Fan Fiction request by Mr. Blackstar

[WARNING TO SENSITIVE PEOPLE]

CONTAINS BLOOD, GORE, AND FIGHTING, WITH SOME GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Chelmsford, the late reign of King Jupiter Goodson

Part 1 - Broken Hearts

“Up, now down, to the left, to the left I said.”

Marc swung the wooden sword down to emphasize his last words, delivering a stinging blow upon the head of his apprentice with the flat. Gorthan winced, mumbling his apology.

“By the leapers, Gorthan, can you not tell the difference between right and left?” Marc glared at his apprentice in frustration. Gorthan shifted his eyes in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Master. I—“

“No more excuses from you. Come on, then, let’s resume training.”

Gorthan couldn’t help a sigh. He’d dreamed his whole life of joining the military of the King’s army, yet it escaped him the amount of work required. Not to mention, he had one of the most demanding mentors there was in the whole regiment, working him relentlessly. He raised his sword, knowing if he let his mind dawdle, he would only have another bruise to add to his collection. He tried to his utmost to keep up with his mentor’s quick, precise movements. His muscles trembled with exhaustion, having had another practice that morning. He could slowly feel himself being pushed back and down, despite his best efforts. Then, the time came. Out of nowhere, Marc swung low, catching Gorthan off guard, and clipped him on the inside of his knees. Gorthan gasped in pain, and landed roughly on his back in the dirt.

“Gorthan.” Marc stared down at him, standing very close.

“Yes, Master Marc?” Gorthan wheezed.

“If you call that a defense, my old granny is about to come walking over that hill and climb that tree like a squirrel.”

I wouldn’t mind calling it a defense, then. Gorthan thought to himself, wisely keeping his mouth shut.

“Well, what are you doing now?” Gorthan blinked, confused at the question.

“Lying on the ground?”

“Gorthan, if you were in a battle, do you really think the wolves are going to wait for you to get your second wind?”

“Uh…”

“It means get on your feet.” Marc aimed a kick at Gorthan’s side as he scrambled to stand.

They practiced a few more moves before Marc signaled for them to stop. Grateful for the break, Gorthan handed over his sword to Marc and hobbled slightly away on the path leading out of the training ground. It wasn’t long before he reached a large stone wall, almost four rabbit lengths in height, fortified on the top with some of the keenest archers in the citadel. And his friend, Harmon.

He circled around the wall, heading towards the gate. He couldn’t see his friend up on the wall, and he knew why. Around this time was the afternoon break for the apprentices, and they would all be congregating in the dining hall to eat and chat together. Of course, he was late every time. His mentor was determined that Gorthan work as hard as he can for as long as he can, and if that cut into his mealtimes, then so be it.

Thinking about meals made his stomach growl angrily. He quickened his pace, the gate in sight.

“Now, you hush. You’re going to get food in you soon.” Gorthan murmured before he could stop himself. He had the habit of speaking his thoughts aloud, which he had to constantly keep in check.

Now he strode in through the wide gate, keeping with the flow of other rabbits going in and out. He tilted his head back to gaze at the yawning entryway. He had never seen the massive iron gates locked down before, there had been no reason. The travelers and wandering merchants were always welcome to enter, and the gates merely served as a solid reminder of safety. That was how they made Gorthan feel, deep down. Like he was safe.

He traveled over his usual route, around the back of the buildings, and through a side door. He poked his head through, and was immediately met with the wonderful scent of herbs and spices, hitting him in a warm wave of heat. He fully emerged in the kitchen, looking around at the array of cooking articles, some arranged neatly on hooks, others being used at the moment to cook mouth-watering dishes that no rabbit could resist.

“Say! Here, Blavier,” Vlad, a young cook called out, “I believe we have a cockroach come in through the back way!”

“What?!” Blavier, the master chef, screeched from around the corner where he was working. He was known to hate all insects with a passion, and could stand none in his kitchen.

“Yes, well, I’d say it’s a large one, too! Rather ugly-looking…”

“Vlad, I do NOT train you to watch bugs! Get it out immediately!”

“More than glad to, sir!” Vlad gently guided Gorthan out of the kitchen with a wink, shoving a piece of bread into his hand. “Away with you, cockroach!” He whispered cheerily. Gorthan smiled as he headed towards the tables. He was favored among the kitchen staff, always getting to try out new recipes first hand, and learning much about cooking. His soldier training had been hard recently, so he hadn’t had the time to visit as often. But, he knew he was always welcome.

Gorthan shuffled forward in the line to get their food, gazing around at the different trade apprentices. He had figured out a while ago that the apprentices of a similar trade tend to sit with each other in their own groups. He could see the potters quietly eating, their ears still flecked with clay. Near the front were the blacksmiths, by far the largest and strongest of the crowd, rowdily gulping down their soup and speaking excitedly with each other. Many of the apprentices made a point to steer clear of that bunch.

“Hey!” Gorthan’s head whipped around to the line in front of him. The young chef was standing to the side, holding out a bowl of soup that Gorthan nearly passed by. “Do you want this or not?”

“Er— yes. Sorry.” Gorthan took the warm bowl in both of his hands, then broke away off to the side.

He looked around in the crowd of apprentices, stretching as high as he could to see above the many heads around him. He was rather short for his age, and it made it hard to navigate in such large crowds. Then, he could see Harmon’s dusty brown hand waving over the crowd, urging him over to that table. Gorthan quickly slinked over to where Harmon sat, plunking down his steaming soup next to Harmon’s nearly-finished one.

“Where were you? I had to start without you.” Harmon mumbled around a potato. Gorthan shrugged. “You know, training. Master Marc.”

“Uh huh. I’m surprised he hasn’t beaten you to a pulp yet.”

“No, it’s more fun to watch me slowly suffer.” Gorthan blew on his soup, cooling it. He could smell the rosemary and oregano used in it, along with a hint of garlic.

“Made any progress?”

“Well, it’s hard to tell. If you were to ask my mentor, then he would say I’ve gone backward.” He took a sip of soup. “And I honestly can’t say any different…”

“Hey, you’re getting much better!” Harmon slapped him on the back, knocking the next spoonful of soup back into his bowl.

“Wish I could say the same.” Gorthan sighed. “At this point, I’m more liked in the kitchen than anywhere else.”

“No surprise there.” They heard a low growl from one of the other tables. Gorthan craned back his neck to see Klark sitting only five paces from them at the other soldier’s table. His mean golden eyes glittered at them, daring them to retaliate. He continued to talk to his newfound audience. “You’re better off as a kitchen boy than wasting our time here.”

“No, no, give a buck some credit.” His friend, Wel, sniggered. “I heard he’s taking special courses in dish washing. He really excels in that class.”

Gorthan’s ears turned back. “I may not be the best soldier, but I can cook better than you ever could hope to!”

Wel and Klark shared a glance, then Klark answered back in a bored tone, “If you wish to argue about food, you can take it up with the doelings. I have more important things to think about.” He turned around in his seat, his back to them.

“Pay no mind to him.” Harmon said, loud enough for them to hear. “He’s just jealous because he doesn’t even know which end of a spoon to hold.”

Klark whirled back around. “That coming from someone who nearly burnt down the kitchen!”

“Which is more than you, you can’t even light a stove!”

“Guys!” Gorthan stopped them both short, a little ashamed. “Let’s stop arguing, okay? I didn’t mean to start a fight.”

“If you were an actual soldier, then you would know how to finish a fight.” Klark mumbled loudly as he turned back to his meal. Gorthan faced forward in his seat as well, and Harmon leaned in.

“Are you really going to take that from him?” He cast a cutting glance in Klark’s direction.

“It’s not right to be fighting with each other, Harmon. It doesn’t matter what he says, anyway.” He went back to eating his soup.

Harmon shook his head. “Sometimes I just don’t understand what’s going on in your head.”

“Yeah, I know.” Gorthan murmured.

The next day, master Marc was already waiting for him on the training grounds, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed.

“Gorthan.” He began, then waited until Gorthan stood closer. “I’ve been watching the progress of your training over these past few weeks, and I’m going to be honest with you…”

Gorthan winced. “I know, Master. I’m terrible. You don’t want me as your apprentice anymore, I can tell, I just want—“

“By the leapers, Gorthan!” Marc slapped his hand to his brow, “If only you would listen for once!” He glared at him for a moment, then relaxed his expression. “You’re not terrible, lad. You’ve not trained long enough to determine that. No, by the contrary, you are showing great potential.” Gorthan’s eyes widened at the rare compliment. He had been prepared for his apprenticeship to end today.

“I can see that you can fight, but I can also see something holding you back.” Marc leaned in close, staring deep into Gorthan’s eyes. “Now, what might that be?”

Gorthan shrugged. “I can’t think of anything, Master.”

Marc’s eyes instantly narrowed. “What do you have to be afraid of? What is holding you back from using your all?”

Gorthan blinked a couple times. He had never really considered anything was keeping him from his full potential. He had always figured that he was just incapable of wielding a sword. He pondered, Marc scrutinizing him carefully, then brought in a shaky breath.

“I want to be a hero, I want to keep rabbits from getting hurt. I… I do want to fight wolves… but…”

“The thought of killing scares you.” Marc guessed. Gorthan silently nodded. He was ashamed of revealing that to a skilled warrior, who had possibly seen countless deaths, and now thought of him as weak. To his surprise, yet again, Marc placed his hands on Gorthan’s shoulders, and spoke to him in a gentle voice.

“That’s not uncommon, Gorthan. You realize the importance of a life, whether it belongs to rabbit, bird, or beast. That is something that we either are born with,” he paused, “or must learn.”

He straightened, releasing Gorthan. “These are not games. You mustn’t take being able to defend yourself and your loved ones lightly. Neither should you desire to kill for the sport. We do what we do as soldiers for a cause, and we will do our duty as we see fit.” Marc grabbed a wooden sword and lightly tossed it over to Gorthan, who fumbled and nearly dropped it, then he grabbed another. “And right now, my duty is to whip your fluffy little tail into shape. Let’s get moving!”

The day after, when Gorthan awoke, he immediately noticed an unrest in the town. There were more soldiers about than usual, and they would group to speak urgently with each other. He couldn’t help but feel perturbed, and sought out Marc for answers.

He wandered over to the main gate, when he roughly bumped into a familiar speckled brown rabbit.

“Harmon! What’s going on?” Gorthan panted.

“Oh, uh, are you alright?” Harmon asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine, but what’s happening?”

“I’m not sure, but I think there might be an attack.”

“What?” Gorthan was in shock. “Here? Now?”

“Like I said, I’m not sure. But I think those new soldier bucks are getting reinforcements from here.” He smirked. “Guess that’s us, huh?”

Gorthan’s mind was reeling. He wasn’t ready, he didn’t feel ready. Was Marc going to let him out on the field? Was he going to fight? But Marc knew he wasn’t ready, maybe he would stay behind—

“Gorthan?” Marc shouted from behind. Gorthan turned to see him waving him over. His heart sinking, he jogged over to see what he wanted.

“Gorthan, get your things packed and grab some food from the dining hall, we’re leaving soon.”

“I’m going into battle?” Gorthan squeaked. Marc frowned disapprovingly.

“Does this look like a battle, lad? We’re needed for an investigation around Lake Meryle. Now, do as I say, and get your gear ready.” He turned abruptly and went over to his own quarters, out of sight. Gorthan sighed, and could hear Harmon approaching next to him. “What was that about?”

“We’re going for an investigation or something.” Gorthan answered. Harmon looked interested.

“Well, hope I can come along.”

“You should, you’re a good shot.”

Harmon put on his most humble expression. “You flatter me, I’m not really that great…”

“Come on.” Gorthan grinned. “I need to get my things. Meet you in the Dining Hall?”

“Will do.” Harmon and Gorthan parted at that.

The fairly sized group left Chelmsford just before the sun reached its highest point. Gorthan was a ball of nervous energy, darting in and out, but still shyly avoiding eye contact. Marc finally grabbed the back of his collar and growled in a low voice. “You look like a lost butterfly in a windstorm. Get it together, there’s still a ways to go.”

“Yes, Master.” In no way was Gorthan’s happiness diminished. This would be the first time he ever got to see First Warren! The tantalizing thoughts of what new mysteries lay ahead gave him an extra bounce in his step. Master Marc sighed and shook his head, seeing his words lost on his apprentice, but Gorthan caught the hint of a smirk on his lips.

Traveling was easy, the ambient sounds of the woods blending in with the casual chatter of the soldiers around. Gorthan tried to see if Harmon had been lost in the crowd, but his small stature made it difficult to see anything around the rabbits surrounding him.

“Hey, Marc!” A rough male voice called out, “Is that you over there?”

“The one and only.” Marc said in a normal tone, turning his head to address the buck. Gorthan watched with mild interest, still keeping an eye out for Harmon.

“It’s been a while, huh? Life running smooth for you?” It was a dingy gray buck with splashes of brown covering his body. It almost looked like he had been on the losing end of a mud fight. Something about the manner of the rabbit intimidated Gorthan, making him shrink back.

“Hey, you got an apprentice since the last time I saw you, huh? Ha! Got the little squirt I see.”

“Gorthan is my apprentice, yes.” Marc replied mildly. Gorthan could hear the annoyance in his voice. He couldn’t blame him.

“So tell me, what else has been going on for you?” He edged closer, apparently trying to be chummy. It wasn’t working.

“Not very much, outside of training.” Marc replied, politely keeping his distance.

“Shame. Should get out more, young buck.” The buck laughed, and Marc smiled dryly. He was definitely getting on his nerves.

Gorthan then turned his attention to what was in front of them. His eyes widened. Even from where he stood, he could see massive stone walls soaring up to the sky, linking together giant towers, all made of hewn bricks.

“Shut that trap, lad, you’ll be attracting flies.” Marc commanded sternly. Gorthan realized that his mouth had been hanging open, and obediently closed it.

“Never been to First Warren before, huh?” The grey-and-brown rabbit questioned him directly. Before Gorthan could process the question, the buck had moved on. “I remember the first time I saw First Warren…”

Marc rolled his eyes as the buck went into a passionate monologue. Gorthan held back a laugh as he averted his eyes back to the path they were going down. They seemed to be slowly circling along one side of the wall, cutting into the forest.

“Are we going to go inside?” Gorthan whispered to Marc.

“I doubt it.” Marc murmured back, trying to be heard over the grey buck. “The lake rests outside the walls, there should be no reason we all go inside.”

Gorthan’s ears lowered in disappointment. Oh well. At least he had gotten this far.

The trees eventually broke away, revealing an enormous clearing, larger than Gorthan had ever seen, and taking up almost the entirety of it was a glimmering expanse of blue-green water. Gorthan’s jaw slackened once more. The ponds back at Chelmsford were nothing compared to this. He had never seen a body of water this big.

“Company!” A buck shouted over the hubbub, silencing everyone. Master Marc looked relieved that his unwanted companion had finally stopped talking. Gorthan couldn’t see the commander who was talking, but could still hear him clearly.

“We will be setting up camp here until we receive word from First Warren. Tomorrow half of this unit will be setting out near the road to Jupiter’s Crossing. All senior solders within this unit will be collecting firewood from the forest in groups of two or three. The younger soldiers and apprentices will remain to set up camp. If there are any questions or concerns, address them directly to me. Is there anything to add?”

Nobody moved or spoke. After waiting for a few seconds, the commander seemed satisfied.

“Alright, let’s get moving, bucks!” The crowd scattered, breaking off from around Gorthan. He stood in one place, confused by all the action around him. He looked up at Marc, then was shocked when he wasn’t there. He darted around, trying to find his mentor, then a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Hey, didn’t you hear the commander, bucky? Apprentices stay in camp.” Gorthan twisted to see who was speaking to him, and his heart promptly fell down into his stomach.

“Hey, it’s Gorty!” Klark smiled in a not-so-nice way.

“Hi.” Gorthan squeaked, not sure what to do. Klark released him, then jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “Stick to camp from now on. Make sure you don’t get in the way, shorty.”

“I-I won’t.” Gorthan stammered as he hurried away to where the other apprentices were raising tents. He helped here and there, lifting a pole, hammering down pegs, unloading supplies. Much to his disappointment, he couldn’t see Harmon anywhere with the other apprentices. He sighed heavily as he plopped down onto the ground, opening his satchel to try and find food.

“Hey.” Gorthan heard someone say close by. He turned his head, and could see an older apprentice standing over him. “We’re all eating around the fire, don’t you want to join?”

“Er, no thanks.” Gorthan had seen the senior warriors lighting the bonfire in the center of the campgrounds, but was disinterested in putting himself in a crowd.

“If you’re sure.” He shrugged, started to turn, then said, “I’m Seth by the way. Feel free to sit with the archers if you want.” He walked away.

Gorthan pulled out a hunk of bread and gnawed on it thoughtfully. Seth. I might not be so lonely after all.

Gorthan was not used to sleeping outdoors. Every little noise woke him from his already light sleep. By early dawn, he felt as if he had hardly slept at all. Knowing he was going to be called up soon anyway, he stumbled out of his tent and into the clearing around the fire. Everything had been cleaned up from the night before and put in their respective piles: dishes, food, weapons, and so on.

Gorthan’s stomach pinched him from the inside. He hesitated, not wanting to get in trouble, but decided to make some food anyway. He grabbed a pan, then partially filled it with water from his canteen. He reached in the food packs, looking for certain food items. He pulled out a bag containing various seeds and poured a couple handfuls into the pan, letting it sit.

He found the pile of kindling and proceeded to stir up the embers of the previous night’s fire. After applying enough fuel and blowing on it plenty, he had a merry fire going. He propped the pan on the rocks close to the fire, allowing it to warm while he set off to find herbs from the forest.

By the time he came back, the water was simmering, and the seeds and nuts inside were bloated. He took the pan off the warm stones, replacing it with the fresh herbs, drained the water and proceeded to mash the nuts and seeds with a rock.

He found flour inside another sack, oats in another, and added those to the goopy paste in the pan, mixing them well. He was so absorbed in kneading the dough that he barely noticed a soldier emerging from his tent, stretching and yawning. Gorthan looked up at the same time as the soldier, their eyes meeting. He awkwardly raised a hand in greeting, painfully aware of the flour and dough that coated it. The soldier stared, shrugged, and went on his way to the edge of camp.

Gorthan checked on the herbs he had left by the fire. They were almost completely dry and crinkling at the edges. He scooped them into his hand, crumbling it over the dough, mixed it a little more with his hands, then formed it into a flat loaf in the pan, and set it by the dying fire. He decided to let it sit in the warmth while the fire cooled, and went down to the lakeside to wash his hands.

At the water’s edge, he noticed some unusual plants growing from the lake. Wiping his hands on his shirt, he went closer to inspect. He pulled up a couple, examining the roots, and also spotted dark tubes growing on the tops of others. Cattail. Gorthan pulled up as many as he could easily carry, taking care not to disturb the pollen heads, and toted them back to camp.

When he came back, the loaf had swelled slightly next to the smoking embers. He sprinkled some pollen and a little more flour on the top of the bread, placed the lid on the pan, and set it down into the remains of the fire, covering it in more hot coals. He chewed on a bit of bittercress he had also found to ward off his hunger. He looked up and around. The camp was beginning to stir, more and more rabbits were emerging from their tents and giving sleepy “good morning”s. Few took notice of him, then he spotted Marc approaching.

“Well, up early I see.” He squatted next to the ashes. “Couldn’t keep the fire going?” He shivered and rubbed his hands together.

“Sorry, I didn’t think about that. I’m cooking something in there.” Gorthan brushed away some of the coals with a stick to reveal the pan underneath. Marc raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. A while passed with the soldiers still slowly waking up, the mentors making their way to their apprentice’s tent and waking them up. The commander strode over to where Gorthan and Marc were sitting, and set himself down as well.

“Sleep well, you two?” He smiled as he said this. Gorthan was immediately put at ease.

“I did, anyway.” Marc said distractedly as he dug around in his satchel. He pulled out a fruit and took an enormous bite. Reminded of food, Gorthan hastily swept away the hot ashes, lifting the pot on either side with two empty sacks. Once he set it down on the rocks, he lifted the lid to check his work.

Heads lifted. Noses twitched. A wonderful aroma emanated from the dish, a mixture of warm oat bread and the fragrant herbs punctuated by a slightly nutty smell. Gorthan could feel the hungry gazes of many soldiers on him. He could feel anxiety welling up in him. He looked up at Marc, whose eyes were wide, and the commander, who had his head tilted to one side. Gorthan took out his dagger, quickly cutting a warm slice of the bread, and hesitantly held it out to the commander.

“Would you like some?” He said in a small voice. The commander grinned in good humor, then began to chuckle.

“Don’t you think that portion is a bit small for all of us?” He remarked. Gorthan blinked. His questioning gaze never left the commander’s.

“He’s telling you to make more, beetle-brain.” Marc told him dryly. Gorthan’s heart seemed to swell. “Yes, sir!” He said cheerily. They actually want me to make more! They like it!

Gorthan hurried off to the rest of the food supplies, tripping over the cattail he gathered, and figuring in his mind how many loaves to make.

“Gorthan!” The commander’s voice called him back. He turned around, puzzled. The commander was holding the piece of bread he had dropped, his arm outstretched. “Perhaps you should eat something first, son.”

“Oh.” Was all Gorthan could think to say.

Three hours later, after many hungry bellies had long been satisfied, the encampment was packing up again. Tents were slung over shoulders, wooden poles thrown back into the forest, and the smoldering ashes buried under a solid layer of soil. Soldiers chatted lazily as they awaited instructions from the commander.

They were sent back, towards First Warren. Gorthan practically glowed in joy, while master Marc just rolled his eyes. They traversed back along First Warren’s wall, Gorthan craning his neck yet again to glimpse the towering wall. While his head was tilted up, he thought he saw a shadow flicker in the corner of his vision. He leaned his head back further, trying to locate its position. Instead, his vision was filled with the impatient face of Marc.

“Are you an owl now, Gorthan? Straighten up!” Gorthan snapped his head back forward. He looked back and smiled sheepishly at Marc, who only rolled his eyes, barely hiding a smirk.

“Owl!” Somebody shouted. But it wasn’t a mocking shout, it was a cry of fear. Gorthan could barely register what was going on before Marc pulled him to the ground, yelling at him to take cover.

“Get to the trees, everyone get to the trees!” The commander yelled in a frenzy, urging soldiers on to the cover. As everyone moved about him, Gorthan saw a ginormous shadow become thicker upon the grass. He turned to run in the same direction as everyone else, then turned back when he heard a violent thud.

There, where he stood minutes before, was the long, sharp talon of a bird of prey. Blood was smeared on its dark yellow foot, and the needle-sharp claws sank deep into the soil. Gorthan was frozen in fear, staring at the spot where it landed. A lone soldier lay crumpled under the large owl, his eyes glazed over and his body crushed. The owl’s face swung down, its large, unblinking eyes meeting Gorthan’s with a terrifying stare, the pupils widening and contracting with every beat of his own heart.

Marc dragged him, helpless, into the forest, pressing him into the thick underbrush. Gorthan flinched when a sudden scream was cut off abruptly close by. He could hear the bird thrashing through the underbrush, hissing every time it was struck by a soldier.

“Gorthan! Gorthan, listen to me, son!” Marc shook him roughly, bringing him back to the matter at hand. Gorthan’s ears lay flat, and he couldn’t keep himself from panting. Marc got close to his face.

“You need to get out of here. There are more birds coming, and this ruckus is bound to attract the wolves’ attention. We need to find a way into First Warren, you’ll be safer there.” Marc still had his hands clamped on Gorthan’s shoulders, and hissed the last few words as the fighting drew closer. Gorthan managed a shaky nod, and Marc relaxed his grip.

“Don’t freeze up on me again, son. I need you fully functioning if we’re both going to survive this. Do you hear me?” Gorthan nodded again. Marc gave a single nod back. “Alright. When I give the word, you run for the wall like a whole pack of wolves is on your tail. Then when we reach it, bank left and follow me to the water gate. Do not get sidetracked, you have to stay near the wall.”

Gorthan swallowed. “Yes, Master.” He said in a tiny voice. He had never felt so terrified in his life. Shouts and screams were all around him, coming from rabbits and birds alike. He could now see a hawk’s outline through the trees, its beak wide open in a furious screech, defending against spears and swords. The soldiers were fighting passionately, but were clearly losing. Gorthan forced himself to look away, trembling as he heard sounds of carnage and death.

“NOW!” Marc shouted at the top of his lungs, lunging forward as he said it. Gorthan was taken off-guard, and it took a second for him to follow. He desperately tried to keep up with his master, running on all fours, sword slapping his side. His heart was pounding in his ears, almost blocking out every other noise, and his muscles trembled as they bunched and stretched, bunched and stretched, over and over. His eyes never left Marc’s back, and he blocked everything out of his vision to focus on one thing: escape.

Snarling teeth snapped in the corner of his eye. Gorthan gave a tremendous leap forward, seconds before hearing a spear head sink into the ground behind him. His thoughts were scattered, frenzied. Wolves? More wolves? Birds? What’s happening?

Marc swung sharply to the left. Gorthan skidded nearly to a halt, swinging around to follow him. His hindquarters collided painfully with the heavy stone wall, stalling him for a second. Marc threw one look over his shoulder. His eyes were wide and concerned.

“Gorthan! Hurry up, son!” His voice held panic for his apprentice. He visibly slowed to help him along. Gorthan, wincing in pain from his various injuries, made one last valiant effort to catch up with Marc.

That was when he saw him.

He didn’t know why, but his head turned to the side, away from the wall, away from Marc, over to the fight in the forest, and his eyes fell upon a solitary figure cowering under a wolf’s raised sword.

He stopped dead in his tracks. A discarded sword lay in the grass a few feet away, and the rabbit gave one frightened cry as the wolf prepared to plunge his sword into his trembling body.

Gorthan ran. Marc screamed at him to stop, but he paid him no mind. All he focused on now was the wolf’s sword coming closer and closer to that helpless apprentice. In one deft move, he rolled on his side, his fingers closing around the sword’s handle, and came up in an arching swing, deflecting the wolf’s blade.

The wolf staggered back from the unexpected attack, struggling to regain his balance. Gorthan tried to get in his best battle stance, holding up the chipped sword in what he hoped was a menacing manner. He glanced back behind him, meeting the frightened eyes of Klark.

As the wolf turned to face him, Marc suddenly appeared in front of Gorthan, delivering a crunching blow with his feet to the wolf’s jaw. It growled in fury, staggering back once again, saliva dripping from its muzzle in foamy globs. It was in a rage now, lunging back quickly, its eyes burning like hot flames.

“Get out of here!” Marc cried over his shoulder. Gorthan released the sword quickly and knelt by Klark, helping to support him. Marc fought with the wolf head-on as the two apprentices staggered up, Klark limping heavily. The fight was furious between rabbit and wolf, the swords only blurs between their constantly moving bodies. The metal clanged harshly with barely any pauses between. Gorthan worked harder to bring Klark out of danger, straining with all he had. Then, Klark gently pushed him aside, supporting himself.

“I can make it. Come on, follow me.”

“Master!” Gorthan gasped. He drew his own sword, turning to confront the wolf. His horrified eyes met his master’s wounds, bleeding crimson all over his fur. In a desperate move, Marc ducked under the wolf’s belly, targeting his weakest point. The wolf was prepared however, and quickly pinned down Marc with his own blade. They held that position for a few seconds, both breathing heavily. Then, slowly, Marc’s eyes began to slide shut.

Gorthan reacted. He flew at the wolf with power he never knew he had. In one frantic swipe, he brought his thin blade upon the wolf’s unprotected neck, plunging it deep. The wolf thrashed in agony, but Gorthan couldn’t pry his fingers from the sword handle as it still went deeper and deeper into its bloodying fur. A flailing paw caught him in the side, flinging him several feet away.

Klark grabbed him first, then Marc took hold of him as well, pushing him forward. Gorthan’s ears rang. He felt dizzy. Instead of pain, his side felt lighter than air.

“Go, now! Get into First Warren!” Marc wheezed with the last of his breath. They all stumbled along, Gorthan still numb and uncoordinated. They rushed along the wall, and turned to slip into the water gate. They all promptly collapsed, panting heavily. Gorthan was trembling. He crossed his arms in an effort to control himself, but he couldn’t stop. His breaths came fast, wheezing, in and out, in and out. He tried to blink, to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. They bulged from his face, wide and bloodshot, staring in one place.

Klark shook him. He didn’t respond. He shook him again, violently. “Gorthan! Stay with me!” A slap to his face emphasized his words. Gorthan blinked a couple times, startled out of his shock.

“Klark’s right, we need to stay focused.” Marc drew in a long breath, then coughed twice. He spat out a clot of blood, then continued. “Let’s find others who can help inside. It might be overrun, so the safest bet is to get into the halls, where it’s better fortified.”

“I’ll open the water gate.” Klark offered. Marc nodded, then he and Gorthan waited for his return. Gorthan’s mind, beyond his will, went back to the battle. He looked over to his master. He had come so close to losing him. And… what he had done…

Klark returned in a matter of seconds. “It’s locked! I can’t force it open.”

“Blast!” Marc growled. “Come with me. Come on!” He slid out of their small shelter and quickly made his way along the wall.

“There’s another entrance along this way, across the bridge. We should be able to get into the catacombs.” They leapt across the tiny bridge and made their way around one of the wall’s corners. They were pressed against the cool bricks, shaded by the overhanging oaks. The sounds of battle had quieted down somewhat, leaving behind a chill.

“Is the battle over?” Gorthan breathed. Klark sighed behind him, still favoring his leg. “I don’t doubt it. That’s what worries me.”

Gorthan turned back to Marc ahead of him. He was confused to see that he had stopped, his back to him.

“Master?” Gorthan whispered. Marc didn’t reply. He stood as still as a statue, his back stiff. Gorthan suddenly noticed something on Marc’s back, protruding from his shirt.

Without a sound, Marc fell to his side, revealing an arrow lodged in his belly. Horrified, Gorthan stared at his body, unable to move. He could feel Klark’s presence behind him, also in shock.

A wolf stepped out from the shadows of the trees, an empty crossbow in his hands. He bared his teeth in a canine grin, reaching in his quiver to load another arrow.

As he was about to notch the arrow to the string, a flying figure tackled him, knocking his weapon from him. A few more figures, revealed to be cloaked rabbits, piled on top of the disarmed wolf, quickly killing it. One turned, spotting the two injured apprentices, still pressed up against the wall, staring at Marc’s still form. He and another quietly led them away, speaking amongst one another in hushed tones. Gorthan wasn’t listening. He wasn’t watching them. He wasn’t even thinking. Everything in him was frozen in grief, and as he was led along gently through the woods, he didn’t even feel like he was breathing at all.