An ominous droning wail crept through the clearing in front of the abandoned cottage in the secluded mountain woods. The chilly early evening air caused the hairs on the back of Ben’s neck to stand on end as he squinted at the stocky, heavily armored man who stood about ten paces from the entrance to their temporary dwelling. An unnaturally sounding cry of a nocturnal bird of prey pierced the thick, silent tension in the air.
The Honey Badger, who Ainsle had named, shifted his weight to the opposite foot and rested the tarnished poleaxe against the pauldron on his shoulder. The weapon stood at about shoulder height of the Bounty Hunter; its wooden haft was reinforced with riveted strips of dented and chipped steel. The simple, angular axe head appeared sharp yet was plain in all other aspects, swept into an intimidating hammerhead. The wear, scratches, and obvious hard use of the man’s weapon and crossbows suggested that he knew how to use them.
“Peace, Bandit Queen,” said the Bounty Hunter in a deep, metallic tone through his grated helmet. “There’s no need to feed the woods our blood. I got a contract that pays a wee bit more if the boy is brought in alive. You know how it is; the lads need to eat, and it’s terrible for business if we don’t make the delivery.”
Ainsle let out a ‘hmph’ as she stood with arms folded. The haft of her great mace leaned against her shoulder, and its angular steel head rested on the forest floor before her. “That’s the thing, you see? You cunts took the wrong contract this time.” She paused. “What’s the bounty?”
Without skipping a beat, the armored man reached into a satchel with his free hand and removed a dirty scroll of parchment before flinging it at the old woman. Ainsle caught the thrown letter and unfurled the parchment. Ben wasn’t sure how the Berserker read anything in near-total darkness —the only light in the clearing was an orange glow from the small window of the dilapidated cottage.
He watched as his mentor’s eye widened before she frowned at the Bounty Hunter. “I didn’t take you for a bloody idiot.”
“Times have changed,” replied the man simply.
“All right then,” The old woman spat and dropped the parchment. “With this amount, I suppose you wankers came prepared for a tumble?” Ainsle lifted the great mace to point at the stocky man, the massive weapon held aloft with an outstretched arm.
“I’ll be honest,” the Bounty Hunter began as he gripped his poleaxe with two gauntleted hands. “The docket said nothing about the Red Maiden-”
“Yeah, you fucked up, didn’t you?” she interrupted. “Enough coin to buy a small town, yet you blundering cocksuckers thought your marks were just a boy and his Priestess?” The old woman let out a chilling cackle, and Ben felt her oppressive aura waft off her petite frame.
The sounds of footsteps, crunching dead leaves on the ground in his periphery, told him that his Keeper and the two Casters had joined the company. In response, the Bounty Hunter whistled, and the rustling sounds of leaves and several footsteps were heard approaching the group from all directions.
“You should know as well as I do... We don’t get to our age without being prepared for the odd surprise.”
Ben heard Ainsle grunt and felt her aura fluctuate. His eyes darted around the clearing. He counted twelve men, excluding the Honey Badger, well armored and armed with various weapons, such as drawn bows, crossbows, spears, and swords. He couldn’t make out their faces in the dim light, yet their movements suggested experience and skill. Their auras —though none were substantial on their own— felt smothering due to their sheer numbers. Ben felt the rumble of anxiousness in his stomach. He was confident in his abilities as well as those of his mentor. Yet, they were severely outnumbered, even with arcane firepower at their backs and the substantial power of his Keeper; their odds at victory without loss were too close for his liking.
“My heart,” whispered his Keeper. “Command me.”
Ben didn’t face the blonde woman as he held out a hand to gesture that she should hold. He willed the emotion of anticipation to her in the hopes that she would interpret it as patience.
The short Bounty Hunter clanged the knuckles of his gauntleted fist against the triangular blade of his poleaxe to get their attention. “Before we turn the soil red,” he spoke loudly for all in the clearing to hear. “I should offer another resolution. I am, after all, but a simple businessman before all else. And for the sake of said business, I’d prefer it if all of my boys made it out here in one piece, as I expect you’d want the same.”
“Aunty! Let’s obliterate these bastards!” June hollered from behind the Berserker.
Ainsle sighed and turned to face the over-eager young woman, and Ben felt a severe itch in the back of his throat. He swallowed and stole a glance at the Magus’ daughter to see her eyes glow and crackle with a deep blue light. “Hush, girl,” Ainsle admonished June. “If anything, he’s true to his word. I’ve fought beside him before, so we’ll hear him out at least.”
June bit her lip in frustration and nodded reluctantly. The light that shone from her eyes continued to pulse with tiny arcs of lightning that caressed her cheeks and brows.
“Go on, then,” the old woman said to the armored man.
He nodded and gestured for one of his men to step forward. He was of a similar build to the Bounty Hunter, wielding a plain war pick and clad in heavy plate; while not as tarnished and used, the way he moved in his gear spoke of countless days of fighting in the apparel. “This is my son,” the Honey Badger said as he patted him on the back with a clang of steel. The man’s son placed the war pick on the ground and began to disarm himself, unsheathing two daggers and unclasping an enormous crossbow strapped to his back. “I propose a contest. If you will, a duel in the style of the old ways to a yield or death. Take your time to talk it out amongst yourselves.”
Ainsle grunted. “Fucking hells,” she muttered before turning to Ben. “Benny boy, Ol’ Ain can’t make this decision for you. If it were just him and a couple others, I’d say we smear them against the trees. But this…” she paused to scan the clearing before returning her attention to him. “I recognize some of the bastards. Each of ‘em are capable alone, but together, we ain’t walking out of this without a bit of blood spilled on our side.” The Berserker sighed and let out a chuckle before speaking to the night air. “Ol’ Ain is getting soft in her old age.” She dropped the colossal head of the great mace to land with a thump on the forest floor, leaning on the haft as if fatigued. “For what it's worth, the bastard will play by the rules. I’m sure of that.”
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Ben frowned. His stance hadn’t relaxed, and he felt his shoulders tense. He was a wound spring that was ready to be released, and as a result, his nerves were on fire. “What rules?” was all his anxiousness permitted him to say.
“We hold one of theirs while they take one of ours. It’s an old tradition. Keeps the fuckers from fighting dirty or interfering in a losing bout.”
The young man considered her words for a few heartbeats. “So, if I kill him, they’ll all just… leave and not pursue us?”
The Berserker nodded and closed her eye tightly for a beat. From the front door, the orange ray of the glowing hearth dimly illuminated her scarred face, and Ben thought the woman looked older. Tired. “Yeah. They’ll honor the old ways.”
Ben’s eyes widened at his mentor's words. He knew she had the most accurate measure of his martial abilities, and if she was uncertain of his victory, then the Honey Badger was indeed a formidable opponent. He thought of the danger he’d put his companions in if he were to refuse the duel.
“I’ll do it,” Ben said finally.
She opened her steel blue eye and met his gaze with a slanted brow. “I can’t tell you to do it, but I’ll say it anyways… if you want to fight him and if shit goes sideways, there’s no shame in giving up if the cunt is too much to handle.” The old Berserker nodded, more to herself than the young man. “Remember what I taught you. No need for any fancy shit, just trust in the basics. This fucker's got decades on you, and he may not have the same power you have, but I’ve watched him pulp the skull of the old Champion of Pride —So don’t rely on that concept till the right moment.”
The young man nodded as he steeled himself for the fight to come. He regarded his lanky arms and thought about the robust and healthy body he wore in his domain. He was stronger than a person with a similar build to himself by virtue of his entity’s power passively coursing through his veins, yet he wouldn’t fool himself into using it as a crutch. Ainsle’s grave tone told him he’d have to perform at his very best, the fatigue of the day’s trek be damned. He steeled himself and cracked his neck, head tilting side to side.
The old woman grinned and offered him a wink. “You’ll need to declare your terms, but as for the captive: ask, and I’ll go over.”
“Aunt, Ben, if I may,” Kieran spoke up. “Please allow me.”
Ben considered the handsome Caster for a heartbeat and dipped his head. “Kieran, I… Thanks.”
The red-haired Apprentice grinned with sharp teeth. “Not at all. I am confident in your prowess and look forward to a swift victory.”
Ben returned the grin and felt the hand of his Keeper clasp his. He faced the blonde-haired woman who met his gaze with slanted brows. “My vision is clouded, my heart,” she whispered. “But I have faith that you will prevail.”
Ben forced a smile for the woman and turned to face the armored man. “Okay, I agree to your duel.”
The Bounty Hunter’s helmeted head tilted before he heard a nearly inaudible sigh of relief through steel slits. “I’ll admit I’m surprised you chose yourself. I hoped to trade blows with an old rival,” he shrugged and nodded to his son before returning his attention to Ben. “My son will be your captive. Who will you offer among your number?”
Kieran stepped forward. “That would be me.”
The stocky man gestured for the Apprentice to approach, and he complied. The Bounty Hunter’s son mirrored the Caster and walked over the empty clearing to the party with hands raised before bowing to Ainsle. He spoke in a soft, deep voice. “It’s an honor, Red Maiden.”
The Berserker sniffed and wordlessly pointed with a finger to the ground before her. The unarmed man turned with his back facing her and knelt on the forest floor. Kieran did the same after being instructed by a woman in dark leather armor.
A few of the Bounty Hunters lit torches, and suddenly, there was light in the clearing. Ben watched as the short, stocky man in full-plate armor walked into the open area and lifted his poleaxe in a salute. The young man felt the dagger on his hip and gripped his halberd before mirroring the man's steps, yet decided to nod as he wasn’t familiar with the etiquette required for the duel. He felt… strange. Anger, fear, and uncertainty caused his ears to ring and his heart to quicken. He guessed that it was Jor’s cousin who issued the bounty. Yet, he also acknowledged that his existence had been revealed to other, potentially dangerous people —Edas Crell, the Inquisitor, had traveled to the port city to deliver a summons to him and his mentor— it could be someone he hadn’t even met or a clandestine group with motives he could only guess at.
“Terms,” called the Bounty Hunter.
The dark-skinned woman who stood behind the kneeling Apprentice Necromancer spoke up. “You will be taken to the capital by our company and delivered to the client. You will be disarmed and will offer no resistance.” She paused and glanced at the Honey Badger before returning her attention to Ben to speak pleadingly. “Boy, yield when it's offered. No need to throw your life away.”
The men in the clearing were silent at the words, and Ainsle cleared her throat and addressed Ben in a low rasp. “Give him your terms... and tear the cunt a new one.”
Ben called out to the man loud enough for all to hear him. “I want the name of your client…” he paused. “And a promise that none of you will pursue me or my companions again.”
The man nodded, his grated helmet clinking against his gorget. “That’s a tall ask there, lad. But for the stakes involved, I accept your terms.”
“Then I accept yours,” Ben said, mustering all the calm he could to not have his nerves betray him and cause his voice to quiver.
“Miss O’Seighin, if you would,” the Bounty Hunter said to the Berserker.
The young man heard Ainsle make a ‘Tch’ sound before speaking. “I bear witness to the duel. Begin when you are ready.”
The Honey Badger saluted once more and began a slow walk toward Ben, poleaxe held in a sideways two-handed grip. The War Dancer felt the thrum of his heart beat a rhythm in his throat. He bit his tongue and flourished his exquisite halberd, settling into a low stance, spearhead held forward. The length of his weapon and stance emphasized the height and reach advantage he had.
As the short man drew nearer, Ben froze. A thick, near-tangible aura began to billow off his stout form, and suddenly, his opponent appeared to be larger… more substantial to his senses. Ben hesitated, which seemed to cost him as the man strolled into his guard, nullifying his range. The worn poleaxe was held aloft with two gauntleted hands. The glint of a deathly sharp cutting edge was like a splash of ice-cold water that roused him from inaction. He fell to his haunches and rolled to avoid the dull drone of promised death.
Ben landed on his feet after the evasive tumble, only to see the armored man slowly stalk toward him once more. The Bounty Hunter released one hand from his weapon and, in one swift motion, tilted the small balestrino on his hip and fired a bolt at him with a snap. Too slow. The small bolt impacted his midsection with a dull thud, forcing the air out of his lungs. Ben stumbled backward as he gasped for air.
He felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He reached toward his abdomen, eyes fixed on the steadily approaching man. Ben found that his gambeson hadn’t been pierced all the way through, and he tore the small projectile from the padded garment, nicking his finger on the barbed bolt head. The small cut tingled more than he expected for such a little wound. His heart raced.
“Poison?” Ben said to no one in particular.
The Bounty Hunter, known as the Honey Badger, ignored the comment and raised his deadly poleaxe for another devastating blow.