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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 4114764" data-attributes="member: 143">Thanks, Mahtave!Regarding the earlier question about PDFing the story; I was going to prep a compilation of the original story, but of late I've been leaning toward waiting until the current section is complete, then publishing it once it is all done.   * * * * * Chapter 1 A MAN AND HIS CARTA dense, moist fog hung low over the hilly plains of southern Camar, clinging to the earth even as the morning deepened.  It was still far enough from spring for the morning chill to fog the breath and suck the warmth out of a traveler’s bones, but the worst of the winter storms were already past.  This far south, snow never landed on the lowlands, or at least it hadn’t since that terrible winter twelve years back.  People still talked about that grim year, when the world itself seemed to be coming apart around them, and the unending winter was just one of a series of crises that plagued the people of Camar. A wagon pulled by a team of two drays clattered and clacked down one of the weathered roads that wound through the south.  The fog muted the sounds made by the wagon, but the road was in poor enough shape that the noise of its wheels jumping in and out of the ruts was almost constant.  A boy barely in his teens sat on the board of the wagon, directing the team, while a man walked alongside the horses, wary of the deeper canyons in the ill-kept road that might jeopardize a wheel, or even one of the axles of the wagon.  The man was clad in the plain and serviceable raiment of a farmer, but there was something in the way he carried himself that spoke to something more.  He was well into his middle years, in his forties by the look of him, but his warm coat and fur-lined breeches could not fully conceal his considerable muscles, even if the slightest hint of a paunch bulged out above the thick leather belt wrapped twice around his torso.  He was armed with a long dirk that rode on his left hip.  “Are we quite nearly there?” the boy asked, tending the reins carefully for all that the horses seemed to know the route, and the man in front was doing most of the work guiding the team.  “The road’s the same length coming back as it was heading out,” the farmer replied.  But then his expression softened, and he glanced back, adding, “Still a good two leagues to go, Cael.  We’ll be home just after noon, and if we’re lucky there will be some stew left in the pot for us.”“Will you tell me another of your stories?  About the wars, I mean.” The farmer had turned his gaze back to the road ahead.  “Stories are fine for around the hearth.  But this here’s still the frontier, and you’d be well-served keeping your mind on the road, and the team.”“Aw, I’ve ridden this road a dozen times.”  But the boy’s protest was weak, and he seemed chastised as the pair resumed their passage in silence.  At least for a few minutes.“So, do you think—”The boy did not get a chance to finish his thought, as the farmer suddenly stopped the team, pulling both horses to a stop with a tug on their harness and a soft click on his tongue.  “What is it?” the boy asked, staring into the fog. “Cael, get back into the wagon, and get down behind the barrels.”“But—”“Do it, boy.”  The farmer hadn’t turned around, but his voice held a note of command that could not be challenged, so the boy did as he was bid.  But he took shelter in a position that allowed him a clear view fo the road between two of the large barrels of beer that rode in the center of the wagon, so he could see what happened next.  They materialized out of the fog like ghosts, but Cael could see that they were men, a rough lot of them, clad in the rugged garments of the frontier.  There were seven, all but one afoot, the last riding in the saddle of a ragged palfrey that Cael could see even through the fog had seen better days.  A long-handled axe hung from his saddle.  One of the men had a crossbow, and the others were armed with a variety of other weapons, long knives and hatchets for the most part, although one had a short Legion spear slung over his shoulder.  The man on the horse pulled back his reins; his companions came to stop around him, blocking the road.  “Ah, I thought we had the road to ourselves, this morning,” the rider said.  “You’re the first hint of civilization we’ve seen yet this day.”“You’ll make Alderford by early afternoon, if you keep a good pace.”“Good to know.”  He jerked his thumb back down the road behind him.  “Nothing but damned tiny villages for leagues and leagues back thataways, no fun to be had in such places.  Bound for Highbluff?”“One of those damned tiny villages, rather.”“Ah, I see.  Thought you might be selling.”  He scanned the wagon.  “Looks like a fairly prosperous trip.” Watching from his point of vigil, Cael saw the farmer standing stone-still, his back to him.  The ruffians had spread out, forming a half-circle in front of the team, with the rider in the center.There was a tense moment of silence, then the farmer finally spoke.  “One of the things I’ve learned about the frontier; you often don’t know what in the hells you’re going to get from one day to the next.  I’ve got a few more leagues ahead, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to be on my way.”For a moment, Cael thought that was going to be that, but then the next words from the rider’s mouth caused his gut to clench. “Well.  You’re clearly ex-Legion, mate, and I appreciate the warning, but fact is, times is tough all around, and me and my boys have a long trek ahead of us as well.  So we’ll take the wagon, and your horses, but you’re free to go on your way.  You can even keep that dirk and your boots, as one veteran to another.”The farmer did not move.  “You are making a serious mistake.  I don’t usually offer two warnings, but...”He was interrupted as the crossbowman lifted his weapon to his shoulder and fired.  Cael must have cried out, for several of the men turned to look at him in his hiding place.  But his eyes were fixed on the farmer.  The range was so close, there was no way he could have missed... and yet, somehow the farmer had shifted to the side, and the bolt merely grazed his arm, glancing off to the side as it clipped his coat.  The crossbowman cursed and lowered his weapon, snagging the string with his beltclaw to reset the mechanism.  He never got a chance to finish, as the farmer drew his dagger and threw it in a single smooth motion.  The long blade sank to its crossbar in the man’s throat.  He stood there a moment, a surprised look on his face, and then sank to the dirty ground, gurgling as blood welled out from the deadly wound.  The rider looked impressed.  “A damned fine toss, friend, but you’re a fool to disarm yourself.”  He gestured to his remaining men.  “Kill him.”The five men came forward quickly, blades or cudgels appearing in their hands.  The farmer stepped forward to meet them.  The horses, at his back, shinnied nervously at the smell of blood, but they did not break.  The bandits acted like men who knew how to use their weapons, but most of them did not have the cohesion of men trained to war.  The first lunged at the farmer with his long knife, but his target sidestepped the thrust easily, and the blade did not even come close to connecting.  He grabbed the bandit’s arm and spun, using the attacker’s own momentum as a weapon as he hurled him into his onrushing companions.  The collision sent three of them to the ground in a tumble of arms and legs.  The man with the spear was more adept.  His weapon was a short pilum, balanced for throwing, but he used it as a thrusting spear, keeping well out of the other man’s reach.  The head of the weapon caught the farmer in the shoulder, drawing blood through his heavy coat, and might have done serious damage if he’d had a chance to drive it deeper into his body.  But the farmer moved fast, too fast, seizing the haft just above the iron point, yanking it out of the wound.  The spearman grunted and tried to pull his weapon out of the farmer’s grip; he had leverage, but the spear would not budge.  The farmer was distracted as the last bandit leapt at him, a hatchet in each hand; but before either could connect he drove his left fist into the man’s face.  The bandit crumpled in the dirt, unconscious. The farmer twisted and pulled hard on the spear, forcing the spearman to either let go or come to close grips.  The bandit chose to let go, but the decision did not avail him much as the farmer jabbed the end of the haft into his chest.  The spearman cried out and fell, spitting blood. The rider had unlimbered his axe and had started to urge his mount forward to ride the farmer down, but on seeing the rapid dismemberment of his little cadre he apparently changed his mind.  Pulling hard on his reins, he charged around the wagon, almost riding down one of his men as he staggered to his feet.  He got almost around the back of the wagon before the head of the pilum exploded out from his gut, having penetrated through his back.  His horse’s charge carried him forward a good forty yards before he toppled off from the saddle, landing in a bloody heap in the dirt of the road.  One of the surviving bandits foolishly pressed the attack, coming at the farmer with an axe.  The farmer merely stepped into the swing, seizing the haft of the weapon and tearing it from his grasp.  The bandit snarled and tried to tackle him, but quickly learned that the farmer’s strength was far greater than his.  A twist and a crack of bone announced the breaking of his arm, and then a short upward course of the axe brought a more decisive end.  The last two bandits had clearly seen the lay of the land, for as they got to their feet they started running full-tilt back down the road.  The farmer watched them run, and calmly lifted the bloody axe, weighing its heft.  He lifted the awkward weapon, clearly intending to throw it...Then he glanced over and saw Cael watching him, his eyes wide.He lowered the axe, and let the pair escape.  “Damn it,” he said.  “Your mother is going to flay me alive when she finds out about this.”“You... you...”  “Close your mouth, you look like a fish.  Go get that horse... stay clear of the rider, he may have some life left in him.  Well, go on, boy!”As the boy clambered down out of the wagon, the farmer checked the bandits.  The crossbowman and the one he’d hit with the axe were dead, as was the rider.  He dragged both bodies off the road, but paid no more heed to them.  The spearman and the one he’d punched were still alive.  The spearman, unable to rise, paled as the farmer came up to him, still holding the bloody axe.  “Please... please, don’t kill me...”The farmer’s eyes were like cold steel.  “Seems you weren’t all that intent on the concept of mercy, a few minutes back.”  He looked consideringly at the axe, then shrugged.  “Damned if you haven’t gotten me into a fix.  I’m not going to drag your sorry carcass all the way back to Highbluff for a trial.”“I... I served... Second Legion...”  The injured man tried to say something else, but it was swallowed in a fit of bloody coughing. The blow he’d taken had crushed a rib or two, and had probably ripped a lung.  He was having difficulty breathing.  The farmer sank to one knee next to him, the axe propped up next to him.  “Yeah, don’t bother, I’ve heard it before.  Freaking sob-story, times are tough, blah, blah, blah.  You’re not the only former soldier who was scrubbed out for one reason or another, and hit hard times.  Well, you’re a fool, and I doubt you’d have spared a thought for your victim if you hadn’t been the stupidest, gods-cursed bandit in the freaking world, and drawn me.”The injured man’s eyes suddenly grew wide.  “You... you’re... general... Dar...”The farmer held his gaze for a long moment.  “Yeah, that’s me, or at least it was.“If anything, the man’s panic intensified.  He tried to get up, but he could not manage it.  Dar regarded him for a moment, then looked up over his shoulder.  Cael was there, holding the reins of the horse, his eyes wide.  It was immediately clear that he’d heard everything.  Dar bit off a curse.  “All right, legionary, I guess you and your freaking brawler friend are coming back with me.  Your career as a bandit is over.  I strongly recommend that you shut the hell up and don’t cause me any more trouble.  You understand?”The man nodded.  The farmer lifted the injured man with hardly any effort, drawing a groan of pain, and deposited him in the back of the wagon.  After a moment, he did the same with the unconscious hatchet-man.  Cael followed mutely, and at a direction from Dar tied the captured horse’s reins to the back of the wagon.  “Bind this one’s hands,” he said, indicating the unconscious man. “Yes, sir.”  The boy’s earlier startlement had faded somewhat, and now he rushed off to obey the orders, recovering some leather straps from the front of the wagon that he used to tie the unconscious man up.  The injured man’s groans were growing weaker, but he was still conscious.  “I’m dying,” he managed to say.  “Gods, I’ve taken hurts worse than that and still beat the crap out of a freaking demon,” Dar said.  “When you’ve had your freaking arm ripped off by a six-armed snake-woman from Hell, then you can bitch.”  He glanced again at the boy, who was watching the scene with an almost dazed expression, fumbling with the leather straps as he tied them around the limp man’s wrists.  “Damn it, boy, you make those too tight, that bastard’ll lose his hands.  Not that he doesn’t deserve it, mind you, but it will make more trouble for the both of us when we get back.”  The boy jumped and focused anew on his work.  But he kept glancing over at the man dying on the bed of the wagon a few feet away.Dar looked up at the sky.  The fog was finally starting to clear.  “Damn it all to hell,” he said finally.  He drew out a small glass vial from a pocket in his coat, and bent over the injured man, uncorking the container and forcing its contents down his throat.  The results were almost immediate; the man’s breathing eased at once, and he lay there, blinking in surprise, instantly restored to full health.  “Better tie this one up as well,” Dar said to Cael.  Dar shot a warning look at the spearman, but there was no fight left in him, and he submitted without challenge.  Muttering to himself, Dar walked around the wagon, picking up discarded weapons and tossing them into the space behind the seat.  No sense in leaving them lying around for some other would-be bandit to find.  He recovered his dagger, wiping the blade on the dead crossbowman’s jacket.  There was blood all over the weapon, soaked into the leather wrap that protected the hilt.  There was blood on his hands, and he’d seen it on Cael’s, too; he was going to catch hell for that too, no doubt.He returned to the wagon and calmed the horses; they were still skittish around so much sudden death, but they had held their ground.  Cael had thought to hit the wagon brake, a point in his favor.  Dar looked down at the bloody axe he was still carrying in his hand.  With a sudden growl, he hurled it away.  The weapon flew end-over-end across the road, burying itself deep into the bole of a tree some fifteen feet away, twelve feet off the ground. “I am getting too old for this crap,” Dar muttered, as he pulled himself onto the wagon’s seat, and took up the reins.  “Keep an eye on those two,” he said to Cael.  “Anyone of them give you a squeak, you let me know.”But there were no squeaks, as the wagon lurched into motion, continuing past the scene of carnage along the quiet frontier road.</blockquote>

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