Annabeth Chase
Annabeth adjusted her hood against the biting wind as the caravan continued its slow, arduous trek north. Before long, they crossed the Toran River, crossing into the Imperial province of Amalashia, the province they had been heading for in the first place, and entered the foothills of the Amalashian mountain range. From the tops of the hills, she could see the vast mountains reaching into the clouds like the spines of some great beast. The air was sharper here, each gust cutting through even the thickest layers of clothing. The trees had become denser, their tall forms swaying ominously against a steel-gray sky. Snow crunched under the wagon wheels, and the horses' breath rose in thick plumes.
It had been nearly a week since they left Whitestone, and the journey had been relentless. The monotonous rhythm of the road was broken only by brief stops to rest the horses and allow the weary travelers to stretch their legs. Annabeth was restless. Each night, she pored over maps and ledgers by the flickering light of a lantern, trying to distract herself from the cold and the gnawing uncertainty.
On this particular morning, as the caravan wound its way through a particularly dense stretch of forest, Annabeth found herself riding beside Michael Yew. Vanier had taken it upon himself to scout ahead, ensuring the road was clear.
"How much further to Lowestoft?" Annabeth asked, breaking the silence.
"A week, maybe two," Michael replied without turning his gaze from the path ahead. "Weather permitting, of course.
Annabeth nodded, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She knew the answer of course, and very much doubted the weather would be kind to her.
The prospect of reaching Lowestoft filled her with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. It was one thing to set out with a plan, and quite another to execute it successfully. What had some drunk general once said, no plan survived meeting the enemy,.
As they rode, Annabeth's thoughts wandered back to the counterfeit coins stashed in one of the wagons. During the long hours, she had a lot of time to think, and during that time she had grown somewhat resentful of her father for dropping those damned coins on her. She wasn't too worried about the salt, by now there was just about no chance that it could be traced to the lost merchandise. No one would even know that anything was stolen this far off. They were too far away. However, a skilled bureaucrat would probably be able to tell the true nature of the coins. Best case scenario, she'd have to bribe him, worst case, he was the honest type and would take her attempted donation to his coffers personally. Proving her worth was all fun and good, right up until it ended with her taking a short drop.
Lost in thought, Annabeth almost didn't notice the sudden change in the atmosphere around her. The horses began to snort nervously, their ears twitching as if they sensed something amiss. Vanier held up a hand, signaling the caravan to halt.
"Stay here," he instructed Annabeth and let the rest of the hired guards move forward with weapons at the ready.
Annabeth dismounted, her boots sinking into the snow. She watched as Vanier and a few of his men moved cautiously through the trees, their weapons at the ready. The stillness of the forest was unsettling, the usual sounds of wildlife conspicuously absent.
Michael replied. "They've chosen their spot well," he muttered and also dismounted next to her. The others in the caravan had also started moving. The women were taking cover, while the men were bringing out weapons ranging from cleavers and spears to clubs.
"Tell me who you are talking about or by the go-"
Her answer came as a whisper and a dull thud as an arrow buried itself in the wagon and the over a dozen men burst out from the underbrush and charged towards them, their war cries echoing through the trees. Annabeth's heart pounded in her chest as she saw the bandits emerging from the forest, screaming as if possessed by the children of the netherworld themselves. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the sheer number of them.
Vanier and his men quickly formed a defensive line, shields raised and weapons drawn. "Stand your ground!" Vanier shouted, his voice steady and commanding. "Protect the carriages!"
Michael Yew pulled Annabeth behind him, his short sword glinting in the pale light. "Stay close to me," he ordered.
She very much liked to think of herself as a quick-witted woman who could take care of herself, but as she saw the bandits charging towards her, her muscles simply locked, and she heard herself screaming. It could only have been a handful of seconds, though it felt a lot longer. The sound of steel clashing filled the air as Vanier's mercenaries engaged the bandits. The caravan guards fought bravely, but the bandits were fierce and numerous. On the bright side, her willingness to drop some serious gold on a reliable life-ward paid off, because Michael proved himself worth his price.
He put his sword away and then herded her towards the back of the carriage. "Get on! Now!" he yelled and raised his shield just in time to catch another arrow before it could seriously inconvenience her. Her heart thundering in her chest, she tried to clamber onto it, and was then dragged the rest of the way by the women sheltering there already.
"Keep moving!" Michael shouted, shoving Annabeth in by her bum, something she would normally have objected to. Instead, she quickly took cover next to the carpenter's wife, Tanja, who was clutching a stool like a club, her eyes wide.
Embarrassingly slowly Annabeth regained her wits and drew the lief-bladed dagger she kept hidden away in the folds of her coat and peeked out of the back of the carriage. The horses were squealing in distress and she expected them to start pulling away the carriages in sheer panic. From the looks of it, men were fighting everywhere. With some less panic, she noticed how ramshackle the enemy was equipped. There was little to no armor, and the bandits were armed with makeshift shields, spears, clubs, and even long daggers. Not that she doubted being killed by those weapons was any more fun than by proper castle-forged steel.
Tanja shrieked as another arrow whizzed past her, poking holes in the carriage's patchy canvas roofing.
"Stay down!" Annabeth yelled and shrieked when a wild-looking man missing most of his teeth appeared at the back of the carriage. He wore a leather cap and his hair was long and grimy. "Hello pretty ones," he leered at them, his gaze on Annabeth as reached for the edge of the carriage to pull himself on board. Almost instinctively Annabeth stabbed at the hand.. For some reason, she was actually surprised when the oiled iron blade severed three of the man's fingers including his thumb. For a long moment, the bandit stared at his severed digits as surprised as Annabeth was. "You fucking whore!" he whined, almost sounding like a petulant child. "I am going to shag your ass bloody, I will!"
Just then Michael appeared and drove his bloodied sword through the side of the bandit's neck in an almost routine movement. A fountain of arterial spray splattered across Annabeth's lap and hands. "Stay down!" Michael yelled.
The warning came just to late. There was a dull, wett, thud, and something wet and hot splattered across Annabeth's back. A moment later Tanja collapsed to the ground next to her, clutching the arrow sticking from her throat. Annabeth stared at down the woman. She wasn't dead yet. She looked up at Annabeth with terrified hazel eyes as her vitae ran through her fingers pressed over the wound. Annabeth watched in horror as Tanja convulsed and twitched as her life ended.
"Stay down!" Michael roared at her, looking around, taking in the battle with practiced eyes. "Go! Run!" he then yelled and almost dragged her out of the carriage and then shoved her in the direction of the rear of the caravan. It looked like the battle was everywhere at once. Motionless bodies littered the ground, some of her mercenaries among them. Arrows whizzed through the cold air, and wounded men screamed. She spotted one of the women traveling with them lying motionless on the ground, an arrow sticking out of her chest.
She felt Michael push her from behind, forcing her to keep the speed. Another bandit, wielding a saufeder, seemingly appeared from seemingly nowhere in front of her and jabbed at her stomach. Just as suddenly Michael knocked the thrust aside with his blade. "Run!" he yelled, shaping up against the bandit, who swung the hunting spear at him like a club, only to be blocked by Michael's shield.
"Woman, run!" he yelled again in exasperation.
It was not her fairest moment, she knew that. After another look at the skirmish behind her, she did as she was told and broke into the underbrush.