Ahead of them, in a small clearing of felled trees, a large number of men busied themselves around two horse drawn wagons. The reason for the stop was readily apparent. The two rear wheels of one of the wagons had shattered after hitting a rut. The wagon must have been pushed too hard, too fast, while carrying too much weight. It was no surprise The wagons were made to showcase decadence, not travel hard. They were ornately carved and decorated, depicting various coats of arms and other signifiers of nobility. Valuable metals and gems were encrusted on each of the wagon’s doors, and the large driver’s seat looked to be of rich velvet. From the size of them, each wagon could carry six people with easy. They were so large that they needed to be pulled by four horses of large, sturdy stock. The sheer extravagance of the two wagons, not counting the horses, could feed a small village for months. The four observers could only guess at the wealth contained in the wagon’s cargo, large crates and chests almost as ornate as the wagons themselves. Even the broken pieces of the wheels looked valuable.
In contrast to the wagons and their contents, the men who were unloading and sifting through the cargo were of a mean, professional lot. They wore weather-beaten leathers and hobnailed boots, with cruel-looking short swords hanging from their hips. Two of the men, each on opposite sides of the clearing, had bows in their hands and quivers stuffed with mismatched arrows on their backs. The body language of each was tense, ready for action, as they scanned the far side of the clearing which led to a small, rutted dirt road. The bandits obviously knew they were being followed, and were expecting trouble.
The men, thieves or bandits of some sort, operated with practiced efficiency. While two men worked leading the four horses from the disabled wagon to the hastily put together hitches where the bandits’ own horses were tied, two other men were hauling the crates and chests out. They were met by another two men armed with metal pry bars who opened a crate and moved on to the next, with a single figure trailing behind them searching each open container. The single figure, dressed the same as the rest of them, was looking for something specific amongst the crates it seemed, as he poked and prodded through each one yet took nothing. After looking through an open container, he would snarl something and two more men would seize the crate and bring it to the center of the clearing to dump out for the rest of the group to choose from.
“Well Roy,” one of the four men in the brush whispered as he peered through his spyglass, “looks like we got here just in time. I don’t think they looted the second wagon yet.”
“I think you’re right, Else,” the other man said, exhaustion in his voice. The two of them handed their spyglasses back to the men who had followed them. “No sense waiting around for them to stop being distracted,” Roy said, his sable eyelids heavy over his tired eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”
Johan Else nodded and turned to the man next to him now holding the spyglass. “Ryker, go give the signal.”
“You got it chief,” Ryker Draygos said. He handed the spyglass back to Johan and crawled backwards out of the thicket out of sight of the others.
Roy was about to turn to his own lieutenant when Johan put a hand on his shoulder. “Hold up on your own men, Roy. Your team's almost dead in the saddle as it is. You've been fighting with these guys for three days straight. No offense, but I don’t think you’re in any condition to lead an attack.”
“It was only two and a half,” Roy protested, but Johan could see the exhaustion in the man’s eyes. Roy, Commander Royalt that is, and his unit of Outriders had been engaged in a running battle with a particularly daring and vicious group of bandits across the westernmost provinces of the Dominion for half a week. They had arrived in Johan’s area of operations hungry, injured, saddle sore, and completely exhausted. Stopping only to water their horses and ask for help, Roy’s men coupled with Johan’s men had swept the area without rest until they had found the outlaws and their most recent prizes.
“True enough,” Johan said. “How about this? Keep your men back as the reserve. If it looks like we need a hand, send them in. I can’t think of better cavalry to save our asses.”
Royalt was silent for a moment before nodding, appreciative of the rest and of the chance to save face for him and his men. “Alright Else, I just hope we don’t have to save your guys too soon.”
Johan grinned. “Just watch. I think you may be impressed. Oh damn, here we go.” Johan said as motion caught his eye. He and Roy turned back to the clearing, spyglasses up. “Archer on the left,” Johan said, directing their view.
The archer on the left side of the clearing was so focused on the road that he didn’t notice a large, silent man, built about as solidly as the wooden wagons and dressed in the same hooded clothing and armor as Johan and Royalt, creep up behind him and lock a choke hold around his neck. The archer didn’t have time to utter a sound as the large man dragged him into the woods as swiftly as he had appeared.
“That’d be Vegard,” Johan whispered. “Good, that means that-”
An arrow, fired from somewhere in the treetops above the clearing, sailed downwards and punched its way through the second archer’s neck, its tip protruding two inches out the other side. Another arrow darted from the treetops and struck the bandit searching through the cargo, presumably the leader, between the shoulder blades. He fell, a labored cry escaping his mouth, and the clearing erupted like a kicked hornet’s nest.
A third arrow caught one of the men unloading the wagon in the shoulder as he began to shout orders and he went down cursing. Another arrow, this time from the forest itself, lodged itself in a bandit’s leg as he drew his short sword. By this time the bandits had taken cover behind the two wagons and the stacks of crates, putting the thick, heavy wood between them and their assailants. Arrows hit the wood with loud thunk sounds, but they couldn’t penetrate the wagons. The wagons may have ridden poorly, but their thick, gaudy decorations could take abuse.
“Good, good,” Johan said quietly, his voice quiet and level. He had drawn his sword and had it on the ground next to him. Royalt and his second had done the same. They were about to leave the thicket when a massive man, even larger than Vegard, came charging out of the opposite side of the clearing, with nothing between him and the bandits hiding behind the wagon. The bandits, still focused on the archers peppering the wagons from across the clearing, didn’t notice him until he was amongst them. A punch to the chest sent one bandit flying backwards, a low kick snapped another bandit’s leg sideways at an angle it was never meant to bend. A third highwayman turned in time to have his head severed clean off in one smooth swing. The other bandits scattered, scrambling over the wagon or running towards the second, farther wagon. The massive Outrider dropped his sword, squatted down and gripped the bottom of the wagon with both hands. With a yell of strained muscles and effort, the man stood and flipped the wagon over onto its side, crushing a bandit and pinning another who had tried to flee by going over the top.
“Planes,” Royalt whispered as he watched. Royalt’s second, a weathered man by the name of Pieter, made a strange warding with his hands. “That...that’s Garm I take it?” Royalt asked.
“Him?” Johan asked, grinning as he watched the carnage. “Oh no, that’s Alek. He’s our cook.”
“Your cook...” Royalt repeated.
“Yeah, picked him up back in Tethis a few months ago. Not too good with a blade, but amazing with a hearthstone and spices. That guy there, mean looking bastard? That’s Garm.”
Johan pointed past Alek, between the two wagons. A lone warrior stood between the fleeing bandits and the second wagon. His hood was cast down, showing his bald, scarred head. His face was grim, as was the greatsword he held in his hands. The bandits, seeing but one man between them and their avenue of escape, charged him all at once with their jagged blades, but Garm didn’t flinch or raise his sword. Three of the bandits closed in, short swords raised. Suddenly Garm’s greatsword flashed out, sparkling in the summer sun, faster than most men could wield a knife. The two
bandits fell almost immediately, one clutching his thigh as he began to bleed out, the other disemboweled. The third rocked back as he blocked Garm’s sword, the force almost ripping the blade out of his hand. The remaining bandits fanned out, cautiously assessing Garm with new eyes as he dropped into a guard. His visage was so fierce, none of the men surrounding him could meet his eyes even as they moved to kill him.
Two more Outriders came running from the tree line, Ryker with a bow drawn and Vegard with his legion sword in his hand. Johan, Royalt, and Pieter also emerged from the thicket and joined the others. From the tree line where Garm and Alek had come from walked three more men, the rest of Royalt’s unit. The remaining thieves, caught between Garm and the rest, saw the writing on the walls. They threw their swords down and sat cross-legged on the soft grass.
Royalt and his Outriders looked around them, at the men dead and dying on the ground, the panicked horses tied to their crude hitches, at the open crates and the toppled wagon. Disbelief was on their faces. Over twenty men routed in under three minutes by just five men. One of Royalt’s men handed another a small pouch of coins.
“Well, I’m glad at least one of you bet on us,” Vegard said, throwing his hood back.
“Yeah, remind me to never bet against any of you in the future,” Royalt mumbled as he crouched down amongst the crates. His Outriders did the same as Johan and the others looked on. “Else, we owe you all a huge-”
Royalt was cut off by the sound of the second wagon, all but forgotten, being spurred to movement, its four horses still yoked in place. Looking up, the Outriders saw at least two of the thieves on the rider’s bench of the wagon as it drove off.
“Gods damn it!” Ryker shouted and the Outriders ran for the nearby horses left by the bandits. As they ran, Garm remained motionless but for a small nod towards the treetops.
“Kid’s got it covered,” he said, each word spat out by his cruel mouth, twisted up into the barest hint of a smile.
A figure partially concealed by the treetops flew from thick branch to thick branch above them, launching itself onto the moving wagon. The bandits heard the sound of the young man landing behind them and the one not driving turned, his blade drawn.
“Hi,” the young Outrider said, oblivious to the danger or the motion of the wagon. “You must be new around here. Halt the wagon and give me your weapons.”
“Here’s my piking weapon,” the bandit said as he lunged towards the man with his blade. “It’s all yours!”
“Not exactly what I meant,” the Outrider said as he jerked his body backwards to avoid the strike. He drew his legion sword in one hand and a small parrying dagger in the other. The bandit lunged again and the Outrider turned the blade away with the dagger and brought his sword down in one swing, partially hacking the bandit’s arm off at the bicep. The bandit screamed harshly and fell, first onto the roof of the wagon and then off the speeding wagon and onto the ground.
The driver of the wagon took much less convincing to surrender, merely the tip of a sword held against the small of his back. When the wagon returned to the clearing, the young Outrider was standing triumphantly behind the glum bandit.
“We did some good today, Garm!” he called out.
“Told you,” Garm mumbled to the others..
“And that’d be the final member of our little band. Meet our scout, Toma,” Johan said to Royalt.
Royalt shook his head in bemusement. “Where in the Planes did they find you all?”
Securing the surviving prisoners was much less of a hassle than it usually was. Having Garm and Alek standing nearby looking menacing certainly helped matters as they helped Toma and Vegard restrain them all with cords. As Johan’s group managed the bandits, Royalt’s group resumed the search through the cargo much as the bandits did earlier. After a few moments, Pieter stood up from a pile of loot, holding a large satchel bearing the insignia of the Third Legion. He handed it to Royalt who showed Johan.
“What’s in it?” Johan asked.
Royalt shrugged. “No clue. They didn’t tell me, and I didn’t ask. There should be another one somewhere here though. These were the main reasons we were tasked to bring these guys down. Only thing we didn’t count on was them being so gods damned efficient. They hit the courier that carried these, and then while they were on the run from us the bastards still managed to hit another courier and then these piking wagons. If they didn’t get stopped here, we may not have caught them at all.”
Johan was familiar with the sort of satchel it was. The most important Legion communications were sent in them. Each was addressed to a specific officer, usually a high ranking one. The locking mechanism on the satchel could only be opened by the officer’s signet ring. Any attempt to force it would ignite the liquid flame held inside and destroy the contents. And usually incinerate the arms of anyone stupid enough to be holding the satchel when they tried to open it.
Ryker smirked. “Good thing the roads here around Coula are shit. Everything in the western province seems to be that way.” Coula was the largest town in the small province of the same name, and Johan’s Outriders had a barracks just outside of it. It wasn’t a bad town by any means, surely not as backwards as Ryker made it out to be. But when you had spent your childhood growing up in the capital city of the Dominion, most other places seemed drab by comparison.
“Yeah, Coula has its own flavor,” Johan agreed dryly. “But what I believe my second meant to ask was if there were any survivors from these wagons? Should we backtrack and look?”
Royalt shook his head. “No survivors. These guys didn’t play around. The only good news is that they're finished now. The headsman’s axe for them all once we get back back to Tillton.”
Johan looked at the prisoners sitting in a tight group, Alek, Garm, Vegard and Toma standing over them. Johan watched his men for a moment, his eyes finally settling on Alek. The big man said a joke and Toma and Vegard laughed while Garm sort of…scowled less. Johan thanked the gods and fate for having such a close knit group of brothers to serve with. Some of the men under his command back in the Legions were lackadaisical or rabble rousers. It was bad enough mixing them in with a few hundred other men. But in a group of five or six, just one caustic personality could ruin the entire dynamic.
Another of Royalt’s men walked over to them, a second satchel in his hands. This one, however, was scorched almost black, with a large hole in it where the theft deterrent system had done its job. Royalt shook his head when he saw it. “For such a well-run group of thugs, these guys didn’t think some things through. The right groups would have paid its weight in silver for an unopened Legion communication. Nor would they have been so damn slow when the wagon broke.”
“You’re bringing in quite a haul,” Ryker said. “All of the gear these idiots were using, plus the wagons and their horses. What are you going to do with it all?”
Royalt ran a hand through his pitch black hair, sending a small shower of sweat dripping off of his ebony brow. “Rules of the road, for the most part. We can trace back the wagons and their horses to their owner, to which we’ll return them. The rest of the cargo we’ll sell off and split up the proceeds amongst the families of the poor sods killed by these bastards. Arms and armor, plus whatever the bandits have on them we keep. Rules of the road,” Royalt repeated to himself, looking around the clearing. A distant look was in his eyes for a moment, but when he looked back at Johan it was gone, replaced by his weary smile.
“Well Roy, the least we can do now is give you a hot meal before sending you on your way,” Johan said. “Alek and Vegard have set up quite the distillery in our basement. You boys have earned a visit.”
Royalt bowed his head. “Thank you, I think we just may take you up on that. Let me go have a chat with them, see how they are feeling.”
As Royalt left them, what seemed to be a solar eclipse had happened above them. Looking up, Johan saw that Vegard and Toma had taken Royalt’s place next to Ryker. Vegard was a very large man. Taller th
an Aleksander, and broader than Garm, he was an impressive physical specimen. He was also the only one with any sort of construction or building experience, and had turned into something of the unit craftsman. More than once Johan had watched as those big hands performed some delicate work on their gear and equipment that he'd have thought impossible. His more mundane works, such as helping Alek get his brewing equipment up and running had been almost effortless.
Toma, on the other hand, was almost his opposite. Toma had the lean, tough wire frame of a hunter, with clear blue eyes like a mountain stream. He wasn’t slight of build by any means. But most men standing next to Vegard seemed that way by comparison. Toma stood there a moment watching Alek and Garm, now keeping watch over the prisoners and shook his head, amusement on his face.
“What is it?” Johan asked.
“I guess we should be used to it by now, but every time I see it I still can't quite absorb it.”
“What?” Ryker asked
“The iceflows that must run through Garm's blood for starters. The man stood his ground and took on six armed men. What if he slipped his guard? Or what if they didn’t give up so easily?”
Vegard grinned. “I don't think there's a thing out there that man can't kill.”
“Yeah. The other thing is Alek. Planes, Vegard you're bigger than he is. Would you try and flip a loaded wagon? During a fight? Onto two men running away from you?” No one spoke up. “The guy is great, don't get me wrong. Pulling watch with him is almost as fun as with you Vee, but you can't tell me that his strength is natural. We all watched him literally rip that monster apart in Tethis, and a bunch of other instances since. It's not exactly normal.”
“Are you complaining about it?” Ryker asked. “He's been a huge help since signing on with us. And I'm pretty sure our concepts of 'normal' got thrown out the window the day we became Outriders.”
Chasing Down Glory: The Outrider Legion: Book Two Page 2