"No further."
The voice was loud and echoed clearly in the trees, but the speaker was nowhere to be seen. The swordsmen swung their heads rapidly from side to side, peering into the shadows and between the trees to look for the him. The voice was unmistakably male, with a menace to it that had caused the men to stop in their tracks as they had heard it.
"Show yourself!" the lead swordsman called, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, beginning to loosen it in its sheath.
"Another inch and I'll put a hole in your hand."
The man wavered but didn't remove his hand from the sword. After a moment of pause, he replied, "You may be able to hide, but I'm not sure you're capable of that, friend."
He had barely finished the sentence when an arrow materialized in his flowing purple cloak, snatching the rim and tearing the fabric clean off his shoulders. The arrow had such force behind it that it continued carrying the cloak until it buried itself into the trunk of a tree behind him. Instinctively, the man drew his sword, holding it with both hands, and tried to locate where the arrow had come from.
Before he could even begin to look, another arrow flew out of the trees, just as fast as the first, and slammed into the hilt of the man's sword, knocking it clean out of his grip and sprawling onto the ground below.
A man melted out of the trees; shorter than the average, with a massive longbow in his hands, held idly but already with another arrow nocked to the string. Dominating most of his form was a huge cloak, tightly woven with wool, mottled with seemingly random patches of greys and greens, which caused his form to shimmer and sometimes disappear disconcertingly as he moved out of the treeline.
A brown leather tunic was visible under the cloak, and a strange leather scabbard hung at his waist, with two knives holstered: a larger, flatter saxe, and a smaller, thinner one. A quiver peered over his left shoulder, bristling with arrows. His face was concealed, even in the noon sun, by the cowl that covered his head and face, hiding them deep in shadow.
"For the record, I am not your friend."
The swordsman wavered, taking a slight step backwards. As he did, he saw a slight flash of metal in the sunlight as the man shifted to watch him. Examining it more closely, he saw it was a jagged silver shape - an oakleaf.
Understanding flowed through the man and his eyes widened. He braced to run when the Ranger turned his attention to another man, but he must have noticed the movement.
"Even if I did get distracted," he said mildly, "you would never make it to the trees."
The swordsman didn't doubt him for a moment. He resigned himself to the situation and relaxed slightly. "What do you plan to do with us?"
"I could kill you," the Ranger replied. "You're traitors to the Kingdom, you know. I have the authority."
A few of the half-dozen or so swordsmen gulped at that.
"But I think your trial would be fairer at Castle Araluen," he added, "than in the woods bordering the Fenway fief."
The Ranger nodded to himself, before continuing, "It was a clever plan. No sane person would ever consider chasing you through the Fens. But of course, you'd have to be insane to go through the Fens yourself. And fools to believe it would work, and that nobody had sent a ship to the beach to intercept you yet."
He paused for a moment. "It was a clever plan, but not every captain can be bought."
The swordsmen groaned as he spelled out their plan.
A group of knights had attempted to revolt against the baron of the appropriately-named Fenway fief, which bordered the Fens. These Fens helped prevent invaders - such as the Skandians - from invading the relatively undefended south-east portion of Araluen, but they were notoriously difficult to navigate for anyone but the Rangers, who had mapped them extensively. When their plot had been foiled, they had attempted to bribe the captain of one of the Araluan fleet's ships to sail round to the far side of the fens to pick them up and get them away from Araluen.
The Ranger turned his head to face the path behind him, then called, "It's them, all right, Battlemaster."
The sound of hooves began and it became obvious that Fenway's Battlemaster had been stationed around the next bend, likely with a number of cavalry to support him. The Ranger turned back casually, only to be confronted with the savage image of a man with nothing to lose running at him with a large sword.
He raised his longbow and drew it back in an instant, but did not release.
"Stop."
The man was beyond reason however, and kept coming. The Ranger still did not release, however, leaving the other swordsmen to watch with panicked fascination at the sight.
"Last chance," the Ranger warned again, as composed as ever. The man kept coming, brandishing the sword high, ready to bring an overhead cut down on the smaller man.
At the last moment, the Ranger dropped his longbow, the arrow clattering to the ground. With one fluid motion, he snatched the two knives from their scabbard, bringing them up together, and crossed them above his head; the saxe supported by the smaller knife. The swordsman man threw his energy into the savage overhead blow, only to find it was stopped entirely by the crossed knives. He stared at the Ranger in astonishment.
"That's a terrible waste of a sword," he said simply, a note of sadness in his voice.
The swordsman withdrew from the attack and instead threw a side cut at him, but that was similarly blocked. Growling, he feinted cut from the left and changed to a whirling overhead blow, but the Ranger predicted it and blocked it easily.
"If you keep this up, you're going to ruin your sword," the Ranger insisted.
The man moved away and changed tactics. He threw himself into a thrust, knowing the Ranger's block would be ineffective. The Ranger gave a small sigh of disappointment as he saw the attack, batting it away with the saxe. Suddenly, without any resistance for the sword, the man stumbled forward, straight into the waiting Ranger's iron grip. He knocked the sword, now full of nicks from the impacts with the two knives, from the startled man's hand and brought the smaller knife up to his throat.
"I told you you'd ruin your sword," he chided him from underneath the cowl which, even at such close proximity, concealed his entire face.
The cavalry had reached them now, and the Ranger contemptuously released the man, who promptly collapsed into the dust. The man scrambled for his sword but the Ranger flicked it behind him to the feet of the waiting Battlemaster, just dismounting his battlehorse.
"Very impressive, Ranger," the man commented shakily. He'd been worried the Ranger wouldn't be able to hold his own against a swordsman, especially a knight.
"Battleschools train against the double knife defense, don't they?" the Ranger asked casually, sheathing his knives and collecting his bow and fallen arrow.
"Yes, but it's not an extensive course," the Battlemaster said. "It's not often we fight Rangers."
"Thankfully for the both of us," the Ranger added.
"Indeed," the Battlemaster nodded. "Now, let's deal with this scum."
He grabbed the fallen swordsman by the collar and dragged him to his feet. The other swordsmen had been disarmed and rounded up by the cavalry he had brought.
"Any excuses?" the Battlemaster asked gruffly.
The swordsman began to mumble some kind of sentence, but stopped when he realized it would only serve to embarrass him. He resigned himself to silence.
"I thought not." The Battlemaster released him, but this time he managed to stay on his feet.
"Collect their weapons," he said to the cavalry. "We'll bring them to the castle for tonight and set off for Araluen tomorrow."
