The Threads of Destiny - Chapter 15

Chapter 15: The Thief and the Bandits

It was getting late in the day when the four of them reached the beginnings of another village, this one not nearly as beaten down as the last. It was larger than that village, with no boarded-up shops or empty taverns. They’d known they were getting close over an hour before reaching it, thanks to the well-tended fields stretching out to either side of the main road. In the town itself, there were the normal signs of life. People milled about, going about their daily business, shops had signs out, advertising their wares, and the tavern seemed to have a brisk business.

It was a welcome sight, and one Osric hoped turned things around for them.

Since they’d left the lake and sacrificed the creature a day ago, a somber mood had hung over the group, with very little conversation between then as they trudged west, each lost in their own thoughts. The events weighed on each of them, and while Osric still felt he’d done the right thing, he was still struggling with what he’d done.

He’d gone his whole life without taking another life, until a few weeks ago. But that had been different, as he’d been defending himself and others. While he wouldn’t say he’d grown accustomed to the fights and the killing, it hadn’t pressed on him like this. But then, this had been different. This hadn’t been in the heat of battle, and he wasn’t defending anyone.

Rowan pointed to a small store near the center of town, its weathered sign proclaiming it to be “Bertram’s General Goods.”

“We need to resupply,” the ranger said, the first words he’d uttered in hours. “Our food stores are running low, and we’ve still got a long way to go.”

“Sure,” Osric said, trying to make it sound as normal as possible.

Rowan gave him a pat on the arm and lead them into the store, the tinkling of the bell above the door a cheerful counterpoint to their mood. The interior was dim and musty, the shelves crammed with an eclectic array of goods ranging from foodstuffs to farming tools to bolts of rough-spun cloth. An elderly man was leaning up against the counter, watching another man going through what looked like bags of seed.

“Welcome,” he said, turning his attention towards them. “What can I get for you?”

“We need supplies for the road. Dried meat, hardtack, root vegetables, whatever you’ve got that will keep.”

“I think I can scrounge up most of that for you,” he said, and then gestured to a shelf next to them, where an assortment of dried fruits and nuts sat in baskets. “You might find those useful as well.”

Rowan, who had an eye for these things as well as being a bit picky, began to examine the offerings.

“We’re also looking for someone,” Osric asked while the old man waited for Rowan’s decision, trying to sound nonchalant. “A young woman named Grace Thornton. We heard she might be in this village.”

It was instantly clear the man had, as his expression soured, his lips pursing in distaste.

“That little thief? No, I don’t deal with her kind. She’s not welcome in my store.”

“Please, it’s important we find her. Do you know where she might be staying?”

“Sorry. I think she left town, but I don’t exactly follow her movements. Girl’s nothin’ but trouble.”

The man waiting, looking through the seeds, who’d been surreptitiously watching them the way people in a small village watch newcomers, cleared his throat to speak up.

“She left town a few days ago,” he offered.

“Do you know where she went?”

The man hesitated, glancing at the store owner before continuing, “There’s a group of… umm, businessmen who tend to travel from village to village, never staying anywhere long. They were here for a few days, spent a long night gambling at the tavern. The way I heard it, she was there and doing very well for herself, at least until one of the men accused her of cheating and scamming them. Don’t know if she was or not, but… these are men who don’t like to lose.”

The store owner snorted, although if it was because he thought she did scam the men or because the men’s dislike of losing, he didn’t say. The other man, the farmer, as Osric had started to think of him, gave a knowing nod in return.

“Anyway,” the farmer continued, “from what I heard, she packed up real quick, left before the sun came up. A few hours later, the band... businessmen, sober, or at least less drunk, realized what happened. They found out she had skipped town and went after her. Last I heard, they were heading southeast.”

“Where do these businessmen tend to travel? Are there any known places Grace likes to hole up outside of town?” Rowan asked.

“The ones chasing her? They stay wherever they like, no one can tell them not to. But Grace...maybe there’s an old windmill on the edge of the old Whiston farm. Whole area got abandoned when the father died and the rest moved up to Farvale. Rumor has it she’s used it as a hideout before when she’s in trouble.”

“That’s where Toman found her, the time she tried to sell his goats when he’d gone to market, I think,” the shop owner said.

For someone who claimed to not pay attention to her, they both seemed to know a whole lot about her. That was the way of small towns though. Gossip was currency, so it paid to be up on all of it.

“And you think she would go back there again?” Rowan asked, a little skeptical.

“She’s nothing if not a creature of habit. The number of times she’s been run out of town, has to be, otherwise she wouldn’t keep coming back.”

“Do you think you could mark it down,” Rowan said, pulling out a small, hand-drawn map of the barony.

“Sure,” the storekeeper said. “Maybe if enough of you chase her, she’ll run further away and stop bothering people here.”

***

It had taken them only an hour to reach the area the shopkeeper had marked on his map, which was good since the area was only a rough approximation and Rowan needed at least a little light to find their trail. 

They’d stopped for the dozenth time since reaching the area, standing back and watching Rowan move slowly, inching along the ground in a half squat. To Osric, it looked like he was just staring at clumps of dirt and tufts of grass, but he’d heard about the Ranger’s uncanny ability to track people through the lightest scrub or thickest forest. So far, it seemed the legends were true.

He’d actually managed to put them on the trail of a large number of men on horseback very shortly after passing the abandoned windmill. Osric just hoped they found them soon because if the light fell completely, they’d have to use Talia’s magical light or lanterns to keep the chase going, and either would easily alert the enemy to their presence when they finally got close. 

The alternative was to camp and start again at daybreak, but according to Rowan, the men were riding hard, and if he guessed correctly, they’d gotten on the scent of the girl. If they caught her during the night, there was a good chance she wouldn’t survive until morning, and so far, she was their only lead to the cleric from his vision.

The other problem was the number of men, which Rowan estimated between fifteen and twenty, all on horseback. Talia and Osric had faced off against only one or two opponents by themselves, and while they had Cinder and Rowan, the odds were still extremely stacked against them.

Not that they had any choice. They had to find her and the cleric. The small vision Osric had been given at Godfrey’s house when healing Talia had convinced him of the absolute urgency of accomplishing their mission. The very world was in danger, and if he had to fight fifteen men to do it, then that’s what he was going to do. 

Rowan started up again, and they began to move, picking up the pace but not quite running, with the Ranger looking to the ground most of the time. 

Just as the last of the blueish light of dusk began to fade, they heard it. Laughter. Lots of it, followed by shouts and whistles. There were a lot of voices, and it seemed likely they’d found the men they’d been tracking, but they didn’t immediately see a sign of them. It wasn’t until they crested a small rise that they saw them, nestled in a kind of dell with a thicket of trees blocking the flickering firelight of their camp from being visible farther away.

It was actually a good camping spot for people who didn’t want to be easily seen, Osric thought. Or would have been, had they been quieter.

The group dropped to a crawl, letting the darkness hide them as they closed to the edge of the outcropping of trees that the bandits were using to block their firelight.

Another mistake. Even if they’d had centuries, which they didn’t, there would have been enough firelight at their back to make seeing anyone sneaking up on them difficult. The fact that they didn’t even put up sentries spoke to how freely this group had been operating in the area. 

They had no fear of being tracked down as revenge for their extortion. 

In the center of the clearing was a campfire, around which sat a rough-looking group of men. They were heavily armed, with swords and daggers at their belts, and several had bows leaning against nearby trees. Tied to a post at the edge of the camp, was a young woman with short, messy blonde hair that Osric assumed to be the thief they’d been searching for.

“Come on boys, let’s not be hasty. I’m sure we can work something out. After all, it was just a bit of fun, playing cards to pass the time. No hard done, right?”

The largest of the men, a burly brute with a thick beard, stood up and walked over to her, crouching down, bringing his face level with hers.

“A bit of fun? You cheated us out of our money and ran. I’d hardly call that a good time.”

The girl batted her eyelashes, making herself look small, tilting her head provocatively. “Oh, come now. It was just a little misunderstanding. I’m sure a bunch of big, strong, handsome men like you can afford to let a little thing like that slide. I mean, I thought you lost on purpose, to be sweet. You’re all so smart, I was sure you saw right through me. How could I cheat brave, experienced men like you?”

For a moment, the man seemed to hesitate, until one of his companions called out from the fireside.

“Don’t fall for it, Garn! She’s just trying to trick you again!”

Garn’s face hardened as he wheeled back and backhanded her across the face, snapping her head to the side, making a sickening wet sound as it impacted.

“You think you can bat your eyes and wag your tongue, and I’ll just melt like butter? I’m not falling for your tricks again, wench.”

The girl’s demeanor changed in an instant. Her eyes narrowed, the smile still there, but no longer coy. Now it was cocky and arrogant.

“Fine. You want to play rough? Untie me, and let’s see which of us is still standing at the end.”

“I’m done with your games. You’re going to tell us where our money is, or things are going to get very unpleasant for you.”

The girl spat blood onto the ground. “Do your worst. I’m not afraid of you.”

Garn turned to his men. “You heard her, boys. Looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

The men jeered and shouted their approval, some of them rising to their feet. Osric looked at Talia and Rowan, seeing his own tension mirrored in their faces.

“We have to do something,” Talia whispered.

Rowan nodded grimly. “There’s too many for a direct fight. We need a distraction.”

As if on cue, the girl stood up, her wrists suddenly freed, a knife appearing in her hand. Garn looked at her, his hand going to his belt where an empty dagger sheath sat. Osric hadn’t seen her free herself, let alone manage to pull the man’s knife from him. It was impressive. It also got rid of any other options they’d had.

Moving so fast Osric could barely see her hands, she lunged at Garn, the blade finding its mark in his flesh. The burly man roared in pain and surprise, staggering back from the unexpected attack.

Osric and his friends didn’t wait, taking her sudden attack as the distraction they needed. Talia stood and stepped through the trees obscuring them, weaving her hands in a complex pattern until finally pressing her hands forward, thrusting her palms toward the campfire.

A powerful blast of air surged from her hands, scattering the flames and sending embers flying. The bandits around the fire were caught in the gale, several of them knocked off their feet by the magical wind.

As the bandits struggled to regain their footing, Rowan nocked an arrow to his bowstring and let it fly, burying itself in the bandit leader’s shoulder. Already off-balance from the pain of the dagger cutting into his stomach, the arrow sent the bandit leader spinning, crashing into the ground.

Seeing their leader wounded, Osric and Cinder charged forward, the pair flanking one of the closest bandits to have been knocked over by Talia’s spell. Cinder got there first, leaping at the man, his powerful jaws clamping down on the bandit’s arm. The man screamed as the wolf’s teeth tore into his flesh.

The rest of the bandits, caught completely by surprise, struggled to regain their footing and draw their weapons. Some fumbled with their swords, others reached for their bows, each looking confused, probably wondering where these sudden attackers had come from.

Osric, following on Cinder’s heels, lifted his sword with two hands gripping the hilt, bringing the blade plunging down into the man’s chest, easily piercing through his simple leather armor, cutting off the man’s screams as he went limp.

Grace, now standing above the prone bandit leader, dropped to her knees and plunged the blade into his exposed throat, causing Garn to emit a gurgling sound.

“I told you I’d be the last one standing,” she hissed, looking into his eyes as he choked and died.

Talia, seeing the bandits who hadn’t been knocked down coming for her, slammed the butt of her staff into the ground, causing the shimmer translucent blue field to surround her before disappearing just as the blades of the bandits found her, the metal skidding off the invisible force.

Across from her, Rowan knocked two more arrows, each one finding its mark in a different bandit. The men staggered back, arrows protruding from the thigh of one man and tearing through the other’s side before continuing off into the darkness.

Seeing the danger she was in, Osric moved to position himself in front of her, Cinder taking the other side, seeming to understand what he was doing. As one bandit tried to maneuver around him to get at Talia, Osric’s blade lashed out, catching the man in the side. The bandit stumbled, blood seeping from the wound, but he pressed on, bringing his sword down towards Talia.

At the last moment, Osric threw himself in the path of the blow, the bandit’s blade glancing off his armor. He grunted at the impact but held his ground, refusing to let the man past.

Another bandit, seeing an opening, lunged at Talia from the other side. But Cinder was there, leaping at the man, his powerful jaws clamping down on the bandit’s sword Arm. The man screamed as the wolf’s teeth tore into his flesh, pulling his blade off target.

Despite the initial surprise, the bandits quickly rallied, their greater numbers allowing them to surround Osric and his companions. Steel clashed against steel as the fight turned into a chaotic melee. A bandit slipped past Osric’s guard, his blade cutting a shallow gash across Osric’s thigh. It burned like fire, but Osric saw an opportunity, the man exposing himself in the attack, and managed to catch his attacker across an exposed shoulder, slicing through the outer edge of it, leaving a large gash behind.

Two more closed in on Rowan, seeking to overwhelm the archer in close quarters. But Rowan was far from helpless. Ducking, he weaved away from the attacker, backing up several more steps to give himself room to fight.

It was surprising how fast the little thief moved, grabbing Garn’s dropped sword and darting through the chaos of the battle to engage another bandit, stabbing the former leader’s blade into the man’s chest before he even realized she was there. A surprised look locked onto his face as he collapsed to the ground dead.

Talia, seeing more bandits closing in, raised her staff and began weaving her hands in a complex pattern. Left hand raised, fingers splayed, her right hand traced glowing circles before thrusting forward sharply. Three shimmering bolts of arcane energy shot forth from her palm, streaking through the air. They struck another bandit squarely in the chest, searing into his flesh. He staggered back, grasping at the charred wounds before collapsing.

Rowan took aim at the two men who’d closed in on him, firing off two more arrows in rapid succession. The first caught one of the bandits in the shoulder, the steel head punching through leather armor. The man staggered, grasping at the shaft protruding from his flesh. The second arrow found its mark in another bandit’s thigh, sinking deep into the muscle. He let loose a howl of pain, his leg buckling under him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Osric and Cinder, working in tandem, focused their assault on a single foe. Osric’s sword cleaved into the bandit’s side, the blade biting deep. As the man reeled from the blow, Cinder lunged, his clamping down on the bandit’s leg. With a sharp twist of his head, the wolf sent the man sprawling to the ground. Osric followed up with a thrust of his blade, ending the man’s life.

The remaining bandits, though still outnumbering Osric’s group, were clearly shaken by losing so many of their friends so quickly. Their attack faltered for a moment, but then continued as anger and pain won out over surprise and fear.

One charged at Osric, his sword arcing down in a vicious overhead strike. Osric raised his own blade, managing to deflect the attack slightly. The bandit’s sword skittered off Osric’s, but not before the tip grazed Osric’s upper arm.

Two more bandits descended upon Cinder. One managed to land a glancing blow, his sword cutting a shallow gash along Cinder’s flank, causing the wolf to yelp in pain and lung at the closest enemy to him. The second bandit managed to jump back just in time, narrowly evading the snapping jaws.

Rowan, now the target of three bandits, found himself hard-pressed to keep his foes at bay. He ducked and weaved, with one blade caught him across the ribs, drawing a grunt of pain from the ranger. Rowan retaliated with a swift kick, his boot connecting with the bandit’s knee with a sickening crunch. The man howled, stumbling back, but his companions pressed forward, seeking to capitalize on the momentary advantage.

Grace never stopped moving, moving behind another man who was focused on the arrows and spells coming at them, plunging her stolen sword up through the man’s ribs, killing him without the man ever knowing she was there.

Talia ignored the ring of bandits trying to close around her and targeted the group that was threatening to overwhelm Rowan. With a flick of her wrist and a complex series of hand movements, unleashed a large greenish projectile which streaked through the air, splashing against one of his attackers. The man cried out in pain as the corrosive magic ate away at his flesh, smoke rising from the sizzling wound.

Rowan continued to retreat as the enemy pressed on him, firing off two arrows into one of his attackers, plunging both shafts into the man’s chest, knocking him off his feet and into the dirt.

Some of the pressure had been relieved for the Ranger, whose opponent had been reduced to two, the others either dead or squirming in pain in the dirt. Talia, for all of her confidence in Osric and Cinder to protect her, wasn’t out of danger yet, however. Multiple bandits pressed in on her two, recognizing the danger she posed for them.

Osric had gone entirely on the defensive, blocking stabs and slashes, trying to keep the blades away from Talia and Cinder, relying on the wolf to reduce the number facing them. Cinder did his best, fangs sinking into the thigh of another attacker as he ripped out a chunk of flesh, sending the man bleeding into the dust, grasping at the gaping wound.

“Talia,” Osric warned as he and Cinder were pushed back, becoming overwhelmed by the mass of men.

Talia turned her attention from the men assaulting Rowan and lifted her staff, moving it in a dancing pattern before thrusting it out, past Osric, toward the massed bandits in front of them. Flames erupted from the tip of the staff in a wide cone, engulfing five of the attackers. Their screams pierced the night as the fire seared their flesh. When the flames dissipated, one lay unmoving, the others staggering, their clothes and skin charred.

The roar of the flame caused the other attackers to pause, turning their attention toward the sound. Rowan, who had seen Talia use similar magic already, used the distraction to his advantage, firing off two more arrows, each of which sank into the chest of an attacker, sending both stumbling backward from the impact before crashing to the ground.

Osric and Cinder fell on the burned and injured men in front of them, tearing through them as they tried to put out the fire and fought through the pain, leaving all five dead in a matter of moments.

Only a handful of men remained, but the sudden, brutal deaths of seven of their number in a matter of moments was enough to knock sense into them. The survivors turned and ran, not wanting to follow their friends into the afterlife.

But there was no escape. Rowan’s arrows found the runners, dropping them one by one. The one man lucky enough to evade the shafts was chased down by Cinder, who pulled him to the ground, mauling him.

Osric didn’t have any sympathy for them. He’d seen bandits like this before, even helped Master Ironhand and a group of other residents of Eldham defend against their ilk. Men like this murdered anyone they pleased, took anything they wanted, and were a scourge to all of the good people of Peridia. They would not be missed.

“Are you alright?” Talia asked, indicating the numerous cuts and slashes on his arms and legs.

“I’ll be fine. Nothing a little time and your magic can’t fix.”

Rowan and Cinder joined them, both looking equally rough for wear. It had been a victory, to be sure, but not one without cost. It would take time for their injuries to heal, and Osric wasn’t sure how much of the healing magic the Veilguard had gifted him with he would be able to use.

They all turned to the messy-haired blonde girl whipping her acquired blade on the dead bandit leader’s shirt.

At least they’d gotten what they’d come for.