Chapter 6 - The fate of thieves

I swing up onto the step that leads to the wagon drivers bench. I can see Devars expression shift as he studies me, his eyes locking onto mine in unspoken communication. His grey eyes quickly clouding with worry at the serious look on my face.

"We have company." I tell them under my breath just as the sound of breaking branches cuts the silence in two. A tree falls over the road not twenty paces away. There is a shout from partway down the caravan. Reagans voice booming a command to the other men in his company.

"Everyone turn to the forest, protect the transport!" He calls. Figures step from the tree's, arrows releasing from short bows and ready loaded crossbows alike. Ten or so bandit's filtering out onto the road in front of us, drawing steel and sneering derisively. They are wearing armor that is a makeshift mismatch of stolen gear, a testament to previous success.

An arrow flies for Devar and my fingers sting with pain as my hand shoot forwards; diverting its path so it thunks into the heavy wood next to him. My world goes red when I see the shocked look on his face and the tiny slash of red smeared over one cheek.

I think it was the fear in his storm grey eyes that pushed me over that edge. I don't remember drawing my sword but I can still feel the music of it coming free of my scabbard. It ripples through my bones as my body jolts forwards, a low laugh bubbling up from inside me. Then there is screaming, in the back of my mind I register that someone is shouting at me; it is an echo at the end of a dark tunnel. Time seems to pass slowly as if I am wading through molasses. I ignore the white noise, the sound of a voice pleading in the distance; the wet gurgling of someone drowning in their own blood. I move towards the next threat, my sword passing through flesh like a knife through butter.

"GOD DAMNIT ROWAN! STOP! YOU NEED TO STOP!" Finally a voice registers with something in my brain. I want to ignore it but it burrows into my psyche as the haze begins to retreat. My limbs begin to slow and I look down at myself to find there is a sticky film all over me. I look down at my spattered hands, my sword dripping a clinging red over the grip and onto my fingers. When the world comes into focus, I find myself surrounded by a sea of Gore, twelve men lay dead on the road. Cut to ribbons and laying in pools of their own blood. The stench of spilled guts and the pungent odor of emptied bowls wafting through the air.

Sven still clutches the reigns of the horses, staring at me with wide eyes. My eyes meet Devars and he crosses the space between us, taking the sword from fingers before wiping it down, before sliding back into my sheath. He pulls me to his chest for a heartbeat and I lean into his shoulder for moment, before wandering off again.

Seven of the guards are injured, struck by crossbow bolts that punched through their light armor. The two healers dart around busily, moving from man to man, accessing the damage before beginning to treat them. After asking around I find that only two of us are dead. One is a cook, who panicked and ran when the fighting began.

When I reach the body of the second casualty, my shoulders slump and I fall down to my knees next to him. Reagan's head lays cradled in Devins lap, a bolt through his throat and wry smile dancing over dead lips. Just a lucky damn shot... I think as I watch the tears fall from the boys eyes, trailing down his cheeks and dripping onto the soldiers rough features.

"I shouldn't be sad!" He insists, his voice dripping with vitriol. "This old bastard killed my parents, he'd never admit it, but I still saw him do it." I sit there and listen as the boy lets out a torrent of anger and despair. "I don't understand, you stupid bastard! I wasn't done with you yet!" He cries pounding at the ground. "Why am I so sad?" I look back at him with a steady gaze, my own words taking me by surprise.

"Because you loved him and because this flawed man, may just have been the only one you really had left." The boy curls over Reagan's body protectively, his shoulders wracked with sobs. I sit with him until exhaustion has taken its toll and his tears have long since dried. When I finally stand to go, it is to find a shovel. I sink the spade into the forest floor, digging deep into the earth. There will be two holes, one for both the casualties.

We do not bury the bandits, we leave their souls to wander and the carrion birds to pick at their corpses. It is the least of what they deserve.

It was nightfall before both the men were buried, no one had eaten, but none of us really had an appetite either. It would be old bread and hard cheese for those who had the stomach to eat the evening meal.

We light two small fires on top the grave mounds when we are finally ready to send off the dead. It will help theirs souls depart, linking them to the halls of their forebears.

The men each say their piece before the last of the rocks are piled on the graves. Then as if on cue they turn and look to me expectantly.

"Will our bloody bard hail the dead with a last song?" Asks a soldier softly. I stand in silence for a moment before I begin to sing, the only instrument for this ballad is my voice.

I will meet you near the river

By the boats that draw us home

the souls of men and women

go back to halls of stone

They sing themselves a funeral dirge

and dance as if in glee

Oh one day I will join them there

Oh one day I'll be free

My brother he departed

a kiss upon my cheek

My lady she did dance away

With eyes that sparked and gleamed

My father left one autumn morn

a smile upon his face

and even if I'm last of all

I'll leave this land with grace

I will meet you near the river

By the boats that draw us home

the souls of men and women

go back to halls of stone

So set a flame upon my grave

and pray as I depart

for one day I will meet you there

Oh someday I'll depart

Devin stands to my left his head hung low and his first clenched tight, Devar on my other side watching me with worried eyes. Silence reigns as we clear the road and roll the caravan forward, we journey through the night; For none of us have the heart to stop and rest, or the confidence that we could sleep through the night on earth still drenched with blood.

An hour later we stop near the river for a break. I walk downstream, wading into the slow moving current and dunking myself under water. Devar waits at the bank, watching to make sure nobody comes near. I scrub and claw at my skin, trying to wash myself clean of the coat of blood that stubbornly clings to me. When I step from the waters my skin is icy cold. I dress quickly, drying off and applying my disguise with practiced ease.

Sven comes over and pats me on the back before we get back on the road, looking at me with cautious eyes.

"Thank you boy, without you there would be more graves then just that of a cook and a soldier. That was no small bandit group and they were better outfitted than most I'd seen. They ran soon after you began chopping up there leaders.... Just know that if you ever need a favor that I am in your debt. I'm sure our caravan will not be forgetting our bloody bard any time soon." I nod to him, climbing up onto the back of one of the wagons and plucking absently at the strings of my lute, my cloak pulled tight around my shoulders.