Chapter VI: Resistance strikes
Dead silence fell over the men. Their fear, already at the bursting point, was being let loose. Had the rumors been true? Would they be skinned alive and eaten by unseen demons? Would their souls be sucked into the spiraling vortex of hell? Only time could tell. For now they looked madly around themselves, and into the endless prison of mist and aging trees hoping that they would not be torn to pieces. Tarus did not fear, although he knew that he was not they were not the only ones in these woods. He gripped his reigns tightly ready to jump at the first sign of assailants, and slowly reached for his sword. The sound of his sword being drawn was the only thing that was heard, and the sight of the action told the bandits that danger was close. Silence rolled over the woods again.
"SNAP!" a twig broke and the bandits went wild. A small army of assassin's leaped out of the trees bordering the path. It was utter chaos. The group was so crowded no one could see where their opponents were. Every few moments a soldier would fall with a yelp and be trampled by the men who were trying to scramble farther up the path toward their leader. Tarus rode forward, accompanied by Cyloncrius, toward an open grove ahead of them. As he rode forward, Tarus looked back to see the thinning ranks, but quickly lept from his horse before he had time to look for the assassins. His steed fell to the ground beside him with a thud, which was muffled by the soft, mossy earth. A black arrow was embedded deep into the mounts eye that was bleeding profusely. Sounds of terrified screams were accompanied by the noise of faint sword clashes. The chaos sounded somewhat distant, a sign that these assassins were well trained.
Eventually the remaining bandits had emptied into the grove where they cowered behind Tarus and the king, but the assassins remained at the entrance to the grove whipping their swords around playfully. It was a simple task for which they were getting paid, so far. Tarus skimmed over the remaining ranks of bandits, of which there couldn't have been more than thirty of the original hundred. Then he looked back at the bandit king, whose eyes were wide at the prospect of his best men being slaughtered so easily. The center assassin, who appeared to be the leader, spoke in a heavy accent, "You there. On the horse," the assassin motioned to Cyloncrius, "fight me. I get a bonus for your head." The assassins laughed in sly snickers. He looked the man over. The assassin was dressed in the typical garb of his trade, a full black outfit and a black sash covering his entire head. Only the assassin's eyes were visible, and they glared in a menacing way that sent chills to the king's spine. He tried to snap out of his fear, he was the king of all bandits, and he feared nothing, or so said the bandits. The king's head ached, and he was beginning to feel dizzy, but he managed to draw his sword and trudge towards his opponent. The assassin wasted no time. He lept into the air holding his saber high in the air, ready to cleave the king's skull in two, but Cyloncrius was not that paralyzed. He quickly held his sword up to parry the attack and lept forward with a straight stab to the heart. The assassin dodged the blow and kicked the king's feet out from under him throwing him to the marshy ground. The assassin followed through with a downward stab. Cyloncrius was losing the battle but he wouldn't let this be the end. He lept up and grabbed the arms of his attacker with a brutal grip stopping the hit, but the assassin put his weight into the strike slowly forcing his blade ever closer to the kings neck. The cold steel finally made contact with the throat of Cyloncrius. The king felt a stinging pain on his neck as he let out a fierce cry. Warm blood began to flow over the king's collar. The bandits could only watch helplessly, anticipating the shameful end of their leader. The assassin smiled under his mask, almost feeling the gold in his hands, but suddenly he stopped his triumphant bliss. Tarus had his sword raised above his head. The Sword of Aeons' black blade sped through the air at ungodly speed and slice clean through the assassin piercing his heart and spurting a fountain of blood into the air. The other assassins looked in horror as Tarus walked briskly towards the body of the assassin. Tarus drew the bloodstained sword out of the lifeless carcass and turned to the cowering Cyloncrius. He gripped him by the collar and lifted him closely to his face, "I have needs for you," he said as he threw the king back toward the group of bandits.
The assassins shakily assumed fighting stance as the dark figure of Tarus approached. Tarus remained unaffected by the fact that ten well trained, and disciplined killers surrounded him. He closed his eyes, almost peacefully, as the assassins merely looked on, confused. Slowly they approached him, with sabers drawn, while inside the mind of Tarus churned a mysterious force. It slowly yet violently flew about within him until it branched down his spine and sent a tingle into every nerve that he had. He focused for a moment more and then opened his eyes; they were filled with a sly menace. What the bandits saw astounded them beyond anything that they had seen, or even dreamed. Instantly a wall of what can only be described as pure force emanated from the very air surrounding Tarus. It threw the assassins back rendering three of them dead from the severe blow. The rest lay sprawled about on the ground. Magic! Once the assassins regained their footing Tarus was upon them. His blade sang as it flew threw the attackers. A barrage of quick stabs ended the life of the first man, and a slash across the face ended the next. The assassins remained still expecting Tarus to do the same, but no. He shattered the skull of the assassin standing closest to him with a bitter punch from an armored fist. The other assassins could not deny their defenselessness any longer. They turned and fled, as fast as they could, but Tarus was done forgiving. He ran to the bandits and grabbed a bow from one of the dumfounded men. He quickly faced the fleeing foes, drew it to the extreme draw length and released without taking a moment to aim. The arrow sped a miraculously long distance and pierced the assassin who was in the back of the line of fearful men who were fleeing down the murky path, but the arrows journey did not end there. It continued on, tearing clean through the man who dropped dead instantly, and hit the next one in the back ending the assassins life with a silent fury. Tarus, whose rage had not been quenched, did not end his slaughter then. He sped down the path with inhuman speed, especially despite his full suit of armor. The assassins could hear their killer's deep pants as he drew nearer. They knew they were about to die.
The bandits heard multiple far of cries of pain that came form the dense ocean of mist and trees. Eventually Tarus emerged from the darkness. His breastplate was drenched in blood, and his sword, covered in chunky entrails, was still drawn. The bandits stood silent, and wide-eyed as Tarus approached Cyloncrius, who was tending to the deep gash on his neck with a cloth. Tarus looked at him for a short moment, took the cloth, wiped his blade with it, and handed it back to the king, who was painfully groping at his bloody wound. The army was deathly quiet. They all looked with a deep fear upon the man before them, and then at the moaning and half weeping man that was their king. Tarus walked towards the king's horse and mounted it while looking at the bandits. They were all bruised, bloodied and dirty. "Ten assassins. Ten lowly pustules of life killed forty of your army?" Tarus said to the king in a sarcastically cruel peacefulness. Tarus' face contorted into an angry glare. He thrust out his boot in a livid rage. The king moaned as he held his jaw that was now surely broken. "You are not fit to live you pigs!" Tarus yelled, "You sat drinking merrily while I told you that it would lead to your death! I will make this short because you are not worthy of a minute of time. You will die, I will live, you might as well die fighting." With that Tarus began riding down the path ever onwards towards Greatwood, where he perceived that he would meet his last ally, that is, if the king of the bandits, for his sake, had been truthful.
Tarus disappeared into the mist, but Cyloncrius and the bandits did not move. They merely stood quaking, still shocked at the past events. A faint, hushed, whistling cracked the air as an arrow flew out of the fog and struck a bandit in the forehead. The bandits were sufficiently motivated. He lept to their feet and quickly ran to their unwanted leader.
review...you know you liked it. A short note about length: sorry about short chapters, I think of a chapter as a main body of collected thoughts. If that makes sense.