"Tell me," Quint waved his hand across the landscape before him, "what do you see?"

Lamb scowled, refusing to meet his questioning gaze. "Broken bridge. Chasm. It's where I fought the Warden. What am I meant to see?"

The man shrugged. "Nothing, really. Or everything. It all depends upon your perspective."

"Like what?"

"Well," the warrior deliberated for a moment, "every one of us views life from a different angle. When you look around you have only eyes for the damage. To you, this is the place where you had your first life-or-death fight. It's the place where you very nearly died. The place where you suffered unimaginable pain. The place where you may well have killed a man. When you look around you see the scar the ravine carves through the earth, you see the broken stone of the shattered bridge, and the blood you watched it drink."

"Your point?"

"My perspective is different from yours. I don't see what is broken; only that which is whole. To me, this is the place where I saved a life. The place where I made two precious friends. The place where our fates became intertwined and it became our destiny to save the world. When I look around, I see all the beauty of the world gathered in one place.

"A perfect world holds no meaning. There is nothing to work towards, because there is nothing left to achieve. A perfect world is a world devoid of warmth, a world with no faith, no hope, no purpose. In my eyes, true beauty is found only in imperfection. This imperfection is nothing to be feared, but rather revered. There is no shame in admitting your faults; because only by doing so can they be overcome."

"That it? You bring me here to sell me some bull 'bout how everythin's all okay?"

"Tell me, Lamb, for what reason do you believe I rescued you on that day?"

The boy thought about it for a moment. "You don't like Wardens?"

"Wrong."

"You saw him attack a girl?"

"Wrong again."

"You would've saved either of us?"

"Exactly." The man smiled gently. "To me, all life is precious. I had no idea who you were, and I saved you regardless. It didn't matter to me why you were fighting, or what you had done to end up in that position, because in the face of death all sin is rendered meaningless. You could have been a murderer, a thief, a liar or rapist, and I would have rescued you anyway. Because while we live, no matter how dark things may appear, there is still hope to reach for. That is my faith; my creed."

"Easy for you to say."

"Is it?" Quint frowned slightly at the question. "Most of the Wardens alive today owe their skills to me. And as a teacher, the sins of my students fall directly onto my shoulders. With every sun that rises, I rise to the accusations of all those who've suffered because of me. People I don't even know, people I have never met, but who because of my actions no longer live. I face my mistakes, I feel the regret; and I move on. Because punishing myself achieves nothing, but standing tall, making a difference- that is how I repent."

"An' if I can't stop it? If I can't change anything?"

"Have you ever heard of the blood rage?" Lamb said nothing. "The blood rage. Something along the lines of 'seeing red'. In a fight, our baser instincts are drawn to the fore. Our desire to survive, coupled with our repressed desire to harm. If a man isn't careful, his desires begin to control him. He may do things, in the heat of the moment, which would horrify him at any other time. Normally this is all it would amount to, merely a clouding of judgement which all men must deal with sooner or later; but in especially rare individuals, it becomes something more.

"When a warrior sees red, their anger or hatred may be amplified, but they retain full control of their mind and body. The blood rage, on the other hand, is more akin to a temporary madness. They become obsessed, and there remains nothing in their mind but the desire to kill. They disconnect from conscience and reasoning, become immune to all but the most extreme fatigue and pain, and turn into nothing more than a tool for the absolute destruction of their enemy. It is for this reason that some of the more barbaric schools of combat revere it so much.

"The blood rage strikes different people in different ways. Some lucky ones lose all memory of their actions under its influence, while others remember everything down to the most minute of details. I've trained all kinds of fighters, Lamb, and I know all there is to know about it and its symptoms. The only two things that ever remain the same are that the victim cannot be blamed for their illness, and that, however difficult it may be, they may still cure themselves."

Lamb walked past him, sitting himself down at the edge of the cliff, legs dangling into the blackness. "'Cept this ain't the same."

"I never said it was." Quint walked over and sat beside him, gazing out at the gentle flames of the setting sun. He said nothing for a minute, allowing the peace of the moment to soak into him. "Who are they?"

"Who're who?"

"The person you were talking to. 'I ain't killin' anyone. You can all go to hell.' Both comments implied that there was a third person with us, unbeknownst to me."

Lamb inclined his head, trying to figure out the best way to explain it. "It was..." he groaned inside, realising tiredly there wasn't one, "myself. I've a voice. It speaks to me sometimes."

He sat back, waiting for the man to laugh at him, but all Quint did was hum thoughtfully to himself. "I see. And this voice; do they talk to you often? Are they talking to you now?"

They boy closed his eyes for a moment, the muffled sounds of angry swearing filtering through to him. "Yeah. But it's a lot quieter, some reason. That ain't happened before."

"Describe it to me."

"He's kind of..." Lamb caught himself, "you really don't think I'm a loony?"

Quint shook his head. "Priestesses commune with 'gods' when they dream. Seers converse with other beings in their visions. Telepaths can communicate mentally over great distances. To have a voice inside your head may be rare, but it's far from unique. Given the mystery surrounding your abilities, I find it perfectly plausible."

Lamb nodded gratefully. He'd never stopped to think about it like that. "He's annoying. Speaks in riddles. Cocky. Always tellin' me I'm some kinda freak. But he helps me fight, an' sometimes even tells me things."

"Things like what?"

"'Bout the prophecy. An' he used to predict bets, back at the tavern."

"Which were right?"

The boy smirked. "Always. Hours of fun."

"And when you fought me it was this voice who wanted you to kill? He's the reason you were so scared of fighting again?"

Lamb sighed heavily. "Sort of. Back when I was fightin' the Warden, I realised somethin'. It was fun. I was enjoyin' it. I'd never liked violence before, but suddenly I was able to throw myself against someone, an' I loved it; but it scared me. After that, my voice kept tellin' me the same thing, over and over. Says I was born to fight- that I exist now to destroy. An' I refuse to believe that."

"I understand," Quint spoke, "and I think I agree with him."

Lamb's head snapped round. "What?"

"I agree with him- you were born to fight. Inexplicable though they are, you have the gifts of a warrior. It would be a waste not to make use of them."

Lamb scowled. "I ain't nobody's attack dog."

"Do you know what makes a warrior, Lamb?" The boy didn't respond. "It's heart. Any idiot can pick up a sword, feel the weight and swing it. But only a warrior can truly understand that weight, know the meaning of drawing that blade, and swing it anyway."

"I don't get it."

"A thug on the street will pick a fight because he can; a warrior will fight because he must. What elevates a warrior beyond a mere brute is his creed- he has a set of ideals which he believes in, devotes himself to, lays his life upon. When I told you you had the gifts of a warrior, I wasn't referring merely to your physical prowess. What I meant was that you had the principles of one. You understand your strength, and your ability to destroy, but you refuse to abuse it. You know the temptation of violence, and yet you fight against it with all of your being. You don't want to fight because you don't want to hurt anyone. Every one of those is the mark of a warrior."

"I can't do it."

"But you can. You have no faith in your own will, and so you cannot muster the strength to resist. But you aren't a monster. No matter what that voice tells you, your powers don't exist to destroy; they exist to protect."

"Not if I can't control them."

"That's what I'm talking about. You're strong, Lamb, stronger than you know. And you're closer to overcoming your demons than you believe. All you need is a creed."

"It won't work."

"And nothing will if you give up before even attempting it. Is this how you want to spend your life; running from every adversary, hiding from every danger, all because you don't know if you can control yourself? Or do you want to break that barrier, become something more, find something greater than you ever imagined possible? Maybe you're right- maybe it won't work- but what will happen if it doesn't? Can it be any worse than this? Do you really have anything to lose?"

The boy picked up a stone, the size of his fist, and brought it out over the edge of the gap. He let it fall through his fingers, listening to the sound of it ricocheting against the bedrock below. Crack, it fell, crack, crack. Again and again. Minutes passed, and the sound faded away to nothingness, passing beyond hearing. He looked round. "What's yours?"

"My creed?" Quint smiled. "I've already told you. My creed is that everything has a right to life, that every sin can be repented, that every living thing in this world is sacred. As a warrior, my creed tells me that I must protect all life, wherever and whatever it may be."

"I see. Then... I swear..." Lamb closed his eyes, rooting through his memories, struggling to find something worth devoting his life to. Memories of Liz rose unbidden to his mind, the scars on her back, the pain behind her eyes when she recounted her tale. His jaw set. His eyes snapped open. "I swear that, so long as I breathe, I will devote my life to my friends. That never again will they be harmed whilst I remain to defend them. That I shall be the shield that protects them from danger, the armour that protects them from injury." He pressed onwards, mind a blur, words and philosophies he'd never even imagined filling his head with a mind all of their own, "I will be the hammer which punishes injustice. I will be the light which banishes evil. I will be the hero of the weak, the terror of the strong. That is my path," his mouth twisted into a determined grin, "my creed."

Quint whistled softly. "Amazing. Tell me, Lamb; do you believe in destiny?"

"Never thought much about it."

"Well I do. I believe that each and every one of us has one to receive. I believe there is a single moment in time, a tipping point where we make a choice to decide the rest of our lives- do we meet our fate, or do we turn our backs and run from it?" He offered a hand which the boy accepted, the two of them rising to their feet; and then he turned, leading them away from the recovering battlefield, setting sun clawing vainly at their backs. "And I believe you just made yours."

Seven days since Lamb's confrontation with Quint. Even after the passage of a week, he still couldn't fully comprehend what had happened. The words he'd spoken, deciding upon his creed- they hadn't been his own. He knew they were words belonging to some other and yet, having spoken them, they seemed so true. Never before had he felt so assured, so full of purpose, so proud to exist and determined to follow his path. His voice still whispered to him, but it was as though a great wall had been erected around his mind- he didn't even have to ignore the jabs; he simply didn't feel them.

He stood with the other three outside the door of the little cottage, going over the final preparations for their departure. He'd been pleasantly surprised to hear that both Max and Quint would be travelling with them for a while; Quint because he needed to gather some information, Max because, as she'd stated in an uncharacteristically confident manner, that she refused to be left behind. At the very least, it appeared he and Liz wouldn't be left to fend for themselves.

"We'll stick with you for most of the journey," Quint explained again to them again, "but Max and I are leaving you a few days before you reach the citadel. That way I still have time to work with you," he nodded towards Lamb, "but I won't have any awkward confrontations with the Wardens. Plus, if they knew I was assisting you I expect they'd be a lot faster to mobilise."

Lamb grunted an affirmation. He wasn't happy about having to tackle a fortress all on his own, but he could understand the reasoning behind it. And at least this way, he chuckled inwardly, he wouldn't have to share any of the glory.

"Deverish- the devils' Element- appears to be locked somewhere inside. While we aren't sure for certain where, if I know the Wardens it'll be in the deepest, darkest pit that they can throw him. You're looking at the bottom levels of the dungeons, which means it'll be hell to break into. The one advantage you have is that they won't expect you to attack them in their stronghold- it should be relatively unguarded, and if you don't cause any unnecessary commotion you might not even have to fight.

"After Deverish, you have Elendor of the elves. Again, we don't know where exactly she is, but according to Max she handed herself in peacefully once the Elements were outlawed. It's hard to tell with the elves, but if you're lucky you'll have a much easier time than with Deverish. Although, you'll probably need his backup to get over the border.

"The human and faerie Elements are still a bit of a mystery. There were no references to their current whereabouts in the library, and there'd be no point in you traipsing all over the faerie and human realms on the slight chance that you run into them. So that's where Max and I come in: we're going to go see some old friends, try and get some information on what actually happened to them. All things permitting, we should regroup with you at some point after you've found the first two, and we'll all take the rest together."

Lamb nodded to himself. "An' this citadel- how many Wardens we talkin' 'bout?"

"Probably somewhere around fifty. They only number a few hundred to begin with, and the majority are out looking for you two or keeping the peace with the other realms. That's why we need to move now, while they're off their guard."

"So we cock up, we're screwed. I can't fight half a hundred."

"Right now, you can't even fight one."

Lamb scowled in offense. "I done it before. An' I was half-dead then."

"Actually," Quint said forebodingly, "you haven't. We've been calling him a Warden for the sake of ease, but as it turns out the man you fought was nothing of the sort."

"He wasn't?"

"Hierarchy within the Wardens is based not upon birth, as with human nobility, but strength. At the top you have the Lord Warden. Below him you have the three High Wardens. Then you have the ordinary Wardens, and below them you have the trainees- the Squires. It would appear that the man you fought was a Squire."

Lamb's jaw practically dropped. His eyes blinked, slowly and repeatedly, as he struggled to digest the information. "You mean... that guy I fought... a real Warden'd be even stronger than that?"

"A mere Squire couldn't hold a candle to a real Warden. Just as an ordinary Warden pales in comparison to a High Warden. As for the Lord himself," Quint raised his hands helplessly, "if what people say is true he might even be on the level of an Element."

Lamb sank his head into his hands. "We're dead," he muttered, only half-joking, "we're all bloody dead."

"Which is why I told you you shouldn't attempt to fight them. Once you've rescued the devil, things will become more straightforward, but until then your best bet lies in remaining hidden. It's a shame- with the right training, you might even be nearly as good as a High Warden; but I have neither the time nor the resources to properly spend on you. It will be a little dangerous, but do you object to a fast track while we travel?"

"I told you." Lamb glanced over at Liz, who smiled encouragingly at him. She still had no idea why he'd been so reluctant to go, or what had eventually changed his mind, but she'd been overjoyed to hear of his change of heart- which had in turn lifted his. "My creed. I ain't backin' down."

"Then it's settled," Quint turned away, adjusting the bastard sword he'd sheathed on his hip, "that's the plan. We find the Elements, we beat the Wardens, and then we all go on to save the world. Nothing simpler."

Lamb smiled to himself. He took one last look around- the cottage, the pastures, the rolling hills and the forest in the distance. The place he'd come to call home. The people he'd come to think of as friends. Into the jaws of death? He adjusted his statue, roped over his shoulders like a rucksack. That didn't matter anymore. This time he was going to face down his demons, and he was going to defeat them, and he was going to save the world doing so.

Because I am the light in the darkness.

I am the hammer of justice.