65

Farlin’s hands went to his throat, and he fell backward out of the wagon as blood began to sputter from the wound. Michael dove after him, more arrows flying from the woods as he did, two of them bouncing off his breastplate as he landed. He angled himself over Farlin to block anymore, incoming arrows with his armor and grabbed the shaft of the arrow in his neck. He couldn’t pull it out, and the head of it was too wide and barbed.

“Sorry about this.”

Michael pushed the arrow through Farlin’s neck the rest of the way and yanked the arrow the rest of the way through the other side, healing him as he did so. He could hear the sounds of his friends charging into the woods as well as the shot of a gun followed by a scream from the woods and the sound of something heavy falling from the trees.

When he was sure Farlin was okay, he drew his sword and looked around for a target. The wagon driver was ducked down, seemingly unharmed, and he could hear a scuffle in some nearby trees.

An arrow whizzed toward him and stopped suddenly just before it would’ve entered the eye-slit of his helmet. He could feel the amulet on his chest grow hot as it happened, and he thanked the Divine as he charged in the direction the arrow had been fired from. He still didn’t have a shield, so he needed to rely completely on his armor, but there were far worse things to depend on than steel.

He came into the woods swinging and quickly found the archer. He was wearing simple cloth garments the same color as the forest around them and had a thick wooden bow and quiver of arrows. He seemed to have had the bad luck of having his cloak caught on a branch before he could flee. Otherwise, Michael wasn’t sure he’d have been able to catch him. His ears were pointed and his eyes wide and alien, with slightly sharp teeth he was baring at Michael. His limbs seemed too long and his features too angular, but he was beautiful in a way that Michael was able to appreciate even as he swung his sword.

The aelf caught the blow on his bow, parrying it, and slashed at him with a long dagger that must’ve been sheathed at his back. The slash cut across his breastplate and left a deep rend in it, but Michael ignored it, sending out a gauntleted fist in response. He caught the aelf across his face, but he turned with the blow, avoiding the full force of it, then went low, stabbing his dagger into the side of Michael’s leg, between the seams in his armor. Michael transferred the pain right back to the aelf, making him fall suddenly to one knee, letting out a high-pitched scream. He grabbed the aelf by the hair and drove his sword into his chest. He watched the wide eyes go even wider and then darken. He pulled his sword back, then gritted his teeth as he grabbed the dagger and ripped it from his leg, healing himself as he did so. He’d gotten a lot better at transferring his own pain, at least to a single opponent.

He ran out of the woods to see Ollie with a shimmering forcefield around himself, Farlin, and the driver. A few broken arrows around him, and a dead aelf covered in burns a few feet from him.

“You all right?” asked Michael.

He nodded. “Yeah, figured one might try to come back and finish them off, so I stuck around.”

Michael gestured to the aelf corpse. “Seems like the right call. The others?”

“I’m not sure. Marcus ran in to help Pyotr with his bayonet. I think Davi ran there.” He pointed to a part of the brush that looked like a giant had just run through it.

He started to move in that direction when Davi came out, his sword clean, but his shield covered in blood, hair, and some skull fragments.

“Got mine.”

Pyotr and Marcus emerged a bit later with Pyotr being held up by Marcus, a dagger sticking from his side.

Michael moved quickly over to him and removed the dagger from his side without even hesitating, healing him immediately after.

“Didn’t think anything could move that fast. Thanks.”

Michael nodded, examining the dagger along with the other one he’d removed from his own leg. The edges were serrated, much like the arrowheads. Either the aelves enjoyed being able to easily slice bread, or they liked inflicting pain. Then again, it could just be the signature of this particular group of mercenaries rather than a trait of aelvenkind as a whole. He found a place on his belt for one of them and held out the other to Pyotr. It seemed to him they’d earned them.

Farlin was rubbing his neck where a deadly wound had been only minutes before, feeling the fragility of his life.

“You all right, Sergeant?”

He nodded. “Just thinking I may request an earlier retirement. Not sure the larger stipend is worth sticking around much longer.”

Michael smiled at that and patted the man on the shoulder before climbing back into the rear of the wagon. The mule that had been pulling it had managed to stay stoically still all throughout the fight. Michael was very impressed, and the wagon driver was warmly patting it, probably feeling similarly impressed as well as grateful to be alive.

They continued along the road, much more focused on the forest around them, aware that at least one more aelven mercenary could be looking for the opportunity to fire at them and run. Luckily, they reached the fort without any more ambushes. The sergeant escorted them all to the tower where Bayle was, as always, pouring over maps and making marks in notebooks.

“You encountered aelves?” he asked, not even looking up from what he was doing.

Farlin raised his eyebrows. “Yes, sir. How did you know?”

“Penitents Michael and Pyotr have daggers with aelven hilt styles at their waists. There is still some fresh blood on them, so I assume the attack was recent.” He pulled out a smaller map that, from what Michael could tell, represented all the different paths to the camps that could be reached from the fort.

“Marcus, can you point out where the attack happened?” He held up a thin piece of charcoal.

Marcus took it and examined the map closely, making a mark that seemed a little closer to the fort than Michael thought was accurate, but he didn’t see a reason to disagree.

“Interesting. And you killed… two?”

“Three,” replied Ollie.

Bayle nodded, circling a small area of forest on the map and making a quick note under it.

“Good… good,” he muttered. He looked up and took a moment to salute Farlin. “Thank you for getting them to me. I’ll make sure you get recognized for fighting off the ambush.”

Farlin saluted back. “Thanks, sir, but I did nothing.”

“The Penitents won’t get credit for it. Either you do or no one does.”

He looked a bit conflicted about it, but Ollie gave him a nod.

“I accept then.”

“Good. I take these Penitents back under my supervision. You’re dismissed, Sergeant.” They exchanged one more salute, and Farlin left with one more friendly wave to Michael and the rest of them as he walked out the door.

Bayle came around to the front of the table and leaned back, sitting against it a bit. He fixed his eyes on Michael.

“Give me a report on everything that happened while you were with Rein’s raid group.”

Michael was surprised to be singled out but realized that none of the others seemed to be. Just like back on Earth, he was winding up doing supervisor work without actually being formally made one.

“We made it to the camp without incident, where we linked up with Merk, a knight-dragoon. He escorted us to the small camp the raiders were using in the middle of the woods. We reported to Rein, who gave us a rundown of his expectations. We did four raids, all of them small groups of mercenaries moving along the road, no Tusynian soldiers. The first three, we had only minor injuries and a few casualties. The last one, the mercenaries were much better equipped and seemed prepared for our attack. Our ambush failed, and Rein was killed covering everyone else’s retreat. I was separated from the group but managed to make my way back behind our lines and to the camp.”

“Did the mercenaries carry a banner of some sort? A mark?”

“A blackbird on a blue field.”

“Interesting.” He turned around to grab another small book and make a quick note. “All that matched up with what I already knew. Except you didn’t mention the brief accusation of desertion.”

“It didn’t seem pertinent.”

Bayle smiled slightly. “It’s not. You not mentioning it is interesting, though.” He stood and walked back around to the back of his desk. “You should all rest for the day. Re-equip and eat and drink heartily. Within the next few days, I’m going to spend some time with each of you to get a better idea of your specific skills, and by the end of the week, we’ll all be heading deep into Tusynian territory.” He placed a fist on his chest in salute, and they all returned it automatically, their armor clanging as they did so. “You’re dismissed.”