What Doesn't Kill You
CHAPTER THREE
1
The goat boy looked up at the sudden disturbance of the goats— someone had trespassed on his rocky crag of the mountain.
"'Ey! Who are you?" He shouted at the black figure moving in the night. Marco, who had been quietly sitting behind one of the boulders and tracing the ancient glyphs with his fingers, said nothing.
Neither did the goat boy, but that may have been due to the stranger's arrow in his chest.
The stranger continued moving, but sent someone towards Marco's hiding place.
Marco did not stand. He did not move as the figure approached. He did not make a sound. He had hidden from people more intent on finding him in broad daylight. The cave under the boulder had always made a good bolthole if people came too close.
The figure saw his shadow, though, and Marco went scrambling up the side of the outcropping. His hands slipped grabbing a few rocks and they went tumbling down upon his assailant.
He managed to reach the top, sending a few scattered rocks down. He went careening down the other side of the mountain, hoping to reach the valley below in time to warn people of the company of raiders.
He slipped; the strange came tumbling down after him. Marco jumped over a boulder in the field and ran through the forest, hoping to lose them there. He ran through the forest stream and headed to the picnicking fields near his home.
The man continued to follow.
He ran through the thin dirt lane, jumping over whatever obstacles he encountered. By now, he was nearly out of breath and they were closer behind than ever.
He slammed into the well beside the tavern on the southern edge of town, his hands desperately gripping the edge to keep himself from falling in and the figure slowed to stop.
"Thanks for the good run, kid." He said. "It all ends here."
Marco barely understood the words through the thick accent. He managed to run around the would-be attacker and entered the tavern.
In Between
Pan reined his horse in and ignored its whinny of protest as they stopped and faced the dark rider, who had entered with three other scouts.
"News?" Pan asked gruffly. Though rich and resonant, his voice did not carry across the clearing where the pack of raiders camped.
One scout cleared his throat and said, quietly. "I believe a… child may have alerted the town to our presence."
Another turned to him, speaking in a feminine voice, "A child? Didn't Kimahri shoot one down?"
"There was another. He ran, I gave chase. The pest ran into a tavern." Replied the first scout.
Pan sighed. His scouts, while good at tracking and just generally scouting around, were bad about letting people see them. This was the sixth village Callosus had lost to then with his ineptitude at tracking and silencing witnesses. But maybe no loss, Pan thought hopefully. Boys were known to tell tales; mayhaps the villagers would not believe him.
2
The barkeep gazed down at Marco, whose brown eyes were wide and scared. The lad had never told tales, preferring to tell the truth, but he just couldn't bring himself to believe it. No one had ever raided Winhill.
The strange traveler with red hair asked quietly, "How many were there?"
"I saw four. One of them killed the goat boy." Marco replied.
A mercenary snorted and replied, "Four isn't enough to raid."
"Scouts," mused the traveler.
Marco blinked. "Scouts?"
"Aye. Their leader is wise enough to scout around and be make for certs that there be no one here to kill them all."
"And how know you this?" Asked the mercenary.
"Common sense and more years of fighting than you'll see, Iocus willing." The traveler said softly, sighing.
The mercenary was silent for a long while. Silence reigned, apparently, for no one said a word.
"Very well, old man." The traveler cringed at the mercenary's words. "If you are so convinced of the truth of the boy's words, then track them down." The mercenary turned to Marco. "Off with ye, lad."
Marco nodded and fled the tavern.
*
He waited in the shadows as the old traveler exited the tavern— he had waited to see if anyone would believe him. However, he hadn't thought the old man would accept the mercenary's challenge. And even if the traveler had, Marco didn't think him to be in the physical condition to fight a band of men, scouts or not.
Just as Marco formed the thought, the form of the traveler dissolved, reemerging as a tall, redheaded man with a sword at his side and strange hair. The man cocked his head to one side, an odd expression flitting across his face.
"Silence. I'll hear none of your lies." He said after a moment. He then turned and looked directly at Marco. "Come out, boy. I'll not harm you."
Marco only reluctantly stepped out of the shadows. "How did you know I was here?"
"Finding a tall boy is an easy enough task. Tracking down a scout will be only slightly more difficult."
Marco remained silent at this declaration.
The man looked at him one last time, and then walked towards the town exit.
*
Ashley slunk through the woods, confident in his ability as a former Riskbreaker to conceal his noise. He hated raider jobs; there were always entirely too few and the raiders were entirely too arrogant.
The camp, when he reached it, was easy to find due to the sound and smell. Most forests without camps of raiders did not stink of human excrement and the rotting carcasses of various animals hunted for sport.
That and their foul intentions attracted the Dark's indicators: snowflies.
Ashley glared down at the camp. Some fool had built a large fire. Even now, their leader struggled to put it out. He walked calmly down the hill.
He reached their leader before he could look up.
"I see two options before you. You may surrender and survive, or you may fight. Each and every one of you will die, in the last case," Ashley said coldly. He wished the man would choose to fight. It would make things that much more interesting.
Despite his outward wish for peace, Ashley prayed they would fight. He wanted— no craved— no damn it all he needed a blood bath. It would be almost as good as sleep, real sleep, when he hadn't been sucked into the Grey.
"Fight," the man growled.
"Your name?" Ashley asked. "I would like to know it before you die."
"I am Panteleimon."
And before anyone could move, or even scream, Panteleimon died with Ashley's sword in his gut.
And then, for the raiders at least, it all went to hell in a carriage full of horse dung.
Four fell beneath his sword as he cleaved in it an arc around him. They died with battle cries on their lips, the fools.
One more rushed him, a man. The man appeared to be crying and he nearly managed to slice a bit of him with an oddly shaped blade. The curvature was like nothing he'd ever seen before; he'd have to confiscate it from his corpse.
Ashley wasted no time in getting through him than he had Panteleimon. He got through the man in almost no time and continued on to three others.
They lasted no longer than the others. Not one of them even managed to come close to landing a hit; he had cleaved their heads from their necks before they could even threaten him.
Noise came from a tent, like a little girl's crying. He caught the words "Pan" and "Manya," and something that sounded like "want to go home."
He did not duck inside the tent, instead standing in clear view on the outside. The tent's makings were thin, and he could see vague shadows of two women.
He cleared his throat— he would not slaughter women as they sat defenseless. He wasn't sure he could kill two potentially noncombatant females. Something about the thought made his stomach turn and the Dark scream with rage.
One poked her head out of the tent. Her dark hair and eyes lent her a dangerous appearance. "Who are you?" She asked warily.
"Ashley Riot," Ashley replied simply. "I will not fight an unarmed woman. If you come out peacefully, I will not kill you."
"You killed Pan and Jal. So kill me as well." The woman said, exiting the tent fully.
The second woman came flying out of the tent at the first woman's words. She held the woman back, pleading in a child's voice. "Please, Manya. Don't leave me all alone." The woman begged, and Ashley realized that she was thirteen at the most— certainly not a woman.
"Have you that little faith in me?" Asked the older woman, now identifiable as Manya.
"Manya… please. Don't fight." The girl begged, the sound of tears in her voice.
"I have to, Laveda. Now be quiet and don't get any foolish ideas in that pretty little head of yours." Manya replied, pushing the girl away. "If I die, you'll let her be?"
"Aye. I will not kill a noncombatant." Ashley replied reassuringly. He had not said the word 'kill' before Manya attacked. Her sword managed to slash him in the stomach and Ashley parried her next blow, using the momentum to run her through.
'Laveda' fell to her knees and curled into a ball, sobbing. Ashley couldn't help but pity the girl. She had obviously been a pet to the leaders of this raiding bunch, and had learned to love them.
And, of course, now she had no one to care for her.
Ashley silently extended a hand to her. She looked up at him through bleary, lifeless eyes, but reached for his hand anyway.
End
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Final notes are will come later, but I'm pleased over all with the way I ended this. It's the first VS chapter fic I've ever finished. And many, many thanks to Jack for helping me start it. He got me through a whole lot of rough spots in these chapters. And doing bullet style was more effective.
Wow. I almost totally jumped off the cliff here. No notes, no outline. Just a general idea of where I wanted to go. Wow…