Chapter Nine

The small path was rarely travelled and trailed lethargically out of city. The trees had begun to shed summer greens as autumn colors had started descending into the valley. The landscape north east of Thurn would take on all manners of browns, reds and yellows in the following months; a natural collage before the winter season. A flock of small song birds flew through the forest, taking note of a wagon stopped beside a pair of riders. Taking momentary roost in a tree, they observed the humans’ short transaction before chirping amongst one another and darting off into the distance.

“I worked hard for that gold,” Lloyd commented melancholically as Asim waved farewell to the merchant’s wagon. He tossed Lloyd a set of drab clothes, “I’m quite sure you did not,” he walked off the road, hiding himself behind a tree as he began to change as well. “Well, I stole it fair and square,” Lloyd stuck his head through the neck of his new tunic, the gray wool already itching every square inch of exposed skin on his body. “Thievery is the sign of a child; honesty, that of a man,” Asim scolded, tossing his soaked and bloodstained clothes over a branch as he slipped into dry ones. “Oh come on. Shouldn’t those with much give to those without?” He stepped out from the tree, wearing an equally unremarkable tan poncho over thick, patchwork breeches. “Yes, they should give; you should not take.” Lloyd pulled his new pants up tight, sticking his feet back into his old boots. Grabbing his armor under an arm, he walked back to the horses, patting his on the neck as he slung the bundle of clothes and leather plating across the animal’s back. He secured the rest of the gear, being sure to cover his sword with a blanket before turning back to Asim, who had already mounted his horse. “Frankly, I think they’re the ones that did the swindling here,” he lifted his arms up, the fringes of his shadow dotting with beams of light, “it’s like a flour sack after rats have been through it.” Asim muttered something through a poorly hidden grin as he sat down in the saddle, and slowly began heading down the road. “Wait a minute! Was that a smile?” Lloyd scrambled onto his own steed, hastily riding as he chased after his now chuckling companion, “Does he actually have a sense of humor?”

----------------------------------------------------------------

The swamp was stagnant, the only motion coming from several bloodied figures drifting lifelessly through the mire. A pair hung limp from a tree, each riddled with bolts. One was on shore, face up and killed similarly. A small line of blood ran from his chest onto the ground, following the slope and feeding into the bog. A fourth was crumpled face down by a tree, impaled on a blade which jutted from his back. The rest laid about the sewer entrance, one shot and the other two a mess of broken bones and beaten flesh. Seven dead in all; she couldn’t help but feel slightly giddy. Her boots swished through the water as she approached his body, an idle corpse brushing past her slender legs as the crimson water flowed around her. She loved red. Her pallid complexion seemed too rosy at the sight of it as she removed her gloves, folding them carefully and tucking them away. The black fingernails beneath skimmed through Raven’s hair, her fingers weaving tenderly over his scalp. “There there,” she cooed, kneeling down beside him. She smiled warmly as she turned his head to face hers, his twisted expression frozen by death’s grip. She closed her eyes and moved her fingers searchingly over his facial features; sensually, tentatively, gasping in excitement as they found his remaining eye. Thumb and forefinger made small circles around his milky orb, tracing lightly over the cold flesh. She pulled her head backward, arching her chest up and moving her body beside his in rhythm with the movement of her hands. Eyes still closed tight, she sunk both fingers into the socket and let out a rapturous sigh.

Black nails wrapped around the cold membrane gently before she pulled back – ripping the eye from his body. A thin line of red from the tearing of tendrils sprayed across her cheek. Pausing from the task at hand, she parted her mouth and extended a tongue; licking the blood off her dark lipstick. She ran a hand past her own ear, tucking back the momentarily unkempt waist length hair and wiping her face clean. “Oh Raven,” she leaned in close again, whispering to his body, “You never could contain yourself.” She stretched out her arm, cradling the eye in her palm and placing the other on his chest. “Perhaps you can be useful for a change.” She slowly lowered her eyelids, focusing on his remains for the spell. Whispering at first, she began to chant words in a dialect beyond comprehension. Standing slowly as her voice grew louder; the phrases repeated, the air beginning to whirl. The water beneath them spread apart, as her legs straightened; hand still planted firmly to the body which lifted from the ground, rising as if supported from below. The eye began to glow bright colors, the tendrils of light peeling from her hand and wrapping around them both. Her palm on the corpse flexed open slightly before closing into a fist – Raven’s flesh evaporating instantly to dust which was whipped up into the vortex around her. She raised the eye above her, hair flailing wildly in the wind as she shouted the words at the top of her lungs, calling to the heavens. The spiral of vibrant color and ash hushed for a second before erupting into a funnel; spearing into the clouds before fading away as her chanting ended. The water crashed back down around her knees as her eyes opened and she lowered her arm; both irises stained an unnatural orange before returning to their usual dark hazel. They widened before resizing and focusing back to her palm and the object now resting inside it.

What had once been a human eye was no more; in its place was now a small glowing ball the size and shape of the one she had been holding. An effervescent marble of constantly shifting color moved erratically across the surface of the orb, as she looked at it excitedly. Pocketing the sphere she slipped on her gloves and stepped over the heap of armor, “Thank you, Raven.” She strode out of the marsh, walking up to the patrol of men standing around her horse. Their postures stiffened as she approached, one removing a small towel as she paused by the soldiers. He dropped to his knees and began to wipe her boots, flicking bits of mud and filth from the otherwise unblemished crimson leather. “Tell your men I’ve finished. They can retrieve what’s left of their dead.” The nearest one saluted, passing on the command as his troops headed into the swamp. She glanced down, waiting until her shoes were once again pristine, “That will suffice,” she pulled her foot from the kneeling enlisted. “Mistress Irith,” he queried, shrinking away from her, “what word shall I bring to Lord Vorhest?” She slipped her foot into a stirrup, swinging over onto the saddle and bringing her horse around. “Tell him that Raven was most cooperative,” she patted her side, making sure that the orb was still secure, “and that I have all the information I need.” Irith tested the reins, making sure they were tied fast along with the rest of her equipment. “Let him know that I will send word when it’s in my possession.” With a kick she spurred the horse southward out of the swamp; You won’t elude me this time, old man.

Chapter Eight

Lloyd drew his hand crossbow, cocking back the bow string and loading a bolt leaving only a handful remaining in a belt pouch, before nodding hesitantly to Asim. The plan was shit, he knew it, but it was their only option; echoes from behind sounding the slow but inevitable approach of more soldiers. Asim gave a quick nod, arching low and preparing himself. He had spent the last few moments rewrapping his flowing outfit, hiking pants up to the knees and eliminating any excess looseness in his arms or chest. He turned to Lloyd, “Ready?” Pulling the cloth over his mouth and holding the small weapon with intent, “Ready.”

--------------------------------

The shadows on the edge of the drain pipe were stagnant with no sign of movement. Every ounce of his form was on the cusp of action; eyes wide, arms tight, entire body sprung like a trap. The other boys to his sides were the same. A pair to each tree, three pairs in a semi circle about fifty feet away and thirty feet up around the tunnel entrance which protruded from the southern wall of Thurn: a mighty stone bulwark that rose a hundred feet into the air. The ground between their trees and the pipe was littered with rotted wood, food and various other refuse; all floating in the waist high sewer runoff. They’ve got no way to go but back into the sewers and into our troops, or come out of there and run into our arrows. A crow took flight from a nearby stump, sudden motion a momentary distraction as he noticed the tunnel’s shadow shift almost instantly. His arm had been holding back the arrow for nearly a minute, and his muscles welcomed the chance to fire as something clad in white launched itself out of the pipe, diving headfirst into the water. The leaves of the trees whistled as they reigned down hell through the branches. The surface of the swamp churned as a second and then third volley of arrow fire knifed through the brown waters, before Thorson signaled a ceasefire. His right hand was clenched tight in a fist as all eyes scanned for survivors. The water was tranquil, the only ripples caused by steady drain streaming from the pipe. After a few stressful moments of waiting, some tattered, blood stained cloth surfaced, the rest of the body likely pinned into the mud. Good, now where’s the other one? His ears picked up the sound of hooves cutting towards their position from the gnarled undergrowth to the east and he turned to see a heavily armored horse trotting to the water’s edge.

“Status!?” Raven barked, dismounting from the steed and calling up to Thorson. “Sir, the target appears to have been working with someone. So far, that person has been the only one to surface. He tried to make a break for it a minute ago, and we brought him down. Unfortunately, the target is still at large.”

“Good.” Raven pulled the axe from his horse’s saddlebag, removing the blade guard and hefting it over a shoulder before moving hastily to his left, “Nolan, Sean; you’re with me.” Then pointing over at the far tree, “Lewi, Nick; drop down and get a better angle down the sewage line.” The side trees shook momentarily as the troops descended; Nolan and Sean drawing steel before jogging back to meet up with their commander. Meanwhile, the young brothers ran low through the brush as they positioned themselves so as to have a straight shot into the tunnel, shadows still concealing any hidden attackers; Nick signaling when the two were in position. Raven leaned his axe against the tree base momentarily, cracking his knuckles and putting on a pair of tough hide gloves. Closing his lone eye, he took a deep breath; a quiet respite before his hands found the the axe’s neck and his legs began the charge.

Dirt became mud as they ran, the ground level dropping into water as they entered the swamp. Raven glanced to his left as Nolan and Sean split off – moving in a wide arc to flank the lip of the tunnel. Circling similarly, he slowed as he closed the distance between him and the entrance; a blood soaked rag drifting lazily through the murk to his side. Moving past it, his boots unexpectedly struck solid beneath, decades of runoff having created a small landfill just under the surface. Dripping water, he rose onto the mound and began to walk cautiously toward the sewer opening. Back to the wall, he looked across to the boys, who stood at the other edge. Just like we trained lads, he nodded to his men. “Now!” He wheeled around, axe raised as if to strike, stopping abruptly as his eye saw nothing but an endless black before him, as a pair of arrows shrieked just over his head and down the corridor, clattering in the distance. What the hell -- where is he?

The crunch of bones cracking accompanied by a cry of pain turned Raven’s head as a crossbow bolt shot out from the open sewer above him. Nolan lay face down in the swamp, likely dead. He floated tranquilly before a figure in white, drenched head to toe and clenching a now bloodied fist of steel. Sean stood beside him, face twisted in pain, hands clutching in futility at the bolt sticking through his neck. The figure walked calmly forward through the slush as Sean collapsed, convulsing as life left him. Raven quickly found himself, “A fight you want?”; then flipping the axe sideways and rushing his foe, “then let’s have some fun!” They collided as the man in white reached for the handle, both sliding backwards through the mud, holding the weapon between them.

--------------------------------

The entry way now clear, the twins resumed firing into the abyss; their arrows disappearing out of sight. Through the brush, Lewi could see someone passing through the light at the edge of the tunnel, catching the briefest outline of a man, as he rose from cover to take the shot. “I got-,” his words were cut short as a bolt landed, knocking him back as blood rushed from his chest. Tears ran from his eyes as Nick caught the body, fingers running along his brother’s face, as another shot whizzed by overhead. “No! No!” Sadness quickly evaporated into rage as bloodshot eyes focused in on the murderer, who stood outside the sewer entrance, out of ammunition and drawing a sword; “I’m going to rend you apart, you son of a bitch!” Pulling twin blades, Nick rushed past the trees and cleared a log, clipping towards the bastard who ran to meet him in the swamp. With a dagger he scraped against the sword, deflecting it away as the other jabbed forward. The man leapt back from the attack, twirling his weapon around in a flourish as opponents circled one another. Nick subtlety shifted a dagger in his hand as the man swung, cutting the air in a wide arc. Tumbling to the side he threw the knife, which struck true into the opening made as the man had attacked broadly. He screamed in pain, dropping to his knees. “You killed my brother,” Nick said, voice breaking as he took a step forward, kicking the man’s sword out of reach. “You killed my brother”, he repeated louder, shoving the man over with a foot and holding him down with it into the mud. “You killed my brother!” He yelled, face streaked with tears, knuckles white around the dagger’s hilt as he stabbed down – into the devil’s heart. A flood of pain swept over him as his gaze fell to his own blade, stuck firmly into his gut; his reckless attack interrupted by a fatal counterpoint. The man ripped it out and rolled him over, Nick’s lips mouthing his brother’s name as his body sank into the dark water.

--------------------------------

He wiped the dirt from his face, spitting out a mouthful of blood and grinning through broken teeth. “Pretty good there, for a lass.” The man in white had disarmed him effortlessly after the initial blow, twisting the axe from his grasp and striking hard with the gauntlet; knocking him back into the dirt. “Stand down, or I will be forced to use lethal force” the man spread his legs, dropping low and holding his arms back defensively. Raven obliged, feinting a swing with his left and closing with the right. His fist was caught mid travel then contorted as the bones shattered in his wrist, and the man pushed him away. “I will not warn you a third time.” He gritted his teeth, massaging the ruined appendage, gauging his adversary anew. They began to circle as Raven taunted, “Fancy moves and fancy clothes,” he remembered back to the axe, handle now sticking out of the water, Just a bit closer. “Go around dressing like a lady, and some might get the wrong impression,” he moved slowly closer to the submerged weapon, “’course now, if it’s a date you’re after, sad to say I’m already smitten.” The man’s face remained stoic as he kept his distance, legs sliding through the mud as his body remained tense and prepared. “Yes sir, I give my lovin’ to just about all of the fair maidens in Thurn. What? You look surprised; don’t think a fellow like me can swing it with the proper lot? It’s the eye aint it?” He reached a finger into the mangled socket scooping out a handful of mud as his foot brushed up against the submerged axe, and he stopped moving. “Once you get past that,” he flicked the mud into the water, “I’m really I nice guy.”

Someone cried out from across the swamp, the man’s resolute face breaking as he saw his accomplice fall in battle. Seizing the distraction, Raven grabbed the grip with his still functioning hand, pulling the axe out of the muck behind him as he shouldered into the man – knocking them both into the water. The man thrashed as he pushed him beneath the surface, using the axe’s shaft to pin him below. “Sorry friend,” he pressed down harder, sinking all his weight into the man’s neck, “I just don’t think I’m your type!” The man’s hands flailed ineffectively as they sunk slowly into the swamp, a sadistic smile stretched wide across his face. His pleasure was fleeting as an unexpected low blow from the man’s knee launched him back onto the trash pile, both hands immediately clutching between his legs. “Motherless whore,” Raven cried as they each stood to face each other again. “You even fight like a bitch!” Suppressing the pain, he gripped the axe with both hands, charging a final time. The bit skipped across the surface before smashing into the man’s raised gauntlet, which he grinded against the blade’s edge and up the shaft, connecting with Raven’s jaw. Soft tissue and bone gave under the brunt of the blow as he careened upward into the air, soaring clumsily before splashing down into the swamp. His corpse descended into the depths, weighed down by armor as Asim adjusted his robes and retied his belt. “I stated that I would not warn you a third time, this death is your own.”

“Asim, over here!” Running swiftly, he found Lloyd standing by the forest’s edge, holding the reins to a pair of horses and tapping his foot expectantly. A small stream of blood ran down his side. “Marked One, how bad is it?” Lloyd lifted a flap of leather, revealing a small puncture as he teased, “Hell of a job you’re doing at keeping me safe, huh?” Genuine shame filled eyes met his before Asim lowered his head solemnly, “My humblest of apologies for failing you, sir.” Slapping him across the back, Lloyd chuckled, “You have really got to learn what sarcasm is,” before he tossed him a set of reins. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”