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Rain strangled the flames on campfires, leaving nothing but smoky heaps of scorched branches and discouraged soldiers sitting around among the trees, lamenting over the weather. Some sought places sheltered from the rain, others just cursed their change on the guard. Tancred snorted scornfully at that sight. No details escaped his watchful eyes.

"Mercenaries," he drawled out to the ensign "...second-rate even. What good are you, when some rain and wind just washes away your zest?"

"We will warm them up good, sir," the fox growled in reply. By chance, or maybe not, he happened to be the father of the boy who disappeared without a trace that evening.

Tancred once again swept the mountain valley in front of them with his eyes. The entire area was a gentle drop, cut in two in the center, where a shallow river flowed for centuries, supplied by streams descending from the mountainsides. It writhed amongst the trees growing the valley. In one of river's gentle meanders, in an especially rocky and partially sheltered area, the enemy settled a provisional camp. There, the campfires were still clearly visible, due to the efforts of mercenaries fighting to keep them up.

"Not really far, don't you think?" asked the knight.

"No more than a mile."

"Any fortifications?"

"Three wagons and chests arranged between the rocks to provide some covering. That's all I can see."

"And the outposts in the halfway. They gave us a hell lot of a space to act. This will be too simple," Tancred cracked a pitiful smile. "Other enemy forces?"

The fox strained his eyes and rose a bit on elbows.

"I do not see any, sir."

"Well... That sounds like an invitation to me. Let us go."

When they got away from scarp's edge, Tancred stopped his ensign.

"Everything's all right?" he asked putting a paw on his arm. The fox looked on him with sadness.

"You know..."

"Your boy... he can still be alive, Wood."

"I pray for it, sir. And if not..." the fox bared his teeth and growled again, "I will avenge him bloodily."

"Do not allow the anger to take your life as well, before you get a chance to see whether the Gods listened to your prayers."

Wood didn't answer, only nodded eagerly, clearly absorbed with his revenge. Too absorbed for Tancred's liking.

"To horse" ordered Tancred.

His forces awaited nearby, hidden from the eyes of enemies. Horses snorted, digging with hooves in the softening ground. Tancred and his ensign trotted up to the rest. All eyes followed their commander and all ears stood straight, expecting orders.

"Sir?" asked one of his subordinates.

"Everyone listen," ordered the knight calmly and firmly. "The enemy camp is obviously before us. You can see the pillars of smoke."

Affirmative mutters passing throughout the crowd could be heard.

"There are five outposts around the walls, as some of you, during your watch, had an opportunity to notice. I can deal with low numbers pretty well, so let me continue. Near thirty people in each outpost. About six of them might actually be warriors, just so you know," - he made a pause, for laughter to go down. - "We go through their left flank, annihilate three of the posts off-guard, the rest escapes. You do not horse around pursuing the motherfuckers, but gather on your commanders. Jair, Glen," he addressed his subordinates, wolves, like himself. "Each one of you will take two dozen horsemen and form a company. The rest will ride on the right wing under my my banner. Glen, you take the left wing, you're going quickly, cutting through them like through butter, and don't fuck around, so they don't surround you, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Jair, you take the center. I want you two to strike and pierce through them at the same time. You have to be constantly on the run. Ride out behind the ring of the siege, join your companies and assail the camp from northeast. If you hurry, you might be lucky enough to still get some fun for yourself."

The soldiers croaked quietly.

"Spare the captives, I need some tongues. And finally..." he looked seriously at the fox wielding the Dormer's banner. "Pay heed, who comes under your sword. One of us, your brother in arms, Kurt, was sent on the reconnaissance at noon. He did not return. We believe he was caught and is being held captive in the enemy camp. Look out for the boy! We either find him alive or dead, but we do not return without him!" he finished, his voice manful. And the whole banner answered.

"Form the wedges and take your positions. Loose in formation and don't kiss a tree on the way! Wait for the signal!" he ordered, turning his mount back to the right wing. His banner followed.

It rained endlessly and the horse's hooves splashed the mud all around. The raindrops bounced off the plates of his armor with a hollow clank, playing a regular rhythm, as if the sky wanted to be a drummer in his unit. In the valley ahead, the forest enwidened, on this height sufficiently thinned out to conduct a successful charge. Trees were actually an ally, as the tree tops and the undergrowth protected the ground from turning into a wet slush. Still, at full speed, it was imperative to keep eyes open, to avoid kissing a tree, as he relevantly warned his men.

Tancred reached for his helmet strapped on the saddle. Some knights fought bareheaded. The reasons were different. Some wanted to prove their courage, while others claimed it was mostly out of comfort. Tancred was never interested in whether the helmet lowered the comfort in fighting so incomparably more, than an arrow piercing his brain, or skull crushed with a mace. He remembered however, that more than once, just in the latter way had fallen at his hand this bareheaded warrior, who confronted him on the battlefield. Maybe in their tombs they had finally found the comfort they had been going after during the battle. A solid, well formed helmet at least partially protected the head, and the steel fangs at the end of the jaw plate could really wake the dread in opponents.

His vigilant ears came through the openings in his bascinet and the world narrowed to the rectangle of the visor slit.

He put the shield on his left forearm. The solid, triangular piece of wood framed on the edges with iron ferrules was additionally strengthened with gesso and overlaid with strong, robust leather.

Any notions on the subject of unrivalled courage of knights that circulated among people were often strongly exaggerated. Of course, there was always a risk one would not come out of the clash with their life, but a trained knight clad in plate-armor was nearly a god on the battlefield. Under sixty six pounds of steel he was very hard to kill. The common infantry on the other hand, the ones whose lifelong possessions weren't worth as much as a simple sword, those were really courageous. They were sent to fight with twelve hundred pounds of horse, horseman and steal charging at them. That deserved admiration. But ended with death.

Just as it was going to end this time. The wolf gave a sign and an owl's hoot rang through the area. There were no owls in Carrosh, but the enemy couldn't know that. After a while two other hoots answered the first one. And afterwards steel and leather sang, when Tancred's bastard sword was drawn from the sheath to taste blood that came from southern deserts. Then they jumped ahead.

Trees raised their knotty hands catching raindrops in leafy fingers. The old forest guards pointed south, encouraging the raiders to hasten their pace. The world blurred and disappeared out of eyeshot limited by the narrow visor slit.

After a while clear warrior's silhouettes started to distill from the murky darkness of the wood. Faster and faster. Nightly shadows suited them well, when through the lashing downpour, the deadly drums of hooves finally reached their ears. With one last vivid heartbeat, with last deeper breath, last cry of life in their bodies, they stampeded and broke loose in confusion. Far too late.

Steel screeched and bones cracked. Tancred's arm was suddenly wrenched by a painful convulsion. However, he held his sword firmly. The one, whom reached the first strike had to have an exceptionally tough skull. But this was a familiar feeling. The wolf didn't even pay any attention. A next number, that's who it was. Numbers he never even counted. A little correction in the grip on his sword and following blows were delivered precisely.

From up close, he could tell apart the species of unlucky fellows who stood in the way of his banner. Souls of the desert prevailed among them. Sandy foxes and oryxes with black and white faces. They were shrieking... and dying. One of them managed to dodge Tancred's strike, but lost his impressive antlers. His life he lost a moment later, when the spear of one of the carroshians pierced his throat straight through. He didn't scream, only gurgled and slumped to the ground, joining his comrades. Wet undergrowth and sodden mud accepted their corpses with ease, as if they were a catafalque.

As have been said they did not stop. The banner flashed through the enemy post like a spear piercing through a wild boar. They emerged on a glade where the forest thinned so that the hostile camp appeared as if given on a tray. Tancred glanced to his left. Glen's and Jair's companies rushed out from among the trees. Ahead, smudges indicated their target in the dark. Tancred hopped on a small hillock and reined in his horse, to take a better look at the field. Now Wood sped at the face of his unit and the momentum yanked at the banner. The flag was wet from water and blood.

"Line formation! Tight!" - he shouted orders and dashed ahead promptly to take the lead of the charge once again. Horses rushed now side by side, soldiers almost bumping their knees together. Rain slashed their eyes and muzzles. Nonetheless, he was able to see the turmoil and quick movement in the enemy camp.

Mercenaries grabbed their bows and began firing at will at the rapidly approaching wall of death. Certainly, they heard screams of the dying in posts and sounds of the battle. At this point, losing some part of the surprise element was expected and unavoidable.

Arrows kept flying over Tancred's head. One even reached it's target and slipped on the armor plates, as if it was nothing more than a harmless mosquito. The weather too wasn't in any favor of archers. Damn, nothing was. Dismay and scream were their farewell to the world when the first rows were trampled. Afterwards, sang steel and bones broke, as earlier that night. Desert fennecs, orixes, or great exotic cats. No matter how nimble and quick they were, doom was their participation tonight.

Tancred slashed one through the head. Cream furred fennec wasn't much older than Wood's son. Boy, what did you seek here? Off his crushed skull chipped fragments of bones. Brain and blood mixed with mud. His comrades, maybe friends, looked speechless. Poor fools.

The point of the wolf's sword gnawed into the tender throat of a young jaguar. Tancred saw as his yellow eyes moistened. Viscous gore gushed on flaps of his leather jacket. A metallic odour mixed with sweat added to the scents of fear and rain already rising over the camp, like some hideous vapor.

The carroshian cavalry struck with the power of a hammer and spilt 'mongst the tents, constantly pushing forward. The hastily formed line of defense had been shattered by the charge and spearheads. The battle turned into clashes of small groups of warriors, from which the infantry couldn't come out victorious. As if it wasn't enough, all of a sudden, Tancred saw a new stream of spears running out from among the low rocks, surprising the defenders on their right flank. Jair and Glen.

It was then that the mercenaries started to flee. First the weapon was thrown by the local nonunion condottieri, mainly wolves, foxes and dogs. Tancred wasn't surprised. They do not fear the Gods and don't respect their obligations. Won't escape the chase anyway.

He halted for a moment and took a look around the camp. Some tents were set on fire, but the sky strangled the flames almost immediately. Blood mixed with water, as cries of those who perished mixed with the victorious ones. Shattered bodies leapt and writhed in painful convulsions, many of them pierced through and pinned to the ground by deadly spearheads. The internal ring still stood its ground. Tancred hurried in that direction assembling some of his men-at-arms to form a small cavalry wedge. The second charge rushed and struck the line of light infantry. Tramp of hooves, following crack of iron and steel, even more shouting, and in no time at all, the formation broke down under the cavalry pressure. Then horsemen began the slaughter. Tancred saw the Dormer's banner fluttering over the crowd which quickly thinned around it. Seven more fell at his hand, by the time their fighting comrades threw their weapons into the mud. Some were stupid enough, to try to escape, others just surrendered. When the knight ordered to chase the deserters, the Carroshians cheerfully dived among the trees and through the river, like a beast behind its kill. The camp emptied somewhat, and only then Tancred could see him.

Near the entrance to the greatest tent, which without a doubt belonged to the commander of this company, stood a rack build of saplings trunks. In this wooden frame, tied by his wrists and hocks, stretched like tanned leather, hung his missing scout.

The wolf felt rage rising in him. He jumped down on the ground and mindless of the mud and puddles, threw off his helmet and shield just before he ran up to the construction restraining the young fox. Cold raindrops were flogging his naked, maltreated body. He trembled like a leaf. Surely as much of cold, as of pain.

Tancred had seen dozens of flogging punishments inflicted. Yet still he was shaken with this barbarity. Hard leather thongs left hundreds of narrow paths in the places, where they took their merciless stroll on Kurt's skin. These dark traces started to bleed, wounds opening because of rain. Blood, mixing with water, flowed down the creamy white chest, abdomen and crotch, then on the inside of his thighs, until finally, no longer able to hold onto matted fur, dripped to the ground, as if rust-coloured tears shed over the young boy's fate. Shed over the pain he suffered, and... over innocence. Fresh, warm blood, was still dripping from under his tail.

Hot wave seized Tancred, when he smelled the stench of several men's seed coming from the young boy. The anger was so overwhelming that he felt the desire to get the strongest possible grip on somebody's neck. To hurt scoundrels responsible for this. But he knew this wouldn't matter at all for Kurt at the moment. He was now to help his scout.

"Kurt?" he spoke gently, raising the fox's chin to look him in the eyes.

The boy groaned and only after a moment raised his eyelids, as if even this small activity took too much effort. His blue eyes were reddened and the fur around them wet. With certainty, not just from the rain. He looked at the knight vacantly, clearly not recognizing him at first. That however, lasted only for several seconds, until the fog clouding his mind scattered and he gained some clearness. At the very same moment Tancred felt immediate tension in fox's entire body and saw panic in his eyes.

"N-noo..." Kurt croaked out pleadingly.

"Don't be afraid," knight interrupted quickly, before the boy managed to go frantic. "The camp is taken. You are safe, Kurt. You are safe."

Saying this the knight gently caressed his cheek, in hope of comforting him and making the truth in these words more tangible for the tortured fox. After a while of this treatment, Kurt was able to calm himself somewhat. "N-not... h...h-here..." he tried to speak again, but his voice clearly refused to obey. He sounded unnatural, worned-out and hoarse. From screams. The entire day we were deaf.

"Wait." The wolf silenced him and looked around. Several dozen of his people had their hands full with binding the captives, killing off the dying and gathering corpses in heaps. He noticed Jair ordering around and called him immediately.

"I'm listening, si..." His voice died, when he saw Kurt. "By the Patrons!"

"Jair!"

"Yes, sir!" Jair instantly pulled himself together, though still kept glancing at the bound boy every now and then.

"I need wine and some clean fabric. Quickly!"

"At your order, sir!"

Jair disappeared truly fast, while Tancred reached for the dagger and cut the ropes binding fox's legs. Mindful of the boy's severely wounded back, the knight was quick to support his body, half-embracing him and finishing his job just in time as Jair came back with a wineskin and some linen canvas. The wolf warned the boy and anxious to be done with it, didn't wait for an answer, but just poured the liquor all over his wounded back. The sounds young lad produced were almost heart-breaking, but the cuts had to be disinfected. Then he carefully wrapped the trembling fox in the given canvas and picked him up. The boy yelped from the touch, but it was impossible for him to walk and he did not protest.

"Where is Wood?"

"At the river, sir."

"Bring him. We will be in the tent. And you..." Tancred addressed the young man giving him the wineskin "...drink."

The fox grasped the leather pot and quaffed, nearly choking and dropping acrid beverage, staining his fur. And just at that moment the knight was struck by the realisation of the difference between the bold lad, whom they send on spying this very morning, and the defenseless boy curling up in his arms this evening. He was already grown enough to serve. Most of carroshian men-at-arms who charged at this camp with him, had begun their own service around the same age. But then, none of them suffered something like this. Kurt looked now outright grotesquely, wrapped in this linen chunk of fabric like an outgrown puppy and trembling in fever.

Tancred carried him to the enclave of the impregnated flax. Inside was much warmer. Wind and rain didn't whip on their muzzles, refrained by the resistant walls of the tent, which also deadened the shoutings of commands, captives' voices and pleas for quick death. Arms and armor racks were tumbled, every one empty. Just as the wide open chest... but... not quite. Candle light danced on few dark-gold coins. Tancred did not have to check, to know they were southern. To take the payment with them? The wolf felt almost offended with stupidity of his enemy.

Right in the middle stood a table. Chairs and all that has been previously on it, had been tossed away with haste. Burned sheets and smaller scraps of parchment soiled the ground. Not for long, however, Tancred could regret the destroyed documents, as Kurt groaned plaintively and shuddered on his hands. There was sudden tension in his entire body, like he was about to break loose and run out of the tent.

"Stay calm. You are safe," the wolf assured him and took a step towards the table, to place the boy on it.

"N-no! Please, not here!" howled the fox desperately and with amazing force that could only be provided by fear, dug his claws into the knight's forearm. They even rasped the vambrace, but Tancred didn't notice. He did notice, however, the reason for the fox's reaction.

The table was covered in a mosaic of red, part of it already dried. Greater stains still stood on boards, or were dripping to the ground. Blood mixed with other transparent liquid of oily consistency and stench of shame. Here and there sharp splinters protruded from the table top, similar to nails protruding from a fakir bed. They were decorated with pennants of torn out red fur.

Tancred felt his anger rising again and turned quickly, to save them both any more of this view. Yet this pestering smell of suffering wasn't that simple to leave behind. The wolf looked at the boy shaking in his embraces. New tears were flowing down his temples and cheeks. From the lack of any better idea, Tancred had him seat on a chair, with his back to the hapless table, and off-handedly pushed the wineskin straight to fox's muzzle.

"Drink," he ordered, hopeful for the sour flavour of wine to repel all the other remaining smells. Kurt choked and coughed, but this distracted him from the recollections of suffering he experienced here. He drank, and drank... And Tancred was observing him with a storm of thoughts flashing through his head with such speed that for several moments he wasn't able to focus on any of them.

Aside from the bestial whipping, none of this was new to him. In the army rapes were inevitable. Women and young girls were so to say natural victims. Many lost their virginity and gave birth to their first-borns just this way. Sometimes, however, lust in soldiers was too strong to be picky about the victim's sex. Some even preferred and took only boys. He never tolerated such sexual abuse and severely punished it, but he was realistic. He was in no position to ensure safety to all people. Full control over all the soldiers during battles was impossible. And now... when this happened to the boy he knew and liked... The harm felt so much greater than it would if it happened to some anonymous soldier, not the son of Wood, his bosom friend and ensign. What was he supposed to say in this situation? What to say to someone who suffered something like that? „It will be okay?"

In that moment a sheet of fabric rustled and into the tent bursted breathless Wood. The fox was smeared in a mud and the blood of enemies. He looked around ferociously for a moment stopping on the scene of his son's torture, and then on Tancred. The wolf gave him a sympathetical look. A moment later the ensign rushed to the chair and grabbed Kurt into his arms. The empty wineskin rolled on the ground, when the younger fox let go of it to embrace his father. The boy hissed from the pain, but didn't release even for a moment. Silence and a strange calmness fell in the tent. Quiet tears of two foxes flowed from two pairs of eyes, both so similar. Tears of fear and sorrow, but most of all, tears of relief. Tancred lost track of the time he had been standing, watching them, voiceless, with lump in his throat. Politeness ordered him to leave, but something else, something he couldn't understand then kept him inside, just watching. And he himself could already feel the wetness pressing on his eyes.

I hope I will never have to experience, what he did today. The thought crossed his mind. But in a way, after all, he... already experienced that fear. He had been fighting with feelings, since Raelyn gave birth to the puppy, but he could just as well declare war on his own consciousness. They were with him for good. They were also the reason of his nervousness from the moment the enemy appeared under the gates. They powered his resolution during the planning of this attack. And when he talked to Raelyn. When they charged on the enemy... And with every single blow of a sword. He would inflict pain, hurt anyone, if that was the way to save Raelyn and Wenzel from any harm. Thus he did today. He felt relief. Relief, maybe not as strong as his ensign's one, when saw his son alive, but certainly equally profound.

"Dad..." Kurt suddenly broke the silence with fragile whisper.

"Shhh..." he was silenced by father caressing his head. "Save your breath. I know..." Woods lower jaw shuddered, leaving no doubts about what he knew. "Don't say anything, sonny. You are safe. It's over."

And just then, when Kurt's eyes widened in horror, and an excess of air he sucked in took his breath, blood in Tancred's veins turned ice.

"Oh no..."

"What's happening?" asked Wood looking at his son anxiously. "Kurt?"

But the terrified fox's look, when their eyes met, said everything to the knight before words found their way outside. The boy took several violent breaths, as if he was about to vomit.

"Kurt, what..."

"TRAITOR!"

And the relief went out like a blown candle.