FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The rainstorm raging over the pass was getting bolder and bolder, but the extensive tree-tops suppressed the noise of the downpour and held back the streams of water flowing from the sky.

Several dozen soldiers were rummaging the wilderness. Their dark silhouettes on horsebacks melted in shadows among the trees, only to reappear a moment later further ahead. Every one of them stubbornly urged forward, looking out and nosing around in search of the countess and her little son. Unsuccessfully. Smells of the forest, aroma of wet leaves, bark, resin and stormy freshness in the air could've confused even the best pursuers. Tancred rightly supposed that the kidnappers had not simply rushed straight ahead. Every now and then somebody managed to pick up a trail and the entire unit quickly moved several dozen steps further only to lose it again. In the speed of a glacier they were drawing away from Carrosh and Tancred, restless, unlike his usual self, was sometimes giving way to his emotions. In these moments soldiers trailing close to their commander could hear fragments of unrefined remarks mumbled by the knight regarding lord Skylark, the gods and even the weather. They did, however, completely understand the seriousness of the situation and no one was surprised by sir Tancred's behavior. And none of them had any idea about the nightmare that the lover and father was going through inside, after all.

It seemed the wolf knight was everywhere, sniffing, straining his ears and boring in the darkness with his golden eyes. At first filled them grim, steely determination. But every following worthless report seemed as if it was only another log added to the fire. And those flames kept getting stronger, boiling Tancred's cold blood more and more, inevitably flooding his eyes and mind with hopeless desperation. He began outpacing the first rows of pursuing soldiers, leaving them behind, sometimes even disappearing from their eyes to returning a moment later at full gallop, hurrying them on.

Glen, whose whole unit joined the hastily gathered Tancred's banner, worried about his commander. The knight never lost his temper before, and the soldiers were noticing it. He didn't know, however, how could he help his commander. Indeed, not for long his concern lasted, as the steel-clad wolf emerged from the darkness just in front of him.

"Sir?" inquired Glen hesitantly.

"Gather the people," ordered sir Tancred, "We are going to the cemetery at the crossroads." He didn't bother with keeping discretion, so the soldiers started joining them without the need for additional instructions.

"And give me your spear," demanded the knight, when horsemen rode out off the forest on the sodden road. The second wolf offered his weapon with a questioning look.

"I will explain it all to you on the way," Tancred murmured to his ear. And afterwards the whole banner rushed ahead as quickly as possible, shod hooves of mounts plopping in the muddy surface.

His cunning and patience were rewarded. Balan was risking very much, but it was safer to separate the mother from her son. If they were caught together, all would be lost.

The little wolf cub slept calmly, wrapped in the blankets and furs. He would sleep at least until the next morning. Skylark sincerely felt sorry for the boy. It didn't refrain him, however, from what he had done and what else he was going to do. At least he will be with his mother.

He didn't have time. That was his chance. He sat more steadily in the saddle, shortened the reins and caught the front arch forcing his horse to get up. So long as there's nothing to be heard, it's worth to risk going on track - he thought. And so he did.

With careful trot he rode ahead, leaning a little in his saddle and hiding the bundle with the boy under his cloak to protect him from the rain. He strained his ears, but even with his vigilant vulpine hearing he couldn't catch anything besides the rain's humming and the smacking of hooves in that greasy substance that in favourable weather successfully imitated a road. He wondered on what had been spent the money from the damned taxes and customs. Or maybe this was simply yet another attempt on thwarting his goals? Is it so that nature itself is so indignant with my deeds? - he asked himself. Soon, though, he refrained himself from such questions. Balan Skylark would never indulge in such speculations. Balan Skylark was a practical fox. He was...

This word hung in his mind for a moment, like an executioner's sword over the convict's neck. He would be lucky if he met such an end. But that would be self-delusion. And he already deceived so many people, so many friends loyal to him, to get where he was now. He wasn't going to lie to himself on top of that. The fur on his back, however, spiked the same at the very thought of what Murtagh Dormer would do to him once he got him in his paws. As if to confirm this vision the sky flared up with white and violet. A moment later, somewhere nearby, a thunder crushed and its roar echoed around the slopes shaking the entire area. Like a deadly drum preceding a ritual execution.

And again this nonsense! Skylark scolded himself again for his fear-driven reflections. What had to be done, would be done, even if the so-called gods themselves tried to stop him. Therefore, he pushed onward among the streams of water and furious winds as the sky cursed his crime again and again, blazing with ghastly-porphyrous swords of lightnings.

He didn't know how long it took him in that weather, to reach a small defile, where the track writhed among the rocks of different shape and magnitude strewn everywhere. Some of them stood solitarily, others formed silent rallies, and yet another ones held together like families, hugged to each other, as if they stopped to rest and admire the scenery. Maybe they were chunks which long ago, overcome with the erosion, broken away from the ridges towering over the pass and rolled down the slopes. Or else, once long before, they had been brought here by a glacier, who knows from where?

Whenever Balan travelled that way, he had an impression that every one of them knew him like an old friend. This time, however, he wasn't passing these gloomy pilgrims with that same sense of being welcomed. This time a look on the first of the great stones standing there like some mountainous guard, surrounded by spruces and dwarf pines, filled him with concern despite his rational nature. With every step of his mount, the dead rocks he passed by towered above him and overwhelmed him more and more. With every lightning across the sky they threw their shadows over him and on his way, as if they were accusing looks. He felt like a small pup, who after hearing some terrible story, fears to enter a dark cellar. Finally, lonely, soaked and irritated Skylark became anxious to, as soon as possible, rejoin his people. He hurried the horse to gallop, throwing up the excessive caution. He had already outwitted them. And as soon as he got out to the plateau, he would lead up the garden-path anybody they could send after him. The sooner, the better. Here he was defenseless. Certainly, that's why such thoughts had assailed him. He hurried his horse on even more.

Soon, however, he hauled the reins with such force that the mount almost sat down on its rump. On the way, in front of him, he stumbled upon yet another familiar view. Two glowing torches that the rain couldn't extinguish. They burnt, but were cold. Outright icy. In the darkness they shone with a cruel, golden light. Hateful. Furious. Never before someone's look had bristled his fur so powerfully, like the ablaze with threat glare of Tancred at that moment. He didn't have his helmet, and in his right paw he held a spear. Lightning tore the sky and the huge shadow of the horseman dashed towards Balan. The knight himself, however, didn't even budge. He just stood on the way. The only way Skylark could go.

Unless I turn back and... - crossed his mind. With that absurd notion he glimpsed towards Carrosh. Of course, the castle had disappeared behind the forest and ridge long ago. Even thinking about fleeing was ridiculous. Everything's lost - he thought, despairing. An awful feeling squeezed his bowels when he looked aimlessly into the darkness, repeatedly pierced with stormy flashes and rain streams. The damp cloak and the cutting wind suddenly began troubling him much more than a minute ago.

"Nothing good awaits you there as well," the wolf broke the silence that was solidifying between them since their eyes met. Balan knew that perfectly. He returned his gaze to the knight.

"You stand in my way," he said coldly. He didn't know why he said that. Why this way. He couldn't let him see. Maybe there still is hope?

"Your way is over. Surrender. Even if you pass through me, you won't escape my people."

So not. The wolfish knight wasn't bluffing. He had trapped and outwitted him. This would have been an affront to the fox's cunning, if he still cared about anything in the face of the situation he found himself in. The game was lost. Pride? He pissed on pride. He lost EVERYTHING. But... to surrender...? Just like that?

"I cannot..." he began, half-hearted. What was he actually supposed to do? He didn't know.

"Skylark, dammit!" growled Tancred abandoning the cold-blooded composure he had faced him with. "Why?!"

Balan lowered his gaze for a moment, and laughed bitterly inwards. Young, honorable sir Tancred... what would you know about it?

"Why, Skylark?! For money?"

The fox snorted with contempt.

"You think I lack money?"

"Then why?" pressed Tancred, not even bothering to hide the pain in his voice. Every treason is painful. But a friend's treason... "Is it about the count? What has he done? Why take such a cruel revenge? Why Raelyn and Wenzel have to suffer?"

"Ugh, hold your jaw already!" growled Skylark. In spite of all the wrongs he committed, so superficial accusations annoyed him. He might have pissed on pride, but most certainly not on honor. The honorable treason... He shook his head thinking about that.

"Your damned count Murtagh doesn't have anything to do with this! I seek neither revenge, nor gold."

"So why have you done this, then? It makes no sense. Even if you succeeded, where were you going to hide from the punishment? And who are those Southerners?"

Nowhere.

"You will never understand my motivations, knight. You will never be in position to put yourself in my place."

"The place of a traitor? Hopefully not!" retorted Tancred angrily.

And the white fox just snorted again.

"So how long exactly are we going to chat in this rain? I'm in a hurry!" threw Balan, irritated.

"Where are Raelyn and Wenzel? What have you done to them?" - asked the wolf, completely ignoring the provocation.

At least he got Raelyn. Will they agree for a half...? Will she be enough? Wait a minute...

"Are you deaf?!" roared Tancred. Both horses stirred restlessly.

There was something in his behavior. Something the fox hadn't seen ever before. Fear. Aggression. And, after all, Murtagh's mightiest knight was famous for his nerves of steel and composure.

"Where are they, you damned scoundrel?!"

Skylark didn't even hear the invective when the last pieces of the puzzle fell into place in his mind. Suddenly it's just „Raelyn", and not „countess" or "lady"? And the way he says it... Dismay struck him twice as strong as the mountain storm. He shook his head in disbelief. It's... it's... In this very moment a stupid hope woke up in him again. He perceived his last chance in it.

"You damned hypocrite," he hissed with theatrical disgust and thereupon smiled hideously.

The wolf looked at him speechless.

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

The lord croaked ominously. What a beautiful paradox! What a scoff of fate!

"And you call me a traitor? Just and faithful till the last breath, sir Tancred from Carrosh! Though insultingly, they say you would eat Murtagh's shit if he ordered you to. Tell me, did he ask you to hammer his wife as well?Or was that your own initiative?"

The lightning illuminated the dread on Tancred's face. He tried to deny it, but in startlement, in first reaction, Balan picked up the truth.

"I see..." he growled dryly. "Tell me one more thing, wolf... How is that, after years of failures, Murtagh finally feathered his nest a son? A miracle? Medicine? Or maybe, once again, the sworn sword of sir Tancred was happy to serve?

"You disgusting..."

"Me? Disgusting? True as that may be, I see through your pretty, loyal mask, so shut the fuck up! Speaking bluntly, you shagged her and this," he reached for the bundle hidden under his cloak, "is your son!"

The wolf wavered restlessly, and on his gray muzzle fear of the revealed secret mixed with the relief of finding his son. He didn't answer, however. Didn't have to. That look... that silence... they told Skylark everything.

"You are no less a traitor than I am. In a way, even more. And this completely turns the tables," announced the fox with sinister glance. "How high do you value their lives?"

These words however, instead of worsen Tancred's confusion, knocked him off of his all but dazed state of mind, and when his eyes suddenly narrowed, Skylark already knew he had made a mistake. The wolf fell silent for a moment and, when he answered, there was no hesitation in his voice.

"Way higher than mine, but not that I'd be so blind to trust your word," growled Tancred, baring his fangs.

Balan hid his failure under a grin.

"Well said, Tancred," he bowed his head with approval. And then he draw a dagger. The blade hung over Wenzel. What else is left for me to do now?

The wolf's paw clenched strongly on the spearshaft. The knight looked at the blade, and terror danced on his muzzle. Tiny, transparent droplets were coming down the knife's edge and dripping on the bundle of blankets and furs. In a blink of an eye, it occurred to Tancred that with one swift motion, it wouldn't be just water anymore. His body shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the cold. Only in that moment he truly felt what Wood had to endure for that entire awful day. Since he found out about Raelyn and their son's disappearance, fear has been ceaselessly worming itself into his soul. In the forest it began whispering to his ears. And now, when the merciless steel shaft was pointing at Wenzel before his very eyes and he was powerless, trauma was tearing his heart out of his chest.

"You scumbag...," the voice that tore out of his throat was something between a scream and a desperate whine. "What kind of man kills a son before his father's eyes?!"

And then the wolf saw it. The paw holding the cruel tool trembled. Balan Skylark was trembling when he moved his quivering look from the son to the father.

"I asked the same question..." muttered the fox. He was panting heavily, as if he had brought to the pass a weight incomparably greater than the bundle with the puppy. And silence rang in Tancred's ears.

"Please," in confusion, the wolf groaned pleadingly. He lowered his spear, which he had aimed at Balan. He didn't even know when. "...you can't do this to me. To HIM."

"No. I can't..." after a moment the fox admitted with prostrate resignation. "But I cannot surrender either."

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! You already took Raelyn from me, where is she?! You're not going anywhere!"

"I have to."

"Answer me!"

Thunder shook the area.

"I DIDN'T HAVE A CHOICE! Are you really that foolish to believe all of this is my own, private scheming? Is a word of some captive mercenary enough to put my loyalty into question?!"

"Abduction of the countess and the heir to the county IS."

That sealed fox's mouth for quite a while.

"They have my son," he explained at last. "My only son. Lady Raelyn and your... Murtagh's son... they are my ransom." Then, resigned, he lowered his eyes to little Wenzel.

The cruel truth hit his heart and choked his soul even more painfully than any sword would be able to mutilate a body. He won't tell me where they took her! He won't... Tancred realised and felt as the pain squeezed his tears out. I wouldn't tell him either. But anyway, he had to ask.

"Where did you want to take him? Where is Raelyn now? What will they do to them?"

"I don't even know who exactly they are."

Just as the knight suspected. But it didn't make the answer any less depressing.

"I know, in a way... you understand." said Skylark. "There's no hope for me anymore, but I have to save my son."

Parfay, the fate was cruel.

"So do I."

What was he supposed to do now? Which path to take, when all were equally wrong?

"I'm not letting you go," drawled Tancred, trembling, but his voice resolute. Emotions so powerful couldn't be suppressed. "I know, in a way, you understand. And you cannot kill Wenzel, because then you won't save your son. You cannot kill him, because you will be no better than these kidnappers, who took your own son. You cannot kill him... because you're not a murderer. Surrender..." But that last demand came out with a tone so imploring, as if it was him who had been surrounded by enemies and already sentenced to death.

They both knew Murtagh would skin Balan alive. The count would do the same to him, if he ever found out about his romance with Raelyn. Wenzel's fate would be sealed in no time as well. Just thinking about that possibility was tearing his heart apart.

"No!" Balan protested. "They will kill him then. And if they kill him... I cannot live with it... knowing that I didn't do everything in my power. Neither live... nor die. I cannot surrender! Tancred, I know I took Raelyn from you. I know that you are hating me now and I understand, but I... beg you... give me a chance! Don't turn me into a murderer!"

The despair in his voice and the tears in his eyes were as sincere as diamonds. "There is no solution for this deadlock. These knots, we won't be able to untie them. We can only cut through."

The lord was asking a lot. It seemed Tancred's position was excellent and he had no reasons to take up the gauntlet. It seemed... He had him trapped. Yet... who would trust a beast driven so desperate? Could he trust Balan? What a stupid question. As if this night's events weren't enough of an answer.

"You don't have any choice!" growled the fox impatiently. "If your people return, you no longer have the chance to kill me! And I'm sure as hell telling our sovereign your dirty little secret! You better believe me!" He threatened. "We have no choice! One of us dies tonight!"

Fuck. Tancred cursed inwardly, annoyed. Goddamned foxes! Maybe just throw the spear at him? But he couldn't risk it. He could hit Wenzel. The dead fox could drop the boy. Could crush him with his weight. And besides... Balan Skylark was still a good man and an honorable knight. Just as I am.

And a traitor. Just as I am.

If not out of honor, the wolf had to consent at Skylark's demand out of pragmatism. When he spoke, his heart was heavy.

"You said so yourself, Skylark. There's no other way. Let the swords decide."

The fox exhaled loudly, almost as if he was relieved. Thunder roared again, but this time significantly farther. The rain, however, kept pouring down, endlessly. The spearhead bit into the muddy ground, and a moment later both knights landed on it with a deaf clap. Their glances met again, but neither eyes, nor faces betrayed anything. Their muzzles were like masks.

"Thank you..." Skylark muttered finally and lowered his eyes.

"Show me my son," demanded Tancred, "I must know for sure that he's alright."

The lord unfolded the fabrics without protesting, exposing the calm muzzle of the little wolf.

"By what miracle is he still asleep?"

"Laudanum. He will awake at the noon," explained the fox.

From both sides the road was covered by low scarps. Skylark approached the right one, where there was small cavity, shielded by a great stone. There he put down the bundle so Wenzel was now safe from the downpour and wind. I'm the one that gets him out of there - Tancred pledged in his mind. And then he took position to fight the most important duel of his life.

Balan took off his cloak and hung it on his saddle. He joined the wolf awaiting nearby just a moment later. Sir Tancred of Carrosh was ready. He greeted his opponent with his unsheathed sword and an adamant expression.

Black, matt armor and light chainmail weren't providing the same protection as the durable plates of Tancred's. Instead his movement capability was almost unrestricted, while the wolf didn't have the same luxury himself. Also, one glance was enough to notice that the base material, of which the gear of his opponent was forged, was of excellent quality. Steel Song owed its name to something, after all. Whenever the war outbroken and the demand on good weapons grew, Skylark's wealth grew likewise. But there was no metal that could save lord Balan that night, as long as Tancred was concerned.

There were no celebrations. The fox hardly even managed to free his own blade and already he had his hands full. Tancred clashed with him, delivering a powerful strike from above his head. Speed and reflex weren't on the wolf's side, however, the percussive force alone almost disarmed his opponent on the very beginning. Seeing that, the knight rapidly struck from below, aiming at the fox's unprotected left armpit. Skylark's blade rebounded and noticing an opening the wolf slashed, hoping for a quick end to the duel. To no avail. The fox evaded and immediately increased the distance between them.

That duel was different. Emotions were strong, like he was fighting his first real fight. He didn't intend to give his opponent any opportunity to take the initiative. That time, however, Balan parried his dangerous high thrust properly and delivered a rapid blow of his own. The point reached the breastplate under Tancred's left arm, however the attack was way to soft to hurt the wolf, who immediately countered with a following cut. The fox-lord leaped away with grace, allowed him by his light steel anima.

It was more than enough for the wolf to notice that fox wanted to tire him out and counted on his quick, deadly counters. He partially understood such tactic. Balan prevailed in the speed of movements, he himself in sheer power. Giving away the initiative, however, most often came in pair with losing the advantage.

Once again, Tancred attacked, stabbing from above his arm, this time the left one. Skylark didn't even bother to parry, only bolted forward with his own powerful thrust, striking Tancred with opposition and perfect aiming. Hadn't the wolf bend his head, it would be the end. The following stroke came from below. Again the knight let his full-plate be the receiver. This time he felt it, however, by paying this price, he finally had an opening and slashed for dear life in his paws. The fox was quick like the wind, but the blade licked him between the pauldron and the breastplate, exactly where there was no armor. Balan hissed from the pain and before he managed to recover, Tancred whomped him with pommel of his sword, straight in the muzzle. The lord reeled back and almost fell into the mud.

He had him where he wanted. Defenceless. Now was the time to end it. To strike from the side, to stab from below, straight in his stomach. He did none of that. This fight was different. He had all the reasons. He had JUST REASONS. He hated the one kneeling before him, panting and wincing his face in a grimace of pain. His pain was honey-sweet. And yet, Tancred pitied him. Sympathized with him. What are you doing?! - screamed at him his better judgement - Kill him!

The emotions were tearing him apart. He wanted more pain. More pain on Skylark's face. He should suffer. He took Raelyn! How will I find you now, my lady? My love? ...he almost took our son! The image of the fox writhing, gasping and begging for death stood before his eyes. Blood and tears. And it was terrifyingly satisfying.

Just as they took his own son...

It was heartbreaking... feeling that way towards this man he knew and always valued. Even though he had all the good reasons, it made him feel sick. A hurricane of thoughts raged in his mind and he felt like he wasn't really there anymore. Where is this coming from?! Hatred so powerful... yet I lack conviction. Their eyes met. Skylark seemed surprised.

"You had me. Why didn't you finish?" he asked, standing up. From his lips flowed a considerable runlet of blood. In the dark of the night it was almost pitch-black, distinctive in comparison with the wet, grimy-white fur.

Tancred looked at him with confusion in his eyes. Could he answer that question, if only for his own inner peace... would it make the finishing strike any easier?

"I see." Balan bared his fangs in a bloody, hideous sneer. "Brave sir Tancred, only ever useful when being a dog under the heel of his master! What kind of man are you, to not have the guts to save YOUR SON? TO SAVE YOURSELF?! If you are not man enough to do the right thing... do it on your own, then maybe you don't deserve your chance after all!" And with these words flowing from his muzzle along with the blood streams, the fox leaped towards the wolf.

There was no time for reflections now. No time for regrets and pity. Tancred caught his opponent's wrist, immobilizing his sword. Then he delivered a devastating punch to Balan's muzzle. He could hear teeth breaking under the steel gauntlet before the awfully wounded lord was sent tumbling backwards, surprisingly still holding onto his weapon.

The wolf didn't think anymore. Only felt. Everything happened so quickly, yet so slow, and he was amazed by the amount of details he could perceive in such a small amount of time. He assailed Skylark with power and fury in his eyes. The fox knew better than even trying a counter-attack. Lumpishly he got off the line of the blow, parrying the stroke. He managed to deliver his own cut. The blade kissed Tancred's breastplate, but what of it? No more than a barely visible scratch on his armor. Balan once again escaped from the short distance, waited up for the thrust and simultaneously dealt his own. With the outright savage Tancred's cry, their blades clashed with a cruel clang of steel, sending sparks all around.

Unfortunately the wolf took the point of his blade on the strong part of his own. Balan only felt a prick of fear, before came what was unavoidable. His sword was flung aside, and a heartbeat later... Tancred cut terribly at his elbow. The sword flew through flesh and bone, as if through water. With the force of momentum, the wolf turned over his left arm. In the blink of an eye he found himself behind his opponent and struck mightily under the knee. Merciless steel sliced on the fox's leg smacking muscles and tendons, sweeping bone. A second later the fox fell on the ground with an agonal, feebling whine. His left paw immediately caught the stub that remained of his right one. There was no paw left for reaching to the horrid wound on his leg. If Balan was meant to survive it, he would be crippled for the rest of his days. But there were no days before him.

Tancred stood over the white fox writhing in torture. He stood still, and simply watched. He saw that a moment ago in his imagination. Blood flowed, mixing with mud and water, clung to the fur and griming it. Half of Skylark's left leg hanged on shredded muscles. Initial whines gave way to loud, pathetic groans accompanied by plopping of rain. Blood flowed. It fluxed.

At that moment a huge lightning bolt torn the sky and thunder shook the pass. He awoke. As if that moment of rage was no more than a dream. The view didn't give him any pleasure. He had seen it before it happened, felt something different, and now... he was indifferent. And that scared him to his core. Did something break in me? It was like there was another person in his mind, who silently kept assuring him that his cruelty was something normal... acceptable. Understandable.

The wolf let go of his sword. Or maybe it slid out of his hand?

What have I done?! Gods... Like this? Like a butcher!

He fell on his knees. And then a piercing pain paralysed him. When he clutched the inside of his left thigh, he came across a hilt. Small, nof of a sword. Of a dagger. He felt how his warm blood flew down his leg. Did he reach the mark? That he did not know. It looked like it. Will I die? Strangely, this thought calmed him. Maybe it's better this way?

He crawled up to the lord dying in the mud. His breath was shallow and jerky. He sensed him, however, and opened his bloodshot eyes. For a moment they were looking at each other. Hot breaths rose from their muzzles, changed into whiffs of steam on cool air.

"Hit you?" wheezed finally Skylark.

Wolf once again glanced at his leg. Blood was flowing out of him in a swift stream, slowed somehow by the blade. Probably...

"I don't know," he stated nonetheless. "Did I?"

For a brief moment an awkward silence fell between them, but then Balan snorted

quietly. And then a bit louder. And afterwards he choked with rattling laughter that was easy to mistake with the groans of a tortured captive. The croak was so contagious that Tancred, unwantedly, joined the fallen lord, even if only for a moment. Why were they laughing? This is madness... The fox, on the other hand, laughed till an awful cough overtook him.

"C-can we?" he uttered, after he managed to suppress it. There was no trace of the hilarity from a moment ago on his muzzle.

The wolf nodded demurely and drew his own misericord. When the blade hung over

the fox's chest, Balan put his bloody left paw over Tancred's ones holding the dagger.

"Thank you... at least I die a proper death," he whispered.

"I'm sorry for the mess," Tancred replied looking at bleeding stump of lord's right hand. The pain had to be awful. "Don't know what came over me."

"Righteous anger, friend," fox remarked with understanding after another coughing fit.

"Isn't this ironic?" asked Tancred putting the hilt of the dagger into Skylark's paw, then embracing it with his own. He would help Balan. "The fates of our families entangled in such a way that even pursuing the same thing, we come out as enemies."

"Victims." Skylark turned his head to the small cavity where Wenzel was sleeping, unaware of the tragedy happening around him. "I'm a-afraid there's much m-more to these diabolic... circumstances. But sometimes you j-just have to... make a ch... choice. M-maybe I'll... s-see my boy soon?" he asked, the emptiness engulfing him.

For a moment longer he was gazing intently in that direction, but his eyes were stone-blind at this point. Finally he turned his disfigured muzzle to Tancred and not trusting his voice anymore, simply nodded.

The dagger dropped. The spirit left the body with a quiet sigh. And with this sigh one last word came out of his mouth. A word which Tancred held on for all he was worth. A name... It sounded harshly and sharply as razor, and he seized it with his mind, making sure to remember. Maybe it would give him nothing. Or maybe, together with captive's testimonies, it would lead him to Raelyn. Provided... he survived. He could only hope. Sighing, he closed the dead lord's eyes and commended him to gods.

He still hated him. And still felt pity.

He noticed there was no strength to stand in him anymore. What was remaining, he used to somehow crawl to the rock. It was dry there, and safe. His son would survive. He had saved him, beaten his opponent in an honorable fight. For him. And despite the sorrow and despair over the loss of Raelyn burning his heart; despite the hate and mutual understanding for the man responsible for the crime that shattered their life, looking at little Wenzel he felt pride and relief. Maybe even joy. He had put up a fight, didn't let the enemy accomplish all of his goals. And lord Balan paid the highest price for his crime. Would he be able to do a such thing for Wenzel and Raelyn? Would he be strong enough to take the consequences? Raelyn's words came back to him, hauntingly:

"For a knight, a smith, a priest one can become. And one can cease to be. But one can never cease to be a father. With me and Wenzel unites you the bond stronger and prior to any oaths or obligations a knight can swear to his lord."

He felt his strength leaving his body him. He could only lie and satiate himself with the sight of his little, beautiful son. Sadness and disappointment that he wouldn't see him growing fell onto him, but he immediately reminded himself: It's a good death. Such an end is not to be feared or despaired upon.

He didn't feel the cold anymore. He only heard the irregular, increasingly louder and faster beating of his heart, desperately pumping the blood continuously escaping his veins. Until the very end wasn't tearing his sight of his son. "Die with your children at your bed," - he thought, smiling. The light began to approach.

"Sir Tancred..."

Quiet! Gods do not care for titles.

It was already as bright as the sun. He could no longer see Wenzel. He had to close his eyes, unable to keep the weight of his eyelids anymore. But darkness was good too...