Glade carefully surveyed the collection of bandits laid out before him from the safety of the forest’s shadows. He and his group of rag tag fighters had been lucky enough to stumble across the raiders staging point while on their way to the Aldorn estate.
Glancing to his left, Glade amended his previous assessment as he made out the nearly invisible outlines of the hunter couple, Jenna and Rorick. Luck had nothing to do with it. Jenna, a woman whose husband constantly boasted had the eyes of a night hawk, had been the one to spot the bandit’s torches through the trees in the dying light. From there, they simply followed her lead until they were on the edge of the forest overlooking a rag tag group of half-starved bandits milling about in a shallow depression.
Over the last several minutes they had watched carefully as other bandits led what he assumed were stolen horses out of the tree line from the direction of the manor. He had especially kept an eye on the three lookouts. Those would be the first to go.
Glade allowed a hint of excitement to bleed from Ember into his thoughts. He wasn’t facing something straight out of a story book like giant telepathic spiders or ice spitting lizards. No, this was the normal, run of the mill undisciplined group of thugs. Something he had dealt with more times than he cared to count. He was confident that his hastily gathered town militia could dispatch these idiots with ease. So long as they followed his directions that is.
He wasn’t worried about Jenna or Rorick. Both were specialized hunters and had proven their worth in locating the bandits in the first place. He was looking forward to seeing their archery skills on full display. No, what he was worried about were the others.
He had personally placed the others in covered positions behind trees or lying in the tall grass, each waiting for his signal to attack. The plan was simple. After he dispatched the lookouts, the hunters would sow confusion by picking off any bandit on horseback. The fisherman with harpoons would form a loose line to protect the archers while the smith and girl with long knives would provide support should any bandits try and attack them straight on. He and Toran, the young guard, would stay on the flanks and dispatch anyone who made themselves a target.
It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it held the least amount of risk for the inexperienced fighters. Besides, their job wasn’t to eliminate the bandits. But if they could disperse their base of support, that should alleviate pressure on the Aldorna forces at the estate.
All he needed was a good enough distraction to kick things off…
Glade turned his gaze to the largest of the bandits, a level 12 half-orc according to his aura sense. The brute rode atop his personal mount with all the subtly of a brewing storm, cursing loudly at everyone within ear shot.
Considering the temperament of the man in charge, Glade didn’t think he would have to wait long for a distraction to present itself.
“Move faster you pink skinned dogs!” the half-orc roared for what Glade thought was the third or fourth time, the man’s tusk like teeth protruding from his lower jaw causing him to slur his speech. “And where’s the blasted horse lord!? He should have been the first one you worthless pig skins pinched!”
“Hal has ‘im boss!” a bandit who had just broken through the trees with a pair of magnificent horses in tow yelled. Glade couldn’t help but appreciate the thoroughbreds, one a pure black with a white star on its face and the other deep chestnut. The bandits had made out with 11 of the Patriarch’s horse stock already. “They’re right behind me, though the beasty won’t move faster than a plod. And the size of ‘im! Not a hair under 22 hands tall I tell ya!”
The lookout closest to him turned around at the announcement, standing on his tip toes to try and catch a glimpse behind the newcomers.
That was a good enough distraction for him.
Glade ghosted out from behind the tree wearing a black cloak he had borrowed from the smith, the noise of stamping hooves and raucous men covering his approach.
“Finally, some good news,” the half-orc barked, standing up in his stirrups to peer into the dark forest as if he could see the horse lord approaching. “Where is Grunt anyways? He should have disposed of that pathetic body mage by now.”
Glade sprung from the darkness behind his target, clamping a hand over the man’s mouth and nose with his left while sliding his temporarily enchanted combat knife of sharpness into the side of the unsuspecting man’s neck with his right, severing vocal cords and arteries alike. With practiced movements, Glade vanished back into the shadows with the dying man without a sound.
No one amongst the group of bandits noticed.
“Grunt was still fighting the bloody Bailiff when I left,” another man called from further in the forest, his voice strained as he dragged a slow moving monster of a horse into the torch light. “But mark me, we’ll have some company soon. Another mage came outta nowhere and broke the line like dry leaves in a windstorm! Half a dozen guards and the blasted mage will be on us in five, maybe ten minutes tops!”
Glade took a moment to glance at the new arrivals as he darted along the outskirts of the torch light, his next target already identified. He dismissed the newly arrived bandit out of hand, his attention focused for the briefest of moments on the most magnificent horse he had ever seen. It was a roan, equal parts silvery white and charcoal hairs along its coat, its mane and tail the color of pure moonlight.
“They’re on their own then,” the half-orc growled as Glade moved in behind his second target, silencing the only crossbow wielder of the group and dragging him down into the tall grass.
The leader of the bandits pushed his own horse forward, yanking the Gen’Sheld’s lead out of the newly arrived bandit’s hand.
“New plan!” the half-orc roared, wrapping the horse lord’s lead tightly around his hand. “An extra silver per horse for those who can get ‘em to camp! The rest of you, get back however you can!”
Stunned silence settled over the area before the group erupted in anger. It didn’t take a genius to see what was happening. The leader was abandoning his crew to save his own skin. Glade had seen it before. It was every man for himself when money and their lives were on the table.
In seconds, the rag tag group of bandits turned on each other. Those unlucky enough to have planned ahead by grabbing lead ropes of their stolen horses were tackled by their peers while those already on horseback bowled over their competition. Even the last lookout Glade was creeping up on charged into the pandemonium.
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The half-orc leader ignored his men’s cries of dissent. Instead, he whirled his horse around and kicked it into a gallop, yanking on the lead rope to force the Gen’Sheld to follow.
The horse lord didn’t so much as budge.
In a mind boggling turn of events, Glade watched in awe as the half-orc was pulled from his saddle, slamming into the ground.
Not one to miss out on an opportunity, Glade connected his mind to Rorick.
“Now!” he projected, rushing back to the previous sentry he had dispatched to pick up the discarded crossbow.
“Charge!!!” Rorick yelled, loosing an arrow from his bow. Both he and Jenna targeted those on horseback, arrows sprouting from their chosen targets’ bodies.
“Long live the Patriarch!” Toran cried aloud, the others of the Aldorna militia roaring alongside him.
The bandits did the only thing they could do in a situation like that. They panicked.
“They’re coming from the south!” one of the remaining men on horseback yelled, pointing in the direction the arrows had come from. Glade decided to use the crossbow on him.
The man cried out as a quarrel slammed into his back, throwing him to the ground amidst the churn of horses and bandits.
“We’re surrounded!” Someone else yelled, causing even more panic.
Glade took the briefest of moments to appreciate the scene of chaos before him. Bandits ran screaming into the night, horses trampled and bucked, and the hunters were taking down their targets left and right with pinpoint accuracy.
Not a single bandit tried to attack the militia.
“I love it when a plan comes together,” he smiled. Now all he needed was a cigar.
A roar erupted from the middle of the chaos, the half-orc bandit pulling himself to his feet. He head butted a fellow bandit who had foolishly tried to take the lead rope from him, then smashed his ham sized fist into another man’s face.
All the while, the horse lord looked on, refusing to move a muscle. If Glade didn’t know any better, he would say the horse looked… tired.
The leader turned on the horse lord, screaming in rage as he swung a fist into the horse’s face.
The magnificent animal stumbled slightly from the blow.
“That’s enough of that,” Glade muttered, triggering his psychic attack.
You have attacked an Enraged Half-Orc with a weak psychic attack. Due to the targets natural Enrage ability, all metaphysical damage from the weak attack is negated.
Glade blinked at the prompt. No one had ever countered his psychic attack before. Until now.
“Looks like I’m doing this the hard way,” he muttered, pulling his other knife before charging into the fray. There had been the briefest of moments where the thought to leave the Gen’Sheld to its fate crossed his mind. But it had been brief. If saving the horse lord was that important to Riya, it was important to him.
Besides, he needed the exercise.
Glade moved through the panicked bandits like a whirlwind, spinning and slashing tendons, arteries, and whatever critical points were exposed. He had trained in knife fighting back on Earth, but then he had been simply proficient. Now, with his enhanced dexterity and strength, he was able to take his skills and turn them into a true form of art.
“You will come with me!” the bandit leader roared, both fists raised ready to pummel the horse lord.
The Gen’Sheld stared back with dark, uncaring eyes.
Glade slipped in behind the enraged half-orc, slashing both enchanted daggers across the man’s hamstrings, the metal of the blades cutting through both leather and muscle with ease.
The bandit leader collapsed, his guttural roar rising in octave as he thrashed around.
“Every man for himself!” another of the men cried out before an arrow lodged in his throat.
Glade stepped past the squirming bandit leader and took up the Gen’Sheld’s lead. On a whim, he connected their minds.
“How about we get out of here?” Glade sent, doing his best to project an aura of calm.
“If we must,” came the unexpected response.
----------------------------------------
Glade walked beside the horse lord, picking his way through a well trampled path back toward the Aldorn estate. The fight had been short and brief. Some of the bandits had gotten away, but his intent had never been to capture or kill them all. Just to disperse the threat. But given how everything had turned out, he was surprised that any had gotten away.
The chaos the bandit leader himself had created by trying to abscond with the Gen’Sheld had made their jobs easy. What was even more impressive was the fact that every horse, whether they were the Patriarch’s or the bandit’s, followed quietly behind them in a single file line behind the horse lord.
It made Glade wonder exactly how much influence the Gen’Sheld had over the herd.
The bandit leader was thrown over the saddle of his own horse bound and gagged. Glade had applied tourniquets to the man’s legs, though he supposed the half-orc wasn’t going to be alive for much longer. They had met up with more guards, who had quickly taken over the prisoners and were now escorting them back to the estate at the front of the line. They even let some of the militia help.
“So, you still won’t tell me your name?” Glade asked the horse lord, though his mind was only half paying attention. Those fishermen were prodding the backs of the mobile prisoners rather contemptuously with their harpoons. He idly wondered if the other guards would step in to stop them.
“It is not that I won’t,” the horse lord projected morosely back to him. “It is because I cannot.”
“Why is that?” Glade asked, giving his full attention to the magnificent animal.
There was a long pause as both horse and man walked through the forest.
“When my bonded was…” the horse faltered, a wave of immense sadness radiating from the telepathic link, “… lost. My name, my very reason for being, became irrelevant. I fought on because that is what my bonded would have wished. But… I am tired. So very tired.”
Glade patted the horse lord’s neck.
“It is a true pleasure to meet you,” Glade replied back. “One of our companions is of the banished elves. She has spoken of your herd to us many times and what you mean to her people. Though, you should know that no one knows who she really is, or else there would be trouble.”
The horse lord snorted.
“A wise precaution. The outside world is ignorant of the honor our life bonds strive for. Always hunting us, they are. Who is it that travels with you?”
Glade hid a smile. This was the first time since he had linked minds with the horse lord that it had shown any other emotion other than crushed apathy.
“Her name is Riya, of house Loshere,” he sent, looking to see if the name held any meaning.
The horse stopped, swinging its head slowly around to look directly into Glade’s eyes.
“You speak truth?” the horse lord replied with genuine surprise.
“Yes. We have traveled with her a great distance. Our intent is to return her to her people…”
“Take me to her,” the horse lord interrupted, his apathetic demeanor instantly changing into one of profound intensity.
The horse’s pace changed from barely a walk to a canter.
“Out of the way!” Glade shouted, the horse bounding past both guards and prisoners alike.
Not seeing any reason to wait, Glade ran after him.
“What’s happening?” one of the fisherman called after him.
“I’d like to know that myself!” cried Toran, the young guard.
“The Gen’Sheld wants to meet with one of the elves!” Glade shot back, not bothering to share anything further.
Glade raced after the horse, Ember’s excitement bubbling over at the upcoming reunion.
After several minutes of hard running Glade broke through the tree line. He took in the stables, the mansion, the burning fires, and the crowd of people being healed by Riya. Even Kedryn was there, though he looked to be barely standing.
Everyone but Riya turned toward the horse lord as it walked up behind her.
Glade broke into a run, not wanting to miss whatever came next.
As he approached, he watched as Kedryn gently touched Riya’s arm, probably letting her know that the horse lord was there.
The elf girl spun around, her face filled with hope…
“Little one,” Glade heard the Gen’Sheld project in a gentle voice as it bowed his head in sorrow, though he wasn’t certain if Riya could hear it. “I am so, so sorry.”
A cry of heart wrenching pain tore through the night as Riya fell to her knees.
Glade was by her side in an instant, wrapping his arms around her.
“He’s gone…” she wailed in elvish, burying her head in his shoulder like she was trying to hide from the world around her. “My father… he… he’s gone…”