of similarly uniformed Guardsmen being pushed back more and more with each moment.

The line then burst, a few rebel soldiers moving to the back of the line, but they didn't get far, instantly running into the Leopards. Roger used the Eldari blade to good use, cutting down two men with a grace that made even the finest swordsmen of Anglerre proud. Davie charged full bore into another, his shoulder obliterating his target's ribs, the unfortunate victim finished off by the flick of a dagger blade. Hawke had taken no time at all to send an arrow into another man, who fell grasping at the arrow lodged in his throat before expiring. Parky had taken a spear from a wounded man nearby, who offered it to him in a desperate ploy to have someone useful fighting in his place. Despite his age and looks, he was just as vicious as his older comrades, slicing one mans ankle, sending him to the flat of his back and driving it into his chest. Only Bob stayed away from the fighting, dragging a wounded man away from the melee and beginning to work on his open, pulsing wound. Roger was unsure who had the bloodier and more brutal job.

"Push them back! Push damn you!" a man at arms shreiked in a Vretan accent.

Despite the break, only a few men had gotten through, and the Leopards had cut them down quickly. More were coming through the breach, but Roger and the others were pushing from the front as the Vretans moved to turn the opening into a killzone. Ten or so rushed towards them, fighting now like cornered animals, unable to move forward, a crush of their comrades at the rear, and spears or swords at their sides. Davie sparred with one, who swung at his legs, but was parried and received a kick in the groin. The rebel slumped and had his jugular sliced in a quick motion. Hawke put another two arrows into men, quick as possible, one dead instantly from a headshot, the other forced to his knees by an arrow through his thigh. Parky drove his spear into the man, who cried out in pain before dying. Roger was forced into a three on one situation as his comrades were focused on their own targets.

"Come get me, you cock-suckers!" he roared, a younger one taking his offer.

This was another peasant, whose sloppy spear thrusts were parried before he grabbed the shaft and wrenched the bearer towards him and onto his waiting bone-white blade. Tossing the dead man aside, the other two, professional soldiers if he remembered the guards on the gates of Al-Madin, charged to take him. It was a furious duel, what they assumed to just be a simple Guardsman turning out to be a skilled swordsman. While they fought well, their opponent seemed to glide and always avoid what should have been a deathblow. The made a thrust that nearly got him in the chest, but he was thrown off balance by the action. Roger deftly cut his arm in half, the man screaming as he grasped his newly created stump. Roger smiled as he finished him off, realizing that his own wound of a missing finger tip meant little. He was still as good as ever. He turned to face the next man, who he fought off as he closed in on his victim.

He felt a hammer blow on his chest, and fell on his back.

Figuring out that he had been tackled, he quickly regained his bearing, seeing a dagger flash towards his eyes. He grasped the rebels hands and held the blade only an inch or two away from its target. Adrenaline poured through his veins, his heart throbbing in his ears. The mans face was uncovered, his face full of hatred, fury pushing him to finish off his enemy. Roger held the blade, his mind scrambling to find a way out. His opponent was bigger and more muscular, so a battle of strength was no option. His eyes darted for anything, and he decided that despite his rational thinking, to take a risk. He let one of his hands off his would-be killers arm, and thrust it into the mans chin. To his relief, it worked, the dagger moving away. Taking the sudden advantage, Roger threw the man on his back and grasped at his throat. There was no honor or nobility now, and a feral rage took over Roger. Anger that he had been knocked down, that he had nearly been killed by a jumped up Mekkari, that he was nearly taken away when he had everything to lose. The man clawed at his face, just as desperate. Roger snarled and snapped his hands to the mans cheeks, and dug his thumbs into his near-killers eyes. He immediately regretted it, the mans tortured shrieks in pain causing him to stop instantly. He grabbed the mans dagger and thrust it under his chin, killing him instantly. His hands shook as he let the dagger go, horror filling his heart. He was a soldier, a killer, but to finish a man in such a way was beyond him. He would not become the monster his commanders wanted for soldiers. He looked up to find a man about to cut his skull in half, but before he could do so, Davie lopped the mans head off in an effortless blow.

"Bloody hell," Roger said dumbly.

He felt a slap on the back of his head and looked up at Davie in anger.

"Fuck's sake boy, tunnel vision! You should goddamn know better!"

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks."

He grabbed his blade and looked to the line. Men were moving to close the breach, forcing the rebels back, stepping over or on top of enemy corpses to take whatever advantage they could. Looking back, he could count twenty or so bodies. Yes, they were only five men, but there were twenty less enemies running behind the lines. He stood up, his legs wobbly from the adrenaline leaving his system. He wasn't scared, but his confidence had taken a hell of a hit. He nearly jumped when a man slapped his shoulder.

"Excellent work serjeant!" a voice warbled by a speaker said.

"Thank you, My Lord. Davie, find the others and regroup."

"Got it Rog."

Lord Diazon and Roger watched the line reseal and stand firm again.

"You did well. The line will hold a little longer. But we've been pushed back."

"Yes My Lord."

"You have quite a style with that sword of yours. Graceful yet efficient. But I would expect no less of a Fae-born."

Rogers blood went cold as he looked to the knight.

"M-my Lord?"

"Don't worry serjeant. It takes one to know one."

The knight pulled on his necklace, a pendant styled in the form of-

"You're a-"

"Of course I am! Half of Vretand is bloody Fae-born! They got run out of Avalon and escaped to my homeland! But I suppose there are a few left there."

"Southern forests, My Lord."

"Ah. Well, I must admit, I underestimated you."

"Not the first to do so," Roger said as he looked at the man with a dagger in his skull. "What do we do now My Lord?"

"Not sure. The lines staying pretty firm, but I may need you as a rush squad and help where more breaks will form. Stay ready, and be prepared to be thrown into something even worse."

"Of course My Lord."

"I pray for speredoù yet they do not come," the knight said bitterly.

"Pardon?"

"You know who I mean. The spirits of the forest."

Roger blinked, realizing what he was saying.

"They have always aided us, from the first invaders when the Imperium returned to Kyrnou, the War of the Lions, to watching and protecting our villages from evil in all forms. They are near, I can feel it. It's in our blood."

Kyrnou? Spirits? What was he talking about? He was tired, frightened, and confused, and he needed to do something, anything.

"I will pray they do, My Lord."

"If you are needed, you will be informed."

"My Lord."

Roger rejoined his men, unsure of what to make of all this. His hands were shaking, and he was starting to feel nauseous. He didn't know what to do, what to say, all he knew was now they were deep in it, and he had to dig them out of it.

"Nice work lads," he spluttered, taking a sip from his fated canteen.

He looked at it and felt something stiffen him, like steel had been injected to his spine. He had to stay strong, he had to fight, because he had someone to fight for, to see again.

"Cheers boss," Hawke said, pulling another arrow from the ground and sliding it into his bag.

"Did you see me sarge?" Parky said with a smile. "I hit the one in the bollocks with the end of my spear! Almost spared him because I felt so bad about it."

"Stay focused boy," Davie growled. "We need to stay together and stay focused. No sloppiness, damn your eyes!"

The others nodded in agreement. Davie drank hard, played hard, but earned it by fighting even harder, and when he was focused, you could ask for no better soldier. Roger looked around for Bob, and found him hovering over a wounded man in rebel garb. The old man noticed his serjeants glare and waved him over. Moving away from the fury of the front line, he looked down at the wounded man laying on his back in confusion.

"What's wrong Bob?"

"Questions."

"What? He has questions?"

Bob looked flatly up at him.

"Oh, you want me to ask him questions?"

"Aye."

"Got it."

Roger knelt down and looked at the rebels face. Blood stained his lips, a red streak coming from the edge of his mouth down his cheek. He was barely breathing, seeming to be more asleep than dead. Bob slapped the mans cheek, and his eyes flashed open, eyes looking around to figure out what was happening.

"What?" he mumbled.

"You need to answer some questions I got. I can tell you aren't some sand scum they threw a pitchfork at and told to charge us. What's your plan?"

The man, seeing how he had angry armed men around him and was in no shape to fight, sighed and looked at Roger.

"Peasants were supposed to be a distraction while we went in. But you are all fighting like devils!"

"Do you have any cavalry?"

"We barely had any to begin with, and they're protecting the city. The Emir thought we could win this on numbers alone."

"Well that's good. Where is the Emir?"

"Some tent at the rear. He just told his commanders to charge forward and smash you. Fools."

"He isn't a supreme commander as he thinks, is he?"

"He has gotten crazier ever since that demon came to him. He thinks that if he smashes your Prince and his army, he will break the demon's curse laid upon him."

Roger frowned at this. What exactly had Anxo said months ago? In the Scorpions defense, he was told to frighten the emir, and did so with gusto. Maybe a little too well.

"No reinforcements?"

"No. Now let me die in peace, damn you."

The man closed his eyes and breathed softly. Roger looked to Bob who shook his head in a way that showed annoyance to such melodrama.

"Well, standby for more action everyone. This battle is going to drag on for much longer I'm afraid."

The others nodded, either resting or sharpening their weapons. Roger spat on the ground and grimaced. He had barely survived his first fight, and he had an entire day ahead. Surviving may not have been as easy as he thought.

XXXXXX

"Any sightings of our erstwhile comrades?" Kallen asked, more amused than concerned.

"Unfortunately no. I believe they must have moved behind the Imperial lines if they are anywhere."

"I see. Thank you Anxo."

The Scorpion leader looked to Moire, who was focused on the battle raging on the hill.

"How are our friends doing, sword-sister?"

"They are holding, but barely. Their lack of numbers becomes more apparent with every loss, and the rebels have two or three more than their meagre warriors. They will suffer terrible casualties, but I fear the forces of the Imperium will fall this day, should nothing change."

"Steryn informs me the Prince is still confident. Even after everything, if his mood is still unchanged, I have to believe that there is something we are missing."

"Possibly. But it must come soon, lest disaster follow. But now, we can not leave until our missing brethren are accounted for."

The Avenger was ready to leave this farce of a battle behind, but her own warriors seemed to not agree. To have such disobedience from warriors, Eldar especially, was almost unheard of. Her anger was both a mix of exasperation at being abandoned, and the other was a stabbing, torturous feeling of… insecurity? She was unsure what it exactly was, but it was gnawing at her, not in a way of fear, but as if her ego had been torn at. She hissed through gritted teeth as she tried to banish the thought.

"Pardon my ignorance," she suddenly said, "Did you find anything behind the rebel lines, Anxo?"

The Scorpion was silent for a minute, judging his options for a response.

"Yes, actually. And it was something that I think would be beneficial to all of us, human and Eldar alike."

The two leaders turned to him in curiosity.

"Do tell," Kallen responded politely.

"The Emir of Al-Madin. He has set up his personal tent at the opening of this cut in the forest. His guards are either nowhere near, or are so convinced of his safety that they would not be able to response in time of…"

He paused, judging the faces of the two before him.

"Attack or assassination."

"Roger wished us not to engage in this battle, for the hundredth time!" she growled, at her wits end at the constant violation of his wishes, and hers for staying out of what was entirely a human fight with no benefit to her kind.

"How would this benefit our Imperial comrades and us?"

"One less rebel commander, for even if they lose this day, he could escape and become an issue for their occupation that will inevitably follow. And instead of a victorious leader, the forces of Haikk Four will lose a valuable leader."

"You would create a martyr instead," Moire warned. "Even more dangerous than him surviving."

"True. But if you remember, I met him before. Using my… previous employment skills, I was able to convince him that he was being followed by demons who were clawing at his soul. I may have said something along the lines of a promise that should he try to attack the Imperial forces, I would come to collect."

Kallen looked at him and began to laugh.

"Khaine's blood! And he believed it?"

"The rumors of a demon chasing their commander, and possibly them, is quite prevalent in the enemy force. Which leads into a benefit for the Asuryani. The people of this land will forever fear the thought of our kind as avenging demons, who kill if you disobey their demands. Should we return here in the future, a population that is easily cowed by their superstitious fears of our kind…"

Kallen turned to Moire, who was deep in thought. It sounded a bit far-fetched, and relying on far too much assumption. The risks were great as well. But was it refusing Rogers request? And it did have possible benefits that gave the Eldar an advantage should they ever need anything on this part of the planet. Then her eyes opened and she nodded.

"One of my warriors. I am already down to half my number. A volunteer. I approve. Do not fail."

Anxo bowed slightly and looked to Kallen, who was grinning.

"Just one. Take who you wish. The only trace you should leave is one that proves that the people of Mekkar should fear the demons in their midst."

"Understood."

Anxo moved off to create a team as the two looked back to the battle. Unsurprisingly, the situation was static.

"Anya reports that the right is starting to break, but Roger and his men have been engaged in a way that the line is holding. She has doubts it will do so much longer."

"He has done the seemingly impossible before, I believe he can do it again."

"Standing against our fallen cousins and a titan is different from facing an unequal battle between his own kind."

"Forgive me, but I would think that the former is more difficult than the latter."

"He was lucky, and we were involved. He is now with nothing but his skills and his own kind. I will not pretend he has a fair chance, and he obviously does not believe he has one either. I do appreciate his realism."

"I believe they call it pessimism amongst his kind."

"Fate is fickle, as you said."

Kallen chuckled and saw Anxo and his new squad heading towards the rear of the rebel lines.

"Stay in contact, Anxo. We already have enough warriors missing."

"I shall."

The two watched the battle continue in silence before Moire finally spoke.

"Half our force has run off or is missing. We are poor leaders."

"No sister," Kallen said. "We are merely letting destiny take the course it desires. We are but observers."

She did not want to admit it, but he was correct. To the Eldar, free-will was merely an illusion to the inter-twined effects of fate or destiny. She only prayed she would be alive by the end of this current thread.

XXXXXX

"Goddammit!" Roger grunted as a sword slashed mere inches from his face, which he responded by a quick slash to his opponent's lower chest plate.

The soldier of Al-Madin had his armor cut through like a hot knife in butter, spilling his organs as he went to his knees in agonizing pain and shock. A moment later, another slice ended his misery. Looking for another target, he saw Parky probing another man as Hawke shot an arrow into a target, not noticing a scimitar bearing enemy rushing towards him get tackled by Davie, who promptly began beating the rebels skull in with his bare fists. Even as far away as he was, one vicious thrust snap the unfortunate Mekkari's neck. Dropping the body, the old soldier stood and wiped the blood that drenched his blade on his newest kills uniform.

"Reform on line! Reform! Reform!" a knight bellowed, Vretans desperately trying to do so.

They had been pushed back, not broken, but the situation was getting more and more out of hand with every moment. The line only held as they gave ground more and more. It would not be long before it finally gave way. Seeing a gap open, he signalled to his squad, who rushed forwards to join him.

"Let's go," he said breathlessly.

They had only been on the front line once before it was restored, but it was enough to make them not want to be there any longer than they had to. The constant flood of enemies, the push and shove, it was never enjoyable. But they moved in with gusto, Davie taking a shield off a dead Vretan and bringing it up. No sooner had they arrived that blows and jabs came from all angles in front. Parrying, blocking, or forcing them back as much as they could before men came from behind and took their place. But as the replacements neared, Roger noticed one figure that stood out. In ornate armor and having men nod at his orders, or what seemed to be given the fact the figure wore a full face-covering helmet. But it was fairly obvious whoever it was, they were important, and a plan formed in his mind.

"Davie?"

"Yeah Rog?" he said as he clobbered a peasants chest with the edge of the shield.

"See that fancy looking bastard there?"

"Aye."

"I'm gonna grab him."

"Your funeral. I'll try to cover you."

"Hawke, cover me as well! Parky, you stay and look handsome."

"Got it sarge!"

Despite his best thoughts and rational mindset, he charged forward, slashing the peasants and soldiers ahead with ease. His target was only three or four men deep, and they were not prepared for an attack, let alone one with his swordsmanship. One or two of the soldiers made a thrust or slash at him, but he either avoided or struck back, and in no time at all, he could tell by body language alone that he completely startled the… what was it, a sipahi? Whoever they were, he kicked them in the shin, sending them down on a knee. Grabbing a loop on the side of his victims armor, he wrenched him back to his lines. Parrying and cutting on the way back, an arrow or two flickered into the faces of a few desperate men trying to get their possible leader back. He noticed his target being dragged behind a quickly reforming line of Vretans, who let him pass, a few giving compliments in their native tongue or slapping his back.

"Bloody hell, that was something!" Davie said.

"Not a scratch, far as I can tell," Roger boasted before turning over his prize, who was crawling on all fours to get away. "Surrender," he said sticking the edge of his Wraithbone blade at the mans eyeholes.

There was a moment or two of inaction before a scimitar was dragged from its scabbard and held flatly in both its metal hands.

"On my honor, I am your prisoner," it said in accented Low Gothic.

"Keep your blade, stay behind the lines, you're my prisoner-"

He was about to ask the name of his ransom when he realized something. He knew that voice, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Taking off his helmet, the face of-

"Ulgan!" Roger said in shock.

"Wessyng! You live. I was hoping to find you today in opposite circumstances," the sipahi said in disbelief.

"I guess you owe me your life twice now?"

"I suppose."

Roger extended a hand and lifted the man off the ground.

"This is a lot harder fought than my brother-in-law expected. We will win this day by numbers and exhausting your comrades, but plenty of unnecessary blood was spilled to gain the victory."

"We're not out of the woods yet, sipahi."

"I have not heard that term."

"It's not over until it's over."

"Very well. We shall see. When we are victorious, I still will be in your debt. I will ensure your life is spared. I cannot promise that for your men."

"Yeah, we'll see. Just stay in the back, anybody asks you, you're under my protection. Don't give them any reason to kill you. I might send you to meet Edmund and stay there. But for now-"

"I will obey your wishes, for I owe my life once, and your action to take me was worthy of much respect. As much as I wish to rejoin my men and defeat your kin."

"Honor and all that, pain, isn't it."

"You would not know the half of it."

They parted ways, his squad following him, looking confused.

"You know that guy?"

"I met him a few months ago. Long story."

"Ah," Davie said.

The stopped as they watched the fight a hundred yards ahead of them in grim silence. It wasn't going to be much longer before all would break and disaster would strike.

"Perkele," Parky groaned.

The other four looked at him in surprise.

"What did you just say?"

"It's a curse word I learned from those guys we fought with back on Corio II. They liked saying that a lot."

"Which ones were those?" Hawke asked.

"The Silver Spears."

"Right!" Davie said. "The ones from Caliban."

"Kalevan, Davie. Kalevan. Get focused. We're probably going to be in real deep shit in a moment."

They continued to quietly watch the desperate fight ahead, unsure what to say or make of it.

"Those guys were funny," Davie said blankly. "Good drinkers, and their language is quite something. Never seen that many vowels in a sentence before. One word can have seven U's."

Suddenly, a hole in the line broke. They all leapt into action, rushing ahead to help, but Roger slowed and watched in despair. He needed a miracle, something, anything. He gritted his teeth as he thought of a solution, one he had desperately holding off on. He knew it wasn't right to ask them, that his commander would not accept it lightly, that he himself had forced himself into this corner. But maybe, just maybe, asking the Eldar was-

"Roger."

He turned clockwise in startled silence, trying to figure out who said it.

"Who's there?"

"It's me."

"Morgyn?"

His comms device was with Kallen, something that he did to avoid the very moment he was facing right now.

"Yes. I am near with my brother and three warriors. You need our help."

"Get out of my mind. And no, I am not going to ask you to-"

"I am not asking. Your comrades and army need us."

"It isn't fair for you to die for a battle your kind has no vested-"

"We are warriors. No matter the skin, the species, the situation. We cannot stand by and be remembered as those who stood aside while our comrades died for nothing. And this is war: fairness has no bearing."

"Even with your skills, you're jumping into thousands of enemies, you're not going to-"

"Then we die fighting the odds and the orders of our own commander."

"Morgyn, I don't want you to die on my behalf or humanities. It's not right."

He felt something at his side, turning to find the brown-skinned Avenger facing him without her helmet mask. Anylrch was next to her, along with another Avenger and two Scorpions. He couldn't recognize all of them, but as he stuck out a hand to stop them, amazed that no one had noticed them, he felt something placed in his hands. It was a parchment scribbled in Eldari, and his mind quickly realized it was five names.

"Remember us, as we die for honor and loyalty."

"Please don't, I beg you-"

"Farewell."

The five rushed to the front line, and for the first time in years, Roger felt helpless to stop the inevitable.

XXXXXX

The only thoughts running through the mind of the Guardsman as the swords hammered his shield was how much he missed the bay. He missed the fishing boats, dragging the traps up from the deep and watching the lobsters watch blankly from the barrels they would rest in before they returned to port. He prayed, despite everything that was happening, to fish again.

"Stay firm!" the knight at his side roared.

His armor was scratched, the blood of his enemies and himself caking the front. The fight was about to give, and it terrified all of them. The line would break, and all they fought for this past year or more would mean nothing because they couldn't hold. They were desperate, even Lord Diazon was back in the front, trying to keep things together. He felt himself be pushed back another foot and tried to respond, but he was tired, hurt, and mentally at the end. All he had now was prayer.

"Emperor on Terra, help us. Help us!"

Another minute or two passed with no answer. The blows kept coming, the rebel soldiers screaming and snarling at him. His mind raced what to do, and then he did something he had not done in years, out of terror of their power, of the Church, of the direness of making such a request.

He prayed for the spirits to help him.

His mother had taught him the words, the importance of keeping it secret, of only asking when times were desperate. He opened his eyes and looked to the sky, praying that something, anything, would come.

Then he saw a dark shadow, leaping over their lines with no effort, landing amongst the rebels. Screams and the wet sounds of blades chopping flesh soon filled the air, and it did not take long for men to realize what happened.

"Speredoù!" a man yelled.

"The spirits answered our call!"

A thunderous cheer roared through the lines as the rebels forcing them back suddenly were thrown off balance, trying to figure out what was going on, or panic at the sounds of their comrades being slaughtered. The fisherman slammed his shield into one of their faces, and tore the throat of another with his sword. He and his comrades were now pushing forward, getting breathing room they hadn't had all day. He wanted to weep in joy, for the prayer had worked. The Vretans had always had a special relation with them, and they had come right at their lowest point.

Anglerre, if only for a little while longer, would hold.