‘Best shot now lads. I don't want no fucking left-handed, girls throw.’
Whistles and calls acknowledged this order.
Except one. Vin slid his eyes to the right. He could see his men, all in place. Except for Dava. He should be on the far right of the line. He wasn't there. Vin’s eyes narrowed.
‘Boro.’ He said.
‘I’m with ya,’ Boro replied quietly. ‘Dava.’
Vin nodded, calmly replaced the stopper into his flask and began to hook it onto his belt. His next move would be to take out his sword. Before he could do this a cry sounded to his left. At the end of the line Michael was holding his hands to his face, blood poured over his knuckles. His cry was loud and shrill, and the word ‘Eyes’ was being shouted amongst others less intelligible. Vin dropped to the floor just in time to hear the sound of an arrow whistle through the space his head had just occupied.
This wasn’t the lad. No green soldier could have gotten the drop on his boys like this. He gritted his teeth and slid his dagger from his boot. Whoever it was had better be ready to see what his guts looked like.
Dorian chose to silence his target the moment he had completed his whistle in response to his leader’s order. Dava had pursed his lips, blew a quick couple of notes an octave apart, and then gargled on his own blood as Dorian’s blade slid through his windpipe from the side. He slowly sank to his knees, his delayed descent brought about by Dorian cradling him as he would a brother he was helping to rest. Spyra struck then. Its teeth were small, like pins almost, but they were fixed into jaws that had a gripping power that belied the animal’s size.
Its claws, which extended and retracted like a cats, sprang forward, and as the Blink Dog appeared from nowhere it ripped Michaels skin and eyes from his face. Before the mauled man could bring his hands to his bloody cheeks Spyra was gone.
Dorian swung his bow around his shoulder in a single fluid move and notched an arrow. In a second it was loose and drove perfectly into the head of the next man in the line. He rolled forward, notching a second arrow as he tumbled, and upon regaining his stance let this fly into the stomach of his new target. From this angle he knew he would have struggled to strike the hunters head.
The man dropped the flask he had been about to open and clutched at his gut, staring with disbelieving eyes at the length of wood protruding from him. This lasted only as long as it took for Dorian to advance, notch another arrow, and at a distance of no more than two feet send it into the ear of the wounded man. Only slightly slowed by resistance from the bone of his skull the arrow almost shot clean through and out the other side.
A crossbow bolt slammed into the shoulder of the already dead man. It had been meant for Dorian.
‘By the Gods these men react quickly.’ Dorian thought as he dived into a plumb growth of ferns he had already marked out. More bolts sped into the space he had vacated as the man he had pinned finally collapsed to the floor.
‘Positions men.’ He heard the leader shout. ‘Prepare.’
The wild shots, which were not as wild as Dorian would have preferred, stopped. He remained still and quiet.
‘You know what to look for.’ Vin shouted.
Dorian crawled through the fern, inching closer to his targets rather than making distance. If he gave skilled fighters like this room to act they would have all of the advantage they needed to take him down.
He stopped. Catching sight of one of the hunters. This one was very close, possibly even next to the leader. Dorian pulled a catapult from his pocket. He couldn't risk an arrow here, from the floor it would be virtually impossible to hit, and if he stood he would be pin-cushioned by the crossbowmen. But he couldn't let this opportunity pass.
The small gap in the ferns was complimented by an equally small gap in the wiry bundle of brambles just past them. He was invisible to the men, but the bare hand of the hunter was clear to him. It was a very difficult shot but so long as he aimed straight...
Dorian reached into another pocket, this in his jerkin. His apparel was made up of myriad pockets, each containing the tools of his trade. That of survival. He withdrew a small round package no larger than a child’s marble and opened it up with one hand. Careful not to touch the black, sticky substance within he took the smoothest, most spherical pebble he could find near to him and dabbed it into the ichor. This done he rested the sticky coated pebble onto the leather cup of the catapult. He pressed his fingers around the cup, securing the missile. Slowly, he eased his upper torso from the floor and took aim with the catapult. With even and consistent strength, he pulled the cup back, and back and back. Dorian controlled the tension in the rubber and narrowed his eyes. The man was looking around, but his hand barely moved from his side as it gripped his sword hilt.
‘Ow!’ Boro exclaimed, and almost stood, stopped only by Vin’s strong hand on his shoulder.
‘What is it?’ Vin hissed, surprised and angry that his lieutenant had almost made himself available to the marksman out in the forest.
Boro shook his hand vigorously, ‘Something fucking bit me. By the gods, it...’
Boro’s jaw went slack.
Vin stared at him, unsure of what was occurring. He saw Boro’s gaze became glassy, saw drool begin to pool from the corner of his mouth. Boro didn't move at all, it was as though he was frozen.
‘Boro. What’s the matter?’ He shook the hunter’s shoulder. Boro pitched forwards, face down onto the leafy floor.
Vin snatched at the hand Boro had been shaking and saw a large, angry welt on the flesh near his thumb. It was surrounded by a ring of something black and a faint, and a pungent smell came to him.
‘By the dark Gods. Poison!’ He gasped.
Rage poured through his body. A violent, seething energy. ‘Yer rat!’ He shouted, ‘Yer Dog!’
He couldn’t even be sure that Boro was dead, such was the vile nature of poisons. ‘I'll gut you. You’ll eat your own balls you fucking coward.’
Holding back his anger he called to his men. ‘Tighten the line lads.’ Vin shouted. ‘This rat won’t scurry by.’
Dorian had no intention of scurrying anywhere. He continued to twist through the ferns towards his original destination. Spying the opportunity to take down the hunter who, it appeared, was important to the Boss, had been very welcome, but to further reduce their number needed a properly organised tactic.
‘Come on rat! Show yerself. Or have yer run already. Have yer not the balls to face a ma...’
An arrow flew over Vin’s head and struck the rocks behind him where their original prey might still be cowering. He knew it had no chance of hitting him. This was the rat letting him know he was still out there. Who he was, this was something he would have no answer to until he was peeling his skin off him. Perhaps a friend of the lad’s, some soldier, but if so it was a veteran with a good deal of talent. The rat had managed to kill two of them at almost the same time and at a good dista...
Vin halted at that thought and grew a little tense. Dava and Michael were at opposite ends of the line. How had a single man, even as despicably talented as this one managed to kill them both?
He had to have an accomplice.
There was another out there who had stayed quiet since he last struck. This changed things. He needed to go on the attack, not to sit on defence. With two men waiting to strike, he and his men would be sitting ducks if these pricks moved to an elevated position. Vin understood that he had to act quickly. If they were here to protect the lad and lass then he could render that particular mission invalid. He took the flask from his hip once again and whistled his order to the others.
Dorian had reached his chosen tree. It was tall, but more importantly its trunk was thick, five times his own width. He could climb it without being seen. He started his ascent, using grips he had fashioned from wrought-iron, fashioned to fit across the flat of his palms. He heard the Boss issuing orders through his whistles and calls but didn’t allow it to distract him. If he should fall from the tree they would be on
him in a heartbeat. He continued to climb.
Once he was situated at around twenty feet up he would have a good view of them and could quickly take out the leader. With the Boss gone, they would most likely run. Their honour-bond broken with his death.
It was as he neared his chosen spot, where a thick limb reached out and he could, should he require it, drop down quickly, branch to branch as he had when his hunt had begun, that he heard the 'WHUMPF' of flames quickly sucking in all of the air they could swallow.
‘He’s burning them out.’ Dorian thought. ‘I’ve taken too long.’
He reasoned that they had determined the threat to them was too great. Logic dictated that the couple must be at the centre of this attack and so the Boss was going to remove them from the equation. He had to risk peeking around the tree and when he did his fears were realised. Vin had given the order to throw the flasks behind the rocks, just enough to create a wall of flame that would press against them from the far side. The heat would not dissipate after contact with the rocks, instead it would intensify for around ten
minutes and there was no amount of water that would douse the fire the liquid created during that time. Anything caught by the immediate flame would be burned to a charred crisp, anything near would combust and burn with a natural but equally damaging heat. And if the heat didn't get them, the thick, billowing black smoke would choke the life out of them. Dorian quickly moved to the limb and took out a thick piece of metal from a pocket.
He pressed at its ends and it sprang open. He needed time to utilise the device properly. He needed to strip a portion of bark from the side of the tree, then push the device into the trunk. Its teeth, that lay in irregular lines down one side would grip the wood and give the small platform it created surprising stability. Then he could place his foot upon it and do his work with the cover of the tree and only a single leg visible.
He heard the sound of coughing and choking. It had to be the couple. They would have no choice, they could burn, or they could run into the arms of the hunters.
Spyra appeared at his side, clinging to the bark with its razor-sharp claws. The beast could climb any surface, even glass, Dorian was sure of it. A thought passed between them and Spyra issued a light growl. It then blinked from the world.
Dorian reached around the tree just in time to see the young solider appear from the rocks, his hands held high, his cream undershirt already black with soot. Behind him, with tear streaked eyes was the girl, she was incredibly beautiful even with the stains of the forest and the smoke covering her face and discolouring her hair.
‘Please.’ The lad shouted, ‘We...’
Those were his last words. A crossbow bolt appeared in his throat. It waggled a little as he tried to finish his sentence. Then he dropped to his knees, his hands clutching at his neck as his breath was trapped inside him. The girl went to his side and pulled his head into her lap.
Dorian gritted his teeth. He had failed, and still he could not see the hunters. They had retreated deeper into the ferns, using
the same tactic as he had to remain invisible. They knew he would try to protect the girl. They would wait and when he appeared, they would strike. It was good plan. But they had not accounted for one thing.
‘Arrggh!’ A scream of pain pierced the air.
At the sound Dorian swung into position, resting his foot upon his little ledge while drawing back his bow. While his little device was not secured as well upon the bark it appeared that the great old tree was prepared to support his weight.
A hunter stood up from the ferns clutching at his neck. Blood spurting from it in dark gouts. Dorian’s arrow found his chest. A moment later another joined it. To prove a point, before the hunter’s knees caught up with his nervous system Dorian placed a third into him.
He could hear the yelps of surprise of the others as Spyra zipped from man to man so fast he couldn't be seen. Hhe left them only after he had given each a vicious nip that pinched at their skin, drawing blood.
The sounds of pain were all Dorian needed. He directed a single arrow into each position and caught another of the hunters. The angle of the strike sending the arrow into the top of the hunter’s shoulder and down into his heart.
There were now two left to deal with. A crossbow bolt slammed into the trunk no more than an inch from where it needed to be to have flown into Dorian’s face.
‘Shit.’ Dorian gasped as he ducked back behind the tree.
He was sighted. He had to leave his spot. The sound of ferns being crushed and branches snapping told him, as he dropped from limb to limb, that they were rushing for the tree hoping they would catch him before he reached the ground. They were only moments too late, but it was enough to allow Dorian to draw his sword and block the first swing that came overhand towards him. He slammed the attacker’s blade aside, it was the Boss. He turned in time to knock aside a swing to his side from the other hunter. Both attackers swung with strength and accuracy, he couldn't allow his concentration to drop.
Swings and thrusts came at him quickly, but each was dodged or parried as Dorian used his elastic agility to frustrate their assault.
He couldn't hope for Spyra to attack. It cost the creature great energy to move with its incredible speed and the series of attack and fade manoeuvres he had already performed would have left him very weak.
‘Dog!’ The Boss shouted at him, and then he came forwards delivering a series of vicious, but calculated strikes. ‘Rat!’ He spat, and came on again, forcing Dorian around the tree.
Vin’s partner took every opportunity to add additional attacks but could not match the speed with which Dorian parried. But this would not continue. Dorian knew he would stumble, or begin to tire, and his blade would slip or not arrive in time to slide away a probing jab, and then the cuts would begin.
But sheer luck was him rather than against. The hunter, not as skilled as the Boss in his attacks, but more than qualified in his defence, adroitly dodging the counter-thrust of Dorian, stepped back upon what he had thought must be a solid piece of rock. But this slab was actually a fragment which had long since splintered from one of the ancient boulders and lay atop an equally ancient fist of stone. The growth around and below it hid from view the fact that the slab lay at an angle on the stone, and as the hunter stood on its highest edge, it tilted on its pivot causing him to lose his footing.
Dorian saw none of this. All he witnessed was a weakness in the hunter’s defence and he struck with deadly accuracy. He moved his whole body in towards the man whose sword, for some unknown reason, had wavered to the side leaving an opening. Dorian pushed his blade into the hunter’s stomach and as he moved to his side he spun on his forward foot to bring him around the man. Once again he was facing the Boss. His blade
flicked out the hunter’s guts through the gaping wound its razor-edge had cut through him.
No fear of seeing his man gutted in front of him showed in the Boss’s eyes. Instead, the green of them appeared to intensify as his anger soared, and as the hunter's guts slid to the floor with him, the Boss moved slowly in towards Dorian, performing light flourishes with his blade.
‘You're fast for vermin. I'll give you that.’ Vin said, ‘But I reckon I’m faster, and stronger too.’ He took two quick steps forward and thrust his blade and Dorian’s middle, but failed to catch his target.
‘I’m not even going to kill you, rat. Not straight away. You can watch while I busy myself with the girl.’
The men circled each other. Dorian was the taller of the two, easily two inches above Vin, but the Boss was broad and muscular. He wore a dozen scars on his hands, and neck and face that spoke of a lifetime of violence.
‘And if that fucking demon dog of your shows up. Aye,’ Vin nodded, ‘I saw it as it scampered about my line. I’m going to burn it and eat it.’
‘Good luck with that.’ Dorian said.
‘Ah, so it speaks does it. And what accent is that? Brentish, Trestfall maybe, Lockston? Well, I'll find out, and
then I'll be going there, and I’ll find your family and I'll murder every person with your name.’
Vin stopped. His eyes widened. Dorian frowned. Vin looked at his chest, Dorian’s gaze was drawn to it also. A crossbow bolt protruded from it.
‘Ahh.’ Dorian said. ‘The girl.’
‘The... girl.’ Vin repeated.
A second bolt thudded into Vin’s chest, barely missing Dorian as it flew by. Vin shuddered with the impact.
‘Ugh.’ He gasped.
Dorian took two long steps to the side. Away from the direction the bolts were coming from. He risked a glance back. The girl was reloading the crossbow she had picked up from the floor. He looked back to Vin and gave him an ‘Oh oh’ look.
Vin’s eyes rolled towards the girl, he blinked a little as though sleepy.
‘Sorry, what were you saying about being busy with the girl?’ Dorian asked.
Another bolt slammed into Vin, yet with impressive resilience, brought on chiefly by the fact that his legs had yet to catch on to the situation above. It’s a fact that adventurers all appear to have legs that keep them upright after taking a mortal wound. Very cinematic.
‘Don't worry, I’m sure I’ve seen people survive worse...’ Dorian started, but stopped as a fourth bolt found the middle of Vin’s forehead. Message received, Vin’s knees finally folded and he pitched into the floor.
‘I was just joking.’ Dorian said to the extremely dead Boss as he dropped. ‘No one survives three crossbow bolts to the chest, but the head thing is a dead cert anyway.’
The girl stepped awkwardly to Dorian’s side.
‘Is he dead?’ She asked.
Dorian looked at her, he frowned a little. ‘Seriously?’
She looked up at him with questioning eyes.
‘He was dead when the first bolt hit, he just hadn’t realised it. The others just brought the realisation forward a little.’ He pointed to the crossbow, which seemed heavy in her hands. ‘Where did you learn to shoot that thing?’
Rocks Fall Everyone Dies Page 3