As Vylder was jogging to the village square, he heard the rushing sound of wind over fletching and before he could react; he felt the impact on his left outer thigh. A sharp pain radiated from where an arrow had pierced him, and then a second impact, about five inches above the first.
He dropped to his left knee as he yanked the arrows out. Using his hammer to assist, he was about to get back to his feet when four men in Nevan Legion uniforms spread out in front of him. Kneeling, he was at eye level with them. The smile on his face was an unfriendly one, as the enemy stared back at him, the fear in their eyes evident when taken with their bobbing Adam’s apples.
As he moved to rush the two men toward the left, a giant pillar of fire erupted from the smouldering fire pit. A sudden blast of heat and air pressure knocked him onto his backside and sent the two men he intended to rush flying. The pair on the left screamed and ran around as flames engulfed them. Then, as suddenly as the fire flared up, it was gone.
He was stunned by the sudden conflagration, but he pushed that distraction aside, thinking he could worry about that mystery another time. A two-tone whistle pierced the air as he was getting back to his feet. From the direction it was coming from, he saw a short, overweight, balding Nevan.
In his arms, he held a small Halder child. The man held a short sword pressed against the boy’s neck. In very broken Halder, he said, “You surrender, or I kill!” as he made a slicing motion with his sword across the child’s neck.
Vylder said to the boy, “Don’t worry, little Turrin, you’ll be all right.” He then looked at the man with disgust. “You people are animals. I will take your fat head, and I will break it in half like I would a melon!”.
The fat man looked at Vylder with a confused expression, but then he tightened his grip on the boy and pressed the sword closer, drawing a bead of blood from the boy’s neck. Vylder noticed the enemy had him surrounded now, and some of the other Nevan ‘soldiers’ had taken hostages. Realising the man didn’t understand him, he tried communicating with small words and gestured using his left hand, “I surrender, they…” he gestured to the hostages, “… go free. You... KILL... them, I kill everyone!” That last sentence he said, drawing his thumb across his neck as he pointed his hammer at every man there.
The fat Nevan man appeared to be in charge of the enemy. He spoke to them in Nevan, and they let go of their hostages. However, the leader kept hold of the child. Vylder suspected that would happen. So he stood up to his full height, and then, in a deliberate motion, held his hammer outstretched in front of himself, and let it drop to the ground, spreading his arms.
The men cautiously approached him with ropes, ready to tie him up. As they came closer, he feinted towards one of them and made a dog-like noise “a-OOH!”, causing that man to yelp, and trip over backward.
The leader made a “Hup-up-up-up!” sound as he pulled the child in tighter.
Vylder shrugged, and then put his hands out to his sides and said, “All right, all right,” and allowed the Nevan ‘soldiers’ to bind his arms behind his back. They then marched him out of the village toward their ship.
ᚲᚺᚱᛟᚾᛁᚲᛚᛖᛊᚱᛁᚾᚾ×ᛟᚱ×ᛟᚱᚾ
As Venna glanced back, she noted the towering inferno rising out of the fire pit in the square, and saw the two human torches running and stumbling around in their pain induced madness. Then she saw the silhouette of Orn, his palms outstretched, as he screamed in rage towards the square. With no other options, she ran up behind him and struck him behind the ear with the pommel of her sword, knocking him out cold. “Erik! Pick up your brother and carry him. We have to leave now!”
“But father….”
“If we don’t leave, what he is doing will mean nothing! Now grab your brother and let’s go!” Her tone brooked no further argument, so he jogged over, bent and scooped Orn up, heaving him over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry.
Venna returned to the front of their group and started leading them out of the village. As they were nearing the trees, she saw a light. A short, muscular bald man had uncovered a lantern he held, and then drew his short sword. In the light, she could see a wicked scar on the left side of his face and an ugly, leering grin. His voice was rough as he spoke in his language. “There you are, my sweet, sweet girl!”
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Venna did not understand what he said, but felt a wave of disgust as, by his expression, she could tell his intentions. She could see that he had a man flanking him on each side. As she took up her fighter’s stance, she angled her shield forward, her sword point aimed toward his chest.
The men looked at Vannur, slightly uneasy, but Vannur paid them no mind. His prize was within reach. He opened his arms in a brawler’s crouch as he inched toward her, hefting the occasional figure-eight pattern with his short sword in front of him. Without taking his eyes off her, as he spoke to his companions in his language. “She’s mine. Try not to cut her too much.”
Venna was worried. She needed to take them down fast and get moving, or more would come, and that would be the end of them. As she looked from one to the other, and noted their positioning, she devised a quick plan. She edged forward, coiled like a spring, waiting for the right moment to release.
Venna closed with the short scar-faced man, as he was edging toward her. In a move that shocked him with its suddenness, she leapt forward, and holding onto the shield’s back strap, threw it forward into his face, crushing his nose. She yanked the strap, pulling the shield back to her, grabbing onto the handle behind the boss. The impact knocked him onto his back, leaving him stunned as she moved on to the next threat.
Rolling over, he tried to shake off the cobwebs, coughed and spluttered as blood leaked steadily from his nose and mouth, certain that his nose had broken. Struggling to rise, he mumbled, “That bitch!” as he looked up to see the back of his other man dashing over to attack her from behind.
Her second assailant attempted to deliver an overhand thrust. That blow, she deflected to her left with her shield. Trying to hold his left hand out, he vainly attempted to block as she stabbed upwards through his hand and into his throat. Her sword point pierced clean through his trachea and into his spinal column, severing it. He was dead before he fell.
She then swept her left leg back a little, and glancing over her shoulder, she saw the third assailant running towards her. He had his sword raised for an overhead swing as the man in front of her fell back and slid off her sword.
Pausing briefly, she watched him approach. She waited until he reached his striking distance. At that moment, she pushed off from her front foot as she pivoted, thrusting her shield up into his right shoulder, and thwarted his downward swing.
His momentum into her solid shield thrust caused his legs to sweep out from under him and he rotated in the air. He seemed to be suspended in the air horizontally, as he made a quarter turn. Gravity began reasserting itself on him as Venna, with an overhead swing, chopped down with her sword, catching him diagonally across his side.
The blow severed his left arm and slammed him into the ground. His armour prevented him from being cut, but the air left his body with a whooshing sound, accompanied by the sound of breaking ribs as he hit the ground.
Venna straightened up and without looking at the downed man, swung a backhanded stroke across his throat as he tried to sit up, severing both carotid arteries. She then ran back towards the centre man just as he was getting back to his feet, a red misty geyser gushing straight upwards behind her.
The blow to his face still dazed Vannur. He couldn’t recall a time in his life that something had hit him that hard, and horses had kicked him a time or two. Equally shocking to him was the sight of a woman tearing through three veteran fighting men as though made from thin cloth.
Just regaining his feet, he was about to make ready to face her again when he felt, rather than heard, a sick crunching sound. For the second time, he was suddenly looking at the sky from his back.
He would have heard her retreating footfalls as she sprinted off into the night, were it not for that persistent high-pitched ringing in his ears.
He would have seen her sprinting off into the night, were he able to open his eyes.
ᚲᚺᚱᛟᚾᛁᚲᛚᛖᛊᚱᛁᚾᚾ×ᛟᚱ×ᛟᚱᚾ
After they had put some distance between themselves and the village, Erik, Brenda, and Selti stopped. Erik gently lay Orn on the ground and whispered to Brenda, “Look after him, please? I’m going to find Mother.” Before she could respond, he disappeared into the night.
Orn Groaned and as he was returning to consciousness he asked, “What happened? Where am I?”
Selti placed her index finger to his lips to tell him to be quiet and bent down to whisper to him, “We’re somewhere outside the village. Erik has gone to bring your mother to us. Just rest, all right?”
Suddenly, Orn felt a wave of nausea come over him, and he rolled to his side and started retching. Selti tried to help him as best she could.
Brenda whispered, “Don’t worry, Orn, that’s normal after a knock on the head. You’ll have a nasty headache, but the urge to be sick will pass.”
At that moment, they heard rustling noises from the direction Erik had gone. They all held their breath, only to heave a sigh of relief as they heard Venna’s hushed voice call out to them. Erik had found her and returned.
In the distance, they could still hear shouts, and the occasional metallic clash of weapons striking. Then, after a few more moments, silence.
Erik said to Venna, “We need to go back for Father.”
“Not now. We don’t know how many enemies there are, and if we go back now, we could end up dead or worse.” Responded Venna.
“What’s worse than dead?” Erik asked sarcastically.
“Believe me, child, there are fates far worse than death. And make no mistake, Erik. You are still a child. You are my child, and you will do as I say, or you can take a lie down next to your brother, understood?”
Erik looked at her with a sullen expression but knew better than to do anything other than hold his tongue. Venna continued in a hushed but forceful voice, “We wait here until it gets lighter, and we can see better. Then we may go back, slowly and quietly!“
Erik nodded, and his mother said, “I’ll keep watch. You get some rest.” And with that, she moved off a ways back toward the village to watch for any enemies that may come this way.