Barristan knew he would be blind before the hit even landed. He prayed it would kill him, finally putting an end to his torment. But as he felt the blood rush down his face, he knew he wouldn't be so lucky this time. There were at least a few more seconds of pained existence destined for him. He cried out in rage, swinging madly in the direction of the woodsman that had just taken his good eye. He felt the impact as much as he heard it. The familiar crunch of bone and organ under the weight of his mace.

He thought he killed the creature. Then something hard hit his side, knocking him off his feet. His wild, falling strike hit nothing. His weapon, slick with the blood and sinew of all he’d killed today, went flying from his grip.

For a moment, he felt like cheering. Death would certainly come now. The pain overpowered the relief, making him wail like an injured babe instead. His back flat on the ground, his shield out of position, only the thinnest metal of his breastplate covering his organs. He couldn’t even see what his killer was, if it was that damned woodsman or something else that had flanked him. He just knew in a moment, it would be on him. All it had to do was decide: his face, or his heart.

A shot deafened him, then something landed on his chest. Not the sharp bite of a bullet, or even the hard impact of a club, but the dull thud of dead weight. He felt the hot spray of gore on his face and gagged. On panicked instinct, he threw the corpse aside.

Barristan vomited on the ground. Or the corpse or his shield or the feet of one of his companions. He couldn’t know, nor did he care.

“Bloody crazy bastard!” he heard shouted at him. A pair of thin, strong hands gripped him at the shoulders and hoisted him up onto his feet. “Fucking heavy too!”

Another voice was nearby, on Barristan’s opposite side. “Such a strange way of thanking your friends. Especially one who just surrendered his only eye to save your worthless hide, hehehe.”

“Silence, clown,” spoke the final adventurer of the party. Their hands grabbed Barristan’s chin and angled his face for inspection.

The old soldier felt the half rotted mitts of the fallen acolyte and gagged again. He barely tolerated the flagellant being near him, let alone touching him. There was no way whatever sickness he carried would be any good for the wound. He did not relish the idea of dying sick on the side of the road, his wound rotting from the inside out. The mere thought made him vomit in his mouth again.

“It’s gone. You’ll live, but this eye is just as worthless as the one beneath your patch now,” Damien said. “I imagine it hurts quite a lot.”

“Stubborn, suicidal bastard,” Dismas grumbled. The thief, still reeking of used gunpowder, put his shoulder under Barristan’s. “I was out of the way, you realize that, right? You didn’t have to jump in front of me and take that hit.”

The clown started chuckling again, not that he often stopped. Sarmenti was even thinner than Dismas, evidenced by how much he struggled getting half of the old soldier’s weight on his shoulders. “Naww. He’s so used to being a lone wolf, he doesn’t know how to react when someone does something nice for him. It would be cute if it wasn’t so sad.”

There was a loud thump as someone struck Sarmenti. The clown just laughed.

Barristan was about to say something in his defense when the sound of combat started again. The cracking whip of the flagellant was the first he heard, then another loud pistol shot took his hearing for a moment. He felt the clown disappear from under his shoulder and, beneath the ringing in his ears, heard a cacophony of lute sounds and slashing.

“Prop yourself up, damn it! I can’t aim and hold your heavy ass at the same time!” Dismas shouted before firing another shot.

“Then just leave me to die!” Barristan grumbled. “We all knew this cursed mission would be a one way trip. Why not let my ticket expire sooner than yours?”

“Oh, shut up! Before I smack you too!”

Barristan felt the near miss of an attack meant for his head, likely a blade. For a moment, he accepted that the second strike would find its mark and kill him. Then there was the sound of metal on metal. Dismas was quick, able to get out from under the old soldier in a flash and block the strike before Barristan even had the chance to stumble. Another point blank shot caused a scream that was quickly cut off. Whatever it was that Dismas just killed, it had quit being human some time ago.

“Now quit your grumbling and follow me!”

Hands grabbed Barristan’s collar and dragged him as the combat around only grew louder. As did the laughter. Damian and Sarmenti both were cackling like the madmen they were, reveling in the bloodshed and the chaos and the pain around them. Each of them found their own pleasure in it, their own euphoria brought from what would be described as Hell by most sane men. But these two lived for it. Honestly, they scared Barristan more than the idea of being blind the rest of his life.

The soldier stumbled as he was led back to the stage coach, before being roughly pushed into it. He fell hard into the wooden steps, but found the door. More on instinct than thought, he grasped the door handle and pulled himself in as another flurry of shots and stabs cut something near him.

“Stay. Don’t die.” That was all Dismas said before he shut the door, locking the man-at-arms in with his thoughts.

Inside, Barristan was left to come to terms with his… situation, one could call it. He was now blind. That was something he accepted with surprising ease. He had already lost the one eye, why not lose another. What he hadn’t expected was for the loss of his sight to not come with a proper death for the rest of him. And not just as a practical matter, the difference between a strike to the eye and to the brain being only a matter of inches.

No, what ate at his mind more was the others. Comradery between soldiers was a fairytale, stories told by authors and dreamers without living the harsh reality of combat. His years as a commander and a mercenary proved that time and time again. He could count on one hand the amount of times that friendship mattered on the field of battle, and even fewer that both parties survived because of it.

And yet, here he was. He’d made a selfless, poorly thought decision to give his life for a thief he was fighting alongside. It had cost him his eye. And that same thief was now in a melee with monsters to protect his blind partner. Even the clown and the fallen saint were doing so in a less direct manner. They were the exception to the rule. That… Did it bother him? Did he hate them for denying him the death that he craved? Did their uniqueness eat at him? Did they inspire him? Did he find himself loving them like brothers in arms, something he swore would never actually happen? Or some strange combination of them all?

Barristan was still debating when silence finally settled over the wagon. He dared not move from where he sat, not without help. A moment later, the other three climbed into their transport, all panting and chuckling under their breath.

“You did save my life out there… in the dumbest way imaginable,” Dismas said as he sat down beside Barristan, patting the old soldier on the shoulder.

“Oh, you should’ve seen it, it was glorious!” Sarmenti added, clapping rapidly. “And not just because you should still have one good eye. I mean, that’s part of it, but-”

“Truly, do you ever shut up?” Damien asked with a sigh.

“Nope!”

“Anyway…” Dismas said. “You left your mace out there. Here.”

There was a heavy thud as the thief set it in its owners lap. Barristan grunted under the sudden weight.

“I tripped over it. It had sank into the mud, I didn’t see it until it was too late. And, as luck

would have it, I fell right under an axe aimed for my head. So congratulations. You saved my life with your suicidal plan.”

Barristan thought long and hard how to respond to that. In his head, he still debated how he felt about his own actions to protect Dismas. Not only that, how he felt about the thief’s efforts to save his life in return… finally, he nodded.

“Just as I had planned from the beginning,” he said with a smile.

“And people say I’m the funny one!” Sarmenti chuckled, patting Barristan’s shoulder. “At least my jokes are believable.”

“And yet, they’re still not funny,” Dismas responded. “Come on. The inn is close. Let’s get that eye checked out.”