Phoenix Destiny

Twenty-Three

The raiders milled about, alternatively huddling around the fire and patrolling the perimeter. As the day progressed, their attention slackened. Taking the princess had been easy. Not so easy was waiting for the others to join them. The main party was late, but they were not concerned. They had been unchallenged in this kingdom since their arrival.

A tall, fair raider shuffled back to the fire, hiking his trousers as he finished his business. He heard a soft whistle seconds before pain flooded through him. He gasped, but it came out in gurgles as he reached for his throat.

His hands came back wet and sticky, dripping in blood. Something protruded from his neck, but his mind was foggy. He couldn’t think of what it was called. His vision blurred. He stumbled and fell.

“Pelham!” one of his comrades yelled.

The others grabbed for swords and shouted as another ran for the fallen man. People emerged from the tents, swelling their numbers to nearly two dozen. One paused at the tent he had just vacated to say something to those that remained inside before joining the others.

“Are you sure it went this way?” a voice asked.

The group froze and fell silent, listening to the noisy approach of strangers.

“You saw the tracks.”

“Yeah, I saw the tracks. I also saw you shoot at a leaf. How do you know you even hit anything?”

The raiders watched as two men stepped into the clearing leading horses weighted by large packs. Several rabbits and grouse hung from their loads. The men wore dark, fitted clothing perfect for tramping through the forest.

They carried bows and each had a quiver of arrows strapped to their backs. One had removed his cloak and hung it over his mount’s saddle. Laughing, the pair finally took notice of the two dozen swords pointed in their direction and fell silent.

“What’s this?” one of the raiders stepped forward. “I think you two are lost.”

The hunters shared a glance before one said, “Yeah, looks like it. We don’t want any trouble.”

“You should have thought of that before you killed one of ours.”

The hunters looked at the prone body with an arrow sticking out of the neck. One gagged, bending over and hurling. The other grimaced and paled.

“We’re sorry,” was the only thing either could offer.

* * *

Jaron slipped into the camp. The raiders’ horses grunted at his passing but otherwise ignored him. Dak and the other soldier had the raiders’ complete attention. He almost smiled at the simplicity of it. Some packs stuffed with brush topped by a few of Ivy’s kills, and you had two successful hunters. He wondered if any of the raiders knew how easy it was to conceal a pair of swords under a draped cloak.

He ducked behind the tent he saw the raider speak into and knelt. A confirmation chirp from Ivy told him all he needed to know. Jaron stood, creeping toward the entrance. Now in full view of the raiders should any turn around, he silently and quickly slipped inside.

The tent was dark. It took time for his eyes to adjust, but Ivy didn’t have any trouble. She chirped with the slightest bit of a growl. He blinked and found himself staring at a fair-haired woman. She wore only a grime-covered slip.

Her hair, once braided, had been crudely hacked and much of it lay strewn on the ground. Even in the poor light, he could see her blackened eye and split lip. More surprising than the sight was the smell. The air was heavy and thick with an odor he had trouble placing.

Her good eye widened when she saw him, and he put a finger over his lips to gesture for silence. She quickly shut her mouth. He untied his cloak and tossed it to her.

Shivering, she wrapped it around her as he paced to the back of the tent and cut a slit nearly as tall as himself with a dagger. Jaron paused, listening to Dak trying to negotiate with the raiders. He couldn’t help but smile as Dak offered their entire kill, bows, eldest daughters and boots for safe passage home.

“Who are you?” the princess whispered.

He turned to her and repeated the gesture for silence. Now wasn’t the time for introductions. Then, to Ivy, he gestured toward the slit. The dragon purred and slunk out of the tent. Jaron watched her scurry off and disappear into the trees.

Turning back to the princess, he said, “Your father sent me to find you.”

“They did things to me.”

“I know. That’s why I have orders not to leave a single one of them alive.”

She winced but nodded.

“When it happens, it will happen fast. You need to do exactly what I tell you. Understand?”

She nodded.

“I’d put boots on if you have any,” he moved to the tent entrance to stand guard and waited for the chaos to begin.

She rummaged among the supply crates sharing her prison until she found her latchet boots and quickly tugged them onto her dirty, scraped feet. Jaron drew his sword as Ivy whistled.

* * *

A hail of arrows rained onto the grouped raiders. Four archers quickly shot over twenty arrows in rapid succession. Dak and his companion dropped their bows. With a flourish, they threw off the cloak draped over the horse’s saddle to reveal their swords. Drawing their weapons, they dashed to the nearest opponents.

One of the raiders ducked as the arrows picked off the others and ran for the tents. He burst into the one with their captive to meet Jaron’s sword in the chest. As he sank to the ground, Jaron freed his blade, grabbed the princess and pulled her out of the back of the tent.

Gambler burst out of cover, frightening the anxious horses. Jaron threw the princess into the saddle and gave the stallion a slap. Startled but in no way afraid, Gambler dashed back the way he came and disappeared.

Jaron spun, parrying a blade meant for his shoulder. He pivoted, twirling and locked weapons. He stepped, freeing his blade, and thrust. The concealed archers sprung forward to dispatch the remaining survivors.

“Not bad,” Dak said as Jaron wiped his blade clean. “That was almost too easy.”

“Bullies are always easy,” Jaron answered and whistled.

Moments later, Gambler trotted back into the clearing, still bearing the frightened, disheveled princess. She bounced in the saddle as if no more than a sack. Dak managed something reminiscent of a bow.

Jaron looked at the sky and the circling dragon. He traced a circle over his head and pointed in the direction of the General’s skirmish. Dipping a wing, Ivy flew out of sight.

“Help yourselves to anything useful,” Jaron said to his waiting men, “but be quick about it.”

They disarmed the fallen before checking the tents, grabbing anything that caught their eyes. From the back of the saddle, the princess watched the looters before asking, “You take from the dead?”

“They have no use for it,” Jaron replied, then to Dak, “saddle a horse for her.”

The soldier nodded and hurried off to the tethered horses, nervously straining at their leads. Though the battle sounds were silent, the smell of blood hung in the air and was anything but soothing.

“My father doesn’t allow his knights to steal,” she raised her chin and managed to appear royal despite her condition.

“Whether the king allows it or not, a knight will take what he feels is his by right,” Jaron answered, unimpressed.

She scoffed.

“But, if it is any comfort, we’re not your father’s knights.”