Darius Chapter 23

The night was still and serene except for the chirps of cicadas and the occasional rustle in the forest as birds flitted between trees or squawked at an unwanted intruder. Nocturnal animals like the culpah padded along the soft ground, searching for their next meal. The noises of the forest were a perfect source of white noise for Darius and Falsith as they lay around their campfire, dead to the world. They didn’t take turns keeping watch, opting instead to each get a full night of sleep.

As Lieutenant Stringer and his men crept towards the dying coals blinking in the distance, the forest went silent. The insects and animals could sense the danger.

This sudden change was just enough to raise Darius from his heavy slumber into a lighter doze. He briefly opened his eyes, seeing black, then adjusted his weight on the ground before closing his eyes and working his way back to sleep. A rock poked into his back, and he emitted a small grunt of dissatisfaction before sweeping his hand underneath and extracting the culprit.

He heard the whishing sound of grass being trampled.

At first, he passed it off as the breeze. It had been strong when they were setting the campfire and eating their meagre meal, but it had died off since then. It was strange to hear it pick up in an isolated spot. Then the cogs of his brain started to turn, and the alarm bells began to ring.

That wasn’t normal.

He poked his head up from the dirt and stared into the darkness. His eyes were adjusting quickly, but he couldn’t see anything. He whispered to Falsith.

“Hey, Falsith. Eyes up. Falsith?”

He couldn’t wake the sleeping bear. For a while, he leaned on one arm with his right ear facing the noise. He hadn’t heard anything since the first swish, and he was beginning to convince himself that he was just hearing things.

Then he saw the silhouette of a man coming towards them. Fast.

“Falsith! Up mate, up!”

The man stirred, then his eyes flicked open as he registered the urgency. The sounds of the grass being flattened by foreign steps became the thumping of multiple sets of feet coming toward them. Darius leapt to his feet and swayed a bit as the blood rushed to his head. Falsith groped around for the axe, but Darius had it next to him. Darius grabbed the weapon, hoping he would be able to use it.

The first soldier burst forward, swinging his blade. The light of the moon made his form look ghastly, like a lost soul had taken offence to the two campers. But his blade was far more than spectral. Darius tried the same move that he’d seen Falsith pull off and swung the axe into the ground in front of him. A shockwave emanated out in all directions, knocking Falsith off his feet and spraying warm coals into the forest. The coals, greedily sucking in oxygen, sat on the dry leaves of the forest floor and soon the flames spread, lighting the camp in a sickly, flickering yellow. More attackers filtered in, creating a ring around Darius and Falsith but staying just out of range of the magical axe’s attacks. Lieutenant Stringer unsheathed his sword and took his place in the ring.

“Give it up now, and Silfor might let you keep your head on your shoulders. Put down the axe and kick it over here.”

Darius glanced at Falsith. His intention was clear by the look on his face. They wouldn’t be going down without a fight. Darius reached into his pocket and felt the sharp tip of an arrowhead he’d pocketed earlier. He tried to be discreet as he pulled it out, but the soldiers were watching his every move.

“Oi, what have you got there? If that’s a dagger, you’re done for.”

Darius held the arrowhead out in front of him, showing them he meant no harm.

“It’s nothing! Just a lucky charm. We’ll comply, I just want to pray. Here, I’ll throw away the axe.”

He held the axe with one hand on the grip and one steadying it beneath the handle. He tossed it high in the air, towards Falsith. The hunters and Falsith instinctively looked up, and some stepped forward, eager to be the first to touch the magical axe. Falsith, taller than the competition, reached up to catch it like a cat trapping a bird.

Darius took the opportunity and flung the arrowhead at the nearest soldier, filling the silent night with the cacophony of an explosion as the arrowhead blasted the man backwards.

Pandemonium ensued.

Falsith caught the axe but was immediately faced with five soldiers closing in. Darius fumbled with his hammer as he yanked it from his belt, another three soldiers facing him. Lieutenant Stringer hung back and let his men exalt themselves. He secretly had a fear of combat, but he was a stellar leader, so had attained his lieutenancy nonetheless.

The horses pranced away, frightened by the noise. They couldn’t see well in the dark, so only ran about twenty meters out into the plains before standing still next to each other. They kicked the ground and nickered gently as the panic subsided.

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Falsith couldn’t swing the axe in the large, sweeping movements he was used to – the attackers were just too close, and he couldn’t afford to expose himself. Instead, he held the weapon like a spear, striking out with the head of the axe, using the two curved tips like prongs. He parried the attackers strikes using the leather-wrapped handle, butting them back and deflecting the blades. He delivered a crushing kick to the gut of the man in front of him, then rushed forward, clearing himself some space from the rest of the group.

Being cautious was their downfall. Falsith finally had room to swing the axe in horizontal arcs in front of him, knocking men left and right with ease. Startled birds launched themselves from the trees in droves, the explosions echoing around the plains and deep into the forest. He yelled with glee; the fires of battle reignited in his chest.

“Gahaha! You little shits think you can sneak up on me? Huh?! You’ve never beat me in the training grounds, and you won’t start tonight!”

The man seemed to be enjoying his near-death experience a little too much.

Darius, on the other hand, was not overly pleased with his predicament. While Falsith was having no issues carving up his quandaries, Darius was facing down three men whom each had better battle skills and experience than he did. Erinian foot soldiers weren’t no joke, but at least these guys weren’t Red Plumes.

He tried to look threatening with his comparatively small hammer, but without the magical axe in his hands, the soldiers found him no more intimidating than a fieldmouse. His stance was awkward and unstable, his hammer had the range of a dagger, and he was brightly defined by the forest fire behind him, whereas the soldiers were still blank silhouettes melding into the dark plains.

The first soldier approached and found out how wrong his assumption was. Darius wasn’t battle experienced, but years at the forge had given him strong, sinewy muscles. Constantly wielding hammers and axes and other tools gave him precision and accuracy, and last of all, desperation gave him agility. He dashed forward when the soldier was mid-step, catching him off-guard and slamming the hammer into his side. Darius felt the bite of his enemy's sword on his shoulder, but the cut was only shallow, a lucky strike on the soldier’s behalf. The man fell to the side, clutching his ribs where the hammer made contact. After a couple of steps, he fell to the ground, fingers grabbing at his armor straps to remove the crumpled chestplate that was constricting him further.

The remaining two men showed their surprise but pushed in, approaching Darius from both sides in a pincer movement – far more wary than their suffering comrade. Darius backed up to the forest until he felt the heat on his exposed neck and through his clothes. He couldn’t take his eyes off the men, but he could tell he didn’t have much room before the flames would lap at his clothes and hair. At least they couldn’t close in on him any further.

He was close to trying some desperate maneuver when he heard Falsith shout at him.

“Darius! DUCKKKK!!!”

There was no way he wasn’t responding to that. He dropped to his stomach with an OOUGH of shock as his lungs protested the sudden impact. A split second later, Falsith’s exploding axe spun through the air, the long handle laying out a soldier and passing through where Darius’s head had been moments earlier. The head of the axe impacted a burning tree behind Darius and smoldering splinters and shattered logs filled the air, knocking down the remaining soldier. Darius curled into a ball and rolled around, desperately trying to snuff out any embers on him. It was like rolling around in his forge, just not as hot as its metal-melting temperatures.

Falsith ran around, clonking any struggling soldiers on the head. He had the good sense not to kill them – it would be hard to acquit themselves of their alleged crimes if they committed something equally heinous in the getaway. He helped Darius up and they watched the retreating figure of Lieutenant Stringer as he sprinted back over the plains towards his waiting horse. There was no point chasing him now – he'd abandoned his men soon after Falsith had the chance to prove his valor with the axe.

“Darius, you all right? Got a bit hairy there, eh?”

He puffed with exertion and sported a large bruise on his bare chest, but gave Darius a grimace-smile.

“Yep, yep, all good. You sleep heavier than the dead, you know that? “

“Best way to wake me up is by cooking breakfast. Didn’t you think of that?”

Darius shook his head, and they retrieved their horses.

“We’re gunna have to get moving already. Hope you had a nice hour of sleep cos we’ve got some serious distance ahead of us.”

“Aye, shouldn’t bother you though, right? Word around the barracks was that our new Royal Blacksmith never sleeps.”

It wasn’t far from the truth, but Darius felt the need to lower expectations a bit. He was so tired he could barely haul himself up onto his horse.

“The amount of work you lot gave me, it felt like that sometimes. Makes sense that I only made it a few weeks before getting the hell out of Erinstone. Silfor said she’d pay me well for my hard work, but something tells me I’ll be running on empty pockets for a while. You got any money?”

Falsith produced a limp piece of cloth from his side. A hole bore through the center and split the purse in two.

“This here is what’s left of my coin purse. One of those bloody bastards shot through it when we were in the Trader’s District. I suppose I should be thankful it didn’t hit a bit to the right, though.”

“Aye.”

The pair travelled along the edge of the forest again, tired and disheveled from their exhausting day and night. After a few hundred meters, Darius’s horse stumbled into a burrow in the ground. It recovered immediately without injuring itself, but it was clear they would have to lead the horses until daylight resumed and they could see where they were going.

“Agh, probably a fuckin tombah hole.”

Darius gave a questioning look. A tombah wasn’t an animal he was familiar with.

“They’re native to this area. Pesky fat things that burrow into the ground wherever they please. I’ve seen a couple good horses lost to stumbling in and breaking a leg. We’re damn lucky.”

It was a very near-miss, so they continued with caution. Their pursuers would have the same issue, so they weren’t too worried about their speed. It was better to rest the horses now and continue in the daylight. The man that escaped wouldn’t be able to raise the alarm until he returned to the main hunting party anyway.

The pair continued, inching their way closer to Karringlock.

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