Chapter Two

When one throws tactics out the window

The only words coming from Benton's mouth was a long and steady stream of curses as he was over-powered and driven back by the two lance-toting guards. He had caught his captors by surprise, and he was fast regretting facing them openly as he narrowly avoided stabs and bludgeons.

Damn! He was already beginning to tire. The damned brigands were toying with him, teasing him with false stabs and wearing him down. By Saint Elemine, they were enjoying themselves. His movements were starting to slow down, his arms were getting too heavy to lift.

There was a moment's hesitation from both sides, however, as the sounds of battle were quickly drowned out by a rumbling explosion, followed by a yelp and a few crashes. The reasonably attractive thief from inside was sprawled on the ground, covered in soot and parts of the door he unceremoniously barreled through, groaning softly in pain. Those groans intensified as the young lady strode out of the hut, livid, and planted one foot on the limp man's chest. She glared at the two remaining thieves nearby-the ones who had Benton in a corner-snarling like a hungered beast.

The boy took no time in taking advantage of his opponent's turned backs, plunging his borrowed weapon into the closest of the two. The second spun around, now quite frustrated with these children, but before he could take any measure of offensive action, his back stiffened as it took a fireball, and he fell to his knees, mouth open in a silent scream. Benton smacked the opponent on the nose with the butt of his weapon, ending his agony permanently.

The two remaining teens both looked from the bodies left on the ground-at least two of them weren't liable to live for very much longer-then back to each other. They moved towards each other, slowly at first, then breaking into a run. They embraced for a short while, both desperately finding something to break the silence.

From the other side of town, their captors' buddies were beginning to stir. Benton silently cursed again, suddenly regretting not hiding the bodies back at his hut. "Sylva," he whispered, coaxing the lady to move, "We need to get away before we're spotted."

Sylva nodded, reluctantly backing up. She motioned for an alleyway, and they both soundlessly fled.

"What's going on?" Sylva asked after a while of running, her fear resurfacing, "What's going to happen to us?"

Benton hesitated, "I… don't know… really." He stopped, taking a deep breath and began assessing the situation.

"They have the entire place. From what I could gather, Everyone our age has been imprisoned separately to keep from conspiring until they could decide what to do with us, but all the old people are probably…" he was about to say "dead", but after a quick glance at the expectant girl before him, face contorted in fear, he realized she had already pieced that together.

"…held in one place." He finished, watching her relax somewhat.

"So what can we do?" she asked, her tone insistent. Before Benton could answer, their attention was out to the street, where the steady chimes of a bell could be heard. Benton cursed out loud this time. The bandits were scrambling; they had found the bodies, just like he feared. He grabbed Sylva by the arm and led her further into the alleys.

"Benton?" Sylva asked as much as demanded, "What are we going to do?"

He stopped, almost forcing her to crash, and whispered dangerously, "Don't speak." He clamped his hand over her mouth before she could respond, "Someone is coming; don't speak or you'll give us away."

He raised his lance, hoping his loud gulp wasn't heard…

Meanwhile…

"I can't believe what trouble you've gotten us both into!" Walter growled, half leading, half dragging the girl Nora behind him as he marched through the alleys.

"Well-Ow!-…you didn't have to follow me!" Nora complained, though she knew full well that he couldn't, her knight in shining armor.

Walter turned his gaze to hers, and she would have froze right there, were it not for his vice grip keeping her moving forward, "And leave you, a girl, out here with these blackguards and no escort?" He turned his head forward, but his accusing tone slowed her just as much as his leer ever did, "You did it on purpose! You walked into this city so I could fight them!"

"But…but…but they took over the village! Why couldn't you do something about it first? Could you honestly look at these people and not help them?"

Walter plodded on, unaware of her winces of pain as his grip tightened, "If you wanted to help them so bad, we could have gone to a garrison, asked them to help their own people, and I wouldn't have had to sully my blade needlessly with coward's blood." He stopped, giving her his coldest gaze, "Your actions have endangered us both and has not helped anyone; for that, I hope you realize your sublime folly and make that mistake no more. If you do this again, know that I will not come to save you!"

Nora fell to her knees, near on the verge of tears. In the short time they had been traveling together, the child had never seen him look at her like that. "I…I…hic! I'm…I'm…" she stammered, shoulders heaving with sobs.

The armored man sighed. Boys were so much easier to raise, he decided for what had to be the thousandth time since Nora started following him. At the very least, they could be hit without having to hold back. He was pulled from his thoughts however, by the shadow moving just ahead. There was someone there, waiting for him to walk past. He motioned for Nora to be still and silent, drew his sword, and burst past the corner swinging.

Benton ducked as the fine blade whistled past his head and backpedaled. He raised his weapon, and Walter in turn raised his when he recovered from the miss.

"You have a woman in tow." The swordsman observed, his gaze drifting to the young lady, who now had her spell book cracked open.

"So? You have one too." Benton replied, him glancing at the girl who was hiding at the alley corner.

Walter nodded, "Is she your prisoner, perchance?"

"Never!"

Another nod from the man before he slid his sword back into its sheath, "Very well then." He said, satisfied with the boy's answer, "Then I am not your enemy, on my word. My name is Walter Nollim, though while my blade is drawn I am known as Grenbien. Do you have a name, boy, or shall I simply refer to you as 'Hey you!'?"

Benton nodded but did not lower his weapon, "I am Benton Tempuer, and I am not known as anything when I fight. If you are not an enemy, then please stand aside so we can go…" he trailed off. He suddenly realized he had no idea of what to do now, with Sylva free and the bandits looking for them.

Such was not lost on Walter (Or was it Grenbien now?) who smiled and said, "Go where? Do you intend to leave the village? Are you going to play the big savior and liberate the town? Maybe you're going to hide somewhere and cower like a baby with the women."

Benton was just about to answer, when he heard the call. Bandits began filling the narrow space, advancing from behind. A slew of curses erupted from both of the men before they all ran off in the opposite direction. They burst from the alley, finding themselves in the center of town. They were wreathed by bandits on all sides, with no obvious escape routes. Just outside the town hall building, a tall man stood. He had pale skin, hair falling past his shoulders, with fiery amber eyes, dressed in the robes of a sage.

"Are you in league with these men?" Grenbien inquired, sword already halfway out.

The pale man chuckled, "Do you honestly believe I would associate myself in the ranks of these barbarians?"

Benton relaxed visibly, despite the obvious danger. The sage spoke again. "Bolting." His voice was so sedated and nonchalant that Benton wasn't at first aware of its meaning. He looked up confused, to see the man drawing the seal of Anima magic and released the spell, aimed right for them.