047 – Bump

***

Enkindling my inner fire cursed me with highly acute senses. Under normal circumstances, that would be no trouble, but when riding with two cutesy young people flirting at each other, I wished I could put in a pair of ear plugs. Even when Hwilla and Yurk spoke in hushed whispers, their voices carried a great distance through the forest. The croaking tree toads and singing birds did not sufficiently drown out the couple. Zambulon rode far ahead of us on horseback. The pair of lovebirds did not seem to notice the distress they caused our team leader, although their senses should have been as good as mine.

Deep in the woods, I rode my horse up next to Zambulon.

“Did you hear it?” I asked him.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“About a league.”

“And how many were there?”

“Three scouts. They communicate through bird calls. One of them ran west on foot, probably to alert the main group.”

“They’ll be here soon then. Do you think they’re brigands?”

“No one else lives out here. The local counts don’t control these woods. The brigands probably clear the weeds off the roads themselves in order to lure incautious travelers this way.”

“What can we expect?”

“It depends. The blood thirsty type will attack from ambush with an opening volley of arrows. They’ll try to startle the horses to throw us from the saddle. Then, they’ll rush forward all at once to murder us when our guard is down.”

“And the less thirsty type?”

“Will set up a blockade across the road and close off our retreat. They’ll try to intimidate us into surrendering without a fight. Then, once we lay down our arms, they’ll slit our throats.”

“These brigands sound like wonderful people.”

We did not have to alert the other two disciples as to the situation. We spoke loudly so they would overhear our conversation. Yurk and Hwilla stopped making goo-goo eyes and got ready for action. I patted my horse’s neck, hoping to keep it calm in the event of a loud noise.

A toppled tree lay across a bend in the road, forcing any travelers to halt and clear it away before proceeding. The brigands converged in the woods to either side of the road. I caught glimpses of them hiding in the greenery. These men were dirty and desperate. Only a few were equipped as soldiers, with a few pieces of rusty armor or an old shield, while the rest looked like ragged beggars carrying long knives and bows. They had wild beards and long hair. Living in a permanent camping trip in the woods had transformed these men into half wild creatures.

As Zambulon predicted, the brigands moved across the path behind us to lay out long logs bristling with wooden spikes. These movable blockades discouraged cavalry charges, for riding too close could impale a horse. They enclosed out carriage in a short section of road. Ahead of us, the other half of the gang spilled into the road while a few archers and crossbowmen remained in the woods. The men with projectiles were the most worrying to me.

One man swaggered into the middle of the road, carrying a two handed sword slung over one shoulder. He had an ugly scar across his face and an even uglier smile on his lips. A crest of horsehair rose off the top of his polished steel helmet. Unlike the other brigands, he wore a shiny hauberk of mail and a motley of brightly colored clothing stolen from former victims. This was clearly the brigand’s leader.

The men at the side of the road watched us approach and anxiously glanced to their leader for commands.

“Looks like the less thirsty type,” I muttered.

“Don’t let your guard down,” Zambulon said.

“Ho there, travelers! You have entered the sovereign realm of Belwane the Black Tempest and my valiant knights of the Green Castle,” he declared. ‘Green Castle’ must have been a euphemism for camping in the woods. These men looked like they hadn’t slept under a solid roof in a long time. “I demand a toll of all those who travel the road and a fine against any who dare violate our sacred borders. You shall give up your money or your life!”

“Get ready,” Zambulon said.

“Wait a minute. Let me reason with them.”

“Reason? What? Are you mad?”

“Hold my sword. I’ll chat him up real quick.” I tossed my blade to Zambulon and dismounted my horse. With just my staff in hand, I walked up to the monarch of the brigands.

“Greetings, Lord Belwane. I am a simple traveler on this road, and beg forgiveness for intruding in your domain.” I moved in close to the man. He had a large, imposing frame and was almost as big as Yurk. Standing next to him, I could speak in a quieter voice without his brigands hearing me. “I wish to settle this misunderstanding as quickly and painlessly as possible.”

“To settle with me, you must lay down your arms and possessions. Should you do so, I will mercifully grant you your lives.”

“Unfortunately we cannot part with our weapons. And we require our horses for traveling. So I humbly request a higher degree of mercy.”

“You dare to resist me?” He puffed up his chest.

“Lord Belwane. Your followers might not know it, but you and I are both aware that you are no true swordsman. This is a charade you put on to intimidate travelers and keep your ‘knights’ loyal. Let me explain how I know this fact. For one, a great gash runs across your crooked nose, a scar from some past battle. This tells me you lack a mage’s ability to heal, for their scars fade very quickly.

“Second, you live in very austere circumstances. No swordsman would surround themselves with starving outlaws or live off the copper coins stolen from pilgrims. With real ability, you could command a mercenary company or a pirate crew to make better wages.

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“And third, I know you are not a true swordsman, Belwane the Black Tempest, because I am. And I can feel that your soul has no spark and no fire. You are fraud, an actor playing a role, just as you play at being a king in the forest.”

His muscles bulged and his eyes widened with the realization he had not pulled over sparks or nobleman, but four real swordsmen. The man tensed up and gripped his sword tight.

“Ah ah! No need for that. Wait just a moment now. The thing is that, in this situation, our roles are exactly opposite. You are a fake who wants to pretend to be a swordsman, and we are four swordsmen who would rather stay concealed on our trip. This allows us to make a deal. You can allow us to pass, and we will allow you to stay… alive. It’s better for us not to leave a trail of corpses on the road, and its good for you not to be one of those corpses. We won’t say anything to disillusion your men. Neither of us gains much, but we don’t lose anything either, which makes it a good deal.” I awaited his answer. He had no choice but to accept it.

“Ah, swordsman. You don’t understand us knights of the woods. We are already corpses. From the day we turned outlaw, it has been our fate to die hanged from a tree or spitted on a spear. Every day is our last. Every battle is one without hope. We regret nothing and expect nothing. That’s our honor.” The man raised his sword and shouted, “Attack!”

This display of suicidal idiocy astonished me. But there was no time to be stunned. I spun my staff around for a fight. Another way I could tell Belwane was no swordsman was that he let me get within striking distance. Even my fellow cultists didn’t like to stand next to me when I held a staff in hand. They didn’t fear me especially, but they stayed vigilant of such things out of habit.

The butt end of my staff struck the brigand leader in his elbow, causing him to drop his large sword. I grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward with a move Yurk had demonstrated on me countless times. Belwane served as a shield for three incoming arrows with bodkin tips. The projectiles pierced his mail coat and sank deep into his torso.

I spared no time looking back to my allies, because the shouts of astonishment told me that the disciples had already leapt into battle. They feared our horses getting injured by stray arrows, so they dismounted and charged into the brigands on foot.

The leader’s refusal to cooperate had honestly surprised me, and I didn’t have much of a plan from this point. Bolts and arrows whizzed through the air around me. Standing in the middle of the road alone made me an obvious target. I threw my staff like a spear at one of the nearby men with a crossbow. The lumestone tip struck him hard in the jaw and caused his bolt to fly high into the trees. With no blade of my own, I borrowed the dying leader’s two-handed sword while he coughed up blood.

Brigands with crossbows positioned themselves on the other side of the road blockade, which stood over a meter and a half high. A single step took me to the top of the barrier and a second brought me down on the other side. My fire blazed hot. Athletic feats that would have been impossible for me before, I now accomplished effortlessly. The big chunk of metal in my hands felt light as a willow switch.

Extending my fire up Belwane’s sword took a miserable amount of effort compared to my staff or spiritual blade. But I had no reason to do so against these brigands. The dead piece of metal and sheer muscle power would be enough to crunch through their armor and bones. The men dropped their crossbows and tried to pull out melee weapons but were too slow. They fell dead before they could react.

I took half a moment to glance back on my allies. They had already dispatched the spearmen and rushed into the woods to meet the archers. Zambulon held my sword in one hand and his own sword in the other, which he used to bat away incoming projectiles. He sliced several brigands in half, but didn’t bother calling out the name of his new technique this time. These men wouldn’t live to tell any tales.

“Yurk! Hwilla! Two are fleeing west into the woods. Don’t let them escape.”

“Right.”

“We’ll catch them!”

The two disciples shot into the woods like hunting hounds released from their chains. They disappeared into the greenery, and the brakes and ferns swayed as they passed. Brigands had no chance to escape on foot from two racing swordsmen.

I weaved in between the trees to avoid arrows, darting from one to the the next. In a few moments, I cleared the east side of the road of threats and Zambulon finished off those opposite. He had been right. Normal brigands were nothing to worry about for four swordsmen, even inexperienced ones.

No one was breathing except for Zumbulon, me, and the leader, Belwane the Black Tempest, who had half a dozen arrows in his chest. He wheezed on the ground, unconscious. In a minute his lungs would fill with blood. No birds sang in the woods, the loud ruckus had scared them all away, but the toads croaked and treetops sighed in the wind.

Zambulon wiped my sword clean and handed it back to me. Belwane’s sword had deep scratches across the blade where it passed through iron armor. The scarred blade dripped with blood. I tossed it into the weeds of the ditch.

“I can’t believe he didn’t take my deal. How stupid could a person be?”

“He didn’t believe you. No one expects mercy from outlaws or grants it. Or he thought you bluffed about being a swordsman.”

“What a pointless waste.”

“These men are predators. By killing them, you saved the next travelers on this road.”

“I’d rather not take on the responsibility of being a wolf-hunter.”

Modern society had no resources for imprisoning or rehabilitating criminals. To rid society of dangerous criminals, like these brigands, the ruling class hanged them by the neck until they suffocated or chopped off their heads with an axe. The problem was that criminals, knowing certain death awaited them, refused to surrender. When the punishment for robbing someone on the highway was death, it made sense for a robber to murder all the witnesses as well. The harsh laws actually increased crime.

Yurk and Hwilla returned from the forest. “The brigands ran to a beaten trail. It must lead back to their main camp,” Hwilla said. “Should we follow it there to check for others?”

“No need. Judging by the state of these brigands, they don’t have anything worth taking. As long as we’ve eliminated the witnesses, we can leave the rest,” Zambulon said. “Let’s clear these barricades and get going.”

I dragged the bodies off the road to the ditch. The brigands used old weapons and rusty armor. Their spears and shields wouldn’t do us any good. Trying to sell them would raise questions as to how we got them and draw unwanted attention to us, not good for maintaining our low profile.

“What are you doing now, Strythe?” Zambulon asked.

“Free crossbows.” I threw a couple of the ranged weapons in the coach. The one thing these brigands did have was a large supply of arrows and bolts.

“We don’t need that garbage.”

“You never know. And they’re good for hunting if nothing else. How did you catch those hares the other night?”

“I ran up and grabbed them by the ears.”

“Pfft. That’s a good way to get covered in ticks and burrs. Why not shoot them with an arrow like a respectable person?”

He couldn’t argue with me there. Running through the long grass and grabbing animals was too savage for a proud swordsman like Zambulon. It lacked refinement.

The road cleared of obstructions, human and otherwise, we could continue on our journey. A handful of brigands proved no match for us. If there were no magi in the world, a strong man like Belwane could have been a renowned warrior or even a real king. He could have crushed enemies and lead armies. Instead he was a road bump. Of all the unfair things in the modern era, the sparks of magic were the most extreme example. They lifted some people to a higher level of being and left the rest as mere humans. Sparks divided the world into two distinct classes, magical and mundane. A normal person couldn’t compete with a mage, at least when it came to fighting.

“You’re lucky Belwane wasn’t a real swordsman or that wouldn’t have gone well for you,” Zambulon said as we rode horses side by side.

“That’s true. I only went forward because he was such an obvious fake. I’m surprised you aren’t going to yell at me for doing risky things.”

“It provided a great distraction for the rest of us. If you want to throw yourself into deadly peril and get killed, go ahead. It’s fine by me.”

“I’ll remember you said that…”