Chương 68: Chapter 42: The Road Home - Part II

The road remains pleasantly uneventful throughout the morning. Gentle hills gradually replace the broad farmlands surrounding Greenhollow while the forests become smaller, broken into scattered copses separated by stretches of open grassland. Somewhere beyond the next rise lies the northern road leading directly toward Fallowspire. At my current pace, I should reach the city before sunset tomorrow. The Hollowmane cub appears determined to make the journey considerably less efficient.

Every fallen branch deserves investigation. Every bird taking flight from the roadside deserves immediate pursuit. At one point it discovers its own reflection in a shallow puddle and spends the better part of a minute attempting to intimidate the unfamiliar creature staring back at it. The tiny growls become progressively louder until a light breeze disturbs the water's surface, causing its mysterious rival to vanish entirely. The cub looks around in obvious confusion. I continue walking.

It hurries after me moments later, apparently deciding the mystery can remain unsolved. The road bends gently around a low outcrop of weathered stone before disappearing briefly between two densely wooded hills. The trees stand close enough together that their branches meet overhead, casting long ribbons of shade across the packed earth beneath. The sort of place travelers naturally pass without much thought. The cub slows, its rounded ears lift. A low rumble vibrates quietly in its throat. I stop.

"What is it?" The cub continues staring toward the trees lining the road, as if listening. My hand settles naturally upon the sword. The forest remains still then...

"Don't move." The voice comes from somewhere above. Another answers from the opposite side of the road.

"Hands where we can see them." Three men emerge almost simultaneously from behind the trees. A fourth drops lightly from a broad oak branch behind me, short bow already half drawn. None wears matching armor. Leather patched repeatedly over the years. Rust-speckled mail, old swords, axes. One carries little more than a woodcutter's hatchet. Bandits. The broad-shouldered man standing directly ahead smiles without much warmth, as I lift my hands.

"That's better." His eyes drift briefly toward the cub.

"Didn't expect you to be travelling with a pet."

"It isn't."

"No?"

"No." The cub chooses that exact moment to brush casually against my leg. The bandits laugh.

"Looks like nobody told the little beast." One steps forward, idly turning a dagger between his fingers.

"We'll keep this simple." He gestures lazily toward my swords.

"Leave your weapons." Then toward the satchel hanging from my shoulder.

"The bag." And finally "The animal." My expression remains unchanged.

"No." The smile slowly disappears from his face.

"I don't think you understand."

"I understand perfectly." The archer draws the bowstring another inch.

"We're giving you a chance to walk away." I glance briefly toward him.

"No." The leader sighs dramatically.

"Pity." The bowstring snaps but I move before the arrow reaches me. The shaft hisses past my shoulder, burying itself harmlessly in the road behind me as I surge toward the nearest swordsman. Surprise flashes across his face. He expected fear, he receives the iron ferrule of my staff instead. It crashes into his wrist and bone gives beneath the impact. His sword tumbles from suddenly useless fingers before I step inside his guard and drive my elbow squarely into his jaw. He collapses without another sound.

The second bandit reaches me a heartbeat later. His axe whistles toward my ribs. I catch the haft against my staff, turning the blow just enough for it to slide harmlessly past my side. Before he can recover, I hook the lower end of the staff behind his ankle and pull sharply. He crashes onto his back. The sword clears its sheath in the same motion. One clean thrust and the bandit collapses completely. Then I keep moving. The archer curses while reaching for another arrow, too slow.

I stretch one hand toward the roadside and mana answers instantly. The thick roots beneath a nearby birch swell upward, splitting the earth around the archer's boots. He stumbles as one root coils tightly around his ankle.

"What-" He never finishes. My throwing knife leaves my hand almost before the word escapes his lips. It strikes just below his collarbone. The bow falls first; the man follows a heartbeat later. The remaining bandit hesitates, only for an instant. Then he turns to run. A sensible decision. Unfortunately, he makes it too late. I catch him within six strides. The flat of my blade crashes across the back of his knee, dropping him hard onto the road before I wrench his arms behind him.

"Wait!" The words tumble out between panicked breaths.

"Please!"

"Who sent you?"

"No one!" I tighten my grip and his answer changes immediately.

"Alright!"

"Who?"

"Our boss!"

"Where?" He swallows hard.

"You'll never reach him."

"Answer."

"He'll find you first."

"Where?" The bandit's breathing grows ragged.

"He'll..." Blood bubbles unexpectedly between his lips. For a heartbeat I think I've wounded him more seriously than intended. Then I see the dark stain spreading rapidly beneath his side. A dying companion must have had thrown a knife to silence him. The bandit coughs violently.

"Our boss..." Another wet cough interrupts him.

"... he'll make you..." His eyes lose focus.

"... pay..." The last word barely leaves his lips before his body goes still. Silence returns to the road. I remain crouched beside the body for another moment before rising slowly. The Hollowmane cub pads cautiously toward me, sniffing curiously at the dead men before deciding they deserve no further attention. My gaze follows the narrow game trail disappearing into the trees beyond the road. Fresh footprints, four of them leaving and not returning. I crouch beside the trail, studying the disturbed earth.

Too many impressions for a hunting party; too organized for ordinary travelers. The surviving bandit had been telling the truth. This wasn't their entire group, only a patrol. I straighten, looking deeper into the woodland where the trail vanished between the trees.

"If there's a camp nearby..." The thought never quite becomes words. It doesn't need to. The answer is already waiting in the ground. I tighten the strap across my shoulder.

"Come on." The cub falls into step beside me. Together, we leave the road behind. The trail wastes little time revealing where it leads. Unlike the winding game paths used by deer or boar, this one has been beaten flat by repeated passage. Boot prints overlap one another in the softer patches of earth while broken branches mark the route clearly enough that even someone with little experience could have followed it. Whoever established this camp never expected anyone to come looking.

A mistake that will become fatal very soon. I move steadily through the trees, keeping the breeze in my face while avoiding the more obvious patches of dry leaves beneath the canopy. The Hollowmane cub shadows me almost perfectly now. Gone is the playful creature that spent the morning chasing butterflies. Its oversized paws find the quietest ground without instruction, ears constantly turning toward sounds I have yet to notice. This is a predator that moves on instinct. Very sharp ones at that.

Hmm, it can be very useful. The trail climbs gradually before ending at the edge of a shallow basin surrounded by dense woodland. I lower myself behind a fallen pine, there. The camp occupies the center of the basin. The camp has twelve men. One, keeps watch from a crude platform built between two trees. Another sharpens an axe beside the fire while several others dice noisily around an overturned wagon wheel.

Bedrolls lie scattered beneath patched canvas shelters, and horses graze lazily inside a rough enclosure fashioned from freshly cut timber. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. Near the largest tent stands a broad man wearing a chain shirt stretched tightly across powerful shoulders. A heavy two-handed axe rests beside his chair while a long scar runs from one temple into his beard. Their leader I presume. I remain still, committing the camp to memory.

Two archers and three swordsmen. The remaining carried axes and spears. I could see no cages or prisoners. Good. That simplifies matters. The safest course would be returning to Fallowspire and informing the Guild. By the time a contract is issued, by the time adventurers assemble, by the time they reach this place, the camp will probably already have moved. No, they chose this road because merchants travel it. Every wagon they stop before then becomes another family waiting for help that never arrives.

I study the camp once more. There is another option, far less sensible but far more permanent. The leader rises from his chair, barking something toward the men gathered around the fire and most laugh. One kicks over a barrel; another throws an empty bottle toward the trees. It shatters against the trunk scarcely twenty paces from where I crouch. The Hollowmane cub flattens its ears. I rest one hand lightly against its shoulder.

"Stay." It looks at me. Then quietly lowers itself into the ferns as if understanding what my words meant. Good. I slide the staff into my left hand while my right settles upon the sword. The closest sentry stands barely thirty yards away. If he falls quietly, the rest may never even know what hit them.

"What was that?" The voice comes from above. Damn, the lookout has turned. His eyes sweep across the tree-line before stopping directly on the broken fern my boot disturbed only moments earlier.

"There!" Every head in the camp snaps toward the forest.

"So much for quiet." The lookout raises his bow but I move before the arrow leaves the string. Mana flows instinctively through my left hand as I sprint downhill. Thick vines erupt from the base of a nearby oak, climbing the watch platform with astonishing speed before wrapping around the archer's legs. He releases the arrow anyway. The shaft whistles somewhere overhead. A heartbeat later both man and platform disappear beneath a tangle of splintering timber and living vines.

The camp erupts with a roar; weapons scrape free; men shout over one another. Several rush straight toward me while others spread wide, attempting to surround my position before I can reach the trees again. This is better. The prey itself is coming to its death. The first swordsman charges recklessly, confident in superior numbers. I knock his blade wide with the staff, step inside his guard and drive my sword beneath his chin. He crumples before the second even reaches me. An axe whistles toward my shoulder.

I duck beneath it, feeling the wind of the swing brush my hair before thrusting backward without looking. My steel finds flesh and the man gasps. I wrench the blade free and continue moving. Never standing still. Two more rush together. Finally, someone from these dredges understands numbers. I retreat toward the nearest cluster of young ash trees, forcing both into the narrow gap between them.

"Get around him!" The leader's voice cuts across the camp.

"Don't let the bastard breathe!" A sensible but to no avail. I drive my palm against the nearest sapling and mana surges through aching muscles. The young tree bends impossibly low before springing upright with explosive force. Its branches lash outward, sweeping across the narrow approach. One bandit is hurled sideways into a second, both crashing heavily across exposed roots. Before either can stand, thorny vines burst through the leaf litter, wrapping tightly around wrists and ankles.

They scream as the thorns answer. I leave them where they lie as another spear flashes toward my back. The Hollowmane cub reaches it first. With a furious snarl far larger than its body has any right to produce, it launches itself at the bandit's arm. Tiny claws fail to pierce leather, yet the sudden weight is enough to spoil the thrust. The spear glances harmlessly past my ribs. I spin and swing my staff. It catches the bandit across the temple and he drops without another sound.

The cub lands awkwardly, shakes itself once, then trots proudly back toward me as though expecting praise.

"Later." It chirps in obvious disappointment. The moment costs me. A hammer crashes against the side of my staff with enough force to numb both hands. I stumble backward, boots sliding through churned mud while three more bandits close the distance together. I am surrounded. Mana answers before I consciously call for it. Roots tear through the earth in a rough line between us, forcing the charging men apart as the ground itself buckles beneath their feet. One loses his balance completely.

Another crashes shoulder-first into an oak while the third becomes trapped on the opposite side of the living barrier, swearing furiously as vines begin coiling around his boots. The forest has split them. I do not want to fight them together and the battlefield has already did it. Exactly as I intended. Across the camp, the broad-shouldered leader watches another of his men fall one by one and his expression changes. Anger.

He reaches down, lifts the massive two-handed axe resting beside his chair, and points it directly at me.

"Enough!" His roar silences every other voice in the clearing.

"I'll kill him myself." The surviving bandits immediately fall back, creating a wide circle around us. I should welcome the reprieve. Instead, something deep within my chest answers that roar with a slow, deliberate thump. Once, then again. The cursed blade Nemain. I tighten my grip around the staff. The heartbeat comes a third time, slower than my own. The leader rolls his shoulders once before resting the great axe across them as though it weighed no more than a walking stick.

Around us, the clearing falls strangely quiet. The surviving bandits keep their distance, circling warily while neither side moves. The Hollowmane cub watches from beneath a cluster of hazel bushes, ears flattened against its head. The leader spits onto the ground.

"You've caused me a costly afternoon."

"I've had worse." He snorts.

"So have I." Without another word he charges. Unlike the others, he wastes nothing. The axe comes in low, forcing me to meet it immediately. I catch the haft on my staff. The impact drives my boots backward through the churned earth. He is far stronger than the others. He twists the axe instead of pulling it free, trying to wrench the staff from my hands. I let him guide the motion. His own strength carries the weapon wider than intended. I step inside the opening and crash my elbow against his jaw.

He barely notices as his slams his forehead into mine and my vision swims. The bandit leader presses relentlessly giving me no time to recover. He drives his knee into my stomach and the air rushes from my lungs. I stumble backward, coughing. He presses immediately again and again. The axe never stops moving. Every swing forces another step back. I keep blocking as I retreat back. I cannot match his strength. I don't need to overpower him. I only need him to make one mistake and it comes with the next swing.

He puts everything behind the blow, bringing the axe around in a wide arc that bites deep into one of the roots scattered across the clearing. The stone edge buries itself in the weathered wood with a dull crack, and before he can wrench it free, I reach for the forest. Mana rushes through my fingertips, answering far more readily than it should after everything I've already spent, and a thin vine tears through the moss beside the root. It coils tightly around the haft before pulling in the opposite direction.

The leader snarls and hauls against it with both hands. I don't give him the chance to recover. I surge forward, driving the iron ferrule of my staff hard into his ribs. The impact folds him sideways just enough for me to reverse my grip and slam the opposite end across his forearm before bringing it down a third time against his wrist. His fingers finally give way. The axe tears free from his grasp and disappears into the ferns. I barely have time to breathe before his fist crashes into my cheek.

My head snaps sideways and warm blood floods my mouth where my teeth cut the inside of my lip. He follows immediately, trying to drive me backward while I'm still off balance, but I catch myself with one stumbling step and answer with the sword instead. The blade opens a long cut across his thigh as I pass, forcing him to turn awkwardly to keep his feet beneath him. He's slowing but only a little. I don't let him settle. The staff keeps him moving while the sword punishes every opening he leaves behind.

One strike glance off his shoulder, another catches his forearm. He blocks the third but too late, the force driving him another step backward across the churned clearing. His footing grows less certain with every exchange as bodies, broken weapons and torn roots rob him of solid ground. He swings again. Too wide. I slip beneath the axe, hook the staff behind his knee and pull as I drive my shoulder into his chest.

He crashes backward over one of his fallen men, landing heavily enough that the breath leaves him in a sharp grunt. I am already there. The point of my sword settles beneath his chin before he can even think about reaching for another weapon. His chest rises and falls in ragged bursts.

"... Wait." His voice has changed, gone is the confidence, gone is the anger.

"I surrender." For a long moment neither of us moves. The clearing seems to hold its breath with us. Then, slowly, he raises one shaking hand. Not toward a weapon, toward me.

"I've got coin," he whispers.

"Take it. Take everything." The words reach my ears but something else reaches me first. Smoke; the smell of burning timber; children screaming; heat against my face; Blackthorn. Something older surfaces once more, burning trees; houses hidden in trees and foliage on fire; bodies scattered and strewn across the sacred grove; grove on fire; my grove; my home destroyed. I blink. The bandit is still lying beneath my sword. Yet for the briefest instant I don't see him.

His scarred skin blackens; face stretches into another; crimson eyes and a smile creep on his face. A smile I know too well. My pulse hammers against my ribs. Then another heartbeat answers it. My fingers loosen around the sword until it slips from my hand and lands somewhere in the grass beside us. Relief floods the bandit's face.

"Thank the—" My fist, reaches him before the words do. Bone gives beneath my knuckles. He screams as I hit him again. His head snaps sideways, blood spraying across the dirt as another punch caves his nose beneath my hand.

"Please!" Another punch.

"I surrender!" I barely hear him. My fist, rises and falls again and again, each blow dragging another memory to the surface.

"No..." The word tears itself from my throat.

"... not again." Another punch.

"I won't..." His face has become the demon's again.

"... lose..." Another.

"... my home." He tries to shield himself. I tear his arms away.

"My people." Another punch.

"My city." His pleas become meaningless sounds somewhere beneath the roaring inside my head.

"I won't fail again." I drag him upright by the front of his tunic and drive my fist into his face one final time with every ounce of strength still left in my body. His weight suddenly disappears. There is nothing left holding him upright. He slips from my hands and collapses at my feet. Only then do I realize I'm still breathing as though the fight hasn't ended. Blood runs freely across my split knuckles. Somewhere deep within my thoughts, something purrs. Slow, content and satisfied.

The sound lingers for only a few heartbeats before fading with the crimson haze clouding my vision. When I blink again, the demon is gone. Only the dead bandits remain. A quiet whimper draws my attention. The Hollowmane cub stands several paces away, its rounded ears pressed flat against its head. It watches me with uncertain golden eyes but makes no move to come closer. The sight hurts far more than any wound I took during the fight.

I retrieve my sword in silence, wipe the blade clean almost mechanically and slide it back into its sheath before turning toward the road. For several long moments, I hear nothing behind me. Then, at last soft paws begin following. Not beside me this time but a few cautious paces behind.