It was their fourth day of traveling when Verrick slipped out of the shadows of the nearby trees, approaching the camp on silent feet. “Trouble.” He muttered, and sat down beside Wulfram, reaching for one of the fish they had caught in the nearby stream earlier.
“What kind of trouble?” Wulfram asked calmly, the other men straightening, ears and eyes peeled for any sign of the trouble Verrick had spotted. The night was silent around them, save for the crickets chirping in the tall grasses near the stream, and the occassional rustle of a nocturnal animal moving through the underbrush.
“Footprints, in the woods. Signs of horses passing through, signs of old camps.” Verrick shrugged slightly and bit into the fish, ripping a piece off and chewing it. “Bandits more’n likely.” He said around the meat.
Wulfram scanned the treeline, the darkness nearly impenitrable beyond the light of their fire. “Fresh tracks? Or old?”
“Day, maybe two. None too fresh, but ‘nough to be worrying about.” Verrick pointed his fish towards the west, roughly the direction Trade Road ran, and the way they were headed. “Headin’ west along the road. Next town is still two days off.”
“We’ll keep an eye out then. With luck we’ll miss them, but I won’t bet on it. Double guards tonight, I’ll take first watch with Gryff, Owen and Verrick you take second. Harvick can you set some wards?” Wulfram bit into his own fish, crunching into the thin bones and crisped meat.
“Yes Sir.” Harvick nodded and stood up, dusting his hands off on his long robe. The mage hadn’t been able to bring himself to call him Wulfram, but the sir was at least a marked improvement over ‘your highness’. “I’ll do that now.”
“Thank you.” Wulfram scanned the treeline again, then returned to his food. The camp fell silent beyond the soft chanting of Harvick as he set his wards, and remained that way through the night and into the morning when they packed up their gear.
Birds chirped in the early morning air, and a light fog rolled off the small stream, filling the lower areas of the ground with a fine mist. Wulfram studied the peaceful landscape and took a deep breath of the fresh air. No sign of bandits through the night or into the morning, that was good. They would still have to be on their guard on the road. He kicked dirt over the remnants of their fire, then joined the others packing up.
By the time the sun burned away the fog, they were already on the road towards the next town. Verrick rode ahead a short distance, watching for trouble, but they didn’t find it until shortly after midday.
Verrick pulled to a stop on the road ahead of them, sharp old eyes scanning the trees on either side of the road. He let out two low whistles: be on the lookout. Wulfram loosened his sword in its sheath, confident that Gryff and Owen were doing the same. “If they attack, do you have any defensive spells Harvick?”
“One, Sir.” Havrick said awkwardly, looking around as well.
“Be prepared to use it.” Wulfram said. One defensive spell, dear gods. At least it was better than nothing. The rest of the group caught up to Verrick, and they proceeded together. Wulfram spoke softly, keeping his eyes on the woods. “What did you see?”
“Movement in the woods. Could be nothin’.”
“But you don’t believe that.” Wulfram glanced back to the older man, an eyebrow raising.
“Nah.” Verrick responded, loosening his own sword.
Up ahead, three men stepped into the middle of the road, swords on their hips. The one in the lead was a rough looking man with a swagger to his step, and a beard that nearly hid the smirk on his face. “Hail travelers.”
Wulfram pulled his horse to a stop, the others following suit. “Hail. Is there something you need assistance with?”
He glanced towards the side of the road, spotting movement in the shadows out of the corner of his eyes. He wasn’t sure how many there were, but there were certainly more than just their five. Hopefully whatever defensive spell the mage had was a good one.
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“We’re jus’ ‘ere ta collect the toll is all.” The lead man said, looking over their horses and gear. His smirk grew, undoubtedly noting the quality of their gear and clothing. “I’d say ‘bout fifty gold should do it.”
“There is no toll on the Trade Road until you reach Astash to the west.” Wulfram said grimly, and rested his hand on his sword. These must be some of the bandits that plagued Trade Road. He would have to talk to his father and General Gavril about increasing patrols. Perhaps they could even conceal some men among the usual caravans to ensure the safety of the road.
“New toll is right ‘ere, an’ it’s fifty gold. Or maybe should just take yer ‘orses instead.” The man grinned, showing stained and chipped teeth. “It’s that, or yer lives.”
Wulfram smiled patiently, trusting that his men had noticed the movement on either side of them. But he wanted the bandits out in the open. Perhaps he could goad them out. “If you haven’t noticed, we out number you. Step aside and we will continue peacefully.”
“Count again.” The man raised a hand, and more men stepped out of the woods around them, most armed with poorly cared for swords or simple bows and arrows. Wulfram glanced around casually, noticing two more men behind them, three to either side. Eleven in total then, if they all came out of the woods. Which he suspected they had. If they were leaving anyone in the woods he would have left the bowmen, they would be poor support in a melee combat.
“Ah, I see the situation clearly now. Men?” Wulfram drew his sword, his eyes hardening as he looked at the leader. Behind him there was the whisper of steel against leather as his men drew their own weapons, and the creak of sinew and wood as Verrick readied his bow. “Last chance.”
“Get ‘em!” The lead man shouted, drawing his own sword.
Well, no one could say he hadn’t given them ample opportunity to leave alive. More opportunity than they deserved surely considering they were bandits. But perhaps his own little thief had softened his heart towards those on the wrong side of the law. It didn’t matter right now as he charged forward with his own yell, sword flashing down to meet the leaders. Metal sparked as his sword slid across the well-worn blade of the bandit leader, knocking it aside. He sliced down again, snaking through the mans defenses to cut into his flesh.
The sharp blade sliced into him like butter, the man falling to the ground even as Wulfram turned to kick another bandit away from his horse. Behind him he heard the clash of steel against steel, the twang of the bow and thud of arrows hitting home, and an odd whoosh before and thud as a body hit a tree.
He sliced through the second bandit, only turning when he heard Gryff cry out in rage and pain. One of the bandits had gotten in a lucky hit, slicing into his leg. Rage surged in Wulfram, and he charged to the bandit, his sword stabbing straight through the mans chest. Only belatedly did he realize his mistake, as an arrow whizzed past him, barely grazing his cheek.
He had reacted in rage, instead of acting logically, with forethought. His eyes landed on the archers, and he rode towards the man, pulling up short as there was another whoosh of air that sent the man tumbling against a tree, crumbling to the ground like a broken puppet.
“Some defensive spell.” Wulfram admitted as quiet fell on the road. He looked over the bodies that lay on the road, taking in a deep breath of air tinged with the metalic smell of blood.
The smell wasn’t pleasant, but he needed to think logically, not emotionally. “Gryff, are you alright?”
“I’m fine, the cut didn’t go deep.” Gryff’s voice was calm but pained. “Nothing that can’t be bandaged.”
“Good. Owen, bandage his wound. Verrick keep an eye out for anyone else that wants to try us. Harvick, you’re with me.” Wulfram slid off his horse, moving towards one of the fallen men.
“What are we doing, Sir?” Harvick reluctantly climbed off his own horse, following Wulfram to the fallen man. He looked at the bloody body with an ill expression. “They’re dead, there’s nothing we can do for them, even if they hadn’t just tried to rob us.”
“We can lay them to rest.” Wulfram wiped the blade of his sword off on the fallen mans shirt before sheathing it. “Even if we can’t bury them we can at least lay them out respectfully, off the road.”
“But they tried to rob us.” Harvick said, staring at the body.
“They did. But they were still people, with lives and perhaps even families. Grab his feet, I’ll get his shoulders.” Wulfram crouched down, lifting the fallen man by the shoulders. After another moment of hesitation, Harvick grabbed the man by the feet, helping Wulfram move the body off the road.
“I know a ritual to move dirt if you’d like to bury them.” He said reluctantly.
“That’s an odd spell to have, is it not?” Wulfram looked at the mage with a raised eyebrow as they carried the man a short distance into the woods.
Harvick shrugged slightly, looking uncomfortable. “I wanted to help dig out the Tangle, but Archmage Balariz sent me with you instead. Many of us in the society learned that spell to help with the excevation.”
“Fortunate for us then. We’ll bury them properly. Bandits or not, they deserve to be laid to rest respectfully.”
“Yes, Sir.” Harvick said, although he didn’t look like he quite agreed.