Rukh awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright, her body tense and rigid. Thoughts whirled in her mind chaotically, images from the depths of her dreams mingled with that of her memories, disorientating her sense of reality before her senses attuned to her surroundings. Her first conscious breath left her breast slowly, and she blinked rapidly before scanning her surroundings.
The sun was just beginning to crest the horizon, with the rosy fingers of the dawn just beginning to cut through the haze of the morning mist. The ground was wet with dew, and the fire from last night was smouldering nearby. The large form of her new companion dozed lightly across from her. The birds had not even begun their chirping yet, despite the chosen campsite being in a small patch of woodland. The acrobat yawned, before getting to her feet, the chain around her waist clinking against itself as she moved.
She had been passing through a small village when she had been enlisted by the elder to investigate and possibly scare off a group of brigands that had been terrorising the area. Murders, robberies and cattle rustling were now endemic. The war had dragged on long enough for these groups to begin flourishing; mercenaries had flocked there for the promise of easy work and many had become bandits as the coffers of the lords emptied. Bolstering their ranks were native deserters, and their numbers allowed them to live off the fat of the land. The armies of the lords had become too engrossed in their persecutions to protect the common land.
Another hand had been hired along with her - a hulking mass of scars and muscle. The acrobat was fascinated by his apparently iron hand. He was loud and proud, but could evidently handle himself. Rukh had not made a decision about him yet, but they had only travelled together for half a day, following the tracks of the latest cattle thievery.
"Up!" she spoke loudly to wake her comrade, as she moved to restart the fire. The kindling was damp, but the embers of the logs were hot enough to dry them out and they would catch eventually. She moved into the woodland to check the traps she had laid last night - her stomach was beginning to rumble.
This would not be the first time that Aryn had passed through this particular area, but last time the village had in much better spirits. The local tavern, centering a ring of ramshackle houses, had provided incredible entertainment in the form of music and boastful stories. The flickering fire roaring in the hearth had warmed the stone walls and had danced drunk shadows across them as the patrons sang together in merry but off-key tunes. The oaken barrels behind the counter had been filled with this delicious ale, lightly spiced and smelling of whatever local fruit grew in this part of the country.
But that had been before the war.
The roads leading in and out of town were little more than a line of rain-filled puddles now, having stomped into the earth by the immense amount of traffic here. There had been promises of riches for any brave soul that had enough courage in his heart and enough steel in his hand. Of course, by the time the mercenaries all flocked to the town, the available work had whittled down to nothing. It was barely a week before a house was burned to the ground, and barely a second week before a family on an outlying farm had been put to the sword, their bare coffers raided and their pantry entirely emptied. It was by sheer luck that the local elder, recognizing the Ironhand from so long ago, offered what little the village had left for the sellsword to help rid the surrounding countryside of the increasing infestation. He'd immediately accepted.
Of course, they conveniently forgot to tell him about the companion with whom he'd be travelling. Some girl, who barely spoke two sentences to him the first evening aside from several terse observations, and who seemed to eye every tree and every cloud with a hint of suspicion. And that chain wrapped firmly around her waist... he'd wondered about that. A simple leather belt would have cost her pennies. The girl seemed light enough on her feet though.
That night, lying on a bed of damp moss with his cloak wrapped around his frame, he dreamed of that fruity ale from the tavern. It might have been apples, but he wasn't sure. He could almost feel the froth on his upper lip, feel the cool liquid dribbling down his chin. Until that stern, commanding voice woke him up.
"Alright, I'm awake," he growled under his breath even as he wiped away the rainwater that dampened his face. Water from the branch above his head had been dripping on him for the better part of an hour now, and had caused that unmistakably sour smell of wet leather as it'd soaked into his garb. He sat up quickly enough, eyes quickly adjusting to the light of the orange dawn as it just filtered through the canopy. As always, the first thing he did was gingerly unwrap his metal prosthetic from its linen cradle and fit the scarred stump of his right arm into a wool-lined socket, buckling the thing against his muscled bicep and over his shoulder.
The girl had disappeared into the treeline behind to do Angsar knew what. With a loud yawn and a quick spit to the side he ruffled through his pack and pulled out an overripe apple. It wasn't the ale, but it was good enough.
"This countryside's filled with hungry mouths. I'll be surprised if there's a single hare left," he called out over his shoulder, not knowing if she'd even hear the sound of his voice through the thicket. He produced a second apple from his pack, this one with just a hint of brown on its skin, just in case she returned empty handed.
The acrobat picked her way carefully through the woodland, her ragged habit brushing lightly against the ferns and fallen branches. She had laid six traps the night before as more an exercise in in vanity more than anything else. She had survived on oats and dried meat for three months now, and her guts yearned for something more satisfying. The first four were empty, but she discovered a pair of large turnips. The last two, however, contained a pair of small rabbits. She gave a cheer, and headed back to the campsite.
She arrived back in the small clearing, beaming broadly at her mercenary companion as she set her acquisitions on the ground. The kindling had caught by the time she returned, and she added some small branches to the embryonic flames. She moved to her pack, and produced a small, dented cooking pot. She drew her hunting knife and set about skinning her kills, her eyes glancing at Aryn's metal arm a number of times.
"They're small." she stated, almost as an apology "But I am mighty sick of oats."
She gutted the animals, and began cutting the meat off and dumping it in the pot. Once she was done, she added yet more wood to the growing flames, before she chopped the turnips into discs and mixed them in with the meat. Finally, she produced her waterskin and filled up the pot, before placing it on the fire. Her small labour complete, she sat back, her eyes drawn to her companion.
"How many do you think there are? We're obviously going to be outnumbered." her voice was steady, almost monotone. It was as if she didn't want to give anything away. "You've been in a few fights, I'd wager."
With the girl gone in the bushes, Aryn took the opportunity to say a quick morning prayer to Angsar, lids half closed as he mumbled his words of affection, the thumb of his good hand gently rubbing at the pendant around his neck. By the time she returned to the now-crackling fire, he was stretching the knots out of his arms and shoulders. The sight of two dead rabbits in her hand raised his brow slightly, but also elicited a huge grin across his face. So maybe she did have some experience on the road. He tossed her the second apple and watched her deftly skin the carcasses. "Finding anything in this cursed land is a miracle in itself," was his reply to her as he sat down across from his new companion.
Catching her stealing surreptitious glances at his metal arm only brought the grin wider to his face. Without hesitation he pulled back the already shortened sleeve of his shirt and held the arm forward. Dancing flames from the campfire gleamed off of its heavily polished surface. There were slight dents and chips in its surface, but nothing that majorly detracted from the metalwork as a whole.
"Oh plenty of fights, my friend," he said with more than a hint of pride. "Lost it about ten years back. There were ten. Giants, the lot of them. One of them had this twitching eye that always looked the wrong way. Anyway, he took my arm off, but I beat him senseless with it. The others too. They'll always remember the Ironhand I wager. I mean, the ones that are still alive."
Of course the melee had actually been an ambush on the road, and he'd almost died from the shock and the blood loss. Not to mention that there were more like four than ten. But who was counting? He'd told the story hundreds of times by now, and everytime the antagonists grew larger in size and in number.
The grin slipped off his face slightly as he glanced around at the trees surrounding them. The village had hired them to take care of a few bandits, but by the looks of it the countryside was crawling with them. One could see that the war was beginning to takes its toll on the locals. Everything seemed a little sickly, from the wildlife to the weeds struggling to grow at the side of the roads. "We are but two, so yes. Heavily outnumbered. I hope you know how to use that sword of yours. Or that chain, whatever it is you do."
His metal arm was still held out, and the boastful smile spread across his bearded face again. "Go ahead and touch it if you want."
Rukh deftly caught the thrown apple while simultaneously leaning forward to stir the rudimentary broth with her knife. She inspected it momentarily, before taking a large bite. It was slightly spoiled, so it made sense to eat it before it got any worse. Her eyes returned to her companion as he relayed his tale, steadily munching on the fruit. It was obviously exaggerated, but was entertaining nevertheless. Warriors from all walks of life tended to do this, in her experience, as it gave them the necessary pride to face down death.
"I would hope so! Should I see a giant with his wits permanently befuddled, I'll be sure to remind him of his transgressions." she replied, a smile slowly spreading across her features as her ally scanned the surrounding brush "I am able with my blade. No more, no less."
At his offer, she moved from her position and crouched, running her finger lightly across the metal. It was cold to the touch, but smooth, aside from the scratch or dent. A punch from that would break bone, and send the toughest opponent reeling. He'd make an interesting strongman act...
"A mighty piece. Most swordsman would retire after such an injury." she said, moving gracefully back to her pack. The broth had started to bubble.
She stretched forward, initially touching her toes, then she grabbed her ankles an pulled her forehead to her knees. The tendons in her legs were tight, but the ache slowly receded into a warmth after a couple of minutes. While she was positioned so oddly, she spoke.
"Do you have any salt?"
Aryn gave the girl a small grunt of acknowledgement as she sat back in her place. He pulled the sleeve of his shirt back over his elbow, but not before using a little bit of saliva to clean off just the faintest speck of dirt marring the metal prosthetic. The brief glimmer of a newer, more elaborate hand crossed his mind but, with a blink and a quick shake of his head, he relegated that thought to the part of his head where he kept wistful thoughts. First things first, he had to complete this job and earn the village's coin.
"Most would. But this kind of work is all I know. If I stopped then, I don't know what I would have done. Probably be drunk or dead. Or drunk and then dead, whichever is worse." As she stretched herself, he watched her intently with his piercing green eyes, noting how she was able to bend in ways he couldn't even begin to comprehend. Probably some dancer in a past life, before the war forced her to find new ways of earning her meals. The war had done that to a lot of people.
When she asked for salt, he shook his head with a guffaw. "I would have to sell my firstborn child to be able to afford salt." That wry grin creased the corners of his mouth again though as he dove back into his pack. From it he withdrew a sharpening stone and a small, tightly lidded tin container, the latter of which he tossed over to her. "Pepper. A close second. Don't use too much, or I'll have to empty every pocket to afford more."
The aroma from her little pot was beginning to wreak havoc on his mostly-empty stomach. To distract himself, he began sharpening the edge of his axe with the stone. Attention focused on the weapon, he nonetheless spoke up with a questioning voice. "So tell me, how'd you get into this sort of work?"
She noticed him carefully clean the arm, which in turn made her conscious of her grimy hands. It had been a solid month since she had bathed, but her odour was masked by a mixture of woodsmoke and foliage. She hadn't happened across a river in a while, and she barely had enough coin to stay at an inn, let alone request a bath. Besides, she found perfumes to be horrible, choking clouds of vanity.
"Ah!" she gasped "A rare treat! My thanks."
She released herself from her stretch as she was handed the pepper, grinning as she carefully took a tiny pinch. She sprinkled it into the broth, which was simmering nicely, and stirred it in. If she had some flour, some carrots and some salt, it would have made a fine meal. As it was, it would keep them going for a day or so. She sat back down, opposite Aryn, and drew her feet into her body and forced her knees to the floor.
She paused for a moment at his question, pondering how best to answer it. She was a killer. She had done it out of necessity, she had done it for pay. She had also done it needlessly, and unintentionally. Most sellswords could not afford to take a moral stance; what they did they did to live. But some of her actions lay heavy on her heart.
"My father was a soldier. He taught me to kill." she said, her tone somewhat light "I've been on the road all my life, but on my own for seven years. In these times, you do what you can to eat."
Pinning the oiled sharpening stone firmly between his knees, Aryn began scraping the curved edge of his axe against its coarse surface, each gentle stroke eliciting a grinding sound. Every few strokes he lifted the blade to eye level to inspect its edge and to ensure that the steel remained evenly angled on both flat ends. Occasionally, he scratched at his beard with his free hand. All the while, he listened to the words she spoke.
"Aye, that we do," he replied to her, halting at his task and glancing over at her. If she hesitated or significantly altered the tone of her voice while speaking of her experience as a sellsword, the Ironhand did not notice it. "The town's gathered enough coin for us to eat well, if we can get this job done. So let's make sure we do not disappoint." He was growing more and more comfortable with his companion as they spoke, and good thing. He had a reputation for never disappointing his employers, one Aryn was keen on maintaining. He punctuated the thought with a low chuckle and a cheery declaration of "Of course we won't disappoint. Look at us, we're practically unbeatable."
When the blade of his axe was sharpened to a level he found acceptable, he propped the weapon up against the trunk of a nearby tree and wrapped the stone in another linen cloth before replacing it in his pack. In its place he withdrew a small map of the surrounding countryside, accurately drawn if perhaps a bit outdated: he'd procured it when he was last in the area, during happier times. While waiting for the stew to ready, he inspected it.
"There's a farmhouse maybe a mile down the road, but Angsar knows if it's even standing, let alone occupied. The bartender said that most of the thieves along this road have been coming from the east, so I say that's the best place to start. We can cut through the wheat field." Another glance up at her. "Make sure to tie your belt up tight. We can't have it clinking and clanking as we draw near."
As she was stretching, she watched the large man carefully as he sharpened his axe. His actions were slow and deliberate, and his constant checks on the blade spoke volumes. It paid to keep your weapon in good condition, especially if your life depended on it, and his careful eye implied that he wasn't someone that didn't go in unprepared.
The axe was an interesting weapon. With it, one could attack ferociously, but in terms of defence it was a poor choice. In order to wield one effectively, one had to commit to attacking at all times, which meant leaving yourself open. Equally, any opponent in a head to head risked grave injury if they attacked. Rukh was confident in his abilities; it just meant that she had to keep up. She listened to his words, and considered them for a moment or two before replying.
"Yes. The wheat will provide ample cover for us. Otherwise we'd have to make it a twilight affair."
Satisfied the muscles in her hips and groin had relaxed enough, Rukh stood up. Without a word, she unwrapped the chain from her waist, and secreted it at the foot of a large tree. Confusingly, there was a thin leather belt underneath, which was the actual thing keeping her robe fitted to her waist. She then moved to the pot - the stew was ready. She removed it from the fire, setting it in between some rocks to cool.
"We should eat this, and head out. The sooner we see them, the sooner we can think about how to go about our work."
"Right. The quicker we spill this blood, the quicker we can head back to the village. Who knows? Maybe there'll be beds in that inn for us if we do a good job. I haven't felt my head on a pillow in too long." The farmhouse was the only thing on the map anywhere even remotely close by. It served as a logical starting point, but whether or not the two sellswords would find their targets there remained to be seen. He let out a small laugh under his breath. He probably should've gotten a newer map before they left town. When she untangled the heavy chain from around her waist and dropped it to the ground, his thick brow raised slightly. "So what is the chain for?" he asked.
However, at the mention of food, Aryn's head perked up like a loving pet whose trainer had blown a whistle. Without pause he stuffed the crumpled map back into his pack and rummaged for a weathered wooden bowl and an equally wooden spoon, his question all but forgotten. The grin on his face could not have been wider as he spooned a nice chunk of stewed hare meat into his bowl to go with the thickened gravy. Twice he had to cough and pound his chest with a clenched fist from eating it too fast. More than once he nearly burned his tongue on it.
When the last of the stew had been scraped from the bottom of his bowl, he let out a loud sigh of satisfaction. "Where have you been all my life?" he remarked with a hearty laugh, cleaning his palate with a quick gulp from his waterskin. "By Angsar, that's the first good meal I've had in weeks!" It certainly trumped the stale bread and dried jerky on which he'd subsisted while traveling south to the village.
Satisfied and full, it took mere moments for him to stuff his assorted items back into his pack and shove the entire thing into the hollow of a thick oak. He draped several branches to conceal his belongings and gathered up his axe, slipping it into the leather loop on the left side of his belt. He hefted his wooden shield over his back and tucked his dulled skullcap into the crook of his arm. Kicking a handful of dirt onto the small fire with his boot, he peered east down the road and gave a low grunt. "A fine day to get paid."
Rukh's knowledge of the surrounding area was poor, and she would have to rely on her companion and his map for directions. She had come in to the village from the north-west, and her memory for landscapes was patchy at best. She even found it hard remembering the names of major highways and river; she sometimes wondered if her poor memory was the reason why her years-long search had produced no results. She frowned at this thought, and his question, and did not answer.
Thankfully, the mercenary became distracted by food. Once he had helped himself, Rukh produced a small metal spoon from her pack and ate the stew straight from the pot. It was hearty and tasty, and the acrobat ate slowly, relishing every mouthful. Rukh had been primarily surviving on oats, and immediately she felt energy pulsing into her limbs. There was nothing better than good food, it animated the body and the mind.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, as she washed out the empty pot with her waterskin "That was good. I could march for days on that."
Once the pot was clean, she hid her pack in a similar manner as the mercenary, taking care to conceal it amongst some thick ferns. It was made of a cured leather, so would ward off all but the worst of storms. She briefly checked her sword and knife, before slinging them around her waist. With Aryn having extinguished the fire, there naught left to do but leave.
"Agreed. Lets march."
The dirt road snaked southward through the sparsest portion of the forest, occasionally cutting east to avoid particularly dense thickets or an odd rock formation but always cutting back south. The landscape gently sloped downward as the pair traveled. They kept just to the left of the road lest any human eyes spot them before they'd had a chance to reach their target destination. Several deer trails afforded them an easier time in traversing the wooded area even though they never once saw a deer itself, not even in the distance.
For a large-built man, Aryn moved surprisingly swiftly through the brush. If not as agile and graceful as his female companion, he at least stepped over fallen branches roots without stumbling and without causing too much noise, although occasionally the width of his shoulders would brush or scrape up against the bushes. The farm was, by his estimation, just a little over a mile away from where they had camped for the night. To lessen the anxiety of their sure-to-be-bloody task, he chatted in a chipper, albeit quiet voice.
"The farmer there is a very nice man. His wife too. She used to bake this incredible bread that you crumbled in your hand. She gave me a small loaf the last time I passed this way, in payment for some job or another that I did for them. Oh the smell from that kitchen... I could die just thinking about it now. Anyway, they're nice people. Ugly as hell though. And their children, just as ugly as them."
As the treeline cleared up, the view of the wheat fields ahead grew clearer. It wasn't a particularly large farm, nestled between the forest on one side and the base of a tall rocky hill on the other. But its importance to the town could not be underestimated. From the edge of the wheat field, something was clearly amiss: the field itself looked as though it hadn't been tended to in weeks. And the farmhouse and barn sitting across the way looked, at least from a distance, like it'd survived a storm but had not been repaired. The thatch has clear holes in it and several of the wall planks looked to almost be rotting.
Aryn crouched at the edge of the field and scanned the distance. His eyes were good, and he saw no signs of life. Or at least nobody out in the open. He turned to his acrobatic little companion. If her flexibility and the lightness of her footsteps back at camp gave any indication of her abilities in a fight, then today was sure to be an interesting day. "Thoughts?"
The acrobat kept pace with the big man as they travelled the woodland path. Relieved of her burden, she moved nimbly and quietly, her keen eyes trained the road. She avoided the snap of fallen branches and the rustling of dense patches of foliage with graceful steps or the occasional deft leap. She noticed that his eyes were trained to the road, for this was brigand country, and kept her eyes and ears out for any sounds foreign to the forest.
Her hips sang their relief to her, as she had not removed the chain from her waist in many months. She felt the pain of taught muscles and tendons ease as her blood circulated, stimulated by the brisk pace the pair kept. She hadn't felt so free in a long time. She didn't initiate any conversation, and the only quiet remark she made was in repose to his.
"Odd to have a farm isolated from the community, especially in these times. I'd wager they have fled, or are baking bread for brigands now."
As they neared the farmhouse, her eyes scanned the landscape. She was no farmer, and was unaware of the poor state of the crops. The dilapidated farmhouse was plain for her to see, however. It looked empty and hollow, and she briefly pictured what it must have been in a previous era, one not so cruel as the present. Perhaps now it served as a hideout for their prey. She crouched as soon as her companion did, and she flicked a glance at him, before focusing on the farm.
"Stay here. I'll sneak up and see what's afoot." she whispered, her gaze not wavering from the house "I'll return and tell you what I've seen. If I'm discovered, I will raise a great shout."
Without a moment's delay, she moved into the field. She was crouched, but moved efficiently between the stalks, at pains to ensure her small frame caused only the lightest of disturbances. It required concentration, and by the time she reached the other end, Rukh was covered in a light perspiration.
First she scanned the area, then darted from her hiding place to the wall of the house. She was careful not to lean on it, lest it creak and give her position away. She sidled up to the window, and slowly peered inside.
There were five forms lying on the warped floor, that looked to be men under rough blankets, next to the ashes of a fire. Not so abandoned, then. There were weapons laid out on the floor, rather neatly, although they were in a very bad condition themselves. Rukh thought for a moment, torn with indecision. She could creep in and murder them in their sleep, or she could do as she had said and report back to Aryn. There didn't seem to be a watchman...
Without warning, there came a clang of metal and a male voice raised a great shout. She had been spotted! A burly man in rough leathers was rapping his sword against his shield and shouting, in an effort to wake his comrades. As he did so, he approached her carefully, his shield raised. Frantically, the acrobat rolled away from the house, drawing her sword in a fluid motion as she came to her feet, immediately weighing her options.
Aryn frowned slightly at the idea of being left behind, but begrudgingly nodded his head. The beauty of having a companion was that he no longer had to do all the work himself. And given that the girl seemed much better suited for reconnaissance than his lumbering self, it was the only logical step. "Right, I'll be right behind you. Angsar watch over us."
As the girl slipped silently into the wheat field, her agile movements barely rustling the overgrown stalks, the Ironhand removed the shield from his back and firmly strung the arm loops around his metal prosthetic. The additional weight on his right arm initially caused him to lean slightly, but very soon the massive bicep of his right arm adjusted accordingly. He placed his skullcap atop his head and pulled the axe from the leather belt loop at his waist. In the distance he could see the girl sidle up to the wall with grace and ease. Unconsciously he mumbled a small prayer under his breath.
Angsar watch over me this day. Deliver me from death, and forgive the sins I am about to commit. I give my life to you.
And as soon as the prayer had died on his lips he heard the clanging of metal on metal, and heard the distinct baritone shout of a man that obviously was not his acrobatic companion. A low curse escaped his mouth as he rushed forward through the wheat field, following the small flattened trail left by Rukh. So much for the farm being abandoned...
The distance was further than he'd anticipated and he, too, had beads of sweat rolling down his temple by the time he reached the dilapitated farmhouse. And not a moment too soon for, as soon as he barreled out of the wheat he was confronted with the broad back of the lookout. On the other side of the figure he could just barely make out the girl's smaller frame.
"Oi!" he barked loudly as he advanced rapidly with his own shield raised and axe hefted in his left hand. The watchman, clearly not expecting a second figure to be joining the first intruder, spun around just barely enough to take the brunt of the Ironhand's weight in his side, stumbling back a step. For a brief moment the two men locked together in a shoving match between their respective shields, affording the girl just the slightest reprieve.
And from the inside of the building, the muffled shouts of awakening men sounded through the dirty pane of glass...
As the sentry approached her, the acrobat was still formulating a plan of action. If she raced to deal with the unready men, the sentry would doubtlessly pursue her and plunge his blade into her back. But his cautious stance meant that she couldn't attack him directly; she lacked the strength to break his guard in a single movement, and by the time she had manoeuvered herself to get in behind his shield the others would be coming to her rear. Either way, she was caught between a hammer and an anvil.
She gave a short whoop as Aryn emerged from the wheat to clash shields with the watchman. Immediately she rushed in, taking two long strides and sweeping her naked blade in a low arc. It bit into his unprotected knee and exited in a bloody spray. He gave a hoarse cry and sank into a half crouch, still struggling against the exertions of the mercenary.
She spun on her heel, facing the sound of running feet. They would be on them soon! Her companion seemed more than able to finish the first - she had to take the next one out quickly or else they would be quickly surrounded. The terrain did not afford her the option the circle round for a flank. Instead, she waited with baited breath as the flurry of footsteps drew nearer. She couldn't tell how many more there were; it was at least three but there could be more.
"Three more!" she managed between sharp breaths, before her next move.
As the first of the group rushed round the corner, the acrobat crouched. The muscles in her thighs bunched, then released her into a dazzling leap. She soared through the air, her blade raised two handed over her right shoulder, then cutting down as she began to descend.
It sank hard into the collarbone of the first man, who crumpled under the force of the blow. Rukh went down with him, staring up at the shocked face of the other man looming above her. She pulled on her blade, which had become stuck in the flesh of the first man, as he raised his weapon.
The exertion from having to run through the wide expanse of the wheat field had taken a toll on Aryn, and he was breathing heavily through clenched teeth even as he wrestled with the other man. He was built like a bull, and the wide stance of his thick legs made him difficult to push over, but the lookout certainly was giving him everything he had.
And then suddenly, with a cry of anguish and a spray of blood, the lookout buckled and fell to one knee. The opening was all the Ironhand needed: with a loud roar he dug his heels into the dirt and pushed his body weight up against the shield, slamming it against the man's head. As the man tumbled backward, and Aryn forward with him, the mercenary had the good enough sense to push his front foot forward and catch himself before he fell. He raised his axe high into the air and brought it down in an irresistible arc. The sickening crunch vibrated up the haft and into his arm as the sharp blade dug into the downed man's forehead.
Exhaling heavily, he just barely heard his companion cry out breathlessly. Placing a boot on the dead man's chest, he wriggled and wrenched his axe clean of the corpse's head. Bits of brain and blood splattered up at him and into his mouth. He grimaced and spittled out that foul copper taste before hurrying over to where more of the bandits were rounding the corner.
"UP!" he screamed at her fallen figure even as he ducked his frame behind the sturdiness of his shield and careened right into the second man. The momentum of his mad dash bowled both of them over, the Ironhand's axe flying wildly in the air and thudding in the wet dirt several feet away. The groan of shock of the other man was also accompanied by the sound of his own sword clattering up against the wall of the farmhouse after it flew from his grip. The two men lay there, both winded, only the shield separating the two.
The third man, too young to have been a bandit for very long, had skidded to a halt in his own tracks, clearly unsure of how to proceed. Somehow their peaceful slumber had been interrupted first by the little dancing swordswoman, and now by this ox of a man. His terrified eyes darted between the two prone fighters and the girl, his body frozen in place as he clutched the rusty sword in both hands.
At the sound of her companion's roar, Rukh immediately snapped out of the near-daze she had found herself in. Releasing her grip on the trapped blade, she rolled backwards, expecting at least a glancing hit from her assailant. Instead, as she finished the movement and returned to an upright crouch, she witnessed the awesome force of Aryn's tackle. It was a risky move, but that made twice that he had aided her. She had to pay him back.
She drew her hunting knife and took three bounding steps towards the dazed, breathless figures. She moved with such alacrity that the final bandit did not react as she breezed past him. She bore down on Aryn's assailant, her left arm extended to push away his protesting hands. She fell forward, the knife raised, and stabbed him twice in the throat. Crimson spray spurted from the wound, speckling her white hair in gore. She disentangled herself from the body, and hurried to her feet, expecting to be met with deadly force.
Instead, she was greeted by the pitter patter of running feet. The last man had fled. The roar of rushing blood filled her ears, drowning out the groans of the dead and the dying. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her head reeled slightly. When she was sure of his rout, she turned to her comrade.
"You alright? That's two I owe you." she spoke, after she had recovered her composure somewhat. Her faced was flushed, and her voice sounded as if it was containing hysteria "That can't be all of them. He's off to warn the rest, I'd wager."
She knew it might take him a moment or two to recover, and considered pursuing the youth alone. But she didn't know how many more there were, or how close. She didn't want to charge headlong into an ambush - there had been two close calls for her when they had the element of surprise; a prepared enemy would be exponentially more dangerous.
Lying on his back, Aryn fought to gather his wits about him and lumber back to his feet. His axe was no longer in his hand though, and he could feel the movement of the other man lying across him as he too recovered from the force of the tackle. With a heavy grunt he struggled to push the man as far away from him as possible. The man weighed more than a fallen stag though, and he could not escape from under him.
And then, like white lightning, his companion leapt on top of his assailant and plunged her dagger directly into his throat. Once again Aryn tasted blood as it showered over his face and neck. With the man now limply draped over him he had enough strength to roll the corpse off of him and struggle up to a sitting position. He tried catching his breath but all he got was a mouthful of foreign blood, which had him coughing in disgust.
"I'm fine," he panted as he fought to steady his breathing. "Is that two? As long as someone's counting..."
When he finally had the energy to pull himself back to his feet and retrieve his discarded axe, he looked pointedly at the girl. "The more the merrier," he remarked disdainfully before giving the corpse at his feet a firm kick. He also took the opportunity to spit on the man's bloodied clothing. While he was looking down though, something about the dead man piqued his interest and, slowly, that grin of his spread wide across his blood-caked face again. "I know this man!" he said with a low snort that bordered on wistful laughter. Someone from the area he'd seen the last time he was this way. So even the locals were resorting to banditry...
Gesturing with his shield, he motioned toward the window in which she had looked before. "Clear? One of us should go around and inside."
Rukh's breathing had calmed somewhat, and her senses were returning to normal as the sudden influx of adrenaline began to subside. She knelt on the ground, cleaning her hunting knife on the grass before sheathing it. She then took careful steps back to her sword, still trapped under the collarbone of the bandit. He was still alive, gurgling and flailing weakly. She grabbed the hilt with both hands and placed a foot on his chest.
A weak cry escaped the lips of the dying man as the blade slid clear. To add insult to injury, the acrobat cleaned the gore from the blade on the man's clothes, as she inspected it for nicks or damage. It was an odd blade, single edged and curved, but it was made of the finest steel and was wickedly sharp. It thickened out at the top, which added extra weight to overhand chopping motions. Satisfied, she sheathed the blade, and looked to her comrade, who appeared to have collected himself.
"They didn't seem like hard bit veterans - perhaps this was the yokels division, and the tougher ones are further on." she offered, giving a small grin "I'll go around the back, if you take the inside. Maybe they have some loot, but I doubt it."
As she padded around the house, her eyes scanning the landscape, her mind turned to the other brigands. The elder had said he believed there to be ten to fifteen of them - such groups had to splinter eventually, owing to slim pickings of loot, but could still be gathered to be an effective skirmish force. They would know of Rukh and Aryn's approach now...
((Gah, this is why I shouldn't post in the morning...))
Aryn thumped the face of his axe against his bloodstained shield wall and gave an affirmative grunt. "I'll meet you in the middle, girl. The Ironhand will give you a call if he gets into trouble. If." Another sportive snort escaped his lips.
When his companion disappeared around the corner of the farmhouse, the mercenary turned and gently stepped over the slaughter and over to the dirty window in which they'd first looked. It was difficult to see past the grime built up on the glass, but a cracked hole in the corner of the pain afforded him a better view of the interior. There were several blankets haphazardly strewn about, likely from when the bandits were rudely awakened by the pair of them. Aside from the discarded cloth and some other miscellaneous objects lying around the black ring of a long-dead fire. There didn't seem to be any movement.
Cautiously, Aryn slid around to the main door of the farmhouse; it was slightly ajar, and he could hear the gentle crooning of the wind as it flowed from outside into the building itself. He hefted his shield back up in front of his heavy frame, held high enough so that only his eyes peeked out from behind its protective wall. He whispered another prayer to Angsar; the God had obviously heard the first.
And with a large boot, he kicked the door open with a crash and quickly stepped inside, observant eyes darting left and right, looking for signs of life or movement. His footsteps slowly crunched on the straw on the warped floorboards as he peeked around the corner. If there were still vagrants hiding in here, best if they diverted their attention to him. His companion could slip in unnoticed.
"COME ON OUT!" he called out in a booming voice, the sound echoing off the walls of the farmhouse. "The Ironhand wants to play." Again, he banged his axe against his shield.
"Aye." she replied, her eyes attuning themselves to her surroundings as she turned the corner of the house.
She couldn't see or hear any movements, before her eyes settled on the horizon. She squinted, and could barely make out a tiny figure running hell for leather for a distant treeline. He would be easy to track, should it come to it, though the acrobat didn't relish the thought of hunting down and slaying a callow youth. He was harmless on his own. If he brought some friends, that view would probably change.
As she rounded the corner of the house, she saw nor heard anything to cause concern. Her hand never strayed far from the hilt of her sword. She was checking over her shoulder as she heard the mighty roar of her comrade, baiting any survivors. It was unlikely that there were others that hadn't been roused by the din of their battle, but there might be a clever one hiding somewhere, ready to ambush. She decided to take a risk and reveal her presence.
"Its clear out here." she called back, taking a final look over the horizon before moving inside the farmhouse with her comrade. Her pose was a bit more relaxed, though her eyes were still wide and searching.
"There will be more, but I don't think there's anyone else here. What should we do?"
His challenge was met with nothing but the sound of wind as it blew in the door and through the farmhouse's unlit interior. By the looks of it the rest of the building was also empty. Still he approached with caution, slowly peeking around corners and checking every shadow in the place until he was absolutely sure there were no surprises left for him. When he was finally satisfied, he rapped his axe against the stone wall to signal for his companion to come in.
With the coast clear, he lumbered back over to where one of the old blankets lay, and wiped the blood from his face with it. Likewise, he used its ragged cloth to clean the goop off of his axe and his shield. As the girl had said, this couldn't have been all of them. Likely a larger group that had bickered and quarreled over the scraps of this town and had eventually splintered. The other groups were likely deeper down the road.
"We can rest here for the time being, but if we're going to find the rest of these brigands and put them down, we'll have to hurry. See if they left anything of use for us."
Unfortunately, it seemed like this particular gang had little of value other than some stores of dried meat, and stock of half-rotted vegetables, and their inferior weapons. In one of the packs though, the Ironhand found a more detailed map than the old one he had. With a pleased laugh he quickly opened it up in its entirety and laid it on the floor.
"Come look at this. There are several more farmhouses down the road, and an old mill there as well. And then there's this large patch of woods right in the middle. We could swing along the east side of the road and drop in on those other buildings first, or we could cut through the forest."
The acrobat moved closer to the mercenary as he cleaned himself, the sound of her shod boots on the warped wooden floor nearly non-existent. She thought about doing the same, but other than the crimson staining her white hair she was relatively untouched. Her eyes cast about for aught of use, but the bandits were ill-equipped, although she noticed Aryn's acquisition of dried meat. Such a thing was a commodity in these lean times - it was easily a couple of days worth, perhaps more if one was frugally minded.
Her eyes gazed at the map her companion held. It was indeed more detailed than the previous one, and her mind moved quickly to formulate a plan. Their adversaries would probably know of the arrival by now, and could be moving to lay ambushes. Either route would serve this purpose. The danger lay in missing the ambush; if they got to their main encampment without encountering anyone, they left themselves open to being surrounded.
After a minute or so of thought, she spoke, her finger jabbing the map and tracing a line between both the road and the forest. Her tone was one of certainty, her eyes narrowed slightly.
"The middle road, in the forest but not too far from the road. We don't want to risk being surrounded, and doubtless they are plotting a surprise for us - if that boy got back safely."
Aryn keenly observed the map as she pointed out the pathways into the forest. He seemed brutish and simple on the exterior, but a life on the road had given him at least some insight as to how to survive. In the back of his mind, he catalogued the landscape. "Aye, no doubt the lad's returned to the nest by now. I can't wait to get my axe in him. He entered the wrong trade."
Another loud laugh when he realized what he said. "What am I talking about? Of course he's in the right business! The sellsword life is the best one, but you have to take the good with the bad, eh?"
The findings were meager, but these recently deceased bandits had enough dried meat to last them a little while on the road. Dividing the stash into two parts, he gestured for his companion to take up the rest. They wouldn't have time to return to their base camp and retrieve their belongings, especially if they wanted to catch up with the roving band of brigands before the night was out. And knowing that they were anticipated, traveling at sunset might be the best idea.
"Right then, we'll take the middle road and see where it leads us. There was a well out back the last time I was here, but who knows if it's dried up since then? Anyway, let us leave this place in half the sand of the hourglass."
"Aye. It can be good. Some should keep to shepherding though, instead of robbing and killing their kin." she replied sharply, a little taken aback by his bloodlust for the youth.
Rukh gathered up her share of the meagre split, her fingers nimbly stuffing it into her small leather satchel. She wasn't hungry yet, although it might be wise to force something down before they set out again - it wouldn't do to become weak in a high stakes situation such as this. Although, they had some time yet.
"I'll be outside."
She wandered outside again, stretching her arms over her head, before twisting them arund her back and arching. She felt wonderfully limber, but still felt the need to sit. She resisted the urge, not wishing to get too static. They still had work to do.
"How's your vision at night?" she called back at her companion "The darkness might aid us."
"Good enough, though if you're asking if I can skip every fallen branch like you, then you're delusional," he called back out the door in a lighthearted tone. In this line of work, they had to keep things light. Blood money could drive a man insane.
He spent the next little while adjusting the belts and buckles of his leather armor and making sure that his various daggers were all in place. He found a small sharpening stone in one of the packs which, although its previous owner had clearly not known how to use it property, still had enough friction on its surface to be of some use. His axe had been used only momentarily today, but it never hurt to make sure the edge was as honed as it needed to be.
That task done, he too stored away the meager provisions in the small sack hung over his shoulder and underneath his cloak. A piece of the tough meat was popped into his mouth as we stepped outside into the afternoon light. He passed the girl as she stretched, giving her a momentary glance before rounding the corner to the well.
"Looks like the water's still clean. Let us fill up and be on out way."
"As long as you don't stumble, trip and get lost I think we'll be fine." she replied, her tone softening. Infighting was bad for morale - besides, this man had gotten her out of trouble twice.
The acrobat used the time stretching her upper body, letting the blood course through her system in waves of warmth. Although pleasurable, it didn't serve any immediate practical purpose - instead it was a kind of meditation. She found her mind cleared of the bloodlust and fear that had flowed through her moments ago.
As he motioned at the well, she raised the bucket and took a long draught of water from it. It tasted slightly metallic, but was cool and refreshing. She felt relaxed, though her mind whirred with thoughts toward the coming conflict. She watched her compatriot checking his weapons, and thought to do the same, but she was nowhere near as heavily armed as he. She had two weapons, not including herself.
"Come. Lets head out."
As she spoke, fairly softly and calmly, she stepped out, headed for the distant woodlands.
The water was nice and cool, and cleaner than a lot of the water he'd tried on the road. Amazingly, none of it had spoiled despite this farmhouse going to ruin and becoming just another haven for roving bandits. He filled up the waterskin strapped to his side and gave it a gentle pat. And just like that, they were off again.
"The map didn't show much of the forest, so we'll have to find this camp ourselves, if there even is a camp there in the woods. How is your tracking? I've done it before, but night will be upon us soon, and I'll be able to see nothing."
There was a clear road leading from the farmhouse's broken gates and into the forest, but the two of them remained clear of the road. Instead they walked along the perimeter of the wheat field, cutting diagonally across the expanse of land toward the treeline just up ahead. The road itself looked like nobody had traveled on it for weeks, but that didn't say much. After all, it was highly unlikely that the bandits had a caravan or wagons to themselves. Far more likely, they too trekked on foot and kept to the deer trails cutting through the woods.
The acrobat's gait was smooth, her weight kept low in her body, as they began to traverse the path. Her eyes kept to the road, and the forest line ahead. Occasionally her gaze would flicker to the tall, too-ripe wheat on her right, imagining enemies leaping out to ambush them. Such paranoia was a bother at times, but it kept her sharp.
"I grew up catching my food. I can track, but I am no expert. I'm not used to hunting men. Fighting is another matter." she replied to her comrade, her eyes not leaving the distance "I'm hoping they're overconfident, or stupid, and light fires to guide us."
She let them lapse into silence for a quarter hour or so as they neared the beckoning wilderness. The ground was rocky and she couldn't spot the spoor of the fleeing man. It would be a different story once they reached the softer earth of the forest. A man running in fear would leave signs a blind man could follow.
"Why the axe?" she asked suddenly, breaking the gentle rhythm of travel, but not yet looking at her companion "I feel a sword has more versatility."
Aryn hefted the shield up in his off hand and gave his axe a gentle pat on the side of its metal face. His eyes also remained forward but a wry grin spread across his face at the question.
"Personal preference, I guess," he cheerfully replied. "I like the weight of it, makes it hit harder when I swing it. Look at me, I ain't built like you, like a dancer. I'm a brute, and I have to use my size and strength to my advantage. Obviously if my enemy gets inside my swing then I have problems. Well, that's what the shield is for."
By the time they approached the treeline the sun was half gone from the sky, having dipped low enough to just peek over the horizon, casting its orange light through the canopy. The field behind them, though, was ignited in a brilliant, vibrant display of color. The mercenary gave one last look at the field and the distant farmhouse before turning back to the beckoning woods.
"Ladies first."
The acrobat wrinkled her nose a little at her companion's reply, but did not respond immediately. Instead she coughed a little, as she thought it over. She had known fighting men for a very long time, both back to back and blade to blade. Some had been tall and wiry, others hulking, like this fellow. Eventually, she spoke once more.
"Ah, is it so simple? I had hoped for more of a story. Perhaps you were disarmed, fighting a lion, and swallowed whole." she grinned as she glanced at him "You found it in its bowels and cut your way out!"
Her gaze moved into the woods. The trees were thick and old, yet oddly they stood without foliage. Perhaps their density prevented other life from flourishing. It meant that it would be harder for them to be surprised, but equally hard to set their own ambush. Rukh looked at her comrade's proferred hand, and thought ot protest, but stopped herself. Instead, she took a deep breath and then crossed the boundary.
"In we go..."
As they crossed the threshold into the woods, the Ironhand gave a short barking laugh and shook his head. "If only my life were a fairy tale like that. We wouldn't be hunting these dogs in the middle of the night."
And it certainly seemed like night, the way the canopy above blocked out whatever light was left of the evening sun. There were occasionally beams filtering down enough to illuminate their path through the thicket, but otherwise finding their way over the gnarled branches of ancient trees took every ounce of dexterity. On more than one occasion Aryn found his clothing snagging on a branch and was forced to snap it. Luckily, the ambient noises of the forest more than drowned out the crackle of snapped branches and crushed dried leaves.
He kept his eyes peeled for any signs of life in these woods as they slowly creeped along, scanning left and right. There were several trails interspersed through the trees that seemed to be fresh, but he honestly couldn't tell if they were made by a fleeing man or a deer. Not in this light, at least.
"What do you think?" he asked his small companion as he crouched down beside a lower snapped branch, on which hung a few droplets of blood. Evidently whatever had come this way had been in a hurry and had nicked itself on this protruding piece of wood.
The acrobat giggled at the mercenary's response. Her aunt would weave wondrous tales for her when she was a girl, and she had wished for them to come true - to be a valiant queen atop a dragon, slaying evil wizards to the adulation of the townsfolk. Part of her still enjoyed the fantasy.
Rukh picked her way through the woodland with care, just about keeping pace with her lumbering companion. Her eyes were narrowed for sight of a trail, her gaze flickering between the ground and the way ahead. She could not see any spoor of man; the soil was hardly packed between the massive roots of the trees and the light was fading. Already the sun was the colour of blood, and would become more vivid as the darkness approached.
She stopped as her comrade stooped, and she inched forward to look at his find. She stepped forward, scanning the ground. There was a tiny compress in the soil, where it was churned slightly. This meant a turn. Judging by the angle, Rukh surmised their prey had turned slightly to the west.
"He went this way," she motioned as she spoke in a hushed voice "A good find."
She moved on nimbly, though not as quickly as they had been in the morning. Her eyes were fixed to the ground, following the sparse clues they had been given. Her hand was never far from the hilt of her blade, and her mouth was set in a grim line.
Suddenly, a yelp rent the air in the distance. And again. Immediately she crouched and craned her head, straining to hear what it was. It sounded again, but closer.
"They have dogs!" she hissed, her hand tight on her sword "Do we fight or hide?"
Aryn also cursed under his breath when he heard the distant echo of yelping as it approached their position. Hefting his shield up before him, his eyes darted left and right for a more favorable position than the one they currently occupied, right in the middle of a thicket.
"We can't hide, the dogs will be able to track us through these trees, and much faster. I'll bet they have torches though, so at least we can see them coming. But we can't fight in here..."
Motioning with a hand for her to follow, the mercenary began tracing their footsteps back along this man-made path, toward where their target had initially veered left into the bushes. At least that part of the treeline was a bit thinner, allowing them more flexibility in the event a melee broke out. It still wasn't the best though.
Turning urgently to his companion as he ran, Aryn called out, "Think we have any chance of circling around? Probably not."