A score of large iron cages rested around the fires, filled with three or four people each, save one that was set further from the fire that contained a single man curled up in sleep. Anger and outrage welled up from within. The villagers were being treated worse than livestock. If they'd been taken days ago, it meant they'd been out in the autumn elements. There were children and elderly huddled within some. Daron's heart sped up as the anger filled him, a primal need to seriously harm those responsible pulsing within.
Dear Allene, what void-driven horror is this?
Daron could make out six men near the fires, talking and drinking from thick glass bottles. He smiled with a cold, humorless grin as he assessed the situation. That close to the fire, their night vision would be ruined, limiting the distance they could see to a dozen or so yards at best. With five of them against six blinded opponents, it should go well in their favor.
He turned to crawl back and found Leah beside him. He nearly shouted in surprise, but clamped down on his tongue, tasting blood. She flashed him an angry look and held a finger to her lips. He decided he'd have to teach her the hand language they used to communicate silently, if only so he could berate her without words if this ever happened again. With an angry gesture, he motioned her back the way they'd come.
"Six guards that I saw," Daron said to the group after they'd returned to the group, "though there could be a few more in the tents. About fifty people in the cages."
"Two guards were armed with pistols, four with swords. None were wearing any armor that I could see, just normal jackets. Four looked slightly drunk to me," Leah said. Daron frowned at her, but had to admit he hadn't paid enough attention to gather that level of detail. So much for his chance to impress Jarod.
"Good observation, Leah," Jarod said. She beamed a smug grin at Daron. "Thoughts, Aiden?"
"Split into two teams," his friend said. "Have one team circle to the far side and attack first. When their attention is drawn, the second group comes in the shorter way from this direction."
"It's a good thirty yards from the trees to the fire from the far side," Daron said. "Drunk or not, the two with guns will likely each get a shot off."
"Then I'll lead that team. Not the first time I've been shot at. I take two more with me, and the other two come in once we're engaged, and flank them. We should be able to hold off six long enough to make this work."
"Reasonable enough," Jarod agreed. "You, myself and Brynn will take the far side. Daron and Leah, come in as soon as you hear us engage. It should be easy work to jump them from behind, but move in quietly." He paused, anger flaring through his normally stoic features. "Our priority is to rescue the villages first and foremost from those damnable cages. Let's go."
They separated into the two groups. Daron punched Brynn on the shoulder affectionately. "Don't get yourself shot."
"Let Leah do all the heavy work," Brynn shot back. "She's better at this than you."
"I take it back. Go ahead and get shot."
She smiled and vanished off into the underbrush with Jarod and Aiden. After a moment, he nodded to Leah, and they crept back to the camp, taking it slow, knowing that the others would need time to get into position.
They stopped once again at the edge of the camp where the underbrush had been cleared away, fifty feet from the fire and the armed men. Daron's heart began to thump in anticipation. His joining of the fight where he'd discovered Leah was unexpected, thrust upon him before he had a moment to think. This time, he could see the battle coming. Each passing second felt like long minutes dragging on to eternity, the anxiety growing with each thump of his racing heart. He glanced at Leah, but her demeanor was calm and prepared, unconcerned with the coming battle. He envied her.
"There's one missing," she whispered, her mouth pressed close to his ear. Her breath was warm, and a shiver ran down his spine as she spoke. He shook the feeling away and peered out of the darkness. Five men sat at the fire. He swore silently.
He scanned the camp quickly, and found the other man by one of the cages about halfway through the clearing. He was drunkenly leaning against the bars, a pistol in hand. He gesticulated wildly with it, sometimes pointing it threateningly towards the occupants inside, a mother and a teenaged daughter. Daron couldn't hear the words spoken from, but he could see the fear on the mother's face as she clutched her daughter close to her chest.
"I'm going in," Leah hissed. Open anger blazed across her faceas she started to rise. Daron grabbed her shirt and hauled her back down.
"The other's won't be in position for another few minutes," Daron whispered frantically. "You'll be cut down or shot before you can get there."
"I'm not going to stand by and let him do that," she stated. Her copper eyes peered deep into his, catching and fracturing the campfire light. "Are you?"
She was right. He couldn't live with himself if he stood idly by. He nodded sharply once. Slowly he pushed himself up to his knees, got his feet under him, and prepared to sprint. Leah did the same next to him, and waited for his signal.
He tried to blank his mind. Aiden had said to let the gods work through him, and he'd do fine in battle. He heard nothing but the beat of his heart in the silence. Allene, if you're watching, now would be a good time for help, he thought.
Daron took a deep breath, and whispered, "Now!"
Leah exploded from the underbrush in a sprint, hitting full speed in only a few steps. Daron surged forward as well, angling off towards the fire the others drank around. If he could keep them distracted for a moment, Leah would easily be able to get to the man at the cage. Pending she didn't get shot first. Or that he didn't get shot either. Hopefully the others would hear the commotion and come charging in, or this would be a historically short fight.
He roared in defiance, thrusting his smoldering will into this Oathblade and causing it to flare into incandescent light, pulling their attention immediately. They'd better be as drunk as he hoped. Scrambling to their feet, their ale toppled and splashed out into the packed soil as they struggled to draw their weapons. The one they hadn't seen drinking calmly yanked a pistol from his belt, swinging it up and at Daron. So much for that plan, he thought.
Daron flung himself to the side, trying to put the bonfire between them. A shot rang out in the darkness, and he heard bark shred from a tree behind him, with a whining ricochet singing out into the night. He thanked the gods and rolled to his feet, already surging forward. That only left him four armed men to deal with, until the other one could reload his pistol.
Dashing round the fire, he lashed out at the first man with his glowing blade. At the last second he twisted and swept the blade low, and the man's inebriated reflexes were as slow as he'd hoped. Daron's sword slid below the raising arms and scored a slash across his ribs, shredding open the shirt and drawing a thick line of blood there. The man cried out and stumbled back, his sword dropping from his hand as he slammed into the ground.
Daron slid to a stop and turned to face the other four, muttering words under his breath. As with his test with Aiden, he summoned a sphere of darkness, willing it into existence over the bonfire, darker than he had during his trials. The fire winked out of existence behind the oppressive blackness, thicker than the night surrounding them. He reversed direction, heading back the way he came, praying again. A second globe appeared and the second fire vanished within, throwing the camp into blackness, hoping that Leah would be able to adapt quickly. All he had to do was stall long enough for the others to get there. He prayed that was soon.
He backpedaled, hoping they'd lose him in the darkness. There was still enough light to see by from the crescent moon, and he could make out their dark shapes stalking towards him. Well, he thought, that didn't go as planned. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but it hadn't had nearly the effect he'd gotten with Aiden in his final test.
He dismissed the darkness, and the fires roared back into visibility, blinding Daron for a second. Faced with four men, with the fifth still reloading, Daron did the only thing he saw as prudent. He ran. Sprinting across the camp towards the far end Jarod would be showing up from, he quickly gained some ground. Leah was nowhere to be seen, though the drunken guard lay unmoving not far from the cage they'd seen him at. At least she was doing something constructive. He still had five standing.
"Here!" a voice called to him. Movement caught his eye, frantic and trying to get his attention. "Free me! I can help!"
The man in the lone cage had awakened, and was clutching desperately at the iron bars, rattling them as Daron came near. He wore a well cut shirt and expensive jacket, silver cufflinks twinkling in the fire light. A circle of grass around the cage had been burned away, radiating away from the trapped man out to a distance of perhaps twenty five feet, seared by flame. Any help is a bonus, he thought, and angled his charge to intercept the cage.
He swung his Oathblade in a wide arc at the lock, mustering the momentum of his run into it, slamming his blade into the metal door. The iron was mangled, but the lock still held. He swore an oath and glanced over his shoulder. He had maybe one more swing before the guards were upon him, Leah still unaccounted for and no sign from Jarod and the rest yet.
"Oh, come closer," the man stated with a calm air, as if armed men weren't bearing down on them. He snaked a hand between the bars and grabbed Daron's hand. A feeling of deep chill washed through him, as if he'd just cracked through a sheet of ice on a lake to the frigid waters below. The man nodded to himself, took a step back, and gestured to the lock. Flame flickered across his outstretched fingers, dancing from digit to digit before arcing into the heavy lock. It flared red, and then white hot, and melted away into slag. The man kicked the door open with a triumphant laugh and stepped through.
"Okay," Daron said. "That was impressive."
Motion at the peripheral of his vision flickered. Daron spun in time to block the first swing, but a second attack gashed across his exposed side, drawing a long line of searing pain. He stumbled back against the iron bars, one hand clutching his side, beating another stroke away awkwardly with his other.
A bar of blue-white lightning flared through the space ahead of him, slamming into the chest of one of the attackers, filling Daron's vision with dancing colors. The sickening stench of burnt flesh rolled over him as the man staggered backwards, a stunned look on his face. The guard's chest was a ragged mass of burns and cauterized flesh. His eyes rolled backwards and he slumped to the ground, taking in his last gasps of air.
Daron risked a glance to one side, and found the man he'd freed standing beside a tree near the edge of the clearing. The trunk of the tree was gray and dead, the grass around its roots withered brown, in a perfect circle about three feet in every direction around the man. He leaned with his hand on the desiccated trunk, the other extended outward, flickers of electricity dancing between his fingertips. He was wrath embodied, his face a mask of righteous anger.
Dear gods above, Daron thought in awe.
"That's for starving me for a week," the man snarled. Daron could hear the strain in his voice, and his chest heaved rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. He sensed a blow coming in as he turned back, narrowly slapping a sword aside as he stepped to one side. Focus, he chided himself. You have to outthink them. Still, it was hard to get his mind around the magic he'd witnessed, a man playing with the primal elements of nature.
One of the guards snapped a hand up in response, though this one held a newly reloaded pistol rather than a blade. Daron lunged forward, but he was a breath too slow. A shot rang, acrid powder smoke blossoming into the air, and the man toppled to the ground by the tree.
Daron screamed in rage. He swung with wild abandon, forgetting years of training and carefully groomed attacks. The wound on his side throbbed with each swing, but it was dulled by the rage and anger that coursed through him. His vicious strokes forced two of the guards to retreat a few steps, barely managing to deflect each strike Daron hammered their way.
Movement flickered behind him, and Daron spun, his rage powering the blow. He managed to pull the strike at the last moment, nearly throwing himself off balance and to the dirt as Leah ghosted out of the darkness to stand beside him, her blade stained crimson in the flickering firelight. He realized she must have spotted another attacker they'd missed in their initial assessment.
He turned again and surged forward, Leah falling into step beside him. Her blade lashed out, but the thug blocked with the pistol, wrenching it from his grasp. A second stroke and he cried out, spiraling backwards, a spray of crimson catching the flickering fire light as he toppled. Daron stepped sideways with each stroke, only parrying and deflecting attacks aimed at him, rather than pushing the attack. Each step brought him further from Leah, but it also brought him closer around to their far side. If he could pin the remaining three between himself and Leah, they might have a chance.
One of the attackers turned to face him, stepping forward and leaving his back defended by the other two. Daron faded back from the sluggish attacks. It was hard not to feel relief flood over him when he realized the man was drunk. He felt a moment of hesitation at the thought of striking someone down in such a state, but he remembered the sorceror they'd murdered before his eyes, and threw himself fully into the fight. He pushed out hesitation and rage, pulling back in his focus and training. A clear head was needed to win.
His sword lashed out in rapid succession, a series of lows thrusts and high swipes. Just as his opponent got a feel for the rhythm, he switched the tempo of his attacks. The swordsman anticipated a high slash at his neck, but Daron stepped in and lunged low, slamming his blade into the exposed belly. The man toppled without a sound, for which Daron was thankful for. He nearly vomited as he tugged his sword free, feeling it grind against the viscera within. Thankfully his enchanted blade came away having already shed blood and worse.
Another opponent spun just in time to parry Daron's blade, though his movement was sluggish. Daron's blow nearly knocked his opponent's blade from his grip, and for a moment he felt a wild thrill course through him. Not only was he holding his own, he was actually pushing the attack. The man's arm flung wide, staggering him a step sideways with inertia. Daron stepped forward and threw an off-hand punch into the exposed face. He felt cartilage crunch under the blow as the man's nose was mashed flat. With a muffled cry, his opponent crumpled to the ground.
He swiveled to find Leah pulling her sword out of the final thug, wiping it clean on his somewhat stained and shredded shirt. His stomach heaved again at the carnage surrounding him, but he steeled himself. He had work to do. Keeping his blade handy, he closed the distance to the edge of the camp where the sorceror lay.
He was still breathing, thank the gods. His expensive gray shirt was stained dark across his abdomen, a neat hole torn through a few inches above one hip. Daron ripped the shirt open and assessed the wound. It didn't look too terrible, but a gut wound could easily be fatal, depending on what had been shredded or punctured below the skin. He was unconscious, thankfully.
"Can't you heal him?" Leah asked, dropping to a squat beside him. She grabbed the remains of the man's shirt and swabbed away as much blood as she could, revealing the puckered wound.
"The bullet is still in there," Daron said, shaking his head. "Healing over it wouldn't solve anything. It might have torn through his stomach or intestines." He glanced up at her. "I'm not sure if my healing is good enough to fix that."
"You have to do something. We can't just leave him here like this, and it's too long to Upper Terrin by foot, carrying him."
Daron glanced up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Where in the void were the others? Surely enough time had passed for them to have circled around by now. He wasn't sure how good Jarod was at the healing arts, though he was fairly certain his own skills were better than both Brynn and Aiden. For a while, he'd entertained joining the infirmary, hoping to hone his gifts further. He wished he'd spent more of his free time there now as he eyed the wound, trying to gauge the damage. The man was frighteningly pale.
I can do this, he thought. If we can get the bullet out, I can heal it. Give him a fighting chance, at least.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, and then snapped his gaze up to Leah. "I'm going to need something to pull the bullet out. Search the tent. Pliers, scissors, a knife, anything. And something to clean the wound with. Hard liquor is preferable."
Leah nodded once and dashed off to the large tent. Daron slammed his Oathblade back into its sheath, the blade already having shed any sign of battle like water from oil. He paused. What about using some sort of cantrip to pull the bullet out? He'd spent countless hours his first year at the academy using a telekinetic cantrip, able to lift small objects or push doors and windows closed.
Risky, he thought. It might work, but if he didn't pull in the perfect right direction he could do significant more harm. He'd never fished a bullet out of a wound before.
Still, he puzzled over the thought. Wasn't he just as likely to cause harm jamming a pair of pliers into the wound and digging around? At least this way, he'd be less likely to shred the wound further, if he was careful.
Wodyr's hand, where is Jarod? He glanced around one more time, but the clearing was empty. Sweat beaded on his face. He couldn't wait much longer. He squatted down, eye just an inch from the wound, but he could see nothing through the blood and muscle.
Naod, guide me, he prayed. He wasn't sure if the goddess listened to him, but it helped him feel a bit more sure of himself. Carefully he held his hand just above the wound, feeling the warm radiate off of the man. He urged his will forward, and felt a familiar rushing sensation course through his fingers and down to the blood-crusted flesh. In his mind he could feel the skin, just as surely as if he'd rested his hand there. He shivered at the feeling.
Gently he pushed forward with his will, feeling it slide into the wound. The man groaned and writhed on the ground, and instantly the pressure on his mind increased, a dull throb beginning behind his temples. Still, Daron felt a moment of relief, realizing that had the man not been properly pinned down, the thrashing would have caused much more damage if had he used a tool. He pushed the feeling aside and gritted his teeth, drowning out everything but the wound and the task at hand.
Deeper still. He couldn't feel exactly where he was, aside from the soft and clotted feeling around his mind's eye. The going was slow. Agonizing seconds ticked by as he pushed his will forward into the wound with a careful pace. He couldn't have been even a half inch deep, but it took all his focus to keep sliding the cantrip further into the wound.
It was drastically different from knocking books off desk in class or flicking a light-switch. That was raw force, unfocused and wild. He couldn't move heavy objects with it, nor move anything fast, but this required far more focus and precision. Though he didn't move, Daron felt a dull ache creep in to his shoulders, as if he was struggling to hold a vast weight.
Leah sprinted up, holding a green tinted bottle of some spirits and a thick pair of shearing scissors, but said nothing as she saw the concentration on Daron's face. He didn't spare a glance for her as she approached. He could feel the wound bleeding again, but the force of his will downward kept it from doing more than trickle out. If he withdrew now, the unnamed man might bleed.
He felt the dull hunk of metal with his mind and gasped in relief. His hand shook with exertion, and his fingers felt like pins were being driven into his flesh all the way up to his elbow. Leah reached out and gently wrapped his wrist in her hand, holding him steady. His will enveloped the bullet. Taking another shuddering breath, sweat pouring down his face, Daron pulled.
The trip out took almost as long as the trip in. Bit by agonizing bit he felt the foreign object slide upwards, back through the hole it had created. He'd never held a cantrip this long before, and swirls of light began to dance across his vision. He had no idea how long he'd stood there, fixated on the wound, but finally the wound pushed out a small conical lead bullet, deformed but intact, which rolled to one side and into the grass.
Daron's breath exploded out of him, and he slumped forward, releasing the cantrip. Only Leah's quick intervention stopped him from collapsing upon the unconscious man. His strength nearly sapped, he pushed himself up with one shaking hand, taking gasping breaths. Daron locked eyes with Leah and nodded a feeble smile tugging his lips upward. The hard part was over.
He called within once more, and warmth flooded through him, though it felt hollow and distant. The tingling in his arm abruptly vanished, though his hands still visibly shook. He laid both hands atop the bloody, ragged hole, and let the warmth flood out of him.
The man gasped awake, his back arching underneath him, eyes fluttering backwards into his skull. A single sharp keen filled the air. He collapsed back down and lay panting, lifting his head at the two before him. His hands trailed down his blood caked stomach, to find only an angry pink mark where the bullet hole had been.
Leah helped the man sit as Daron collapsed down, resting his head on one upraised knee. He'd never felt so drained before. A week of sleepless nights, a month without food a" he doubted anything could compare to the bone deep weariness that threatened to send him into an eternal sleep. It was all he could do to remember that the others still weren't there. Sleep would have to wait.
"I'm indebted to you," the man said, his voice pained, but growing strong. He pushed himself to his feet, and Daron envied his energy.
"I'd call us even," Daron said. "If you hadn't hit that one, likely it'd be the three of us lying there instead."
"I merely killed a man," he said. "You saved a life. The scales are in your favor, my friend." He extended a hand, fine and free of callouses. "I am Martin, and I am in your debt, Lord Justice."
Daron shook it lightly from a sitting position, and let his arm drop back down to his side. He struggled to his feet, though Leah helped by tugging on one arm. He was too tired to feel anything but heartfelt gratitude.
"That was amazing," Leah breathed. She hovered close by his side. "I've never seen something like that. You can move things with your mind?"
"Small things," Daron said, waving a tired hand. "Not very fast."
"Could you fling a bullet like that? It could come in handy."
"Not enough to do damage," Daron said with a weak grin. "Just enough to annoy someone, maybe. Nothing heavy, and nothing fast."
"Oh," Leah said, somewhat deflated. "What do we do now?"
"First, that one there isn't dead, though his face is going to hurt something fierce when he wakes up," Daron wheezed. "We tie him up, and get everyone else out of their cages. Then, we wait. The others know where we are."
Leah went in search of rope while Martin dug out a rung of iron keys from one of the fallen men's pockets. Daron, tired enough that he was afraid that a single step would rob him of what little energy he still held, stood staring off into the darkness.
Where are they?
Chapter 13.
Jarod led the trio as they skulked through the crisp night air. The autumn leaves that lay scattered about the forest floor made the going slow and methodical, for fear of crackling underfoot. Drunk or not, if they didn't take care, they'd be discovered.
He hadn't bothered to draw his sword yet. The white blade would shine like a beacon amidst the dark, but it was more than that. Of late, he felt odd when holding it. As if it were unfamiliar, like wearing someone else's set of well-loved clothes. Still, one hand rested on the hilt as they slid through the darkness, ready to draw at a moment's notice.
A quick glance over his shoulder showed Aiden and Brynn close behind, hunched over slightly and gliding from tree to tree when possible. They were angling far around the camp, just to be sure. Sitting so close to a campfire like that killed your ability to see far out into the night, but it wasn't worth the risk in case one got up to relieve himself.
Brynn gave him a respectful nod as he glanced back, her face focused and intent. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of her, but she had a level head set onto her shoulders, when it wasn't filling the air with quips aimed at Daron. She seemed a good asset to the team, but generally seemed aloof and detached. He'd have to give her a chance to blossom.
Aiden, on the other hand, was a mask of emotionless stone. He'd had trouble reading the man. Aiden came highly recommended. A paragon of what the Order embodies, Jacob had said. That seemed an understatement. Cut the man, and Jarod was sure he would bleed the azure blue of the Order. How had he befriended Daron? Daron was dedicated, but hardly as stoic in his beliefs as Aiden.
Far to his right he could make out the twin points of campfire light. He adjusted his course slightly, keeping it firmly off to one direction, circumnavigating the camp with agonizing slowness. He longed to enter battle, even if his sword seemed uncomfortable in his hand. Somewhere behind them Daron and Leah waited for them, hopefully unseen.
Leah. If Aiden was enigmatic, he was at least still understandable. The newcomer was completely alien to him. What little bit Daron had managed to get out of her showed a sheltered life. For someone who had very little contact with people in general, she seemed fine to follow along with their group with little discomfort.
He had to admit he was glad she was sticking around. Aiden might be right, and she could be in significant trouble, but he'd damn himself to the void before he'd toss her to the wolves. Who cared what she might be guilty of? She had a need for help now. Should she be sent away, or worse, clapped in irons and drug before the law simply because she might be guilty of something?
He knew Aiden's thoughts on the matter. Bring her before a magistrate, he would say. If she's guilty, we've done a service. If she has nothing to hide, they'll sort it out and she'll be on her way. He sighed in silence. When the Lord Commander heard of this, he'd be raked across the coals for it, and possibly stripped of his command. Oddly, that thought didn't fill him with any particular feeling.
He made another adjustment in their path. If he was any judge of distance, they'd made perhaps a third of the journey they'd need to do to get into position. It had probably been a quarter hour at this point, though the minutes seemed to blur together.
"It doesn't matter what Yarid thinks," a voice said, drifting out of the darkness. Jarod snapped one hand up into the air and froze. He could feel the other two stop mid stride. He felt a certain amount of pride at that. At least they pay attention, he thought, lowering himself into a crouch beside the trunk of a tree, pressing himself close to it. He wasn't sure what direction the voice had come from.
"He's been with us longer than anyone else," a second voice said. They were coming from their left, further away from the camp, and growing louder. "His opinion should have some meaning."