Four more days later, the Sun was setting when Ulric decided to stop for the night, having found a small clearing surrounded by tall and thick trees, with even an empty cave to shield them should the weather change for the worse. Since there seemed to be nobody around for miles, they agreed not to keep watch for once and after eating a stew made with roots and dried meat, they all lay down to sleep close to the campfire while the bovines dragging the cart were happily munching the soft, fresh grass that poked through the thin layer of snow.
Osmund waited until he heard the breathing of everyone around him slow down, a sure sign of deep sleep, then he silently stood and moved to leave the camp, but before he could take a single step out of the clearing, a big hand grabbed his shoulder and a deep rumbling voice came from above his head. "Going anywhere, boy?". He trembled despite himself and looked up into a pair of cold amber eyes, "I-I just...Need to relieve myself", he stammered, intimidated by the Deathbringer's size and aura of quiet menace.
"Uhm", Sarevok studied him for a moment, his gaze heavy with suspicion, but in the end he withdrew his hand, "Try to be careful out there and don't walk too far from the camp. There may be bandits around", he said, going back to sleep. "Y-yes sir", Osmund nodded, then quickly dashed away, his feet carrying him as fast as possible to the place where his fiancée Averill had promised to wait for him.
He found the stone cross easily enough, its dark color standing out against the flawless white of the snow and the faded green of the grass and beckoning him forward, but when he got there, his heart seemed to stop with shock.
"No...God, please, have mercy, no...", the words fell from his lips in a broken whisper as the sight that greeted him: Averill's cloak lay on the snow, torn and bloodied and there was no sign of the woman anywhere. Osmund fell to his knees and held the cloak to his chest, tears of desperation running down his face as he wildly looked around, "Averill! Averill!", he called, again and again, his voice getting higher and more desperate with each call.
He stood on shaky legs and moved through the forest in a daze, but suddenly stopped as a group of strangers came from the trees: he counted eight men, all of them carrying a weapon and their cruel grins didn't bode well for the young monk.
Bandits, he thought and cursed himself for not heeding Sarevok's advice as he turned on his heels and fled towards the campsite, "HELP!", he shouted, panic gripping him and making his heart beat so fast he thought for a moment it would explode. The bandits chased after him, horns blowing in the distance as they called for the rest of their band and Osmund barely managed to reach the campsite, only to find everyone awake and ready to fight.
"You brainless simian!", Sekhmet snapped, glaring at him so fiercely that he flinched, "What have you brought down upon us?". He didn't need to answer, for the whole contingent of bandits, which consisted of a solid score of lowlives, swarmed the camp a moment later and as he quickly sought refuge in the cave, all hell broke loose.
The mercenaries got their weapons ready in an instant: Ulric and Griff unsheathed their swords, Wolfstan did the same as he lifted his large black triangular shield, Mold whirled his two short swords, Swire readied his sword and small rounded shield, Ivo gripped his axe and Dalywag wielded his morningstar and his medium triangular shield.
When the bandits and the group clashed, each member of the group except for Osmund threw themselves in the fray, even the women and the monk could only stare in bewilderment at the scene before his eyes. Meg dodged the sword of her opponent with ease and her mace crashed down on his skull with unexpected speed and strength, smashing the bone and reducing the brain to a bloody pulp.
Imoen, meanwhile, slipped like water past the defence of the bandit who had the bad idea of attacking her and with a quick thrust, she plunged her dagger in his neck, slashing the carotid artery before moving to the next opponent. Sekhmet, for her part, moved around her enemy with the easy grace of a dancer, a delighted laugh escaping her lips as she evaded his blows again and again. "Stay still, wh**e!", the bandit yelled and at that word, her smile vanished and her face twisted in the most vicious snarl Osmund had ever seen on a human's face.
"What did you call me?!", she hissed, dodging another strike only to bring her staff up between her opponent's legs with all her strength. The bandit let out a strangled yelp and fell to the ground, his sword forgotten as he clutched desperately at his injured bits and she seized the chance to strike hard with the tip of her staff at his eye, embedding the sharp steel-clad tip into the soft tissue and pressing until it reached the brain.
The young monk was so caught up in admiring those unusual women that he did not notice the bandit creeping up at his left and it was only when he heard a twig snap that he turned around and realized the danger. The scoundrel grinned cruelly, "You're mine, boy", he said, raising his axe... And then a crossbow bolt poked out of the front of his throat and he froze, the weapon falling from suddenly limp fingers as he choked on his own blood.
The body fell to the ground, revealing Jan's cheerful face, "Hey there, Ossie, are you okay?". Osmund gulped and nodded shakily, he'd never been so close to death before, "Y-yes. Thank you, Jan". "Oh, anytime, lad! You know, this reminds me of the time when my grandmother's first cousin, Luke 'turnipsaber' Skyjansen, who got his nickname because of a special weapon he had carved out of a dried blue turnip, they're from the North you know? Ah, you should taste them, lad, they're delicious!
It's a shame I don't have any at the moment, or I would treat you to the most incredible turnip stew you've ever had in your whole life, it's a secret recipe of my Ma's by the way, not that she actually shared it with me because it's really secret, you see, even for family members, but...". The poor monk closed his eyes, suddenly regretting that the bandit had not killed him, when Meg's voice came from the campsite.
"You can come out, it's over. We're all safe and sound. I can't say the same for the bandits though", she added with a chuckle. He breathed a sigh of relief and exited the cave, but when he noted Ulric walking towards him, he was tempted to go back inside and never come out again. The terrestrial knight's blue eyes were reduced to slits of steel and ice as he grabbed the front of the lad's robes, "Why did you leave the camp?", he asked in a low, dangerous tone.
Osmund hesitated a second and it seemed that it was a second too much for Ulric's likings, for he shook him roughly as though the lad was a ragdoll. "Speak!". "I came here in search of a woman", the monk confessed, averting his gaze with a mixture of shame for his sin and fear of the older man. "And where is she?". "She...She did not survive the forest", his voice broke, "God punished me". Another shake, so hard that his teeth rattled. "God has more important things to think of!", Ulric growled, then gave him a rough shove than nearly toppled him over.
They heard barks and horns in the distance and Wolfstan shot a look at his leader, worry clear in his black eyes. "We should get out of here. There may be more of them". Mold frowned and gestured to the corpses with one of his short swords, "How do we know the man we're looking for is not here?". Ulric paused and looked at the dead men, his tension easing slightly, "These men are nothing but common thieves", he said in his usual cold, calm tone, then he turned to look at Osmund, "You will lead us to the marsh", he added, turning on his heels and moving to leave the campsite.
"Sir, I can't be of any help to you...", the monk whined. Big mistake: the bishop's envoy whirled around and walked until he was mere inches from the younger man, "You will lead us, or stay here alone. And be damned", he growled in a tone that left no doubt he meant every word, then he walked away, the others following him.
Jan patted Osmund's leg with a smile, "Don't worry, Ossie, it'll get better. Sure, you led a score of bandits to our campsite with your foolish stunt, but hey, we're still here, no? He'll come around, you'll see. Maybe in a century or so, but he will", he commented, hurrying after his companions. The young monk bit his lower lip, tears pricking at his eyes, but he swallowed them and walked ahead, afraid that Ulric would make good on his threat to leave him behind.