Chapter Five - Battle at the Cowherd's Cart

  She really couldn’t believe her luck. Her life already involved heading out into the woodlands surrounding Ulssia on a near-daily basis, and now that she had been set on her grandest of adventures, she found herself, for the second day in a row, heading back into those same woodlands. There was the promise of advancement after the fact – whenever the cart got fixed – but at the same time, her mind couldn’t help but wander, wondering where she’d be if she went straight onwards, by now. Ignored that business with the mammoth, decided not to visit the temple. She’d have had a day of straight walking, realistically three or four days before she was properly able to set off with that cowherd. Surely, by then, she’d already be halfway to Lord Faean’s estate.

  She sighed, moss squishing beneath her feet as she trudged through the forest. At least it was peaceful, this time round. Gone were those deafening roars that marked Clarabelle’s anguish, and in came gentle birdsong. Already, the drama that hit the forest the day before seemed to now be a distant memory, as various animals went about their business, ignoring both the sword maiden and her priestly ward. Did that bird busily gathering twigs for its nest even comprehend what had happened a scant few miles away? Did the worms wriggling in the ground even care? It wasn’t as if she could talk to them to find out, now, was it? There was one person she could talk to, however.

  “Hey. Matthias, right?” Her voice broke the serene quiet of the forest like a pane of glass shattering. The priest flinched, glancing over towards her. “Easy now, I’m not going to stab you and leave you out here.” His face paled at her words. Evidently, what was meant to be encouragement had failed miserably. She slumped, shaking her head.

  “Y-You might not, but what of the bandits in here?” Right. Those bandits that had attacked the cowherd’s cart. She’d been wondering about that, too. Poachers were all too common in these woods – she couldn’t count on her hands the number of times she’d had a run-in with some plucky poacher. Bandits, though? They were an oddity. A rarity. What foolish bandit would choose to stay in these woods, when two very strong, and very famous mercenaries publicly made this region their home?

  “Them? They’re probably long-gone by now.” From the way the cowherd spoke, this was an organised group of bandits. Organised enough to plan an ambush. They wouldn’t just leave their loot out in the open now, would they? She groaned as the thought crossed her mind. This was more than just a recovery job, wasn’t it? She’d have to track the damn thing, too. She pinched the bridge of her nose – a habit she’d picked up from her many educational mishaps with Colt. “Besides. If they want to gut you, then they’re going to have to gut me first. I doubt they even know what the sharp end of a sword is, so, don’t worry about them, alright? Balmung and my bow will be protection enough.” She flashed the priest a smile, but he just glanced away, murmuring.

  “Ah, right. That makes sense... But you’re not going to, you know, murder them, right?” His words rung with an intense weight. The suggestion of murder in this situation made her think. Striking the bandits down would likely be seen as an act of self-defence, if she was even questioned on it. She doubted it, though. Frankly, in striking them down, she’d be going the world a great service. If they were captured, then they’d just be shipped off to a greater town and executed there, for attacking an agent of a noble as they’d done. She sighed and nodded. If this got difficult, though, she’d have no qualms of separating their heads from their shoulders.

  “Yeah, you’ve got my word.” She said through gritted teeth, glaring at him from the side of her eye. She didn't even understand why she had to babysit him. It wasn’t as if they could repair the cart out here in the forest anyway, especially not with his nerves as they were. Maybe if she had some way of effectively relaxing his worries, she’d have half a chance, but she didn’t.

  ...or did she? She stopped in her tracks, raising her left hand up into the air. There was something off. Something odd. Something she couldn’t quite place. She crouched down, pinning her body against a tree. The priest alongside her followed suit, his eyes as wide as dinnerplates. He brushed the ground with his hand before crouching atop a root. Heavens forbid his robes get covered in moss, of course. What was that sound, though? A soft, gentle clinking. No, jangling. It was rhythmic. Was it someone’s loose coin purse?

  “Stay.” She mouthed to the Matthias. Not that she really believed he needed to be told as such. She looked up at the tree and smiled. The low branches mostly looked weak, stripped of their bark and needles by passing deer or some such. But there was one that looked like it would be able to hold her weight. Her legs tensed, her eyes focused, and she leapt upwards, into the trunk of the tree. She hissed as she did so, her ribs complaining, but she wouldn’t let that stop her. Her hands and feet worked in tandem, nails gripping into the bark, boots scrambling to find any grip to propel her further upwards. It didn't take long for her to reach her branch. It shook beneath her and bent a little once she was fully on it, but it held. It was enough.

  Enough to give her the perfect view. There were four of them, all dressed unassuming enough. Rugged boots, tunics, thick woollen pants. They’d pass as ordinary travellers, if not for the purses they all had wrapped around their belts and the weapons, for those that had them, strapped to their backs. The one in the back had a spear poking up from behind their cargo. Right, their cargo. They were carrying a large wooden platform, surely the remains of the cowherd’s cart being carried back to base to be firewood. She grinned, a plan formulating in her mind. A stupid plan, a destructive plan, most likely, but one that was so stupid, it may just work. She’d have to apologise to Colt for the great misplay when she next met him. She took a deep breath in and launched herself from the branch.

  She came down with a colossal crash. The wood of the cart splintered beneath her, her boots having split several of the boards that made its chassis. The four men yelped, dropping the cart in unison and reaching for their weapons. Atalanta stayed there for a second, catching her breath, before dashing into action. The spearman was first. Given she apparently wasn’t allowed to use Balmung here, his reach would be a problem. If he was able to make use of said reach at least. Her fist crashed into his nose with a sickening crunch, her entire weight put into this singular punch. He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, his face bloodied and his hands clutching at his face. If he was smart, he wouldn’t try anything further. But bandits were rarely smart. That was amongst the first lessons Colt had taught her.

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  “Behave yourself now, otherwise...” She pressed her heel onto his shoulder and he yelped, nodding. It was only a matter of time until she had to deal with him again, but it was more time than she had before. To glance around, size up her opponents properly. The person at the top corner of the cart seemed to be unarmed, dashing around to the other side. She’d probably have to chase him down later. Especially since she had a more pressing opponent to deal with. From her left, one of the brigands charged, swinging a great woodchopping axe. He had some speed. Some decent muscle under his rags. But both he and the axe lacked finesse. As he swept the axe, she crouched. The hair atop her head rustled as the axe embedded itself into the cart, narrowly missing her and splintering the wood unfortunate enough to get into its path.

  “Huh, you nearly got me. Good job.” Nearly being the operative word. As he strained against the cart, she rocketed upwards. The top of her head smashed into the underside of his chin, knocking him back with a wail. She huffed, rubbing the top of her head. It was true what they said, these bandits really did have thicker skulls than most. No matter how thick your armour, though, a well-placed blow still rang true. Unfortunately for the both of them, he was too stupid to know when to give up. He approached her again, swinging a wild fist. She tutted, raising her guard. She parried his strike with one hand, and with her other, delivered an uppercut to his chin. He crumpled. Two down. Two to go. The battle was just getting started. She grinned, hopping up onto the cart with a confident grin on her face.

  The other two were standing there, whispering to each other. It looked like they might actually cooperate with each other. Spice up the fight a little. She placed a boot on the edge of one the more intact boards that made up the cart, raising two fingers to beckon them forwards.

  “You two taking turns, then? I can take you both on if you want.”

  “That’s the plan.” The bandit smirked, joining her up on the cart. He had a flail; one he clearly knew how to use. He swung it, its metal head circulating just to his side. If that hit her, she wouldn’t stand a chance. A strike to her side and it’d take out a vital organ. A strike to the head, and she could kiss any notion of greatness goodbye. Her foot twitched, her eyes tracing the plank she was stood on. It had been mercifully undamaged by her crash-landing and stopped just short of the bandit. She just had to bait him forward a little. Just a little.

  “So, you going to fight me then, or-?”

  “You first.” Shit. She approached, one hand resting on Balmung. Matthias surely wouldn’t complain if she’d used Balmung here, right? Opened him up, cut off his good hand. He’d go down nice and easily then. ...It’d probably be too much for the soft-hearted priest. The axe was still embedded in the wood behind her, if she hopped down, she could get that, but there was no way she was backing down, now. In raw strength, she might be able to wrestle the flail out of his grip, but that left the unarmed fighter. Clearly, he had something up his sleeve to be so confident, she didn’t want to waste all of her energy on this guy. Her eyes narrowed, trying to find some way out of the situation she’d put herself in. The bandit got impatient. He stepped forward, Atalanta’s eyes lit up. The fool. She stomped. Hard. The board came loose. The bandit glanced down at it with a frown.

  “That was your big play? Hah!” He laughed, stepping forward again. She stomped again. The board finally did as she asked. It flew upwards, pivoting on the spur beneath it. The bandit’s howl of pain was enough to tell her how effective her attack was. the bandit dropping his flail at his feet. That was enough for her to press the advantage, tackling the bandit to the ground. She raised her fist to strike him-

  “Spirit of storms, great Kapheira, grant me the power to smite my foes... Bronsif!” Pain like nothing she had ever felt spread through Atalanta’s body. Fire spread through her body, launching her backwards. Far backwards, off of her target and off of the cart. For a moment, she lay sprawled out on the ground, her hand tingling. It took her a moment to even gather her thoughts. That was magic. Thunder Magic. That’s why he was so confident in himself. She slowly rose back up to her feet, noting the broken-nose bandit to her right. The idiot was still there.

  “I’ll be taking that.” She squat down to take his spear, feeling it in her arms. It didn’t feel right at all. It was nothing like Shiverpoint or the training spears she’d used. She didn’t know if it was just from her numb arm, or all of the nocks in its shaft. But it was a weapon. A less lethal one than her blade was. She hopped back up onto the cart. The flail bandit had recovered, flail still in hand. Behind him, the mage stood with a smug smirk on his face.

  “Enjoy your little trip, heroine?”

  “Loved it.” She didn’t grace the flail bandit with any words, and he didn’t give her any. They locked eyes and their skirmish continued. His footwork was solid, for sure, but now that Atalanta had a way to properly fight back, she wasted no time in showcasing her strength. Utilising the spear’s reach, she lunged – snaking it through his guard. The spearhead embedded itself in his shoulder. She kept going, the bandit mounted on her weapon. Her momentum carried him forward. Ever onward. Pushing him. With a sharp thrust, she launched her melee combatant off of her spear and careening into the enemy mage. She panted, raising her spear up high, her eyes trained on the lower bandit’s digits. Her ears focused for any speech. She wouldn’t hesitate to launch it if there was any chance of being hit by that blasted thunder magic again. But nothing came.

  “...you win.” He coughed, voice weary. “I give up. Do with me as you will.”

  “How can I trust you?” She hissed. As far as she knew, the bandit could take her moment of hesitation and strike her down. No doubt that spell he had wasn’t the only one he had in his arsenal.

  “My brothers are done. I’m done. A good rush with that spear, and. Yeah. I’m done for. You can have this blasted cart. Just leave my men alone.” He strained, pushing against the larger bandit and slipping out from under his weight.

  “And the goods?”

  “You can have them, too. Damnable thing was more trouble than it’s worth. I’ll show you our hideout. Please, it’s just us-” He fell to his knees, grovelling before her. Ugh, that just hit her in all the wrong ways. She shook her head and hopped down from the cart. She thrust the spear into the ground, embedding it in the dirt.

  “If you’re lying, I will gut you.”

  “I know...” That was good enough. She didn’t want to torment the poor bastard anymore. She shook her head and raised her voice.

  “Matthias! I hope you’re feeling strong, we’ve got work to do!”