Midnight's Ambush

"Stop it!" Peerha thundered. He sat bolt upright and grabbed someone's wrist. He heard a woman's voice scream shortly before he let go of the person. Peerha opened his eyes. A female healer was now standing some distance away from him, obviously shocked at his sudden awakening.

"Sorry ma'am, didn't mean to scare you. But that damp cloth you kept wiping over me was getting annoying." Peerha said, trying to fix the situation.

"I didn't mind you attacking me. It happens a lot in my business. I was more surprised that you had woken so soon."

"Why does that surprise you?" Peerha asked, looking for his gear. It was right beside him.

"Because Setther's dagger is enchanted to drain the life right out of you. That's why you blacked out so fast, and a normal person who took a hit like that would have been out for a week."

"How long was I out?" Peerha asked, sitting up.

"Two days."

"And where are we?" Peerha continued, who was running a belt and sheath through the belt loops on his pants.

"Somewhere East of Vivec, and there's not a town for miles."

"And how come we're not moving?" Peerha said, who noticed that they were sitting inside a wagon with a large domed curtain above there heads.

"Because we found a Black Hand encampment a mile away from here. The troops have already moved out."

"Have they begun to fight?" Peerha asked, speeding up the process of strapping on his weapons.

"How should I know?"

Peerha finished dressing and jumped out the wagon. He could clearly see the tracks of a hundred soldiers that marched off through the woods. Peerha chased after them, but stopped when the healer woman called out.

"Peerha! Be careful. I don't want to see you in here ever again."

----------------------------------

The night was calm and still in the encampment. A few fires crackled throughout the camp of seventy Black Hand cultists. Most were eating dinner, or gambling, while ten others were at guard duty. They kept a watchful eye on the dark forest around them, but they could not see the archers that were watching them.

"Hey Friing, quiet night tonight huh?" there was no answer to the sentry's call. "Friing?"

The sentry turned around to find Friing face down on the ground, an arrow protruding from the back of his skull. The sentry never had time to raise the alarm. At the moment that he had even begun to react, fifty-four arrows streamed into the encampment. Screams and shouts of alarm went into the air, and as the cultists tried to understand what was happening, another volley was sent.

"We're surrounded! Form a wall of defense." one cultist cried out. He was felled a second later.

But it was a second too late, as that single order had given the cultists enough sense to do something other than run around in panic. That something they did was exactly as the dead man had ordered. They quickly gathered boxes and shields as fast as they could. Within a minute they had a sizable square of boxes to form a perimeter. With that in place, they gathered shields and dug them into the crates, creating a small, thin steel wall of protection. All the while arrows had been raining down upon them. Once the wall of protection had been constructed, and the remaining cultists squeezed into it, there was only twenty of there number left to fight. The rest lay dead or dying in the encampment, and mostly around the makeshift barricade.

"Gather bows and crossbows and start firin' back. Hell, throw rocks at them, anything to survive!" someone yelled.

"We need to run back to base, that's what we need to do!" another answered.

"Forget it!" a third replied. "They're raining hell on us. Better off here than there."

Suddenly the arrows ceased to fire. An uneasy silence washed over them all. Some stuck there heads in the open for a split second and popped there heads back into safety. No one was shooting.

"Now's our chance!" the frantic man from earlier yelled. He and two others got up and ran from the protection and into the open. They got as far as seven steps when the unseen archers fired again, leaving them in the dirt along with their other fallen comrades.

"Dammit! Stay here or your dead!" said someone.

"You hear that?" the third replied.

"Hear what?" was the reply from another.

"That would be a battle cry. They are about to charge."

----------------------------

Peerha had finally gotten near to the fight when he stopped dead. Not because he'd just heard the battle cry; that would only have spurred him on. But because the moonlight that was filtering through the trees had just revealed to him a whole battalion of soldiers that belonged to the Black Hand. And all of them were sneaking up on the pre-occupied mercenary army led by Setther.

"Shit" Peerha hissed. He quickly crouched down and hid behind a large bush.

From what he could see, there had to be at least two hundred of them. Too much for him to handle, and possibly even too much for Setther's army to handle. But there was no way to get past them. He would have to go through them. Grimacing, Peerha drew his sword as silently as he could. This would certainly be no picnic.

"FIRE!" he bellowed.

Nearly all of the of the cultists hit the dirt, hiding from the volley of arrows that would never come. Peerha darted forward, past the cowering soldiers. He was halfway through the lines when they started to get back up. Peerha stepped on one's head and punched another as he stood up. At the other end of the army though, Peerha ran into a soldier who was waiting for him.

Peerha took his sword in two hands and tossed it at him. The surprised soldier dropped his own weapon and caught Peerha's. Meanwhile Peerha himself drew out his dagger and stabbed it forward, imbedding the weapon deep in the man's throat. Peerha took his sword back and continued running, faster than ever now that he had an angry army behind him.

"All men, spears out and get ready to flatten these bastards. On my call. Ready? CH-"

"STOP! Stop, in the name of the Gods, stop!"

The mercenaries who had been standing at the ready stood straight in confusion, looking behind them to see Peerha running towards them, his arms flapping like a bird. Setther's eyes burned with intense hate.

"What does this fool think he is doing?" Setther asked.

"He's getting our attention sir." said a nearby archer.

"That was rhetorical you idiot. I know perfectly well what he is trying to do. If he has a problem, he can take it up with me. Now, Charge!" Setther said, pointing at the encampment.

But it was too late. The attention was fixed upon Peerha, and so no one charged. They all wanted to know what the hell was going on. Setther took notice of this. "What's the matter! Crush them now."

"That would not be wise Setther." Peerha said, finally reaching him.

"Oh? It would take an army to stop me from destroying that small band of cultists." Setther replied.

"Is that one behind me enough?" Peerha said.

Setther looked beyond Peerha and found the angry army that had chased him.

"My god!" Had we attacked, they would have caught u us /i off-guard!" one shocked archer pointed out.

"Shut up! Linemen, form ranks and set your spears. We shall let them skewer themselves. Archers, give them hell." Setther's soldiers moved about, and before long, arrows were whistling through the air and piercing the charging soldiers. "As for you Peerha, never raise a commotion like that again. You happen upon a situation like this again, you report to me directly, and discreetly. I am the leader, and you are the follower."

"A foolish leader does not maintain power for long." Peerha muttered, just loud enough for Setther to hear, but Peerha was already taking his place in the ranks. Setther could only add the remark to his list of reasons for why he hated Peerha.

The line of charging cultists was almost upon them. Peerha held his sword near his hip, ready to stab the first enemy who came near him. He kept his eyes ahead, fixed on the target. Even when the final volley of arrows flew just above his head he kept staring straight ahead. He watched a few lines of the Black Hand fall apart as the arrows hit them, but the fallen were replaced by more, and these replacements crashed as one into the waiting spears.

Screams went out from the wounded as they gored themselves upon the spears. It was a necessary evil, as the soldiers who sacrificed themselves took with them the spears, opening the door for a somewhat safe opening in the defenses. The cultists swarmed the front lines, and the battle broke out. Peerha watched as the two spearmen in front of him dropped their weapons and busied themselves with drawing their swords. That left them wide open for the Black Hand. Peerha spotted one of the black garbed soldiers charging upon the distracted men, a shortsword trailing behind his head. Peerha jumped in between his two comrades and thrust his weapon forwards.

He felt the soft thump and sickening squelch as steel pierced skin. The cultists looked surprised, and he dropped his sword behind him before falling to the ground, his life fading fast. Peerha did not shed a tear for the man. It was kill or be killed here. No time for remorse.

The battle waged furiously for only more than a couple of minutes. And yet to all the combatants, it felt like hours. Both parties fought ferociously. The Black Hand with there insane ideas and beliefs of superiority. Setther's men with revenge and hate fueling their every move. Despite being out numbered two-to-one, the cultists began to scatter. Particularly after their leader was felled by an archer.

"Let them run back to there hiding places! Let them spread news of our victory, and let the Black Hand know who they are up against!" Setther roared.

The mercenaries cheered once for their victory. Then again when they realized that they'd suffered minimal casualties. Many had been wounded, but only a handful had been killed in the fight. Peerha helped carry one dead man back to the campsite. There they would be buried, and the names written down. One day there would be a stone set in Vivec City. Upon it would be the names of the dead. Heroes who have died to avenge that grieving city.