The Supreme Warrior *2014 ABNA Contest 2nd Round*

CHAPTER 9.4: Into the Forest

It was a cheerless night. The Captain allowed no one but the cooks to make fires, and ordered them to snuff out the flames before nightfall. The men sent to gather firewood found that even the dead underbrush beneath the massive elenium trees resisted the bite of metal axes. Under the smothering canopy of the Mahdiren Wood, this oppressive news reduced the guardsmen’s normally robust camp-talk to inane murmurs.

At least this gloomy forest prevents me from wondering what is happening in Dannik.

As the caravan settled into their camp, the forest seemed to gather its forces. Hundreds of lonely predators hid amidst the thick underbrush surrounding the caravan’s camp; but, without aid, no one animal could overcome the invaders, and no predator could trust another. Mankind won this one-sided battle with nature because only they could mass for war.

As the sun set, Cal felt the need to relieve his bladder, and passed the Trader’s wagon on his way to the edge of camp. He often paid more attention to remote objects than those nearby; and, in this case, the habit allowed him to see what most would have ignored. Candlelight spilled from the distant door of the wagon and silhouetted a heavily cloaked figure standing on the threshold. This short, stocky person leaped into the wagon and shut the door behind him. Cal had not seen this person at meals or outside the wagon before now, and wondered how he had remained out of sight all this time. Despite his curiosity, he put the matter out of his mind as he settled down to sleep.

The days took on a monotonous character. The caravan ambled along the road from sunup to dusk each day. By the time they set up camp, the men had little remaining energy to spend on weapon’s practice. Cal had once scorned the fighting ability of hired guards, but now understood they had little chance to hone their skills.

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Four days out from Dannik, the forest thickened over rough terrain. The guardsmen were miserable from sleeping on soggy ground the night before and dispirited by the misty drizzle that hung in the air that day. The road took a winding path, skirting a steep ridge to the right hand side of the caravan’s route.

A shrill horse screamed from somewhere just ahead, alerting Cal that something was wrong.

A cloud of arrows sprang from the woods. He heard the distant crash of a wagon smashing into a tree. Captain Naedros shouted, “Release the wagons!”

He’s saving the cargo. He doesn’t want panicking draft animals to destroy more wagons.

The bewildered caravan guards frantically scanned the forest, trying to spot the danger. Moments later, a dark horde of men rushed through the trees, roaring with blood lust.

The guardsmen screamed in return.

Waving their weapons, they ran to meet the bandits. A thin man rushed Cal with a long knife in his right hand. Cal ripped open the man’s stomach with one wicked arc of his sword, and ran on.

Ahead, red-bearded Fardinanth’s axe stuck in the collarbone of an enemy, while another bandit ran toward him, ready to plunge a spear in the redhead’s belly. Cal swept the spearhead from the shaft with a lightning stroke. The man gave a dumbfounded glance at his broken weapon and screamed as Cal’s back-swing severed the arm from his body. The dying bandit’s arm-socket sprayed Cal’s back with blood as the young squire turned to skewer another opponent who rushed him from the rear.

Fardinanth watched with relieved awe

The bandits fled before the massive sword, leaving Cal and his troop in a bubble of sanity amid chaos. From more than fifty yards ahead, the Captain shouted, “To me! To me! Protect the wagons!”