New Arrival, Continued.
Berrial Forrest sung a morose tune this 'morn, a soft, lilting melody of still-sleepy birds of the flock and lazy crickets, just awakening from there short nightly slumber: The forest was still coming to, and would not be fully risen and alive for another hour or two perhaps, and so its song was muted, hushed, quiet. Dace listened, and felt a presence with the forest that didn't feel....right. He'd been wrong before about such "intuitions", but something deep inside of him turned, unsettling his mind and placing him on edge far more than he'd wish to admit to. The journey had only just begun, and yet he was sure that something out there had not slept with the forest these last few nights. No...it had been waiting.
Waiting for him.
This was why he had wished for Vall's company, and now more than ever he'd regretted being so curt with him the previous evening: Dace rode alone along the damp dirt track, his steed making light work of the uneven ground and tangles of roots, which seemingly conspired against it and cause it to fall, to the best of its ability. When dawn had fully come, there was no sight of Vall at the North gate, and his mount could not be found within the ramshackle of a stable that Mar Salem called its own. Evidently, Dace had thought, three hundred pieces of gold was not enough to sooth the rash of his company. He chuckled a little at this...the thought of a choosy mercenary was not something he'd ever thought he'd end up encountering. So Dace rode alone today. He was not unprepared for it. He listened on.
-snap-
His mount stopped dead, a quick tug on its reigns sending the message to it loud and clear. The sound of the twig snapping somewhere to his far left somehow caused that feeling inside him to lurch upwards, engulfing his stomach, causing it to seemingly stir and not in an entirely pleasant fashion. Dace slowly, casually leaned forward, his arm reaching out to the right-hand side of his mount's barding, inspecting it to make sure that it hadn't suddenly become loose. His weight shifted to one side of the horse.
-thwip-
He heard it just in time, which meant that he was able to relax his body before it tensed up of its own accord: He fell hard to his right, his body weight carrying him over and down in to the dirt as the arrow shot across his body, passing through the place where his head had been moments before and embedding itself deep within the bark of a nearby tree. The heavy, solid thud of its impact gave Dace the impression that it was made out of something more precious than wood, but the thought didn't have time to settle upon his mind: With a whinny his mount reared up to up its full height, towering over Dace as he lay sprawled across the dirt track, desperately trying to unhook his crossbow from the saddle. Terrified, its instincts took over, and its mass suddenly obscured Dace's vision of the sky above him: It was going to crush him and bolt for it.
-thwip-
It was never given the chance to do either: As it shifted its weight forward and came crashing down towards him, Dace heard the second arrow fly, and a fraction of a second later the horse was carried sideways to the right as it slammed into its flank, shattering the metal barding that was meant to protect it from such attacks and penetrating deep into the animal's chest. It screeched in pure agony, its entire body twisting in on itself as it lurched down and away from Dace, its body making a dulled crash as it toppled to the floor. Dace had counted five seconds in-between the first shot and the second, but the third was going to come much faster now: He'd stayed still on the ground for too long now to present a difficult shot anymore. He rolled to his right, scrambling over the still warm corpse of his mount, praying that it was enough cover and that his crossbow wasn't buried beneath its dead weight. If it was, he was as good as dead.
It wasn't.
-thwip-
The third shot skimmed across the top of horse's flank and snagged itself on the edge of Dace's cape, which was still catching up with it's wearers movements. Dace felt something tug hard against his back, and a moment later he realised that his cape was no longer on him: He looked to his right a little and saw it attached to a tree some thirty yards past the path, its burgundy tones a beacon of colour against the bark of the forest as it fluttered slightly in the breeze. Dace turned over to his left and glanced at the shaft of the arrow that was still embedded in his cover: He took a gamble and reached over the horse, grabbing the stiff plumes and shunting the shaft out of the corpse. The arrowhead came out with it. It was made out of ebony. The knot in Dace's stomach got a little bit tighter.
That had been four seconds, he thought: Exceedingly slow for a master marksman, but no wonder now that he knew what he was being assailed with: To notch and launch such a heavy arrow, obviously chosen for its armour- piercing qualities, was no simple or swift task. He had meant to have been killed in the first shot. The fact that he hadn't made him think that he was dealing with someone he could handle. Perhaps.
Reaching for his crossbow, he unhooked it from the saddle and slotted its stock underneath his right arm, laying it flat across his chest. He brought his left leg up and placed his foot against its crescent, and with a grunt pushed his foot down and brought the bolt-holder up, until the chords were taught. He placed the bolt into the holder, and brought his raised knee back into cover, just in time, he thought: It's had taken four seconds to do. He'd wait for the shot to sail past where his knee was, judge the spot where it had come from, and let fly with his bolt. It was his only chance.
Six seconds passed.
-thwip-
Dace had had his attention focused upon the spot just above his left knee, his body tensed as he readied himself to leap upwards and let loose his shot, and so he only knew of the arrows true path when he heard the crisp shriek of arrow shearing barding, bone and then...induril. Dace screamed.
The ebony arrow had travelled straight through the corpse-cover, it's master having obviously pulled back on his bow as far as he possibly could to give it the extra power it needed to punch through four layers of resistance and still stay true to his aim. With fading vision, Dace saw the shaft sticking out oh his left arm at an ugly angle just below the shoulder. He tried to move it, and had to bite down hard on his lip to contain the shriek of pain that leapt out not just from his arm, but also the side of his chest...with a feeling that chilled his entire body, he saw that the shaft had travelled clean through his arm and pierced his torso, pinning it just below the armpit. The pain rang out through his battered body like a shrieking bell, tolling his fate to the forest. Dimly, a thought came to him from behind the shroud that was falling down over his gaze as he struggled to keep conscious: He'd like to die standing.
Trying as best as he could to blot out the agony that exploded outwards from his arm, he began to rise. Using the stock of his crossbow as a support, Dace dragged himself to his feet: His face was awash with sweat, and he felt as if he was going to topple over if he tried to lift his crossbow, but with a hateful hiss that seethed from out behind his clenched teeth he raised it and stood tall, and rested the weapon's shaft on the crux of his useless left arm. He picked a spot, and pulled the trigger.
-Clunk-thap!-
The bolt sailed off into the darkness...whether that darkness was of the forest's making or his own failing mind he never found out. He heard the final arrow fly.
-thwip-
Dace felt something rush past his head and saw the plume of an arrow hurtle towards where he'd just fired. A second later a shriek pierced the forest, and then everything went very, very quiet. Wondering how his second assailant, who must have been behind him all along, could have missed such an easy shot, Dace slumped to his knees and fell atop the cooling flank of his dead horse. Dimly, he was aware that he was being turned over onto his side. As he stared upwards, the slightly familiar shape of Vall stood over him. His face was impassive; unreadable.
"Dace, wake up. We need to get you to a healer, fast. You're dieing."
A thin smile touched Dace's lips.
"Followed me....all along...why?"
"I'll tell you later. Come on, I can't carry you as dead weight on my own, you've got to get up and help me."
"Back to....Salem?"
"No.....to Ald Rhun."
Memories flashed through Dace's mind: Dust-storms, skaa, dumner...everywhere. Blood-red skies and the cracked, pitted ground of a deadened land. And then all was blank.
Berrial Forrest sung a morose tune this 'morn, a soft, lilting melody of still-sleepy birds of the flock and lazy crickets, just awakening from there short nightly slumber: The forest was still coming to, and would not be fully risen and alive for another hour or two perhaps, and so its song was muted, hushed, quiet. Dace listened, and felt a presence with the forest that didn't feel....right. He'd been wrong before about such "intuitions", but something deep inside of him turned, unsettling his mind and placing him on edge far more than he'd wish to admit to. The journey had only just begun, and yet he was sure that something out there had not slept with the forest these last few nights. No...it had been waiting.
Waiting for him.
This was why he had wished for Vall's company, and now more than ever he'd regretted being so curt with him the previous evening: Dace rode alone along the damp dirt track, his steed making light work of the uneven ground and tangles of roots, which seemingly conspired against it and cause it to fall, to the best of its ability. When dawn had fully come, there was no sight of Vall at the North gate, and his mount could not be found within the ramshackle of a stable that Mar Salem called its own. Evidently, Dace had thought, three hundred pieces of gold was not enough to sooth the rash of his company. He chuckled a little at this...the thought of a choosy mercenary was not something he'd ever thought he'd end up encountering. So Dace rode alone today. He was not unprepared for it. He listened on.
-snap-
His mount stopped dead, a quick tug on its reigns sending the message to it loud and clear. The sound of the twig snapping somewhere to his far left somehow caused that feeling inside him to lurch upwards, engulfing his stomach, causing it to seemingly stir and not in an entirely pleasant fashion. Dace slowly, casually leaned forward, his arm reaching out to the right-hand side of his mount's barding, inspecting it to make sure that it hadn't suddenly become loose. His weight shifted to one side of the horse.
-thwip-
He heard it just in time, which meant that he was able to relax his body before it tensed up of its own accord: He fell hard to his right, his body weight carrying him over and down in to the dirt as the arrow shot across his body, passing through the place where his head had been moments before and embedding itself deep within the bark of a nearby tree. The heavy, solid thud of its impact gave Dace the impression that it was made out of something more precious than wood, but the thought didn't have time to settle upon his mind: With a whinny his mount reared up to up its full height, towering over Dace as he lay sprawled across the dirt track, desperately trying to unhook his crossbow from the saddle. Terrified, its instincts took over, and its mass suddenly obscured Dace's vision of the sky above him: It was going to crush him and bolt for it.
-thwip-
It was never given the chance to do either: As it shifted its weight forward and came crashing down towards him, Dace heard the second arrow fly, and a fraction of a second later the horse was carried sideways to the right as it slammed into its flank, shattering the metal barding that was meant to protect it from such attacks and penetrating deep into the animal's chest. It screeched in pure agony, its entire body twisting in on itself as it lurched down and away from Dace, its body making a dulled crash as it toppled to the floor. Dace had counted five seconds in-between the first shot and the second, but the third was going to come much faster now: He'd stayed still on the ground for too long now to present a difficult shot anymore. He rolled to his right, scrambling over the still warm corpse of his mount, praying that it was enough cover and that his crossbow wasn't buried beneath its dead weight. If it was, he was as good as dead.
It wasn't.
-thwip-
The third shot skimmed across the top of horse's flank and snagged itself on the edge of Dace's cape, which was still catching up with it's wearers movements. Dace felt something tug hard against his back, and a moment later he realised that his cape was no longer on him: He looked to his right a little and saw it attached to a tree some thirty yards past the path, its burgundy tones a beacon of colour against the bark of the forest as it fluttered slightly in the breeze. Dace turned over to his left and glanced at the shaft of the arrow that was still embedded in his cover: He took a gamble and reached over the horse, grabbing the stiff plumes and shunting the shaft out of the corpse. The arrowhead came out with it. It was made out of ebony. The knot in Dace's stomach got a little bit tighter.
That had been four seconds, he thought: Exceedingly slow for a master marksman, but no wonder now that he knew what he was being assailed with: To notch and launch such a heavy arrow, obviously chosen for its armour- piercing qualities, was no simple or swift task. He had meant to have been killed in the first shot. The fact that he hadn't made him think that he was dealing with someone he could handle. Perhaps.
Reaching for his crossbow, he unhooked it from the saddle and slotted its stock underneath his right arm, laying it flat across his chest. He brought his left leg up and placed his foot against its crescent, and with a grunt pushed his foot down and brought the bolt-holder up, until the chords were taught. He placed the bolt into the holder, and brought his raised knee back into cover, just in time, he thought: It's had taken four seconds to do. He'd wait for the shot to sail past where his knee was, judge the spot where it had come from, and let fly with his bolt. It was his only chance.
Six seconds passed.
-thwip-
Dace had had his attention focused upon the spot just above his left knee, his body tensed as he readied himself to leap upwards and let loose his shot, and so he only knew of the arrows true path when he heard the crisp shriek of arrow shearing barding, bone and then...induril. Dace screamed.
The ebony arrow had travelled straight through the corpse-cover, it's master having obviously pulled back on his bow as far as he possibly could to give it the extra power it needed to punch through four layers of resistance and still stay true to his aim. With fading vision, Dace saw the shaft sticking out oh his left arm at an ugly angle just below the shoulder. He tried to move it, and had to bite down hard on his lip to contain the shriek of pain that leapt out not just from his arm, but also the side of his chest...with a feeling that chilled his entire body, he saw that the shaft had travelled clean through his arm and pierced his torso, pinning it just below the armpit. The pain rang out through his battered body like a shrieking bell, tolling his fate to the forest. Dimly, a thought came to him from behind the shroud that was falling down over his gaze as he struggled to keep conscious: He'd like to die standing.
Trying as best as he could to blot out the agony that exploded outwards from his arm, he began to rise. Using the stock of his crossbow as a support, Dace dragged himself to his feet: His face was awash with sweat, and he felt as if he was going to topple over if he tried to lift his crossbow, but with a hateful hiss that seethed from out behind his clenched teeth he raised it and stood tall, and rested the weapon's shaft on the crux of his useless left arm. He picked a spot, and pulled the trigger.
-Clunk-thap!-
The bolt sailed off into the darkness...whether that darkness was of the forest's making or his own failing mind he never found out. He heard the final arrow fly.
-thwip-
Dace felt something rush past his head and saw the plume of an arrow hurtle towards where he'd just fired. A second later a shriek pierced the forest, and then everything went very, very quiet. Wondering how his second assailant, who must have been behind him all along, could have missed such an easy shot, Dace slumped to his knees and fell atop the cooling flank of his dead horse. Dimly, he was aware that he was being turned over onto his side. As he stared upwards, the slightly familiar shape of Vall stood over him. His face was impassive; unreadable.
"Dace, wake up. We need to get you to a healer, fast. You're dieing."
A thin smile touched Dace's lips.
"Followed me....all along...why?"
"I'll tell you later. Come on, I can't carry you as dead weight on my own, you've got to get up and help me."
"Back to....Salem?"
"No.....to Ald Rhun."
Memories flashed through Dace's mind: Dust-storms, skaa, dumner...everywhere. Blood-red skies and the cracked, pitted ground of a deadened land. And then all was blank.
