The escape from Swinford had gone about as well as anyone could have expected. And that, Taelsin supposed, was the most crushingly accurate statement he had ever heard.
The first in a series of minor disasters was that the Cackle had immediately abandoned them. It was hardly a surprise that following the Hyena’s death at the hands of Gallant Stonehand, the remainder of her mercenaries would have second thoughts about continuing with the contract. What had been a touch disappointing, however, was that they were not even willing to escort the column of refugees to a safe destination. Taelsin had done his best to negotiate for an extension to the terms of their agreement, but on the second morning of their flight from Swinford, the camp awoke to find the Cackle gone.
Unfortunately, that was just the first – if the most organised – of the desertions that plagued them over the next few weeks. To begin with, it was just one or two of Souit’s men that snuck away in the night. After their mauling - both attacking and then defending, Swinford - it was hardly surprising that morale in the King’s Army was at a low ebb. And, even to those who retained their loyalty to the cause, it was difficult to reconcile escorting a large contingent of rebels to the safety of another rebel City was really what they had been sent into the West to initially achieve.
A few here, a few there.
And then, almost before anyone knew what was occurring, there was the wholesale desertion of entire companies. General Souit felt he could hardly blame them and had, much to Donal’s chagrin, switched off any of his Skills that compelled his soldiers to stay with the army.
The slow bleed became a gushing wound.
It hardly needs to be said that the loss of so many of their protectors did precious little to encourage the refugees that they were safe on the Road. The trauma of the siege and then being forcibly expelled from Swinford had already left an indelible mark on most of them, and faith in Mayor Elm – ‘what’s he Mayor of now anyway?’’ – among the common people drained away with every shrinking of the ring of mail and swords that surrounded them.
Of course, it hardly helped that the first few settlements they had called upon had refused to open their gates.
“You can hardly blame them,” Donal had sighed. “Firstly, the West is in open rebellion against the King. And who do we have with us? What’s that? A goodly remnant of the King’s Army? No, thank you. Secondly, the last thing any well-established town wants right now is an influx of penniless refugees. And what is that over there?’ Donal waved a hand towards the mass of tired civilians trailing behind. “Why, lots of hungry mouths just crying out to empty warehouses. Thirdly, tales of the devastation wrought by Stonehand’s mercenaries have clearly spread. What Council is going to invite that doom down upon them by giving us succour?”
Taelsin had not replied to his friend, choosing instead to stare at the locked gates of Apforth before him. Its ruler had not bothered to even send a reply to his message.
“We could take the gate?” Degralk had reluctantly offered. “I doubt they’d be expecting us to storm the walls. Probably wouldn’t need more than a couple of companies?” He had glanced at Souit for approval but if the Great General had any thoughts about such a venture, he kept them to himself. Degralk privately feared that the drawn-out siege of Swinford and his subsequent humbling at the hands of the Stonehand had thoroughly broken Souit. He sincerely hoped he was wrong in that. The Major feared they would need that man’s brilliance in the days and weeks to come.
“Lady Darkhelm, what do you think?” Taelsin turned to the Knight of the Road – no, he reminded himself, she had evolved, hadn’t she? Templar Ascendant – to seek her counsel. “Should we be seeking to gain access to this town forcibly?”
Daine was already shaking her head. “We need the help of friends, Mayor Elm. I have never put much store in support that is offered down the length of a blade. Besides,” she continued, “would you welcome us with open arms with the storm we drag behind us?”
Taelsin did not have much to say against that.
They had waited on the Road that led to Apforth for three days before the echoing silence from those behind those walls began to do as much damage to the fragile unity that existed between Swinford’s residence as anything else.
The same thing was repeated outside the gates of Whitechurch, Oakfall, and even Stourton. The last particularly hurt Taelsin, as he had considered Mayor Gilmer a friend.
“It takes an unusual man to step in front of his fellow when he is charged by a boar,” Donal had said, as he and Taelsin had awaited any sign their approach had been acknowledge. “I fear Karl Gilmer is all too normal in that regard.”
As the dwindling column meandered its slow way through the West – being rebuffed and ignored wherever they arrived in search of a break to their journey – any of the civilians who had family or connections in nearby settlements started to break away. Soon, Taelsin thought, there would be less than five hundred men, women and children left under his banner.
And then the banditry began.
Considering one of the new Skills Donal had acquired when, once again, switching his Class was
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“So, it’s just a coincidence they’re sticking to our tails then?”
“Not at all, my lord,” he had replied to Taelsin’s question. “I’m just pointing out that they’re not following us by any traditional method – physical or magical.”
“What is your man getting at?” rumbled General Souit.
It had been so long since he had spoken at one of their meetings that – for a beat – it took the rest of them a moment to orientate themselves to this new development.
Daine was the first to respond: “We think that someone amongst our number is liaising with them. Keeping them apprised of our movements. There might even be those who have abandoned our cause riding with them.”
“They are certainly particularly well-equipped bandits for this part of the world. Some may say almost royally provisioned.” Donal chimed in, somewhat unhelpfully to the overall mood.
Souit coloured at the implication there were deserters from his army now preying on the margins of the refugee column. He grumbled under his breath and reached for his glass of wine. All eyes fixed on him to see if there was anything more to be said. It did not appear that this was the case.
“What do you suggest we do about it?” Taelsin was feeling ground down by the weight of expectations upon him. It had been hard enough to lead his people through the secession crisis and the subsequent destruction of the City his family had stewarded for decades. He was finding this rootless passage from barred door to barred door to be peculiarly dispiriting.
Once upon a time – was it only last year? – he had been, quietly, known as the Saviour of the West.
Now he could not even negotiate a night in a stable for what remained of his weary people.
Donal needed no further encouragement to hold forth with his plan. “Well, we unfortunately seem to be short of Mages. Otherwise, I would suggest a few fireballs in that direction would be most welcome. I could, of course, change Class again, but I do worry that our plucky little group is becoming a little reliant on my brilliance. It might be nice if someone else took up the slack here. Good for me to preserve my Mana pool. I’m sure you know what I’m getting at.”
The Lady Darkhelm had sighed as she pulled herself upright, buckling her sword to her waist. “I’m not going to be getting much sleep in the near future, am I?”
*
Daine had been dealing with bandits for most of her adult life.
As a Knight of the Road, she had been charged with keeping peace in the West and – in the absence of dragons, orcs, goblins or liches – the majority of her time had been spent disposing of men such as these. Those who had left the law long behind.
However, this was an unusual situation when, rather than playing the role of the predator, she was the prey.
Well, no, that was not exactly true. The bandits that sniped around the refugee column were certainly not seeking to cross swords with the legendary Darkhelm. There were far easier pickings to be had than engaging a Templar Ascendant in full mail.
And that was proving to be Daine’s challenge.
There was anything between twenty and thirty bandits, and they were not remotely interested in fighting her. Whichever part of the column she protected was wholly safe for however long she was in their proximity. However, with an almost eerie accuracy, the bandits were able to coordinate themselves to hit sections that she could not reach in time.
General Souit’s remaining forces, ably assisted by Donal, were able to keep these raids from inflicting too much damage, but it was undeniable that the constant predations on their stores, equipment and – more than any of that – their peace of mind was further eroding the coherence of the column.
In the ten days and nights that the bandits had hovered around them like flies surrounding a corpse, there had only been one satisfying - from Daine’s viewpoint – interaction. This had been when she had come across one of them in the woods during the night.
But even that had raised more questions than it had answered.
Daine had been searching, as quietly as she could, for signs of the bandits’ camp when, almost out of nowhere, a tall, thin figure had materialised in front of her, cloaked in dark robes and holding a twisted, gnarled staff. Daine had halted, the Goddess whispering of impending danger in her mind.
There had been no conversation. There had not been time. Before even she could react – with all the Speed and Agility her new Class granted her - the man had slammed the staff into the ground, causing the forest around them to shiver as dark tendrils erupted from the ground, snaking towards her.
Daine had stepped backwards, drawing her sword and slicing through the nearest tendril reaching for her. Her attacker followed up by muttering an incantation under his breath; his staff glowing green, and the tendrils instantly morphed into shadowy wolves, their eyes filled with sickly light. They lunged at Daine, fangs bared.
In response, Daine had spun, her sword cutting through the air with a powerful slash. One wolf disintegrated into shadows, but another latched onto her arm, its teeth sinking deep into her flesh. She drove her elbow into the wolf’s snout and it too fell apart into darkness.
However, when Daine turned her attack towards the thin, dark man, she found her sword collided with some sort of barrier, the impact sending a shockwave up her arm as she brought it down with all her Strength. Not to be deterred, she stepped backwards and swung even harder, feeling the barrier crack.
The bandit’s eyes had widened in surprise at that. Then, hehrust his staff forward, and a blast of green energy shot out, aiming straight for Daine’s chest. She twisted, the energy grazing her side and burning through her tunic. The pain was sharp, but she didn’t slow down. One of the true benefits of her Class was its utter imperviousness to all types of magery.
With a fierce cry, she broke through the barrier, her sword finding its mark. The dying Mage gasped, his eyes widening in shock as Daine’s blade pierced his side. He staggered back, clutching his wound, the green light of his staff flickering and dimming.
Daine stepped back, breathing hard, blood trickling from the bite on her arm and the burn on her side. She kept her sword ready, eyes locked on the wounded man.
But then his dying form shimmered, dissolving into shadows, leaving behind the echo of his pained scream. Daine watched until the last wisp of darkness faded, then sheathed her sword and returned to the column.
She only told Donal what had occurred. Both agreed it was, at the very least, somewhat unusual for bandits to have access to that sort of power. And they decided not to share their various theories as to what was going on with Taelsin - he had enough to worry about right now.
However, after that, the frequency of the attacks had dropped, but the horsemen continued to dog their steps across the plains.
It was the end of that week they had first seen the Bloodspires on the horizon.