Chapter 6 – Woodland Predators

The Mark of the Wild was going to get Edwynn killed.

Whatever magic Mytrhil had cast on him, it was filling him with raw emotion and impulsive instincts. He felt powerful. The ugly knife he had picked up weighted almost nothing in his enchanted hands. He started flipping it end over end as he moved up the trail.

Whenever children in Northshire pretended to battle monsters as they grew up, they always imagined themselves as powerful knights in shining armor. They attacked with swords and shields, charging in screaming at their opponents. That was the fool's way to fight, Jorik had said. Battling an enemy face to face, blade to blade, was for honor-bound heroes or military fodder. If your enemy was stronger, more experienced, or better equipped, you would die. Soldiers might get lucky for one or two battles, but sooner or later the odds would catch up with you. If you wanted to live through every fight, you had to win every fight, and to do this you had to be smarter and faster than your enemy. War was not a game, as some battlefield commanders seemed to treat it. You had to take every possible advantage, and exploit as many of your opponents weaknesses as possible. Never announce your presence. Always strike from behind. Take the cheap shots. Kick your foe while he was down. In a real fight, honor and chivalry did not matter. The only thing that mattered was who was fast, and who was dead.

Those thoughts raced thru Edwynn's mind as he moved up the deer trail. They made him reconsider his course of action. He really had no idea of what he was up against. The enemy stronghold could be a castle with a hundred men for all he knew. Walking to the front door was kind of out of the question.

The situation called for stealth, his mind rationalized. Unfortunately the magic made him feel invincible, as did the knowledge that somewhere in the woods around him a powerful druid was watching over him. Edwynn tried to remember all of the stories that he had been told about the battle of Mt. Hyjal, when the druids had defeated the Burning Legion. They said the very trees came alive and attacked, crushing the demons and undead with their branches, or throwing huge boulders thru the air. The image of the bandit's camp being overrun with walking trees, while the roots of the forest rose of out ground to crush men alive filled Edwynn's imagination.

The rain had finally stopped, but the trail was still muddy. Even if the sky had not been overcast, the canopy was too thick to see the sky. A bird chirped from a tree high above him. Edwynn heard it and then another similar one sounded further up the trail. They sounded like robins. Edwynn stopped and held perfectly still. Something was wrong, he could sense it. The leaves rustled as a gentle breeze swept thru the branches. His eyes scanned the wilderness searching for movement, but could see none. Glancing behind, he wished he had seen some sign of Mythril since they separated near the manor.

The robin sang out again, this time from the branches directly above his head. At that instant, the boy thought to himself 'Robins don't sing at night.' He looked up just in time to see the net materialize from the darkness and envelop him.

Edwynn cried out and slashed with his knife, but to no avail. The net's ropes were thick and heavy. It's weight bore him to the ground. He struggled against the ropes, but the splash of boot steps in the mud stopped him.

"What's this then, boys?" The voice was female, high and cruel. Three figures surrounded him; all clad in the same dark leathers and crimson face masks. One had a club, one a knife, and the woman who spoke had two swords.

The feeling of power from the spell got the best of him. "Release me at once!" Edwynn cried. The two men laughed, but the woman was silent. She could hear that there was no fear in the boy's voice. For three predators to capture a mere child in the middle of the night, and not have him cry out for help… She inspected him closer. His ragged cloths suggested he was a mere commoner. The boy should be terrified.

"Who are you?" the woman drew one of her swords and pointed it towards the prisoner.

"My name is Edwynn. Release me at once if you want to live!" Again the two men laughed, but the woman did not. There was far too much confidence his voice for her taste. He spoke loudly, almost shouting. He managed to wiggle his knife within the ropes so that he might poke between the gaps.

"Hey Rosie" the bandit with the club spoke. "Isn't that Wedge's blade?"

Her eyes narrowed on the ugly weapon. The light was poor, but the blade was distinctly shaped. She frowned beneath her mask. Wedge was a superb knife fighter. No farm boy could have bested him.

"How old are you boy?" She asked.

"What's it to you?"

"Shut up and answer the question!"

Edwynn's eyes scanned the tree line. 'Where in the light's name is Mythril' he thought to himself. He had to keep stalling these bandits until she showed up.

"I'm a lot older than I look. Now this is your last chance. Release me or die!"

"Hey…" the outlaw who had recognized the knife stiffened momentarily. By his voice, he sounded a bit slow. "Hey Rosie. Isn't Edwynn VanCleef's first na…"

"Shut up you idiot!" The woman lashed her sword at her subordinate, narrowly missing his face. Edwynn's mind raced. Who was VanCleef? Someone named Edwynn was the first... what? Edwynn was not a popular name, but neither was it particularly rare. If he made a bluff and was wrong, they would kill him.

"He's far too young you moron!" The woman said. She turned back to him, only to see his eyes searching the woods. "Are you alone?" she asked.

"No." he said.

"He's lying." The slow bandit chimed in.

"No. He's not." The woman said. She turned away from him, facing up the trail in the direction he had been traveling. Raising her hand to her lips beneath the mask, she made a bird call that sounded like a robin. After several seconds two calls came back. Then she returned her attention to the boy. "How many others are there?"

Edwynn's hand finally found the edge of the net. He hauled at it and threw it off. Scrambling to his feet, he stopped as the whistling of steel whipped past his head. He froze in place, facing the bandit leader. One of her swords was poised at his throat, pushing with almost enough pressure to break the skin.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you." He said. But he immediately swallowed and his skin became flushed with sweat. They had made plenty of noise. Mythril should have been there by now. Maybe she was too far away to hear the commotion. He had no choice now. Bluffing was his only way out.

"I'd hate to have to kill you like I killed Wedge."

The slow bandit gasped. "He knew Wedge's name, Rosie!"

"He only knew Wedge's name because you said it, you imbecile." The woman muttered through ground teeth. Edwynn could feel her hands shuddering with rage as the vibrations traveled up the sword blade. The woman's eyes were locked with his own. "So what's the story boy? Did you best Wedge in a duel or something?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact I…"

Faster than he could blink the woman's sword moved. There was a clang of steel and the ugly knife went sailing into the night. Before even knew he was disarmed Rosie's blade was back at his neck.

"Now I know you're a liar. How many others are in the forest boy?" She pushed forward gently with her sword and Edwynn felt a sharp pain at his throat. A tiny trickle of blood ran down to tickle his collarbone.

There was only one card left to play. "My father will hear of this!"

"And who is that?" she asked.

Their gazes were locked. He knew she wouldn't believe him, but he said it anyway. "V.. VanCleef."

Both of the men took a step back. They glanced at the woman with fear lined faces. Her own eyes showed the smile that her mask hid.

"What if he's telling the truth?" These were the first words from the third bandit.

"He's lying." Rosie relaxed her sword arm and withdrew her weapon. She wiped the blood from the tip and sheathed it. Tilting her head to the side, she regarded her prisoner for a moment, and then kicked Edwynn square in the stomach. The blow drove the air from his lungs and he collapsed on the ground.

"Bind his hands and throw a hood on him. Then take him to Garrik. Algor, come with me. He wasn't lying about being alone. We need to find his friends."

The pain in his stomach drove away any last vestiges of euphoria Edwynn had gained from Mythril's magic. As the bandits pulled his wrists behind him, he knew that there would be no rescue. The elf had not helped the men who were being ambushed at the manor, and she was not going to help him. She had abandoned him to die. As a smelly burlap sack descended over his head, Edwynn swore that he would curse her to hell with his dying breath.