MITCHELL – ROAD TO PORT CHANDREX, NEAR GARET, KLYDOR
6TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
Mitchell's eyes flew open, acutely attuned to the new presence threading stealthily through the nearby woods. His heightened senses detected ten figures advancing quietly among the trees. As his gaze swept their surroundings, his hand found its way to the reassuring hilt of his sword. With the previous night's events at Maragon's tower etched into his memory, he crept from behind his tree to rouse Davon, who lay sleeping, with a gentle shake.
Davon was only just opening his eyes when chaos erupted from a thick line of shrubs to the left. Eight dark clad figures burst from their cover, weapons in hand and raised to attack. They charged straight towards the unsuspecting companions, while the last two figures, armed with crossbows, moved off to flank. The sudden noise seemed deafening compared to the silence of a few seconds ago. Mitchell reacted quickly and instinctively, a testament to the training Maragon had given him preparing for events just like this. He began a short series of chants and gestures, beginning his first spell before he conscious mind was even fully aware of what was happening.
“Virtus ignis invoco”
(I invoke the power of Fire)
“Evola verumque meum telum virium.”
(Fly forth and true my missile of energy)
As he completed the dweomer he felt a surge of magical power go from the stone and through him, massively augmenting his spell. In response four golden missiles of pure energy shot forth from his fingertips, a pair blasting into each of the lead two assailants. The force halted their charge, dropping them in their tracks. The others paused, surprised by the resistance, while Davon shook the sleep from his eyes and rolled to his feet.
‘Keep calm. This is terrifying for good reason. But that was also cool. That spell should have only generated two of those missiles. The stone is making me more powerful. What else can I do?’
As the remaining men realised they still held the advantage, they resumed their charge. Davon had now recovered enough to pick his axe up from the ground and prepare a defence. He was a warrior not unaccustomed to fighting for his life. Against the goblins he had been forced to do it on many occasions. Although he had no idea why these men were attacking him, he was prepared to do whatever was required to defend himself.
With a scream to wake the others he parried the downward thrust of the first attacker. With the momentum of the attack stopped, Davon swung downwards and smashed the blade of his axe into the man's knee. His opponent cried out in pain and fell to the ground almost immediately. As he fell, Davon pulled the sword from his hand and turned to face the next man with both axe and sword now held ready.
‘Time to find out if any of that melee training has stuck. Is it too much to hope the Stone might help with this too?’
Mitchell drew his sword to meet another of the men but, although having trained under Maragon extensively, he had never been in real combat before. Filled with fear and apprehension he hesitated, and his parry was not as effective. The blade of his opponent was deflected but it still scraped along his left arm. He howled in agony.
‘No, did not help at all.’ Mitchell heard Maragon’s words in his head, ‘Deflect a stronger blow rather than trying to directly parry it. If possible deflect it in such a way to allow your counter-attack in’
Three men ran past him and towards the barely awake shapes of Hawkin and Alicia. Aware that his companions were not awake, Mitchell had to buy them time. The power of the stone still flowing through him like wildfire, he was able to focus and in doing so time seemed to slow down and he could again hear individual heart beats. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he deflected the next blow, while simultaneously uttering another series of short, precise incantations.
“Meam voluntatem figurare illusion”
(My will to shape the illusion)
“Ego quasi inspiration”
(My self as the inspiration)
“Replices in occursum meum.”
(Meet my exact replicas)
Again he felt a power surge through him from the stone as he completed the illusion enchantment, although this one was a smaller surge than the first. In response his image and the area around him blurred for a brief moment. When the distortion cleared, instead of facing one opponent, the man found himself facing four figures; each exactly alike the other and all perfect replicas of Mitchell. Mitchell also noted he was panting from the effort of the last two spells, and could feel fatigue settling into his limbs.
‘No more casting for a bit. The stone might be giving me more power for my spells, but casting these empowered spells is exhausting.’
The man Mitchell now ‘surrounded’ was confused, but fought on regardless, and swung his sword at the nearest foe with all his might. But to his horror he found that the image just vanished as the blade struck it, leaving his sword to pass straight through the area it had recently occupied. Overbalanced as he was from such a strike that never met any resistance, he spun 180 degrees and fell to the ground.
His opponent occupied momentarily, Mitchell turned his back on him and concentrated instead on the men who had run past. Almost appearing out of nowhere, Peregrin was standing between the men and those sleeping. Mitchell heard the twang of a crossbow being fired. Incredibly, he saw Peregrin deflect the shot with his right scimitar.
‘How is that possible?’ Mitchell’s mind, as he had been trained, quickly sought the answer. On the battlefield a mind must be sharp and figure out what was happening quickly and where necessary adapt your own plan. In this case, the answer came quite quickly. So quickly, that Mitchell chastised himself for not figuring it out immediately.
‘Magick! Remember, all elves have magick, you idiot.’
Peregrin then met the charge of two of the three. He had two slender curved scimitars in front of him and was spinning and twirling in a manner much more like dancing than any fighting technique Mitchell had been taught. One opponent was wounded almost immediately, and the second was clearly completely occupied.
That left one more. Drawing his dagger from the sheath on his belt in one smooth motion, Mitchell took aim and threw it. Despite having practised the action hundreds of time under the careful tutelage, he had serious doubts he would successfully complete it now. But to his surprise, under duress, his muscle memory completed the task exactly as he practiced it, and the blade spun end over end several times before catching the dark form just to the left of his spine.
The figure let out a grunt as it struck and stumbled slightly. While the wound was not enough to kill him, he did scream in pain, and stop to face Mitchell. The look on his face was of sheer anger and the knuckles holding his mace were white.
“You're going to pay for that little man,” he forced out through clenched teeth.
‘Judging from the gaps in his dashing smile, this is not the first time this guy has attacked someone. But on the bright side he looks like he has lost more than his share of those fights.’
Mitchell braced himself for the next exchange.
Smiley made it three steps forward before Hawkin tackled him to the ground from behind, the big man easily knocking the mace from his grasp with one great swipe of a forearm, and then twisting the man's own arm around until he yielded and stopped struggling. As Mitchell turned to face his original opponent again he heard a blood-curdling scream from the left, but did not have the time to find the cause because his earlier foe was bearing down on him again, having dispatched the rest of the images as well.
His confidence growing, Mitchell broke the man's forward momentum with a series of parries and began a cautious offensive pattern of his own. Meanwhile Hawkin smashed the grounded man with a punch that left him unconscious. As Mitchell fought on, his mind replayed the sound of the scream, and he began to fear that it was from Davon and not, as he dearly hoped, one of their attackers.
With renewed fury and vitality he beat at his foe's stubborn defence, batting the sword aside, and several times cutting his opponent enough to inflict minor wounds. He had always marvelled at how fast his slender, curved blade could be made to change direction. Despite its lighter, slender blade, it had cutting power greater than that of most longswords. The sword was a gift from Maragon, apparently a souvenir from his travels to the Isles of Hohiro to the north. And now his opponent was learning to appreciate it also.
“Somebody take the man to the left. He...” The clang of steel on steel interrupted the remainder of his sentence momentarilty, “He has a crossbow!” Mitchell warned.
“He's run off,” came the quick reply from Alicia. He also saw Hawkin fell another opponent, this time with his great sword.
Mitchell could feel the wound on his arm bleeding, felt the blood soaked material of his tunic sticking to his flesh, and he was starting to tire from the exertions of combat. His opponent, however, did not seem to be having the same trouble and his blade continued to swing with the same speed and vigour.
Maragon warned me to pay attention to my stamina. Wish I had listened. Be a shame to die because I did not. He would probably summon my spirit from the afterlife and say ‘I told you so’.
It was with great relief that he watched the man hesitate, and then withdraw a step. Mitchell and he looked into each other’s eyes for a brief second, before he turned and fled back into the wilderness. Mitchell’s jubilation was short lived, for it was now with a sense of foreboding that he turned to view the scene behind him.
Peregrin had seemingly held his own against two men at once. One was dead at his feet already, and the second was well on his way to joining him. His blades moved in a synchronised harmony with his rapidly moving feet in a way which would be beautiful were it not for the death that surrounded him.
Davon and the last remaining attacker were involved in combat, the fury of which Mitchell had never before witnessed. Blood flowed freely from wounds on both men and their clothing was now more crimson than anything else. Despite the violence, there was a brutal elegance to Davon's combat style; his axe and sword wielded with an ease belied by their weight. His foe, now purely on the defensive, struggled to parry the relentless onslaught. Mitchell could see that Davon, clearly the superior combatant, was moments from concluding the battle.
Hawkin was moving in to assist his friend when the inevitable finally happened. Davon, his sword and axe coming it at opposite angles simultaneously, succeeded in penetrating their poor victim's defence, his axe biting deeply into the man's ribs. As the man stumbled and dropped his weapon, Davon raised his axe again and slammed it into his skull, splitting it and spraying fragments of bone, blood and tissue into the air. Mitchell could hear the shocked gasp from Alicia as the corpse fell to the ground, and he had to try hard to control his own reaction to such brutality.
When his friend stumbled and fell to his knees a few seconds later Mitchell began to understand what had happened. As the pair of weapons that had so recently been wielded with an aura of strength, tumbled to the ground, Mitchell saw for the first time the crossbow quarrel that was embedded deeply into Davon's ribs. The realisation his friend was in trouble snapped him out of his stupor and he began to run towards the rapidly weakening form. But before he could reach out to offer support, Davon slumped face first to the ground.
Alicia was beside him the fastest, and with an authority Mitchell had never seen in her before, she ordered the other two back. Acting quickly, she gathered up Davon's still form, rolled him over, and cradled his head carefully in her arms. His chest rose and fell weakly as he struggled for breath, and his his gaze was fixed vacantly skyward.
‘Oh, the Gods! I have killed Davon.’ It hit Mitchell like a hammer to the chest, and he struggled to breathe.
“We must pack up the camp,” called Peregrin, already moving to do just that.
“Will he be okay,” asked Hawkin, barely daring to breathe. If Alicia heard him however, she did not acknowledge it. She tore Davon's blood soaked tunic to see the wound. With a balanced combination of caution and speed she removed the quarrel from his side, the intense agony which resulted obvious even on a face so weakened as Davon's.
With the plug pulled out the blood began to spill from the wound even faster, but Alicia did her best to compress the bleeding with her hand. Even as the blood began to pour through the cracks between her fingers and run across the back of her hand Mitchell could hear familiar sounds coming from her lips. With a quick, silent prayer to his own God, he watched as the faint yellow aura surrounded her hand again. Rather than wind across the flesh this time, the glow remained concentrated and focused on the torn flesh directly beneath her hand. For almost ten seconds the glow remained, before slowly dissipating until only the same blood-covered hand remained.
Mitchell held his breath as he awaited the outcome. With his far greater understanding of magic he knew the difficulty of treating a wound such as this. Alicia slowly removed her hand and the relief was obvious by the reaction on her face. As her hand continued to move away the others saw the results of her work.
The hole which had been apparent in his flesh a minute ago was now gone, and the rushing flow of crimson had now been replaced by just a trickle from what was now only a small break in the skin. To Mitchell’s untrained eye this looked much less life threatening. However, closing the wound did not necessarily reverse all the damage and blood loss already suffered, and Davon only seemed to recover slightly.
“Can he travel?” asked Mitchell. Alicia looked carefully at her patient before answering, as Hawkin turned and disappeared into the woods.
“I don't know. I doubt it,” Alicia replied. The look of concern as she regarded Davon was clear but when his eyes suddenly sharpened and he focused on her gentle features, she relaxed slightly.
“Are you al...” she asked
“I can ride,” Davon gasped forcefully.
“No. I think we should stretcher you between the horses,” countered Alicia. The two locked gazes and were still looking at each other sternly a few seconds later when Hawkin suddenly burst back into view from behind a row of hedges.
“Get the horses. We have to get out of here now!” he roared. “We have more company in these woods.”
Davon's eyes widened even more and with a surge of adrenalin he rolled from Alicia's protective grasp and to his feet, picking his axe from the ground as he did so.
Mitchell had already begun to run towards their mounts, which were tethered to a group of trees nearby. Hawkin followed closely behind. Alicia began to assist Peregrin to quickly pack up their equipment from the rapidly prepared campsite, rolling up their blankets and throwing them into a pile nearby. Davon, eyeing the woods from which Hawkin had run ominously, hurriedly pulled his studded leather jerkin over his shoulders and retrieved his machete from beside his blanket.
Mitchell appraised Davon again quickly.
‘Alicia’s healing prayer will have repaired some of the damage, and has certainly stemmed the bleeding. But he is not healed. Could her healing actually make things worse. At least before he could not have entered combat again. In his weakened state further combat almost certainly gets him killed. But we did not have the time to make a stretcher.’
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Mitchell looked around, and everyone seemed very busy.
‘It is worth the risk. I would hate for Davon to die, knowing I could have done more.’
Mitchell quickly pulled a small shard of steel from one of his many component pouches.
“Virtutem in hoc ferro voco”
(I call forth the power within this steel)
“In carmine meo sic captionem”
(Into my spell I do trap it)
“De meo scopum ego facio”
(Onto my target I do bestow it)
“Fortitudinem suam ad fortitudinem suam”
(Lend it’s strength to his strength)
As the spell completed the metal shard had crumbled into dust which Mitchell sprinkled over Davon as the latter stopped to pick up his weapons. Davon felt a surge of strength come over him. He briefly looked around, but as Mitchell now had his back to him and was walking away, he put it down to adrenalin and continued on.
“Hurry up!” screamed Hawkin as he untied Allanor and threw his saddle over the horse's broad back. “This place is going to be very crowded in a few minutes, and if it's all the same with you I'd rather not be here.”
“All right already. I can't pack up your damn gear any faster. And it might help if someone else would lend a hand.” Alicia objected. Mitchell was busily tying the saddle strap under his mount's stomach when Hawkin finished, jumping on his horse in one smooth motion and setting off towards Alicia.
“Forget the rest of it. Take what you've got and get your horse,” he ordered, instinctively taking up the tone of voice he used when ordering his troops around in the militia. Under normal circumstances Alicia would have snapped at him for it. This was not normal circumstances.
“You too Davon. Get your horse and we are out of here.” Rather than the rapid response Hawkin had hoped for, however, Davon calmly turned towards him.
“How many we facing?” he asked.
“I saw two scouts, one I tagged with a crossbow. The other one bolted back into the woods before I could reload, but I am sure I saw a couple more scouts deeper in the woods. Looked like they were running to get more help” Davon just nodded his head slowly in response. He mumbled something but Hawkin was not close enough to make out what he said.
Mitchell lead his and Davon's horses over to the two warriors, passing Davon the reins as he approached. Mitchell’s horse was now almost fully prepared with all the straps and buckles done up. Davon's on the other hand, was completely bare except for the bridle. No words needed to be spoken to explain. Time was short and they all knew that Davon could ride bareback as well as any of them could ride fully saddled. Even in his current state, considering the situation, Mitchell saw no alternative. Davon climbed onto the back of the magnificent animal as Mitchell used the stirrups to mount his horse.
Peregrin and Alicia were the last to finish saddling their horses and at last, all of the companions were ready to depart. With a quick glance at the unconscious and dying forms on the ground nearby, Hawkin began to lead the others out of the clearing at a gallop.
Two figures appeared from behind the trees to the left, and as Alicia climbed onto her horse, one fired his crossbow at her The quarrel bit deeply into the creature's flank. It stumbled under Alicia's weight, crashing to the ground and pinning her underneath it.
Davon wheeled his horse around the fastest and began to charge at the figures, desperate to reach them before they reached their trapped prey. His axe appeared in hand as quickly as if he had simply willed it there, and he poised to strike. One figure retreated, making it half way back to the safety of his cover before he was taken in the back by an arrow from Peregrin’s longbow.
The second kept coming. He realised at the last instant he would not make it to Alicia in time, and he tried to dive out of the way of Davon's blade, but the move was only partially successful, and the steel still bit into his shoulder with malice. Davon continued on past the man, wheeling his mount around a few strides later to allow his axe another opportunity.
The wounded man must have realised his peril, for he tried to make a break for it, but Davon was on him bare seconds later, the axe punching through the man's back and lifting him almost a foot off the ground. As the body tumbled through the air another of the unconscious figures recovered, his freshly broken nose apparent for all to see. Attempting to remain unnoticed, he began crawling towards the safety of the woods, but as he moved under the nearest shrub, he knew he had been spotted.
“Leave him and let's go!” barked Hawkin, hoping to get through to his enraged friend, but Davon ignored him and climbed from his horse.
“We cannot remain here any longer,” Hawkin yelled.
While Hawkin tried unsuccessfully to get Davon thinking clearly, Mitchell dismounted and helped Alicia from under her horse. A quick glance revealed the state of the horse's injuries and Mitchell knew that between the crossbow bolt and the obviously broken leg that her horse was mortally wounded.
‘We cannot save her. Mercy is my only option. May the gods forgive me for taking so much life tonight.’
As Alicia turned around to thank Davon, Mitchell drew his sword and put the poor animal out of its misery with a quick, sharp downward slash. Alicia heard the sounds of the sword slicing through flesh and bone and knew what had happened, offering a few words of prayer for her faithful horse, but refusing to turn around and witness what had become of it.
“Climb on my horse. Hawkin assures me that he is much better than the last one.” The shock of combat and all the unexpected bloodshed made Mitchell forget all about their petty dispute.
Alicia placed her foot in the stirrups to climb up, when the clamour of moving people burst from the woods around them. Alicia was considering removing her foot from the stirrups again but Mitchell's two hands firmly on her backside pushed her up onto the horse, he following her moments later.
Having now finished off the figure under the shrubs, Davon rushed to remount but the first of the new arrivals came into the clearing before he made it. Four figures raced towards him with their weapons at the ready. The profanities which streamed from Hawkin’s mouth as he drew his sword were colourful and loud, carrying easily over the sounds of the men racing to join the battle, and continued to flow as he spurred his charger into action. The men in the clearing were hesitant about attacking an armed and mounted adversary, and all changed course to go after Davon.
The closest of the three to Davon covered the ground unscathed but the following three never made it. Another arrow from Peregrin ended one. Hawkin’s bastard sword ended a second, while the third was knocked to the ground and trampled by Hawkin’s horse. The survivor of the group never had time to consider himself lucky before Davon's machete and axe made short work of him.
The rapid demise of four of their colleagues slowed any more of the attackers. Three similarly clad and armed figures did dare step into the clearing, but at the sight of a thunderous charger boring down on them they quickly reevaluated their decision and dived for cover.
Wheeling the horse around quickly, Hawkin urged Alannor on and sped back to where Davon was finally climbing back onto his mount. With Hawkin in the lead, the group stormed out of the clearing, quickly leaving the scurrying humans far behind.
JOSAK – ROAD TO PORT CHANDREX, NEAR GARET, KLYDOR
6TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
As the four horses carried his quarry away, Josak Norgette looked on with a disgust so palpable it was as if his glare alone could slay all the incompetent fools he found himself begrudgingly working with.
‘Why must Klydor be so bereft of competent mercenaries? Forces me to work with the dregs like this sorry lot.’
“Can you not complete the most simplest of tasks I assign you?” he roared. “All I ask is that you capture a group of children.” The figures around him cringed in terror as his eyes settled on each of them in turn, each afraid that this strange figure would snap and kill them for their failure. The fact he was unarmed in no way reduced his menace. If anything, it underscored it.
“I provide you all with food and drink and how do you repay my kindness? By letting these children walk all over you. Idiots! All of you.” His rant crescendoed with each word, echoing like an impending storm ready to unleash its fury.
‘Time to make an example. They must learn that failure is not an option.’
“Captain Vance, you are in command here, are you not?”
The tide of men moved aside quickly to reveal a greying man with a larger than normal stomach and an unkempt beard.
‘Look at this poor example of a man. Clearly not a fan of bathing. Lacks the discipline one hopes for in a mercenary. Nothing redeeming about him, and a poor reflection on the whole group that he is their commander. He trembles now as he attempts to speak.’
“That is correct.” Captain Vance’s voice held no air of authority at this moment.
“And am I to assume that you and your men are indicative of the rest of your little brigade.” The volume in his voice had dropped, but all of the venom remained. So much so, that none of the men present could take his eyes from the shrouded figure addressing them. Trying to regain his composure in front of his men, Vance raised himself to his full height before responding.
“Basten’s Brigade are the finest mercenary unit of its size in these parts.”
“Convenient. I was not aware of any others.” Josak remarked, his tone serenely mocking.
‘I can see your thoughts playing across your face and body as easily as if you were a book. You realise now I am a complete mystery. You realise I no longer seem the simple merchant you thought I was when you accepted this mission.’
‘My task was simple. I asked to employ your group of twenty five men to capture stolen goods from a group of thieves. I paid well - and in advance. After I promised that a good showing would score your entire brigade a long-term contract, you of course accepted gratefully without asking any questions.’
‘Now you begin to see your actions as a mistake. You wish you had asked more questions of me, but I suspect the overabundance of alcohol you had consumed beforehand had dulled your mind. Perhaps congratulatory drinks should be saved until AFTER negotiating contracts in future.’
“I apologise, but had we brought horses we would have alerted them to our presence sooner,” justified Vance.
“You are as stupid as you are incompetent. Had we been on horseback we could have attacked before they had even saddled their horses. Without mounts they would have been unable to get away.”
“But I thought the element of surprise was more important. The chance of casualties...”
The glare from beneath Josak's hood made it clear that the lives of Vance's men were inconsequential to him.
“I pay your men to engage in battle, not skulk like assassins. Had I desired such, I would have sought the Thieves' Guild,” Josak retorted, a heavy silence falling as both men weighed the other.
“Why did your scouts attack and not report back to you about the camp location? We could have easily surrounded them and cut them off from their horses.”
‘I can feel your fear emanating off you, Vance. And I suspect, even without the aid of magick, so can your men.’
“I don’t know. Perhaps they were seen and were forced to defend themselves.”
“No.” The reply from Josak was as short as it was definite. “Your men have no respect for you or your orders. You've grown complacent and lax. You must be replaced.”
The look of absolute shock on Vance’s face was obvious to all, as was his hand now drifting toward the hilt of his sword.
“What? Listen here. You only pay us to work for you. You have no authority over...”
With a casual flexing of a fist Josak silenced the retort as the rest of Vance’s words were cut off by the gasping sounds of him trying to breathe through a throat that was now horribly crushed. As Vance clutched horribly at the fatal wound, Josak pointed his hand towards one of the men near the back of the group.
“You were the sole survivor of the scouting group which found them?”
“Yes, Sir,” came the reply, appearing a touch tentative.
“And subsequently returned with their location?” asked Josak.
“Yes, Sir.” This reply was calmer.
“What is your name...” Josak hesitated as he looked for markings of rank on the man's uniform, then smiled when he found none, “...soldier?” Vance continued to gasp and sputter, falling to his knees.
‘I will also show you all the rewards for doing well. What does Ronardo call this? The stick and the carrot approach.’
Josak watched this new man.
‘I can see the battle on your face as you struggle to portray the right emotion, eager to impress your new employer. Now, satisfied you have found the right mixture of fear and courage, you will respond.’
“Drogan..., Sir.” The last bit added on hastily as the young man remembered his place.
“You are now the commander of this group. Do you understand, Captain Drogan?”
“Yes, Sir.”
With each reply the words became clearer and more confident. Josak could see that many of the other men were beginning to question his right to choose their next leader but as the dying form of Captain Vance unceremoniously slumped to the earth in front of them, all defiance went out of their eyes.
“Now that you know what happens to those that succeed, and those who fail me, I trust your efforts to capture these children will be suitably adjusted. It would be a great shame if I were the death of your entire brigade.” With the calm demeanour with which Josak delivered his last threat not a single man present doubted he could accomplish just that.
MITCHELL – ROAD TO PORT CHANDREX, NEAR GARET, KLYDOR
6TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
“Would you be so kind as to explain what the hell is going on!” screamed Hawkin, his tone getting louder and more out of control with every word. “When you came to get me, I don't remember you mentioning anything about any of that!... And I am pretty good at remembering things like ‘armed groups of men will try to kill us’.”
Mitchell recoiled from the verbal lashing, adding yet another layer of guilt to the already crushing weight he felt.
‘I did say it would be dangerous. But I did not state just how dangerous because if I had you might not have come. Why can I not just say that?’
But Mitchell could not find the words under Hawkin’s harsh berating, so said nothing.
Alicia must have sensed something because she had tried to cheer him up and bring him out of his dark contemplations, but she was also trying to keep a watchful eye on Davon and her efforts were largely unsuccessful.
Alicia called the riding to a halt when it became apparent to her that Davon was unable to continue. Hawkin was quickly to his side and helped Davon from his mount. He helped him to beneath a large oak. Alicia dismounted and focused her attentions on Davon. With Peregrin just observing, Mitchell felt very alone against Hawkin's continued assault.
“How many were there? Twenty? More? Who sends that many men after five people like us?” Hawkin asked.
“Upon reflection they probably should have sent more,” interjected Peregrin coldly. “We killed 15 men, and in return they seriously injured one of ours. And that is with them having the advantage of surprise.”
‘But right now, the only thing that matters is that one of us is seriously injured.’
Mitchell turned to his friend. “I did not know that was going to happen, Hawkin. Do you think I would endanger your lives recklessly,” he pleaded. “Maragon did not tell me that would happen.”
“Maragon? I knew it!” screamed Hawkin, “That old fool will be the death of all of us.” Mitchell turned on him in an instant, the fire in his eyes showing that Hawkin' shot had hit home. But just as quickly as it appeared the fire was gone and Mitchell slumped down in the saddle, crushed by guilt.
‘Do not get angry at him. It is not his fault.’
“Stop it!” ordered Alicia, finally being distracted from her tendings to Davon. “This pointless arguing is getting us nowhere. Maybe Mitchell could have warned us more but what is done is done. All we can do is work out what to do now.”
Hawkin’s expression changed little but he did at least turn his attention from Mitchell. He instead strode over to the two horses and lead them to a nearby tree where he quickly tethered them. He did not approach Mitchell's horse and made it quite obvious he was avoiding him. Alicia shook her head but Hawkin was facing the other way and missed her disapproval.
“Can you remember anything which may help us figure out what is going on?” she asked as calmly as possible.
“Not anything clear. Only the pieces of information that Maragon provided me. And that is always anything but conclusive,” Mitchell replied truthfully.
Alicia finished changing the dressing on Davon's wounds and carefully laid his head down to rest on a rolled up blanket, before turning around and settling herself down in preparation to hear what Mitchell had to say. Once she was comfortable she gestured for him to continue.
‘Tell them everything. May the truth set us free.’
“He returned to the tower out of nowhere last night after three months away, and was covered in blood. He would not tell me what was happening, but he gave me something to take to Chandrex. He said he will meet me there three days from now. He told me the tower would be unlikely to survive the night but if I left immediately, I would not be there when whoever was coming for him arrived.” Mitchell looked up and made eye-to-eye contact with Alicia, looking into her eyes for some sign of forgiveness, or at least understanding.
“I did not mean for Davon to get hurt,” pleaded Mitchell.
“I know you didn't.” Alicia gave him the most encouraging smile she could.
“I am also sorry if Hawkin upset you when he said I called you a girl. I really did not say that,” pleaded Mitchell, still feeling uncomfortable that Alicia might be angry with him.
“Mitchell, I doubted you said it even when he told me. I came because I wanted to protect you,” assured Alicia. “I just wasn’t going to get drawn into the pointless bickering so I just let it go when we were riding yesterday. I was never annoyed with you. And even if I had been, it certainly wouldn’t matter in light of recent developments. We have much bigger issues to worry about, right?”
“Right,” agreed Mitchell, now feeling a little foolish for even bringing it up, but relieved at the same time.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Alicia asked.
Mitchell shook his head.
“Maragon said he would reveal more at Chandrex,” Mitchell finished.
“So he will answer our questions? In person?” asked Hawkin skeptically, his tone of voice still more hostile than normal.
“I doubt that. He rarely answers anybody's questions. But he will be sure to tell us anything he deems necessary to continue,” replied Mitchell
“What he deems necessary to continue? That doesn't imbue me with confidence after this little affair,” scoffed Hawkin.
“Perhaps something changed that he did not anticipate,” defended Mitchell.
“Why do you have such blind faith in him? How could a hermit completely out of touch with the real world foresee anything?” continued Hawkin.
“He understands more of the real world than you realise,” replied Mitchell. “You think he just lives as a hermit in the tower, but that is not true at all. Half the time he is not even at the tower.”
“Where is he then?” asked Hawkin doubtfully.
“I cannot say. I am sorry,” replied Mitchell sorrowfully.
‘I wish I could say more, but Maragon has made me swear never to talk of the Saranti Seven or their activities to anyone.’
“So its okay to risk my life. I just can’t be trusted to know why!” spat Hawkin.
“Is this leading anywhere?” interrupted Alicia, beginning to realise how difficult it would be to keep these two from each other’s throats until they reached Chandrex. She decided immediately that the best method would be to keep both busy and their minds occupied with more important issues.
“Davon's condition is stable, but it may not stay that way for long. We must get him to a High Priest soon, and that will not be accomplished by bickering. Hawkin, leave Maragon alone. Mitchell, stop defending everything Maragon does out of instinct. Everybody makes mistakes and if he has, we must be prepared for it. The way I see it, with those men probably chasing us this very moment, the closest settlement we can make safely is Chandrex anyway, so we may as well get going and see what Maragon has to say when he arrives. Let's get a stretcher rigged up for Davon and get moving. We can talk more on the way.”
Mitchell responded immediately, anxious to be out of the firing line, and dismounted. After tying his horse to a nearby tree he began work by scanning the area and heading towards what he deemed to be a suitable branch for a stretcher. Peregrin also prepared to move off, moving like a cat as he prepared his bow and a handful of arrows. Only Hawkin remained stationary.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I am in awe. Such strong leadership. You should be an officer in the militia.” A small grin appeared at the sides of his mouth before he made an exaggerated bow and turned away. Happy to have had the last say Hawkin also began to look for suitable stretcher poles.
Not that anyone noticed, but Peregrin had the faintest traces of a grin when he saw actual leadership from within this group finally. And from one of its least likely members.