@The Hunting Moon
The crystal blue sky mocked the merchants as they were held up by five bandits. It was a small group. The truth is you don't need many men these days to part a few merchants from their goods. Just mean-looking ones and these ugly mugs looked mean enough. Leaves brushed his neck as he silently moved through the forest line that looked out over the dirt road. I'm not getting involved. He vowed to himself as he got a closer look. The merchants were on their knees now. Four merchants. One lead trader, a woman and two who looked like his sons. A family. A knot formed in his belly. As long as they cooperate, they will be fine. Don't get involved, Oak. He heared the words of his father echo in his mind.
''A good warrior can turn any disadvantage around. A great warrior just turns around.'' The bandits stalked around the caravan and some went in to take stock of the goods. Once they came out, they talked to the biggest meanest looking fellow of the group. Their leader, it seemed like. His face went sour. He spat and pulled the lead trader up at his neck. He couldnt hear what they were saying but it didn't look good. He shook his head as he pulled the bow from his back and nocked an arrow just in case. Don't. Don't. Don't. He mumbled to himself as he saw the bandit pull out a big knife and gut the lead trader. The woman wailed as the intestines of her husband spilled on the ground in a river of blood.
Whoosh. The arrow hit him in the neck. His face suprised, eyes big and glassy as he gurgled and hopelessly tried to stop the blood from spurting out. He went down were he stood. The remaining bandits scrambled to get cover.
Whoosh. Another arrow found its mark right above a kneecap. An agonizing scream filled the road. The trader family had wisely huddled up together. Two sons dragging their mom to make a break for the tree line. The bandits by now had figured out they were up against a single archer and followed in pursuit. They would try to rush and overwhelm him, using the family as cover so he couldn't get a clear line of sight. Three against one. Bad odds. He kissed the hilt of his sword and spoke a silent prayer. He thought of his father. What he would think of him of this. He pushed the thoughts away and exhaled through his nose. A good day to die as any.
He exited the tree line sword in hand and rushed towards the family. The bandits had almost caught up. He couldn't let that happen. They would use them as a shield or a hostage and more innocent blood would be spilled. The bandits were smaller than him and wore the same plain-looking leather armor. Their weapons were rusty but dangerous enough. As soon as he got between them and the family, they encircled him. They weren't as stupid as they looked. Bad news. An axe swung at him from his right. He turned away from the strike and lunged to the left. The rhythm of the battle found him and their movements slowed down. They hacked and slashed but he danced and spun. The world around him forgotten. There the simple beauty of his sword embraced him. He could feel his sword melt through their armor. One bandit fell with cut hamstrings and a stab wound just under his heart. Blood painted the grass in a deep color of red. He could feel an axe grazing his arm but his dance kept him up. The axe fell with the arm still attached. He heard the scream. His sword cut it short as it sliced through their throat. There was no thinking in combat like this. He ducked and swung at his last opponent. The bandit slashed at his thigh and he felt blood trickling down his leg. The cut wasn't deep but enough to stagger him for a second. The bandit took it as an opportunity and swung his sword widely to finish him. A trap. He flashed forward and stuck his sword through their abdomen. A shocked look on his face. The sword fell and Oak cut his throat. The trouble with fights like this was that it was never like the stories. There was no grace in it. No honor. A man could live for hours with a gut wound. There was no mercy. The reality of it was, most died a horrible and painful death. He cleaned his sword on his pants and looked over at the trader family. They had been watching the fight behind a tree a while away. Why were they gesturing at him? ''....tch out!!!'' The moment he realised. It was too late. He looked down at the sword sticking out of his belly. Blood gushing out. It felt warm. This was his blood. He fell down to his knee and heared the remaining bandit laugh behind him. The one he had shot in the kneecap. He must have struggled his way up to the fight and ambushed him as soon as he had let his guard down. The world swirled. He could feel the pain coursing through his veins now. As horses through water.
''As long as you draw breath, the fight isn't over, son. Remember that.'' His father's words. It's over dad. Tonight, we'll feast together again.
''No. We won't.'' He screamed as he turned. The sword still sticking out of his belly. He was lucky he took the bandit by suprise and he wasn't holding the sword very tight otherwise he would have gutted himself. With a final burst of strength he brought his sword up and stuck it between his ribs. The trader family rushed at him. He fell down on his side. They spoke to him but he couldn't make out the words. He felt at ease. The world turned off and for the first time in his life, he felt peace.
Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)