There was a resounding ringing, as every man drew their blades and focused on the forest surrounding Chess. She stopped in her tracks, apprehension quickening her heartrate.
Oh, Freya please stay still Ashley, she thought, suddenly unsure about revealing herself.
She started raising her hands but realized the motion was mostly hidden by her cloak and instead decided to remain still. Let the men make the next move.
“Hold,” the leader said with a raised fist. With a glance, he made sure his men were keeping still before turning back to address Chess.
“Ma’am, if you would be so kind as to come out, slowly?” he asked politely.
“Sure,” Chess said, taking careful steps up onto the road. Stopping a dozen feet from the leader she did her best to ignore the men dismounting behind him.
When she was fully onto the road, one of the men before her spoke in a fearful whisper, “gods, it’s a Dryad.”
“Quiet,” the leader said firmly.
“Ma’am, would you be so kind as to please show us your face?” he asked Chess.
“Of course,” she said, raising her hands slowly before pulling her hood back from her face while keeping her gaze steady on the man before her. The sun's light had started to fail as dusk fell and her vision cast his helmed head in sharp angles of black and grey.
A collective hiss went through the group as her face was revealed. Some regarded her with marked relief and others in apprehension. The boy, Serus, looked like someone had punched him in the gut.
A sudden cloven air whistle passed over Chess’s shoulder and she jerked her head back towards it. The sound was quickly followed by a gurgled scream and the snapping of wood and screeching of metal. Then the air filled with arrows and Chess ducked putting her arms over her head.
What the hell?
One of the men guarding the prisoners pitched to his side clutching a shaft transfixing his throat. More arrows broke on armor or struck translucent barriers. One man took an arrow to the leg and started screaming.
With the attention of the men firmly on her and the bush behind her with its hidden archers. The unexpected scream rang out heralding the prisoners' attack. In a coordinated move they launched themselves at the backs of six of the soldiers with a roar.
One of the men, closest to the prisoners, fumbled at his belt for a short bronze rod before dying to a handful of arrows.
Some of the guards turned with lightning speed to deflect attacks meant for their companions. Other's armor took the blows. Men grunted, struggled, and screamed.
“Form up!” the leader of the soldiers said in a carrying and firm voice that rose above the tumult. Most of the men obeyed without question, some more quickly than others. Only those engaged with the prisoners continued their fights.
"Move, damn you!" the leader's voice thundered as he forced them into formation.
Chess stood still for long seconds, ignored by all, and her hand tightened with shock on her staff while the men struggled and fought.
The soldiers formed into a rough square, shields facing out, the leader and Serus in the center before they started advancing on their struggling companions and the manacled prisoners.
More and more arrows plowed at unnatural speeds into the shields and armor of the soldiers. Most either plowed inches through the shields or shattered on the leader’s armored form. One found the eye of an unlucky man and he fell twitching. His companions shifting to fill in the opening in the formation with polished ease.
“Shield All!” The leader’s voice rang out.
“Shield All!” His men roared back and a transparent green dome formed about each man. Even the four still struggling against the manacled men. The next arrow hit with the force of a light punch on a tightly held shield. It took Chess a few more flitting arrows to realize that the force of each arrow was being distributed amongst the entire group as multiple men moved with the force of each arrow.
“Keep tight!” the sergeant bellowed as a man tripped up and threw the men beside him off. They drew tighter, at his command, until their shields were nearly overlapping.
Chess shook herself like a wet dog to escape her frozen shock and clenched her teeth then sprinted for the brush she had been hiding in. Fuck, I don’t want to take one of those arrows by mistake.
When she looked back at the fight the soldiers had lost another man but had killed all but two of the former prisoners. The block of men advanced on the remaining struggling forms.
The arrows abruptly stopped impacting the guards and a full score and more men materialized from the brush on both sides of the road. Dropping their bows, they drew spears, blades, axes, and hammers and advanced on the soldiers with slow menace.
Chess felt a creeping sensation slither through her then a moment later she felt a large presence loom behind her and she stepped forward on instinct. The step turned into a stumble as the man’s foot on her cloak’s tail drove her to her knees.
Her staff shot out before her skittering onto the road.
“Now, now, miss, don’t struggle or I’ll make sure your death is a long and painful one,” a calm voice said behind her making her spine run cold. "Would be a poor fate for such a pretty thing. Oh no, you'll fetch us a fine price once the boys are done with their fun."
Chess felt revulsion course through her, and she opened her mouth to speak, only for her voice to be choked off as a large hand snaked lighting fast around to cover her mouth. His other arm grabbed her waist and drew her tight to him. His hands and arms were like steel cables, and no matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t budge them.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The man picked her up and started to step back. Chess’ eyes bulged and she continued to struggle in his grip. He shook her hard, slamming her head back and forth and snapping her teeth together. She saw stars and stilled, panting.
The smell and taste of his hand made bile fill her mouth and she choked, his hand preventing the bile from escaping with some filling her nose before she could swallow the rest.
The burning acid in her nose was like a jolt of freezing water to the face that jump-started her mind. A cold and clear fury replaced her panic and helplessness. She drew a rancid breath in through her nose her vision filling with red hot anger.
She stilled further, and the man put her feet back on the ground but held firm to her mouth. The sounds of battle filled the clearing with the sharp ring of metal hitting metal, the meaty thud of weapons biting flesh, and the screams of injured and dying men.
Her eyes watering, Chess couldn’t get a clear view of the fight; just flashes of grey as weapons threw sparks.
Fuck! Shit! Fuck! Chess thought in frustration and impotence. Then a realization struck. I’m wearing my fucking cloak.
“Don’t worry it will be over fast,” her captor assured her leaning down to whisper in her ear. His rotten breath was almost as powerful as the bile already filling her nose.
Chess didn't believe him. To her, the soldiers had a better chance.
In a moment of brilliant inspiration, she lowered her hands from the big one clamped to her face and slumped into his grip pretending to give up.
Then she started thumping her foot gently on the ground while slapping her thigh with the fingers of one hand.
Thump, thump, tap.
Thump, thump, tap.
Thump, thump, tap.
Three repetitions and her cloak rooted to the ground. The man held her firm, gleefully intent on the fight before them. There was no give in his grip.
Thump, thump, tap.
Thump, thump, tap.
The brambles flowed up behind the man in the darkening twilight. The groaning and creaking of the thickening branches lost to the sounds of battle. The birds were quiet and hidden.
Thump, thump, tap.
Brambles formed a woven collar, inches from the back of his neck. He shifted his grip on her face, turning her head to make her watch the scene before her with a rock-hard grip. She couldn’t look away, and her heart sped up, thundering in her ears with the fear that he’d noticed what she was doing. He hadn’t. Tears clouded her vision and bile burned her nose.
Thump, thump, tap.
Thorns grew on the inside of the collar.
Thump, thump, tap.
The noose tightened and grew in diameter.
Thump, thump, tap.
Her captor let out a choked gurgle and a sprinkler of blood, soaked Chess’ head and back as the collar rotated. The man's grip slackened and his hands fell limp.
Thump, thump, tap.
Cold rage and revulsion coursed through Chess as she stepped forward a single step. Blood ran in rivulets down the neck of her dress into her ass crack and down her legs; soaking her dress and panties. The heat of it warmed her.
She spat, trying to clear her mouth of acid and the taste of the man's hand. She started stamping her foot hard and clapped her hands together hard.
Stamp, stamp, clap.
She cleared her throat while watching the men struggle before her. Weapons striking with lightning speed and shields catching impossible blows for their companions. The still tight but significantly smaller group of soldiers surged forward a step. A red glow surrounded them, making their foes take a couple of steps back. The soldiers stepped back into formation with the fluid grace of practice. Both groups were now of similar size and the battle paused as they eyed each other.
Stamp, stamp, clap.
Her voice rang out clear and confident.
Stamp, stamp, clap. Stamp, stamp, clap.
“Somebody better put you back into your place, do it!”
Stamp, stamp, clap.
“We will, we will rock you.”
The ground under the feet of the bandits surged, roots breaking the surface in puffs of dust.
The bandits stumbled.
It was their undoing. Only 2 avoided debilitating or killing blows. The soldiers viciously exploited the moment with flickering fast chops from their swords.
Chess stopped, amazed at the brutality of the moment.
There was a long pregnant pause and Chess tried taking in a long deep breath but choked on the pungent smell of feces, piss, and the coppery scent of blood heavy in the air. Her stomach heaved, choking her off as she spat bile onto the ground. She fell to her knees and puked again. Freya’s tits! What the fuck, hurl, did he have on his hands! Oh, Freya, did he, hurl, wipe his ass with that hand, hurl, and never wash it!?
She looked up and saw the soldiers quickly dispatching the final few bandits. One had turned to run but the sergeant moved with inhuman speed, plowing an armored shoulder into the man's back in a blur. There was a wet crunching sound as he shattered the man. The bandit’s body folding backward, his head slamming into the sergeant’s back while his legs were still firmly on the ground.
The sergeant shrugged the body off casually to one side. A coppery taste filled her mouth as the blood in her hair flowed down her face and into the corners of her mouth. Chess vomited more bile onto the ground before her, her stomach quivering and achingly empty.
The men stood still for a long moment before the leader's voice said softly, “triage. Keep your blasted eyes open for more,” before he took a deep shaky breath.
Chess did a quick count of the men that remained on their feet. There were only 9, including the boy Serus. His eyes glazed, as he stood studying the blood slowly dripping off the end of his blade. A long cut ran from below his right eye, over to the edge of his ear. It coated that side of his face in blood.
A jolt of panic flowed through her on seeing the boy.
“Ashley!” she yelled turning to their hiding place.
“I’m fine,” Ashley’s quavering voice flittered out after a pause. Her small form soon materialized in the gloom, coming out onto the road, her profile broken by her cloak.
“Get some torches lit,” the leader ordered before he crouched over the form of one of his men fumbling to remove a belt from the man’s waist. “And by all the gods keep watch for more of these bastards. Someone round up the horses that bolted.”
“Aye, sir,” the Sergeant replied with a salute, fist thumping his chest before he turned and started barking quick orders.
Chess finally got control of her stomach and ditched her cloak. Still spitting vomit, she knelt beside a fallen man. His arm was bleeding badly and Chess nodded remembering her first aid training.
“Let me,” she said to the leader and started singing softly. She made one of the roots in the roadway snake around the man's arm then grow thicker to apply pressure and stem the flow of blood. The leader's armored head turned and studied her face for a moment before he nodded moving to a different fallen man.
Chess’s lips and jaw ached and pulsed where the man’s fingers had dug into it, but she stood and went to another fallen soldier and checked him for a pulse.
One of the soldiers was stabbing his blade into the heart of every bandit. Precise and methodical.
Chess helped bandage and treat the men for an indeterminate amount of time. She held wounds close as men stitched them closed, created more pressure plants to slow bleeding, and held men down while others worked on them.
A thought occurred to her at one point. They have all these magic abilities, but no healers of any sort? But she dismissed it and continued the brutal work.
She’d lost herself in the task for what seemed hours.
Later she found herself sitting on the back of the wagon sucking on a piece of dried meat, slumped against Ashley, and unsure how she’d gotten there. Sticky blood caked most of her body and she studied her stained hands.
Weary eyelids blinked, and she found the armored figure of the leader standing before her. He’d removed his helm and had it tucked under an arm. She studied his face for a moment; he looked old and worn in the flickering greys afforded her by the meager torchlight.
“Lady,” he said getting to one knee then looking up into her face. “My name is, Lord Aaron Caldur, Count of Aewren, and I owe you a debt for your actions this night," he said in a serious and formal voice.
“Hi, I’m Chess,” she mumbled raising her hand in a small wave while blinking slowly; her eyes felt heavy and weary.
Her head lolled onto Ashley’s shoulder and darkness enfolded her.