Chương 1110: Chapter 9.5: The Nerve of a Desperate Boy

Two hunters stood beneath the cedar line, each perhaps ten years older than me and soaked through the shoulders. One carried a hooked spear and had tied white cord around his left boot. The other rested a wood axe against his hip, its head narrow from years of grinding. Neither brought the pressure of an awakened body, though both held their weapons like men who had used them on more than timber. The spear hunter pointed towards the stag.

"We raised it from the lower creek this morning. Followed it halfway around the ridge before the rain washed the trail thin." His words came evenly, already arranged into the version he expected another hunter to accept.

"You found the last hundred paces." I checked the nearby trunks. No cord, cut marker or bent branch claimed the trail.

"I found the print near the lower shelf and followed it from there."

"Then you crossed our sign," the man with the axe said. He spat into the moss and shifted his grip higher.

"Leave the stag."

"Show me the sign." My voice sounded calm enough to anger them further. I stepped between the men and the haft protruding from the deer.

"If I crossed it, I'll give you the shoulder cuts." The spear hunter looked at his companion before answering.

"Half the meat and the hide. We tracked it since dawn."

"The hide is mine." I could have offered more meat. The thought arrived clearly, along with the room upstairs and the thirty-one iron left in my pouch. Then I pictured them taking the clean pelt because they had appeared after the killing and decided I looked movable.

"One shoulder. You carry it away now, and this ends." The axe hunter stepped close enough that rain ran from his hood onto my sleeve.

"The marsh cat has made you ambitious." He struck the centre of my chest with the end of his haft, a hard shove designed to move me away from the carcass. My boots slid across wet stone. I caught myself against the cedar and reached the stag as the spear hunter hooked the carcass beneath one hind leg. I seized the shaft with both hands and pulled. He came towards me faster than expected, released one hand and drove his fist into the cut along my shoulder. Pain loosened my grip.

The other hunter swung his axe low, aiming to knock my weapon aside when I drew it from the deer. I turned the hunter's axe between us and caught the blow across the haft. Iron met timber with a flat crack. The old handle split below the head, and the lower half dropped from my hand. All three of us saw the broken axe at once. The spear hunter jerked his weapon free and drove the point towards my chest. I twisted late.

The edge cut across my ribs, shallow enough to leave me standing and hot enough to empty every thought from my head. Desperate Counter took the angle of the spear, the hunter's forward weight and my failing balance and turned them into movement. I caught the shaft beneath my arm, stepped beside the point and pulled until the man struck the deer shoulder-first. His companion swung again. I drove into his chest before the axe head gathered speed, and we went down together in the mud. His breath struck my cheek.

One fist caught my jaw, then my elbow found the side of his mouth and opened it against his teeth. The spear haft struck across my back. I rolled away, found the upper half of my axe in the mud and closed both hands around the short length of timber beneath the head. The men stopped. Blood ran from the axe hunter's lip, and the spear hunter held one shoulder lower after striking the carcass. I stood with the river-steel head close to my chest, where the short haft could still carry a chopping blow.

My ribs leaked warmth beneath my shirt. Whatever they saw in my face made the division of the deer less urgent. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"Keep it, then," the spear hunter said. He backed towards the cedar without lowering his point.

"See how much the hide buys after you tell people where you took it." The axe hunter wiped his mouth with one sleeve.

"We'll finish this in town." He followed the spear into the trees, stepping backwards until the rain and cedar trunks took both of them. I waited until their footfalls had faded, then waited longer. My legs began shaking when the ridge finally remained empty. I sat beside the stag, pressed one hand against the cut below my ribs and watched blood gather between my fingers. The deer was mine. The clean death, the unmarked trail and the offer I had made remained true.

So did the broken axe in my lap and the taste of another man's blood against my teeth. ABILITY ADVANCED Desperate Counter has advanced from Iron (early) to Iron (mid). When you are injured, outnumbered or disarmed, your body can better use an opponent's weight, hesitation and overreach to create an immediate survival opening. The notice cleared. My ribs continued bleeding, and night continued gathering between the cedars. I cleaned the cut with rainwater, bound it tightly and examined the axe.

The river-steel head remained sound. Appraisal found the old haft, the new cross-grain break and a second split running upwards towards the eye. It identified every reason the axe would fail under another full swing and offered nothing about getting the deer home. I still had the skinning knife, cord and years of repairing timber equipment far past its sensible life. The upper haft left enough grip for light cutting.

I used it to take two straight cedar lengths, shaved each into a splint and fitted them along opposite sides of the break. The first pair rocked against the uneven wood. I cut them free, flattened the contact faces and tried again. The second pair sat closer. I warmed blackpine resin beneath a shelf of stone until it softened, worked it into the split and bound the splints with cord above and below the break. The haft held until I tested it sideways. One splint slipped, carrying the resin with it.

I swore loudly enough to disturb a crow somewhere beyond the ridge. The bird gave one irritated call and left. I started again, cutting the slick cord away and studying the dark line it had pressed into the cedar. Timbercraft showed where the splints wanted to bend. Appraisal showed the gap that allowed them to move. My hands still lacked the joining method that would make those facts useful. The stag supplied the missing material.

I opened the hide near the damaged shoulder, where the hunters had already bruised the flesh, and cut two long strips without touching the broad clean section of the pelt. Wet hide tightened as it dried. I wrapped it around the resin-set splints, crossed each turn to stop lengthwise movement and locked the final end beneath the binding instead of tying it against the smooth surface. The repair remained ugly.

Dark resin bled around the edges, pale cedar showed beside the older haft and the hide strip pulled one side slightly out of line. I braced the axe head beneath my boot and leaned my weight through the handle. The splints held. A second test brought a small creak and no movement at the join. ABILITY LEARNED You have learned a new craft ability: Toolsmith. You can now better repair, bind, maintain, sharpen and preserve practical tools under poor conditions. Current ability grade: Common.

Iron craft abilities: 4 of 4. I read the notice twice, then tested the haft again. Toolsmith settled through the repair as an awareness of binding pressure, edge angle and the difference between a join that held still and one that could survive movement. The axe remained a temporary thing. I could use it to trim the dragging poles and divide the carcass, provided every blow stayed narrow and I checked the binding afterwards. That was enough.

I skinned the stag beneath the stone shelf, taking extra time around the shoulder where anger still made my hands clench around the knife. The cut suffered there, though the rest of the pelt came free in broad clean sections. I wrapped the meat, tied it across a cedar dragging frame and fixed the damaged hide above it where the mud could not reach. Dunmere's outer lanterns appeared well after dark.

My ribs burned at every downward step, the frame caught on roots and the axe creaked twice beneath its resin-dark bindings without coming apart. I reached the northern marker with the stag behind me, the repaired tool across my shoulder and Algot's road still somewhere beyond the black western trees.