His heart pounded wildly. “Run!” Carter shouted, his screeching voice cutting through the near silence which ran through the camp. “Get up, you bastards!”
“Carter, why are you shouting like a damn dog?” Mattias asked, emerging from his tent. A rain of red splattered across him as Carter’s torso, from his left hip to his right pec up, dropped down between his boots.
Mattias drew his sword swiftly, his body reacting before his mind could process what had happened, catching the greataxe with his glowing white longsword. His arms felt like glass shattering, his boots digging into the earth beneath. “What? What is an Iyrman doing here?”
“You must be Mattias the Moonblade,” Kandal said, his lips formed a savage smile. “I am Kandal, son of Randal!” The behemoth of an Iyrman did not pull his greataxe back to wind up for another blow, but instead forced it harsher against the blade.
“To arms!” Mattias shouted, sliding back from the force of the Iyrman’s push. “To arms, you bastards!”
The other bandits had heard Carter’s screams and had already grabbed their weapons, emerging from their tents, tossing away their playing cards, tossing aside their drinks. A few of them had been out, working the fire, before they saw Kandal cut an adult man in half right before them. They tentatively reached for their weapons, glancing between one another to see if the others were willing to fight.
“It’s just one Iyrman! Quickly!” Mattias slid back further, slowly being forced towards the cave wall. Mattias wore a breast plate, with bits of pieces of armour which covered the rest of his body, yet he didn’t feel as though it would be good enough to deal with this son of Randal. ‘Gods, damn whoever fed this bastard!’
Mattias grunted, leaping up to drop kick Kandal, who hadn’t expected such a manoeuvre. Moonblade took the moment of surprise to roll away and create some space, hopping onto his feet once again as he grabbed his blade with both hands.
Another bandit swiped at the Iyrman with their greataxe, which was made of some kind of dark steel, but Kandal swayed aside, punching the bandit’s face, before grabbing the handle of his own greataxe with both hands again. “More!”
The Iyrman leapt towards Mattias, who stepped in to crash against the handle of the large weapon, pinning his arm guard against the bottom of the curved blade of the greataxe. He slashed at Kandal weakly, unable to gather the momentum, but still cutting into the Iyrman’s skin. It drew blood, though it barely made the Iyrman bloodier considering how much blood he was already painted in.
Kandal roared with laughter, causing Mattias to look up at his howling face. “More!” Kandal roared, wanting to be soaked in blood before he slew them all.
‘I told you, Balrog, I told you! No good comes from being near these fucking savages! Why didn’t you listen?’ Mattias’ heart pounded wildly, instilled with fear of the Iyrmen.
Another bandit took the chance to leap onto the back of the laughing Iyrman, shortsword in hand ready to stab, but he jabbed downwards to block a greatsword meant to remove his legs from the knees down.
“Sorry I’m late, Eshva was trying to pass me.” Dargon grinned wide, glancing between the bandits with his greatsword in hand.
Eshva wailed like a banshee, darting out of the trees with her trusty warhammers in hand. Her eyes noted two prey, an equal distance between the head of her warhammers and their skulls, but they were on opposite sides from one another.
Moonblade retreated back to his companions, the seven bandits forming a semicircle. “We need to hold them off for…” Moonblade fell silent. ‘They followed Carter all the way here? Did they…’
“I don’t think we’re going to be getting any support,” the bandit with the shortswords said. His arms were throbbing, as though he had been pushing a cart the entire day. ‘So these are Iyrmen.’ He swallowed. “I regret calling you Moonbitch now.”
Moonblade sighed, glancing between the three Iyrmen. Three Iyrmen against seven of them. “We have no qualms with you, Iyrmen.” He could hold Kandal for a moment and allow three to pile on each one.
“No!” Eshva roared, stepping forward. “No! Fight!” She snarled before leaping towards two bandits, flailing her warhammers. “Fight!”
“Moonblade’s yours,” Dargon said to Kandal, winding his greatsword back over his shoulder as he leapt forward, using his entire strength to try and cleave the bandits in half.
“Stop!” Argon shouted, emerging from the bushes. He had followed the trail of heavy footprints, and the blood which had been dripping out from Kandal most of the way.
Eshva stopped her warhammer from caving in a bandit’s chest completely, his mail already dented from the first blow she had managed to land right before Argon had saved him.
Dargon stopped, feeling his hamstrings scream at him as his blade stopped, cutting into the leather of the bandit’s armour, the shortswords shaking violently from failing to block the blow.
The bandit dropped his shortswords and fell on his ass, panting for air as his arms grew numb with pain. “Fuck!” he cried, laying on his back. “Sozain take you!”
Kandal had clashed with Moonblade’s Moon Blade, which was still glowing, illuminating all the blood against his body. He stepped away calmly, as though he hadn’t just tried to split a grown man in half. “Will you take this honour from me?” Kandal asked, gripping his greataxe tighter.
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“When have I denied you your honour?” Argon asked, not in the mood to joke. He stepped into the clearing proper, glancing between all the tents, the fire pit, which still had some glowing wood, and the cave. He narrowed his eyes at the cave, before his eyes fell to the man in the breastplate with the glowing sword. “Moonblade.”
“I’ve never had the pleasure to meet you,” Mattias said, trying to force some command into his voice. He gripped his sword even tighter, fearing he may drop it because his arms felt like porridge. “What do I owe the honour?”
Argon stepped closer, his eyes scanning the clearing some more. There were enough tents for ten people at most, which meant that some of them slept in the cave. There were enough clay bowls for more than just fourteen bandits, though.
“How many children do you have?” Argon asked, his eyes returning back to Mattias’.
Mattias’ eyes flashed wide with surprise. ‘What?’ He swallowed, glancing between the Iyrmen, noting all the blood on them, and their state of wild disarray. “Where’s Balrog?”
“I cleaved my sword through his shoulder,” Argon said, taking a step closer. “Would you like to see?” The Iyrman reached up towards the handle of his flat greatsword, feeling the bandages against his rough skin.
“No,” Mattias admitted. “I really wouldn’t. We have six children.” The man sighed, knowing that the chance for trying to fight the Iyrmen had passed. Ronny was down and out, his hands more than likely unable to grab his shortswords, and the others would stab him in order to please the savages.
Argon closed his eyes, inhaled, and tilted his head back. He heard the breeze of the forest, the swaying of branches, the laboured breath of the bandit and the practised breaths of the Iyrmen. He was two paces and a leap away from Mattias. There were three bandits with mail, two with leathers and cloth, one with leathers and cloth, with mail underneath and some plates against his forearms and shins, as well as Mattias, who had his breastplate and a few plates. There was a greataxe, an axe, two spears, a pair of shortswords, one mundane sword, and a magical sword which matched one of their weapons.
Kandal could kill the man with the greataxe, but he’d go for Mattias. He’d need to hide behind Kandal’s body before his greataxe cleaved through a man with the leather, and Eshva would managed to deal with two in their mail, and Dargon…
After a second in thought, he looked down towards Mattias. “Show me.”
Mattias glanced between the Iyrmen, seeing how Kandal and Eshva were bloody, and yet so eager to continue their fight. ‘I should delay a fight as much as I can. That way one would be weaker, and the other would be less eager.’ He sheathed his sword, before he turned and motioned to the cave.
Argon followed Mattias into the cave, and the other bandits glanced between one another and then sized up the Iyrmen. They outnumbered the Iyrmen two to one, and if they were to fight, they would be able to defend using a body, and attack using the other.
“Hoooo!” Ronny groaned, trying to form a fist, but he winced and gasped in pain.
The Iyrmen gently swayed their weapons, stretching out their muscles, keeping them warm.
“How do you always manage to get so bloody?” Dargon asked. “Every time we go out, you always have to buy another set of furs.”
“What’s the fun in dying a bloodless death?” Kandal asked. “If a mage blasts me to bits, then at least they’ll find dried blood over me.”
“Half of it is your own.” Dargon shook his head. “It’d be embarrassing.”
“My daughters will know I did not cower from cool steel!” Kandal howled with laughter.
“Too much talking!” Eshva snarled, revealing a rare three word sentence. Her brow pulsed. She liked Kandal when he didn’t fight because he was quiet, and when he did fight because he enjoyed spilling blood as much as she loved crushing bones, but she disliked how the blood warmed his vocal chords.
The bandits stared at the Iyrmen, wondering how many of them would survive if they all turned tail.
The cave was lit by the light from outside, opening up into a room which was roughly twenty steps long and fifteen steps wide. There were six children, each tied up by manacles at their ankles, with chains connected between each of them. The chains would allow them to move roughly three steps between one another before it was pulled taut.
An elf pulled back towards the corner, hiding behind the large human boy in front of her, who stared up at the Iyrman in utter shock and fear, before he noted the tattoos.
“I-Iyrman?” the boy gasped.
The other humans, each boys, stared up at the Iyrmen, their eyes full of shock, before it was replaced by hope. “I-it’s an Iyrman!” The boys knew the tale of the Iyrmen, they had grown up on them. Of course, they were also a savage people, but they had been taught one thing.
If an Iyrman fights for you, you’ll be safe.
Though the stories had changed recently, they still recalled how powerful the Iyrmen were. Their eyes beamed up towards Argon.
The dwarven girl, who was tied at the other end, so she was far enough away from the elf, stared up at him. “Are ya here ta save us?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“This is no business of yours, Iyrman,” Mattias said, swallowing as stealthily as he could, his hand around the handle of his blade. “I’ve sated your curiosity, so we can leave it here.”
Argon stared at the six children. He inhaled deeply, his entire muscles tensing, causing Mattias’ fingers twitched, before he relaxed again. He felt the heat build within him, and he slowly turned his head to stare at Mattias.
Argon remained silent, just staring at Mattias. Mattias remained standing as tall as he could, catching the Iyrman’s glare with his own. He was still mostly fresh, in comparison to Argon, who had been in a fight with his leader, and had run so far to the cave. If push came to shove, he’d take the children hostage.
Yet, as he thought about what he could do, the several ways he could live, no strength poured into his arm which was poised to draw his blade to cut the Iyrman down. His entire body had grown heavy by the pressure the Iyrman was exuding, seeing how the man’s brow was twitching. The pressure filled the entire room, deafening the silence.
It was hours later when they returned to the village. Adam stood at the gate, seeing the Iyrmen emerge. First came Kandal with his chest high, who was allowed to lead the procession, followed by Moonblade, whose arms were tied in front of him, the rope trailing back towards the second prisoner. Since he had been denied the Right of Kill, he had been rewarded the Right of Lead.
Argon hadn’t wanted to hear Kandal complain all the way back, so gave up the right to his companion, even though it was his as the leader of the group. He trailed behind the last prisoner, leading the second procession.
Eshva sulked beside him, but she stood tall, in order to be a good role model to the pair of girls who stuck close to her. The dwarf noted how the warhammers were of fine make, and the elf understood that Eshva would bask her in blood for the various rituals she would need.
“That’s no Knight, that’s an Iyrman!” Dargon fell into hysteric laughter at the punchline of his joke, almost crying.
The boys laughed too, one of them even slapping his knee. Two of them didn’t get the joke, but they laughed anyway.
“He’s no Knight!” the large boy said, trying to not cry.
“He’s an Iyrman!” another said, before falling into a fit of weeping giggles. “An Iyrman!”
“There he stood, a strong silhouette, like a statue cut by the hands of Chief Iromin,” Adam said, rubbing his chin.
“What?” Tazwyn threw a look towards him, furrowing her brows.
“Oh, nothing.” Adam smirked. “I’m just trying to help you figure out how to speak of my manliness.”