Half of the pay will be up front, with the other half being received once the escort arrives with the item in question.
Sitting idly on top of the wooden fence that separated the crop fields from the main walking path, Troy scribbled some notes into the small notebook he always carried with him. Donny had mentioned during his attempted interrogation of Lyght the previous night that a traveling courier, or however the illiterate farm boy had worded it at least, had come through here the other day.
Troy wondered if they would stop by again soon while the group was stationed here. That would certainly be convenient. He could wait and send the letter once he was back in Davied though, if not. He realized after pondering for a bit that it would actually be better to wait. It would be harder to do it discreetly in an environment such as this; there would most likely not be a chance to speak with the courier alone. Slipping away to the mail office while in Davied would be of no difficulty, however.
Closing the book and returning it to its home in one of the pockets that lined the inside of his woolen vest, he gracefully stepped down from his perch on the fence and dusted his trousers off. He looked towards Marzie. The woman had worked up quite the sweat thus far digging up potatoes and piling them into her wheelbarrow. She had made one trip already to the storage barn to dump the load and was close to filling the wheelbarrow up with a second full load.
Troy, out of noble courtesy, had offered to assist her but Marzie politely refused, stating that he was there to guard her and Donny from the bandits and not to assist with the farm work itself. She was adamant that the farm duties were something they needed to do themselves. Troy didn’t complain, of course. He had done his duty by offering; it was no fault of his that she did not accept his graciousness. All the better, anyway, as digging in the dirt was not something he was fond of doing. This type of work was—put simply—beneath him.
He stood there now in a dignified fashion with a straight back, hands clasped behind him, and an impassive expression on his face that failed to betray any of his internal struggles. Reaching up thoughtfully with his right hand, he lightly brushed his fingers along the earring he wore in his right ear. Though he wore his hair tied back in a tail, the sides still hung down so that waves of blonde hair laid like a blanket across his ears, obscuring the accessory.
Would Geren and the other Last Stand Mercenaries have been so welcoming of him had they seen it? Troy figured it wasn’t worth the chance, but he also wasn’t entirely sure they would even recognize it. At first glance, the earring was simply an everyday silver circle that one could see on any number of passersby in the city. Closer inspection would show that it was actually intricately designed, the circle in fact being a serpent that had wound around to devour its own tail. He had not worn it these past couple of days as he and Gargarel integrated themselves with a new group of people, but he relented earlier this morning and affixed it back where it belonged in his ear. An anxious feeling had gnawed at him because of its absence; he was just too used to having it there.
It still surprised him how quickly he and Gargarel had been welcomed into the mercenary group. He could tell that Lyght did not like him much—the boy must have been jealous that Troy carried himself in a far more dignified and mature manner despite their close ages—but the others had been very kind thus far, especially Geren. Feros was an exception. Troy could tell that the Feroxi was the type who simply did not open up to others easily, so he did not perceive his attitude as rude. Not yet, at least.
Geren was the biggest mystery to him. The man was the leader of his own company and a powerful warrior of such renown that he was apparently something of a folk legend amongst the common people. Troy struggled to understand the man’s kindness. It simply didn’t fit the profile. That smile he wore on his face all the time, the way that people who were beneath him in rank could joke jovially—and even retort with sarcasm or outright argue—with him, and the soft, understanding tone he spoke with when talking to Troy about his shortcomings and confidence…
None of it made sense. He was the one in charge, so why was he so polite and caring? For what reason did he allow his subordinates to challenge him and crack jokes at his orders? Troy wondered if it was just a facade Geren had put up for the rookies—and if so—when he would drop it.
Returning his hand to its place behind his back with the other, he resumed his stance. Marzie was heading back to the barn to unload the second wheelbarrow’s worth of potatoes. She was a kind woman, if not unsophisticated and simple. He walked towards the barn with her, hands clasped and back straight, assuredly carrying himself just as he had been taught.
Shouting could suddenly be heard from the north, where Gargarel and Feros were stationed. Troy turned in alarm, his right hand gripping the rapier handle on the left of his waist. He looked back towards Marzie, who was now inside the barn unloading the wheelbarrow. Based on her lack of a reaction, she apparently didn’t hear the commotion.
Quietly cursing to himself, he sped up his pace and jogged to the barn, assuring himself the other two would be fine. Lyght should return soon from his scouting to the east, as well. He wouldn’t have to handle this alone. He just needed to wait.
Marzie exited the barn, shutting the door. She looked up with a start at Troy’s approach and the concerned look on his face..
“Oh, Troy! Everything awright?”
“Miss Marzie, I believe the bandits may—”
Troy stopped as he heard a sound that he recognized as the enchanted strings on Gargarel’s axe. The sound was followed by more faint shouting. They were definitely in a battle up there.
“Never mind, I know the bandits are up at the house. My companions are dealing with them. Please, let me get you to safety before any show up here as well.” He wasn’t sure where safety was in a situation like this, but it seemed like the correct thing to say nonetheless.
“B-but Donny’s up thatta way!” Her eyes darted from Troy to the path leading north. He could tell she was considering running there, despite the fact she would only get in the way.
“I know. And trust me, my companions will keep him safe. My job is to keep you safe, so please let me do so. Stay close to me—we can lay low in the bushes.” He nodded towards the southwest, a short distance away from the barn and across the path. “Lyght should return soon as well and provide an update on what is happening.”
“Oh… Okay, I’m guessin’ you’re right. Your friends better not let nothin’ happen to my boy.” She glanced northward again as she finished speaking.
Troy nodded, then jerked his head again in a signal for Marzie to follow. Marzie wordlessly nodded back, but still stood where she was. Finally after a few moments, she turned and began heading the indicated direction with Troy following. Departing from the barn and clearing a small cluster of trees that hugged the barn’s south edge, the road to the south was now plainly visible. Marzie stole a glance in that direction and then screamed loudly, startling Troy and prompting him to look that way also.
Sauntering along the path from the south were six armed men who seemed to be surprised at the pair. Five of the men were of similar height to each other and wore a ragtag mixture of fabrics, leathers, and hides, but one of the men stood taller above the rest with a commanding aura. Wearing nothing but scaly leg armor, there was little to cover the cool gray skin—almost like a pale blue—that further differentiated him from the other five. This man was a Gmaas of some seven feet tall. A large warhammer was propped lazily on his right shoulder, the hulking mass of metal not an issue for his supreme strength.
Troy froze. Six men—five Human and one Gmaas. He was alone, the others all presumably still tied up in their own battles—Lyght included possibly—given that he was not back yet. There was no way he could do this. Though Troy carried himself proudly in social matters and in the arts of fencing and archery, Geren was right about his lack of confidence in both his magic ability and raw strength. This wasn’t his forte.
A loud crack of what sounded like lightning striking came from the northeast, almost in a straight line from behind Troy’s left shoulder. More sounds of combat. Though he recognized the earlier sound of Gargarel’s weapon, he did not know what this sound was.
He felt his muscles twitch as his brain attempted to send the signals to run. Truthfully, he wanted to run. Dying for these simple-minded farmfolk wasn’t worth it in the grand scheme of things. But, just as he felt that he was about to give in to his fear’s impulses and make a break for it, an image flashed through his mind—a clear image of a young baby girl. Reminded of the fact that there were those who needed his protection, Troy’s fear suddenly melted away and instead was replaced with resolve.
Surprising even himself with the authority his voice carried, Troy spoke to Marzie. “You head back to the barn. The door opens inward from what I saw earlier, correct? Shut the door, lock it, and barricade it with whatever you can from the inside. Do not come out unless you hear one of the five of us—your son, me, or one of my companions—yell that it is safe.”
She was frozen herself, however. Her eyes appeared fixated on the Gmaas man.
“Now, Miss Marzie. Your son needs his mother alive. These men may not have harmed you in the past, but now that they see you’ve hired someone to protect your farm against them, they’ll have mercy no longer. Go!” Without meaning to, he shouted the last word with the guttural roar of Gargarel’s voice. It was much the same way that he had first learned about his abilities by accident.
Jumping with a start at the sudden change in Troy’s voice, the farm woman acquiesced and began running towards the barn. Troy followed, withdrawing his bow from his back and notching an arrow as he focused on his breathing to remain calm. His plan was to take cover and fire towards the men before they got close, hopefully putting a dent in their fighting strength with a few well-placed shots.
Sliding down behind a stump on the west side of the road, he looked behind him to the northeast and was happy to see Marzie was doing as he instructed as she disappeared into the barn. Peering over the stump, he could see that the Gmaas man was barking at the others, pointing out directions with his left hand while his right still lazily held the warhammer. The others, in response, began to spread out as they approached Troy’s position.
They’re more organized than I thought they would be… What kind of bandit group is this?
He strained his ears and could now hear the Gmaas’s voice as he shouted the last of his commands to the other five. It was the kind of voice one would expect from a typical Gmaas—rough and grainy, with the words pronounced in a strange manner as though their mouth never fully shut.
“S’read’ out! Shurround ‘n kill ‘en all!”
That was all Troy needed. He could use that voice if needed. For now, the primary concern was survival.
Eyeing the approach of the men, Troy cursed under his breath. They must have seen him withdraw the bow during his retreat, as they moved carefully from one piece of cover to another. Using trees, the fence that ran along the west of the path, bushes, and small recesses in the ground’s surface, they were making the most of what cover was available in otherwise open terrain like this. Getting a clear shot would not be easy. If they discovered that he was alone, they would likely just rush him outright. Currently, at least, they were being careful just in case he had backup.
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The closest of the bandits was now within a hundred feet. Troy studied his movements carefully. If he could just predict the exact moment the man would change positions…
He took aim and breathed in, focusing. The man could not see him due to the tree he was hiding behind being too good of cover. It protected him but also blocked his vision. Troy waited, and as soon as he saw the first flash of color appear from around the edge of the tree, he loosed the arrow with trained precision.
His target dropped, the shot having found its mark and inserting itself cleanly into the man’s neck. Troy heard one of the others angrily exclaim from where he was taking cover behind a small boulder on the eastern side of the path.
Allowing himself a brief moment of satisfaction with the shot, Troy refocused his attention on the next-closest adversary—the one who had just let out a shout. The others were taking wider berths around from the crop fields to flank Troy—a definite concern that he was monitoring—but there was no immediate threat until they began to close in and squeeze his position. The Gmaas was still walking straight down the path undaunted.
Troy fired another shot quickly at the man behind the small boulder. He knew it would not find purchase, but he hoped it would force the bandit to stay honest enough to his current position so that he could retreat back some before the others exposed his flank.
The arrow clanked off of the boulder, but Troy’s target did not peer around its edge for fear of a follow-up shot. Just as planned. Troy took advantage. Sprinting across the path and pressing himself up against the north side of a tall tree, He notched another arrow and eyed the two men across the path to the west in the crop field near where he had just been.
Things were going well. Better than he had hoped, at least, considering he was still alive and had even scored one kill. He took aim at the bandits in the crop field, trying to find a good angle, but it just wasn’t going to work. They were doing a good job staying low and using the fence for cover.
The sound of heavy thudding footsteps approaching from the other side of the tree caused him to jump back in alarm, firing a preemptive shot at the space to the right of the tree. He had guessed correctly which side of the tree the source of the steps would appear at, but was a hair too early. The arrow whisked past the man who rounded the corner of the tree, grazing his arm.
Thinking quickly as his new foe began to run forward in an attempt to attack before Troy could shoot another arrow, Troy instead whipped one of the daggers from his belt in a swift motion with his left hand. The man collapsed, his body sliding forward in the dirt from the momentum he had before the blade had embedded itself in his forehead.
That was two down. Thirty-three percent of the total enemy count he faced. Not bad. He could die proud of his efforts today at the very least if backup didn’t arrive soon.
A third bandit appeared from behind a tree directly to Troy’s left—one of the men that had taken a wide berth earlier. While Troy had been busy with the previous two targets, he had gained the necessary ground to cut Troy off and force an engagement.
Luckily, in addition to their usefulness as thrown weapons, Troy was also capable of fighting with daggers in close-quarters. His fencing lessons were impactful beyond just the art of the rapier. Taking a dagger from his belt into his left hand while still wielding the bow in his right, he smoothly parried a swing of the man’s scimitar, then followed up with a couple of quick slashes. The man blocked each of them, but did retreat back a bit, his advantage of surprise having been lost.
Holding the dagger out in front of him in a defensive stance to keep his foe at bay, Troy returned the bow to his back. The man took the brief opening to lunge and attempt a few more swings with his scimitar, but Troy again parried them with his left hand and bought himself enough time to withdraw the rapier with his right. He could fight defensively with a dagger one-on-one with little issue, but finding an opening and actually making a move on the offensive was not as simple. Rapier now in hand, however, and the playing field was more even.
Troy could hear the men from the crop field behind him beginning to make their move to close in and flank him from behind. He needed to get some distance or the luck that he had been enjoying thus far would run out.
He remembered something at that moment. Quickly, he flung the dagger in his left hand towards his current quarry. It missed, but the man had to dodge out of the way regardless, which gave Troy enough time to turn and begin running north safely without his foe being able to attack his back. The two from the crop field had jumped the fence and were closing in.
Quickly escaping back behind another tree near the barn—he had not planned on retreating so close to the barn and putting Marzie in any possible danger, but the flow of battle seemed to have accidentally demanded it—he bellowed in the Gmaas leader’s rough mouthful of a voice.
“Ya idiots! ‘Ore uh ‘en ‘run da south!”
The ruse did its job. He could see the pair crossing the walking path turn back towards the Gmaas in surprise, and he assumed the one he had just left behind did so as well.
“Ya idiots! Dat ‘asn’t ‘e!” The real Gmaas roared at his men that had been fooled.
Pulling out one of Geren’s runes, Troy readied himself to use the magic within. He had never activated a rune before, and he still barely knew how to properly use his own magic. He mostly did his voice copying by instinct. The idea of channeling essence was not something he really consciously did. He just knew how to do the specific thing he was capable of, regardless of his understanding of the magical logic behind it. Understanding and applying the rules of magic as Geren had instructed a couple nights before would be required for using this rune, however.
He focused. The best way he could conclude to get it to work would be to act like he would speak with another voice, but redirect that energy into the small stone instead. He took a breath, then did what he always did when he mimicked a voice. Now that he was paying attention and knew the mechanics of what was happening, he could feel a slight tingle of the flow of essence through his body’s circuits. Eyeing the rune, he attempted to direct that flow through his fingers and into the small stone in his left hand. The rune glowed briefly, then dissipated, disintegrating like a small piece of paper put to the flame.
Still holding his rapier in his right hand, he turned his attention to the two who were now almost upon him. They had resumed their charge towards him, but thankfully the brief pause they had taken with his voice distraction had given him just enough time to pull off this little maneuver. Now he just had to figure out how the magic actually functioned.
He focused on the man that was the closer of the two. Suddenly, Troy saw multiple rapiers in his field of vision. Not actual physical rapiers made of metal—but instead translucent, shadowy forms that resembled the one that he wielded. There were a dozen or so, each one moving in its own distinct pattern.
Prediction shadows is a very good way of describing these, Geren…
The first man was nearly upon him. None of the shadows seemed to offer Troy a chance to kill the man swiftly, so he picked the best defensive option of the bunch. Mimicking the movements of the shadow he had chosen, he stepped to his right and stabbed quickly in front of him with a swift jab and forced the man to block.
The shadows shifted, proffering a new selection of predictions for Troy to pick from for how he would choose his next attack. The shadows continued to change, however, as the bandit shifted his own position with both his body and his broadsword. Lyght had warned Troy about information overload the first time experiencing Geren’s magic, and Troy was certainly experiencing that at this very moment.
Struggling to keep up with the constantly changing shadows, Troy panicked slightly and picked one that looked correct. He couldn’t be sure it was the best option as he hadn’t had time to fully identify all of the possible options in the brief moment available to him. Following the shadows path with his own blade, he did a feint to the man’s left shoulder, then stabbed towards the midsection in a quick one-two succession.
It was easily blocked—he had not chosen the best option it seemed. Worse still, in his focus of trying to discern what exactly was happening in the tangled mess of ever-changing prediction shadows, Troy had also forgotten about the second and third men.
He brought his rapier up to block an axe swing just in time, but it still sent him sprawling backwards. Though he hadn’t told Geren or the others—and actually not even Gargarel—Troy was half-Hylennial. His reflexes and natural dexterity were greater than that of regular full-blood Humans, which served him greatly in times such as this.
Quickly rolling to his feet with natural Hylennian grace, he was swiftly back standing and ready for the next attack. The barn was to his left now. He imagined Marzie cowering inside, hearing the sounds of battle just outside and being helpless to assist.
The three bandits ran towards him. One took a wide berth to Troy’s right along the path to the farm and another did the same on Troy’s left through the bushes. The third one charged straight ahead, a spear in his hand as he ran forward like a bull with one horn.
The familiar sound of Gargarel’s stringed weapon reverberated through the air, and the man who had headed to Troy’s right stopped in his tracks. Instead of continuing to run forward, he began swinging his axe wildly and screaming as if he were fighting some invisible horrors.
“The All Powerful Gargarel Battlebard has got your back, Sol!” The voice of his companion followed the sound of the strings from somewhere behind Troy.
He’s going to have to get better about calling me by the right name…
Troy wanted to turn around and see his companion smiling like an idiot, but he focused his attention instead on the spear-charging man. The prediction shadows for Troy’s rapier were calmer now, as the man’s stance and path was unchanging. He could see it clearly—the perfect attack to copy.
He waited for his quarry to get closer as he charged forward like a one-horned bull. Once close enough, the man jutted the spear forward towards Troy’s chest. Troy deftly sidestepped it, however, advancing forward himself and closing the last remaining distance between the two of them. Before the man could pull the spear back to attempt any other attacks, Troy struck out with pure confidence and skewered the man clean through the throat with his thin blade.
He quickly turned his attention to the other remaining bandit that was not busy fighting imaginary foes in the road. To his surprise, the man was lying dead amongst the tall grass. When did that happen? In any case, there was no time to object—dead was dead after all.
Turning back to the bandit in the road, Troy prepared to put an end to the man while he was still being affected by whatever magic had been cast. He was even more surprised at what he saw here than he was at the sight of the dead bandit to his left. Of all people, Donny was the one that was charging towards the man from the west, hatchet wielded in both hands and held back over his left shoulder in a preparatory swing.
When the farm boy arrived at the flailing man, he brought the hatchet down hard into his left knee. The man fell in a scream of surprise, the knee buckling and blood spurting wildly, though the leg below the knee was still barely attached. Perhaps from his perspective, the imaginary foes the man had been fighting finally landed a blow. Before Troy could react, Donny brought the hatchet down hard on his foe’s head with a scream befitting all the pent-up rage the young boy must have felt for the hardships these men had caused him and his mother.
The man lay still, completely dead at Donny’s hand. Donny stood over the body, panting with a look of hatred on his face. However, that look slowly turned to a grimace of disgust as he realized what he had just done.
“Oh.. I-I just killed ‘im! I really did!”
“Yeah you did! Great job! That was straight brutal!” Gargarel’s voice cheered on.
Troy looked northward and saw his friend standing there pumping his fist and flashing the idiotic grin Troy had been imagining just earlier. A long streak of blood haphazardly trailed from his chest down to his knee. He seemed fine otherwise; the blood must belong to one of his unlucky foes from earlier.
Donny began looking around in a panic and started to yell. “Where’s Ma?! I-Is she awright?!”
“Yes, she is fine! Safe in the barn!” Troy called back.
Another voice joined the conversation. “Good job, everybody! Donny—that includes you too!”
Troy looked towards the direction the voice had come from and saw Lyght standing on top of the barn. Twin swords were held in each of his hands, the left wielded in a backhand style. Lyght jumped from the barn and down into the middle of the path, his gaze affixed south where the Gmaas man still stood.
All of his men were dead, but the large foe did not seem fazed. He stood there confidently in the same manner he had been walking earlier. Troy thought it was strange he never ventured any further forward to join the fray while his men still lived, but he wasn’t complaining.
“Looks like we just got one left!” Lyght called back to Troy and the others while staring down his quarry. “Troy—you guard Marzie! Same for you with Donny, Garg!”
What looked to Troy like small wisps of lightning began to percolate along Lyght’s body as though his skin was excreting electrical energy rather than sweat.
The young squad leader appeared as though he was exuding a white-blue aura from a distance. “Just keep ‘em safe in case any others show up while I take care of the big guy!”