Private Tales Never trust the shadows

[Anais]

Ana spun in reaction to the sound, her heart leaping from her chest and into her throat, stifling a yelp of fright.

'I sensed something'..

"Oh really?" she glared, hearing a few more arrows thunk into the wagons, followed by a few panicked cries and some firmer instruction to take cover. A few of the men were on the move with bows in hand - her people weren't violent, but they were hunters, and damned good ones too.

Ana pulled open the door of her little home and quickly searched for something that she could use as a weapon. There was a bow with ten blunt arrows that she'd only ever shot at targets scored onto trees. She'd be hopeless with it, the men of the group had far more practise with moving prey, but hell if she was going to hide when they were being attacked.

Arrows crossed in almost constant paths between the thick foliage and the caravan amidst the sound of uproar and her mutterings of 'Shit...shit...shit...' as she rummaged. "Can you make a flame?" she called out to Radagan to the tune of clinking bottles - a half dozen bottles of self-made alcohol of no description, which was also a fantastic antiseptic and cleaner. She uncorked one at a time and tore strips of cloth from an old tunic to stuff down the bottle necks as quickly as she could.

 

[Fingal]

He deserved the glare. Goblins were not the finest archers in the land, but if they were allowed to keep shooting all day they would eventually hit something. They also had better cover in the trees.

He slapped the spare wagon wheel spoke into his free palm. It had a good weight to it, but he would trade it for a spear if it came to blow. Goblins usually had spears. Easy to use and unless their opponents had serious armour they were far more dangerous than swords.

An arrow thudded into the turf a few meters from him and skipped along the ground.

"Can you make a flame?"

"Yes, of course, but what are..."

Fingal looked inside the back of the wagon and saw what Anais was assembling.

"That looks unwise," Fingal said, but his sense of adventure was going to let this play out.

 

[Anais]

"Do you have a better idea? We don't have much in the way of ammunition here." she grumbled, her eyes lifting with a scowl at the new arrowhead that had just pierced through her wall. She swore under her breath and gathered the bottles, lifting one up to him hurriedly.

"Alright, light it." she commanded impatiently over the noise of commotion.

 

[Fingal]

"Just...a little further from the others..."

Fingal didn't need to click his fingers to summon a little fire, but he liked to. It was an enterprising idea, even if there was a good chance of them setting fire to themselves.

She didn't look pleased at his safety advice, but he lit the first makeshift fire bomb.

He stood back very smartly and pointed to the trees he thought the nearest goblin archers were hiding behind.

 

[Anais]

She swore to herself yet again as the flame caught the cloth, and again and again as she hopped down into the grass, pulled back her arm, and launched the bottle into the thick copse of trees. Glass shattered, and the alcohol inside ignited in a violent burst that poured down like molten rain, setting alight everything it touched.

They hadn't expected that. The sounds of panic and pain were screeched from the thicket, and two of the strange little creatures rushed out, their clothing ignited and their arms flailing. They were met with arrows.

Another goblin arrow came straight for her, but she turned in time for it to graze against her arm and she gasped, rushing back to the cover of her wagon.

"Another!"

Another thunk.

"STOP PUTTING HOLES IN MY HOUSE!" she barked, the next bottle in hand.

 

[Fingal]

Fingal grimaced. If he was a goblin, he would have turned and run at the sound of her shouting. Fingal clicked his fingers dutifully and another bottle of alcohol spread flames through the trees. Unfortunately the foliage itself was cool, damp and alive and wouldn't burn. However, the tatty rags worn by the goblins seemed perfectly flammable.

Another two rushed out, spears pointed in their direction.

"Hold up," Fingal said to Anais.

He stepped forwards as an arrow clipped one of the goblins. A spear was thrust for his neck. Fingal moved quickly, very quickly, and grabbed the spear behind the blade. He yanked forwards and swung with the spare wagon spoke.

There was a loud crack as it struck the goblin just below the ear. Fingal wrested the spear free and thrust the blunt end at the other goblin. Rather than a crack, it made a solid thunk as it struck him right between the eyes.

Fingal turned, pointed at the next rag. it started to burn.

 

[Anais]

Ana did as she was told and waited, her heart racing in her chest as she watched the goblins rush at them only to be rather brutally felled by Radagan's hand. Her stomach churned and she looked away before her breakfast made a reappearance.

The next rag suddenly alight, Ana flinched, almost dropping it where she stood and cursing loudly as she fumbled to contain it. The moment it was firmly within her grip once more, she launched it where the foliage ruffled and more of their screams filled the air. They bolted from the brush, their clothes aflame and their armed limbs flailing.

"Serves you right you little bastards!"

 

[Fingal]

She was setting things alight, but the fire she brought to the skirmish was her own. Fingal glanced over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

A cry further down the wagon line was reminder that this was serious. One of the younger men was pulled back out of sight, an arrow embedded in his arm.

That was going to hurt getting pulled out.

He was tempted to charge off into the trees and chase the goblins off, but he didn't want them charging at Anais and her wagon of improvised explosives. The fire had panicked the goblins and there were far less arrows coming out of the trees.

They might have expected a smaller caravan. They definitely hadn't expected fire bombs.

Fingal hefted the spear up into one hand. It wasn't well balanced for throwing. As soon as he saw movement he launched it overhead. It thudded into the ground a few feet in front of the goblin.

Deciding to pretend that he hadn't just missed he shouted out: "Now fuck off!"

That goblin did.

"Shall we see if we can help move the tree?"

 

[Anais]

How many more could there be?

She had only one bottle left, and she knew someone up ahead was hurt. "Yes.. Go, I'll follow." she nodded quickly, taking the last bottle with her.

Up ahead, men fired from the windows of their wagons, covering those who were currently trying to shift the tree without much luck.

"We're almost out of arrows!" Victor called out. "Who the fuck is setting them alight!?"

Anais winced but said nothing as she pressed her back to the side of a wagon and peeked around to see that the tree was still very much in place, embedded with plenty arrows..

"Can you help them?".. She asked. He was certainly far stronger than she was, and likely stronger than the others too, at least she hoped so. She held up the last of the bottles with an uneasy smile. "I'll cover you."

 

[Fingal]

"Yeah..." went Fingal. He raised one eyebrow at the last bottle. He was not certain that he want an exploding glass of fire water being used to cover him.

"I'll try."

Fingal set off at a jog around the far side from the ambush. If the goblins had more sense they would have attacked from both sides, even if offset to avoid hitting one another. They were small creatures and stuck close together for safety.

He took a good look at the tree trunk. The goblins hadn't shot any arrows at the horses so far. That meant they wanted them as beasts of burden, not as food. That would change if they unhooked a horse or two to lash them to the tree.

"Help me with this!" he shouted out. If they were short of arrows they were better off sparing some men to move the obstacle. It was thin enough that he could wrap both arms around it, but he could barely rock it a few inches on his own.

 

[Anais]

Ana kept her back pressed tight against the side of a wagon as she watched Radagan go. The others came at his command, and Ana waited a few more seconds until she saw the remaining goblins move to gather away from the fire, trying to gain a vantage point on those currently shifting the tree.

She sprinted out, her arm pulled back and the bottle thrown as hard as she could at the group as a few more arrows were loosed, one aimed directly at her.

 

[Fingal]

Once the trunk started to move it was far easier. It was still loosely attached to the base of the trunk, and four of them had to drive it around in an arc out of the way of the road. It also brought them perilously close to the goblin position, though many of them had taken flight.

Fingal's arms were shaking as they dropped it on a count of three with the others. He turned to see a group of goblins drawing bows. Another flask went flying out into the middle of them, but arrows went flying back.

"Anais!" he cried out. He didn't take cover as an arrow flew over his head, watching in raw fear as the goblin aiming at her loosed.

 

[Anais]

The hit took her down, but not before the majority of what remained of the foul creatures had been sent up in screaming flames. Two or three remained goblins survived at most, and yet they still did not have the good sense to run. Still their arrows were nocked and loosed without retreat.

Ana was convinced that she was dead, or, dying at least. The sensation of hot blood pouring down the slope of her neck registered with her before any pain did, though when she finally felt the searing wound, it was at least less of a worry. The arrow had grazed the side of her neck, spilling plenty of blood, but she knew well enough that it hadn't nicked anything too vital.

Her more immediate danger came from the last of the goblins that were making their ways toward her. Panic rattled her to her senses and she sat up, her bloodied hands searching for the rocks within her reach, which she promptly started launching at them, catching one square between his beady little eyes.

"Radagan!"

Zachary had already been on his way to her aid, being closer to her than any, and yet he stopped to send a glare colder than death toward the man

 

[Fingal]

He tried not to become too attached to mortals. They were fleeting things. The elves might have lived full lives - if they survived the dangers of Arethil - but humans came and went in the blink of an eye.

Feeling a tremor of fear rise from his belly and settle in his throat, Fingal knew he had grown a little fond of this one.

She sat back upright and he released a breath he had been holding. Anais was bloodied, but still fighting.

She cried out his assumed name, but he was already running. Fast enough to go right past Zachary and his petulant glare.

Fingal didn't acknowledge such an attempt to draw him into another disagreement. Not in the middle of this. He would come up with a limerick to mock him later.

"Check where you are bleeding!" he shouted out to Anais, before letting out a deep below at the goblins. He didn't even have a weapon but they turned and fled.

 

[Anais]

She hadn't the time to make doubly sure wasn't mortally wounded, not whilst that would be a certainty if she allowed the goblins to get close enough to her. The bare skin of her shoulder and upper chest were glistening with blood and much of her shirt was already saturated. She wasn't sure if she was alright, or if shock and adrenaline were all that powered her.

The moment the few remaining creatures ran, she slammed her hand to the wound in attempt to stem the bleeding.

"Get her inside!" Oliver demanded. "How many wounded?!" he bellowed out furiously, and another few shouts came in reply. Ana wasn't the only one to be hurt it seemed.

"I don't know if it's bad.. Is it bad?" she asked quickly, still watching the woods should the little bastards return. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning flesh from the little mounds of charred goblin lay here and there. Perhaps she'd have felt bad about it if she wasn't currently bleeding out on the road.

 

[Fingal]

"Keep you hand on it as hard as you can," Fingal growled. There was an edge to his voice, a clarity in his eyes. He almost managed to hide the hint of panic there. He scooped her up before she - or anyone else - could protest.

Pulling arrows was nasty business, but at least they were alive.

"We should get moving," Fingal said as he passed Oliver. The man was focused, barking out orders. Fingal wasn't about to cross him.

If they got a distance down the road they could stop and light fires ready to sterilise wounds.

He leapt up into the back of the caravan, too sprightly for the colour of his hair and the stories in the corners of his eyes.

"Let me have a little look?" he asked, peeling her fingers back. He unceremoniously used his own sleeve to wipe away some excess blood. It quickly welled up again in the wound. A danger, but not fatal.

"Needle and thread!" he shouted at the top of his voice. He replaced her hand with his own, clamping down with more pressure.

"It'll probably be fine, looks like more blood than there is," he said. Fingal couldn't lie directly, especially not whilst being provided hospitality by the travellers. He just chose the correct truth to impart to Anais.

 

[Anais]

She was vaguely aware of the faces that watched her pass by in Radagan's arms, but she was more aware of the blood seeping through her fingers as she pressed her hand firmly to her neck. Her rigid body thrummed with wave after wave of adrenaline, causing her to shiver.

Her eyes were crushed emerald as she stared up at him, fearfully searching his face for the truth. His culture frowned upon lying, but she noted the words 'probably' and 'looks like' and decided not to be settled by his assurances. It certainly felt like a lot of blood.

She could hear yelling outside as the wounded were lifted into the caravans and they were off and moving within the minute. None had answered his call, but Ana's gaze shifted to a shelf and the sewing box that sat amongst other trinkets upon it.. "The red box.." she rasped quietly, her trembling hand settling over his.

 

[Fingal]

Of course she would have one in her wagon. Each was a little self-sustaining operation of spares, tools and cooking equipment.

Fingal grabbed her hand, holding two fingers with pressure.

"Here," he said, leading her to the place where she was still bleeding. He could feel the pulse under his own fingertips. He was quick to switch out their hands, trying to stem the bleeding.

He grabbed a cloth and wiped his hands as he stood. Fingal would have stained all her possessions with blood if it kept her alive, but right now he did not need anything to be slippery.

He knelt back down beside her, opening the box and finding a needle with a curve to it. There was only regular thread in the box. He would need to replace it with something organic later. Catgut stitches were made across the land from sheep intestines and would naturally be absorbed back into the body.

The fine thread would not be, but stopping the bleeding was the priority.

Fingal pushed her hand out of the way and wiped away as much blood as possible.

"Hold still."

His hands were remarkably steady. He did not tremble, but the caravan was not on even ground. Altering time and distance with magic were exceptionally hard, but he drew from the Ley to enhance his own focus and perception as the first stich started at the bleeding vain.

"I'll try to keep the scar tidy," he mused, keeping the panic from his voice.

 

[Anais]

The feeling of the pulsating wound under her fingertips was nauseating. Her eyes closed tightly and her jaw clenched as she fought the urge to throw up and tried to focus on her breathing. There was only a slight wince as he started to knit her broken flesh back together, but she barely felt a thing after that initial sting.

"Hm.." she answered with a light twitch of her lips as he spoke of scars. She was starting to relax, and drowsiness fell over her with the weight of an ocean.. She drew a deep breath and let it tumble back out, her body falling limp as the urge to sleep was something far too pleasant a thing to refuse.

"Ana!" a hand thumped on the side of the wagon, and then on the door before it opened.. "Ana?" Dark eyes fell on the man at her side, at the blood and the wound he was sewing, but he could see that she was breathing.

"Get out." Zachary growled. "I think you've caused enough trouble, don't you?"

 

[Fingal]

"Boy," Fingal growled in warning.

He was remaining as steady as possible within the moving wagon. It required taking and holding deep breaths. Zachary was a thief of air at the best of times, but now he was literally wasting Fingal's breath and making it hard to work.

"I will gladly get out when the stitching is done. Now be quiet."

For Fingal it was a moderate response. He didn't have time to waste words and he had told Anais that he would be more diplomatic.

He narrowed his eyes and focused. The worst bleed was done, but he wanted to close the whole cut now.

 

[Anais]

The word 'boy' struck a nerve, and Zachary drew a long hunting knife with a growl. "Was this your plan? You said you checked the road... Set up that little ambush, did you?" he pointed the blade at him.

"I said get out, old man. Now." he demanded with all of the authority he could muster, but every word he spoke was dripping with jealousy. "We have healers of our own." he sneered and reached forward to grip him by the shoulder.

 

[Fingal]

"Yes," Fingal said, wiping blood from his hand onto the rag. He didn't know what the scrap of fabric was, he might have just soaked up all the blood on a precious heirloom. Some scrap of blanket passed down the generations.

"I ran ahead and managed to find a troop of goblins who would join in on my master plan. Then I killed a bunch of them."

"Go and fetch one of your healers and then they can finish my work, but don't you dare move me whilst I'm trying to sew."

He was close to losing his temper now. That meant that Zachary wouldn't suffer a broken nose and a bit of embarrassment. Fingal would break him.

 

[Anais]

Zachary did hesitate, his eyes narrowing on Fingal's back and his fingers squeezing at the knife housed in his palm. He might even have left if it hadn't been for Ana's hand lifting to settle on her healer's arm as she rested. She murmured something inaudible, and Zachary hissed.

"You're hurting her." he barked and grabbed hold of Fingal's scruff to pull him back.

 

[Fingal]

Fingal dropped the needle as he head the deranged young man shout at him. The worst of the bleed was tied, but if he yanked on the thread it would have reopened the lot.

He allowed himself to be pulled back, even throwing himself to land flat on his back inside the wagon.

Fingal's left hand snapped out and wrapped around Zachary's wrist. He could feel that steel, immutable to the flow of Ley magic.

Having lost his patience, he lost his sense of honour too. His bloodied right hand was balled into a fist and without hesitation he punched upwards at Zachary's crotch.

 

[Anais]

The sudden commotion was enough to rouse her from the light sleep she'd drifted into, and it took her a moment to blink through the initial confusion and disorientation to realise what was happening. Ana pushed herself up with difficulty as Zachary let out an angry howl in pain and then silenced as he went to his knees and slumped forward, still clutching his blade..

Her gaze honed in on it and shifted to Radagan. "Stop it." her voice cracked into a whisper as she tried to raise it.

"Radagan, go." she added drowsily. Zachary wouldn't listen, there was little point in trying to claw through his anger and jealousy and if one of them didn't leave this would end in more bloodshed. But Zachary's pride was too badly wounded, and already he was pushing himself back to his feet in a haze of red mist, and he lunged at his opponent with murderous intent.

Ana balled up her fist and pounded on the wall of her wagon, hoping one of the others would get here before any further damage was done.