Vengeance: Chapter 4

"Raconteur," said the king, "this tale of yours is beginning to sound rather familiar."

"Well, my lord, I trained at the famous Crystal Glen bard's college. It's possible you may have heard it from one of my contemporaries." Replied the raconteur with a smile.

"Very well, that could be so. Continue, if you will." The raconteur nodded and resumed his tale.

*****

Jim woke in the morning and stretched luxuriously, yawning and taking in his surroundings, bounding to his feet as he realised he slept through all the watches. "Quint! Quint, why did you let me sleep through my watch?" When no reply was forthcoming, he looked about the campsite once again. There were no signs of a struggle, yet it was eerily quiet. The only sound was the wind blowing through the boughs of neighbouring trees and carrying the same scent of decay as they had found the previous evening. "Oh, God!" Said Jim, running towards the source of the smell, only to find old carrion from a beast's kill. Stepping towards the carcass, he was suddenly jerked upwards through the air by his feet and hit his head against the ground. The last thing he saw as his eyes closed was a large, armoured figure striding through the underbrush and drawing his sword. Then, only darkness.

*****

Quint watched on in mute horror as his companions were captured by the mysterious figure each in their own turn. Quint himself had been captured shortly after the other two had fallen asleep, a strong smelling rag pressed over his nose and mouth, causing him to pass out without a sound. Soon thereafter, he awoke, bound hand and foot to a tree with a rough gag pushed into his mouth, in time to see Tom being pinned to the ground by a man in dark clothing who kept him in a chokehold until he lay as limp as a boned fish. Tom awoke near dawn alongside Quint, bound in a similar manner. Working his gag free, he hissed at their captor: "Aren't you a brave one, taking men down from behind? You'll have hell on your hands when he wakes up." He indicated the sleeping figure of Jim with a jerk of his head.
"In that case," said their captor with a sneer in his voice, "perhaps I had better prepare myself accordingly." As he slipped away into the dawn's half light, they heard a menacing chuckle coming from him which made chills run up their spines. Half an hour later, they saw Jim leaping up, and heard the faint sound of him calling Quint's name in desperation.
"Huh, bastard never even thought of me." Muttered Tom into his beard. Quint grunted, unable to remove his gag because of how tightly it was tied. Within minutes, the mysterious man returned with Jim slung over his shoulder.
"Not so difficult to capture, is your version of hell. Almost makes me wonder why the duke put such a bounty on your heads. But, weren't there four of you?" He asked.
"Piss off, princess." Spat Tom, while Quint sat with a mournful look on his face.
"Ah, " said the man, "Always difficult to leave a companion behind. You have my condolences." Quint gave a grunt as his response, while Tom just glared daggers at the unknown man. He removed his helmet, to reveal a face covered by a dark leather half mask. His eyes, however, were filled with a sadness and compassion which surprised both Tom and Quint. Leaning down, he reached toward Quint and undid his gag while saying: "That would explain why you were so easy to capture. Grief and weariness will be your greatest enemies in your adventures... What exactly are they?" he asked.
"We fight for what is right, and try to empower the people wherever possible. We're trying to rouse the towns against the duke so that they may have their due." Responded Quint in his forthright manner. The unknown man looked surprised at that revelation.
"That's a bold venture for such a small group. You might need an extra hands from someone with likeminded goals to fill up your little party... If you would have me, that is." Quint looked at him with guarded suspicion and began to speak. The words caught in his throat and made him cough, so Tom took that as a cue and launched a tirade: "Listen here, shiny pants. You were ready to hand us over to the duke for nothing but a fat reward. Why should we trust you and take you to the... the... " Tom squinted at the sigil on the man's half plate armour, identifying him as a watch commander from the resistance.
"The..?" prompted the man.
"What's your detachment number and callsign, commander?" Asked Tom.
"I don't - " Began the man.
"Cut the crap! I can see your sigil!" Barked Tom.
"First lieutenant of the watch, forest grove detachment. I returned from a scouting mission to find the base up in flames. Whoever did that will pay, I swear it." He said. Looking up, he continued: "You can call me Dart, by the way."
"Well, Fart..." Began a voice by his feet.
"Dart!" He corrected in fury.
"Whatever. Mind untying us so we can actually get somewhere? I'm commander James Barker of Lake District, along with captain Thomas Rover. Perhaps you've heard of us?" Asked Jim, with a smirk on his face.
"Your sigils..." Began Dart.
"Were confiscated when we were sent to prison. We were expecting a rescue from the forest detachment on our way to the gallows, but only Quint Fellowes, master at arms of Lake District, came to help." Said Tom icily.
"Lucky for us, too." Said Jim. "Otherwise we would be hanging with flies in our mouths. No matter, though. We're free. Or soon will be..." He said with a meaningful look towards his bindings.

Vengeance: Chapter 3

"Aha! What a gripping tale thus far!" Enthused the king. "I am quite filled with anticipation. What happens next?" He asked the raconteur, who had paused for a sip of his wine.

"If your majesty would wait just a moment longer, he shall find out when the telling begins anew." Replied the raconteur with a wry, humourless smile.

*****

Bone weary and trembling with fear and exertion, the three travellers made their way into the forest hideaway of the resistance movement. Upon entering, they were confronted by a dank and fetid odour, reminiscent of decay and unpleasantness, but were too weary to pay it any heed. As they made their way further in, the smell grew stronger, until they rounded a corner and found the source of the smell, making Jim violently sick.

"My God!" Said Tom in utter horror. "Who is capable of something like this?" Before them was a pyramid of corpses made up of the members of the resistance's forest base, reaching high into the air. Suspended from the vaulted ceiling were several disfigured heads, each one bearing a pained grimace. The inhumanity of the situation shook the three friends to the core, and they vowed they would repay the blood debt owed to all those who had laid down their lives for their cause. Tom then kindled a fire to raze the base to the ground as they departed, leaving only unhappy memories of death and dismay. After an hour's march through the forest, they came upon a clearing and Jim called a halt. "Quint," he groaned, "don't you have some rope so we can take shelter in those trees? I don't like the look of this clearing."
"I'm afraid I don't, master James. But I'll take the first watch, if it makes you feel better."
"Much, thanks." Said Jim as he and Tom began setting up a rough campsite. The moon was low in the sky by the time Jim fell asleep, troubled after the day's tragic events.
"Sleep well, Master James," murmured Quint. "Soon your courage will be tested again, and hopefully you will be able to stand firm against the evil in your path."

*****

The duke had not been idle during the time the companions had spent resting and recovering. Instead, he had stolen a march on them, and even as the companions set fire to the forest base, the duke and his personal bodyguard of thirty elite soldiers arrived at the entrance to a nondescript house on the west side of his town's prosperous lake district. This house was plain, in contrast to its more opulent neighbours, yet it always seemed to have upper class nobility visiting, which set the duke's suspicious mind at work. At a signal from the duke, two soldiers struck the door with their halberds, smashing it to kindling. Peering into the dim light within, the soldiers could see nothing except a tastefully decorated reception hall. 

"Damn!" Swore the duke. "Either the birds have flown the coop, or my spies need to be roasted. Which is it?"

"My lord, I'll stay in the vicinity and report back back to you if anything strange happens." Volunteered the captain of the detachment.

"My thanks, captain. Have this, in case anybody wants to claim for reparations." Said the duke, handing him a purse which clinked with the heavy, rich sound of gold.

"My lord." Replied the captain, taking it from him and heading to his station near the suspicious house.

Down with the sickness

Hello audience,

It has been two weeks since my last writing update.
I know since this is not my regular job, it's not necessary for me to provide excuses, but I do feel bad for leaving my audience hanging for so long.

I have been sick on and off for the past few weeks with a viral infection of my upper respiratory tract, leading to pharyngitis and laryngitis, causing me to lose out on work and get behind on my schedule of writing, secular work and volunteer work. Naturally, I decided that lifting my fingers to hit a few keys was too much effort at the end of the day, and so it became a bad habit of mine not to post anything any longer.

A habit which I am putting a stop to, starting today.

Enjoy the rest of the story as it follows.

Yours in writing,
Rook.

Vengeance: Chapter 2

"He said what?" Roared the duke.

"Yes, milord. The one, 'e was called Jim, 'e said you oughtta give the people what's their right, not what's left. 'E said if you didn't change, 'e was gonna see you 'anged." The gaoler's courage faltered as he said the last word, but the fear of the dagger had been set firmly in him, and so he continued. "'E also said you oughtta think carefully before you answer, and if 'e don't 'ear nothin' by tomorrer, 'e'll declare war on you."

"War... The sheer cheek. Some forest outlaws trying to declare war on me? How dare they!" The duke stood, his surcoat glinting in the dying light. "Come here, gaoler. I have something I need you to do." As the gaoler came closer, trembling, the duke's mailed fist flashed out, catching him between the eyes and crushing the bone. "My last command to you is this: Die!" Turning his back on the stricken man, he strode away muttering under his breath: "War... huh."

******

"It seems to me, raconteur, this is not a tale of grim fate, but rather of hope. Am I correct?" Interrupted the king.

"Your majesty knows best. However, the tale has barely reached infancy, and needs to continue but a little further before a conclusion can be drawn." Replied the raconteur with an indulging smile. "After all, who today can clearly see the future?"

"Who indeed? Very well, go on with it." Replied the king, his curiosity now piqued.

******

As Jim and his three companions walked through the forest's golden leaves, Quint kept glancing about uneasily.  "What's the matter there, Quint lad?" Asked Matt, surreptitiously placing a hand on the haft of his massive two handed broadaxe. "Been trouble hereabouts?"

"Nothing we can't handle, Matthew. Just making sure-" Whatever else he was going to say was lost as he tackled Jim to the ground, signalling frantically for the other two to do the same.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Yelled Tom. Wordlessly, Quint showed them to be silent, and pointed at a tree further along the road where a crude arrow was still quivering.

"Nothing we can't handle, he says. Huh." Muttered Matt crossly to himself, before standing and drawing two tomahawks in one fluid motion, and sinking to his knees with an arrow buried in his upper chest.

"Matt! Matt, can you hear me?" Hissed Jim. Matt's mouth opened and he tried to form words, but all that came out was a steady flow of blood as he slumped to one side. "Matt!" Screamed Jim. "You bastards will pay for that!" He swore, as Quint desperately tried to cover his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw the bushes rustling and prepared himself to throw a pair of daggers at whomever - or whatever - walked out of the thicket.

"Ain't nobody gonna kill Thomas Rover anytime soon without a fight." He muttered to himself, but he was taken aback by the figure which lurched out with a spear in its misshapen hands. The inbred bush dweller had his torso covered in tattoos and scar ridges, and walked with an awkward gait to compensate for the fact that one leg was longer than the other. Worst of all, however, was the face. Half the flesh had been burnt off, revealing the grinning skull beneath, to which some charred scraps of flesh were still clinging. Several of its kin followed from the confines of the bush, with two of them clutching crude bows held ready for action. Barely had they taken two steps before the bowmen fell, a dagger between the eyes of each.

"Now! Kill the bastards!" Roared Jim, leaping to his feet and drawing his falchion. His two companions joined in the deathly struggle, bloodied blades flashing in the dying light as they cut as swathe through their foes, fury proving a more effective asset than any skill or training. When the confrontation ended with Jim slashing his last last opponent across the belly and gutting him, Quint let out a distressed cry: "He's gone!"

"What? Who?" Asked Jim, spinning around to take in his surroundings once more. "Matt!" He cried, running to the blood soaked earth where his friend had lain. "What did they have to take you for? You were dead!" He cried in his grief. They all started in fear as they heard a deep chuckle resonate through the thicket to the trail where they knelt.

"The big 'un is ours now, outsiders. Git off our land 'fore the rest of you follow 'is fate!" Boomed a guttural voice, and the three remaining companions continued on their journey with fear adding speed to their weary limbs.

Vengeance: Chapter 1

"There was a time when heroes roamed the land... Deeds were performed which won them great renown. The time for heroes, however, is ended. Dark days are upon the distant kingdom, and tyranny reigns supreme. There is a glimmer of hope, however, for how can one survive without whispered tales of heroism? These are tales for which three men are about to pay for with their lives. Allow me, your majesty, to paint the scene." 

"Continue, raconteur. After all, the people need some entertainment this evening!" Announced the king with a merry chuckle.

"Very well..." Said the raconteur with a bow, his face grave, "Here follows the tale of the three unfortunates."

 *******

"Oi, you lot! Keep it moving! Don't wanna keep the gallows waitin', do yer?" Said the portly gaoler, with a nasty leer.

"Actually, there's something I have to say about that..." Began one of the prisoners, a man in his early twenties with fair complexion and an unruly shock of dark hair.

"Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before. You lot is innocent, eh?"

"Actually, no. We're all guilty of "spreading stories of heroism", as the judge put it. Why should we be hanged for that, though?" The gaoler stopped in mid stride, surprise stamped on his features.

"Say what? You're guilty?" The young man's companions also looked taken aback by this unexpected turn of events.

"Are you mad, Jim? What the hell are you thinking?"

"Well Tom, what are they going to do to us if we admit further guilt? Hang us again?" Their other companion, who had been silent until then, let loose a gruff bark of laughter.

"Aye, the lad has a point. No sense in being meek little lambs now, is there?" Jim winked at him.

"That's the spirit, Matt. I was starting to think your fire had left you!" The sudden crack of a whip brought them back to the moment at hand, followed by the self satisfied sneer of their gaoler: "Well now, me lads, feelin' better after natterin' a bit are we? Then get a move on!" As he raised the whip once more, he felt a mighty tug on the end which sent him sprawling backwards. When his eyes focused again, the gleaming point of a dagger was millimeters away from his face, causing the gaoler to turn pale and stutter in his terror. "W... Well now... There's no need for hostilities, is there?"

"I think we've gone past that stage, don't you?" Came a quiet voice from behind the dagger. "After all, you were happily going to see these three men hang, eh gaoler?"?

"Me? Not on your life, yer honour! I'm just a poor wretch doin' 'is job!"

"Well now, how about one innocent releasing another three?" Piped up Jim with a chuckle.

"Master James, so glad you haven't lost your sense of humour."

"And you your sense of timing, Quint. Although," he added with a smile, eyeing the portly gaoler, "the good, bloodthirsty townsfolk are waiting for a hanging. Maybe we can still give them one?" At that, the gaoler began blubbering and wheezing. "Please spare an innocent man, yer honour... I didn't..." He began.

"Oh, shut it fatty. The gallows probably wouldn't have held your weight anyway. No, I have other plans for you." Said Jim. The gaoler's face sagged in relief, then further in terror as Jim outlined his plan.

"You'll have me killed either way..." He began in a terrified voice, until a second dagger flashed through the air and buried itself in the ground between his legs.

"Not necessarily, fatty." Smirked Quint.

*******

Brief overview of my first short story

Who likes a bit of suspense, a few twists and turns in a novel and a fair amount of death?
I know I do.

My first short story is called Vengeance, and it features three men trying to fight for their rights as citizens of a far off dukedom, which is ruled with an iron fist and the definition of "citizen's rights" is simply a blow to the head with the right hand.

Now that I have (hopefully) piqued your interest, read on :)