The sun was just peaking over the horizon, streaks of light illuminating heavy rain-leaden clouds cluttering the sky. Aching limbs and a throbbing head brought Gawin slowly back to himself. He groaned heavily in pain, before his eye flicked open as he remembered. He sat up sharply, and immediately regretted it as stars exploded behind his eyes. Gawin dry heaved several times on his knees, trembling but managing not to fall over. He was alive. Joy warred with the pain inside him until confusion dominated them both. When he finally caught his breath, he dared to look across the field to where the undead army once stood.


    An empty field stared back. Here and there he could see signs of what came before, a destroyed wagon, scatterings of metal equipment, torn banners and clothing. Large rents in the ground marked where the dragons had fought, but there was no sign of anything else. No bodies, no people. Gawin was alone. Or at least he saw no one. But something was wrong here. A sense of something other permeated the field, making his skin crawl and the hairs on his neck bristle. Not dissimilar to how it felt to be close to the massive undead.


    Gawin shuddered at the memory. I need to get out of here, he thought, wincing as his head continued to throb. But first things first, he needed to take care of his wounds. Gawin was no healer, but he had burned himself before, he needed something cool to spread on it. With a grunt of effort, Gawin managed to push himself onto his feet and limp towards one of the destroyed wagons. He stumbled at first, but each step brought a little more stability. Reaching the wreckage, Gawin pulled aside the dirt covered canvas to inspect what was left. Crushed arrows and sharpened stakes. Sorting through several stakes, he found and took one about as tall as himself. It was a bit thicker than a spearshaft, but it would serve. He leaned on it as he went about searching for anything useful, but especially water for his dusty throat.


    Eventually, he did find a skin and quickly upended it, only to spit out the water a moment later. It had gone bad, the taste of leather making it almost brackish, off. Gawin felt almost irrationally betrayed by the waterskin and tossed it aside. He continued his search but after a few more minutes had found nothing but torn canvas from the wagon cover and a blanket, probably a horse’s. He lifted the blanket up and tried to sniff, only then realizing he couldn’t feel his nose, let alone smell anything. Gawin lifted a trembling hand towards his face, but couldn’t bring himself to touch it. Later then, whatever else, he wasn’t dead yet.


    But he was fairly cold. This is good enough, he thought, wrapping the larger canvas bit and blanket to ward off the morning chill. His wound could wait for now. I just have to get back to camp. He knew it wouldn’t be far, they had only marched an hour or so from the campsite to the bat— to this field. Leaning on his stake, he began to slowly make his way forward, cursing his bad luck at not finding water.


    He has only gone a few steps before his mind returned to the waterskin he tossed aside. Gawin stopped walking and looked back. It lay where he had thrown it, empty now that the water had drained from it. It’s just a waterskin. He would have shook his head and left but something prevented him. He found himself walking back over and upending the skin, watching the water soak into the earth, noting its slightly brownish color. There was something different about it, he felt, as he stared at it in his hand. It was plain brown leather with a wooden plug at the top, nothing he hadn’t seen before. It was probably bad now, having sat in the sun and Gawin tossed it aside and leaving the field. Or meant to, but he found himself tucking it absentmindedly into his belt as he walked, the throbbing of his head with each step soon driving away any other thoughts. If he made good time, he could be back at the army camp in just an hour or so, just west up the Kingsroad.


    _______________________________________________________________________________________


    He found the Kingsroad easily enough, but his head did not make travel kind. It throbbed fiercely, causing his vision to swoon and forcing him to take frequent rests, so it was almost noon before he arrived at where he had camped with Laketon’s other forces.  But, to his surprise, no outriders had come to meet him, no sentries challenged him from their small towers over the palisade, and he didn’t even see smoke rising from within. Worryingly, the ground about the entrance was deeply churned, churned as he knew only hundreds of feet could do. Fear coiled about Gawin’s bones as he stepped inside and saw exactly what he wanted to see the least. The camp was empty, and not just empty but abandoned. As if sensing his mood, the threatening clouds finally began to drip, then rain, and finally to pour.


    As Gawin sheltered in the lee of the palisade, wrapped as tightly in his tattered canvas as he could, he was forced to consider the previous day’s events. The battle had scarcely been joined before the first dragon had arrived. He wasn’t sure where from, but Gawin would never forget how majestic it had seemed as it leapt from Bedegar’s line and flew over to where the melee was thickest. It was enchanting, like something out of a story from his childhood. He knew on some level that dragons were real, but he didn’t believe it, not really. The way the sun struck its scales, the sheer majesty of it dumbfounded him and he wasn’t the only one. And then it breathed out over Laketon lines, entire formations disappeared into the gas cloud, screaming as they died.


    He saw swaths of soldiers smashed into the air by a tail sweep, saw living men shoved still screaming down a wagon sized gullet. Somewhere in him, the old stories shattered as he stared at the reality, the horror before his eyes. He wanted to run, tried to run, but the lines were too tight, he couldn’t move and Bedegar’s line charged and then it was spears and arrows and an arrow struck his shield and stuck into the face of the man next to him, who’d been so proud about his helmet, and he died, and Gawin was about to die. And then the second dragon arrived.


    Gawin jerked his head, using the pain to shock himself out of the spiral, a shaky hand reaching down to where he’d put the waterskin, his waterskin, to catch runoff from his canvas. The rainwater tasted much better and chased away his thirst. But the fear had already returned. Sitting in the rain at the abandoned camp, Gawin had realized the inescapable truth. We lost.


    The rain stopped after several hours, but it was at least another before Gawin finally forced himself to rise, tucking away his now full waterskin. He couldn’t stay here. Bedegar’s soldiers would be on the road. He was lucky he didn''t run into anyone before. A quick look around the now muddy campsite revealed that it had already been picked clean. His stomach growled, but Gawin had nothing to feed it but water. He took a swig, debating his next action, before settling on the only real option there was. He would go west, staying just off the road, and he would hope he could avoid whoever he saw. But first, the rain had felt quite nice on his wound. Using the stake to punch through and hole the canvas, Gawin was able to tear off a long wet strip and very carefully tied it around his head. He stopped by the gate, peeking out and looking west down the road. There was no going back, but maybe he’d be lucky.


    ________________________________________________________________________________________


    Gawin heard them before he saw them. He had almost two days of luck, if you want to consider sleeping rough, nursing the last bit of his waterskin, and starving lucky. But now, inevitably, it had run out. A mounted patrol in the distance had driven him from the edge of the Kingsroad and into the underbrush what felt like an hour ago. It frightened him, but he wasn’t certain they saw him.


    But the nearby huff of a horse made it clear, they had, or worse, they had been hunting him. Gawin bit a finger to help control his breathing, desperately reviewing his options. He knew he couldn’t fight them, even if his stake were a match for maille. A bone deep tiredness had set in sometime yesterday. He’d been surprised he woke up at all. And now he’d been ridden down. Gawin didn’t even know who “they” were, too far away to see their colors. All he’d known was he needed to get off the road. They still hung deserters, didn’t they? And who knows what Bedegar would do to him, the stories were not kind.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    “Are you going to make us come in there?” A voice rang out over the bushes, carrying the detached boredom only seen in professional guards. “We don’t have dogs, so we’d have to start with flatbows. Don’t think you want that.”


    From his place on the ground, Gawin steeled himself, they were men. He found some of his tension ease away. He could face men. “How do I know you won’t shoot me if I stand up?” he hoarsely shouted back, barely able to reach conversational volume. One of the horsemen laughed, a different voice than the first, “Well so long as you don''t try to spear us. People are quite frightened these days.” Then he muttered something, and Gawin heard the jangle of armor, followed by closing footsteps. “Don’t suppose you’re hungry?”


    From its place against the ground, Gawin’s stomach rumbled loudly enough that he worried it gave his spot away. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. It would have had to be before the…, a long time ago. “Who do you ride for?”


    “Havelin,” the voice came from feet away and Gawin rolled to look at the man who had silently snuck up on him. “Emerald Company.” The man was wearing a green tunic, breastplate carved with a tree, even had some emerald stones set into the center of his helmet, but it was the pity in his eyes that comforted Gawin the most. “Let’s get you some hot chow. How’s that sound?” He squatted down on his heels, just out of spearing distance, but able to take a closer look at the crude covering over his burned head before turning back towards his companions. “He’s gonna need you, priest,” before holding out a hand to Gawin, “I’m Edric.”


    Gawin hesitated for a few moments on the cold ground before accepting the hand. “Gawin,” he pulled heavily on the soldier, who reached out to steady him on his feet. There were three other riders that he could see, all armed but wearing the same green tunics. Beside him Edric spoke, “We’ll set up here. Jakk, get a fire going for some stew. Nel, head south about an hour out and back. Balmy?”


    “I see it.” “Good.”


    Edric helped Gawin out of the ditch, slowly, taking care with each step. By the time they made it to the road, one of the riders, Nel, was already making for the southern horizon. “Can you make it a mile or so? There was a great campsite just north of here.” Edric clicked his tongue and his horse trotted so he could pull a waterskin out of the saddle bag and held it up for Gawin. “Slowly.”


    “Thank you,” Gawin mumbled, staring at the full waterskin. He popped the stopper, and lifted it to his lips, careful not to open his mouth too much. He poured the watered down wine onto his sandpaper tongue, tasting the leather of its container, and feeling its warmth down his throat and into his belly. Edric turned away for a moment, pretending not to have seen the tears well up Gawin’s eye. “Come on,” he lightly tapping Gawin on the shoulder. “Not much farther to camp. How long have you been walking?”


    Gawin swallowed before answering, “Since… almost two days now.”


    “Well, just hang on a little longer.” Edric side-eyed his strange new companion. “We’ve got you now.”


    _______________________________________________________________________________________


    With frequent stops for drinks and rests, it took the two of them over an hour to cover the road to the campsite, Edric leading his horse and Gawin leaning on it. A small fire was already beginning to boil a stew that probably would have smelled good to someone with a nose. Beside it, a short man, a dwarf Gawin realized, was mashing herbs into a greenish paste. “Come, sit,” the dwarf patted a rock next to the fire, “Stew will be done soon enough. But let me look at that wound.” Gawin sat and reached up to peel the head wrapping. “No, no, I’ll take care of it. You just focus on drinking this.” A horn cup was pressed into Gawin’s hand, the steaming liquid inside a putrid grey. Still vaguely out of himself, Gawin took a sip, making a face as he swallowed the chunky paste. “Good, now hold still. It will hurt when I peel this off.”


    Gawin breathed in and braced himself but he was still unprepared when the dwarf peeled the cloth. Gawin hissed as cloth and flesh stuck together, but after a short effort, it came free. “How does it look?” Gawin asked through clenched teeth. He was answered by silence around the campfire. “Is it bad?”


    The dwarf grunted, “Seen worse,” he looked away from the goliath’s hand sized patch of bare bone, and took advantage of his patient’s missing eye to shake his head emphatically at Edric across the fire. “It’ll take some time to recover but it should be okay,” he lied, having had plenty of practice on the battlefield. “The eye though,” he fluttered his hand within Gawin’s sight. “You should be prepared just in case.”


    Gawin gulped down another mouthful of grey nasty. He had avoided thinking about his wound as much as possible. “Is there anything—?”


    “I’ll put that poultice on it, some clean bandages. Then you’ll eat that soup and sleep next to the fire,” he patted Gawin on the shoulder. “I’ll take another look at it in the morning. Just drain that horn-cup while I work.” The clear instruction helped redirect Gawin’s mind. As he drank, the dwarf spread a cool liquid over the edge between flesh and skull, and wrapped his head again in a clean bandage, boiled before the stew ingredients were added.


    By the time the dwarf finished cleaning, smearing, and bandaging, Edric was ready with a steaming bowl of stew, which Gawin gratefully took and began to wolf down, scarcely tasting it in his rush to fill his belly for the first time in days. It was a struggle, he couldn’t chew like he used to, but he reveled in it just the same. The others around the campfire took their meals silently, waiting for Gawin to finish before asking their questions. As he was chewing his final mouthful, Gawin looked up at the pot, stomach still audibly growling. “Yes there’s plenty more,” said Edric with a smile, taking and filling Gawin’s bowl. “Eat as much as you can. I’ve no doubt you need it.” Nodding his thanks, Gawin took the bowl and shoveled more food.


    It was only on his fifth and final bowl, that Gawin began to taste the stew. The soldier who went ahead had added rich herbs and some spice he’d never tasted before. And the meat was a rich venison, tough like all salted meats but still better than anything Gawin had outside of Midsummer festivals. His eyes began to droop as he finished the last few bites. He was warm with a full belly but it was the sheer sense of safety that brought him down. He didn’t even hear Edric tell him they’ll talk in the morning.


    ________________________________________________________________________________________


    Balmy laid a blanket over the now snoring Gawin, briefly checking his state before taking his bowl and stacking it with the others. “He’s well out.”


    Across the fire, Jakk, the party’s orcin cook scoffed, “Could be faking.”


    “No, he’s been utterly transparent so far.” Edric turned to the newcomer at the fire, just beginning to eat the now lukewarm stew. “What’d you find, Nel?”


    The elf glanced up from her bowl, “Nothing for miles. Oldest tracks were from that group that came through about a week ago.” She hesitated a moment, finding the right words. “Something was following him, no tracks, no signs, but I know it was there. It watched me for a bit, too, then went off. South-east.”


    Edric turned this new information over in his mind. “Should we move?”


    The elven scout considered for a moment, before her long ears twitched in dismissal, “It did not feel malevolent. Dangerous, yes, but not malevolent. Still,” Nel glanced over the campfire towards the Kingsroad, “I do not want to travel further south.” She pointed at the sleeping Gawin with a foot. “What did you get out of him?”


    “Nothing,” grunted Jakk, “Softy led him by the hand, fed him and never asked anything.”


    Edric smiled softly at this. “His mind was close to fracturing. I doubt he could tell us anything coherent today. It’s a couple days to get back. He’ll tell us everything before we get there. Speaking of questions, Balmy?”


    The dwarf glanced away from where he’d been, but did not stop rubbing his mithril hammer necklace, a nervous habit. “He should be dead.”


    “No shit.”


    “Oh, shut it, Jakk,” Balmy shot back, without any real malice. He turned his full attention to his companions so they might read the seriousness on his face. “His skin melted, bare bone exposed, something like a quarter of his face gone, should’ve cooked his brain. It’s been weeks, yet no infection. If I saw anyone lying on a field like this, I’d go to the next man without a thought.”


    “Yet he does live,” Edric said, emphasizing the obvious impossibility, “And I would wager my left hand he got that at the Clash. But that’s not dragon fyre.”


    “No,” confirmed Balmy, “But he could’ve been splashed by a mage. Plenty were on the field at the beginning.”


    “Maybe,” countered Edric, “But why would the Old Oak send us for a mage-burned?”


    Silence reigned over the small camp as the soldiers worked over the same question they had been for days. Each had felt the benefits of their commander’s uncanny insights before, but they all still cursed the occasions when their orders were more uncanny than insightful.


    After a few moments, Edric shook his head to clear it and stood from his seat on the ground to stretch a moment before issuing orders. “Nel, you’re confident whatever you felt won''t attack?” He asked, getting a tentative bend of ears in return. “Right well, let’s assume otherwise,” he pointed a thumb over towards the sleeping figure, “from inside too. You''re first with me Jakk.” The orcin nodded and began to clean up what little there was, while the other two began to bed down as far from Gawin as possible, weapons close at hand.