As Cahn sunk further into the wagon’s seat and away from potential arrow fire, Bernhard Dorian leapt down onto the crunchy gravel road in front of the wagon, bringing his wicked blade from its sheath in a flexible grip. The Deceiver’s mind delved into a place he had reserved for just such an occasion; dispatching enemies quickly and efficiently.
Squeezing some glory from the diminishing pool in his weapon, he conjured multiple copies of himself that stretched, shaked, and danced erratically nearby. Dorian didn’t look back as he heard the arrows behind him loose, passing harmlessly through the phantoms and into the grass berm on the other side of the road. A lucky elven archer almost made contact as the cold blue steel of an arrow whistled inches from Dorian’s right ear. The other helmeted elf, still on his horse, shouted in desperation at the line of bowmen, pointing a spear at Dorian’s actual body as the man slunk forward like a predator.
Dorian leapt out of the way of the incoming volley of arrows, then tumbled to the side, putting the rider between him and the archers. The shots ceased, only for the deliberate and powerful thrusts of the rider’s spear to take their place. Dorian’s phantoms followed, sputtering in and out of existence as he ducked and dodged out of the way of the deadly spear. He glared up at the rider, who looked down on him the way Dorian himself looked down on the UnGifted. This fueled the man’s rage, and with a deft slice, he slashed the strap holding the ornate saddle to the horse.
The horse screamed after the attack had gouged a crimson line to contrast its majestic, steel-gray coat. It bucked onto its hind legs, sending the rider tumbling off the rear and onto the ground.
“Come here, you little shit!” Dorian seethed, as he bolted to the fallen rider. Wearing similar armor to the General, albeit less ornate, Dorian could see determination in the elf’s eyes as he grabbed him by the neckline of his chainmail shirt. The elf jammed his head forward, gaining a tiny amount of leverage from his feet, and hit Dorian square in the face.
The phantoms disappeared as Dorian reeled back, stars flashing in his vision for a brief moment. He slammed the elf’s head into the dirt road several times, bringing it back up to look at his eyes again, which had rolled up and away.
“Hmmph,” Dorian grunted, the elf had become too disoriented to fight back. “Let’s go take a walk…”
Dorian hefted the elf over his shoulder, using him as a shield. He glanced over to Hjerim, who was fighting the General, and appeared to be winning for the time being.
He had always, since he had known Hjerim, envied his Strength. The raw power of it was exciting. He wished he had it to carry the elf, but would have to make due.
With the elf secured with his left arm, Dorian used his right to quickly pick up the soldier’s spear after sheathing his own. He would need reach for this work.
As quickly as he could, Dorian sprinted to the closest tree to the road. The archers’ shots were slower and more careful now; he had to be careful as well. A few kicked up dirt, another embedded itself into the elf’s shoulder; it would have hit him in the gut otherwise. The elf wailed, flailing wildly in his painful daze.
“Shut up!” Dorian countered, cracking the spear’s shaft against the elf’s head, silencing him again.
Upon reaching the back of the tree, Dorian dropped the elf’s unconscious body before slinking behind it. He glanced over a low branch towards Hjerim, who was assaulting the General with the lead-lined cloth, and grinned. He found great pleasure in having that beast under his command. Not only was he holding his own, but he had drawn arrow fire away from Dorian.
While the archers were distracted, Dorian rushed from tree to tree, closing the gap between himself and the bowmen. Sprinting between the arrow volleys, he made his way ever closer.
He was less than forty feet away from the closest Winter archer when something strange pulled at his subconscious. Dorian had felt it before; he thought about it as if his influence was a blanket, and something had pulled a thread at the end away. He turned, in a brief panic, to see Hjerim being peppered with arrows. Each shaft finding its mark was like the beat of a drum against his mind, and it resonated into the little bit of glory Dorian had left. Even if he wanted to mourn, there was no time.
Using his last shred of glory, Bernhard Dorian reached out to the nearest archer and sent a wave of Deception into the elf’s mind. The Winter soldier blinked, shook his head, then stepped out from the tree he had been using as cover. Dorian raised the horseman’s spear and launched it at the previously-concealed elf. The effort of such a difficult throw caused the Deception to waiver for just a moment, but it was too late. The elf’s mind cleared as he looked down, then at Dorian before the spear plunged into his lower torso. Broken chainmail rings were sent flying, their cold, flat edges catching the golden sun before fluttering away into the grass below.
The elf looked at disbelief in his injury, his mouth trying desperately to form words, but his mind couldn’t decide which ones to use. He released a wheezing, defeated grunt before buckling to his knees, then falling to his right side, being weighed down by the haft of the spear.
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The sound of the spear hitting the ground alerted the other archers, who quickly pivoted from covering the General to Dorian, who avoided the volley by standing behind the dead elf’s tree.
Dorian’s mind raced.
I need to run, bit off more than I could chew…Hjerim is dead. I can leave Cahn but he knows a lot. Can’t leave the Bell…
Suddenly, he heard shouts from the direction of his wagon.
“YOUR STRONGMAN IS DEAD!” the General bellowed between pained grunts as he trudged angrily up to the treeline. “I WILL KILL YOU NEXT, THEN I TAKE YOUR TREASURE AND LET BEARS EAT YOUR CORPSE.”
Dorian tapped into his sword’s glory pool, he had nothing left. Damn, he cursed. He glanced quickly around the tree and saw the General, holding the stump of his left arm.
Even with him crippled, he still has archers, Dorian’s mind calculated, racing while trying to remain calm. The second I step out from behind this tree I’ll end up like Hjerim. There’s only one way I’m getting out of this.
“Okay, I surrender! But I have to warn you, I’m very close friends with the King and Queen of Summer, and if you kill me, you’ll have some explaining to do,” Dorian spurted, hoping the lie would stick.
The General paused his ascent.
“Making the King and Queen mad at me is no issue,” the General countered. “You are dangerous…killed one of my men, the other…”
He looked around briefly, before seeing the slumped form of the horseman at the base of the first tree. The General cursed in Winter Elvish, his fist shaking while clenching his icy blade’s handle in a steel grip.
“I’m sorry about your men,” Dorian wore apathy like a mask he could take on and off at will, but could never commit to. “But if you let me live, you could ransom me for more treasure…I’ve been bringing them to the Spring Court for years. And I know where to find more…”
The General glared at Dorian, then to the back of the wagon which housed the Bell of Avara. His face twisted in pain, he growled while still having his head turned towards the fallen horseman.
“I will take prisoner…for now,” he declared in a low, measured voice before pointing at the elf. “But if my brother dies, you will find out hard way of how Winter shows…hospitality.”
Dorian was flushed with relief. He could escape anything, these fools wouldn’t be able to contain him. He had to stay alive and with the Bell until we could bring it safely to the Spring Court.
“Step out,” the General ordered. “My men will not fire unless you give them a reason.”
After some brisk words that Dorian couldn’t understand, he saw the remaining nine archers reluctantly lower their weapons. After a tense moment, he stepped out onto the grass, and swore he could feel their eyes burning a hole into him.
The General pointed to the closest archer, then to Dorian, while giving, what Dorian assumed, to be an order. The archer approached cautiously, then cut the Deceiver’s sword and scabbard free with a knife. If landed in the grass with a soft thud.
“Kick it over,” the elf barked. “Try anything, you end up like your comrade in wagon.”
Dorian looked past the General to Hjerim, who’s crumpled form was riddled with arrow shafts, before gently kicking his sword away. The General picked it up with his remaining hand, unsheathing it and inspecting the slate gray blade.
“Nice weapon for…what you say, ‘slave trader’?” the elf mocked. “I think I will keep.”
Rage boiled inside Dorian as the General sheathed the blade and tucked it into his belt.
“As a trophy of your victory,” the Deceiver replied through gritted teeth. One of the archers whipped a bundled white cloth to the General, who used it to bind what was left of his arm. After securing the makeshift bandage, he whistled. Dorian’s mind flashed white, then all went dark.
===
Dorian awoke suddenly, but was careful to not give it away.
Dark…I’m laying down in what feels like a wagon. Hands are bound…legs as well.
“Master, are you awake?” Dorian heard Cahn’s voice closeby.
“Where are we? What time is it?” he asked, ignoring his captain’s question.
He could hear Cahn huff in irritation. “We’re on the road, I can’t tell where, though. I assume they’re taking us to Winter…it’s been getting colder the longer we go. I’m blindfolded as well, so I don’t know what time it is. But it’s probably been a few hours since we were ambushed.”
Dorian grunted, tensing his muscles against the ropes that bound his feet and wrists, but there was no give.
“I’ve been hearing them talk,” Cahn continued. “They’re very excited about the…you know what.”
“Shut up,” Dorian hissed quickly. “They probably don’t speak Morwellish, but the General does and we don’t know where he is. We’ll discuss the situation later.”
Cahn sighed. “Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed. “Too dangerous.”
A moment of silence passed.
“Can you Blink?” Dorian asked curtly..
Cahn balked. “Even if I could, I can’t see through this blin…”, he began, before what his master was asking really hit him.
“No, they took everything. Even if I could, the… you know what…is on a different wagon. I can’t tell exactly where it is, but this wagon feels like it’s traveling light,” Cahn admitted. “We couldn’t take it with us.”
“Get some rest then,” Dorian ordered. “We’ll need our strength for what’s ahead.”
Dorian tried to stay awake, listening for anything in his surroundings that could give him his bearings, before realizing that even if he heard something, he didn’t know the area well enough to interpret the sound. The rolling and rocking of the wagon lulled him to sleep, his mind giving way to the dark abyss once more.