14 Summer 502 AV
"Quiet lad. If you keep traipsin' about like this they'll hear us."
One-Eye Llewyn turned to look back at Owan. His empty eye-socket stared sickeningly over the youth's shoulder, while the other eye -bright green- locked onto his face. In one hand he held an old knotted bow, and in the other he had an arrow. He brought the arrow up to his lips and shushed Owan. The boy nodded and the pair continued through the woods. Llewyn moved with practiced ease; stepping silently without the slightest bit of trouble. Owan followed closely, trying to step only where Llewyn stepped. Even when he managed to step in the exact same spot he couldn't help make a branch break. Most of the noises were lost in the forest, but some were loud enough to make him cringe.
For the first time, The Bard had decided that Owan was old enough to help with a raid. Normally the boy was left behind to guard the supplies, the injured band-members, and even some of the children sired by relations between the mercenaries. He'd grown bored of it quickly, but The Bard had insisted he continue. He'd said on several occasions that Owan wasn't quite ready for the real thing. He needed more practice with his ax; more sparring time with The Bard and his mother before he faced down someone in real combat. So Owan had gritted his teeth and borne the burden of protecting the camp.
That morning though, The Bard had crept into his tent and tapped him on the shoulder long before the sun had risen. He'd told the boy to get his ax and strap on his armor. Owan had done so excitedly, rushing out of the tent to meet his father shortly afterward. The Bard was standing in front of the band -who numbered a few more than fifteen, including The Bard, his "wife", and Owan- and outlining their plan of action. They would send out forward scouts to watch the caravan and wait for it to stop. When it stopped, the scouts would signal with a whistle, and the band would attack in force. The Bard went about choosing the scouts, settling on six. One Eye Llewyn and Owan would be one team. Ariim Plainstrider and Cat would be another. The final team would be Six-Toe and Needles, a pair of brothers from Ravok.
Owan knew all of their stories by heart. Llewyn had lost his eye fighting over a whore in Sunberth. He claimed it made him a better archer. Ariim was a Drykas who's horse had been killed and Cat was his Kelvic. Six-Toe and Needles had been Ravokian street urchins. They were devout followers of Rhysol, and had left the city claiming to do their god's work. From what The Bard had said about them, it seemed like they were trying as hard as they could.
After The Bard had given out his assignments, the band had broken up. Owan had kissed his mother and shaken his father's hand before heading off into the woods with Llewyn. If anyone could keep him safe, it was One Eye.
"Stop daydreaming Bardson and move your arse. We don't have time to stop and smell the flowers."
One-Eye's speech snapped him back into the present. He nodded at the man again and continued creeping through the woods, trying to stay as silent as he could. He kept his head low as they ducked under fallen sapling wrapped in thorns and almost tripped. He regained his balance with a muffled grunt and continued after Llewyn. The older man held up the hand with the arrow, signaling for Owan to stop. He did just that and waited, barely daring to breath. He didn't want to give their position away. Llewyn motioned for him to step forward and he did so, as quietly as he could. Llewyn was pointing through the trees with his arrow. Owan followed with his eyes.
The caravan was barely visible through the trees, trundling slowly along. There were only a few wagons, but there seemed to be a great deal of hangers-on. No one but the few guards at the front and back of the caravan seemed armed, though Owan imagined more than a few of the people in the crowds were, and he doubted the drivers would trust their safety to a handful of guards. Owan could hear them talking to one another over the sounds of the wagon wheels and the lowing animals. The guards seemed lax. Only occasionally did they bother to glance into the surrounding woods.
When Owan turned back to One Eye he was smiling. He took another step forward and Owan followed. Now silence was paramount. If any noise made its way to the caravan they could find themselves in a pot of boiling oil. They crept almost to the road before One Eye held up his hand. He pointed again and Owan followed his hand. The caravan was stopping, and some of the women in the crowd had begun to make fires and unpack kettles and cauldrons. One Eye's smile widened. They'd catch them while they ate; they'd be unsuspecting. When the wagons stopped One Eye put his fingers to his lips and whistled. To the untrained ear it would sound like a bird, but to the band it would be the signal they were waiting for.
One of the caravan guards looked up from his bowl and glanced around the woods. He stood up and made his way toward the edge of the makeshift camp, peering into the forest on both sides of the roads. As he turned to make his way back to the camp, his body was jerked into the forest without even a yelp. That must've been Ariim and Cat. Owan had seen Cat in her animal form on a few occasions at camp. He could only imagine the terror the guard must've felt when he found himself facing her in the eternal darkness of the foliage. One of the guard's comrades noticed he was missing and jumped to his feet, shouting for the group to go to arms. Before he could finish his warning, one of Llewyn's arrows sprouted from his neck.
"The time for silence had ended lad. Go make yer father proud," One Eye said, nocking another arrow and loosing it into the crowd. Owan nodded and broke cover. Across the road he saw Ariim come charging out of the woods, long spear in hand. Cat followed closely, paws pounding on the ground, mouth hanging open. Her teeth glinted dangerously in the sunlight and Owan could see the delight in her eyes. Her coat was already covered in a thick sheen of blood. Up ahead, Six-Toes and Needles seemed to materialize from the depths of the forest, catching a guard as he dashed forward to meet the scouts. Needles ran him through with his rapier and Six-Toes took the man's head from his shoulders with a swipe of his hammer. The two were laughing and shouting prayers to Rhysol all the while.
In the distance Owan could hear a horn blowing. That meant The Bard and the rest of the band were closing in. Owan didn't have much time to focus on that. The guards were rapidly closing the gap, and behind them a few of the travelers were fortifying the wagons and clutching weapons to their chests. Cat pounced when they got close enough, landing on one of the guards and tearing his throat out with one jerk of her powerful jaws. When another of the guards turned to attack her he found himself impaled by Ariim's spear. The big Drykas pulled a curved sword from his belt and went to work. Needles and Six-Toes were standing back to back, fighting off a trio of guards with longswords. Every now and again an arrow whistled through the crowd and embedded itself in one of the guards. One Eye never missed.
Before long, Owan found himself facing down one of the guards; in real combat for the first time in his life. The guard looked like he may have been in his early twenties, with long brown hair spilling out of the helm he'd jammed on his head. His body was protected by studded leather armor and a small wooden shield. In his right hand he held a short-sword. It wasn't fancy, but the blade was sharp, and that was the only thing that really mattered. Owan and the guard circled each other, as chaos erupted around them. The rest of the band had arrived, and the travelers had decided to join in the fight. All in all, the sides were about even, though the guards had already suffered several casualties.
The guard moved first, darting forward and swinging his blade high, wanting to take Owan's head off and be done with it. Owan jerked his head back, just barely avoiding the blade and struck with his ax. The blade rebounded off of the guard's shield with a ringing clash. The guard swung again, this time hoping to cut Owan off at the knees. The youth dropped the head of his ax low and allowed it to catch the guard's blade. The crash sent tingles up his arm. The guard lashed out with his shield, catching Owan in the chest and sending him tumbling backwards.
He grunted as he hit the ground, and rolled to his right instinctively. The guard's blade plunged into the ground where Owan had been laying. He swung his fist clumsily, catching the guard on the top of the helmet, and scrambled to his feet. The guard was slower. Owan swung his ax with both hands, hoping to shatter the man's helm and split his head open. The guard threw his shield up in the nick of time, and Owan's ax bounced off harmlessly. He grunted as the guard swung his sword. The tip carved a thick line through his armor, barely scratching the skin beneath. Had the guard been standing the blow would've taken Owan apart at the chest. The boy had always been lucky though. Of that there was no doubt.
Owan stepped back and allowed the guard to gain his feet. The older man charged forward, swinging both his shield and sword outwards. Owan sidestepped quickly and swung his empty fist; once again slamming his fist into the guard's helmet. His knuckles split open and he felt hot blood drip onto the dusty road. The guard turned quickly and shook his head. His eyes were slightly unfocused. Maybe the blows to the head had had an effect. Owan doubted it. Aside from the slight haziness in the man's eyes, he seemed as sharp as ever.
"You can't win boy!" He shouted. The clamor from the battle made a normal voice impossible. "I'll gut you like a fish!" He shouted again. Owan ignored the man's voice. The Bard had shouted worse on several occasions. He wouldn't let the guard get into his head. Instead, he focused on the man's movements. His body would give him away. That was something his mother had taught him when he'd first started fighting. If you focused hard enough, you'd notice when your opponent slipped up. Sweat was pouring down his face; the sun was beating down on his back. That'd been another bit of good luck. With the sun at his back, the guard would have trouble getting a good look at him.
The guard dashed forward again, keeping his shield up to the very last second before lashing out with his short sword. Owan jerked the ax reflexively, blocking the sword just inches from his face. The guard grunted angrily and swung outward with his shield. Owan jumped to the side and jerked his ax down. The guard howled as Owan's ax sliced through his elbow, leaving behind a jagged stump. Owan reversed the ax's direction and slammed the back of the blade into the man's head, bending his helm and sending him to the ground. The world seemed to slow as the guard turned his face up to the sun. Owan's heart was pounding, and his eyes were clouded with sweat and rage.
"M-m-mercy," the guard said, dropping his sword to cradle his ruined arm. Owan looked down at him. His lip curled into an unbidden sneer and he raised the ax above his head. The guard screamed for mercy again as Owan brought the ax down. It crashed through the top of the man's helmet, splitting his skull and spraying a fine mist of blood into the summer air. Owan licked his lips, tasting the mixture of blood and sweat. Deep in his stomach he felt sick, but he felt something else...something he'd never felt before.
As much as he didn't want to...he couldn't help but relish in the feeling.
"Quiet lad. If you keep traipsin' about like this they'll hear us."
One-Eye Llewyn turned to look back at Owan. His empty eye-socket stared sickeningly over the youth's shoulder, while the other eye -bright green- locked onto his face. In one hand he held an old knotted bow, and in the other he had an arrow. He brought the arrow up to his lips and shushed Owan. The boy nodded and the pair continued through the woods. Llewyn moved with practiced ease; stepping silently without the slightest bit of trouble. Owan followed closely, trying to step only where Llewyn stepped. Even when he managed to step in the exact same spot he couldn't help make a branch break. Most of the noises were lost in the forest, but some were loud enough to make him cringe.
For the first time, The Bard had decided that Owan was old enough to help with a raid. Normally the boy was left behind to guard the supplies, the injured band-members, and even some of the children sired by relations between the mercenaries. He'd grown bored of it quickly, but The Bard had insisted he continue. He'd said on several occasions that Owan wasn't quite ready for the real thing. He needed more practice with his ax; more sparring time with The Bard and his mother before he faced down someone in real combat. So Owan had gritted his teeth and borne the burden of protecting the camp.
That morning though, The Bard had crept into his tent and tapped him on the shoulder long before the sun had risen. He'd told the boy to get his ax and strap on his armor. Owan had done so excitedly, rushing out of the tent to meet his father shortly afterward. The Bard was standing in front of the band -who numbered a few more than fifteen, including The Bard, his "wife", and Owan- and outlining their plan of action. They would send out forward scouts to watch the caravan and wait for it to stop. When it stopped, the scouts would signal with a whistle, and the band would attack in force. The Bard went about choosing the scouts, settling on six. One Eye Llewyn and Owan would be one team. Ariim Plainstrider and Cat would be another. The final team would be Six-Toe and Needles, a pair of brothers from Ravok.
Owan knew all of their stories by heart. Llewyn had lost his eye fighting over a whore in Sunberth. He claimed it made him a better archer. Ariim was a Drykas who's horse had been killed and Cat was his Kelvic. Six-Toe and Needles had been Ravokian street urchins. They were devout followers of Rhysol, and had left the city claiming to do their god's work. From what The Bard had said about them, it seemed like they were trying as hard as they could.
After The Bard had given out his assignments, the band had broken up. Owan had kissed his mother and shaken his father's hand before heading off into the woods with Llewyn. If anyone could keep him safe, it was One Eye.
"Stop daydreaming Bardson and move your arse. We don't have time to stop and smell the flowers."
One-Eye's speech snapped him back into the present. He nodded at the man again and continued creeping through the woods, trying to stay as silent as he could. He kept his head low as they ducked under fallen sapling wrapped in thorns and almost tripped. He regained his balance with a muffled grunt and continued after Llewyn. The older man held up the hand with the arrow, signaling for Owan to stop. He did just that and waited, barely daring to breath. He didn't want to give their position away. Llewyn motioned for him to step forward and he did so, as quietly as he could. Llewyn was pointing through the trees with his arrow. Owan followed with his eyes.
The caravan was barely visible through the trees, trundling slowly along. There were only a few wagons, but there seemed to be a great deal of hangers-on. No one but the few guards at the front and back of the caravan seemed armed, though Owan imagined more than a few of the people in the crowds were, and he doubted the drivers would trust their safety to a handful of guards. Owan could hear them talking to one another over the sounds of the wagon wheels and the lowing animals. The guards seemed lax. Only occasionally did they bother to glance into the surrounding woods.
When Owan turned back to One Eye he was smiling. He took another step forward and Owan followed. Now silence was paramount. If any noise made its way to the caravan they could find themselves in a pot of boiling oil. They crept almost to the road before One Eye held up his hand. He pointed again and Owan followed his hand. The caravan was stopping, and some of the women in the crowd had begun to make fires and unpack kettles and cauldrons. One Eye's smile widened. They'd catch them while they ate; they'd be unsuspecting. When the wagons stopped One Eye put his fingers to his lips and whistled. To the untrained ear it would sound like a bird, but to the band it would be the signal they were waiting for.
One of the caravan guards looked up from his bowl and glanced around the woods. He stood up and made his way toward the edge of the makeshift camp, peering into the forest on both sides of the roads. As he turned to make his way back to the camp, his body was jerked into the forest without even a yelp. That must've been Ariim and Cat. Owan had seen Cat in her animal form on a few occasions at camp. He could only imagine the terror the guard must've felt when he found himself facing her in the eternal darkness of the foliage. One of the guard's comrades noticed he was missing and jumped to his feet, shouting for the group to go to arms. Before he could finish his warning, one of Llewyn's arrows sprouted from his neck.
"The time for silence had ended lad. Go make yer father proud," One Eye said, nocking another arrow and loosing it into the crowd. Owan nodded and broke cover. Across the road he saw Ariim come charging out of the woods, long spear in hand. Cat followed closely, paws pounding on the ground, mouth hanging open. Her teeth glinted dangerously in the sunlight and Owan could see the delight in her eyes. Her coat was already covered in a thick sheen of blood. Up ahead, Six-Toes and Needles seemed to materialize from the depths of the forest, catching a guard as he dashed forward to meet the scouts. Needles ran him through with his rapier and Six-Toes took the man's head from his shoulders with a swipe of his hammer. The two were laughing and shouting prayers to Rhysol all the while.
In the distance Owan could hear a horn blowing. That meant The Bard and the rest of the band were closing in. Owan didn't have much time to focus on that. The guards were rapidly closing the gap, and behind them a few of the travelers were fortifying the wagons and clutching weapons to their chests. Cat pounced when they got close enough, landing on one of the guards and tearing his throat out with one jerk of her powerful jaws. When another of the guards turned to attack her he found himself impaled by Ariim's spear. The big Drykas pulled a curved sword from his belt and went to work. Needles and Six-Toes were standing back to back, fighting off a trio of guards with longswords. Every now and again an arrow whistled through the crowd and embedded itself in one of the guards. One Eye never missed.
Before long, Owan found himself facing down one of the guards; in real combat for the first time in his life. The guard looked like he may have been in his early twenties, with long brown hair spilling out of the helm he'd jammed on his head. His body was protected by studded leather armor and a small wooden shield. In his right hand he held a short-sword. It wasn't fancy, but the blade was sharp, and that was the only thing that really mattered. Owan and the guard circled each other, as chaos erupted around them. The rest of the band had arrived, and the travelers had decided to join in the fight. All in all, the sides were about even, though the guards had already suffered several casualties.
The guard moved first, darting forward and swinging his blade high, wanting to take Owan's head off and be done with it. Owan jerked his head back, just barely avoiding the blade and struck with his ax. The blade rebounded off of the guard's shield with a ringing clash. The guard swung again, this time hoping to cut Owan off at the knees. The youth dropped the head of his ax low and allowed it to catch the guard's blade. The crash sent tingles up his arm. The guard lashed out with his shield, catching Owan in the chest and sending him tumbling backwards.
He grunted as he hit the ground, and rolled to his right instinctively. The guard's blade plunged into the ground where Owan had been laying. He swung his fist clumsily, catching the guard on the top of the helmet, and scrambled to his feet. The guard was slower. Owan swung his ax with both hands, hoping to shatter the man's helm and split his head open. The guard threw his shield up in the nick of time, and Owan's ax bounced off harmlessly. He grunted as the guard swung his sword. The tip carved a thick line through his armor, barely scratching the skin beneath. Had the guard been standing the blow would've taken Owan apart at the chest. The boy had always been lucky though. Of that there was no doubt.
Owan stepped back and allowed the guard to gain his feet. The older man charged forward, swinging both his shield and sword outwards. Owan sidestepped quickly and swung his empty fist; once again slamming his fist into the guard's helmet. His knuckles split open and he felt hot blood drip onto the dusty road. The guard turned quickly and shook his head. His eyes were slightly unfocused. Maybe the blows to the head had had an effect. Owan doubted it. Aside from the slight haziness in the man's eyes, he seemed as sharp as ever.
"You can't win boy!" He shouted. The clamor from the battle made a normal voice impossible. "I'll gut you like a fish!" He shouted again. Owan ignored the man's voice. The Bard had shouted worse on several occasions. He wouldn't let the guard get into his head. Instead, he focused on the man's movements. His body would give him away. That was something his mother had taught him when he'd first started fighting. If you focused hard enough, you'd notice when your opponent slipped up. Sweat was pouring down his face; the sun was beating down on his back. That'd been another bit of good luck. With the sun at his back, the guard would have trouble getting a good look at him.
The guard dashed forward again, keeping his shield up to the very last second before lashing out with his short sword. Owan jerked the ax reflexively, blocking the sword just inches from his face. The guard grunted angrily and swung outward with his shield. Owan jumped to the side and jerked his ax down. The guard howled as Owan's ax sliced through his elbow, leaving behind a jagged stump. Owan reversed the ax's direction and slammed the back of the blade into the man's head, bending his helm and sending him to the ground. The world seemed to slow as the guard turned his face up to the sun. Owan's heart was pounding, and his eyes were clouded with sweat and rage.
"M-m-mercy," the guard said, dropping his sword to cradle his ruined arm. Owan looked down at him. His lip curled into an unbidden sneer and he raised the ax above his head. The guard screamed for mercy again as Owan brought the ax down. It crashed through the top of the man's helmet, splitting his skull and spraying a fine mist of blood into the summer air. Owan licked his lips, tasting the mixture of blood and sweat. Deep in his stomach he felt sick, but he felt something else...something he'd never felt before.
As much as he didn't want to...he couldn't help but relish in the feeling.