Chapter 6
UNDER ATTACK
Devon breathed in deeply as he emerged from his makeshift prison. He looked around and found that he was standing on a crumbling pavement that ran alongside a broken road. When Beth had mentioned her village, he had imagined a cosy little group of houses nestled in the countryside somewhere. In reality, the settlement consisted of tightly packed concrete boxes in an advanced state of decay. It depressed him to think that people could be so desperate for shelter that they should choose to live here. The whole place smelled of mould and… blood? Why blood? How could that be? Then he heard a gunshot and a female voice scream his name loudly. He knew instantly that it was his red-haired bane.
Jet knew precisely what he wanted, and as soon as he mounted, she whirled around and galloped further into the village. Devon wondered if she’d already spent time familiarising herself with the area. She was far more intelligent than he’d imagined possible.
Even though the road was uneven, Jet thundered forward. It took her less than a minute to erupt into a clear area that looked as if it had once been the village’s centre. The crumbling road orbited an overgrown, central circle that was about one hundred yards in diameter. There was a hulking, lichen-covered obelisk of some sort in the centre, with a low surrounding wall that was in the process of crumbling away. Rough grass sprouted in clumps where it had managed to break through the stone.
Devon moaned. He received a warning from Jet and shifted his balance and leapt as she stopped suddenly. The momentum and his jump took him over her head. After a neat somersault, he landed cleanly beside the monument. He still couldn’t see the slavers yet, but his gaze found the canvassed rooves of the two lorries. It didn’t even occur to him that the dismount he’d just executed was amazing. It had just happened.
Devon was happy to see the dilapidated wall nearby had shed numerous lumps of stone. After choosing a few that were just small enough for him to throw effectively, he ducked down and inched around the stone obelisk. He could see the back of the closest lorry and a man holding a pistol standing by the tailgate. There were no other slavers in view.
Izzy’s wisp fleeted across the village’s central area and came to rest above Devon’s head.
Without pausing, he adjusted his aim a little then threw his first rock as hard as he could. The rock slightly veered as it flew, yet still hit the man exactly where he’d aimed, between the eyes. Devon wondered if his brain had somehow expected the difference of trajectory and allowed for it. He felt a grim pleasure when the man’s head slammed back into the lorry’s tailgate and his body collapsed.
The next moment, he heard rapid footsteps as another man emerged from the side of the vehicle. Devon’s missile was already airborne. The man looked at his fallen comrade and joined him when a sizeable stone, moving at speed, struck him, collapsing the right-hand side of his skull.
Izzy said.
The wisp sped off as Devon sprinted toward the back of the rearmost lorry. Inside, he could see frightened faces peering out at him. Before he reached the vehicle, someone stood up and pointed a gun at him. Shit!He leapt sideways and grabbed a throwing-knife in each hand. A shot rang out, and something pinged loudly off the monument’s stone. Hah! Missed! He launched his two blades at the gunman and heard the soft squelch as they found their target. Before he had time to dodge, his victim was pushed forcibly out of the back of the lorry. The corpse hit Devon and knocked him to the ground.
“Rats! Sorry about that,” a man’s voice said, apologetically, from inside the lorry.
Devon ignored him and clambered back to his feet. If the man was apologising, it was unlikely that he was hostile. The situation would probably seem funny to him later, but right now, he was just annoyed. These villagers were nothing but trouble for him thus far. He took off at a sprint down the side of the lorry to the cab. Izzy had said that each vehicle had a driver. Sure enough, the off-side door was just swinging open, propelled by a khaki-clad arm. Devon grabbed the arm and pulled hard, then quickly unsheathed his daggers. The driver yelped and tumbled out of the vehicle, landing heavily on the floor. A blade pierced his throat, and Devon was off, running again.
He got to the front lorry’s cab door and saw that the window was open, but there was no-one inside. He heard a movement close behind him, and he reflexively jumped straight upward. His feet found the sill of the driver’s window, and he launched himself backwards. As he performed a graceful backward somersault, he saw a chunky man pointing a gun at the point where he’d just been. “Too slow, asshole!” he growled as he slashed both daggers downward. The man screamed in pain as one dagger bit deeply into his shoulder and the other cut into his face. The slaver collapsed to his knees, blood pouring from his upper body. Devon deftly landed behind him and ended the man’s life.
His hand shot forward and collected four souls. According to Izzy’s intelligence, he was missing two more. They’d be here somewhere. Devon dropped down to lie flat on the ground and then peered under the lorry. Sure enough, he saw two pairs of boots stalking around the front. The vehicle had ample ground clearance, and Devon noticed an opportunity. He rolled underneath and waited. The slavers took their time, pausing to inspect the dead guard, then carefully looked around for whoever had done this to their colleague.
Devon thrust both daggers through one of the men’s knees when the men were finally close enough, then struck again, slashing the other slaver’s thighs deeply. Both men yelled in agony and tried to stumble backwards. The first man’s damaged leg joints gave way, and he collapsed sideways. His life was cut short by a knife piercing his heart. The other rapidly met his demise as he fell and instantly had his throat cut. Devon added two more souls to his collection and then rolled back out from under the lorry.
Devon ran to the back of the lorry. “Stay in the vehicle for now,” he said urgently to the villagers. Then he repeated his instructions when he got to the other one. A muscular man walked around the back corner of the vehicle. He had a badly bruised eye, but Devon didn’t have time to notice more. His daggers were up and ready.
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The man raised his hands. “Woah! I’m on your side, I swear.”
“Then get out of sight now; we’re about to have company,” Devon snapped. He may have sounded a little forceful, but he didn’t need this idiot’s death on his conscience. Thankfully the man nodded and ducked back out of view.
Glancing around, Devon found and grabbed the blood-covered rock he had used to kill the first slaver. He turned in time to see two heavyset thugs lumbering into the centre from the road he’d ridden in on. Devon wondered how they’d missed each other. He loped across the street and concealed himself behind the monument again. Tiredness was seeping into him, probably due to lack of sustenance. Beth had been right about one thing; he hadn’t eaten since he’d awoken. As if he’d reminded his stomach of its plight, it grumbled noisily.
Peering around the obelisk, he saw that one of the remaining men had a handgun and the other a long dagger. The rock he’d been holding whizzed away from Devon’s hand and struck the man with the gun, toppling him instantly. The last slaver looked shocked at the death of his colleague, then shouted when he spotted Devon. He started to charge at him, dagger outstretched. His momentum was interrupted when a spear travelling at speed hit him in the back. The man hit the ground face first and lay still.
Izzy said as Gwen jogged over to the corpse to retrieve her weapon.
“Nice shot. I think I’ll stay on your good side,” Devon said to Gwen.
She gave him a broad smile and flexed her bicep at him.
After collecting the last of the souls, Devon walked back to the lorries. The man he’d met earlier was standing there waiting for him.
“What the hell did you just do?” Gwen shouted after him in amazement. “Did you just… No way, that’s unbelievable. Did you just take their souls or something?”
“Yes, but keep it to yourself,” Devon hissed back at her. “I’m still not clear on the details. My memories are all screwed up right now.”
“Mmkay,” she replied. “Wow! Shit just got interesting!”
“That was incredible. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” the annoying man said to Devon as he ran up to him. His face looked tired and beaten, yet pleased too. The bruising around his eye was darkening rapidly, but Devon noticed that he had handsome features and a smile that made him want to smile back. “How rude of me – my name is Finn. I am Madison’s husband. You’ve saved our lives twice now. How can we ever repay you for what you’ve done?” He stuck his hand out.
Devon reached out to him, took his hand, and shook it, paying him some attention for the first time. Finn was about six feet tall, with a muscular, square build. It was clear he’d led a physical, outdoor life because he had a deep tan that he’d accumulated over the years. He had short cut, salt-and-pepper hair and some facial hair growing in. Devon suspected that it would be gone in the morning, though. His powerful jawline put him on the handsome side of rugged, and his piercing, grey eyes made him striking to look at. In all, he was a good-looking man. Finn spoke with a well-educated, upper-class accent, which sounded out of place around these parts.
“Nice to meet you,” Devon said with a smile. “It’s a shame the circumstances weren’t better. As for repayment, I haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours, and I’ve been a prisoner here for nearly that entire time. You could start by fixing that oversight.”
“Oh my days! You must think of us as such terrible hosts. Leave that with me. By the way, could you teach me how to throw as well as you do? I have never seen anything quite like it.”
A lady poked her head out of the back of the lorry. “Is it over?” she asked.
“Yes indeed, dear,” Finn responded.
“Where’s Red? Sorry, I mean Beth,” Devon asked. He hadn’t forgotten Izzy’s new nickname for her or that she’d reported her shot earlier.
“In here. She’s in pain but not in any danger of passing away. Although you would think she was if you heard the fuss she’s been making,” the woman replied, motioning to the dark interior of the slavers’ vehicle. “The bullet clipped her neck. She is fortunate the slavers cannot shoot straight.”
All the villagers started emerging from the lorries as they realised their ordeal was over and they were safe. They blinked and looked at the corpses with fascination rather than horror. A few even kicked them.
“Do not wander off, everyone. I’m calling a village meeting right now,” the lady shouted.
“Not interested, lady. I just want some food; then I’m leaving,” Devon grumped. He noticed that most of the villagers were giving him grateful looks, and a few even looked him up and down approvingly. Their ordeal must have been traumatic and, from the appearance of the bruises that a few sported, rough too.
Devon felt a nuzzling at his neck and realised that Jet had walked around the circle and moved right up next to him without making the slightest sound. He heard a few appreciative noises when the others noticed her. He sent a feeling of pride to her and scratched her head affectionately.
He looked around him at the gathering crowd. These were just ordinary civilians, not a fighter among them. There were a few younger candidates who could learn, given the inclination and a chance. Finn seemed willing, at least. Thinking back, he remembered that Beth wasn’t a fighter either; he’d just assumed she was from her aggressive demeanour. Gwen was the only one that appeared willing to fight back. Maybe stealing her away was unfair to the village, but that guilt would not stop him. An arm encircled his waist, and he found Gwen now standing next to him. Izzy sent him a smug thought, and, surprisingly, he also received a similar sentiment from Jet. He had to assume that Gwen now had their full support.
“Nicely done back there,” he said to Gwen.
“I just got three,” she replied with a grin. “It looks like you got the other seven. Impressive.”
“It wasn’t too bad once I’d recovered from Finn throwing a corpse at me,” Devon chuckled.
Finn looked mortified when he heard Devon’s words. “I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I meant to push your attacker out of the lorry. I didn’t realise you had already killed him.”
Devon grinned wolfishly at him. “A good plan. Apology accepted.”
“Quiet down, please,” the woman shouted above the villagers’ rising hubbub – everyone seemed intent on comparing notes about their ordeals. Silence slowly descended on the gathering. The woman walked over to Devon. “First of all, I would like us all to thank our saviour for his timely efforts despite our treatment of him.” The woman shot a displeased look at Beth, who was standing nearby having her neck bandaged. “Can someone please fetch him some food? He has not eaten since we took him prisoner, and we owe him our lives.”
A smattering of applause started, interspersed with a few cheers and whistles. Devon was a little underwhelmed, but he hadn’t expected any thanks at all; saving these people had happened without thought. It had just felt right to him.
“All of us are in your debt, Devon. I am Madison, but please call me Madi,” the woman, who was clearly in charge, said to Devon, offering him her hand. Numerous hand gestures accompanied her words, and the tone of her voice rose and fell exaggeratedly.
Devon gently shook the offered hand, surprised when she held on to him. He remembered that Finn had mentioned that this woman was his wife, and Beth had told him she was the village leader. Madison was almost the opposite of her husband. She was petite and good looking in a classically feminine way. Her face suggested she smiled a lot but had seen a good few years of worry too. It was a kind face with soft cheekbones and a nicely rounded outline. She had shoulder-length, hazel coloured hair and dark brown eyes that drew you in. “I suppose I have you to thank for patching me up?”
Madison dropped her gaze and looked guilty. “It was the very least we could do. Maybe one day you might tell me how your armour just disappeared when we tried to take it off, yet here you are, wearing it again.”
“Don’t hold your breath. I’m still not thrilled about the way certain members of your village have treated me. I was about to leave when I heard Beth scream out.”
Madison looked distressed at his words but continued to hold his hand in her grasp. “I beg you not to judge us too harshly. You have witnessed the dangers we face. Paranoia is second nature to us.”
Devon looked pointedly at Madison’s hand to hint that it was past time to release him. Instead, Madison covered his hand with her other and held on to him more tightly. He wondered what her intentions were.
“Please stay for a short while longer. Our provisioner has gone to fetch you some food, she is a fabulous cook, and I hope you’ll forgive us for not feeding you sooner. However, I am afraid we must ask you for a little more.”