The chirping of birds died as the noises of a struggle broke the natural forest sounds. The boughs of the trees blocked much of the shining sun save for the roughly oval shaped clearing which was thickly overgrown as the smaller vegetation grappled for the nourishment of the light. Five men, four alive and one dead, along with one woman, a horse and a wagon were within this clearing all taking part in the violent event in one form or another. One of the living men was currently pulling forth a wickedly curved long dagger from the chest of the dead man wiping the now flowing blood from the blade and onto his breaches. Two of the other men were rooting through the worn wooden wagon searching in the sacks and crates within the back but one of them, the larger hairier man, began walking toward the neighing, bucking horse with his hands held forward trying to calm the animal. The fourth man, a weedy weasel like fellow, was now standing over the woman with a small notched sword. The woman was pretty enough although something in her blunt features kept her from being truly beautiful to many except her now dead husband who laid barely ten paces from her. The woman sobbed and screamed for help as loud as her voice would allow as she tried crawling away from the nearly slavering man above her.
“Shut yer whore mouf.” The vermin of a man shouted and then with a savage kick the woman was no longer conscious. “Never liked em awake anyways.” The man chuckled ruthlessly to himself as he sheathed his sword and stooped lower.
The man had begun tearing at her rough spun brown dress when a metallic clacking sound coming from somewhere within the shadows of the trees broke the attention of all four living men. With the horse now calmed all four men turned towards the source of the sound drawing battered weapons of shoddy workmanship. A form darkened by the forest came into view at the edge of the clearing but then stopped suddenly as if to survey the scene within. After a short moment the large bearded man now armed with a woodsmans’ axe shouted “who goes there.” No answer save the clinking sound of metal on metal came forth from the newcomer and the form came into view. A tall man clad in steel armor walked out so as to be seen more clearly and then once again stopped short of the group. He wore battered mixed plate mail armor backed by chainmail although his midsection and some of his greaves were covered by the flowing tabard which adorned his armor. The tabard was strange, it bore no heraldry or signifying colors and was of a pale off white almost cream color. The kite shield which was in the mans’ left hand also bore no knightly adornment save for a number of deep gashes and gouges speaking of an almost innumerable number of battles. The sword in his right hand was similarly plain except it bore no damage upon the blade and it gleamed in the sunlight. The mans’ features could not be seen under the full helm, which ended in a long ridge along the front, and he made no movement to show his face to the group.
“Oy who do ya fink you are.” Yelled the man who was walking away from the unconscious woman. “Less you wanna end up like them you best walk away.”
As if to answer the pale knight walked forward towards the speaking rodent like man slowly and deliberately with no motion of stopping. With a yell one of the other men hurled a dagger through the air at the silent sentinel and with a near blinding speed a shielded arm was thrown up blocking the projectile with ease. “GET HIM.” Yelled one of the group but all rushed to comply. First to meet the armored man was the one who had slain the womans’ husband. He now held a short sword in his right hand and the bloodstained dagger in his left and he rushed forward fueled by the knowledge that his companions were only mere steps behind him. He plunged forward with the stabbing sword and with another movement, as with much practice, he reached the hand with the dagger around to take advantage of the knights divided attention. With a screech the sword scraped along the surface of the steel shield and the man in steel dropped low sliding the point of the shield under the attackers shoulder dislocating it. With the sword in his right hand the knight with one deft swipe cleaved the other mans’ hand off at the wrist dropping it to the grass and spraying a gout of blood as the bandit fell to the ground screaming in pain. The other three brigands stopped in their steps with looks of shock on their faces. This only lasted for a split second before they broke free of it giving the pale knight enough time to flick the blood from his broadsword. With another yell the three reached the man roughly at the same time. Stepping backwards at the last moment the knight dodged the heavy axe of the bearded man which would have cleaved the skull of an ox with ease. The flash of a dagger and a sword were both blocked, one by shield and one by sword, with the clang of steel ringing out as all four combatants readjusted their stances recovering from the attacks. Like a streak of silver the knights’ sword lashed out with extreme precision severing the jugular of one of the men. The dying man let out a gurgle as he clasped his throat with wet crimson seeping between his fingers. The man pitched back writhing as he slowly choked on his own blood. Having recovered both the large bear of a man and the rat tried to press the attack. Unable to dodge or block both attacks this time the woodsmans’ axe came down on the shield which dented and split the steel but did not go any further. With a weapon in each hand the smaller sharp faced man reached around driving the dagger in his left hand into the armored mans’ side splitting the chains and letting spill forth a trickle of blood. The man gave only a grunt as a sound of pain and he simply locked eyes from under his helm with the dastardly sneak. With a step and a twist the knight was no longer between the two men and he slashed at the tendons at the back of the mans’ knee who had stabbed him. Sprawling forward the rat squirmed and screamed curses but neither of the other men made any sign of recognition. The large bearded man hefted his axe in both hands and both men squared off against one another.
“Yer a helluva fighter” said the axman with a nod of respect towards the other man. “Who do you fight for. The king? The prince? Oneatha dukes?” The man clad in armor said nothing. “Why’d you hafta come this way?” Again the other said nothing. “Say somethin’ you bastard.” The blood of the brigand was now up and the knight was getting under his skin. The pale knight had seen many men like this in his travels. Big men who were used to getting their way by sheer strength and who lost their temper when another strong man took them to task. He counted on the other mans’ anger and recklessness.
Rushing forward growling and confirming the pale knights’ instincts the axman swung overhead looking to split the helmeted skull. Unfortunately for the brigand the man was no longer there as he had timed every move perfectly side stepping him and slashing, spilling his intestines upon the ground. Both men stood silently for an instant before the large bearded man collapsed dead to the ground. With the same slow pace the pale knight strode a few paces to the man trying to crawl away in the grass neglecting the trickle of blood which ran from the wound in his side. With a crunch the knight stepped on the bleeding leg of the man on the ground. The squealing man rolled over to face the silent unflinching knight who had slain his companions and as silently as he had done everything else the armored man drove his blade into the forehead of the man upon the ground cutting short the mans’ plea for mercy. No one was there to view the execution or the beheading of each one of the brigands.
A short while later the woman regained her consciousness holding her head which ached tremendously. She sat up and saw all at once the corpses of the four dead men which were in various states of dismemberment and. At seeing this she nearly swooned until she locked her eyes on her lifeless husband. She crawled across the blood covered grass which stained her tattered dress and she bent over the form of her love crying and letting her tears fall upon his brow. She knew nothing of the pale knight who had saved her life and she never would. For her, she cared not as the dreams and aspirations she had were as dead as the husband with which she had shared them.
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from Short Stories https://ift.tt/2DyyarD
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