A New Dawn Coming

Chapter 11

The watery sun was making its slow descent towards the horizon, already halfway below the tree tops and sinking fast. The shadows were growing longer, dappling the clearing below in a patchwork pattern of light and dark.

Faux crouched behind a towering pine tree on top of the rocky crest sheltering the back portion of the camp. He was having trouble keeping his mind focused on the task at hand while he waited. He kept dwelling on the absurdity of the quick turn his fortunes had taken.

Two days ago he’d been ready to quit and die on the road, now here he was taking another contract to kill people. For a good reason, of course. Just like old times. Funny how, ‘the life’, just seemed to follow him. It didn’t matter that the dwarf thought they could pull this off without fighting, he knew it’d come to blades. It always did with men of this sort. They were the kind of people he was used to dealing with.

He’d never worked with others before though. It was too risky. He’d always prided himself on his own set of skills and the ability to get a job done quietly. This was unfamiliar territory.

He felt comfortable with Aboleth. It was unlikely that he was a baron’s man looking for him. If he was, he’d be dead by now. He had a simple motive to be out here, to protect people. He could respect that. He wasn’t sure about the giant, Guy. Not many merchant’s guards would take coin to go hunting after bandits in the woods. But then again, he had a cartload of goods to sell, and these guys were keeping trade out of Arbordale. He was in it for the money. Faux could respect that too.

His musings were interrupted when he noticed the men scattered through the camp suddenly jump up, grabbing for their weapons. He checked the arrow on his string and drew the fletching back to kiss his cheek, the tip pointing at the only bandit in the camp with a bow. They were moving towards the far side of the clearing, gathering around a gap between the trees.

As he watched, Aboleth and Guy emerged from the brush. Another bowman tramped behind them, an arrow drawn, pointing at Guy’s back. He strained as much as he could, but couldn’t make anything out of the muffled conversation. The body language didn’t make it seem as though the group of bandits was going to be moving anywhere anytime soon.

“Well it’s a fair question you see.”

Faux jumped as a voice burst from the tent directly in front of him. The flap was tossed back and a man wearing a scowl on his face stepped out and headed towards the rest of the gathering. He looked more like a lion than a snake to Faux. His glib step had a cat like grace about it, while his bobbing pony tail reminded him of a cat swishing its tail. The snake tattoo wrapped around his arm gave him away as Thomin Snakebit.

Faux relaxed the tension on his bowstring and began creeping his way along the tree line, looking for a good angle at the bandit leader. If he could drop him with an arrow, the other two would be able to use the surprise to get a jump on the rest of the group. With any luck, he’d get a second shot off before any of the other bowmen could react.

He knelt behind a low boulder, settling into position, when he heard Thomin bark a couple of names. Two men turned, sprinting for the tree line, searching looks on their faces. The loner who’d been sharpening his sword entered the trees across the clearing from Faux, while a bandit holding a stubby short sword darted into the woods no more than a couple of dozen strides from where the half-elf was hidden. He glanced back into the clearing and saw the conversation had resumed between Aboleth and Thomin. Keep him talking dwarf, I have my own problem for a minute.

He laid the bow on the leafy mulch and sliped one of the daggers from his boot top. A quick grin split his face. Father Iolder’s comments crossed his mind; he hadn’t looked for the hilt, but had pulled the blade without thinking about it.

The sound of a twig snapping sent Father Iolder hurtling to the back of his mind. Coming from his right, he could hear the bandit tramping through the underbrush, cursing as he hacked at the dead branches hooking his shirt and breeches. He was doing a piss poor job of stalking a quarry, if that was what he was doing. Faux couldn’t think of why the two men had been sent into the trees unless they were looking for him. Like a phantom, ghosting through the forest, he closed in on the man looking for him. His feet avoided the dry twigs scattered along the ground threatening to give him away.

Within an arm’s length of the bandit he paused for a quick look around. He couldn’t see the clearing anymore through the foliage, and didn’t see anyone else either. Turning back to his target, he reached out with his free hand and clamped it over the his mouth. His other hand drove the dagger into the man’s back with brutal force. The dagger slid between two ribs, nicking a lung, before lodging in the heart. A large bubble of blood burst from his mouth washing over Faux’s hand as the body instantly fell limp. Keeping a tight grip on the man, he lowered the body to the ground, frowning at his hand in disgust. He knelt, trying to wipe it clean on the back of the dead bandit’s shirt.

A subtle shift of the breeze? A sudden flash as a bird took flight? A shadow, that just fell the wrong way on the ground? Faux couldn’t place exactly what it was that tickled his nerves. He threw himself into a tight roll as the blade flashed by. The keen edge whistled as it split the air where his head had been. He came up to his knees, looking behind him. The loner who’d been sharpening his sword stood leering over Faux, a sadistic twist to his mouth.

His hair was and limp and hung across his face like cobwebs. His eyes were dark and depthless, empty pits devoid of emotion. With a silent snarl he lunged at Faux, his sword driving for the half-elf’s body. He twisted, managing to get the dagger in between himself and the streaking sword blade. It deflected just enough to miss his chest. The lunge overpowered the smaller blade, the sword running its edge along the back of his hand, opening a gash from his thumb to little finger. Faux yelped, dropping the dagger, but managed to stagger back and regain his footing. Blood ran freely along his hand, dripping to the ground in thick, fat drops.

His grin widening, the Loner pulled his sword back and made a savage cut, hoping to slice the lithe half-elf in two. Unarmed, Faux stepped inside the arc of the sword. Bringing his two arms together, he broke the swing, blocking the thug’s arms tight to his body. He brought his head forward sharply, slamming his forehead into the man’s nose. It broke with a sickening crunch. The Loner backed off, his hands clutching his ruined nose. Faux snapped out his front foot, driving it into his attacker’s sternum. Air rushed from his lungs with a loud grunt and whoosh. Faux planted his kicking leg, spinning on the ball of his foot as the other leg came around in a savage roundhouse, catching the Loner across the side of his head. He sprawled into the dirt, a moaning mass. Faux collected the dagger, and without hesitating, ran it along the Loners throat.

Taking deep breaths, he flexed his wounded hand and grimaced as pain flared along his forearm. Shrugging it off, he dashed back to where he’d left the bow at the clearing’s edge. As he nocked an arrow and lifted the bow he heard Thomin’s voice cut through the air; “f**k it, kill ‘em!”

The bowman standing off to the side, began raising his bow. Faux sighted on him and let his own string go. The arrow whistled through the air, but Faux wasn’t watching it. He was already reaching for another arrow.

* * * * *

“f**k it! Kill ‘em!”

As the words left Thomin’s mouth, pandemonium broke loose in the camp. Guy immediately dropped to one knee, his body bent over in a crouch. As his knee dug into the soft earth, he heard a string snap, and the high pitched hiss of an arrow as it passed over head. Like a released spring, he lunged back at the man, his solid, meaty fist connecting with the bandits jaw, snapping bone and ruining his face. The thug spun around and dropped to the ground, unmoving.

An arrow seemed to come from nowhere. It flicked past Guy to strike the other bowman solidly in the chest, just as he managed to get his bow raised. He stared stupidly at the arrow jutting from his torso, before toppling over.

The Brute stepped in with a mighty swing of his war axe. The stocky dwarf was ready and caught the axe blade with the head of his hammer. The force of the blow sent a jarring pain along his shoulders.

“Ha! Well met little man!” The Brute roared, sweeping the axe back. This time an overhead chop, trying to split the cleric like a junk of firewood. Aboleth stepped to one side, letting the axe crash into the soft earth. He swung his hammer, catching the big man high on the shoulder. It was a blow that would have shattered bone against any normal human, but the slabs of muscle on the huge bandit absorbed the blow, leaving an angry welt and thin gash that slowly leaked blood.

The other swordsman came at Aboleth from his exposed side. He stabbed with his short sword while screaming an unintelligible battle cry. His cry turned to a howl of pain as another arrow came sailing from the woods. The arrow thudded into the bandit’s thigh, knocking him off stride to go sprawling in the dirt.

As the Brute turned to see where the arrow had come from, Aboleth swung his hammer in a mighty arc. The gigantic bandit deflected it with his axe at the last second. He swung his other fist at the dwarf, catching the cleric high on the forehead. He staggered backwards, stars dancing across his vision.

Thomin had closed in on Guy, both knives drawn, and had the big man pinned under a relentless assault. His knives darted and danced with a speed and grace that would have made several snakes envious of the man. Guy backed away, his sword spinning one way and then the other. A desperate sweat broke out along his forehead as he fended off the ferocious attack. He began to bleed from several cuts and gashes where Thomin had gotten through the defences; landing nicks and cuts along his arms and tops of his legs.

* * * * *

Faux slung the bow over his shoulder, not willing to take a shot into the whirling melee his companions had become tangled in. Pulling a rapier, he sprinted across the clearing. The Brute had Aboleth pinned under his massive weight. The dwarf had managed to block an overhead swing of the heavy axe with the shaft of his hammer, but now the larger man was leaning on the axe, applying all of his strength and considerable bulk. The dwarf was beginning to wilt under the weight while the thug edged closer and closer, preparing to stomp the overpowered cleric to a pulp.

Faux dashed in, stabbing with his thin blade, jamming it to the hilt in the big man’s exposed back. He let out a savage roar, spinning towards the half-elf faster than Faux thought possible. His fist backhanded him across the face, sending the half-elf tumbling through the dirt, head ringing.

Faux spit a glob of blood onto the mulch littered gravel from the ragged split in his lip. Starting to pick himself up, his vision filled with the Brute’s leg as he brought his foot forward, driving it into the half-elf’s gut. He could hear, as well as feel, his ribs snapping as the brutal kick lifted him off the ground and sent him rolling through the scattered dead leaves lying about.

He lay there, staring up at the intermittent clouds scudding across the sky. They were washed in various shades of orange and violet from the sinking sun as it dipped below the horizon. Every ounce of air had been knocked from his broken body, and every shivering, sharp, intake of breath felt like an arrow piercing his chest. He lay there waiting for the death blow. But it never came.

Aboleth scrambled to his feet as the bandit had punted the half-elf across the clearing. He swung his hammer, burying it into one of the massive man’s knees. It shattered with a loud ‘pop’, felling the Brute like a massive oak tree. He struggled to get back up, clawing at the dwarf, reaching for a dagger on his belt. Aboleth bashed him with the hammer, driving his head into the dirt while caving in the back of his skull.

* * * * *

Thomin continued to press Guy, his knives finding holes in the big man’s defences, adding to the dozen or so bloody cuts that covered his arms and upper chest already. A testament to the bandit leader’s skill with the blades. Guy lashed out with his sword, aiming for his opponent’s head, only to cut a swath through the air. Thomin ducked underneath and counter attacked, two quick slashes, one along the shoulder and one just above Guy’s eye, the blade slicing along his eyebrow, sending drops of blood spiralling through the air.

Furious, Guy dropped his sword and lunged at the bandit leader with both hands. Startled by the sudden shift in tactics, Thomin froze, allowing the big man to wrap his hands around the skilled knifeman’s throat. He flexed his fingers and pulled them tight, cutting off the bandit’s air supply. Thomin twisted, his blades raking along the bigger man’s torso. Guy dropped to one knee, swinging his arms towards the ground, slamming the smaller man to the dirt like a rag doll. Thomin twitched as Guy lifted his head off the ground long enough to slam it down again. The bandit leader went limp and still, his neck still locked in the enraged man’s grip. As the bloodlust passed, he released his hands. With a shuddering breath he stood, staring down at the bandit leader. Thomin lay still on the ground, his eyes glassy.

* * * * *

Faux was still staring at the sky, willing his body to stop all function. Every miniscule movement set off a new explosion of pain through his chest. It hurt trying to suck in agonizingly tiny amounts of oxygen. It hurt holding his breath. Every beat of his heart was a tiny dagger piercing him. A shadow falling across him announced Aboleth’s presence. He knelt next to the half-elf, laying one hand on his forehead and the other on his burning chest. Faux couldn’t hear what he dwarf was saying over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears.

Seconds later, he felt a tingling sensation begin to wash over his body. Similar to the feeling he’d had the night before, but much stronger. It started at the tips of his toes and the very top of his head at the same time. By the time the two sensations merged at the middle of his stomach all his pain had vanished and his head was clear.

“Easy lad,” Aboleth said as he tried to sit up. “Ye’ll still be tired but at least the wounds are mended.”

“That is amazing,” Faux gasped as he stared at his healed body in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re capable of doing that.”

“Not me lad, Jahlenea, remember. I’m merely a vessel of her will.”

Guy shuffled over and looked down at his two companions. Faux winced as he looked up at him. He looked as though he’d just walked out of a butcher’s shed, his arms and tunic soaked in blood. His face was pale, his eyes unfocused, but he grinned as stood, wobbling from side to side.

“Bastard was good with those knives, I’ll give him that.”

“Here lad,” Aboleth stood up, reaching into a leather satchel. He pulled out a flask; a dark, reddish fluid swirling around inside. “The Blessed One is a bit fickle when being called upon to heal someone every few minutes, but this’ll do the trick well enough.”

“I like the scars anyway.” Guy popped the cork and tossed the flasks contents into his mouth. “The girls love them.”

A low groan to one side caught everyone’s attention. The swordsman that Faux had hit in the leg with an arrow was crawling towards the tree line. Faux’s arrow stood tall from his leg, just below the hip. He glanced back at the party, fear in his eyes, and continued scrambling for the trees. The three companions walked over to where he was struggling and surrounded him.

“P...please. Spare m...me. I won’t be no trouble to a...anyone. I swears it!”

“Sorry,” Faux drew a dagger. “You had that chance.”

He leaned in to finish the whimpering bandit. Aboleth’s hammer dropped in front of the half-elf blocking the way. He looked up at the dwarf, a questioning look on his face.

“No lad. He’s asked for mercy.”

“What are you talking about? We were paid to kill them.”

“No lad we weren’t. We were asked to make them leave. Their leader picked this fight, a poor decision. We did what we must, and this man will leave here. He needn’t be killed.”

“I swears it, I do! I’ll leave, won’t never come back.”

Faux stared into Aboleth’s eyes, his grip tight around the dagger. When he was doing assassin work, he’d always tried to avoid killing anyone not on his contract. This was no different. The cleric was right.

“Make sure you don’t,” He slipped the dagger back into the sheath at his waist. “You don’t get many second chances.”

Aboleth, smiling, turned from the half-elf to the wounded man. He handed him another flask containing the same reddish liquid that he’d given Guy and instructed him to wait before drinking it. He yanked the arrow free from the man’s thigh. After the man’s scream of agony, he tugged the stopper from the flask and had him drink it. The wound still looked ugly, but the bleeding stopped and colour returned to the man’s ashen face.

“Go in peace with Jahlenea’s mercy,” Aboleth said to the man as he helped him to his feet. “As the lad told ye, there are only so many second chances ye’ll get, and the next time the company ye deal with may not be so merciful.”

“I w...will,” he backed away from the three men. “Thank you.” He grabbed up his sword from the dirt and rummaged through a sack lying on the ground by one of the tents. Flinging it over his shoulder, he limped off into the trees.

The three companions stood staring at each other, the c*****e around them, and the remnants of the mishmashed bandit camp.

“Well boys,” Guy prompted, “I don’t know about you, but I think a return to the village and a mug of ale would go a long way.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Faux nodded his assent. “Think we’ll get through the night without having to fight anyone else?”

“We can only hope lad. We can only hope.” Aboleth, a dark cast to his features, went to each of the bodies in turn, making the sign of the Blessed One. A small offering of respect to the departed as they made their way back to her embrace.