by A.R. Wise
Chapter Fifteen
Tarik watched as the other prisoners tried to flee through the poisonous smoke and re-emerged coughing and choking. “We can’t go that way,” he said and guided Joyce and Beynor away from the growing cloud. The fumes were already beginning to sting his eyes, and he wiped away the tears as he headed back towards the prison wagon that they’d just escaped.
“We can’t go that way either,” said Joyce in reference to the camp where the mysterious riders had swarmed in and were cutting down any marauders emerging from their tents.
“Look over there,” said Beynor as he pointed towards one of the other prisoner wagons. “Isn’t that Saffi’s dad?”
Tarik saw the portly, middle-aged man with the red beard standing closer to the noxious cloud. One of the attackers on horseback rode past him, and Ward tried to stop him, but the rider kicked him aside before forcing his horse into the thick cloud and disappearing within.
Hammer was following close behind, chasing the horseback stranger, and almost went into the cloud before retreating. He was holding his massive war hammer, and yelled out in anger when he realized he couldn’t follow his target. His fury focused on Ward, and he lunged with his hammer held high, driving the flat end down into the dirt as Ward rolled away.
“We have to help him,” said Beynor as he started to head towards the wagon that was closer to the camp where the marauders were fighting off their assailants.
“Are you crazy?” asked Tarik. “We need to get out of here before they see us.”
“No, he’s right,” said Joyce. “We have to help Saffi’s father.”
“You can do whatever you want, but I’m leaving with my head still sitting properly on my shoulders,” said Tarik.
“You’d leave us to save yourself?” asked Joyce, thoroughly disgusted with him.
“Damn right,” said Tarik as he moved a few steps further from them. She glared, and Beynor looked as if he felt betrayed, but Tarik had no desire to prove himself in battle or to save the baker. He’d spent too long in the plains to think that risky behavior garnered rewards. He was a survivor, not a teammate or a friend.
He turned his back to them and fled into the night.
The camp had been unprepared for whoever had attacked, and Tarik assumed the men on horseback had come with the stranger who’d taken Saffi. He didn’t know who they were, but he’d seen how one of them had dealt with the guards, and he had no desire to stay and watch any more of their brutality.
The Steel Plains had sparse woodland, but the grass was tall enough to hide in if needed, and Tarik ducked low every time he heard someone else nearby. There were marauders here who had fled the camp along with other prisoners and First-Swords who were trying their best to stay alive. Tarik knew he was better off alone. There was less of a chance of him getting caught if he stayed by himself, sneaking through the grass and hiding when necessary.
He was climbing higher than he wanted along a rocky ridge, and moved over to the edge to seek lower ground where he would be harder to spot. This part of the plains was dotted with boulders and jutting rocks, as if there were mountains buried just beneath them. Tarik found an area where he could climb down to a lower spot, and decided it was better than continuing along the higher path. He gripped the outcropping and eased himself down the shelf, dropping the last few feet and landing hard on the stone there.
A small cave was beside him, and at first he didn’t pay any attention to it as he focused on what direction he would head next. He didn’t see the man hiding there, nursing his twisted ankle.
“Back off,” said the man in the cave.
Tarik turned, startled, and saw the nondescript figure cowering in the dark, a short sword in hand. “Sorry,” said Tarik. “I’m…”
“You?” asked the man in the cave as he stood and then stepped forward into the moonlight. It was Tye, the marauder who’d taken such pleasure in tormenting Tarik earlier.
“What are you doing here?” asked Tarik, uncertain why the man would be hiding in the cave like this. He looked up, and then deduced what had happened. “You ran.” He said it with an emerging smile. “You got scared and you ran, and then you fell off that rock.”
“No I didn’t,” said Tye.
Tarik didn’t believe him. “You got scared and ran away. Some marauder you turned out to be.”
“Watch your mouth, thief,” said Tye. “I’m the one with the sword.”
“There’s no point killing a fellow coward,” said Tarik. “I’m running just like you are.”
“I wasn’t running,” said Tye, still trying to maintain what measly honor he had left.
“All right, fine.” Tarik started to walk away, unconcerned with the wounded marauder. “Good luck in the cave.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” said Tye as he stepped forward. “Get back here, thief. Way I see it, if I cut you down then I can tell them I chased you out here when you tried to escape.”
Tarik realized he was in trouble, but was still certain he could run if needed. He turned to face Tye and raised his arms in a non-threatening manner as the marauder limped towards him. “Don’t be stupid. You don’t want to fight me. You’re just going to get the attention of those men on horseback. They’ll come out here and cut you down just like the rest of your clan.”
“It’d be worth it if I get to stick you a few times,” said Tye, taking another step forward.
“What did I do to you?” Tarik was moving blindly backward, and took his steps carefully on the rocky terrain. “You’ve got no reason to hate me.”
“I don’t have any reason to like you either,” said Tye as he lunged, swiping his sword at Tarik and forcing the thief to dodge.
Loose rocks rolled beneath Tarik’s foot, causing him to slip and fall. He caught himself before he hit the ground, and his palms pressed into sharp stones as he scrambled to get away. Tye followed with another swipe, but Tarik was able to easily dodge that one as well. The sword clanged against the rock, and Tarik was sitting with his arms behind him, propping him up as he slid away. His feet kicked at the loose gravel, but he managed to get up again before Tye had a chance to strike again.
Tarik grabbed a handful of pebbles and threw them at the marauder, but it barely fazed the man. This had turned suddenly and dramatically from a taunting encounter to a fight for his life. He tried in vain to find a larger rock to hurl, but was then forced to flee again as Tye swung out at him. The marauder wasn’t as addled by his injury as Tarik had assumed, and he was moving fast across the rocks and weeds.
He held out his hand and said, “Wait, wait,” hoping to get Tye to back off so they could talk about their options. He wanted the chance to bargain for his life.
The marauder had no interest in talk, and swung his short sword out at Tarik’s hand, catching his fingers and cutting deep into them. Tarik pulled back his hand against his chest and seethed in pain before moving further away.
“Got you,” said Tye. “Come here and let me get you again.”
Tarik felt the warm blood flowing down his arm as he started to run, now fearing for his life as the marauder gave chase. They were headed out into the plains, but the sounds of battle at the camp still echoed around them. Tye was laughing as he followed Tarik, taunting him as he followed close behind. The darkness and the thick grass hid the land from Tarik, making every step treacherous. There were rocks everywhere, and he nearly tripped several times, but managed to keep moving forward. Blood was dripping from the tips of his fingers as he pushed aside the grass and reached a thicker, taller patch. The ground became moist, and he realized he was headed into a swampy area of the plains, which would tax his every step.
“I’m coming,” said Tye, still chasing close behind.
Tarik pushed through the muck, but his boots started to go deeper with every step, each time threatening to get stuck in the swamp. His feet made suctioning noises as he pulled them free, and the water sloshed around him as he fell forward and reached out for support. His h
ands splashed down, coming back up covered in mud and blood.
“There you are,” said Tarik, standing only a yard or two back. “Stuck like a rat in a trap. You ready, rat? You ready to die?”
Tarik tried to keep moving, but he knew he couldn’t get away now. He pleaded, “Don’t… You don’t need to kill me.”
“I might not need to, but I sure do want to.”
“I’m just a thief,” said Tarik. “I never did anything to you.”
Tye was going to reply, but then stumbled in the swamp. Tarik wasn’t sure what caught the marauder, whether it was a rock or root in the mud or if the suction had caught his boot, but Tye fell forward and his sword hand sunk beneath the water.
Tarik knew this might be his only chance.
He leapt as best he could, covering the gap between them and landing face down in the water as he reached for the sword. He felt the blade beneath his hand, and pushed it down into the mud as he continued moving forward. Tye pulled the sword backward, slipping it out from under Tarik’s hand, but the delay was enough to allow the thief to bridge the gap between them. He rose above the water a mere foot from Tye, and then lunged over him, taking away the marauder’s advantage of having a sword. If they were fighting in the water at close range, then the weapon wouldn’t do Tye any good.
The marauder cursed and swung at Tarik with his left hand, whacking the thief upside the head. The marauder kept his other hand on the sword’s handle, still hoping to use it to kill his attacker. Tarik fought with the only weapons he had, fully aware that his life was on the line. He reached for the marauder’s eyes, and got his thumbs over them before he started to press in.
Tye cried out, and shook his head violently to keep from being blinded. The swamp was only knee-deep, but they were on their sides now and the muddy water was splashing into their mouths as they struggled. Tye had let go of the sword now, and instead reached out to claw at Tarik’s face. They spun, and suddenly Tarik found himself on the bottom, with the marauder rising up above the water and pushing his foe down. He wasn’t sure how he’d lost the advantage, but knew that he had to figure out a way to get back up again as Tye reached for his throat. Tarik took a gulp of air before Tye forced his head under, and then he reached out and found the man’s crotch.
The marauder’s guard duty had been over when the men on horseback attacked, and Tye had removed his armor, leaving him susceptible to any attack Tarik could fathom. He gripped the man’s testicles and squeezed as if trying to force out the last drop of juice from a bone-dry lemon. Tye released his victim’s throat, giving Tarik the chance to sit up and take another breath, but he refused to release the marauder’s manhood.
Tye was screaming out in agony, and started to punch down at Tarik in desperation, but the thief refused to let go. “I give. I give. You win,” said the marauder.
Tarik let him go, and then watched as Tye fell into a seated position, cupping his testicles and moaning. “You’ll let me go,” said Tarik as if commanding the man. “You hear me?”
Tye muttered, “Yes, go. I don’t care. Just go.”
Tarik backed away, refusing to take his eyes off the wounded, weeping marauder. He saw the tip of the sword break the surface of the water and gleam in the moonlight. Tye had found his weapon, and wasn’t as willing to let the thief go as he pretended.
Tarik knew he had to finish the fight, and tried to stomp down on the blade before Tye had a chance to raise it. He missed, and Tye swung madly upward, slicing at the thief’s leg and then attempting to stab at him. Tarik was lucky that Tye had misjudged the distance, and he was able to bat away the sword, but not without suffering a deep cut along his arm. He fell down over Tye, and forced the man backward, into the swamp. The marauder splashed down, and swung furiously with his fists after abandoning the sword a second time. Tarik absorbed the abuse, and focused on keeping the marauder’s head down.
Tye was pushing himself up, and taking breaths when he could, but Tarik had a good grip on his throat with one hand and his face with the other. He forced the man’s head under the water, and kept it there as the marauder kicked and struggled.
Eventually, the man’s feet stopped splashing, and his arms ceased flailing. The bubbles from his struggle to survive quit popping above the surface, and the swamp lost the chorus of their battle, replaced again with the distance screams of other fights.
Tarik might’ve won, but he was badly wounded. Tye was dead, but Tarik was dying. The wound on his arm was deep and bleeding profusely. He climbed off his victim, and looked around at his surroundings. There was nowhere he could go for help, and he was certain an escape into the Steel Plains would just prolong his inevitable death.
He examined the gash on the underside of his right arm, and winced as blood gushed forth. Tarik stumbled through the swamp, heading back towards the camp. His only hope was that a survivor of the battle there might take pity on him, if he could even muster the strength to get back.
As he grew weaker, he resorted to his last hope and yelled out, “Help. Someone please help.”
