Crall's Son

3

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It had been a cold day, and Crall was stiff from crouching under the lower boughs of a pine tree, waiting for the stag that he knew ran through the area every few days. He had to shoot the stag, needed to. The Ferstied celebration was tomorrow, and it would be a shame upon him, well known as the best hunter of Helsdam, if he didn't bring in any game for the communal feast. His thoughts wandering for the moment, he almost missed the sounds of shuffling in the scattered leaves on the ground. Four men walked past, dragging a body through the leaves behind them. The man on the ground had finely tailored clothes covering him, but blood trailed down his scalp staining the linens, while mumbled incoherently to himself as the other dragged him off into the distance.

Staying still until they were just out of sight, Crall rose slowly up and began to follow behind.

Poor chap there must've been on the road alone and got jumped. It ain't my place to be the law, but I can't just let him have his throat slit on the side of the road and feel like I did the right thing. Besides, I have my bow, and I didn't see anything larger than a knife on any of them. He frowned, knowing he would have to take the bandits by surprise or stealth if he had any chance of getting out of the coming encounter alive.

Night fell, and still the bandits trekked on with Crall in pursuit. Finally, they came to a large clearing, oddly blackened as if by fire in places, the smell of burnt hair and foul things lingering.

"Oi, look o're there Lynch, musta' been this bastards' honey." The largest of the bandits was pointing at the corpse of a woman in the middle of the clearing, and kicked the man on the ground to emphasize his point. Lynch smacked the larger brute on the back of the head.

"Quit tryna kill him idiot, we gotta find where he hid all his coin first. Nobody with clothes like that doesn't carry some gold on the road. You." he said, pointing at one of the other bandits, "Go check the woman, she might have earrings or gold on her."

Lynch turned back to the man mumbling on the ground, smiling in a way more akin to a dog baring their teeth, "Look, tell us where ya' hid your stash and we can leave you be. Just tell us where it is. Now."

The man continued to mumble, and the other bandit to search. Suddenly he called out to the larger group, "Lynch, there's a babe here, looks to be our fine travelers son. Guess he gets to see his kid one last time before he dies. Actually, come to think of it..." A grin crept onto his face as his hand found the knife at his hip and slid it free of its' sheath.

"..Haven't played darts in a long time boys, whaddya' say to a round right now with the babe as a target."

"Sounds good to me, maybe the screamin'll get the bugger to shape up and speak." Lynch and the two other bandits strolled over to where the woman's body was, and began laughing as they pissed on the baby and it wailed at them.

Damnit. This complicates things. I can't get the man without leaving the child behind, but I couldn't live with myself if I left a newborn to these vile and evil men.

Crall glanced at the man on the ground, who was quiet now. The man had begun dragging his way towards the bandits, even though his arms and legs were obviously broken. He inched forward, again and again with a silent fury, trying to do anything that might spare his son. Still hidden in the shadows, Crall glanced back up and slowly nocked an arrow onto his bow, strong ash yielding to his strength. He drew back all the way up to his cheek, and released, the arrow flitted across the clearing almost faster than the eye could see.

There was a wet slap as the arrow thudded home into the meaty flesh of the upper neck of the largest bandit. He dropped like a sack of stones, and Crall reached back into his quiver to draw his bow again. The bandits however, followed the arrows flightpath back and saw Crall standing in the trees, quickly readying another shot at the group.

"SPLIT, CIRCLE ROUND HIM!" with Lynch screaming at them, the bandits leapt into action - one drawing a hatchet from his waist while the other sprinted to the right side of Crall, knife out. Lynch himself pulled a broken short sword from his waist and stumbled, diving down. Crall's arrow whizzed overhead by a handspan. He reached back with uncertainty, grabbing the last two arrows out of his quiver. Memories of his father flashed through his mind, guiding him in his first archery lessons.

Focus.

I cannot miss again, it's not just my life at risk here.

Breath deeply.

The bow of a good hunter is not a weapon but an extension of his will.

Draw.

Feel the wind around you. Become one with it.

Release.

Both arrows flew from the bow. Lynch was struck in the shoulder, and went down. To his right, the knife wielder was punctured straight through the spine and dropped dead instantly. The hatchet wielder pulled his arm back as Crall sprinted to grab an arrow from the knife wielder's corpse.

Crall slid through the grass,grabbing at the arrow and yanking, but the tip was lodged between the plates of the spine so as to be unretrievable. Intense blossoming pain blocked out all thoughts of taking the arrow as the last bandits' hatchet landed in the back of his calf. Blood spurted out of a torn artery as the bandit ran over to finish the job off. Almost to Crall, he didn't even notice his leg had been grabbed by the child's father until he fell flat on his face hitting a rock.

Screaming in pain, Crall threw his hand back and pulled the hatchet out of his leg. Warm slick wetness covered his leg and thigh. Delirious from blood loss, he crawled towards the last bandit.

The bandit dazedly looked up and the two locked eyes. He kicked back, freeing himself from the weakened grasp of the traveler. Pulling a small dagger from his boot, he stood and tried to gain balance. Still concussed from the fall, he fell down again and missed Cralls' torso, instead plunging the dagger down into the joint of Crall's injured leg. He pulled it up again, positioning to strike at Cralls' vitals.

Vision blurred with pain and screaming in rage, Crall whipped the axe around and buried the hatchet into his attacker's rib-cage with every ounce of energy in his body. The bandit coughed wetly once, twice, and then fell still. Crall's blow had slashed open his heart and he was dead in seconds.

The forest was still. The only sound to be heard was the child wailing, and Crall panting with exhaustion as the shock set in. The world around him was blurred together, a random kaleidoscope of objects and smells. He flipped onto his back and gazed at the stars, his thoughts disassociated from the world around him.

It's so beautiful. There's so many I can't even count them all. It's so warm here, I just feel like lying down for a bit. Have to get sleep before the Ferstied tomorrow.

A hand touched his shoulder, and energy shot through him, setting fire to his blood and clearing his head. It lasted for a moment, and then was gone. He groaned, his leg on fire, and turned it over to see it injured, but in a far better state than before.

It made no sense, where but a few seconds before he had been bleeding out, he struggled up now somehow able to partially support his weight and feeling not nearly as bad as he should from his injuries.

Must've been the heat of the moment. No way that anyone could've survived injuries like that and gotten out alive, much less able to hobble. I got lucky, only because that man… speaking of.

The traveler was looking at him, trying to say something, but obviously struggling with trying to get something out, Crall got down next to his face, and the man tried to talk to him.

"S....s…..so…..son.."

He looked over, unable to speak, tears streaming down his face.

"I'll take care of him like he was my own. I'm so sorry this had to happen to you, I'll give the boy the best life I can." Crall glanced over at the child, and when he turned back, the man was dead. He struggled to his feet again and limped over to pick up the child. He thought of his own father, and a name clicked into place.

"Jason. I swear to you I'll care for you as best I can and raise you like my own son."

He turned around and bent, picking up his bow. His body went cold at what he saw next though, the grass slick with bodily fluids, and a trail of blood leading from where Lynch's corpse should have been into the trees.

Crall limped and stumbled for hours in the darkness of the forest, finally, as dawn began to rise, he came up over a hill to find the village laid out below him. Someone saw him and started running towards him. He sat down and finally started to rest, closing his eyes.

Huh. I'll have a lot to clean up before the festival. Somehow this struck him as funny and he passed out with a smirk on his lips.