Hunting

After torching the corpses, as we don't like them standing back up, the four of us moved through the camp searching for more survivors. After three hours of slogging through mud and muck. Nothing. Plenty of tracks but no bodies. I looked at Bragg.

"Hey, Bragg." He looked and I pointed out the deep ruts of wagon wheels. "Taken?" He walked, well tramped over. There is no "walking" in the mud that exists around Pharron. Especially during a rain storm.

He nodded slowly, "Yep." He looked at me. "Well?" Everyone knew that I was the best tracker.

"Bragg," I chided, "A child can follow this." That meant he didn't need me on the road but I could still scout.

"Fair 'nough," he sniffed, "Alright, you bastards grab what you can. Amila, please make it light this time." He looked at her, the incident had been years ago but everybody still ragged her about it.

"Right," this was her now customary reply when she didn't feel like fighting. So she grabbed a bag, cast a spell, and nearly dumped the entire camp in it. I tell ya, the look in her eyes. Makes one happy, as it were.

We moved out within the hour and followed our quarry north by northwest. Out of Pharron into the wilds of Kale. The road was uneventful, which was eventful in its own right. We were on one of the busiest merchant roads in the kingdoms. Should have had people crawling up and down it like an ant hill. As I moved through the brush beside the road I heard Amila in my head.

"See anything?" Her voice was harsh from the frustration.

"Not yet," I was concentrating on keeping my footing. Best timing in the world, that one, always. My sarcasm hit her as hard as my will could perform.

"Don't get snippy," she muttered.

"Yes, dear." My reply had her hitch slightly in step. I was watching her from the bank just beyond the outer layer of foliage. No one else would have noticed it. I smirked. Got her back. I turned and stopped cold.

"Out of the road." I just noticed a crew of orcs. Not overly large in stature but made up for it in numbers. Twenty coming down the road slow and steady. She signaled everyone. They disappeared into the brush on the roadside. Bragg moved behind a tree though it didn't help much. His frame nearly dwarfed it. The orcs though were, as always, not paying attention to anything but their bickering. Bragg sneezed as he stepped out from behind the tree. Oh, Gods....let him be smart for five seconds!

"Hey!" he called out in Orc. "Where you off to?" He tramped through the bush and stood directly in front of the group. His size marks him regardless of introduction. The band stopped cold. The biggest stepped forward looking Bragg up and down.

"Nowhere you're going, tiny," It gruffed back. Its voice sounding lower and harsher than its neighbors. The laughter was low as they heard the insult. Bragg smiled back. His axe left its sheathe faster than the idiot could blink. His head didn't even have a chance to move a foot before Bragg caught it. He lifted the head over his face washing it in the blood of the "leader". The rest quieted immediately. The shock of the act had its effect.

"Same question." Bragg glared across the faces and none dare look him in the eye.

"South," one said, the others grumbled.

"And?" Bragg was glaring daggers so hard that most of them flinched under his gaze. There was a lot of south. He wanted exact.

"Pharron," the one that answered stepping forward. "Joining the barracks there." This one was shorter than the rest but was wise enough to know that even a little lie was better than the truth. Bragg nodded. The sop had no idea what was coming. The axe vanished again as he cleaved the blighter in half. His temper was rising.

"Same question," this time the death had the orcs in a panic. Lies and bluffing got death. They saw that clear as day. This time none answered for a while. They were trying to think of a way out. Some were reaching for weapons. Some were wondering how fast this big guy could run.

"Tale or truth," Bragg suggested. "It's a game where two people challenge each other to tell a tale or the truth." He pointed to one. "You and me. You start."

"Truth," the creature chucked out. Its voice barely above a grunt.

"I like to brush down horses. Especially after a long ride." Bragg was honest. We saw him do it hundreds of times. "My turn...." He paused. "Tale," he looked the creature in the eye. He would know if it was lying.

"I think you're the dumbest human I've met." It mocked him as it saw their scouts coming up behind him. I saw them long before then. One made it out of the tree line, holding its guts in. The fear was palpable on the road then. This big guy wasn't alone. The knowledge of this had the band draw weapons. Bragg was among them before most even had them free. His axe biting and gnawing it's through their number in record time. We came in then, announced by Amila and Nico blasting them nearly apart with lightning and fire. The band was decimated in less than a moment. My blades drank deeply of their black blood. The edge, slightly dulled by the fighting. Amila had that look. I wasn't going to sleep that night. Oh damn, this was going to be great. The itch was great between her and me.

That night I didn't sleep a wink. She was trying not to consume too much. I was trying not to wear her out too much either. We were holding each other long into the night. During one of our moments of rest. I caught her looking at the ring. The hematite band and blue sapphire gems inset gleamed in the low light of our shared tent. I caught her look and waited, giving her time to form her thoughts.

"Were you serious?" She looked at me, truly asking.

"The question is," I looked into her eyes, "would you accept me?"

She started at the question. "You're asking me?" She sat up and looked at me hard. "You gave me this and you're asking me that?" She wasn't angry just contemplative. "Arn," she hesitated, "I love you." She looked at me tearing up. "I don't know when. Or how. But, I love you." She began to fidget with the ring. "I'm scared as all the Hells because of it." The tears were flowing freely. She looked down at the ring. She whimpered, looking at me. "I don't know what to do, Arn. I'm so scared that I'll lose something like this-" I interrupted her with a kiss. I wrapped her in my arms laying her back down. Facing each other I made my case.

"You are the most stubborn woman I've ever met." I cupped her face in my hand. Smiling, I shook my head, "The most beautifully powerful sorceress I know." I remembered the first time we'd met. She singed the Hells out of my breaches. I laughed, "Plus, you still owe me a pair of pants."

Her black hair framed her face scrunched. The smile that lit her face then was blinding. My breath caught, harshly. "Just a pair of pants?" She laughed, the sound like silver bells. "You're an arse." She leaned over, straddling me I placed my hands on her bare thighs. "Arn, I accept you." She kissed me long and hard. Our night blended then into morning as our lovemaking took its own pace. We dressed before the others and were wondering how we could finalize the exchange of vows. The chance would come but we had to choose where. That morning we were still following the trail. Each of us though knew long before, we were heading home. What we found was a massacre. The orc band had done a damn fine job on this one.

The village we knew as Haven, was torn asunder and left to rot. Simple, and elegant in its own right. Haven had been nearly idyllic in both architecture and custom. None were ever felt to be homeless here. The community took care of itself. The vagabonds and ne'er-do-wells never found a warmer welcome. The gods, all gods, were welcome. However, the only law was, "Peace. Even between enemies." Also, none dared take advantage, especially since the Fourteenth had its barracks there. Although, it helped that everyone was on their best behavior. Even Bragg didn't pick a single fight. This place was that important. Why you ask? Our company was founded there. Nearly seven hundred fifty years prior. When this was an even smaller hamlet.

Not one of our old haunts still stood. A smoldering ruin was all that was left of Home. Bragg and I began the search. The trail for our estranged colleagues not fading. Even in the mud and rain. The memories hurt almost as much as burying the children. An adage ran through my head, "There are no innocents during war." I knew that to be the truth, there were only the living and the dead. Innocence was the first casualty of war. Every time.

Nico found a single survivor. Harold, the old goat, had managed to get thrown under a porch by a passing blow. Saved his life though he'll never say a word about the incident. The most chatty guy in the entire town. Mute for the rest of his life. Bragg grabbed a cart. Harold was gently placed in it and Amila gently nursed him. A picture of nearly divine intervention. Harold died a few days later not saying a word to anyone. Not one fuckin' word. We buried him on the roadside. His grave was marked by iris and lilac. His body lay in repose surrounded by it. His gentility, was marked by the beauty in which he lay. Nico raised his cairn, the ground holding him like a child.

We marched. Open on the road. No longer caring about stealth or subtlety. A fire was burning in us that even gave color to Nico and his nearly translucent skin. Our war began. The kidnapped were our goal. The kidnappers were our target. The heat in me sharpened my senses to a point of extreme I hadn't felt before. Bragg flexed his arms and he visibly pulsed. The veins on his neck moved as if snakes were crawling under his tanned skin. Amila, gods blessed, remained cold fury for the rest of the day. Nico was nearly bursting with untempered power. His hands constantly crackled with the arcane. War, the Fourteenth, the one damned we were good at. Our road continued for several more hours. The fury never left us. By the evening hours, our quarry was well established in a camp not far from the road. The guards posted, never even saw us coming. Nico dragged the skeleton out of one. Which turned and began to fight another. Amila froze six before shattering them while skirting by. Bragg simply walked straight in. Axe moved like it was alive. Biting and tearing apart the captors with ease. His eyes never left the cages in the back of the camp.

I was already there the distraction worked wonders for my approach. I was working the locks when a dagger sailed past my ear into the wood of the cage. "Move away, blighter, before I try to hurt you." The growl of the one who threw it was almost familiar. Then it struck. Naemon. This bastard didn't recognize me yet. As I turned and stood I drew the dagger from the wood holding it into the cage. It was taken by a rougher hand than Braggs. Good, Frank was alive.

"Shit," He said, my eyes met his as I drew my saber and sickle. "Dammit, why can't you just die?" His punch dagger and shortsword leaped from their respective scabbards.

"Too stubborn and inbred," My eyes betraying none of the mirth of my words. My weapons are already in hand. I slowly stepped towards him. Not bothering to gauge the distance. I sailed in, the pace set in a heartbeat. I had toyed with Naemon several times during sparring. I knew a few weaknesses but still, we had been evenly matched during our training. I didn't take him lightly for a second. Even still his rush nearly knocked me on my ass. I veered left with the momentum scoring a slight hit on his hip. Nothing too deep just enough to cause pain. Our blades crossed over and over again. The blur of them becoming harder to follow. The sparks though, told their own story. And, it was a losing one. Every attack was parried.

Naemon was better than I'd remembered but not good enough. So, I let loose, finally. My attacks began to drive him backward, steadily moving from the cages. I was driving towards the fighting in the other parts of the camp. His breath was a noxious fume of dried saliva and alcohol. His sweat was dripping down his face, into his eyes and mouth. Nothing was swallowed, no time to think. Just act.

Then the blood started. The copper and iron smell began to waft from the cuts on his body from my blades. The clang of steel on steel sounded like thunder rolling. I slipped purposefully on a loose spear shaft. The goad worked his thrust timed and executed almost perfectly. The problem was I didn't slip. My sickle buried itself into his neck, tearing out his throat. His gurgle was the last noise he made as he died. I sheathed my weapons turning back to the task of freeing the prisoners. He fell face-first into the dirt after I had turned away. Giving no witness to his death. One by one the locks fell to my hand as well. Twenty-two. Twenty-two fucking survivors out of a town of over five hundred. By this time, the others joined me at the cages. Relief mixed with bitter sadness.

"Arn!" Bragg was charging up. The cages were open and people began to mill about. Not sure what to do. "Get these people busy." I set several to clean the camp. More were sent to take stock of the provisions. It wasn't long though before questions were asked about Haven. Ken, the unofficial mayor of Haven had survived so that was a plus. Goodman, Old Ken. He began to weave the tale as best his memory could provide.

Things were beginning to make sense, sort of. The orcs were just a secondary force. Another group, better armed and equipped had hit Haven harder just a few hours before. The orcs just took advantage of it. The slavers came after. What got me was the description of the original force. Tall, black armor, red eyes, and spiked weapons too large to wield by a normal person. The Black Legion. The First Cohort. The Betrayed. No one had fought them in over six centuries and survived. Kingdoms had furnished entire armies with the best equipment and armor available. None survived and they took no prisoners. Now we had a new question. Why Haven? Why hit The Fourteenth? We'd never had any reason to cross them and they needed no reason to cross us.

We camped with them setting watches. Keeping a few of our own. The rations of the caravan lasted for at least one decent meal. Neither, I or Amila were in the mood for anything beyond just normal company. The next day was somber and close. Ken called for us. Ken, after the rest, was looking far more himself than the day before. His dark hair wasn't loose but held in a loose ponytail. His nearly colorless eyes weren't as bloodshot. Also, his skin which had tanned in years under the sun had regained more of its color. His stubbed right arm, though, was a problem. Village blacksmith and all that.

"You four were a damn sight for sore eyes," Ken started after the Fourteenth had seated ourselves. "I'm sure you've got more questions. But, we don't have those answers." His gaze told us he was speaking the truth. "I know you've just started but you may want to go by way of the Strand. That'd be my guess." He shook his head as he said this. "I'm sorry." He was referring to the few left from the company that would be worth a damn to sell. A few faces came to mind.

"That's not good," I said. Amila touched my hand. She knew what this meant. My daemons were about to haunt this group.

"What?" asked Bragg. The look I gave him was not intended to be a fuck off and die look. That may have been what I gave him though. He blanched at the look. He didn't do that often. I sighed and looked at my hands.

"I was born in the Strand. A village just south of Mill Basin. We were much like Haven. All kinds of folks living together. Beastmen, elves, dwarves, humans, all kinds. It was destroyed by the Black Legion. Almost twenty winters, now. I was six." My hands began to shake at the memories of that night. "The Strand is where I ended up and got slaved out to the fight pits in Sanction." I gripped my shoulder where the brand still tingled now and then. Not sure if Dover was still trying for me either.