***Boots***
Boots rushed through the woods in the darkness. From what he could tell his plan was working. He had successfully divided his opponent's forces.
A grim smile crept onto his face as he ducked between the trees.
From what he could tell they hadn't bothered to mount much of a defence in the hours leading up to his assault. Just a few extra sentries posted out. Boots and Oswald had silently taken the three sentries on the perimeter out in the hour leading up to the attack. Leaving Fiona to hide in the woods, just in sight of the caged carts. Oswald then circled round to the other side of the camp, waiting to rush in and spring his dark zone. They both waited for Boots to cause a distraction in the woods, thereby dividing the defending force. Then the attack would commence.
'Fools.' He thought to himself as he noticed the small cohort of spearmen rushing towards his previous location, playing into his plan.
But now was no time to dawdle, Oswald will not be able to hold his illusion at the campfire for long. Hopefully his distraction was good enough to give Fiona ample time to release some prisoners.
For now, he must focus on the task at hand.
Picking these mutts off one by one.
They couldn't see too well in the darkness, that much was clear. But Boots was certain from the way they were moving, they could smell him.
The spearmen were in a loose diamond formation around the oversized Garv. He stood head and shoulders taller than his men.
Boots counted five.
***Garv***
Garv was breathing heavily. The fight from earlier had definitely punished his ribcage, breathing was difficult. He was quite sure at least two ribs were cracked.
He had his men formed around him as a sort of shield. As the best fighter it made sense to place himself in the best position to respond quickly to ambush.
At least that's what Magar had taught him.
They were right in the vicinity of the area where the tree had fallen. Or so he thought.
There was no sign of that big Felinian.
But he could smell him.
Garv had a good nose and never forgot a scent, this whole area reeked of that hammer wielding psychopath from earlier.
Garv swallowed deeply.
"Slow." he commanded his small troop.
They stopped running and broke into a slow march.
"Keep your senses sharp," Garv warned, almost to himself, "he is close."
The wind was picking up, the gentle sound of rushing air invaded their ears. He could hear distant shouting coming from the camp.
'Had they been deceived?' Garv thought to himself, turning without thinking towards the camp.
A sudden blur followed by a rush of air blew past his cheek.
'CRACK!'
The sickening sound of crumpled metal deafened him as the man beside him was flattened immediately, like a well-driven nail into a plank.
He swung blindly in the direction of his attacker with his axe, striking something solid. Two golden yellow eyes locked with his.
'His eyes glow!' Garv thought, an overwhelming sense of dread filling his body. What kind of monster was this man?
He felt claws at his throat and instinctively pulled back, falling into the dirt.
The man beside Garv screamed in horror at the mangled corpse of his companion.
'CRUMP!'
And then he was gone.
"TOGETHER MEN!!" Garv screamed pulling his men in so they stood back-to-back. He had to regain some control, or all would be lost.
The eyes disappeared into the gloom.
Everything was quiet once more. Nothing to be heard but the distant yells of the camp and the wind rushing between them. The darkness bore down on them, fear and adrenaline made it seem that much thicker. The man beside him was shaking, almost uncontrollably.
Garv didn't blame him.
It had all happened so fast; they had lost two men in the blink of an eye. Garv himself had nearly had his throat torn out!
He gulped again, rubbing his neck..
He franticly searched with his eyes. Every tree, every bush and thicket seemed to hold hammer wielding monsters.
Garv had never truly felt fear like this before.
The sweat on his paws made it difficult to hold his axe, his mouth was as dry as sand. His throat hurt, his ribs hurt, breathing hurt. He wanted to run but fear prevented that too. Gods let it end!
Could he surrender?
Could he retreat?
Plea to the gods?
'Oh, Fenrir please hear my call! Let me survive this! I will be a good boy from now on I swear!' he thought, praying in his head. Deep furrows forming on his brows as if to force more prayer power into his unspoken words.
'CRACK!!'
He felt a huge amount of force hit him from behind as he went flying forwards. The man behind him absorbing most of the impact.
Garv's ears were ringing well before he hit the dirt.
He thought he heard another crack come from behind him, but he wasn't sure. He could feel the warm embrace of unconsciousness falling upon him.
He was laying underneath his fallen comrade; he could feel a wetness seeping down onto him.
Best not to think about what that was.
He saw a pair of yellow eyes staring down at him.
'Ah, this is it.' he thought to himself, closing his eyes.
He felt strangely at peace with it all. He was tired of fighting, tired of taking people away from their families, their lives.
His mother would not be proud of what he'd become. He wasn't proud.
Could death release him from the shame he felt?
He never wanted to be a 'Snatcher'. He was transferred in from the army, and they'd called it the Dangerous Civilian Retrieval Battalion. He thought he was going to be capturing criminals, not commoners. He thought they'd go to prison, not indentured servitude. But one concession led to another, little by little, he became a bad guy.
Even when he'd noticed it had happened. It felt like it was too late to stop. He was in too deep, he-…
Hang on.
Shouldn't he be dead by now?
He slowly opened his eye and chanced a peep at his surroundings.
There were no monstrous yellow eyes in sight.
'THANK YOU MERCIFUL FENRIR!' he screamed in his head, deeply furrowing his brows for maximum Fenrir reaching thanks!
He was alive!
But he had no intention of moving for the time being.
He wanted no part of whatever was going on at the camp right now that was for certain.
'Playing dead it is!' he decided, letting his tongue loll out in his most convincing death pose.
'Bleh.'
***Fiona***
Roman and Simeon jumped out of the cage behind Fiona.
Suddenly the camp lit up once more. Revealing Oswald, who was lying prone beside the campfire.
"Help him!" Fiona said sharply to the pair, "I'll free the others!"
Roman gave a quick smile and a nod before sprinting headlong towards the nearest of the guards by the fire. Who was just getting used to being able to see again.
The smile quickly left his face when he was spear tackled to the ground by about a hundred kilos of Roman!
Simeon followed suit, jumping onto another guards back and sinking his teeth into the mans neck. The guard screamed in agony trying to shake him off!
Oswald was no slouch and quickly jumped to his feet, drawing his dagger, charging at the third guard.
Screams rang out from the woods in all directions as Fiona rushed to the next cage to bash the lock free.
"Stand back from the door!" she yelled as she hefted the axe down on the lock. Busting the second cage open.
It was packed full of villagers; they were all tied to the bars of the cage though. Looking at her with hope in their eyes.
'Gods I don't have a knife!' Fiona thought to herself.
"Just hold still, I'll free a couple of you and then you can help each other."
The villagers all started murmuring their thanks and gratitude, as Fiona tried desperately to cut some of the rope with the blunt axe.
Suddenly there was a sharp intake of breath amongst the villagers.
"Miss Fiona!" one of the children yelled, causing Fiona to look up.
They were all looking behind her.
She turned around quickly and locked eyes with Magar!
She readied her axe!
What horrible timing!
He was only about ten metres from her. She quickly glanced at the campfire. Her brother and his friend seemed to be winning. Oswald was successfully holding his opponent at bay. But none of them were free to help her.
'Frogs!' she thought to herself, trying to steel her nerves.
The axe was shaking in her hands.
But Magar hadn't moved, he just stood there, taking in the scene. Sword in hand, eye darting around desperately.
Then he looked at her.
Fiona swallowed, hard.
Magar started closing the distance fast!
It seems he had decided stopping her was the priority.
'Lucky me!' Fiona thought sardonically.
All she had to do was hold him off, he was injured, he only had one eye, Roman is going to win soon and come help!
She took a deep breath and prepared to defend herself.
'TWANG!' Magar slapped the axe forcibly from her hands with his sword as though it was being held by a child. He lent in close and pressed the edge of his blade against her neck. Forcing her up against the cage. His face a bitter snarl.
Fiona yelped in shock!
She grabbed his hand and jabbed her thumb into his eye with her free paw!
Magar reeled back in agony, tripping and falling over. Fiona on top of him.
She wasn't done yet!
She twisted his sword arm round and bit him hard on the paw. Trying to put as much weight as she could on his bad arm.
Magar howled in agony!
The cheers from the cage spurred her on!
"Go on Fiona!"
"Get him!"
"You can do it!"
Magar twisted and rolled dropping his sword. He threw all his body weight into her and managed to wrestle free and scramble to his feet. Backing away instinctively. A small trickle of blood oozed from his one eye.
They stood there facing off against one another for a moment.
Magar's attention was divided, he kept shooting glances towards the fire to see how the fight fared.
Fiona chanced a look herself.
Roman had emerged victorious and was now helping Oswald. Simeon lay on top of his opponent, repeatedly punching him in the back of the head. They were moments from victory.
A huge crack came from the forest, followed shortly by another.
"Sounds like he's on his way!" Fiona said menacingly.
"Who?" Magar snapped.
"Who do you think dog brain?" she snapped back.
Magar was starting to look rather worried.
A smile crept onto Fiona's face.
"You're running out of time." Fiona said contemptuously, glaring at him. "He's a monstrously fast runner you know."
Fiona's eyes narrowed into a glare, she just had to stall him, a little bit longer.
Magar's bitter eye locked with hers briefly, before darting to the sword that lay on the ground between them.
***Boots***
Boots darted through the woods, towards the sounds of battle.
Had he been fast enough?
Was everyone ok?
He could see the ambient firelight in the distance. Oswald's spell had clearly worn off. Not a good sign.
He could hear the sounds of battle.
His heartbeat thundered in his head.
He was worried.
Had he sent those two to their deaths?
Oswald had his magic at least, but Fiona?
She was definitely in the most danger.
He swore if they made it out of this he'd never send her needlessly into danger again.
The edge of the camp drew near.
He had to find her quickly.
"FIONA!" Boots yelled, as loud as he could, his voice booming across the camp.
"Here!" a reply came from the rear of a caged cart, next to a tent. Boots immediately headed straight for it, sprinting round the edge of the camp.
"Fiona!" he said, rounding the corner of the cart, coming face to face with her.
"Boots! Help! He-…" Fiona pointed behind her.
Boots looked over her head, bringing his hammer into stance and searching for her assailant. But Fiona was pointing at empty space, there was nobody stood behind her.
Boots looked at Fiona, confusion on his face.
"Guess he ran out of time." she said with a relieved smile.