by Aaron Hodges
The crossbow twanged. This time Alastair had no time to react. The metal bolt flashed through the space between them and buried itself in his left shoulder. Alastair stumbled back, face twisted with pain. Then with a roar he straightened, arm swinging out at his attacker.
Eric watched with shock as some invisible force caught the archer and flung him through the air. There came a sickening crunch as the man plunged headfirst into a tree. Alastair had not moved a step, had not come within ten feet of him.
Magic! The word spun through Eric’s head.
The swordsman charged. He moved with shocking speed for such a giant, his footsteps making muffled thuds on the leaf litter. Before Alastair could raise his arm again the man had closed the distance between them. With a scream of defiance, he swung his sword at the old man’s head.
The clash of steel on steel rang through the trees. Alastair pulled back his sword and stepped sideways as the man charged past. He spun to stab at his foe’s exposed back but the soldier had already righted himself. Sparks flew as their swords clashed again.
An overhanded blow forced Alastair back a step. The old man’s face clenched with pain, his movements disjointed. Yet still he managed to fend off his foe’s unrelenting attack. Eric clutched his club at his side, unable to see an opening in the deadly dance of steel.
Colour was slowly draining from Alastair’s face, turning his skin a paled grey. The bolt remained imbedded in his shoulder. Blood stained his cloak.
The guard pressed his attack, eyes narrowed with determination. His strength seemed to grow with every swing of his sword. His blade struck like a snake, tip darting out, only to be narrowly blocked. Each attack drew closer to the killing blow.
Beyond them, Eric saw the first bowman raise his reloaded weapon and then lower it again. Alastair was at least succeeding at keeping the swordsman between them, denying the archer a clean shot.
The man’s eyes slid to where Eric stood in indecision. He raised his crossbow again.
Eric threw himself to the side as a bolt flashed towards him. He felt the blood flee his face and his heart stop. Fists clenched, he silently swore to himself. Too close!
Shaking his head he scrambled to his feet. The bowman had vanished. He raised his club before him, eyes searching the trees for the dark-haired man. The clashing of swords seemed to die away against the harsh clanking of the rewinding crossbow. Eric felt a sliver of ice trickle down his neck.
Eric’s back began to itch as he imagined the hidden archer taking aim. He spun left, then right, eyes searching for any flicker of movement. His gaze took in Alastair and the swordsman, lingering on the old man's limp left arm. With every blow the wrinkles on his face deepened. It seemed as though whatever trick or magic he had used earlier had run out.
The cranking click of the crossbow ceased. Then something sharp pressed into Eric's back. He froze.
"Drop the club," the archer growled into his ear.
Eric’s legs began to shake. He tossed away his feeble weapon.
“On your knees, slowly now! Hands behind your head.”
Eric obeyed, kneeling in the mud and placing his hands over his head. The crossbow point followed him down. He could almost feel the man's finger on the trigger and knew he might be only seconds from death.
“Stay where you are.” The pressure on his back vanished as the man walked round in front of him. The crossbow point never wavered from Eric's chest.
A bead of sweat trickled down Eric’s forehead. The huntsman’s clothes were charred and streaked with mud, and the air around him reeked of soot and smoke. Raw hate twisted his face.
“Do you know how many died last night, demon?” his voice shook with emotion. “I should kill you now. But no, that would be too good for you. You deserve the same suffering my people have felt. Your death will be slow and painful.”
Eric could feel his eyes begin to water, hopeless guilt welling up inside him. He deserved this, deserved this hate, and whatever terrible punishment they devised. Yet still he shook with terror.
“But your friend, he’ll die quick, magic or no. Sammy’s no amateur. The old man doesn’t stand a chance.”
******************
Alastair's arm shook with the weight of his short sword. His muscles screamed but he drove on through the pain. He struck out with a short stab, but too slow, his foe blocking with ease. Pain shot down his arm as their swords met, the power in the guard’s swing almost knocking the weapon from his hand.
The man twisted his sword away and came again, forcing Alastair backwards. His blade slid beneath Alastair's guard, followed by the tearing of fabric as the tip sliced his cloak.
Alastair forced his weary body forwards, stabbing upwards as his foe closed. The guard blocked but Alastair was expecting it and lashed out with his foot. He struck the man a heavy blow to the chest.
His opponent stumbled back and if Alastair had possessed the strength, he might have finished the fight then and there. As it was he barely stayed on his feet. His muscles burned and his heart raced. Pain radiated from where the bolt was buried in his shoulder. He felt as though he had aged ten years in the last five minutes.
The man he faced recovered, sneering as he saw his opponent had not moved.
Alastair cursed his hesitation when the men had first appeared. He should have used his magic then but he had held back, knowing he faced only mortal men. How arrogant he had been.
“Stupid old man. You will regret helping the demon by the time I'm done with you. You may have destroyed our town, but I will not let your evil prevail."
Alastair sighed, summoning the last of his strength as the man made to renew his attack. They both knew the fight was drawing to an end. One way or another, one of them would soon be dead.
Alastair drew on the last of his energy, preparing himself for one final, underhand move. He watched his opponent closely, saw his boots shift slightly in the litter of the forest floor. It was all the warning he needed.
The man leapt towards him, sword raised high to deliver a mighty blow to Alastair’s head. He surged across the six feet separating them, a battle cry on his lips.
Just as it seemed the blow would land, Alastair flicked the near limp fingers of his left hand. A surge of energy rushed through his mind and along his arm as he summoned the last dredges of his magic.
With a cry of shock the guard toppled forwards, his feet tripped by some unseen force. His arms windmilled as he tried to right himself.
But it was too late. Alastair stepped forward and drove his short sword through the guard’s chest. An explosive gasp escaped the man as his weight drove the sword deep into his body. His eyes widened in shock and a gurgling noise began deep in his throat. Convulsing, he sank to his knees and toppled to the ground. The sword slid free with a horrifying sucking sound.
Alastair stared at the lifeless body. A hot tear ran down his cheek. He had not wanted this. What was Antonia playing at here? A good man lay at his feet, just one more to add to the ruin of Oaksville, to the curse of runaway magic.
******************
There was silence as they stared at the dead man. Then a scream of rage pierced the air. Eric looked at the bowman in horror. The crossbow was no longer pointing at him.
The man's voice was shrill. “Die, damn you!”
Eric did not hesitate. He drove himself forwards, tackling the man from behind. The two of them went down in a heap, rolling across the muddy ground. The crossbow twanged as they hit. Eric prayed it had not still been pointed at Alastair.
The larger man quickly recovered from his attack and surged back against him. An elbow slammed into Eric’s stomach, winding him for the second time in ten minutes. The villager regained his feet, a knife appearing in his hand.
“Move and you die,” Alastair's voice was as cold as frost.
The old man walked into view, his sword never wavering from the man’s throat. His face twitched with pain but his eyes were determined.
“Drop it,” Ala
stair nodded at the knife.
The man threw his weapon into the bushes and raised his hands, mouth clamped shut. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.
“What is your name?” Alastair demanded.
“Tacus,” the guard spat the word.
“Well, Tacus, you can return to Oaksville. The city needs every man it can get. The boy is in my custody now.”
“And who are you?”
“Alastair,” as he spoke the word he slammed the pommel of his sword into the man’s head. The archer’s eyes rolled up and he crumpled without a sound.
Shaking, Eric pulled himself to his feet. He brushed the mud and leaves from his face and clothes with trembling hands. He could not remember a worse day in his life. In the past twenty four hours he had almost died a dozen times. Closing his eyes he tried to dismiss the determination in the archer’s eyes as he had raised the knife. Another few seconds and he would have driven it through Eric’s heart. Slowly the image faded and the trembling slowed, until at last he opened his eyes.
Eric looked around for any new surprises. The silence of the forest was profound. The local creatures had fled the sounds of the fight long ago. The only movement now was the waving of the leaves in the wind. They were alone in the forest.
Eric’s gaze slid to the dead and unconscious men.
He tore his gaze away from their fallen foes, turning his concern to Alastair. “Are you okay?”
Alastair shook his head. “No, but there’s no time to worry about that now. We have to move. There may be more yet. We don’t have too much further to go though.”
Alastair turned away before Eric could question his last statement, leaving him no choice but to follow. He did so without complaint. Now Alastair’s pace was slower, his exhaustion obvious in the heavy tread of his feet and slump of his shoulders. He would not make it far without help.
A surge of despair threatened to overwhelm Eric. There was no one out here to help them, and without treatment Alastair would surely die of blood loss – or worse. Eric barely knew the man, but in the last few hours Alastair had risked his life, and more for him. It was a gesture unlike any Eric had experienced and one he doubted he would ever understand.
“Alastair, are you sure we shouldn’t take a look at your shoulder? How much farther–”
Alastair raised a hand. “We’re here,” there was relief in his voice. He gave a short, sharp whistle.
Two horses appeared from the trees and walked over to join them. The first stood sixteen hands tall and wore a glistening black coat and a brown leather saddle. It watched them with intelligent hazel eyes. It was a horse fit for a king. It wandered across and nuzzled at Alastair’s shoulder.
The second was a similar build to the other, although its chestnut coat did not glisten with the same magic. It stood slightly smaller at fifteen hands and stared at Eric with glistening blue eyes. Four saddlebags and a water skin hung from its saddle.
Alastair tightened the straps of each saddle and turned to Eric. “The black is Elcano; he has been my horse for a long time. You can ride Briar. He’s a packhorse, but a good gelding. I hope you’ve ridden before.”
Eric hesitated, his tongue tied in embarrassment. He had not been near a horse since his banishment, and even then his family had never been rich enough to own one. He had certainly never ridden a horse. He gave a short shake of his head.
A slight smile added colour to Alastair’s face. “Very well then, a quick lesson will have to do for now. There’s no time for more than that. Come here.”
Eric moved cautiously to where Alastair stood with the horses.
“Quickly now, stand on Briar’s left side.”
Eric hurried to comply, though the horse seemed to tower over him. Shivering, he placed a hand on Briar’s silky coat. He felt the warmth of the horse beneath the thick hair and drew some comfort from it. The cold of the forest had long since seeped into his bones. He breathed in the scent of mud and straw and horse, the rustic smells bringing memories of his former life. Pain rose in his chest and he quenched the thoughts from his mind.
Looking up at Alastair, he caught the old man’s emerald gaze. Alastair nodded and began to instruct him. “Place the toes of your left boot into the stirrup and grab the saddle horn.”
Eric complied, listening as Alastair continued to speak. “Now push off with your right leg. As you push, straighten your left leg and swing your right over the saddle and into the other stirrup.”
In one smooth movement Alastair demonstrated with Elcano.
Eric tried to copy the movement. He made it halfway before he lost his grip and fell to the ground. He rose with a groan, mentally adding another strike to his tally of bruises. But he refused to quit. Stabbing his foot into the stirrup he half climbed, half scrambled onto the horse’s back; inhaling a mouthful of horsehair in the process.
For a few seconds he sat doubled over in the saddle, his body racked by a coughing fit. When he finally recovered, he looked up to see an amused grin on Alastair’s face.
The old man gave a weak chuckle. “There’s no time to adjust the stirrups properly, they’ll have to do for now.”
Eric nodded, feeling awkward in the saddle.
“Now, horses are generally trained to obey a few simple commands. To make him move forward, give a small kick with your heels. If you want to stop, pull back on the reins. Gently mind, you don’t want to hurt his mouth. To change directions, give a small tug in the direction you want him to turn. Got all that?”
Eric nodded silently. The instructions sounded simple enough but he had doubts as to whether that would transfer into reality.
“All right, let’s get out of here then,” as Alastair spoke Elcano spun beneath him and started into the forest.
Eric gave Briar a short kick. The horse bent its head back to look at him, snorted, and followed the black stallion. The heavy footsteps of the animal beneath him immediately sent jolts up his spine. He grimaced and tried his best to ignore the fresh waves of pain. Gritting his teeth, he focused on keeping himself in the saddle.
After a few minutes he found himself growing used to the heavy trot of Briar’s hooves. His body slowly settled into the rhythm of the ride and the pain in his spine began to fade. A wave of weariness swept over him, his body finally giving way to exhaustion. His eyelids felt unbearably heavy.
Eric closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet smell of horse and forest. He listened to the snort of the horse’s breath and the thump of Briar’s footsteps. Within minutes he found himself slipping into a deep sleep.
******************
Eric snapped awake, suddenly aware that something had changed. He no longer felt the constant thud of Briar’s footsteps beneath him. They had stopped. Sitting up in the saddle, he looked around in astonishment.
They had left the tiny animal track in the depths of the forest. Instead, they now found themselves on a wide road cutting a straight path through the thick forest either side of them. The hard packed earth beneath them was free of roots and potholes. There was no mistaking it; the horses had found the Gods Road.
“What are we doing here? They’ll be patrolling the road for sure!”
There was no reply from Alastair. Eric glanced across and saw the old man slumped on Elcano’s back. He nudged Briar towards the other horse and was pleased to feel the horse respond immediately.
Eric gulped as he came alongside Elcano. Alastair was unconscious, his breathing weak and rasping. His face was grey and paled, and seemed to have added a hundred extra wrinkles in the last hour. He reached out to shake Alastair – and froze.
From the distance came the thunder of galloping hooves.
Six
It had not taken long to sift through the shattered remains of his family home. There was little left worth keeping – an old cloak and dagger of his father’s, his fiancé’s silver necklace, a few gold coins that were his family’s life savings. And in the ruins of the forge, a short sword an old soldier had once given his
father in payment for repairing his wagon wheel.
Gabriel smiled as he lifted the sword from the rubble, its weight satisfying in his hand. He gave a few practice swings, the blade hissing as it cut the air. He had never used a sword before but hoped his strength would suffice.
Pleased with the small collection, Gabriel clipped the sword sheath to his belt and left the house. He had studiously avoided the room in which his family lay. No force on earth could compel him to face what waited there.
He made his way out into the broken streets of Oaksville, glancing around at the other homeless souls wandering in the darkness. It was time someone gave them purpose. Gabriel had found his in the grim determination to bring justice to his family’s killer. He knew there would be others who felt the same.
His first recruit was a large man who wore the tattered cloak and chainmail of the city guard. From the slump of his shoulders and blank expression there looked to be little fight left in him. He did not look up as Gabriel walked over, did not even register his presence until Gabriel reached out and grabbed his arm.
“What’s the matter with you man?” he asked.
The guard blinked as though waking from a deep sleep. Finally he looked down at Gabriel. “What’s the matter with me? They’re all dead. Everyone I ever knew – gone!”
“Ay, they are,” Gabriel held his gaze. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Do about it? This was the work of a demon, haven’t you heard? There’s nothing us mortal men can do to fight the likes of that. No one but the Goddess could stand against such darkness. And she isn’t exactly easy to reach these days.”
Gabriel shook his head. “The Goddess be damned, if she cared she would have stopped this. No, it’s up to us mortal men,” he stared hard at the guard. “We may not have magic, but I have a sword and last I heard a demon still dies when you stab it.”