No one saw me....
I think.
I look to what remains of the brigands and the sellswords. With Yurik occupied fighting me, the tide has shifted. The five remaining mercenaries have rallied, standing in a tight formation, backs to the carriage, shields locked. Around them, a dozen brigands hesitate, testing the line, but each attempt is turned back. One makes it through and is immediately cut down, his scream brief before he crumples in the snow. The rest begin to falter, unsure.
It's almost over.
If I show them Yurik's head, they'll surely falter and flee...
Then again... better that they don't. Better they don't warn Edric what happened here...
I reclaim my spear, catching my breath as the cold chills my sweat-slick skin.
I run... charging...
Then I drive it into the back of the nearest brigand, the blade sinking deep. He collapses with a strangled cry. The next barely turns before I lunge again, felling him with a thrust to the gut.
The survivors nearest me falter, their eyes widening as they recognize my face. One stammers, "You were fighting the boss..." He turns, sees Yurik's body sprawled in the snow, and panic twists his face. He opens his mouth to shout, but a sellsword’s blade silences him, cleaving through his back.
The mercenaries, sensing the falter, seize the moment. Their line breaks with efficient aggression, a half-wheel maneuver that crashes into the disoriented brigands. The effect is immediate and brutal. Untrained and demoralized, the brigands waver, their cohesion lost.
One man runs. Then another. And like a thawed river giving way to flood, the rest break and scatter into the trees, throwing down weapons as they flee.
The enemy have routed.
But that's not enough.
I charge after the fleeing brigands, determined to see every last man dead. But before I can reach them, Luna appears from the opposite side of the clearing, her blade flashing with deadly precision. Panicked and disoriented, the brigands don’t stand a chance, she cuts through them with ruthless efficiency.
One manages to break away, sprinting desperately through the snow. I move to give chase, but stop as I see an arrow takes him in the chest. He drops, twitching.
I look to the east and see William lowering his bow, face pale and grim.
I scan the battlefield. The fighting is done. Cries of pain linger, but the clash of steel has faded. The sellswords, battered but alive, lift bloodied blades into the air with hoarse cheers. Relief crashes over me like a wave.
It's over...
At last.....
The surviving mercenaries move among their fallen, checking for the living, closing the eyes of the dead. Blood steams in the snow, and corpses litter the road.
The merchant, pale and shaking, climbs down from within his carriage, staring at the carnage in stunned silence, lips moving in a silent prayer.
William and Luna rush up to me, breathless and bloodied. William grabs my arm, eyes scanning my face. “You alright?”
“Better than you,” I mutter, nodding toward the gash on his leg. Blood seeps down his shin, staining the snow.
He barks a short, tired laugh. I give a nod. “Thanks for the arrow.”
“Of course,” he says with a grin that doesn't reach his eyes.
Then I look to Luna, more than a little surprised to see her. “You’re here?”
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She scoffs, turning her head with a sharp hmph. No answer.
William glances around. “Where’s Hamza? Have you seen him?”
I feel my stomach drop at the question, my blood growing cold. Slowly, I turn and look to where he fell, where he still lies, unmoving, half-covered in snow.
William follows my gaze. “No...” he whispers, and then he’s running, limping across the battlefield. He drops to his knees beside Hamza, hands trembling as he reaches out.
Luna and I stand behind him, silent. William shakes Hamza gently, his voice cracking. “Hamza, wake up... c'mon! Brother...”
My eyes widen as Hamza stirs with a ragged gasp, blood bubbling from his lips as he struggles to breathe. His eyes flutter open, unfocused for a moment before locking onto William’s face. “William... Seven... Luna...” He coughs again, wet and painful. “You’re.... alive... I’m.... glad.”
William forces a smile, though tears streak his face. “We’re fine. We made it.”
Hamza’s gaze turns to us both. “Thank you... for standing with me... for helping me... cleanse my filthy soul.”
William nods, swallowing hard. “'Course. You’re my brother.”
Hamza’s chest heaves with effort. The wound beneath his tunic is savage, blood-soaked cloth clinging to shattered ribs. He winces, teeth bared against the pain.
“You need to hold on,” William pleads. “You’re going to be alright. Seven! You must have some ointment, he-”
Hamza shakes his head weakly. “No... it’s time. My path ends here.” He coughs, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth. “I go now... to see my father. I can face him.... proud, because of all of you.”
He draws a trembling breath, then turns to William. “Live well, brother. Lead a noble life. William....”
William tries to speak, to object, but the words won’t come. Only the sound of his breath, shaking with grief.
Hamza wheezes loudly, blood streaming from his mouth. He tries to speak again, but the words are lost in the rattle of his breath. His gaze moves.... first to Luna, then to me, then to William. He fights for a smile, the effort painting his lips red, and gives a faint, jerky nod.
Then his eyes close. His chest heaves one final time... then goes still.
William breaks, sobbing openly as he leans over Hamza’s lifeless body, clutching at his tunic. Luna turns away, arms folded tightly across her chest, face hidden.
We leave him to his grief, turning away, trudging through the snow. As we walk, Luna speaks, voice flat. “Hamza should never have gotten involved. If he hadn’t clung to that doomed ideal, he’d still be alive.”
“There must be some ideals worth dying for... right?”
She stares, eyes searching my face. “You confuse me. At times, you’re.... pragmatic, perhaps even ruthlessly so. And yet others... so foolishly emotional.”
I look away, a slight discomfort in my chest. “I don’t really understand it myself.”
She narrows her eyes. “Why? Why go along with Hamza’s plan? Why fight for a merchant and a few sellswords? You don't actually care about them, do you?”
I shake my head. “Not really. But you heard what Hamza said. It was the right thing to do.”
I meet her gaze. “Don’t you think so?”
She looks ahead, saying nothing more, ending the conversation.
We stop at Yurik’s corpse. She glances down, then back at me. “It was an impressive fight..."
I give a casual nod, but she continues...
"Both William and I... saw how it ended. You used magic.”
I twitch, jaw tightening. “William saw too?”
She nods once.
Fuck. Can nothing go well?
“You should be careful,” she says. “Luminon doesn’t care for the craft. Even out here on the fringes of its territory.”
“Does anyone?”
She shrugs. “Some kingdoms are more tolerant. Especially in the south. Sorcerers are powerful weapons, after all. Many value their use.”
"I see... like Maldor.”
She raises an eyebrow. “He's from another kingdom?”
“Yeah. According to Two. From Ashkar Veyrn.”
She grips the hilt of her shortswords, brow furrowing. "Yes... They dabble in the dark arts openly. Their king is obsessed with it."
Magic, out in the open?
I wonder what it'd be like to live in a kingdom like that....
I turn my attention back to Yurik’s corpse, then pull him flat and begin unbuckling his brigandine. The clasps are stiff with dried blood.
“What are you doing?” Luna asks, leaning closer.
“He’s big enough,” I reply. “It should fit me.”
I strip the brigandine from his body and pull it on over my mail, buckling the plates into place. The armor is heavy, but solid. It feels good.
With this kind of protection...
I hear the crunch of snow behind me and turn to see the merchant approaching, flanked by a few of his surviving sellswords. He bows deeply, face still pale, but his words tumble out in a rush of gratitude.
“Thank you, kind strangers. We owe you more than I can say. These roads truly are as dangerous as claimed. I-I paid a fortune for protection, hearing the tales, but to think brigands would gather in such numbers...”
He shudders, averting his gaze from the corpses strewn across the path. Behind him, his canvas-covered wagon creaks to a halt, wheels half-sunk in the snow, its flaps drawn tight against the cold.
I nod, brushing snow from my new armor. “Ravencroft’s mayor plans to put an end to that. Hopefully this is the last such ambush.”
The merchant nods nervously. “Goddess bless him on that task... I'll not travel these roads again until he does.”
He hesitates, then continues, “What will you do now? If you’ll ride with us, it would be an honor... and there's safety in numbers.” He pauses, glancing toward the canvas flaps, then adds quickly, “O-Of course, I'd also like to offer you a reward, for what you've done for me.”
My ears prick at that. “Where does your route lead? Does it pass Ravencroft?”
He straightens and gives his best attempt at a smile. “Yes. It does.”
I glance at Luna. She meets my eyes and gives a quiet nod.
“Then let’s go,” I say. “To Ravencroft.”
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+ 1 Yurik’s Brigandine
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