Scene Four: Encampment of the Raiders
...Of Act Two: Guardianship
In the eyes of Ryoku Dragontalen, we are in
Harohto Sunset Plain, in the world of Harohto.
It is early evening
On November 7th, 2017.
"Well, here we are."
Will reaffirmed himself with a quick glance at the map, using a small light shimmering in Lusari's palm. He nodded again, whether to confirm to himself or the rest of us that we were in the right place. A red circle on our map marked the spot. Next to it, a larger blue circle embodied our target: the raider camp.
I could already see it through the trees. Logging and clear-cutting marred the hills like old scars, where dark tents sat in their stead. Some clumped quite close together, some even pitched onto one another in a form of chaos only raiders could allow. Even though Mosten confirmed a large part of their forces leaving before sundown, it still looked like hundreds of men swarmed the camp, squatting around campfires with weapons in their lap, or else strutting around like they owned the place. Pikes stuck out of the ground every few feet, bearing black flags that hung listlessly in the windless night. Even as we watched, one flag caught fire, and a few raiders rushed to put out the flame, clambering over one another in their effort.
"Stupid bastards," Sira muttered angrily, but she chuckled nonetheless. "If we left them, they might cook each other alive."
Mosten laughed quietly. "If only."
I shuddered a little, wrapping my cloak tighter around me. A wintery chill started to settle in; I longed for the warmth of the little campfire Will, Sira, and I made back under the protective boughs of the Old Forest the other night. We were here now, though, squatting in the trees and waiting for our signal to attack. Only Sira seemed warm, like the promise of a fight radiated heat from her.
A crow cawed loudly near us, and I jumped a mile. My hand found the hilt of my knife in wariness. Of course, our attempt to try my hand at a sword seemed to end in failure again. I couldn't keep a grip on a weapon much longer than my knife, and so I kept it. Sometimes, the weapon on my hip seemed to offer me some solace. It was one of the first things I learned in the spirit realm, and it sometimes reminded me that this wasn't my place. It made me think of my own world, where I currently sat in bed poring over a book I'd read a hundred times, my mind wholly on my task here. If anyone else thought it odd that I could be present in both worlds at once, they didn't remark. I never let my attention lapse on my task here, though I might space out a little more in my world.
Sira was staring at me, her eyes on my knife I gripped tightly. A Guardian's instinct, maybe. The two of them had seemed much more in-tuned to me since they placed their vows. Sira wordlessly gestured to look ahead.
A ways down the hill, at least two dozen men began to make their way upon the hill, seated upon half-starved ponies, some of them on foot. This was the main scouting force. Mosten suggested we take it out before we enter the camp to ensure we wouldn't have our escape route blocked. Still, we had to do it quickly and efficiently. A stray yell could capture the attention of the camp. We'd wind up cooked for sure in that case.
Will hand-signalled in the air. I thought nobody else would see it, but the resulting sound of quieted footsteps followed. The soldiers around us shifted, crouching in the trees on either side of the path. Will drew his lance as noiselessly as a natural part of the night, and Sira followed suit. I tried to mimic them with my bow, but the bow clipped against its holster, the arrow twanged quietly against my bow. Even those telltale sounds fell dead to the night. Lusari knelt next to me, her staff in hand. There was a determination to her eyes I hadn't predicted.
The sound of hooves drew ever closer, until it finally crested, and the sounds turned flat as they traveled along the path. One of them jeered about some woman he'd had his way with that day, and the rest laughed like owls.
I didn't imagine the reactions of that statement until I felt something ice-cold pass me. A bluish bolt, as silent as wind through the trees, shot past me and struck the speaking raider in the chest. The raider let out a shocked cry, tumbling off his horse in an attempt to knock away the ice forming across his chest.
I turned to Lusari in surprise, but the girl's chin kept stubborn even as a tear or two stained her cheeks.
The raider didn't make another sound. Forced from hiding, Leif leapt from the trees and buried his sword hilt-deep into the raider. He was the first into the clearing, and he straightened, looking the dozen or more raiders in the face, and smirked.
One of them raised his hand and was about to shout, but Sira's mighty Sinistra broke through the man from his shoulder, cleaving him in two seamlessly. Mosten was upon the next man, snapping his neck in his arms. Will vaulted past him with the aid of his lance, and buried the same weapon in the throat of another man about to let out a telltale scream. Alex sprang out of the shadows next to him and grunted with effort as he ran through another man with his longsword. For a moment, Alex looked proud – but then he looked down at his crumpled enemy on the ground, and ghosts appeared on his face. Had Will's young friend ever actually killed before?
Then, in rhythm with our forces, Lusari and I braved the open.
My first arrow kept truer than my last attempt at archery. When the raider fell to the ground, though, I felt my chest whither. The target rolled over on the ground – a dirty, rugged young man hardly older than me, with worn, sparse clothing. Even given his youth, his pockmarked face sported a spotted beard. His lifeless eyes stared up at me with accusations.
I tried to force myself into mental armor. We'd known already that the raiders were a ragged lot, forced to fight and steal for their living. It didn't excuse the lives they took. This man had laughed about a man forcing a woman to his will. They all had. This young man could have attacked Harohto himself already, killing dozens, or could have even held the sword that killed Lusari's father. Either way, he'd taken more lives that he was worth. That number remained the same for all: one. Now I had taken two lives.
The sounds of battle around me sounded like they were upon pillows. Not one raider uttered another noise as the soldiers pursued them, eager to exact judgement upon those who'd killed fellow soldiers, brothers, wives, neighbours and all.
As I saw Leif impale another man on his blade, I wondered about the prospect of death. Though we were in the spirit realm, as I knew it, these spirit-born were able to die. Where did these raiders go beyond? Was there a whole other realm for spirits from here, or were they reborn elsewhere in a form of reincarnation? Would these raiders live a better life, or continue to bloody their weapons? Maybe the cycle would reverse, and the raider Leif just killed might be reborn a toddler in my world. If that was true, I felt it was a fate worse than ultimate death.
I tried to notch another arrow to my bow, but my next target fell victim to Sinistra crashing through the shadows. Will struck a raider on horseback. I thought he was still alive, watching him with my bow until the horse galloped, and the man toppled off like an abandoned puppet. Searching for my next target, I wondered if this was how they thought. A methodical rhythm between kills.
My next target fell victim to Lusari's ice. The older, bearded raider toppled from his horse, ice catching the moonlight like crystals, but he found his way to his feet. As he stood there, icicles thatching across his chest like spider silk being strung before me, I saw how dreadfully thin he was. These weren't thugs like we fought earlier. They weren't men who lived at the bar and ate richly to strengthen their muscles and drink until their bellies swelled. These were poor, starved men, forced to kill to stay alive.
Before I had fully comprehended this new thought, steel burst through his chest from behind. Mosten rolled out of the shadows, yanking his rigid blade from the man's chest with a forceful tug. Blood sprayed from the raider's frozen chest as he succumbed into a block of blood-splattered, jagged ice.
My self-proclaimed armor trickled away as the battle sped by. I loosed an arrow with no target, trying to fight the sick feeling in my chest. By some ill luck, a raider running at Will stepped in the path of the arrow, and it sliced a jagged line down the length of his bare arm. He uttered a gasp of pain, and Leif dove from the cover of darkness, finishing the man with a single strike.
Before I could set after another target, Sira's crimson sword shot through the night like a stray flame, swallowing the next raider. The most experienced fighters like Sira, Will, and Mosten needed no second strike to finish off their target. Their blades were sudden death: instantaneous and hopefully less painful.
I found it within me to shoot a last arrow, landing in the throat of an unsuspecting raider. Lusari finished him off with a burst of icy magic, and that was the last man. The brawl was over, and I was at least partially responsible for three of their demises. Sira, Will, and Mosten had likely taken out most of them. Some of the horses stampeded down the trail, now without a master. My stomach lurched as the trained soldiers took off after even them, and soon they laid down the path with their fallen riders.
"All in a day's work," Sira muttered, dusting off her hands. "What was that, a few dozen? A good chunk of their force. What next?"
"I'd think that's time to drop your weapons."
For a moment, I thought the second voice belonged to one of our soldiers. Then I saw the steel glinting against Sira's throat. She cleared her throat, annoyed, as a man appeared from the shadows behind her, guiding her by a weapon to the throat. I felt cold steel appear at my own neck, and I straightened.
They surrounded us.