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.