As I took flight toward Mount Tigerwolf, I could naught but question my sanity; I was barely a man myself, not ever having known the touch of a woman, and yet I was speeding toward what would almost certainly be a harsh demise. I wondered if, perhaps, Teo had somehow managed to indirectly manipulate me into making this fool's errand in his stead; but in my heart of hearts, I never doubted the truth. The young master was like a son to me, and his father had given me a life when mine own had all but left me, how could I not do everything in my power to see this righted? I might die, but at least my conscience would be clear; at least I would have died doing what I knew to be right. The gul-horse was swift and steady, its hooves an almost hypnotic thrum against the sandy soil as we made haste to the west toward Tolna Canal, and Mount Tigerwolf.
Once we crossed the canal bridge, the vast expanse of the Dano region's plains made for swift travel; for as far as I could see, the only objects on the horizon were the great disc of the pale moon, and Mount Tigerwolf, thrusting up at the night sky like a spear tip. The radiance of the huge full moon served to illuminate the empty plains for miles, creating a monochromatic tapestry of small hills and shallow dales. The harsh black and white scenery also made it impossible to spot snipers in blind cloaks, something I would discover after the fact.
Pressed low against the back of my gul-horse, the wind whipping past my ears, I could not hear the whistling of the arrows; I was blindly oblivious to them, until, one passed through the meat of my left arm and embedded itself in my mount's back. I felt no pain, just a numbness spreading through the fingers of that hand; my horse, however, cried out and began to wildly sprint forward, driven half mad by agony. I felt like I should have done something to free my arm from the animal, but I was too busy holding on for dear life as we careened across the expanse.
I could hear the arrows as they passed close, but they appeared to my eyes as small "poffs" of sand and grit as they struck the dusty soil around us. I felt a few of them slam into the beast's meaty haunches, missing me by inches, but it only served to further spur the maddened creature forward into their deadly hail. I hissed curses at the gul-horse as I jerked the reigns, trying to steer him away from the source of the arrows, but he would not obey; finally, it was the chance-placement of an arrow in the beast's eye that killed him. His knees buckled instantly and I found myself floating in space as the beast plunged to the ground in slow motion, pulling me by the arrow in my flesh as I was dragged under its body in mid death roll. I felt the animal's great weight strike my chest as if a giant stepped upon me, preventing me from taking in breath as my ribs compressed painfully. I saw stars explode behind my eyes.
I think I blacked out for an instant. When my vision cleared I was no longer under the animal, rather, lying several feet away. The arrow had broken off in the roll, tearing itself from my flesh as I was hurled away. I could see the gleam of bone in the wound, but the lack of feeling remained. More pressing, I could hear the cocky rumblings of approaching conversation, their coarse voices boasting over who had released the fatal arrow, and more importantly, debating over whether or not there had been a rider. My mission was still in play, but I would have to act swiftly.
I clamored over the dead animal and sliced the saddle's belt with my long knife, dragging the tack off the animal as I hurriedly scuttled to a nearby dale, keeping my profile as low as I was able. By the time the bandit snipers reached my gul-horse, I was nearly a league away. I pressed my back into the soil and, by the light of the moon, examined my arm; when the arrow had torn free it had taken some of the meat in my arm with it, no doubt the reason I could not feel anything from the elbow down. The bone was clearly broken, the arrow having placed itself between the larger and smaller of the pair upon entry, snapping them both on its way out. I would have to do something about the considerable blood loss occurring from the wound. I fished a potion from the saddle bag and poured it into the wound, then retrieved the splints and muslin from my field kit, splinting the broken bone and fashioning a sling much as I had seen the field doctors do.
Stuffing my field rations and potions into my bag, I abandoned the tack and crept from my dugout, keeping myself low as I scuttled away from the bandits, who had busied themselves looking for signs of a discarded block or saddle, any sign of a rider. Only once I was out of their sight did I straighten my stance and make a hasty run toward the mountain, following the line of tracks left by my would-be assassins. It took an hour longer than I would have liked, but eventually, I reached the foot of the mountain. With the moon behind it, I was blissfully immersed in liquid black shadow, rendering me invisible. Drawing my voluminous cloak around me, I began my ascent of the winding mountain path.
Remembering marching across Mount Seifu in my younger days, stumbling across uneven or unhewn stony paths, I was pleased to discover that the bandit's frequent passage up and down the mountain had created smooth, even trails to follow. I made quick time up the mountain, deviating from the path only as I found myself nearing the mouth of the bandit's lair, which was illuminated by lanterns and patrolled by two guards, one of which had fallen asleep. Creeping around the side, I took out the sleeping one first, snapping his neck and dragging him into the bushes while his ally was relieving himself elsewhere. The other, drawn by the rustling of the foliage, had barely peered into the shadows before I opened his neck with my knife.
He never even managed a sound.
Afterword, as I was wiping the blood onto their clothes, I remember feeling a sense of horror; this was not like me, I did not kill so readily. I felt possessed, betrayed by dark forces. And in a way, I was; somewhere within me, I knew that the babysitter would not be able to liberate his charge. The young master needed a warrior to save him, and so I would become.
Drawing his cloak around himself, Gremio stealthily entered the cavern mouth, squinting against the brightly lit interior, so different from the moonlit outside of the mountain path. He made sure to make each footfall as light as possible, rolling from heel to toe in smooth motions, determined to be soundless as he entered; the bandits of Mount Tigerwolf were said to be numerous and savage, like wild animals. Any fighting could bring the whole of the crew down on him at once.
"Yield!" Gremio turned sharply at the sound, spotting an approaching bandit. Unable to flee, he sank back into his cloak, trying his best to hide his face; within the emerald folds, he tightened his right hand around the handle of his axe, ready to strike. "Oi, who're you?" The rogue eyed the soldier suspiciously, "I haven't seen you round here before."
Gremio curled his mouth in a sneer, "So what? I've never seen you before, and I don't care. The only people I care to remember are the ones who owe me money; so, since I don't know who the hell you are, you should consider yourself lucky."
After sizing Gremio up for a few seconds, the thief laughed and slapped him on the shoulder, moving along on his way. "That's rich, pal, way rich."
The young soldier waited until the man was long gone to release the breath he was holding. Although he was confident that he could have taken him, the presence of a body would have set the hideout on alert. He continued on his path, moving deeper into the hideout, until he came upon the innermost sanctum of the bandit's hovel. From the shadows he saw Yarrovich, Geil Rugner's high general, engaged in a heated conversation with the bandit leader, Gaston. "I don't care whether or not you WANT to take care of the brat, it's your JOB."
"S' a nurse maid's job, you mean." Gaston crossed his muscular arms and turned away, "Mah men 'ave too much to worry abou' to devo' tahme to a bebe."
"Then kidnap some dirt farmer's daughter and drag her up here to mind him." Yarrovich grabbed the bandit's shoulder and spun him around, "The fight between McDohl and Rugner is tomorrow; once the Armored Calvary falls, I couldn't care less about a dead man's offspring."
"Eef tha bebe means so little to joo," Gaston swatted the soldier's hand away, "Than stop telling me how to do mah job. Tha bebe is locked up in mah wahne room, he can no' go ahnywhere."
His stomach knotting in anxiety, Gremio stealthily retreated from the shadowed alcove, back tracking toward the common area of the hideout. "Where's he going to keep his wine?" Gremio strained to remain calm; the young boy had gone with minimal care for almost five days now, enough to kill most children. "Stop thinking that way, Gremio," he chided himself, "Tir is a strong boy, you know that. It will take more than these lackadaisical babysitters to do him in. Focus on the wine; it would have to be kept cool, and dark to engender proper aging. What else would they keep in a cool, dark room? Prisoners . . . wine . . . food stores." Inhaling deeply, he followed his nose toward the scent of hot food, the bandit commissary.