Tapel crested a hill, and jumped when he startled a flock of crows gorging on the dead. They settled again, further ahead, their beady eyes regarding him as they tilted their heads, hopping from one place to another and cawing to each other. A nearby sound caught his attention, and he looked down; at his feet a crow glared up at him, blood dripping from its beak. Tapel kicked at it with his foot.

It was growing dark. Looking around the battlefield Tapel realised he was the last of the youths still out. If he came home too late, his mother would ask questions, questions he knew he wouldn't want to answer.

The shortest path back to the city was through yet another group of the dead, where it appeared a tremendous swordfight had taken place. As Tapel came closer he realised that there were only black-clad legionnaires here; where were the Halrana dead, or the Alturans? Perhaps some constructs had been the cause of this destruction?

But there were only dead legionnaires. And these bodies weren't burnt; there hadn't been an explosion; these were sword wounds. An epic battle had been fought here; a battle that had taken the lives of at least a hundred, no, perhaps two-hundred legionnaires.

Tapel moved between the bodies, trying to keep his distance, anxiously looking back at the setting sun. He no longer looked for jewellery; he just wanted to get out of this terrible place and go home to his mother.

Then Tapel's heart stopped and his blood ran cold. Something had grabbed hold of his ankle; a hand was wrapped around his foot and, try as he might, Tapel couldn't move. Despite himself, a whimper came from his throat and he nearly voided his bowels.

He looked down.

A soldier lay by Tapel's feet, an Alturan by the colour of his clothing and the sword and flower of his raj hada, but this man wore no armour, instead his body was covered in light, reflective green fabric. Silk? A sword lay by the Alturan soldier's side, a long, slightly curved blade, free from dent or scratch, and inscribed with arcane symbols. Symbols also covered the Alturan's clothing.

Tapel realised that this was the man who had left behind so many of the enemy dead, at the same time also realising what he was. A bladesinger.

But he was old, with dark hair turning grey and faded scars on his face mingling with new wounds. He had his hand wrapped around his throat, where fresh red blood welled out from between his fingers.

"Agh…" the Alturan looked up at Tapel, and tried to speak.

Tapel realised he was going to have to answer his mother's questions about where he had been, whether he liked it or not.

~