Morning came all too quickly for Nirgalen and Simarl. They'd forgotten how good it was to just lay in a soft bed and, as they woke, they felt terrible. Aches and pains, hunger and fatigue from the last months of running and hiding had all caught up with them. All they wanted to do was rest. Yet they knew that a new day and a new venture lay in store: the die was cast, it was time to play on.
'So, Kahu, how did you know that the Peytahns wouldn't have seen the old bottle trick?' Nirgalen looked over to Simarl.
'I didn't, but, hell, I figured there were only three of them.' Simarl yawned, scratched his head, sniffed at his unwashed armpits and winced at the smell.
'Right. And as for offering me up to die... next time leave me out of it, okay.'
'Well, look at it this way: we got food, more ale than our heads could do with and... we have weapons!'
Nirgalen grunted. It did look as if their luck had changed. During the night a slave of the Peytahns had arrived, cursing as he drove a lumbering ox cart into the yard of the inn. Although their clothes were still ragged, Nirgalen and Simarl now had light chain mail, albeit a little bloodstained and torn, and the weapons they had asked for. The weapons were all shoddy, and a little on the large size, but they had weapons.
Now, Nirgalen, why do we need this old witch?' Simarl threw a question back to his friend, as he searched for his boots.
'Well, let's just say I've got a feeling about this... not a good feeling, but I think she might know what's going on and she might have something useful up her sleeves. Didn't your mother tell you to respect your elders?' Nirgalen stretched his arms and started to make ready to leave.
'Sad to say, I'm not sure if I even had a mother. How do we find this old trelk, then?' Simarl was putting on his boots and peered at Nirgalen through holes in the bottom of the soles.
'The innkeep said his daughter would show us the way?'
'Oooh, now that does sound good, was she that big wench?'
'Not sure. He just said to set off down the road heading south and that the girl would catch up with us. He said she was a good looking girl, with long dark hair, but he is her father, so who's to know? Anyhow, get yer boots on and let's see what's out there.'
The sky was clear again and the day all the colder for it. As Nirgalen crunched his way along the frozen ice of the roadway he wished they'd sorted out getting hold of some new clothes. Muldoon the innkeep had given them the hundred in gold, but that wouldn't go far. They weren't a whole lot better off than when they had walked into town. Still, gainful employment of a kind lay before them, and dinner, sleep and breakfast had all been welcome. The weight and smell of the chain mail and the weapons at their sides made Nirgalen feel much more comfortable, too.
As they moved on out of town, the dark trees closed in around them. Simarl was whistling some tune he'd picked up in a bordello in Deneb and Nirgalen was pondering what their next move should be. He was almost lost to his thoughts, but a nagging feeling snapped him out of his day-dreaming. He turned slightly and looked to the right side of the road. Time slowed for an instant. Too late, he heard the sound of a bowstring slapping against the leather at someone's wrist.
'Dren, get d-' he just had time to shout before the arrow hit him in the side. A painful punch and the feeling of ripping flesh was the next thing he knew. Nirgalen fell to the ground in the bushes by the roadside.
Simarl spun around as another arrow sailed past his ear, then dived into the bush where Nirgalen had fallen. All the leaves were gone and the thorny patch of vegetation gave little cover. Nirgalen gasped for air. Simarl dragged him further into the woods and checked his wound quickly.
'Oh, you lucky son of a wertl, just a glancing blow.' As Simarl looked down he saw a lot of blood and a deep gash in the chain mail. 'Let's just feel that rib.'
'Ahhhh!' Nirgalen recovered his breath enough to cry out in pain.
'Okay, so you may have a couple of broken ribs, but you're still a lucky-'
'Simarl! Shut it! Where did it come from?'
'Right and up by the bend. I reckon they're also behind us and I reckon it's those K'Vathin from the inn. Probably five or six of them. They'll take us slow, but they'll be confident. We'd better move.'
As Simarl spoke two more arrows ripped through the bushes. Keeping low, Simarl dragged Nirgalen even further into the dark and forbidding woods. Ahead, a great fallen oak blocked their way.
'Nirgalen, squeeze behind the tree. Try to stay still. I'm gonna check this out.' With that, Simarl was gone. Nirgalen crawled behind the roots of the fallen tree. He laid down his bow by his side and drew a dagger. His ears strained to pick up any sound over his own laboured breathing. Looking down, he saw blood on the snow strewn ground. The blood would lead the K'Vathin straight to him. He knew Simarl would have included that in the equation and hoped that his resourceful friend had a plan in mind.
'Hey, K'Tahn, blood, umhh fresssh, we got one.' The hissing voice of the K'Vathin cut the air. The green scaled fingers of the K'Vathin bowman touched the blood on the snow, then placed it to his thin lips. A white membrane flicked quickly across his lizard eyes, as he savoured the taste. The other four K'Vathin bared their teeth in the nearest thing to a smile their features could manage.
'I can sssmell the wounded one thiss way... but- arrghhh!' With a thud, and a spray of crimson on snow, the K'Vathin fell, an arrow deep in his back.
'Wha-' A second arrow cut off the cry of the remaining archer. The K'Vathin leapt into the woods, along the trail of blood. Two faced forward and the third backed his way after them, sniffing the air from the road and trying to locate their attacker.
The fallen oak was ahead of them. The lead KVathin edged around the roots of the fallen tree. He could smell blood and he could smell the fear of a human. He glanced down and saw a blood stained cloak and a string of gold. A flicker of indecision moved over his features. The human was wounded. He could just take the gold, But where was the human? His hand shot out to take the gold.
'A-aargh!' An arrow sailed from cover and found it's target in the K'Vathin's hand.
'That makes us even!' A voice called out from the trees ahead. The K'Vathin were now outmanoeuvred and they knew it. The injured K'Vathin snapped the shaft of the arrow that had split his hand and clutched it to his side. With a silent signal of his hand the middle K'Vathin indicated a rough trail that lay parallel to the road and which would lead them back to town. And that was the last mistake they made.
Simarl had judged it perfectly. He guessed the K'Vathin would move through the sparse cover of the bush a short way, then hit the road and run back towards town. They would expect him to follow them into the woods, or go to help his injured friend. As soon as he'd heard the hissing cry of a K'Vathin come from the trees, Simarl had moved fast in the opposite direction, quickly covering distance on the road and placing himself downwind of the remaining three slavers, just beyond the point where a trail joined the roadway.
Simarl drew out his last arrow... one arrow and three K'Vathin. It was time to get creative. He unsheathed a short dagger and thought about the long curved swords that K'Vathin carried. It was a split second later that he heard the crunching of footfalls on the icy ground. The K'Vathin moved quietly, but not quietly enough. He notched his last arrow to the bow and waited.
The lead K'Vathin appeared at the head of the trail. He was cautious. He sniffed the air and glanced back down the road to where Simarl had been just moments before. Simarl knew the K'Vathin was trying to judge how far away he was and where...
The lead K'Vathin edged onto the road and faced away from Simarl. The second K'Vathin shambled behind the first, clutching an injured hand. The third K'Vathin then followed. He looked down the road towards town. Keeping together, the three moved slowly forward. Their eyes, ears and nostrils strained to detect Simarl.
The human did not hesitate. The bowstring drew back, the arrow was sighted. With a sigh Simarl let the arrow fly. The lead K'Vathin turned towards the sigh... instinctively and unfortunately. As he turned, his chest was exposed and the arrow found its mark. Without so much as a grunt, the K'Vathin fell backwards onto his injured companion. The K'Vathin in the rear wheeled around and ran towards Simarl, with his scimitar drawn.
'Arrrggghhh!' Simarl yelled at the top of his voice and charged straight at the slaver. The K'Vathin stopped and carefully positioned his sword. At the instant before he came in range of the sword, Simarl dived to the side, rolled on the slick ice and ended up behind the K'Vathin, on the side furthest from the deadly blade, Again, the K'Vathin moved instinctively to strike. He had the sword, the human only had a small dagger. Yet, as he turned, the human lunged under the K'Vathin's strike, caught the slaver's sword-arm in one fist and plunged the dagger into the k'Vathin's exposed neck. In the next instant the human moved back.
The K'Vathin stood dazed. Blood ran from the throat wound. He choked and gagged. His vision blurred and he slumped to the ground.
The last remaining K'Vathin moved away from his former companion, who lay still on the road with an arrow pointing skyward from his chest.
The K'Vathin's sword-hand was useless. In front of him Simarl stood, dead still. The slaver knew that the human would not let him live. He drew his sword with his right hand and backed away down the road. Simarl followed, keeping his eyes fixed on the K'Vathin to judge what he would do next. Simarl knew he had to make a move. In the flick of an eye, Simarl threw his dagger into the air, smiled briefly and caught it by the blade. With amazing speed, he drew back his arm and flung the dagger towards the K'Vathin... and missed. That mistake was all the K'Vathin needed. It came on and lunged at Simarl. The human sidestepped, grabbed the scaley green wrist with one hand, the elbow with the other, gave an upwards twist, then a hard shove to the K'Vathin's groin with his knee. The K'Vathin fell heavily to the ground.
It lay on the cold snow in pain. One hand had been ruined by Nirgalen's arrow, the other arm was dislocated and a gut wrenching ache rose up from his groin. The curved K'Vathin sword lay on the white snow. The yellow-white ivory handle was banded with inlaid ebony and topped wth a silver, coiled, serpent. Simarl picked up the weapon and felt the weight. He looked down the graceful curve of the blade. The K'Vathin may have been slippery lizards, but they knew how to make swords.
The K'Vathin recovered its breath and sat up.
'So, slaver, was it worth it?' Simarl gestured to the K'Vathin's fallen companions. The K'Vathin blinked and shook his head. In the human's eyes he saw a cold and calculating hatred. The K'Vathin rose, slowly, to its feet.
Simarl raised the sword and pointed back towards town. 'Go.' The K'Vathin took his chance. He staggered head long down the road, clutching one loose arm with one that still ran red with blood.
Simarl put down the sword. He moved to the fallen K'Vathin. He pulled the arrow from the body. He moved to his fallen bow. The arrow was notched. The target was sighted.
The K'Vathin stopped his staggering and turned back to the human.
The arrow flew and the K'Vathin was no more.