The Chosen - Rise of Cithria Part 1

by Kris Kramer

  Chapter 2

  Aiden crashed through the woods like a lumbering bear, pushing aside low branches and trampling the brush under foot. He hadn't run like this in over a year, and his body did its best to remind him of that fact. His legs burned, his chest was tight, and his breaths came fast and shallow, but he didn’t mind. Fighting that Warshield had reawakened something inside, something that had been slumbering ever since being forcibly branded by his own countrymen. Tonight, for the first time in two years, Aiden felt like a warrior again, and he wasn't about to waste that feeling by accepting his fate and trudging back home. No, tonight he would show his fellow citizens of Caldera that he was no coward.

  He made enough noise to rouse the entire county of Artora, but that was his plan. Aiden had trained as an armsman, not a bandit, which meant his skills were best utilized in an open, face-to-face fight, not in tracking someone who could disappear into thin air. So Aiden gambled that by making as big a ruckus as he possibly could, the bandit might come to him instead. He'd already shown his overconfidence earlier. Plus, you didn’t take on someone who could fade in a wide open space. A thick forest with plenty of brush would help even the odds.

  It was a calculated risk, though, because his current direction would take him toward the river. Any minute now he would be within shouting distance of the relocated goblin settlements nestled along the riverbank, and he didn't want to attract any curious hunting parties if he could help it. Not to mention that these woods were home to more than just goblins, if you believed the stories. And with night approaching, the dangers became even worse. He needed to finish this soon and get back to safety, before he stumbled into even more adventure.

  The crack of a branch made him stop, and he looked around carefully to see if his ruse had worked. It took a few moments to get his labored breathing under control, but once he did he stood completely still and silent, waiting to see if the bandit had taken the bait. The sun had dropped low in the sky by now, making the shadows in the forest long and dark. Plenty of room to hide in for a thief. Hopefully this one felt safe enough to stalk a clumsy, lumbering oaf, and would maybe even show himself before launching a few arrows.

  “You really should learn to be quieter, old man.”

  The voice came from behind, maybe a dozen yards back. He debated turning to face him, but decided instead to stay still. He wanted the bandit to feel like he was in charge.

  “And you, boy, shouldn't take what isn't yours.”

  “Curious words coming from a man with an arrow pointed at his head. Drop your sword.”

  Aiden didn’t want the bandit to do anything rash, like shoot him in the back. He also wanted him to feel comfortable enough to get a little closer. At this distance, Aiden was a sitting duck. A skilled archer could get two or three shots off before he could close the distance, and that's only if the first shot didn't kill him. He needed to close the gap to around three or four paces before he could make his move. But he could be nonthreatening and still have a little bit of fun.

  “I don't think I want to do that.”

  The bandit chuckled under his breath. Aiden heard a couple of soft footsteps.

  "You do what I say and you don't have to die today.”

  “I will do nothing you tell me to do, unless it includes retrieving my things.”

  This time the laugh was loud and haughty.

  “Well, aren't you a brazen old man? A little thick in the head, too, because I don't think you understand just how precarious your position is right now.”

  “Explain it to me, then. Use small words.”

  Another footstep. Aiden grinned. Almost there.

  “I have an arrow pointed at the back of your neck,” he proclaimed, a little too grandly. Aiden suspected that this bandit was more concerned with putting on a show than actually killing people. “All I have to do is let it fly and you'll probably die before you even have time to feel it pierce your skin. It won't be as painful a death as I normally like to hand out, but it will be fast, which will save me from having to hear you moan in agony. Now drop your sword.”

  Another small footstep, and Aiden decided this was probably his best shot. He held the sword out to his right, holding the hilt between his finger and his thumb, letting the blade dangle over the ground next to him. He let it hang for a moment, purely for show since the bandit seemed to enjoy that, then dropped it. The blade hit the ground, digging into the dirt a bit, before tipping over.

  “There's a good man,” the bandit said.

  Aiden heard a couple more footsteps, so he glanced over his shoulder. He could see the bandit at the edge of his vision, shrouded in shadow, standing about four paces behind him. More importantly, he'd lowered his bow slightly, thinking his prey had been disarmed. In reality, Aiden secretly slipped the palm-sized rock he'd been holding in his left hand this entire time into his right.

  “Now, why don't you kick that sword away?” the bandit asked. “Just a bit.”

  Aiden moved his leg back, as if to do what he’d been told. Instead of kicking, though, he planted the leg a half step behind him, then spun around to his left, launching the rock at the bandit. The bandit realized the danger too late, and as he twisted his body to avoid the rock, he ended up moving his right arm into its path, where it struck him just below the shoulder with a thud.

  He cried out and pulled his arm in, letting go of his bowstring and dropping the arrow he had nocked. Aiden charged, covering the space in three quick bounds. He leaped at the cowering bandit, who used his longbow to defend himself, but Aiden grabbed the bow and twisted, prying it free from his hands. The bandit deftly slipped away and pulled a long sword out with his left hand, while Aiden, still clutching the bow, hurried back to pick up his own sword. The two stood a few yards apart, their weapons ready, sizing each other up.

  This was the first time Aiden had been able to get a good look at the bandit, and his early impressions about him seemed to be right. He looked young, late teens perhaps, with a mop of wavy, tangled black hair on his head, the hint of a beard on his face, and deep-set black eyes. His light-brown skin was natural, not tanned like Aiden's, and he suspected that at least one of the boy's parents was Movri. He wasn't especially tall, and his build seemed slight, but he'd just shown himself to be quick and nimble on his feet. After sizing up the boy, though, Aiden got the impression that he'd been well-born, despite his dubious parentage, and had only recently taken to the life of a bandit.

  “Well, this is an interesting turn,” the bandit said finally, breaking the silence.

  “I don't want to hurt you,” Aiden replied. “I just want my pack returned to me, along with everything that was inside when you stole it.”

  “I saved your life. This is just payment.” The bandit motioned with his head to Aiden's pack, slung over his shoulder.

  “I don't much like those terms,” Aiden moved a step closer, “and I don't recall agreeing to them.”

  “You could agree to them now.”

  “Or, I could drag you to Corendar and watch them hang you for banditry and theft.”

  “Really?” The bandit smiled at him, but it was the kind of smile someone gives just before they knife you in the stomach. “So they take the word of a coward at face value these days? I'll have to remember that if I ever get such a lovely brand.”

  “I am no coward,” Aiden said, his tone as serious as he could make it.

  “Your face says otherwise.”

  “A brand doesn't make it true.” Aiden suddenly wondered why he needed this thief, of all people, to believe him.

  “Ahhhh. Is this a sore subject?” the bandit mocked. “Or are you just afraid to talk about it?”

  Aiden pointed the sword at the bandit. “You are playing with fire, boy.”

  “Ohhh, now I'm the one who's scared.”

  Aiden held the longbow out in front of him with both hands, ready to snap it in two.

  “Just how attached are you to this thing?”

  “Okay, now wait a minute,�
�� the bandit said, suddenly serious. “Let's not get hasty here. We can be civil about this.”

  “Can we?”

  “How about a trade?” The bandit slipped Aiden's pack off his shoulder, and held it out gingerly with his right hand. His face scrunched up in discomfort. “My bow, for your pack?”

  “So you can point it at me again?”

  The bandit shook his head in frustration. “Well, then we're at a bit of a standstill, aren't we?”

  They stood in silence, staring at each other, although their stances were less aggressive now.

  He's right, Aiden thought, but not about the impasse. He couldn’t go back to Corendar. Even if he felt like dragging this boy all the way back to the city, there was no guarantee that anyone would believe what he had to say, or care about it even if they did. For every city guard he spoke to, he was just as likely to find someone willing to pay a bounty as he was to find a former soldier who'd knock him on his backside for betraying his people with cowardice. He'd even run into guards once who wouldn't let him into the city and he certainly couldn't bear dealing with that embarrassment again. No, the bandit was right. This brand would keep a lot of doors closed to him unless he had something better to offer them than an alleged thief.

  Like perhaps a Warshield.

  Aiden held his breath as a plan formed in his head.

  “What's your name?” he asked.

  “What's yours?” the bandit replied, his voice even haughtier than normal. “Or should I just call you Coward?”

  “My name is Aiden,” he said, keeping his tone calm and cool. “I’m from Sothera, just outside Solstin. Now tell me yours.”

  The bandit cocked his eyebrow. He pressed his sword hand against his sore shoulder, rubbing it. Aiden quietly hoped he could still use that arm well enough to handle his bow.

  “I am the Owl of the Shadows, the Eagle of-”

  “Your real name,” Aiden said, cutting him off. “Not some bandit title you made up to scare the poor folk.”

  The bandit sneered at him, then looked away in annoyance. He stared up at the trees nearby, probably thinking up a lie to tell him. Aiden didn't care. He'd use any made up name he was given if it helped him achieve his goal.

  “Finias,” he said finally, and Aiden was surprised because he actually believed him.

  “Well then, Finias. You did save my life, and I'm ready to agree to terms of repayment.”

  “You are? What terms?” He looked interested now.

  “Your service. To me. And mine to you.”

  Finias huffed in disbelief. “Are you mad? What would possibly make you think I'd agree to that?”

  “I want your help to kill that Warshield.”

  Finias stared at Aiden blankly for a long moment before finally replying, “No.”

  “Did you see what he did when he ran away? He faded. Disappeared into thin air. Warshields don't do that. You can, obviously. But not him. Something isn't right about this.”

  “I think it's you,” Finias said. “You said it yourself. Warshields don't fade. So you must be mad.”

  Aiden grunted. “I saw it with my own eyes, and you would have too if you'd been paying attention to him instead of my belongings.”

  “Why should I believe a story like that?”

  Aiden held his arms out in exasperation. “Why would I make up a story like that?”

  “Because you're mad!”

  “What will take for you to believe me?”

  Finias shrugged. “How about if he proves it? That's it. I'll believe it when I see it happen. Wait, maybe I will see it happen, because he could be right here watching us, couldn't he?” Finias turned left and right, looking dramatically into the shadows nearby. “Here, little shadow Warshield. Come out and play with us, because I know you're watching, aren't you?”

  Aiden shook his head. “Whether you believe me now or not, it makes no difference. I just need your help to find him and kill him. That is the bargain.”

  “This is silly. You're insane. And I have no idea why you'd want to drag me down into your crazy little world.”

  “Because I can't find him alone.”

  "Then go to the guards.”

  “The guards will know soon enough. But I need to find him first. We need to find him.”

  “Why? Why me?”

  “You have assassin training. I don’t care how, but you do. So who better to track a man with similar skills?”

  Finias had no response to that, so Aiden stepped forward and continued his argument.

  “Listen to me. You don't think that if we brought in a Warshield who'd slipped past our northern defenses, killed two Calderan citizens, and was capable of fading, we wouldn't get something in return? Whether you believe me or not, you should at least be smart enough to know that there will be a reward for him, a reward we don't get if the guards find him first.”

  Finias thought about that for a long moment. Finally, “I want my longbow back.”

  “I want my belongings back,” Aiden countered.

  “Well, Aiden, now you're finally making some sense. Fine. I agree with your poorly-thought-out little plan. I get my bow, you get your pack, and then we shall find ourselves a Warshield and make some gold in return.”

  Aiden stepped forward to stand in front of Finias.

  “Don't agree just yet. Before you bind yourself to me, and I to you, you must understand that this is serious. If you break your oath to me, then I will have little choice but to find you and kill you. And because of this brand on my face I'm unable to serve in the army or get any decent work. So I have nothing but time to track down dishonest bandits to the ends of the earth.” Aiden held out his hand. “So now.... do you agree?”

  Finias let out a short chuckle. “See, now I know you're insane. But gold can cure many ills, or so I've been told. I agree.”

  Finias reached out and shook Aiden's hand, and they both smiled, although Aiden knew in the back of his mind that they were smiling for very different reasons. He had no time to linger on that thought, though. A recognizable popping sound filled his ears, only moments before a cloud of crackling blue energy pounded the forest around them, shaking the trees violently and tossing both men to the ground. Aiden slid sideways until he hit the trunk of an oak tree, a gnarled root jabbing into his back. He groaned, then lifted his head, blinking away the disorienting fog. He looked around, trying to make sense of what happened, only to see his best chance at salvation standing at the edge of the clearing, a mere ten paces away, wearing worn chain armor and carrying a long-handled hammer.

  The Warshield had found them.