‘We know that you’re there. Your little ambush has failed. Come out and be on your way. Then nobody will be harmed’.
The sudden authority in Falk’s voice even intimidated Ahren. Hopefully the bandits would cave in.
First, nothing at all happened. The rock lay still in the morning light. A dozen heartbeats passed by and then a number of figures came from behind and walked to the front of the rock. Eight positioned themselves in the middle of the road, two of them had crossbows at the ready. Another five appeared from the other side of the rock, away from the road. One of them was pointing a firearm at them.
The ambushers were too far away to study in detail but Ahren could see men and women in varying degrees of neglect. He couldn’t see their facial expressions but their body language suggested determination and threat.
A particularly burly man called from the middle of the road in a voice, raw from years of heavy drinking, ‘as you see, there are more of us than you!’.
The mob laughed and jeered before he continued, ‘put your weapons down now and maybe, just maybe, we’ll spare your lives’. The last words came out as a snarl and Ahren saw, even from this distance, that their opponents were bracing themselves for action. He suddenly realised that there wouldn’t be much more talking before they came to blows. Panic was threatening to overcome him and so he instinctively sought the Void in the hope he could control his emotions. Falk murmured, ‘try to get the crossbowman on the right’. Then he called out loudly, ‘one more thing before we begin’.
Before the words had echoed across, he had already lifted his bow, drawn the string and let his arrow fly. Distracted by the sudden end to the negotiations, the bandits ducked a half a second too late and one of the crossbowmen collapsed with a scream on the road. Ahren was just as surprised as the bandits who after the split second shock were now storming forward. The remaining crossbowmen started shooting and Ahren shot at the chubby figure to the right of the rock before he had a chance to fire. His opponent threw himself to the ground to avoid Ahren’s arrow and the bolt of his crossbow went askew, flying harmlessly into the distance. Ahren heard a whizzing sound and realized that the other crossbowman had just missed them. He broke into a cold sweat and his concentration faltered. He heard Falk mutter something and then shoot, sending the second crossbowman tumbling to the ground.
With shaking fingers the apprentice set another arrow and dropped to one knee as his master had ordered. His corpulent opponent was lying flat on the ground trying to reload his crossbow. The analytical part of Ahren’s brain, which was firmly anchored in the Void, was telling him that the more immediate danger was the four bandits who were now charging at him. The remaining crossbowman would have to shoot through his own people once he had his weapon loaded.
And so Ahren fixed his look on one of the rapidly approaching enemies and suppressed his strong feeling of repulsion. Human being or no human being, the faces of the attackers left him in no doubt of what would happen to him and his comrades if they were overpowered. He let the arrow fly and his target didn’t stand a chance. Wedged in between his companions and running on uneven ground he couldn’t take evasive action in time. Ahren’s arrow drove into his chest with a terrible sound and he collapsed to the ground without uttering a sound.
Ahren could feel the Void fading at the sight and he shot another arrow before his concentrated calm left him completely. The stocky woman he was aiming at this time threw herself to the side, but the arrow grazed her throat and a fountain of blood spurted out of the wound. She covered it with her hands and let forth a gurgling sound.
The horror of the scene completely banished the Void and Ahren jumped up, stunned, and dropped the bow. He stared wide-eyed at his victim who made a few weak movements while the fountain of blood slackened until the woman finally died. He staggered backwards a few steps and frantically looked around him. Falk had been firing the whole time and another three bodies were lying lifeless on the ground. Uldini was sitting on his horse impassively, the crystal ball in his right hand and he was watching the fight with total concentration. The bandits were twenty paces closer now and having received a quiet command from Falk, Selsena charged at the rest of the bandits on the road while he pulled out his broadsword.
Uldini meanwhile shouted at Ahren, ‘draw your sword boy! In the name of the Three, defend yourself!’
Instinctively rather than consciously, Ahren followed the wizard’s instruction. Culhen was standing at his right leg, his hackles raised and snarling angrily at the approaching enemy.
Falk fell to work on the bandits with ruthless efficiency. Ahren saw for the first time the harmony between his master and Selsena as they rode into battle. Titejunanwa and rider moved in perfect harmony. What the one saw, the other knew. The effect was uncanny. The Elven-horse rammed an attacker who had been too slow to jump to one side, and the poor soul was spun through the air like a rag doll with a gruesome jagged hole in his chest, splattering the surroundings with droplets of blood.
Falk was warding off swords and cudgels from the flanks of his war horse with his broadsword in a combination of graceful arcs and cutting thrusts. He cut down two more attackers almost casually and they sank to the ground with a groan, unable to stand again.
But all this was of no use to Ahren. The two remaining attackers who had come from the side of the path would be upon him any second. A man with ugly pockmarks and a long sword was lunging towards him while a woman with an evil grin and a serrated dagger in her hand was running towards the seemingly defenceless child, sitting dumbfounded on his pack horse. Ahren tried to push himself between Uldini and the woman but the man blocked his way. Ahren was still overwhelmed by his latest deeds and mechanically raised his Windblade into the defensive position he had been practising for the previous few weeks while he kept looking over at the two motionless bodies who were on his conscience, and this action in all probability saved his life. He caught sight of the one remaining crossbowman, who had reloaded his weapon, aimed it at Ahren and fired.
The apprentice instinctively leapt to the side so that the Windblade was in the firing line.The bolt whizzed within a whisker past them and Ahren felt sick as the displaced air caused by the bolt cooled his skin. If he hadn’t taken that evasive action he would now be just as dead as his two victims and Culhen too had barely escaped being hit. This realization roused him into action. He pointed at the chubby crossbowman and shouted, ‘Culhen, attack!’
The wolf catapulted forward, as if spring-loaded, howled loudly and hurtled towards the unfortunate man. Ahren concentrated on his own attacker, and as the pockmarked bandit aimed his sword at him, Ahren practised one of the few manoeuvres he was familiar with. The assailant’s sword was coming towards him in a flat arc about shoulder high so that it would injure his head or chest. Ahren moved towards the strike and held his sword with the hilt upwards and the blade slanted downwards so that the cutthroat’s blow slid along the curved blade with a scraping sound and was deflected. They were now standing beside each other and the parried long sword harmlessly cut the air behind Ahren.
The second part of the manoeuvre was even easier. While the bandit was stopping his sword to initiate a backhand stroke Ahren only had to use his movement to good effect and take another step forward while he turned his body towards his opponent and swung his Windblade in a downward motion. The impetus of his body turn gave his weapon enough strength to cause a gaping wound down his opponent’s back, with blood spurting forth immediately. The pockmarked swordsman dropped his blade and collapsed into a groaning heap. Ahren looked down at his blade in surprise and saw the brigand’s blood dripping from it. But before he could react to the sight, he heard a tumult behind him and spun around with his sword once again in the defensive position.
The woman with the dagger was throwing herself at Uldini and they were too far away for Ahren to do anything. He screamed a warning but the wizard had already reacted. He flicked the crystal ball from the palm of his hand with his fingers and it fl
ew with high speed towards the woman’s face. But instead of shattering into pieces, it ricocheted with a dull thud and flew back into the ageless youth’s hand. His attacker dropped to the ground as if struck by lightning, and on her face was an enormous crimson swelling.
Ahren looked around frantically but there were no more bandits in the vicinity. Culhen was chasing down the crossbowman who had sought safety in flight and was running between the red stakes into the area of the Green Sea. Meanwhile Falk rode at a gallop towards the rock, and the brigands lay motionless on the road. Blood was dripping from Selsena’s coat and also off the armour of war horse and rider. The sight was terrifying and Ahren swallowed hard. Falk rode around the back of the rock and seemed to be hunting down the puppet master of the ambush, who Ahren hadn’t set eyes on. There had only been thirteen attackers although Uldini’s magic had revealed fourteen. There was a short scream and Ahren was glad that the rock was hiding the action, then Falk reappeared and looked searchingly around. Culhen had been chasing the last survivor and Ahren had a sick feeling in his stomach about this. ‘Culhen, come here!’ he shouted and his four-legged friend turned with an unwilling growl and trotted back to him. Ahren breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the wolf had come back between the border stakes, and a few heartbeats later he understood exactly why.
The chubby bandit was still running for his life away from them, he was wheezing and could still be heard from this distance. He was ploughing his way surprisingly quickly for a man of his size through the knee-high grass. Suddenly a shape seemed to grow up from the ground beside him. The clan woman had waited in the grass until the runaway was beside her. The woman rose up and in a single flowing movement she sliced her dagger across his throat and ducked down into the high grass. The man took two unsteady steps forward before he noticed what had happened at all, then he collapsed and his death rattle echoed around the field.
Ahren looked at the scene of the drama in shock, but nothing could be seen apart from the gently waving grass. He stroked Culhen and swore that he would never wander into the Green Sea without permission. Meanwhile Falk had ridden up to them and was asking, ‘everyone unharmed?’
Ahren didn’t answer. The shock of the bloody battle was eating away at him, and the terrible images of the last few minutes were spinning around in his head. Uldini answered for him and said, ‘It’s not all his blood. Two with the bow and one with the sword. You’ve raised a real warrior there. Maybe we won’t all die under the spell of the Adversary’
The images in his head were all too much for Ahren and he threw up violently in the middle of the road.
Chapter 17
By the time Ahren’s stomach had settled and his uncontrollable shaking had stopped, Falk had matter-of-factly wiped the bloodstains off himself and Selsena with one of the attacker’s cloaks. He had also polished all the armouring so that there wasn’t a speck of dirt on it, nor on Selsena’s coat. Ahren surmised absently that it must have been Elfish craftsmanship and he envied his partners’ spotless appearance. He himself stank of blood, vomit and the cold sweat of battle. He was on his hunkers in the middle of the road, his arms around his knees, unhappily rocking back and forth. Culhen sat down beside him, whimpered and licked his master’s face. The apprentice couldn’t help smiling at this, then buried his head in the wolf’s pelt, took deep breaths and tried to stop himself from crying. Uldini looked down at the distraught young man and said, ‘he’s doing well. I’ve seen some run away at the first sign of battle and others frozen on the spot only to be hacked down without resistance. Once he’s recovered from this, he’ll have taken a terrible but vital step forward’.
Falk nodded. ‘But we can make it a little easier for him, can’t we?’ Uldini understood what the Guardian was driving at and began to prepare a little spell as unobtrusively as possibly. Selsena, meanwhile, walked over towards Ahren and began filling his spirit with the peace and confidence he had felt once before, when he had torn Culhen from the claws of the Adversary. The young Forest Guardian lifted his head from his friend’s pelt and Culhen placed his head on the apprentice’s knee and looked at him with loyal, loving eyes. Selsena calmed Ahren’s tumultuous feelings and suddenly a fresh breeze was gently touching his face. His nose was filled with the fresh smell of grass and he saw in amazement how all the blood stains vanished from his clothing until there wasn’t a speck to be seen. Tears ran down his face as he absorbed the love and affection of the two animals and he revelled in the sensation of being clean. He looked at Uldini who dissipated the breeze and gave him a friendly nod. Then Ahren pulled himself together, gave Selsena a friendly smile and tickled Culhen behind the ears. Falk came over and gave him a searching look. ‘Feeling better again?’
Ahren didn’t trust his voice so he simply nodded weakly, glancing at the same time at the two bodies that had his arrows in them.
Falk looked in the same direction. ‘It’s only right that you feel terrible, a different reaction and I’d be worried’, said his master in a serious voice.
Ahren looked up at him in puzzlement. He himself had seen his breakdown as weakness, and had been envious of the others and their hardness.
‘There are people, dwarves and sometimes even elves, who see killing in a different way to you. Some snap, which is why we are all here for you’. Ahren had a lump in his throat, but really didn’t want to start crying again. The thought of facing the horror he had just experienced without the support of his comrades was terrifying. He tickled Culhen again gratefully, who grumbled contentedly. His master continued. ‘No matter how tragic this is, those who enjoy killing are much worse than the tortured souls that have been destroyed by the experience of war. Most succumb sooner or later to a killing frenzy. Usually they are remembered as heroes, so long as their desires serve the general good, and they almost always die young. Lured by the siren song of battle, they end up surrounded by the enemy and die in a final bloodbath of violence’.
The thought of actually enjoying killing struck Ahren as grotesque and regrettable, and he suddenly felt relieved at the sadness he was experiencing.
‘But the worst reaction anyone can show is the complete absence of emotion. Those who experience no feeling as they stride through the battlefield bringing death and destruction to their enemy are generally the most terrible opponents. Their coldness grows to the point where they recognize neither friend nor foe, but, driven by their own motivations they will sacrifice a hundred good men and women to kill ten enemies if it serves their purpose’. There was a hardness in the corner of Falk’s mouth and his tone suggested to Ahren that a memory was prompting these words. Falk cleared his throat and forced himself back to the present situation. He then finished with the following words: ‘we all feel sadness when we kill, and that’s how it should be. It’s only this sadness that spurs us on to avoid battle if possible, or to finish it with a minimum number of casualties on either side. Uldini and I have learned how to deal with these feelings and know when to negotiate to prevent something worse. Come with me, all of you!’
The old man turned on his heels and strode towards the rock from where the ambush had been launched. Ahren had to step his way between the mutilated bodies of the brigands that Falk and Selsena had killed. He thought of the firm but friendly tone of his master and the generous spirit of the Titejunanwa and tried to reconcile them with what he was looking at, but it was beyond him. He walked more quickly and hoped that some day he would find the solution to his emotional dilemma.
Falk led them around the rock to another body. Ahren was stunned. He was looking into the lifeless eyes of the wandering preacher who had spoken to him at the trading post some weeks previously. His red robe exhibited a darker spot where Falk’s sword had been driven through.
What was he doing here and how had he caught up with them? And why had his master killed a seemingly unarmed man? He was swamped with questions and he looked at his master uncertainly, who was now kneeling down beside the body. Uldini reached the spot too and hissed as he d
rew breath. Obviously Ahren had missed something that the wizard had spotted immediately. He followed the gaze of the youthful figure and saw something long and dark lying in the grass a few paces away. Full of curiosity he stepped closer and saw with horror that a thin tongue was lying in the grass. It was roughly two paces in length and ended in a moist, shiny spike. Ahren stepped back in horror and looked over at his master who pulled down the deceased priest’s jaw, revealing the bloody area where his tongue had once been.
‘High Fang’, he said and gave Uldini a serious look. The wizard let forth a string of expletives and threw his arms in the air, at which point his crystal ball rose up and settled half a pace above his right shoulder. The wizard was so agitated that he seemed not to notice. ‘You know what that means, old man. One High Fang means at least a hundred Low Fangs. The enemy wants to stop us at all costs and there’s a horde of these wretches scurrying about somewhere. They’re probably making the Green Sea nervous. It would take a whole clan to eliminate a horde, and you’ll only find border guards here at this time of year. Which means they can strike at any time’. Yellow sparks crackled between the wizard’s fingers.
Falk responded quietly. ‘Relax, Uldini. If his horde were near him, he would never have been so desperate as to put a bunch of badly educated highway robbers onto us. He probably noticed us when he was on a spying mission and had to improvise. If we travel on quickly, we’ll get to the elves safely’.
Ahren looked at the haggard face of the dead man and tried to remember what he looked like when he was alive.
‘He looked so normal’, he said quietly.
Uldini nodded. ‘that’s why we call him High Fang. That’s how we classify the human servants of the enemy. Let’s get out of here, I’ll explain it to you on the way’.
Ahren- the 13th Paladin Page 27
