Darius Chapter 9

The bandits scurried into action like rats in a kitchen, a mass of men and women scrambling over each other to grab any matter of weaponry off the nearby racks. Campfires were stomped through, tents hurdled, and bowls of gruel upended onto the ground in their desperate attempts to defend themselves.

Heldrus’s men took quick advantage of the confusion, their headlong rush into the camp taking the bandits nearest them by surprise. Too far from their weapons, the foolhardy few that were determined not to run away were instead engaged in desperate bare-handed combat against their sword-wielding enemies. The Erinian soldiers charged straight through them, not even needing to stop for the doomed men.

In an impressive feat, the remaining bandits had managed to set up a rag-tag line of defense on the south-eastern side of the clearing, some holding blades and daggers, others holding long logs from the dilapidated weapons racks knocked over and destroyed in the melee. Heldrus shouted an order.

“Crash through the middle of ‘em lads, don’t let them form up!”

Racing to the front, he led the group into the midst of the defensive line, jumping over the stray sweep of a sword as his blade bit into the shoulder of a bandit on his left.

The bandits began to assemble into two tight packs, their battle instincts taking over after the initial wild skirmish. Heldrus curled off to face the pack on their left, while Falsith led the larger half of their group right, swinging his monstrous longsword into the frail shield of the bandit in front of him, shattering it into splinters and sending the man hurtling into his comrades.

Heldrus had more difficulty. His smaller group showed some breaks in form against the similar sized pack of bandits. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of his men take a blow to the head from a club, knocking him out. Another tripped over the smoldering remains of a campfire, falling directly into a waiting dagger. Heldrus sensed the tide of the fight becoming uncertain, like a wave struggling to decide whether it would crash in a heap or continue to the shore. He knew the bandits would feel it too, now that the shock was wearing off. Again, he yelled at his men, jabbing the hilt of his sword into those nearest to him.

“Fall back, shields at the front and regroup with Falsith!”

The men didn’t react. Too engrossed in the battle at hand, they pressed forward, spurred on by the shouts of their commander, surely encouraging their brave efforts. Heldrus tried the order again but found his throat dry and his voice losing its volume. His only option was to press forward and make his presence the deciding factor.

He flanked around the right side of the bandits, making no attempt at hiding himself, only wishing to distract and split the enemy's attention further. It had the desired effect, with five bandits peeling off to face him. Three were weaselly young men, armed only with daggers and chipped swords, but the other two looked closer to giants than they did human, accentuated by one soldier having only one eye. They both lugged around gruesome flails, already flecked with the blood of some unlucky creature or man.

“Alright Cyclops, let's see if you can use that toy of yours.” he mumbled under his breath.

He raised an arm and pointed directly at the one-eyed giant, trying to goad him into an early attack. Instead, the three smaller opponents came forward, running at Heldrus like foxes chasing a chicken. He sidestepped to the right, trying to make them come at him in a single line, rather than three men enveloping him from all sides. The first started swinging his sword when he was still well out of range of Heldrus, flailing around with the sword at shoulder-height. Heldrus swept his blade up in an underhand slice, intercepting the blade and sending it spinning out of the weak grip of its owner. Heldrus stepped closer in with his left foot, then pivoted his body from the waist, bringing up his gloved hand into the jaw of the poor bandit, knocking him out and sending a few teeth to the ground with him. The remaining two rushed him from both sides, and he jumped forward, rotating one-eighty degrees to face them. These two had daggers, but they may as well have only had butter knives, as Heldrus never let them close, piercing one through the ribcage, and kicking the other hard in the stomach, putting him out of action as he rolled around in the mud, heaving and vomiting. He yanked his sword out of the dead man below him and faced the two giants once again.

They were laughing.

Heldrus was confused at their lack of concern for their dead comrade, until he looked closer at their clothes, and noticed the different colored patches emblazoned on the clothes of the bandits.

They were different groups.

It had flashed through his mind when they were scouting the camp that it seemed a lot of bandits for one pack. As far as he knew, they usually operated in groups of seven to ten, or else their guerilla tactics became less effective, and leadership was harder to hold on to with so many violent personalities. He didn’t have time to contemplate further, as Cyclops raised his flail, whirring it around his head as he trudged towards Heldrus. Some Erinian soldiers saw the giant singling out their commander, but they had better sense than to go near the behemoth, instead rushing to find themselves a new opponent from the remainders of the dwindling bandits.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Heldrus took a slow breath, bringing air deep into his lungs and clearing his head. He needed to focus if he was to have a chance. He noticed Cyclops’ arm muscles tense and his lip curled as he prepared to arc his weapon down onto Heldrus. Heldrus stepped back as it flew towards him, its impact spraying dirt and shale in its radius. Heldrus tried to step in for the attack, but Cyclops was already recovering, ready to swing the flail back off the ground and catch Heldrus in the legs. Heldrus realized he was outranged, and a different plan began to formulate in his head. The onslaught continued, this time the other giant charging Heldrus with an outstretched arm and the flail trailing behind him. There was no time to figure out a different option. Heldrus brought his sword in a straight line above his head and stepped forward, throwing the sword like an axe at the giant. The man stopped in surprise, protecting his face by bringing in his outstretched arm to cover it. Heldrus took the opportunity without delay, leaping in close with his dagger, shanking the giant in rapid succession in the instant his eyes were off Heldrus. The giant roared, swinging his arm into Heldrus and throwing him to the ground. But the damage was done, and moments later he sank to the ground, succumbing to the damage of his wounds.

Cyclops was in a jovial mood no longer. He had no room to help his compatriot, the risk of their wild flails hitting each other being too high in close quarters. But with his comrade out of the way, nothing stopped him from letting loose onto the wretched captain in front of him. He rushed Heldrus like a bull at a red flag, again swinging the flail overhead at the figure still on the ground. Heldrus rolled to the side as the ground imploded beside him, then scrambled onto all fours, heading for his sword.

Cyclops was one step ahead. He employed Heldrus’s strategy, throwing his flail at his enemy crawling through the dirt. It caught Heldrus in his side and he went down onto one arm, wincing as he tried to extricate the sharp points from his body. Cyclops grabbed Heldrus’s sword and flung it into the mass of trees beyond the camp. The only weapon available now to Heldrus was his dagger, or the heavy flail still embedded in his side. He didn’t have time to choose. Cyclops grabbed him by the collar of his uniform, lifting him until his feet were dangling. Heldrus kicked at his arm, chest, even his head, but the one-eyed giant didn’t react. Instead, he started a slow turn, which turned into a spin, the helpless form of Heldrus flying through the wind as he gathered speed. He felt his collar start to rip, momentarily impressed by its strength before the reality of his predicament haunted him again. He felt fast enough to reach the same distance that his sword had been cast moments earlier. As he spun in circles, he spotted Falsith rushing towards Cyclops. He came around the rotation again, noticing the longsword charting its course to Cyclops’ back. Heldrus tried to yell, but his collar was too tight on his neck. He managed a constrained, gargling voice.

“Don’t...do it....FALsith, he’ll....let...go!”

His prayer lay unanswered, and Falsith’s blade ran true, separating Cyclops’ spinal cord and protruding above his abdominals. His grip loosened, and Heldrus sailed through the air like a sugar glider between trees, screaming as his voice came back. He crashed into a mess of tents; his fall being broken by only a small lump of blankets inside. He didn’t rush to get up.

The fighting had died down just before Heldrus’s lesson in flight achieved its crescendo. The soldiers picked over the bodies of the fallen bandits, taking what they thought may be valuable, their haul being vastly more disappointing than most of their other foes. After they had done, Falsith gained the courage to approach Heldrus and see if he had survived the impact.

“Captain Avongold...Heldrus? You alright?”

He received a groan.

“You uhhh, you need a hand there?”

Another groan, this one in a lower tone. At first, Heldrus curled into the fetal position, a loud moan of self-pity emanating from him, until he stretched out to his full length, testing his limbs for breaks. Somehow, he felt okay.

He rose, lifting his arms out around him and standing with knees bent for stability. He looked up at Falsith, not nearly as energetic as he had been before the battle.

“My sword...that way.”

He pointed in a vague direction outside the clearing, and Falsith took a group of five men to search.

After he left, Heldrus sat on a stump and issued orders to tidy up the camp, planning on spending the night there to recover. He gave the men free reign to eat the bandit’s food and drink their mead, a proposition that was met with resounding approval. Over the course of a few hours, the light of the day began to wane. The air became cool, and the ground dampened under the sprinkling of misty rain. Heldrus eventually went inside his tent and lit a small candle sitting on a platter in the corner. He watched the dark smoke twist and curl as the canvas of the tent flapped, displacing the air around the flame. He ran his finger over burnt spots on the canvas, analyzing his technique against the flail-wielding giants.

It wasn’t exactly exemplary.

The drunken soldiers had no concern for the ruckus they made, sure that they had cleared the forest of the bandit's presence. Heldrus wasn’t so sure.

He started to doze off when three men burst through the tree line from the direction of their original camp. It was the missing group.

“Blimey! What happened here?” The men went to the group of noisy soliders, then one poked his head into Heldrus’s tent.

“Sir, we got lost on the return, ended up back on the Great Road. The lads at camp said you went looking for us?”

Heldrus looked up at them, surprised to see them still alive. He presumed they had been killed by the bandits on their route.

“Yeah...Did you not run into these blokes?” He gestured through the tent walls at the battlefield outside.

“No sir! We stopped about a five-minute jog from here, just got lost on the way back sir.”

Heldrus could not believe the coincidence. He chuckled to himself, then broke out into laughter, picturing the first story in their history books; half his force stumbling upon their first bandit sighting, and their captain being thrown through the air like a doll.

It was a strong start for The Bandit Executioners.