Rove
The Happy Duckling, Handport
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How they appeared on the road ahead of them he could not say. In the handful of seconds that he was distracted by Aya, they managed to step onto the middle of the road and block their path. There were three of them: A Human man, a Lon man, and a Vysari woman. The trio just stood in the middle of the road about fifty paces ahead, their stances casual and confident, their physique well-trained. Their intent was clear, as Rove could see their bronze weapons and armour glimmering in the sun.
The Human seemed to be armed with a small dagger, and he could see a collection of glimmering metal points above the man’s right shoulder. A leather breastplate adorned the man’s chest, and even from this distance, Rove could see that the man had a well-trimmed black beard.
The Lon held a sturdy-looking sword and was busy polishing the damn thing. He carried a small wooden shield on his back, reinforced with bronze rings and studs. He was clad in a full set of bronze armour that perfectly accommodated his small yet muscled physique, and the set included gauntlets and even a bloody helmet.
The Vysari played with a trio of throwing daggers, juggling them with great skill using her long agile arms, making the sunlight dance on them. The Vysari was lightly armoured, leather armour plates covering up the more delicate parts of her lean body, although the tuft of hair on the tip of her ears was still visible.
These were not bandits, these were hirelings. And professional ones at that, that much was clear from their expensive pieces of gear and their behaviour. He might have a significant problem with these three.
Keeping his eyes on the hirelings, Rove dismounted from the cart.
“Stay here, madam Aya. If you have anything to aid me in the following minutes, please do. This is... well... this is going to be tough.”
He didn’t think the old woman could do much, but even a little help, a distraction maybe, would be better than nothing in this situation. Eyes narrowing in focus and his hand on his blade, Rove cautiously made his way towards the trio of mercenaries ahead of him.
The three of them smiled in a friendly manner when he approached, but he could feel the bloodthirst and tension behind their gazes, their willingness to maim and shed blood more apparent with every step he took. It was almost palpable like he was walking into an increasingly dense brush of thorns. For the first time in ages, Rove felt nervous, afraid even.
When he approached within 20 paces of them, he stopped. For couple of moments, the Herhor stared at the mercenaries, and the mercenaries stared right back. Until finally, Rove broke the silence.
“Good afternoon, friends. I and my companion are in a rush towards Herhor’s End, could you let us through by any chance?”
It was clear they did not have any intention to, but if he could buy himself some more time or throw them off their game, it would only increase their chances of survival. Even if he made a fool of himself in the process, death was a far less desirable outcome than a stain on his reputation. Even though it hurt him to admit it.
However, the hirelings didn’t do so much as laugh. The Vysari caught her throwing daggers with one last gracious movement, and the Lon took his shield off his back. It was the Human however, that spoke to Rove. His words were sophisticated and direct, not at all like the bandits or farmers that were abundant on the Isle.
“Cut the pretty words, Iron Herhor. You know why we stand before you. We also know that you’re already aware of our intent. We will give you one chance to walk away from your charge now. It would be a shame to kill one as well-known and respected as you. See it like mercy amongst colleagues.”
“Well, if I’m that well-known, you know that I cannot forfeit a contract once I sign it. This old woman is my charge and will be my charge.” A tiny smile crept up on Rove’s face. “Paid me pretty well too. Name your price, lads, and I’m sure we will be able to resolve this little issue.”
The Human shook his head in disappointment.
“You will not be able to pay enough, I’m afraid.”
The warrior’s eyes glimmered as he looked at Rove, the Herhor’s heart sinking in his chest. Great, mercenaries with integrity. This was getting worse by the second.
“Instead, I’d like to propose a counteroffer.” He took out a purse, heavy coins clinking within. “We will pay you fifteen gold hands, Marlight mint, right here, right now. If you hand us the woman.”
Rove was dumbfounded and he felt his face and extremities suddenly go cold. Fifteen gold. Five gold more than he would get if he stuck with his current contract. For no effort, he would get heaps of money. It would set him right for months, maybe even a year if he was somewhat careful spending it.
He turned around and walked towards the cart without saying anything. The mercenaries just looked at him, quietly. When he reached the cart, he saw madam Aya looking at him, eyes full of suspicion. The old woman was holding a bow, of all things. Though he doubted she would be of any use with it, it was the gesture that counts. With one last look towards the mercenaries, he made his decision. With clenched teeth, he jumped on the trestle and beckoned madam Aya over. This was going to be something of a gamble.
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“We are going to ram through, madam Aya,” Rove explained in a hurried tone. “Be ready to shoot that bow of yours. Even if you can’t hit them, it should at least dissuade them a bit to try anything too funny.”
“But what did they say? Did they try to buy you out? Are they planning to ki-...“
Rove shut her up with an angry glance.
“Questions for later. Bow. Arrow. Now.”
Jumping on the driver’s seat with a loud ‘Hya’, Rove quickly spurred the horses into a gallop with a few flicks of the reigns. However, even before the horses gained speed, the mercenaries already stood with weapons in hand. They’d anticipated his refusal. With one smooth motion, the Human nocked an arrow on his bow, aimed and fired. The arrow hit the left horse straight in the eye, killing it instantly. It toppled over just as the cart reached the enemy trio. They quickly and calmly stepped aside just as the dead horse’s body hit the cart’s wheels, causing it to tip over to the right side. Cursing loudly, Rove jumped off the trestle, hitting the ground fairly hard but continuing into a roll. Madam Aya surprisingly managed to jump out rather dextrously, although she did let out a high-pitched yelp of alarm. She hit the ground at an angle, taking away a good bit of the impact. The old woman looked mostly unharmed, although her clothes were torn and a cut could be seen on her left leg. To her credit, she still held on to her bow, and with an amount of skill and grace Rove would not expect from such an old woman, she nocked an arrow on her weapon and took aim.
Meanwhile, the mercenaries approached him, their casual attitude gone like snow before the summer sun. The Lon hid behind his shield, slowly approaching, his sword ready and low, the blade shimmering with a deadly shine in the late afternoon sun. Both the Vysari and the Human were standing at the ready behind him, brandishing their throwing knives and bow respectively, with the Human standing a good distance away. Cursing inside, Rove readied his sabre, taking a defensive position, trying to make the area his enemies could hit him as small as possible. Madam Aya shifted her aim for the Human, while the Human did the same towards her. For a small moment, the two sides just stared each other down. Then the Lon charged forward with a roaring battle cry, and chaos ensued.
The next minute went by in a blur for Rove. The Lon charged forward, shield first, his broad weapon swiping at the Herhor’s legs. At the same time, the Vysari threw a dagger over the charging Lon’s shoulder, aiming for Rove’s throat. Anticipating the throw, Rove dodged out of the way to his left, further away from the Lon’s weapon, giving himself enough time to block the incoming blow. He answered the Lon’s attack with an attack of his own, striking high at the other warrior’s head. His strike deflected harmlessly on the top of his opponent’s shield. Meanwhile, Aya loosed a shot at the enemy archer, the arrow whistling through the air with its typical angry buzzing. The shot was well-aimed, but not well enough. The arrow dug into the archer’s armoured shoulder, drawing blood but not putting him out of the fight. In return, he loosened a shot aimed at Madam Aya’s legs, clearly aimed to incapacitate, not kill. With a nimble skip and a jump, Madam Aya jumped out of the way. How in the name of Terraz’ Stern Gaze was she that nimble? Rove made a mental note to drag all the information out of the woman if they were to survive this while he parried another blow.
Slowly but surely, the tide began to turn against them. Madam Aya was forced behind the remains of the carriage, taking shots whenever she wasn’t threatened by the Human archer. The archer knew what he was doing though, and Madam Aya could only manage a handful of shots at the Lon, which deflected harmlessly against his shield. Rove, standing between his client and the assailant to the best of his ability, couldn’t do much more than defend. He had positioned himself in such a way that the cart provided some welcome cover to his left side, but against three people, it was only a matter of time before they would overpower him. If he tried to run and gain some time, he would leave himself open for the Vysari’s daggers and probably an arrow as well. He took a dagger hit in his armoured left shoulder, an arrow grazed his brow, blood slowly trickling in his eyes. Their strategy was clear, with the Lon taking all the punishment, while his companions did the real damage. And there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it. Not without exposing either his client or himself, which would be fatal in this circumstance. This could turn out to be the worst day of all.
Through the haze of combat, Rove barely noticed the intense blue and red glow coming from behind the cart. Suddenly, a ball of azure and crimson flames roared over his shoulder and smashed into the Lon’s shield. With a yelp of surprise, the Lon jumped back, desperately trying to regain his composure. Seizing the opportunity, Rove lounged at the Vysari, aiming a huge right-handed slash at her torso. Seeing she couldn’t dodge it, the woman blocked the blow with her left arm, but Rove’s sword cut through her armour like butter and the woman yelled out in agony as the blade bit deep into her flesh. But the mercenaries, experienced as they were, recovered quickly, and before he could push his advantage, Rove found himself pushed back yet again. He heard mumbling coming from behind him, the voice sounding high and clear.
The voice rose into a shout, and Rove couldn’t help but quickly glance behind him, fearful of what was there. The only thing he could see was a blistering flame, shaped like a curved blade, swirling past his head, shooting towards the Vysari. This time, the mercenaries were ready. The Lon managed to deflect the flame, and with her good arm, the Vysari threw one of her daggers at Rove, who was still regaining his footing. The dagger hit him squarely in the chest. Numbness spread through Rove, his fingers loosened, and his sabre clattered to the ground. Weakly, he raised a hand to his chest and looked at his fingers. Red, like a sunset, like the end of a very very bad day. With a sigh, he collapsed.
His conscience was fading, blood trickling down his sides. The mercenaries, aware that he didn’t pose a threat any longer, were approaching Madam Aya. She stood about 30 paces away, mumbling to herself in that strange voice. Meanwhile, the archer had taken out a rope, and the three of them were approaching his client, talking to her and gesturing to his limp body. For a moment, Rove thought he saw a smile on madam Aya’s face, but it could’ve just been the delusions of a dying man.
Suddenly, a surge of cold air brushed against him and rushed towards the old woman. With a victorious cry, madam Aya seemed to explode into a burst of icy shards and cold air. The mercenaries were thrown back, the ice ripping straight through armour and flesh alike.
Despite his sorry state, a wave of genuine fear washed over him. At that same moment, madam Aya’s visage was twisting and bubbling, her face melted away and revealed…a younger face. From beneath the old crone appeared a beautiful young woman, her facial features delicate, with some sort of fur lining around her neck. From behind her, great wings as if from a giant bat unfurled themselves into view.
And then his wounds took their toll. Before he could freak out too much, his sight slowly faded to black, his mind confused.