The Arkanist

Thieves, Heretics, and Outlaws

         As he unwrapped the tightly woven rope, focusing hard and splitting his mind, he heard Martem’s blade crunch on mail. Then came Yaren’s scream as blood sprayed the dark ground and stained his grey ringmail. Martem’s blade was red with the blood as he made another attack on the same leg, Yaren’s mail chattering as he dodged the sweep doggedly. He stepped backwards with a limp, bracing himself with both hammer and axe as the huntsman charged him again.

         Although this time, Martem was kissed with the iron of Yaren’s axe. It was on the arm though, slicing through what little leather armor the huntsman wore. He cursed as he took his hand off the hilt of the blade and continued using only his right to wield the blade. Yaren sensed his discomfort and took to the offensive, delivering a blow to his left arm, which caused Martem to holler and grasp his upper arm, his fingers growing sticky from the flowing blood.

         Jakn had unraveled the rope around his hands and focused now on his shackles. It would have been a perfect time to use earth arks, for the iron was of the earth at some point, and Jakn could have been able to break them apart by pulling the two away from each other. However, Jakn did not know the name of earth yet, and thought hard to come up with another solution that would work. He came up with three in the brief span of a couple of minutes, while glancing back up at the duel between Martem and Yaren.

         At the moment he lifted his head, Yaren was bearing down over Martem, shouting curses at him as he hurled his weapons down upon the huntsman. Martem struggled to block each blow, taking two to the chest and one to the face, blood covering most of his face like a mask.

         “You try to kill us!” screamed Yaren. “Scout us out like a lot of deer! You try and bring us back for money! You try to slit the neck of my brother! Bring his head back to your stupid little lords! Who are you to kill my brother before my very eyes and run away with his head in your bag? You are a dead man, Martem!”

         With each word the captain shouted, came a hulking blow from either his hammer or axe. At the last word, Martem swung his legs around and knocked Yaren to the ground, the huntsman on his feet, looming over the bandit. “I believe you have it mixed around, Yaren,” he said, blade pushed into his cheek. He moved the blade down to his throat. “But you should be proud to know your bastard of a brother was worth fifty lire.” Blood began to well around the tip of his blade. “Reckon you’ll be worth a good hundred when I take your back. Either way, what are you more than thieves, heretics and outlaws? You’re nothing.”

         Jakn watched closely as Martem leaned down, whispering to the captain. In a split second, Jakn undid his shackles after building up his ark supply, releasing the lock, which held together the iron cuffs with a click. Almost simultaneously, Yaren began to growl and then roared as he sprung from the ground, swinging his axe at Martem’s head. As if planned, the huntsman batted the axe from the bandit’s hands, and in one fluid motion, chopped off his arm and ran his blade through Yaren’s neck with a crunch. Silence poured over the camp as Yaren’s head rolled away down the hillock and his gnarly neck pumped out blood, the ground drinking the red ravenously.

         Jakn began scampering away toward the tents where he believed Vena to be when he heard Martem curse and a bowstring thrum. He glanced back to see the ring of bandits unleashing a storm of arrows upon him, until he bristled with almost fifty, the iron arrowheads buried deep into his flesh. The huntsman leaned hard on his sword as he collapsed to one knee, coughing up blood as the arrows struck quivered on his back. Jakn met his eyes for a brief second and saw the light fade from them and saw his sword fall from his fingers. He crumbled to the ground soon after, but when the bandits checked over for Jakn, arrows nocked, he wasn’t there, only his shadow.