“Bandits!”

Blaise was jolted awake, the loud wail of warning rousing him from his sweet dreams. Just his luck of course. He was woken up right before the beautiful maid, with lovely blue eyes, and hair that reminded him of a summer field, had stepped into the hot spring with him. Why is it that one always wakes up from a dream right before it gets to the best part, regardless of when or how you are awoken? 

Blaise sat up and rubbed his eyes. He yawned and stretched. Why was he awake again? It was still dark out. It couldn’t be time to wake up yet.

“Bandits!”

Blaise’s eyes snapped open. That was why. He was now fully awake; the memories of the beautiful maid now faint in his mind. He pushed his covers off and ran over to his window, throwing it open and peering out into the night. He heard some faint noises coming from outside, the rustling of bushes and hushed whispers, and the light of the moon betraying the position of figures moving about under the cover of darkness.

 The sight of moon-illuminated strangers was not completely uncommon in these parts, his family’s farm existing outside the protective walls of the nearby city of Zuhus, but bandits venturing this far into settled areas was still rare. He had hoped it was instead just a group of clumsy thieves who were spotted before they were able to make off into the night with their ill-gotten gains.

Blaise ran towards his bedroom door, stopping just long enough to grab a sword propped up in the corner of his room, a gift from his often-travelling father. Blaise looked at the sword in his hand. His father gave him the blade in hopes Blaise would one day join him in his adventures, but tonight it would be used instead for defending his home. Blaise gripped the hilt of his sword. He couldn’t let his father down. Blaise was hoping that the people he saw trundling around outside were just cowardly thieves, who will run in fear when they see the glint of a blade, but if they were actual bandits...

Well, actual bandits tended to be a lot more bloodthirsty, wielding wicked and brutal looking weapons for hacking and slashing, and torches for lighting everything in their way ablaze. Blaise often thought people chose to become bandits just so that they had an excuse to kill and burn whatever they wished, rather than as a career choice.

Blaise ran out of the house, the cold night air blowing through his short, fiery red hair, and making his soft, white, linen shirt flap in the air behind him. He kept a tight grip on his sword with both of his hands and made his way towards where he had heard the initial cry of warning.

That scream. Who had been the one yelling? He was still half asleep when it had happened, and had not heard anything since, which gave him a very difficult time trying to match the voice to a face. It was something he had difficulty with even under ideal circumstances. He started to get increasingly worried. He had hoped that the initial yelling had scared off the thieves, who were now running off through fields of corn, fleeing before they were caught by local guards or a furious farmhand, but he was beginning to feel less and less sure that these were just simple cattle rustlers.

Blaise faced his growing fears in the worst way, as he tripped over something on the ground that he failed to see in his rush. He landed face down in the tall grass, his breath escaping his chest as he impacted the ground. After laying in pain for a few moments, he then rolled over onto his back, the tranquil night sky filling his view, before he continued to roll over to find out what had tripped him. He soon wished that he hadn’t.

It was a body. 

He gasped in horror and pulled away, letting go of his sword with one hand so he could clasp it over his gaping mouth. He recognized the face, twisted in a look of horror, frozen forever in his final moment. It was Jack, one of the farmhands who worked for Blaise’s family. The young man tightened his grip on his sword and crept back closer to inspect Jack’s body. He seemed in mostly pristine condition, despite being dead of course, with one glaring flaw; there was a single bolt, the kind fired from a crossbow, that was sticking out from Jack’s throat. Blaise gulped.

Jack had already gotten off his warning, so the bolt wasn’t to hide their presence, and Jack didn’t pose any kind of threat to the bandits. Jack didn’t even pose a threat to a newborn kitten. He was a gentle soul. These people were out to kill, and it was obvious that they were quite skilled at it too.

He heard rustling and hushed voices coming from nearby. Blaise quietly crawled towards the noise, trying his best to stay unnoticed, like litter blowing in the streets, but litter that was armed with a sword. He crept closer and closer to the noise, hearing more whispers and the creaking of an old wooden gate. 

Blaise gritted his teeth. They were after their livestock, the heart of the farm. Their very livelihood! Those... those … jerks? Blaise had a hard time finding the right insult for these bandits, the adrenaline pumping through his body making it hard to think. They were jerks of course, but it didn’t feel strong enough. Rapscallions? Would that work?

Blaise shook his head, knocking those thoughts out from his mind. As his father would often say, now was the time for action! Blaise narrowed his eyes. He could see three bandits. They were all busy trying to wrangle the cattle and had yet to notice him. If he could come up from behind, perhaps he could take one out by surprise, strike another down before they knew what was happening, and then perhaps he could...

While Blaise was busy trying to figure out his best course of action, he noticed that his body was already moving towards the closest bandit, the adrenaline and adventurer's blood in his veins carrying him closer and faster than he would have ever wanted. He raised his sword and with a scream of anger, vengeance, and complete and total fear, he slashed the bandit, who he now realized was a good foot taller than him, down his back and leg.

The bandit yelled out in pain and surprise as he collapsed to the ground, clutching the deep flesh wound in the back of his leg. The other two, alerted by all the yelling, turned their attention away from the animals and towards the shivering and armed Blaise standing above their downed ally. So much for his element of surprise.

“Well, well, well,” sneered one of them, raising a hand crossbow from his hip and pointing it towards Blaise. Blaise froze. Not only did he now have a weapon pointed right at him, the very same weapon he assumed brought Jack to his brutal end, but the way the criminal’s spoke also gave him reason for concern. Giren. The Giren were well known for being a brutal and violent people. Their empire once ruled with an iron fist over most of the known Realms, where they had enslaved and brutalized those whom they had conquered, and now one was staring him down, the bolt in his crossbow glinting in the moonlight. Blaise gripped his sword with both hands and held it in front of him in a defensive act, trying his best to not pay attention to how much he was probably trembling and sweating. 

“Looks like we have a little boy wanting to play hero,” the Giren spat, like the word “hero” made a bitter taste in his mouth. “Let me show you what happens to heroes who mess with us.”

The Giren gestured towards the other bandit and then pointed at Blaise. The bandit hefted a heavy wooden club and made his way towards the young man. Blaise, partially out of bravery but mostly out of paralyzing terror, stood his ground, keeping his sword gripped tightly in his hands. The big mound of muscle in front of him laughed, a deep, horrible, belly laugh that made Blaise’s skin almost jump off of his body and run away, and raised his club over his head. Blaise jumped and rolled to the side, as the club impacted the recently vacated space. A tower of dust and dirt sprang up from where the club landed, the power of the swing forcing the ground itself to leap into the air. 

The brute hefted his club again to ready a second swing at Blaise. Blaise took his opportunity and leapt closer, swinging his sword, aiming for the brute’s legs to try and take him down like he did with the other bandit, who was still lying on the ground. The bandit took a step back, the sword swing missing by a hair’s breadth, and then brought his knee up into Blaise’s chest with a loud and heavy thud. Blaise yelped, the wind being knocked out of him, and pain rippled its way through his chest. He fell to the ground, gasping for air, while the brute hoisted his club, preparing to pound Blaise into the ground. He braced himself, knowing he was very well about to be turned into a fine red mist.

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But suddenly, a flash and streak of light came from the darkness, crackling its way through the air like a bolt of lightning in a thunderstorm. In fact, it was a bolt of lightning, or at least something very similar to it, but travelling sideways instead of falling from the heavens. It struck the bandit in the side and seared his flesh, knocking him over and causing a scream of pain to escape from his mouth. Blaise scrambled to his feet as the brute struggled to his, clutching his wounded hip. With a hard and quick slash to the back of the leg from Blaise’s sword, the bandit collapsed again, this time unable to stand.

The Giren swore and spun around, trying to get a bead on the source of the lightning, swinging his crossbow around wildly. Suddenly, another figure entered the fray, standing in front of the bandit leader, seemingly melding out of the shadows. Blaise noticed a subtle and sudden but deliberate movement from the figure, and a flash of flame, which briefly illuminated the Giren’s bright red skin. He then saw the crossbow quickly and elegantly sliced in two. The Giren stepped back, his anger replaced with fear as the remains of his weapon tumbled from his hand. Another quick movement from the mysterious figure, and the bandit fell, the fight being over as quickly as the newcomer had appeared.

Blaise kept his sword in his hand, still wary about the new arrival, but hey, the enemy of his enemy is his friend, right? Still, someone this powerful demanded a measure of caution. The figure made its way gracefully over to Blaise, and something on its chest shined in the moonlight. A small metal crest, one that Blaise recognized instantly. The symbol of the Hero’s Guild.

The figure stepped up to Blaise, and now in the closeness, he could make out more about them. She was a human woman, tall, with short cut black hair, golden yellow eyes, and pale white skin. She had a strong jaw and nose, the kind of face that showed strength, the kind Blaise would willingly follow into battle, even against all odds, but with a kindness and gentleness in her eyes, that said she would never lead Blaise to his death. On her hip he noticed a long and slender sword resting in its sheath, probably what she had used to cut down the bandit so quickly. She was wearing sky blue robes, not exactly what Blaise expected to see clinging to the body of a sword fighter, but he couldn’t argue with how effective she was in a fight, so she could wear whatever she wanted as far as Blaise was concerned.

“Are you doing alright kid?” she asked, her eyes giving Blaise a once over. Blaise dusted himself off. He seemed alright, other than the pain in his chest, but nothing seemed broken. Of course, he had never broken a bone in his life, so as far as he knew his rib cage was completely shattered, but he felt alright. He just looked up at the woman and nodded.

The woman turned and looked to the side. Out of the darkness came another person, this one short, with dark skin, almost pitch black, and completely red eyes that glowed slightly in the night. A Kronker. Blaise had seen them in town from time to time. The Kronker had a large staff, glowing white in the darkness, and robes that dragged on the ground, trailing slightly behind him, completely covering his feet. He was bald on top of his head, typical of magic users, with a short and scraggly beard. His face was almost like stone, sharp features frozen in a look that betrayed no emotions. The kind of face you would hate to sit across from at a card table.

“I have searched the perimeter,” the Kronker stated in a very matter-of-fact way, like he was reading history facts out of a textbook. “We seem to have dispatched all of the members of this raiding party.”

The woman nodded. “Thanks, Tharrun. Want to see if you can talk to any of the bandits our young friend here cut down? See if you can get any information from them, if they’re still awake of course.”

Tharrun nodded and made his way towards the collapsed bandits, muttering something under his breath as he did. Both Blaise and the woman watched as he wandered off, but soon turned their attention back towards each other when they saw the him starting to prod the unconscious bodies of the bandits with the end of his staff.

“So, what’s your name kid?” the woman asked. Blaise found himself standing in silence for a bit, his mind still in a haze after all the action. What was his name again? Blake? Blair? ...Barry?

“Uh, Blaise, uh, ma’am. Blaise Cresthallow,” he stammered. To be in the presence of a member of the Hero’s Guild, it was quite a lot for him to handle. Ever since he was a child, he wanted to join the Guild. And who didn’t? It was one of the most cliché answers children would give to being asked what they wished to do when they grew up. Warriors without peer! Travelling through all the Realms, regardless of Empire or Kingdom, fighting evil, slaying monsters, exploring the vastness of the Void! Who could resist such an adventure! And now, here were two Guild members, and he got to fight alongside them! Sure, they more rescued him from being pounded into jelly rather than fighting as his equal, but still, it was quite the honour!

“Well, Blaise Cresthallow, you can call me Summer. Just Summer,” she said and smiled. Blaise smiled back, and noticed that Tharrun was making his way back towards the two of them.

“It is of no use Summer,” he said, in the same tone of voice as before, “They have both passed out from the wounds delivered by this young lad.” Blaise noticed something in the Kronker’s voice when he spoke those words. Was he impressed? Proud? Scared? Blaise wasn’t sure. Tharrun was almost impossible to read.

“Well he certainly put up a fight. Tharrun, meet Blaise Cresthallow,” Summer introduced the two. The Kronker stepped up to Blaise and offered a hand. Blaise took it and shook.

“A pleasure to meet you Mister Cresthallow,” he said, “I am Nek’thar’rundo of the Hero’s Guild, but you may call me Tharrun if you wish.”

Blaise nodded. “Yeah, I noticed the crests you two are wearing,” he replied, gesturing to the symbol the two of them were wearing upon their chests. Three swords, crossed together over a shield.

Nek’thar’rundo nodded back. “And your family name. Would you perhaps be related to Adrian Cresthallow?”

Blaise brightened up and nodded. “Yeah!” he beamed, “That’s my dad! He’s an explorer with the Guild!” He certainly was very proud of his father, and loved to talk about him as much as he could. He wished his dad could have seen him, fighting bandits, joining up with other Guild members. It was his father’s dream that Blaise join the Guild just as much as it was Blaise’s. He hoped his dad would be proud of how he handled himself.

Summer smiled and nodded, “Explains your sword and your... eagerness to get into a fight,” she said, gesturing towards the bandits, “but I do have to let you know, not even members of the Guild run out in the middle of the night in their pajamas.”

Blaise nodded and blushed. “Yeah, sorry about that. These bandits were after our animals, and they even killed...” A lump got caught in his throat. Jack. In all the excitement he had forgotten about Jack. He turned quickly and ran back to where he found the body. The two heroes followed close behind, their hands on their weapons and ready for another scrap.

As Blaise approached where he remembered tripping, he saw a woman standing there. Although she too was obscured in the darkness, Blaise recognized her instantly. They looked at each other, and he threw himself into her arms.

“Blaise!” the woman exclaimed, in happiness and relief, “Oh when I saw what happened to Jack, I was afraid they had gotten to you too!”

Safe in the loving embrace of his mother, tears started to well up in Blaise’s eyes. “I’m so sorry mom, I found Jack and I just... I just...” his voice started to crack. All he could do was cry, standing there in the darkness.

Blaise’s mother raised her gaze from her son towards Summer and Tharrun, the latter of which had finally caught up with the rest of the group, his short legs not the best for offering great speeds.

“It seems like we got here too late,” said Summer somberly, “We’ve been tracking this bandit clan for a while. I am so sorry.”

Blaise’s mother shook her head. “Oh no, don’t go blaming yourself for this. You’re not the one who fired that shot. Besides,” she looked down at the boy in her arms, who was starting to calm down a bit, “you came just in time to save my son. That’s not nothing.”

Tharrun stepped forward and bowed his head. “Still ma’am, as members of the Hero’s Guild, we are servants of the people. It would be our duty and honour to provide the proper burial for this poor soul.”

Blaise’s mom nodded, “That would be lovely.”

------

It was over quickly. Tharrun had used his magic to dig the hole, while Blaise and his mother had worked on a grave marker. They both said a few words, but mostly stood in silence. Jack was a good man, and his death hung heavily on Blaise. He looked over at the two heroes. They were both stone-faced; obviously they had seen death before and will see it again. But Blaise couldn’t help but wonder, did they blame themselves for Jack’s death? If they were just a little bit faster, if they came a little bit sooner, would they all be standing here over a grave? It can’t be a good feeling. He really hoped the two of them didn’t blame themselves. His mom was right, they did come soon enough to save his life at least, and it was the bandit who pulled the trigger, not them.

After what seemed like hours standing in silence, but couldn’t have been longer than fifteen minutes, Blaise’s mom eventually spoke. “It’s late, we should all be getting to bed. I request that you two stay with us for the night,” she said towards the two heroes.

Tharrun raised a hand and opened his mouth to speak, but Summer brought her hand down in front of his face to silence him, “We would love to stay for the night. It would be good to sleep in a real bed again.”

Blaise smiled. He would sleep well tonight knowing they were under the same roof, and maybe he would be able to talk to them about the Guild in the morning. If he was going to join them one day, he would need to know everything he could! He hoped he wouldn’t bother them too much with his questions. They had already done so much for him.

They walked quietly back towards the house, Summer and Tharrun quickly speaking to each other in whispers. It sounded like some kind of argument from the tone, but Blaise couldn’t quite make out exactly what they were arguing about.

Blaise stepped into his home, and only now, with things calming down and the adrenaline finally wearing off, he realized how tired he was. He lazily trudged up the stairs, and barely made it to the foot of his bed before collapsing onto it, the covers enveloping him in a warm, soft hug. The hot spring and the beautiful maid awaited him once again, and hopefully this time he wouldn’t be woken up too soon.