The two bandits in front hesitated only a moment, then rushed him. Without coordination, they bumped into each other mid-lunge and spoiled each other's attacks. Riggs parried one sloppy swing with the haft of his axe, then delivered a quick jab to the bandit’s ribs with the butt of the weapon. Layers of hide absorbed some of the blow, but the man still gasped and stumbled back.

Riggs shifted into a defensive posture, ready to parry the incoming spear thrust. But none came. The spearman ran past him, Riggs gaping instead of taking advantage of the opening.

“You bastard!” the man in front of him shouted at his retreating comrade.

He attacked Riggs with wild abandon, forcing the big man on the defensive. Riggs grunted as he blocked the blows and blinked as the torch’s flame flicked at his face, unable to counterattack because of the poor balance of the axe.

“Riggs, brace!”

White runes flashed up ahead, then a powerful gust of wind howled down the hill. A scream came from behind Riggs, replaced with a sudden, violent crunch and debris snapping as something heavy tumbled downhill.

The bandit in front stumbled into Riggs, but the big man kept his footing and shoved his assailant back with the axe haft. Before his opponent recovered their balance, Riggs delivered a tree-splitting blow to their mid-section. His victim didn’t even scream as the axe blade smashed through ribs, organs, and spine. A mess of gore spilled out around the wound alongside a charnel stench. The body tore apart as Riggs ripped his axe from it, then he turned to the last bandit who faced him.

A knife stabbed into Riggs’ leg, the sharp agony driving him to a knee.

“I got him! Finish this bastard off!” came a woman’s voice from behind him, the bandit who had initially collided with him.

The man made a run for it, hopping over his nearly bisected comrade, but Riggs caught the coward’s leg in mid-air and he crashed onto a root with a gasp. The giant smith held on as the other man struggled, not wanting to let any bandits get past him. The man kicked and screamed as he recovered his breath, then flailed at Riggs with the torch he held in a white-knuckled grip.

“You fucking idiot,” the woman said. Riggs felt more pain bloom in his leg as she twisted the knife and then dragged it out. He felt it punch at his back, but fail to pierce his chainmail. Fingers clawed under his helmet and yanked his head back sharply. He felt hot breath on his face: “Smile for me you piece of shit.”

A staff slammed down onto his head – and the hand that clawed at him. The woman’s hand shattered from the impact, but Riggs was too dazed to register her screams into his ear. A knife grazed the side of his neck as she fell back, pulling him as her broken fingers remained hooked under his helmet.

They tumbled down the hill together, grunting as they collided with roots, branches, rocks, and each other. There was a half-hearted struggle for the dagger, but blinding pain and nausea smothered what little fight was left in them. They were airborne momentarily and the woman landed on top of Riggs. Her weight crushed the air from his lungs and smashed his head into a rock, the big man blacking out from the pain as they continued to roll down the hill.

The fool boy is going to die in a ditch somewhere.

Riggs came to with a gasp moments later, lungs burning for air and stomach lurching from the tumbling. Fighting down the nausea, he continued to gulp air like someone dying of thirst and blinked at the darkness. Eventually, he realized he was no longer moving. Some root or rock dug into his back, so he rolled over, onto his back, so he could breathe better, head swimming. He cursed nature once more and smacked the offending object, but it did not feel like bark or stone. The woman made no noise and remained still. A light blurred by, illuminating her neck at an odd angle, her eyes open and locked into a grimace of hatred – and he turned away.

The boy will break the moment he sees death.

Looking back up the hill, he saw the light coming from a torch held by the other bandit he had fought earlier. The man crashed through branches at a dead sprint, avoiding the forest’s tripping hazards by great skill or, more likely, a complete miracle. He gasped for breath as he ran down the hill, eyes widening when he recognized Riggs and the woman on the ground. His gasping turned into a panicked sob, but he continued headlong down the hill.

Can’t let them past me.

Riggs ordered his arm to rise, to tear the bandit back to the ground like he did earlier.

Instead, his head swam in agony.

Riggs watched the coward take two steps beyond him and then lurch from the ground with a loud squelch and a thunk. The man’s head slammed into the tree, his feet dangling off the ground. The torch fell from his limp fingers and rolled down the hill a few feet before getting caught on a snarl of roots. Riggs’ eyes tracked upwards to see that he was impaled to the tree on a large, thick arrow.

Shaya...is this the face of justice?

The torch’s flames danced, greedily licking at the fallen twigs and leaves around it, but unable to catch the damp underbrush aflame. Slowly, Riggs turned his head to face back up the hill and spied Lyraal’s silhouette in the sputtering light of a dying torch, where he fought the two, three, or four bandits – he wasn’t sure how to count it.

“Not another move, sorcerer,” a rough voice snarled from further up, “or the next arrow ends you.”

“I’m not-” Lyraal started, flustered, then, “Please, let me help my friend. He fell in the fight and needs to be seen to.”

“Drop the staff.”

Lyraal hesitated.

“Now!”

Riggs heard the bow’s tension from this distance and the impaled man’s blood dripping down from the tree.

The stories of monsters here were true...

I should have warned Lyraal...

The Warden’s staff rolled and skipped down the hill towards him. It took several long seconds before the silvery metal finally rolled into view. He thought it was a smooth cylinder, but he could see now that it was a bit more angular, so it could be wielded better in melee.

“Are you the source of evil here?” the archer demanded.

“No!” Lyraal shot back, angry.

“Don’t lie to me! I saw your runes – you're a sorcerer!”

“That’s not how it – ugh! Not all arcane magic is evil!”

A scoff. “Why are you here?”

“I’m a Warden.” Lyraal waited, then continued when that didn’t get a response, “My friend and I are travelling from the nearby hamlet – the bandits allied with dark magic and were extorting them. I think it is coming from the keep up ahead and need to put an end to it before more innocent people die.”

"Stay where you are, don’t move.” Riggs heard the person murmur to themselves for a few seconds in a language he didn’t understand. Leaves rustled, but otherwise nothing happened for some time.

“Please,” Lyraal said, “My friend could be dying right now.”

“Don’t. Move.”

“Please.”

The archer sniffed, dismissively. “I do not sense any dark magic around you.” The tension on the bow eased, “See to your friend. But I will be watching you.”

Lyraal darted to Riggs, moving across roots without difficulty in the dark. They kneeled before him and opened the hood on their lantern to get a better look. He was prodded at and his limbs moved, bent, and turned. Riggs grunted and shifted uncomfortably from some ministrations, Lyraal nodding as he flinched.

They spotted the wound in his leg and frowned. The haloes in their eyes flared with light. “Sorry Riggs, you know what’s coming.” They raised a hand, which glowed hot, then clamped it down on the mutilated knife wound. He had never experienced such burning, blinding agony in all of his days as a smith or warrior and, when he snapped back to reality, he was unsure if he managed to suppress his scream or not.

“That’s not going to help with the underlying damage, so don’t put much weight on this leg.” They tapped his right leg. “Other than that...you have bruised ribs, a few minor cuts and scrapes, and a few sprained limbs – nothing your blood can’t handle.”

Riggs nodded his thanks and then rolled over and retched for several seconds.

“Riggs, have you never taken another life before?”

“I have,” The big man went to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, thought better of it, then did so with a spare cloth from a belt pouch. He quivered as he rose.

“Just never so...” He gestured toward the woman and the impaled man, not looking towards either, “So, brutally, I guess. Clean kills, straight fights, where we could each see the other.”

Lyraal breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good, I was worr-”

“Is your friend alive?” Their captor asked from nearby. Even at normal volume, their voice was deep, guttural and thrummed with animosity.

Lyraal turned back, “Yes, but injured. May I pick up my staff now?”

“No.”

“Do you intend to take us prisoner?”

“No.”

“Then what do you want from us?”

A pause. “You said you intended to go into the keep, to defeat the evil there.”

“Yes.”

“I was doing the same.”

“Do you wish to join us?”

A snort. “Sorcerers can’t be trusted. Your friend is a fool to work with you.”

Lyraal pinched the bridge of their nose, then took a deep breath. When they spoke, their voice remained calm: “Then what do you propose? Let us go ahead, see if we succeed, and then finish the job if we fail?”

The archer growled and stepped forward, cat-like eyes reflecting the torch’s light while the rest of their shape was shrouded in darkness. “I am no coward.”

Riggs put a hand on Lyraal’s shoulder, both to move them back an inch and to support himself. “Then help us, please. My people can’t survive another night of these attacks.”

The glowing eyes moved to suggest a head cocked to study Riggs. “Why do you trust this sorcerer?”

“I...I don’t know what that is, or how it may be different than a witch.” Riggs began, then paused, “But I trust them because they saved me and my village earlier this night. And they used magic to help us and heal one of my friends that might have died otherwise.”

The eyes flicked between Riggs and Lyraal, then nodded. The figure strode into the torch light, revealing a tall, almost-human creature with a powerful, wiry physique. Large feline eyes sat on a relatively human face, above a hawk-like nose, with a wild, golden mane of hair held at bay by a thick, wooden circlet. Thin lips peeled back to reveal a threatening, warning scowl with pronounced fangs where a human’s canine teeth would be. Everywhere their cool, tawny skin wasn’t covered by clothes, it was marked by two discernable tattoo patterns that started on their face: one of sweeping red lines and the other of jagged, and faintly glowing, gold lines.

They wore a loose tunic and pants, both a mottled green and brown, and the lack of boots revealed they had long paws instead of feet. While Riggs' quilted armour was designed to be worn under other, heavier armour, the creature's was not. Their padded jack was much thicker than Riggs’, with a high collar forming a gorget and the vest’s length going down to the upper thighs. On top of the layered cloth, their armour was faced with thick, monstrous hide and reinforced with strips of dense bone where the body wouldn’t need to bend or twist. One furred, clawed hand gripped a compact bow, its wood and string both thicker than any bow Riggs had ever seen, and their other claw held a thick, heavy arrow between each digit. Aside from the bow, they carried a hand axe and dagger sheathed on their belt.

“Then I shall join you, for now. I am Noctessa Gryphon-Heart, druid and daughter of the Ashen Glade.”