Ambush!
Noise--screaming--shouting--it's too damned early for this! Krissen sat up in bed and yawned, then looked out of her tent to see what the commotion was.
Great Mother, they're attacking the camp!
She dressed just enough that she was presentable, and fixed her sword and scabbard to her belt. She slid her riding boots onto her bare feet, knowing that they'd be terribly sweaty, but she didn't know if she had the time to find socks. Was the way to the stable still open?
Fortunately, it was. She ran to the stable and saddled her horse, Starsong, as quickly as possible. Others in the company were there, preparing their horses and riding out to fight the ambushers.
They thought they had defeated these bandits soundly enough to scare them off--why were they launching such an attack now, and where did they come up with all these men? Krissen didn't know there was that much scum in the world!
She drew her sword and muttered a Scanran curse. She was happy that she had not been drinking last night, or this would have been even more unpleasant to wake up to. Not that things could get much worse…
The bastards must've planned this. Let us think we've won, then catch us off guard. And we fell for it, like a fish taking bait… she spurred Starsong grimly and rode into the thick of the battle.
Kris took down a few of the bandits, but they kept coming, and there was no way that their troops could take them all! She fought her hardest, slashing with all her strength and thanking the gods that her horse was well enough trained to keep her on its back. She shared the opinion with most mercs that the only good fight was a fair one, and this was not a fair fight!
You don't last long in this business with high ideals and morals, but we do have some honor, which is more than I can say for these bandits! Well, there's one benefit there, at least. I needn't feel guilty about killing them. All too often, Kris found herself pitted against someone like her, fighting because they'd been hired, only luck putting them opposing her. It was just he job to try to kill them, as it was their job to come after her. And then, in the next campaign, the same people might be fighting beside her.
What a business we run here. But I didn't have a choice, I certainly couldn't join the regular army. And what other job could I have taken? Still, it was no consolation for her lonely life in the company. She tried not to get too close to anyone else in the company, knowing that they might be killed in the next month, week, or even day. Avoiding contact had become a reflex…
There was no other road she could have taken, though. She was good at the flute, but not nearly good enough to be a bard. She had learned to sew, but that was usually a wreck. She was useful in mending uniforms, but… I certainly wasn't suited to be the noble wife my parents wanted me to be. I'm awful with children, I don't like cooking, I can't dance, and I hate makeup. Still, this life is awful lonely, at times…
She cried out, a wordless scream of pain as a sword bit into her arm. She whirled around to neatly behead her assailant, then looked down to assess the damage.
Oh, Mithros. It must've gone almost halfway through… Red blood stained the white sleeve of her uniform, and the pain was nearly enough to make her lose consciousness.
"Got…to…keep fighting…" she grunted through clenched teeth. "Must…stop…them…" It wasn't encouraging her much, though. "Can't let…these damn bandits…win…" She kept herself going by telling herself what they'd do if she weren't there to fight. For some reason, death didn't frighten her now—it only did after a battle, when she realized how close she had been. But there might not be a chance to remember for her…
She ripped the other sleeve off her shirt and used it as a bandage, at least temporarily slowing the bleeding. Then she plunged into the thick of the battle again, the pain almost too much to bear, but she had to. She had to fight…
Krissen deflected another attack, but the sword meant for her took her horse instead. Starsong went down with a cry of agony, and Kris took a moment to catch her breath. She could already smell blood, and the filth of these bandits was almost too much to bear in itself, but now a new scent entered her nose. It smelled like—what was that smell?
Smoke?
Great Mother!
She turned to see what she already knew she would see, but hoped she was wrong. Unfortunately, she wasn't. The healing tent was going up in flames!
A cold, deadly rage took over her. She forgot her pain, forgot the masses pressing around her, forgot everything but these damn bastards and what they had done.
They've broken every rule of war—every single rule of honor, and every rule of human compassion! They're inhuman. Scum. They'd kill their own grandmother for a copper penny—no, just for the sheer fun of killing. Her hair began to stand on end, as the air around her was glowing with deep gray fire, slowly pushing everything away from her. They're wrong. Scum like this shouldn't be allowed to exist. They're killing innocents, and they're doing it because they like it! I hate them, I hate everything about them, they deserve to die a thousand deaths and then endure eternal punishment in the Black God's realm!
Now her gray border erupted in white fire, in a circle around her that shot up several meters into the sky. She stood alone in the center, arms upraised, hair blowing in every direction, and glowing intensely. A storm gathered, and lightning struck the space between her upraised hands, where it stopped, convulsing, waiting for a command. Kris's eyes were closed—her targets were in her mind, and she could see every one of them perfectly. She sent gray lighting down the neck of the bandit that took down her horse, and the other members of her company gaped in shock as lighting struck their enemies.
Within the circle of fire was an area of calm—other than the lightning that crackled in Kris's hands, it was like the eye of the storm. With the lighting storm came rain, dousing the flames in the healing tent. Lighting continued to strike, but it never hit a member of the mercenary company. Finally, the storm subsided, when only a few bandits were left standing, and those were in enough shock to be easily captured by the remaining mercs for later questioning. The leader was dead—Kris had paid special attention to his death, and his charred remains were nearly unrecognizable.
As the storm subsided, the wall of fire also died, and those who were looking saw it fall just in time to see Kris collapse, all signs of magic gone, just a pathetic-looking body sprawled on the ground.
"May they get what they deserve…" she whispered hoarsely, then consciousness left her completely, and she met with welcome darkness.