Aphrodite's Acolyte

by J. E. Spatafore

  Fardicus yelled, “Halt! Torches ahead!” The coach drivers pulled back on their respective reins, bringing the horses to a stop. Fidel's fellow travelers took defensive positions surrounding the caravan. Fardicus raised a yellow flag, indicating a required heightened awareness was necessary.

  The group was comprised of mostly merchants, but the way they were acting was indicative of a highly trained battalion. Fidel felt slightly out-of-place with this situation being very new to him. Fardicus sent a rider up ahead to investigate the torches seen just over the horizon, with the instruction to turn around and ride hard should trouble be had.

  Less than twenty minutes passed and the rider returned with a quick, but not hurried, pace. He described the scene ahead as a ransacked merchant caravan. At least ten deaths on the field and all the goods stolen. Fardicus turned to the group with a solemn look in his eyes. He announced the group would move northward for half a nights march, then continue west in hopes of avoiding similar disaster.

  Some of the fellow travelers asked about the chances of the bandits being north and Fardicus shrugged, conceding the point. He let them know the scene had evidence that the marauders appeared to have headed south with the stolen loot, tracks in the sand indicating such. The group straightened up like disciplined military men, turned the caravan northward, and continued their march through the night with no further incident.

  Fidel was asleep in his tent under the hot afternoon sun when Abigail flew threw his tent flap, breathing heavily. She shook Fidel vigorously. He jumped to his feet, trying to collect his thoughts.

  “Fidel, bandits on their way from the south!” she took some deep breaths, “They have stopped for a few but I do not know how long they will remain, probably until nightfall!”

  Fidel reached for Abigail's arm and asked her to slow down and explain. She explained the situation. At least ten heavily armed and seasoned bandits were approaching from the south, following the wagon dug trenches in the desert sands. Fidel asked Abigail if she would be willing to report the situation to Fardicus and she declined, curiously stating “personal reasons”. Fidel nodded his head and gave Abigail some food and water he had saved for her. She gladly accepted and informed Fidel she would not be around on his return. He had not understood her theatrical approach to things, but didn't question it. She had her reasons. He then headed out to talk to Fardicus.

  Fardicus awoke as Fidel sat down in the single chair in the tent. Fidel explained the situation to the captain. “How do you know this information, Fidel?”

  “Magic. You know us mages and our scrying abilities, do you not?” Fidel responded deceptively.

  “Yes, I guess I have heard of such abilities. Never from a traveling mage but hey, you are different after all!” Fardicus slapped Fidel on the back and continued, “I trust your news is valid. We will dig holes to store our goods before departure and will place five men in each wagon to keep the element of surprise. We will travel west, have our confrontation, then come back to collect our belongings. Sound like a plan?”

  Fidel thought over the details and nodded. The plan was good. And if the bandits were ten, the odds were in their favor. It was time for Fidel's first real battle on the roads of Mirater.

  As they left, Fidel scorched the sand with fire, creating a glass marker to identify where to search for their goods. The caravan headed out with three drivers, a lead scout, and Fidel taking rear guard. Five of each of the comrades resided in the back of every covered wagon, waiting for the command to spring forth with ranged weapons and join the forthcoming fray.

  The group marched for an hour without incident. As sure as the sun set that day, torches appeared on their left flank riding fast toward them. Fardicus, being the scout in front, called for a halting of the wagons as the soon-to-be swindlers approached. Fidel pulled his staff from his pack and tossed the pack into the last wagon. He felt his heart beat faster, excited and scared at the same time. He concentrated on calming his nerves.

  The bandits arrived quickly, all ten on horseback. They surrounded the caravan with the apparent leader closest to Fardicus at the front. Fidel eyed the three closest bandits to size them up.

  Fardicus spoke first, “Hello good sirs! What brings you to the scorched plains of Lord Ias' realm? Surely you would like to see our rites of passage granted by the lord himself?” Fardicus feigned a friendly expression and acted like the situation was a simple traffic stop by local authorities.

  The leader gave a sinister laugh. “Are you an idiot?” the bandit leader questioned rhetorically to Fardicus. “I don't like to waste time so let's cover the basics here. I see five people in your caravan, a poorly defended three wagons full of my goods. The cost to cross this desert is twenty percent of your load for each life you wish us to spare. What do you say? Do you give up men or do you give up the goods?” the leader puffed out his chest and sat stiff on his horse.

  Fardicus played the dumb victim role rather well. He bowed his head low, convulsed with fake tears and begged the leader to spare the lives of his fellow men. The leader pulled his horse up to Fardicus and kicked him square in the chest, knocking him to the ground. That was the sign...

  The side flaps of each wagon pulled up quick, arrows flew in every direction, more than half scoring direct hits on the mounted bandits and tossing them from their horses. Fidel turned quickly to the marauder positioned behind him and launched a bolt of lightning from his finger, tearing through the bandit's armor and launching him at least ten feet from his steed.

  One of the mounted bandits moved in on Fidel with a downward sword strike, Fidel quickly raised his staff with a loud metal clang stopping the sword from doing any damage. Fidel noticed the shocked look on the mounted villain's face and quickly stepped forward, pushing his staff in a diagonal upwards jab that connected squarely in the face of the thief, knocking him from his horse. Within seconds, the mounted bandits were on foot, dislodged from their steeds.

  The merchant group made quick work of the ten bandits and had them detained quickly. The group started to celebrate their victory when more torches were seen in the distance, moving slower. Foot soldiers come to the aid of their allies, it seemed. Fidel worried at the sight of the flickering light in the darkened desert. He could only think, that is a lot of torches.

  Fardicus ran over to Fidel. “I don't suppose you have something really big you can launch at these men, do you? If you don't, I think we're in some serious trouble!”

  Fidel shook his head, explaining anything that big will take a long time to conjure up. But he did offer at least three fire blasts and two lighting bolts to help narrow the ranks. Fardicus thought for a second and ordered his group to get in the wagons and grab their bows.

  He motioned for Fidel to get under the wagons and launch when ready. He told Fidel to compress the ranks by taking the outside. Fidel could feel every heartbeat and his blood pushing hard as his chest touched the warm sand. He couldn't help but think how much more exciting this was than anything he had ever done, even when his mother and he robbed a king's castle together! Fidel waited until he could see the outlines of the oncoming bandits closing in on the wagons.

  He started his chanting and launched away. Three fire blasts to the bandit's left flank from his right hand and two lightning bolts hitting to their right flank from his left hand. Every magical blast scored a direct hit, thinning the ranks by five. The wagoners fired arrows into the group, stealing the charge from a few more.

  Fidel scampered to his feet and charged into the compressed ranks. Arrows flew past, scoring hit after hit on the loosely armored bandits. Just when Fidel was bringing his staff to parry, an arrow slammed into an attacker taking them down. He noticed the wagon occupants were using him as a guide for their aim. The most sinister grin came over his face, calling upon his magic once more to tip the odds in their favor.

  Fire rose up from Fidel's feet, completely engulfing him in flames that did not harm him, but were deadly to his attackers. He brought up his staff again
, and noticed another arrow flying by. Then another, and another. The rate of fire increased with the darkness vanquished by the light surrounding his form. Soon, the group had the bandits down to less than a score, with half of those retreating into the darkness screaming at each other. Fidel could hear one stating in a frantic voice, “Fissur is going to deserve what he gets!”

  Fidel charged in on the remaining group, his staff working furiously. He parried several swipes and overhead chops by the remaining groups, as arrows found their homes in the chests of the attackers. He took some stabs getting through his spinning defenses, which bounced harmlessly off his magically enchanted leather. Each glancing blow driving a cheated look from the attacker just as an arrow slammed in, spilling their life force. Within minutes, the ranks were either defeated or running away.

  One remaining bandit decided he was going to stick around. He raised his axe high and brought his iron shield up, blocking two arrows launched at him, bouncing them harmlessly aside. This bandit, a staunch dwarf with red hair and light orange eyes stared defiantly at Fidel, showing no fear. Fidel took up his staff and called back to the caravan, telling them to hold their fire, accepting the dwarf's challenge.

  The dwarf came on with an overhead chop, which Fidel expectedly raised his staff to block. The dwarf then lunged in with his shield arm driving Fidel backwards and forcing him to lose footing. Fidel fell backwards to the ground and the dwarf charged in. The fire still surrounding Fidel bit at the dwarf as he lunged, but the dwarf showed no sign of concern. Fidel pushed both his feet upwards and into the dwarf's chest, then rolled backward, letting the momentum of the dwarf set his strong and sturdy frame in flight over Fidel's head. The dwarf hit the ground hard and rolled to his feet, nodding in respect at this elf's perfectly executed move.

  Fidel stared hard into the dwarf's eyes and started his own offensive, spinning his staff in circles to gain momentum and getting ready to strike. Fidel launched his side swipe to the shield arm first, expecting the dwarf to raise the shield, allowing Fidel an upwards slash to the head. Just as his staff made contact with the dwarf's shield, a tri-tipped arrowhead tore through the dwarf's throat and lodged into his chin, dropping the dwarf hard to the ground, face first like a stuck pig. Fidel looked up at caravan in disbelief, most of the caravan returned the same look.

  Fardicus called to Fidel. “Let's get moving! No reason to hang around with these bandits as we're already a day behind in our journey. Let us finish off the remainder of them and be gone!”

  Fidel dispelled his fiery shield spell and stomped toward the caravan, slightly upset, but also relieved he didn't have to put down the honorable dwarf. When he arrived, the merchants had lined up the marauders in a cross-legged sitting position, arms securely tied behind their backs and gags in their mouths. Half of the men from the caravan were out of sight. Fidel stared down at the bandits, seeing defeat and fear in their eyes over their fates.

  “So do we kill them?” Fardicus aimed the question at Fidel. “Decide their fates.” Fidel stared into Fardicus' eyes, begging for release from answering such a question that opposed his own values. Fardicus gave a hearty laugh. “I forgot, you believe in second chances. Even third chances. These souls are rotten. They would trade our existence for minor items of value. Why would we not put them down?” Fardicus' tossed a grin and a wink Fidel's way.

  Fidel took the cue and started to defend the cowardly bandits in a dramatic fashion. “No, Fardicus! These men must have a reason for their actions. Something drove them to this behavior and they deserve a chance to make up for their crimes against humanity.”

  It was Fardicus' turn to speak. “What about the previous merchant band? Our dead fellow travelers. Did these cretins show them such mercy?” The leader started to squirm, trying to speak through his gag. Fardicus stomped over and tore the rag from the leader's mouth. “You have something to say Mr. 'he who called me idiot'!?” Fardicus made a mocking gesture as he said the words.

  Fidel chimed in. “I believe his name is Fissur.”

  Fissur explained it was not his band of thieves who hijacked the caravan down south. He explained how Puldechran dressed guardsman made the attack look like his band had run the merchants through using similar weapons. The guards staged the scene to look like his gang committed the crime, going as far as dragging the loot toward their camp.

  The desperation in the bandit leader's eyes was enough to convince Fidel of his innocence, but Fardicus pressed on, pushing the bandit for as much information as possible. After the interrogation was complete, Fardicus decided the fate of the bandits. He ordered the bandits stripped of all valuables, armor included, and sent back into the desert from which they came without their steeds. Just as the bandits were walking away, grabbing a few more of their injured party, the absentee members of the caravan reappeared on the bandits horses.

  Fardicus turned to Fidel. “Is that what you meant by taking away their desire to fight?”

  Fidel smiled and nodded, appreciating what Fardicus had done. The group turned their horses and wagons back to the east to retrieve their goods and reload the wagons. Once they arrived at their original departure point, they setup camp again and loaded up the wagons. The first hint of sunlight was peeping over the eastern horizon when Fardicus summoned Fidel to another meeting.

  Fidel entered the tent and took his usual seat, asking what the business was this time. Fardicus asked Fidel about how he felt the fight with the dwarf ended. Fidel explained he had mixed feelings. He was glad he didn't have to kill the dwarf, but upset the group intervened. Fardicus then asked about the arrow that ended the battle and whether Fidel noticed anything different about it. Fidel did notice it was a tri-tipped arrow, but nothing more unusual.

  Fardicus kept leading the conversation, asking about the angle of the shot. How could an arrow, fired from a standing archer in a wagon at least five feet off the ground take on an upwards angle, entering through the dwarf's back and exiting through his chin? Fidel didn't think about that fact, and then he thought of Abigail. Fardicus saw Fidel's eyes shift as the elf considered the possibility. Fardicus proposed a theory. What if Fidel's “scry”, as Fidel referred to her in the previous conversation, was a spy for the Puldechran guardsmen Fissur was speaking of, assigned to keep watch over the caravan and its travels?

  Fidel asked why that would even be a possibility. After all, merchants come and go throughout the kingdoms every day. Fardicus wagged his finger, showing signs that there was some significance to this caravan. Fidel thought about the scroll he was carrying for Lord Ias at that very moment. Again, Fardicus recognized the sign that Fidel knew more than he led on. Fidel was starting to get nervous of this interrogation, thinking Fardicus was looking for a reason to expel him from the caravan.

  Fardicus extended his hand and grabbed Fidel's arm, letting Fidel know the reasons for the questions did not have anything to do with letting Fidel leave or kicking him out of the caravan. He told Fidel that he, Fardicus, agreed to take Fidel to Puldechra, and such a promise to Shartivus would not be broken. But he did let Fidel know that his naïvety may create some problems. Fardicus advised the elf to stay leery of his new and mysterious friend. Fidel took in Fardicus' advice and thanked him for the insight. He headed out of the tent to turn in for the day.

  For the first time in three days, Fidel questioned whether to leave some food and drink for Abigail. She did protect him, but perhaps it was more to silence the dwarf. She did warn him, but perhaps it was to make sure the bandits were put down. She was able to defeat his traps, but she got caught the first time. The arguments for whether Abigail was friend or foe were sound on both sides. He decided to leave the daily offering to his friend, choosing to believe...choosing faith over fear.

  As the sun set, the group packed up the camp and headed westward, each wagon having three additional steeds thanks to the marauders generous donation to their cause. The group traveled at twice the speed without any walking guards. And so it went on for a couple more days, f
aster travel and good company with the desert landscape passing by quickly. A couple of nights later, trees dotted the western horizon under the moonlit sky, inviting the travelers into the more civilized territory of Lord Fineal's realm.

  The caravan approached the edge of the desert a few hours before sunrise. The men stood in awe as they saw the lights dotting the forest canopy. The canopies of the trees swayed in the wind, causing the elven induced lighting to flicker like candles to nature's rhythmic embrace. The sweet smells of the flowering buds filled the traveler's noses. Fidel stood in his wagon, open fascination on his face as he scanned the scene before him. He felt a serenity come over him as he knew he was home.

  Fardicus called out, “How does it feel to see your homeland for the first time in three-quarters of a century, Fidel!?” Fidel's eyes started tearing up over the peaceful scene before him.

  Fardicus ordered the wagons to stop to set up camp. “Let us all share in Fidel's first sunrise of his homeland, shall we?”

  A big cheer came from the caravan members and a few slapped Fidel on his back and wished him a welcome home. Fidel grinned in appreciation at his comrades. They started to set up camp just outside the Puldechran forest. When the camp was finally set up by the group, about half an hour of moonlight remained.

  Fardicus called Fidel to another meeting. Fidel entered Fardicus' tent and noticed no chair to sit in. Fardicus smiled at Fidel, “The chair is outside with its twin, on a wagon, facing east. This is your memory, and I intend to share it with you should you allow it.” Fidel smiled wide and embraced Fardicus with a hug, thanking him for the gesture. Fardicus slapped Fidel on the back and they both headed out to enjoy the sunrise together.

  The sun rose slowly over the eastern horizon, casting light on the desert and burning away the darkness with every passing minute. Fidel turned around and watched the trees come alive with the morning sun glistening from the morning dew. He turned again and watched the brown desert sands also glisten as the light reflected off the burned silica chips. Never once had Fidel witnessed a scene of burned desert and lively trees being revived by the morning sun. He took in the view for a few hours, enjoying the peaceful congruence of nature. Fardicus, sitting beside Fidel the whole time, lived the fresh moment vicariously through the elf's eyes.