Roy's rapier quickly plunged through the gut of an approaching bandit. The body fell limp to the floor beneath it, and the blade found its way out unhindered. There were sounds of metal clashing against metal, and grunts seemed to be the only human noises. Roy's eyes followed a trail of blood to a bandit, crawling across the ground, hoping to escape. He was wounded, and it seemed fatal. Still, he crawled onward, hoping for some grace to come his way. Instead, his head was met by a horse's shoe, and pink and red sprayed everywhere. Lance's horse kicked away from the man, and rode to meet another foe. There may be more bandits, but Roy wasn't worried about that. His thoughts returned to his father and Lilina, and he couldn't take it any longer. He knew the knights could deal with this on their own. He had to hurry to the castle.
He saw Alan nearby, and ran to him. Alan, on horseback, used his spear to hold back an axe-wielding bandit, intent on killing. The spear's tip found a hole in the man's defense, which turned to a whole in his chest. He fell unmoving to the floor, embraced in death. Alan looked to see the Roy clambering towards him, and he turned to face the lord. Roy approached and looked towards his father's castle. "I need a ride."
Alan offered Roy his hand. "Sure thing."
Roy planted himself on the horse behind Alan, and charged onwards. His mind was only on the castle. Alan knew this side of the prince well. Once in battle, he was serious. And he was merciless. Alan would have pitied the lives of the bandits in Roy's path, if not for his desire to do the same and worse to those who dare to stand against Pherae. The horse beneath Alan ran hard. It was a good horse. And it was fast.
Roy and Alan rounded the edge of the lake at full speed, breaking past the bandits lying in wait, with little patience. The two both knew what had to be done. And nothing would stop them. Or so they thought.
The heavy occupation of bandits to the east of the cliff face forced them west. A longer path, but in the end it would be both faster and easier. The horse still showed no signs of fatigue, which was in their good graces. It was not to their advantage, though, to have to pass so close to the village of Yuel. Unknown to the pair, the bandits were already there, flowing through the town, burning and killing along the way. It was still unknown until Roy's eyes, scanning the countryside of his war-wrought home, spotted smoke. His fury flared and his conscience buckled. The village. He knew many of the kind men that lived there. But could he just wait until after the castle? Was there time? No. He knew he had no choice. And Alan was the faster, with his horse. "Alan, head west."
Alan had also noticed the smoke, but his war-hardened heart told him the obvious truth. Many would die if he saved these few. The needs of the many were greater. But he couldn't disobey the young lord riding behind him. "My lord, I suggest otherwise. The castle is in danger, as is your father, the current marquee. He is much more important."
The pleads fell on deaf ears. "There isn't time to worry. Drop me here. I'll continue on to the village and clean house while you continue to the castle. You need to hurry. I can't leave these people to die."
Alan was wrong. The youthful and naïve Roy still remained. He still wasn't strong enough to harden himself fully to the fires of war. And he knew his words would reach no ear. Alan slowed, and Roy dismounted. Both shared a look that all must give to each other before they depart in war. Neither knew if they would see each other again, and both agonized. Still, they each went their own ways. The ways they each knew was right.
Meanwhile...
Cley's ears had drawn to the sound of many footprints outside, but what truly caught his attention were the sounds of distant flame. The crackling was distinguishable from the background by its quantity. Its force. It sounded as if the whole village had been sent ablaze. Now healthy from long months in bed, his bones still seemed to creak from the long break. He felt years beyond his own, and dreaded the feeling. His joints were stiff. His muscles lax. He had fought to hold the lightest of things, though that was now long gone, a distant nightmare of weakness, like so many years before. He had begun to feel his grip tighten again. Not even illness could stop him. But it could at least save his life. He knew of the village militia being sent from the town towards the frontlines. His illness prevented his travel. Cley felt an uneasy feeling wash over him, and as he approached the door, he reached for the sword.
The streets were filled by villagers. And they were in a panic. Cley's eyes drifted the opposite way they ran, and found that fire littered the town. Houses and shops were engulfed in the living fire that seemed to travel down the road, smothering anything in its way. He knew the fires of magic, but this was not it. It was passed on by the hands of men. Men with axes and bows and swords. Men with a desire to kill. Bandits. Cley grasped his sword tight, though its weight still encumbered his withered body. He couldn't leave though. He was all that was left. He returned to his house and grasped his bow. He found only two arrows before he could take no more and returned.
He knocked the arrow, and with great difficulty gave strength to the power it would need to reach its mark. He aimed for the closest man, a man riding in the land, guiding the unholy flame across the town. The arrow was let fly, and Cley worried if he had hit his mark. His confirmation was the man's crumpled state, his burning torch landing in the dirt laid ground below his horse's feet. The horse reared as the fire seared its leg, and the beast leaped away, knocking into another, sending a man falling to the ground. He was lost in the dust of the horses as they continued their approach, now aware of a challenge. Cley could count six more. He knocked another arrow, aiming at the other torch bearer. That was when he saw a bow aimed his way. Cley turned and let his last arrow soar. The arrow hit the archer plain in his chest, and far from Cley's ears, and single grunt was uttered. The rest seemed to have no bows, but Cley dared not return to his home. Instead, he drew the weighted blade from its sheath and watched as the mounted bandits approached. He could see the men draw axe against their foe. It was a fearsome sight.
A hand grasped Cley's arm, and he quickly turned to see his sister, Elly. "Run, you idiot. You can't hope to fight these men alone."
Cley looked back at the men, their horses still charging. They were close. He could see their eyes through the hoods resting on their heads. "And you can't hope to outrun them without help. They have horses. I want you to go to the stables down the road and get two horses. If I don't make it, lead the people to the castle. I have a feeling this isn't all we'll have to worry about. Go."
Elly did as he said, and Cley looked at the men, almost upon him. They began to slow, and Cley made sure his back was safe, anchored to a building. His sword was drawn and ready for any that dared to move towards him. All six did. They slowed on their approach. The group rounded him in a half-circle. He was trapped. The man with the torch threw it to a comrade, and trotted forward. "Pretty brave, boy. But bravery wasted on a sickly-looking one such as you is truly wasted. You killed two of my men. I'm not one to forgive debts either. That means two lives. And seeing as there's only one of you, I'm going to go hunt down that little hussy you spoke to. She was cute."
Cley showed no fear or rage in his face, but his hand showed both, trembling in the shape of a fist. This man would die. He didn't care about the others, but this man would die. It was easy that way. He didn't need to bother killing the other men, as if he could on his own, even at his best. No, the only one that needed to die was this man, their leader. Cley tightened his grip on the heavy sword resting in his hand. He just needed a good chance. The bandit leader approached more, but not much. He was careful. "I think I'll kill you after her. That would show you what it means to stand up to us."
Cley remained quiet. The man seemed annoyed. Annoyance was good. It created mistakes. Openings. "You a mute, boy? Speak to me when I grace you with my words!"
Cley still kept his lips tight. The man seemed to get angry, but quickly calmed down. He turned to the man who held the torch and motioned to the house with a flip of his head. The man cocked his arm back and let the torch sail through the air, connecting with the roof of Cley's house. The building quickly turned to tinder, and dangerous sparks descended from above. Clay was forced to approach the bandits, losing his advantage. This man was smart. He wasn't rash, and knew what he was doing. The two bandits to Cley's sides slowly approached, given away by faint traces of movement in his peripheral vision. He again readied himself. This time, he struck.
His weakened arms used momentum to swing the blade, which barreled around and struck the man to Cley's left. The man blew a bubble of blood from his mouth, and went limp onto his horse. The horse, startled by the action, took steps back. Cley took his chance and ran through the opening. His feet barely caught hold of the loose dirt beneath him before it pushed him further onward. He didn't get far.
The sound of horses was behind him. He couldn't take all five, and was left running towards the burning village. He could feel that they were almost on him, about to overtake him. This was a game to them. They killed for fun. Cley stopped and turned, close to what remained of a burning home. The bandits slowed and approached him again. He took a step back. The bandit leader was still smiling. He looked out towards the town left unscarred. Cley could see the hunger to kill in the bandit's eyes. The bandit leader motioned to two of the bandits, who dismounted. "I wish I could stay and play, but I have things that need my attention, like that girly of yours. Men, deal with the shit."
The bandit leader and his two mounted lackeys rode back towards the running townspeople. Cley was stuck between the two men. He was trapped. Or so he wanted them to think. "Don't worry, boy. I'll make it quick. We need to get back and have more fun."
The bandit who spoke smiled, and had a tight grip on his axe. They were only feet away when Cley made his move. He swung his sword, but the man was fast. It met with the bandit's axe, and was caught. The bandit jerked, and the sword flew from Cley's still weak arms. He truly was cornered now, all that was behind him the still burning corpse of a home. That was where his plan came from. The men dropped their guard. They prey was unarmed. Cley struck.
He reached his hand back, and grasped a part of the building brought loose from the flame. Cley swung hard, and the wood broke loose, its end tipped in still burning fire. The swing carried around and met the face of a bandit, exploding into embers thrown through the air. The man recoiled back and fell to the ground, his hands holding his face as he rolled in agony. Cley reached for the bandit's discarded axe, and turned it against its owner, cleaving him through the stomach. Cley ripped the axe out and rolled away, narrowly dodging a blow from the other man.
Cley readied the axe, much heavier then he wished. The man swung first. Cley dodged. Cley swung next. The man fell. Cley dropped the axe; his hands hurt from the pure weight of the weapon, and grasped his sword, only feet away. Cley looked towards the way the men left, and saw them not far off. They were taking their time, enjoying themselves. Cley mounted a bandit's horse, and drove the creature hard. It ran towards Cley's enemies as fast as it could. Cley hoped it was enough. It wasn't.
As Cley approached, he could see that the men had found Elly. He tried to make the beast beneath him run faster, but it refused. The screaming girl was dragged in front of the bandit's leader, his axe held high. Cley wouldn't make it. Not in time. That was when he saw him. A boy, clad in blue armor. He came from nowhere, and clasped his hand over Elly's shoulder, pulling her away from blow. He wasn't a second too soon. A bandit approached the boy, who drew a rapier and impaled the man, who fell from his mount. Another swung his axe, which the boy deflected with his blade. This man soon shared the fate of his comrade.
Cley was almost upon the bandit leader. His sword had been drawn, and was ready. The bandit leader, originally focused on the deadly youth in front of him, seemed to notice Cley approaching, and began to turn. He was too late. Cley's sword arced through the air and connected, giving the man a one-way trip to hell. It was over. Cley slowed the horse beneath him to a stop, and turned to thank the youth who saved his sister. His voice left him, for in the front of him stood Roy, son of Eliwood, marquee of Pherae. "M'lord!"
Roy returned his blade to the sheath at his side, and looked up at Cley. "Who are you?"
Cley looked upon the savior of his sister, and still couldn't believe it. "I am Cley Hanta, only remaining militiaman in the village."
Roy glanced around, looking at the remains of the village. Cley felt as if he was being judged. "Do you have any idea who these bandits are?"
Cley thought for a moment. He hadn't bothered to wonder. There was only one likely answer. "Well, if I had to guess, they would have to be the bandits from up north, led by Damas. But he wasn't here."
Roy seemed lost in thought. Cley looked at the boy carefully. Cley was older, but not by much. Roy's eyes glowed in them a passion. Cley had never seen something like that before. The boy would lead armies, would inspire his soldiers to do great things. Cley could see all this in Roy's eyes. They were pure and strong. That was all Cley needed to know.
Roy looked over to Cley. "No, he wouldn't be. If what you say is true, Damas is at the castle. My father is trapped inside."
Cley looked over at Roy, then at his sister. Elly read his thoughts, and led a horse over to the lord. Roy took hold of the reins. Cley let his horse trot forward, and his eyes traveled northeast, towards the castle. "Then what are we waiting for?"