Merek's Ascendance

by Andrew Lashway

  For his friends, he would kill.

  “Let’s draw them out,” Merek said, drawing his sword. Thorald drew his sword and Julia withdrew two daggers for each hand. “We’ll activate their trap, and then see who comes running.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Thorald said, “where do we hide?”

  “In the trees,” Merek replied, “in my experience, they don’t spend much time looking up.”

  Thorald nodded, but Julia seemed to have trouble breathing.

  “Are you okay?”

  “It’s just… I’ve never actually been in a fight before,” she replied, “I’m not sure… I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Don’t miss,” Thorald suggested, taking to a tree with a loud “oomph!”

  “We don’t have to kill,” Merek said, “aim for legs, arms… injuries bad enough to stop them so we can capture them.”

  “Okay,” she said, “okay, I can do that.”

  “Do you two plan on flirting forever, or can we get to the part where we save the innocent animals?”

  Merek and Julia nodded, and Merek helped her into a tree. Then he severed the cord, jumping back several feet in preparation for whatever was about to come his way.

  Considering nothing happened, Merek felt a little let down. He looked up at Thorald and Julia, but they looked just as confused as he felt.

  Shouldn’t that trap have been just a bit more… trap-like?

  An arrow missed Merek’s head by an inch. He saw the metal glint and dodged to the side only a moment before it buried itself in his head.

  Not a trap. An alarm. Stupid, should’ve known.

  “Hold right where you are, boy!”

  The voice was gruff, a man used to giving orders and expecting them to be carried out.

  “Now, what is a knight of Wentana doing in our forest?” Merek turned to face the voice’s owner. It was a man as tall as he was with a deep scar running through his left eye. He had deep red hair and he was missing several teeth.

  He was flanked by two other people, all dressed in ragged furs. One, a female, left very little of herself to the imagination, as her furs covered next to nothing. Her blond hair was cut short, and she had blue face paint covering half of her face. The other, an archer, had long black hair and a sick grin that made Merek’s hair stand on end. He was the most clothed, and had a quiver full of arrows tied to his back.

  “This isn’t your forest,” Merek said. It’s mine, he added.

  “Oh? And who says it’s not?”

  “I am Merek Quinn, knight-errant of Wentana. And I say it’s time you left the forest.”

  The scarred man laughed, but it was a bark completely devoid of humor. “Is that so?” he said, “Well, unless they don’t teach you how to count in that big old castle of yours, we have you outnumbered. So take off the fancy clothes and lay down your sword and your gold, and maybe we’ll let you walk out of here alive.”

  “No, I don’t think I’ll be doing that,” Merek replied.

  The archer drew back his bow, aiming a second arrow at his head.

  “I’m feeling rather generous. Lay down your arms and give us what you’re carrying, or die.”

  “Anytime would be good,” Merek said without breaking eye contact. The scarred man stared, confused, and he figured out what Merek meant a moment too late.

  Two daggers flew from up high, burying themselves in the shoulders of the long-haired archer. The woman jumped back, on high alert, but before she could even draw her weapon Merek had slid into a kick, taking her legs out from under her.

  Then there was Thorald.

  Pretty much as far from subtle as any human being could be, Thorald descended from the trees and crashed into the scarred man using his body as a projectile. Both of them hit the floor with a might crash, and before the scarred man could recover Merek kicked him in the head as hard as he could muster.

  He turned back to the woman to find Julia was holding two more daggers to her throat, though she looked absolutely terrified at what she was doing.

  Merek normally had reservations about punching women, but this one would kill him in a moment’s notice. Merek’s fist flew, knocking her out where she stood.

  The archer had fallen to the ground, his mouth open and gaping. Perhaps the pain made it impossible for him to speak.

  “Did I kill him?” Julia asked, her voice hushed.

  “I don’t think so,” Merek replied, examining the wounds. “Not if he gets treatment soon.”

  “Do we plan on treating him?”

  “They’ll have supplies at their base, and we’ll reach it long before we reach town and make it back here,” Thorald said, and Merek nodded. Merek stripped the archer of his bow and quiver before they started moving again.

  “Where did you learn to aim like that?” Merek asked as they headed in the direction the poachers had come from.

  “I practice.”

  “You practice? You practice hitting a target with a dagger from… what is that, twenty feet? More?”

  “Father said I should know how to defend myself,” she said, shrugging as she blushed. “He hired the Trainer to give me some lessons, and I just practiced. A lot.”

  Merek and Thorald were silent as they ran through the trees until Thorald said, “and your third one. You know what, all of them. Just Thorald A, Thorald B…”

  “Yes, I get the point,” Merek said, “now shut up. We’re here.”

  The three of them stopped as they reached what was unmistakably the bandit camp. It had been something else before, maybe a small town or a fortification, because tree trunks had been refined to points and a wall had been built. Only one building stood in the barrier, a stone keep about three cottages wide. There was only one way in, a gate that was guarded by a poacher with a sword even greater than Thorald’s. Merek could see a few other poachers, maybe four in all.

  “Only five of them,” Thorald said, piggybacking on Merek’s train of thought, “we can take them.”

  Merek gave no indication that he had heard him, as he was thinking too hard. He sifted through all of the information he had acquired from the books he had read, and it all lead him to the same conclusion: this was far too easy.

  “If there are only four of them, I’ll eat the Trainer,” Merek said. “An operation big enough to take this fort from whoever held it? Look at the wall, this is basically new. I would say there are a dozen of them, if not more.”

  “So what’s the plan?” Julia said, taking deep breaths she was trying so hard to hide.

  “If we go straight at them, we’ll be slaughtered. So we need to take them down before they know we’re here. Pick them off one by one, quickly and quietly.”

  “Quiet isn’t exactly what I was built for.”

  “Yeah,” Merek said as he eyed Thorald’s oversized sword, “I figured that. So that’ll be the plan.”

  “What will?”

  “You’re going to be a distraction. Julia will cover you. You see that wall? It’s too close to the hill. I can jump it, and handle any other archers. I assume you’re up for a little swordplay?”

  “Always,” Thorald replied, happily drawing his weapon.

  “Julia?”

  “Where do you want me?” she asked.

  “Wherever you can see and not be seen from. You watch Thorald’s flank. And I’m sorry, but this time, don’t aim to wound. Aim to kill.”

  Julia took a deep breath, nodding as her lips scrunched up. Merek hated to ask it of her, but there was no other way he could think of.

  I just asked a young woman to kill for me. I’m very much knight material.

  Merek pushed away the thought, grabbing hold of his head as an ache started to overcome it. For some reason, the sound of his father’s shouts echoed down the years to his brain, forcing a knot into his stomach.

  He was asking two of his only friends in the whole world to kill so he could save a few animals. What kind of friend was he?

  And they were nodding, accepting taking live
s. What kind of friends were they?

  “Merek?” Thorald said, “Are you ready?”

  Merek nodded, pulling himself together. Right or wrong, for better or worse, they were going to fight.

  As they separated and Merek took his post, he only hoped he was making the right decision.

  Thorald charged from the bushes, and the guard was there to meet him. The two traded only three blows, but the power from each man was astonishing. Their battle roused the four others nearby, who all came running. It would take a moment to get the gate open, and in that moment Merek could not miss.

  Only one was an archer, and Merek sunk an arrow into his chest before he had even grabbed his bow. No one noticed him fall, and they didn’t notice Merek strap his bow to his back and draw his staff, using it to lift him over the wall and land safely on the stone of the fort itself. Without hesitation, he sunk another arrow into the back of the poacher waiting for the gate to open.

  The poacher opening the gate didn’t notice his dead fellow until it was too late and the gate was open. One final arrow dropped him as well. While Merek hadn’t learned to shoot as well as the others, and certainly not the sad man who didn’t appear to miss, he had practiced until he could bulls-eye most targets from fifty yards.

  Thorald ran in from the gate, his sword coated in a mist of blood. Julia appeared at his side, but with one look at Merek she took off running up a set of stairs that led to what seemed to be a blacksmithing area. She hid among the forge and the forged, waiting.

  They did not have to wait long.

  Exactly as Merek expected, half a dozen poachers left the fort, looking for the source of all the commotion. It didn’t take them more than a second to notice the bodies and the one man still standing, who swung his sword in challenge and beckoned.

  No honor amongst the lot of them, all six charged forward at once. Merek fired off three arrows, though only two found their marks in the chest of one poacher and the neck of another. The former went down with a single shout of pain, while the latter made no noise at all. Julia’s shots were much better, throwing four daggers that all hit their targets. Two poachers went down with daggers sticking out of various body parts.

  That left Thorald with two of his own, and he didn’t seem at all perturbed. The first poacher, a short-haired woman, charged forward with a slash that started in the sky and came crashing down, but Thorald simply crossed his blade and the sword bounced off harmlessly. He then took a mighty swing, slicing a great line into the poacher’s gut. With a spray of blood, she hit the ground.

  The last poacher standing, a man wielding an ax just as large and imposing as Thorald’s sword, swung it at Thorald’s head. Thorald barely managed to duck out of the way, retreating a few steps. His own counterattack met with the same success as the poacher dodged aside.

  Then the ax came down, and Thorald blocked it with a yell of exertion. He mirrored the attack, but he was no more able to knock the poacher down than the poacher was able to knock him down.

  Who may have won the battle was anyone’s guess, but before they could find out, even more poacher’s joined the fray.

  “Figures,” Merek said, knocking another arrow. He only had one left. “I knew this was over too quickly.”

  Four more poachers ran at Thorald, with only one stopping to notice the projectiles buried in his fellows. That was the one that received an arrow to his right pectoral, though Merek nearly cursed.

  He’d been aiming for the left.

  He had no time to chastise himself, because three bandits were still heading straight for Thorald, who was too busy with the ax-wielder to notice or care. Summoning every ounce of courage he had, Merek sprinted for the edge and leapt from the roof, screaming a war cry into the world as he fell.

  The three of them looked up just as Merek’s body crashed into them, knocking them all flat and setting Merek’s very bones on fire.

  Damn it all, that hurt.

  He pushed himself to his feet, blocking out the pain as he drew his sword. Two men were already up and had swords drawn, but the third seemed to be completely out of it.

  Which suited Merek perfectly fine.

  Both poachers attacked at once, but Merek was far too quick for them. He dodged one blow that would have split his skull, and blocked another that would have taken off his head. He battled back, his sword slashes quicker than either poacher could keep up with. One had a shield, but Merek kicked it in order to throw the poacher off balance.

  The unshielded one sprinted forward, but Merek dispatched him by catching his sword arm before it fell and running him through. He didn’t dwell on the blood or the sound of the blade puncturing flesh. He didn’t have the time.

  Instead, he withdrew his blade and parried a blow that would have finished him in the same manner, and his counter was so furious that the poacher hid behind his shield to escape it.

  His shield didn’t save him from Merek looping around and running his blade down the poacher’s throat, cutting it open in a shower of blood. The man fell to the ground, pouring blood all over the dirt.

  He was so fixated on the poacher and the feeling of unrest in his stomach that he didn’t notice the last poacher sneak up behind him.

  Luckily, Julia had.

  Seeing a shot for the first time since Merek had entered the fray, Julia let loose with a single dagger. It crossed the space between them in a breath, and buried itself in the poacher’s throat.

  It also missed Merek’s ear by about two inches.

  He looked at her incredulously, holding up his hands.

  “Sorry!” she shouted.

  “That’s alright,” Merek muttered, “just take off my ear. I have two.”

  Merek turned to watch Thorald as he finally gained the upper hand on his enemy, knocking him to his knees with a savage downward strike.

  Another removed his head from his shoulders.

  “Took your time, I see,” Merek said. Thorald smiled before jogging to his side. Julia joined them a moment later.

  “There can’t possibly be any more of them, can there?” Julia asked, drawing two more daggers yet again from her vest.

  “How many of those do you have?” Thorald asked.

  “How many do you need?” was her reply.

  “As much as I would love to agree,” Merek replied in a slightly louder voice, “we should be prepared for at least one more.”

  “Why do you say that?” Thorald asked as Merek headed for the door, sword at the ready.

  “Because every band needs a leader. I doubt any of this lot could claim that title.”

  Merek pushed the door open as quietly as he could, looking both directions to check for anything. What he found was a large room almost entirely dedicated to skinning their captures. Some of them hadn’t even been cleaned yet. Merek could see another room off to the side, smaller and filled with fur beds.

  Then his eyes caught his prize, and he smiled.

  Both mother and son were in adjoined cages in a pit, each one howling. They had just been moved in, perhaps moments before the trio’s arrival, because the people who had moved them were still present.

  There was a man clad in armor almost as solid as Thorald’s, with a hand ax strapped to his side and a helmet that hid his features. Two more poachers were there, one raven haired woman with eyes that had no spark, no light in them, and a man.

  The man looked… familiar.

  Merek stared at him, thinking hard. He knew that face from somewhere. The long brown hair, the red face paint…

  Then it clicked.

  That was the poacher he had taken out the first time he had rescued the bears. Clearly, he hadn’t learned his lesson.

  “You can come in,” the poacher in the armor said, “you’re letting in a draft.”

  Merek pursed his lips in annoyance, angry at losing the advantage. Then again, there were only three of them, and they numbered three. It should be an even battle.

  They three of them marched in, each with weapons dr
awn and ready.

  “Heard the commotion,” the chief said, “I thought there’d be more of you. Or did those useless riffraff actually manage to take a few of your men down?”

  “No,” Thorald said, “we wiped the floor with them.”

  “Figured. Knew this batch was next to useless. Alright, what do you want?”

  “Your head,” Merek said, spinning his sword as he jumped into the pit. Thorald followed clumsily, while Julia stayed up high and circled them.

  “Well, well. You seem quite sure of yourself. You look like a knight. What’s a lowly knight doing in my camp?”

  “Hard of hearing, this one,” Thorald said, circling to the right.

  “Maybe we should speak slower,” Merek replied, mirroring him.

  The poacher chief didn’t seem to take offense, which Merek found both admirable and annoying. An angry opponent was one who was not in full control, thus a bit weaker, more prone to mistakes.

  At least, so he had read. It didn’t look like he was going to find out here.

  “Funny. We catch those bears, and five minutes later here you are. What a coincidence.”

  Merek smirked, shrugging nonchalantly.

  “Crazy world we live in,” Thorald said. The woman with the dead eyes stared him down, while the familiar poacher was practically chomping at the bit to get at Merek.

  “Enough,” the woman said, “die!”

  She charged forward, drawing a mace as she did so. Thorald raised his sword to block the opening blow, shouting in laughter.

  The man jumped forward as well, swinging a sword wildly. Merek dodged to the side, letting the man slash to his heart’s content. And he did just that, pulling his sword in every conceivable direction except for any direction leading to Merek. Finally, after a full ten seconds of not even needing to raise his blade, Merek rolled his eyes and stepped forward. He blocked the first strike before kicking the man in the midsection.

  The next strike was blocked and before the man could react, Merek jammed the hilt of his sword against the side of his head. He hit the ground a moment later.