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Interlude 4: Wrath of the Plains
Rath of Kutolah sighed softly to himself as he looked over the low-lying farmland ahead of him. He had spent the four months between slipping quietly out of castle Caelin and now in mountains, training his beloved Stormchaser to cope with the rougher terrain. He'd realised since leaving Araphen that not all battles could be fought on the open plains or level streets, and it had been almost embarrassing at times, trying to keep pace with the infantry units in the rough ground that was so common in Lycia. Now, he thought, he was ready to return to his wanderings as a mercenary until he could find the purpose for which he had been singled out to leave his tribe.
As he walked his horse down the mountain path, his apparent self-absorption was only half act. Still, he was awake enough that the bandit throwing axe missed rather than taking his head off. Stringing his bow quickly, he looked around for a target and found it easily, nocking an arrow, aiming and loosing it in one swift action. The bandit went down, but the rest of his group started moving out of the rocks and barring his path.
"Not so smart to be wandering around out here alone, traveller." The bandits apparent leader said. He was a shorter man, carrying a large sword and, unusually for bandits, a shield. The inevitable axe, almost a signature for bandits everywhere, hung from his belt.
Where another warrior as confident as Rath might have made a witty rejoinder or wisecrack, the nomad simply looked at the bandit leader and said a single word.
"Move." He commanded, walking his horse forwards towards the line of bandits blocking his path.
"What? You've got this wrong, boy. You stop right there and hand over your goods, or you'll give them to us dead." The bandit told him, sheathing his sword in the back of his shield and taking the handaxe from his belt. He drew it back to throw when one of Rath's arrows buried itself in his eye. A half-second later, a second arrow killed the man next to him, and a half-second after that the third bandit blocking the path died.
The rest of the group chose that moment to charge and avenge their brethren, and after that it simply became a contest of moving, shooting and moving again until the bandits were worn down. Rath finally stopped when there was a single bandit remaining, and sat there looking down at the runtish axe-user.
"Go. Tell others here that travellers are not to be disturbed." Rath spoke, and the bandit fled. Dismounting, Rath started the arduous task of recovering as many arrows as he could.
"That was pretty impressive." A man's voice spoke from behind him as he finished. "Twenty bandits on your own? Tell me, are you a mercenary?" The voice was cultured, noble-sounding even.
"Yes. You have work?" Rath asked, standing and looking at the man. He wore his blonde hair cropped short and light riding armour covered his compact form.
"Not in so many words. I'm not an employer so much as employed. Yeager, captain of the Moonmoth mercenary company." The man grinned, charmingly. "Want to join us?"