Gareth Ashford's Arc

Chapter 9 of 9

Gareth kicked dirt over the fire. The light died. In the dark, he counted the sounds. Four sets of boots. Maybe five. Steel scraped leather all around the camp. These were not soldiers in clean armor. These were hired killers, the kind Grimwold paid to make problems vanish. "Thornwood," Gareth hissed. "Wake up." The bandit leader rolled from the lean-to, wound and all. He read the dark fast. "Five," he said. "Two left. Two right. One behind the shelter." He had set scatter points his whole life. He knew an ambush by sound. Snikka pressed her back to Gareth's. Her daggers came out, red runes glowing faint in her hands. "They want us pinned," she whispered. "Don't let them." A man stepped into the clearing. Thick leather armor, spikes on the shoulder, a bearded axe held low. Old blood crusted the steel. He grinned at them. "Lord Grimwold sends his thanks," he said. "For the bandit work. Now he wants the loose ends tied." "Loose ends," Gareth said. "You. The goblin. All of it." The thug raised his axe. "Nothing personal." They came at once. Gareth had no sword drawn, only the weapon he had taken from the old camp cache that morning. He pulled it now. An old blade and a round wooden shield, bound together, green vines carved into the face. The wood hummed warm against his arm. He raised the shield as the axe fell. The blow should have split the wood. It did not. The shield held like stone. The impact jarred Gareth's teeth but not his footing. He shoved back and drove the old sword into the gap below the thug's spiked shoulder. The man grunted and dropped. Snikka moved like water. She slipped under a swing, opened a man's leg, then his throat. Thornwood took a third by the wrist and broke it over his knee, then crushed the man's skull with a rock. Two thugs left. They saw their leader down and faltered. Gareth did not wait. He charged. The green shield turned a wild cut. His blade found the next man's chest. The last thug ran for the trees. Thornwood threw a dagger. The runner fell and did not rise. Silence came back. Gareth stood over the thug leader, breathing hard. The man was still alive, blood at his lips. "How many does Grimwold have?" Gareth asked. "More," the thug rasped. "He knows your face. He'll send them to your village next. He knows where you're from." He laughed wet, then stopped breathing. Gareth went cold. His village. The curse. Grimwold would reach the babies before the solstice did. Snikka wiped her blades clean. "Then we don't go east to hide," she said. "We go to him first." Gareth looked at the glowing shield on his arm. He nodded. The deer trail would not take him home now. It would take him to Grimwold.