Jurgen was dead before Brandt could complete the sled. It had been a painful way to go, but mercifully quick. His throat had swollen, his heels drumming on the forest floor as he slowly turned blue until he stopped breathing altogether and slumped to the forest floor. There was a strange silence as the horrible gaging sound he had been making finally faded away to nothing.

"Is he dead?" Priska asked as she shifted nervously from foot to foot several feet behind Roderick. His initial reaction was to snap at her but a kinder part of him stopped the retort, it was clear that the girl was well outside her area of comfort.

"Yes." A simple answer. He always marvelled at how everyone, wealthy, poor, powerful, weak, regardless of their social status, looked the same in death.

"We can't stay here." Brandt had returned with the beginnings of a sled, all of which he now dropped in a noisy pile next to Roderick.

The priest stood, stretching his back as he did so. This was not good. Neither he or Brandt were warriors, nor was Maria for that matter. So far Jurgen had brought them this far, it would be a great bit of luck that to see them past this point. He shifted his foot and felt his toe strike metal. He looked down and realized he had been kneeling on the dead mans greatsword. A good sign his luck was good since he'd managed to do it without cutting himself. He reached down and took the heavy blade by the hilt, lifting it from the grass. It was still stained black with goblin blood. He didn't hesitate as he turned and offered the heavy weapon to Brandt.

The smiths exhausted eyebrows rose as he regarded the weapon for a moment before taking the blade from Rodericks hand. The priest smiled and let the leather wrapped handle go as Brandt hefted the weapon.

"Better you than me, I think." Roderick said as he reached down to pick up his hammer. He caught sight of Lord Waldo watching them closely but the younger man didn't say anything. He had a haunted look in his eyes now and Roderick suspected that the young lord, as much as he and Brandt, had never seen so much death in their lifetime. It seemed some handled it better than others.

"We should go." Maria spoke for the first time since they had learned Jurgen was poisoned. She had recovered a small goblin short sword that she'd tucked into her belt. She had abandoned her crossbow after not being able to recover any useful ammunition.

"What about him?" Priska asked quietly, staring at the dead man on the ground.

"We will have to leave him." Roderick replied, regret in his tone. "But we don't have time to bury him, or the tools for that matter."

"Oh, okay." Priska was trying to pretend indifference but Roderick detected something more. Was it possibly she had liked this man? It wasn't strange he supposed. Life could be brutal and short for humans of the empire. Jurgen was a prime example. She turned away before he could say anything to her.

"We should head east." Maria again. "The main road is somewhere over there and we need to move quickly. Night is coming."

Roderick nodded and glanced to Brandt who was still admiring his new sword. "Shall we?"

The smith took a moment to examine the fine long blade. It was well made, one of the best he’d seen, and unadorned. A fine, practical weapon. He discarded the goblin blade he’d scavenged, and his shield. It still had arrows sticking out of it, and probably wouldn’t have survived another battle anway. “Shall we?” asked Roderick, and Brandt nodded. He bent down to unbelt the baldric that held Jurgen’s scabbard, trying to do so with as much care as possible. Brandt told himself it was a matter of respect, and not because the bloated throat and the pink-red spiderweb of burst blood vessels made his stomach lurch. He strapped the wide leather belt on and took point at the front of the column, assuming Jurgen’s place as the best armed.

Lord Waldo followed behind and Priska afterwards, and Brandt heard sniffling and the occasional choked off sob, though he wasn’t sure from whom. Roderick and Maria walked behind them, and Brandt drew courage from their presence. They would miss Maria’s crossbow, and if it were up to Brandt they’d keep it just in case… though in case of what, he wasn’t sure. He lead them east, as Maria suggested, and as they walked Brandt felt a determination to see the five of them out of the forest. That determination fueled his stride, and despite the pain in his arm from the still throbbing wound, he set a brisk pace.

They spent that night huddled together in a hollow created by the roots of a fallen tree, with Roderick, Brandt and Maria taking turns on watch. None of the five of them slept well that night, though they were undisturbed, and in the morning they set out again with Brandt in the lead, after Roderick saw to his arm. According to the priest, it was starting to heal. None of them spoke much, eyes and ears alert for goblins or some other threat from the Drakwald.

“Do you think we’ve lost them?” Brandt asked later in the day.

“Everything I’ve heard says the goblins are cowards,” replied Maria. “Maybe we beat them and scared them off.”

“You’re right,” spoke Waldo, startling them. “My father's armsman taught me about greenskins. They always follow the biggest and toughest one, and when you fight them it’s best to try to kill that one, as they’ll often run away. Then they fight amongst themselves until there’s a new leader.”

They group paused, considering it. Priska sniffed; she’d developed a runny nose.

“Well good,” Brandt said at last. “Thank you, uh, m’lord.”

“We’re not out of the woods yet, but that is good news,” added Roderick, trying a smile to Maria and Brandt.