Crisis at Forest's Edge, Part 2: Trouble's Here

Dropping to a crouch and somersaulting forward, Crant drew her sword from its scabbard as she went. Two arrows and another bolt passed through the space she'd been standing, joining the first projectile off on the other side of the road. Rising to her feet, sword held up before her and feet spread apart, Crant took a deep breath to keep down the anger threatening to boil out of her.

"I heard the hoofbeats when your horses galloped past behind the ridgeline a little while ago." She called out, referring to the long hill that stretched out beside the bare-dirt of the road. "Why don't you lot come out here where we can pretend this is a fair fight."

A moment later, Talarn and three of his men stepped into sight. Crant's hands tightened on the hilt of her weapon.

"Perhaps this is just a misunderstanding." Their leader called, keeping his hands by the axes on his belt.

"Sure it is." She chuckled. "That's why you just tried to shoot me."

"Just tell us why you sabotaged our gear last night, and we'll let you go without trouble." Talarn said calmly.

"And why would I do a thing like that?"

"Because if you don't, you'll die here, very painfully, without anyone around to help you." He stated, in an icy voice.

"Now," Crant snarled, "What in Sarant's name makes you think I need help?" With that, she lunged forward, driving the sword toward his chest. Talarn dodged on pure instinct, backing up to put some distance between the woman and himself as he seized his weapons.

The men beside him did not recover as quickly, and before the one closest to where his leader had been standing could move, there was a sword sticking out of his side. Crant pulled back her blade as the man crumpled to the ground. Talarn got over his shock and charged her, only to have the reddened sword block his downward sweep. A kick to the gut caused him bend double, then Crant slammed the pommel at the end of her hilt against the back of his head. Talarn dropped without another sound.

A battle cry coming from behind her grabbed Crant's attention, and she dropped down to swing her leg out in a sweeping kick. The man with a pair of daggers behind her crashed to the ground. One swift sword strike punctured his chest, driving through armor and organs with ease. Withdrawing her weapon, Crant rolled to the side, coming to her feet ready for the next attack.

The last man in the group had started running almost the same instant the fight started, presumably to get the others of their company. Debating silently with herself for a moment, Crant decided she’d retreat to a more defensible position, rather than going after him. Stepping over to the grass patches by the side of the road, she stooped to wipe the blood off her blade, and heard the slight groan from Talarn’s prone form. Crant moved towards him once her sword was clean.

A nudge from her boot rolled the man onto his side. He was still unconscious, Crant was glad to see, but then something slipped out onto the ground. It was a silver pendant on a leather cord around Talarn’s neck, which he had been wearing under his shirt. Crant knelt to get a better look, and the cold hand of fear grappled with her heart.

The silver disk was imprinted with the image to two crossed swords, intersected by a barbed arrow. It was the symbol of the Eradicators, a cult that took lessons from two different goddesses, Huntress Alasi and Nikheen the Victorious, and combined them in a twisted fashion. They believed that every Animkind was guilty or capable of great evil, and needed to be destroyed before they could harm the inhabitants of the southern lands. Now that she knew Talarn was a member, Crant couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of the Eradicators earlier, when first listening to that pair at the inn the night before.

Not wasting time to bind Talarn’s hands or feet, Crant started running. She’d encountered the Eradicators on occasion in her travels, and had earned a place on their list of worst enemies. Once that fellow who’d run off got word to higher members of the cult, they’d send a well-armed party of their greatest warriors to track down Crant, and that wouldn’t be good for her health.

The nearest settlement was the one she had just left, but it wouldn’t do any good to try and hide there. Her pursuers would just assume the humans there were on her side, and burn everything down. If Crant was to escape the Eradicators, she’d need to go someplace prepared to ward off hostile parties.

That meant the Animkind of Felisa’s Forest. They had weapons, defenses, and warriors who were already enemies of the Eradicators. Assuming, of course, they didn’t shoot Crant when she tried to enter their land.

Hurrying away from the scene of the short fight, Crant spotted a large tree with widespread branches beside the road. She waited until she was underneath one such extended limb, then leaped. Gloved hands grasped the thick branch, and Crant heaved herself up into the tree. Moving carefully, she ducked and crawled through the foliage to a position beyond sight if the road, and jumped back down the the ground.

Crant went on like that for the rest of the day, hiding her trail, back-tracking at times, jumping up to travel through the tree-tops and other tricks to throw off pursuers. Eventually, as the sun was touching down on the western horizon, she stopped on a rocky shelf by a stream. There Crant opened her pack and pulled out a small package of dried meat and bread rolls. She munched on the food, mulling over the consequences for killing two Eradicator initiates and severely injuring a third. They already wanted to kill her, of course, for speaking out against them and being what she was, but a transgression such as this could earn her some serious torture first.

Just as she was finishing her meager meal, a slight scent carried on the breeze from the south caused Crant to stiffen. She turned her head to the direction she had come, and confirmed the smell.

Smoke, with the tang of pitch, which meant torches. And with the distance the scent had to go in order for her to detect it, there were probably a few dozen of them. Packing away the remains of her dinner, Crant stood to continue her escape. She knew this stream flowed to the north, eventually joining up with more bodies of water that all led to the Lonrea River. If she could reach Crick's Creek, there would only be a few miles of sparse woodland between her and Felisa's Forest. Assuming Crant could make it that far...

To Be Continued