Finally, shortly before dawn, Johnsa rolled out her sheets, strapped on her armor and weapon, and walked out into the brisk predawn darkness. The moon had disappeared at this point, and even the stars were slowly disappearing.

            “Always darkest before dawn,” she muttered with a derisive snort. She walked out to the perimeter and looked for her men. She only spotted one or two, and although this did not surprise her as her men were generally excellent at hiding themselves, an instinct told her something was wrong. Taking two steps back still facing the perimeter, she turned and sprinted back to her tent. Rushing inside, she kicked open one of her trunks and pulled out a small roll of vellum. It had been some time since she had looked upon this particular trinket but its worth was immeasurable. Unrolling it, she drew her dagger and dragged it across the palm of her hand with a wince. She pressed the vellum to her bleeding hand, allowed the blood to seep in for a second, then cleared her mind.

            “As night meets day, and sun dispels the dark, so show me the way,” she whispered. This was a trick she had learned long ago from her grandfather. It allowed her to see with stunning clarity her surroundings within a three mile radius. However, this ability could only be used once a month and Johnsa rarely withdrew the vellum from its protective shell.

            Looking down at the bloody sheepskin, shock momentarily gripped her guts in a vise grip. She saw her patrols, and though most looked intact, she doubted they would remain so for long. Not very far from them, hidden in the trees, was the Slandra attack force that had caught them unaware…and it had grown.

            Rushing out her tent, she ran to the alarm bell and rang it herself before charging off to Lens’ tent.

            “Get everyone up NOW! We’re under attack!” she yelled to her subordinate. Lens wasted no time with questions and immediately issued orders while donning his armor. The scouts were drawn back, and before most of the men could even rub the sleep out of their eyes, spears were planted, swords were drawn, and arrows nocked in a tight circle around the tents.

            Johnsa glanced down at the vellum, noticed that the enemy force had not advanced yet, and called for her men to relax momentarily. She looked down once more, but the vellum had cleared, and Johnsa cursed loudly for the short duration of the spell. At that moment, a cold wind blew through the whole camp, and a howl broke the tense silence.

            The Ramadan looked out at her men once more, thinking this may be the last time many or all would fight together. It brought a tear to her eye, but she brushed it away immediately. Grabbing a horn, Johnsa shouted out to her forces.

            “Friends, comrades, I will give you the truth. We are surrounded. The Slandra have us in a corner.” She saw many startled looks at this news. “This may be our final battle as comrades. How will you fight?” She paused and surveyed the men arrayed around the encampment. “We will make them pay for what they have done to us. They will pay in blood. I mean to live through this night and make them taste my steel.” She ended in a shout that every man heard without the horn, and they cheered with her. They cheered even during the Slandra charge that broke upon their blades like waves against the cliffs.

            Dawn broke over a bloody field, yet the fighting raged on. The Slandra were bloodied, but the human forces were nearly defeated. Every man and woman who bore arms lifted them wearily, often painfully. Three quarters of the men who had stood in defense of their lives and their captain now lay dead, sprawled across the hill. But the Slandra came on, a teeming, undulating wave of death that crawled toward the final defenders.

            The human commanders, all but one lay dead outside the protective circle. Lens had gone down after killing five of the snakes protecting the Ramadan, and his efforts allowed Johnsa to fight her way back to safety. Now, as she calculated her odds, and looked out at the dead, she felt a wave of despair. Death was almost assured for her and her men. But when she looked out at the bloodied, mangled corpses of her men, a feral snarl erupted from her throat. Her eyes turned a deep red, and every man near her felt his hair stand on end.

            Johnsa tossed away her shield, and hefted another broadsword. She pushed her way through her men, stalking toward the oncoming Slandra as if she were Death incarnate. Some of her men tried to stop her, but she heard nothing. All she knew was she would rain death and destruction down upon her enemies as long as she drew breath and none would stand in her way. Her men joined her, and when she shrieked in primal fury, they answered her call. Before the sun cleared the horizon, only death remained.

It was the sound of scavengers tearing into rotting meat that finally aroused the sleeping figure. The person was covered in cuts, their armor all but shorn from their body. Their fiery hair stood on end. Sitting up, the person was surrounded by the bodies of men and Slandra alike. Looking down at the weapons in her hands, at the blood of both man and snake staining the blades, a scream ripped out of Johnsa’s body that sent every scavenger haring away. The knowledge of what she had done powered that scream, and it went on for an eternity. Darkness fell again before Johnsa collapsed again in the circle of death she had created.