A Perfect World - Chapter 10 (Patreon)

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Spearheads plunged toward Freldt, coming from both right and left - it was a pincer attack. Two fellows, clutching stubby knives, circled around him, positioning to backstab. The new ‘boss’ twirled his club on the outside, ready to assist where needed. Five against one – the odds weren’t in the cook’s favor.

A few yards away, Sixth stared at the cluster of men with concern. He held his own ‘weapon’, the same flint blade he always carried with him. The suddenness of it all shocked him to the bone. He’d never been in a real fight before.

With a trembling hand, he wiped his brow. He could feel a drop of sweat sliding down his temple. He nervously glanced at Griffin, who stood next to him. He hoped she was more composed than he.

The up-and-coming heroine was expressionless. She hardly noticed his attention, so focused was she on the unfolding battle. In fact, Sixth detected a hint of anticipation in her posture.

He grimaced inwardly.

‘I’m the only one here who’s afraid.’

His overloaded brain was sluggishly grappling with the situation when conflict suddenly erupted.

The spears were like striking pythons, unfolding into quick motion. One steel-tipped head swept toward Freldt’s chest while the other targeted his hip. At the same time, the two knife-wielders lunged at his back.

Sixth felt a cold chill crawl down his spine. His panicked eyes flicked toward Wilk, expecting the mercenary to do something, but he remained rooted in place.

Contrary to his expectations, Freldt wasn’t impaled immediately. Instead, what happened next made his eyes bulge out of their sockets.

The cook exploded out of his half-crouch, uncoiling like a spring. One trunk-like leg swung upwards, while the other folded until he was practically sitting on the ground. At the same time, he spun on that one foot.

A spear was sent flying into the air. One of the bandits clutched his hand – three of his fingers were bent in the wrong direction. His face was red and veins bulged on his forehead.

The other spear struck the ground, slipping neatly underneath Freldt’s armpit as the bandit tried and failed to adjust for his target’s sudden movement. The big man clamped tightly onto the weapon with his elbow and, assisted by his rotation, tore it out of his opponent’s grip.

The two stabbers were already on top of him. There was no time for him to play any fancy tricks. However, he still had an advantage – his own weapon was a bit longer than theirs. His ‘knife’ was more of a half-sword.

Clutching it in his main hand, he drew an arc behind him. One of the attackers had no choice but to retreat, lest his throat be rent open.

The other one drew blood - Freldt only had so many hands, after all.

He would’ve sealed the deal too, had it not been for the thick leather Freldt wore and the lousiness of his dagger. It sunk half a thumb’s length into the cook’s chest before he crushed the assailant’s nose with a violent headbutt. The bandit’s vision became cloudy as water and blood streamed down his face.

As for the ‘leader’, his club had been raised to crack open Freldt’s cranium, but when Wilk jumped into action, having determined his intervention necessary, the bandit decided the situation had become too dangerous. He promptly vanished into the forest, leaving a puff of dust in his wake.

If there was one skill every highwayman had to learn, it was the ability to fuck off when things started going south. Those who hadn’t the talent would have their careers (and lives) cut painfully short.

The fellow with the broken fingers had already made himself scarce. When the other disarmed spearman saw in which direction the wind was blowing, he followed their example.

Only the one knife-wielder remained, the other having scrammed as well.

It was the one Freldt’d headbutted – he tried to withdraw, but he was too slow. A long piece of metal was neatly slipped in under his clavicle, piercing upwards until it protruded from between his ribs.

Wilk’s sword was wickedly sharp.

After withdrawing his weapon, leaving the last to choke on his own blood, Wilk extended a hand toward Freldt.

“It’s finished.”

The big man sat on the ground, examining his wound. It was bleeding a lot, but he could tell it wasn’t deep. He sighed.

“Seems like it.”

He chuckled.

“I’m too old for this.”

Groaning, he took the offered hand and let himself be dragged to his feet.

After he’d helped up his friend, Wilk turned to his two wards.

“Are you all-right?”

He’d been worried that the scoundrels would target the kids, but it seems they didn’t have the guts. It was a relief.

Sixth nodded numbly. He was still in disbelief about what he’d just witnessed. The scuffle couldn’t have lasted for more than ten seconds.

‘Could I have done that?’

In fact, there was no need to ask that question. If it’d been one, he’d perhaps have stood a chance, but five…

There was no way.

He shakily wiped his sweating palms. A burst of fatigue made him unsteady on his feat, and he put one hand on Griffin’s shoulder to support himself.

Not for the first time, Sixth thought of how abnormal her mentality was.

Wilk strode over to them. He reached out a hand and messed with Sixth’s hair.

“Good lad.”

His tone was reassuring. Then, he bent forwards until his eyes were level with Griffin’s.

“This trip turned out to be rather eventful, haha! Sorry you had to see something unsightly, miss.”

He sounded like he was trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Griffin gave a blank nod. Sixth didn’t know what she was thinking.

Her response seemed to worry Wilk.

“If you’re upset, you needn’t hold it in. It’s all right to cry.”

He sounded like someone trying to calm a startled animal.

Sixth felt one of his eyebrows twitch.

‘This guy is misunderstanding something. Well, it’s probably better that way.’

Whatever her current emotional state was, he doubted it resembled shock.

A large pair of hands thumped on Wilk’s shoulders, causing him to turn around.

“It’ll be for the best if you bring up the rear. Wouldn’t want any more nasty surprises, would we?”

The cook (Sixth was starting to have some doubts about that) stood there shirtlessly. The coarse, curly hairs on his chest had clotted together with his blood.

Wilk agreed.

“Alright. You two will be in the middle. It’ll be safest, that way.”

He addressed the youths. Neither had any complaints.

As they resumed their journey, more eager to be out of the forest than ever, Sixth fell into step beside Griffin. There was much to be said between them, but, once again, the presence of their ‘escorts’ made things uncomfortable.

He sighed. Hopefully, they’d get an opportunity to talk later.

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The town of Annesley was excited.

Its inhabitants were simple people. Their concerns didn’t extend further than providing the bare-necessities for themselves and their families. They didn't have much in the way of amusement.

The local tavern had a bard, but even they, with their limited experience, could tell he wasn’t a very good one. He only knew a handful of songs and his instrument was always in a state of disrepair.

Imagine their delight when news came that the circus would be passing by! That week, parents could hardly get their children to do anything productive. Their curses and grumbles eventually turned into helpless smiles. In fact, they shared in the excitement, they just hid it better.

The town square had been cleared out and a dozen-or-so wagons, painted and decorated with patterned carvings, occupied the space. The sound of music filled the air, rising from the din of happy chatter.

A little girl, wearing a pair of pigtails, stared wide-eyed as a funny-looking man lifted up his strange hat. When he did, a flock of birds burst out from underneath it! With a fearful yelp, she scurried off towards her mother, hiding behind her skirts. The surrounding spectators chirped in amusement at the sight.

A few yards away, a pretty woman with a long braid sang an up-beat song. She was on the taller side and wore trousers like a man. They were fitted tightly, showcasing her long legs. Her shoes had thick soles, which she thumped against the wooden stage.

A crowd of listeners surrounded her. Predictably, most were male. Teenage boys and middle-aged men snickered among themselves while keeping their eyes glued to her bouncing chest. Her top button was open, showing off a hint of cleavage. It was all part of her strategy.

Miscellaneous gifts were strewn at her feet: iron bracelets, copper rings and even a few coins. A burly fellow stood to the side, keeping a watchful eye out in case anyone decided to try their luck with her spoils.

They were only the tip of the iceberg: whether it was strong men throwing acrobats into the air, jugglers tossing colorful balls, magicians performing slight of hand, harlequins, fire-breathers - the troupe had them all.

A wooden, two-story building overlooked all the clatter and clamor. A balcony stuck out from its midsection, supported by two thick logs. A round table and two small chairs were placed there. A pair of individuals occupied them: it was Ingrid and old William.

The senior smacked his lips together.

“That’s something to see, I tell you.”

He watched appreciatively as a female dancer’s skirt fluttered upwards.

Ingrid rolled her eyes.

“Yer full o life, fer an ol’ man.”

William chuckled.

“I’m as vigorous as any youngster.”

Ingrid snorted.

“Dunnae if it’ll help yer chances wit ta gals.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he took a strip of smoked meat from a clay plate and put it in his mouth. He was going to enjoy the show, no matter what anyone thought of him. In these trying times, where lives were worth less than grass, what was the value of propriety?

A somber cloud settled over him. Ingrid picked up on it.

“I was jus’ pullin’ yer leg, ol’ man. Nae need ta start cryin’.”

Her tone was teasing.

William didn’t respond to her jibe. Instead, he changed the topic.

“You lot best clear off the day after tomorrow.”

His voice was grave.

The wagon mistress’s eyebrows rose.

“Yer chasin’ me off ‘cause ‘o that?”

She held a hand to her chest in mock hurt.

The aged manservant sighed.

“If only that was the reason.”

He picked a wooden mug and wet his lips. After clearing his throat, he continued.

“Got some bad news this morning. Recruiters will be stopping by within a span of days.”

He took another sip before setting his cup down.

“If they catch wind of you, best expect they’ll start expropriating goods for the ‘war effort’.”

Ingrid’s forehead creased into a frown.

“…it’s gotten ta that?”

William stroked his moustache.

“The master thinks…”

He halted, evidently reconsidering whether or not it was something to share. Finally, he waved his hand from side to side.

“…well, I guess it’s no big secret. Rather than the war, it’s more likely that the king is growing concerned about the encroaching Kushans.”

He started chewing on another piece of meat.

Ingrid patiently waited for him to continue.

After swallowing, he did.

“His lordship may be sending our lads to secure the borders. We can only pray they won’t see any action.”

The two became silent.

The village needed every pair of strong hands it could get, but how could they refuse the king’s draft?

“An’ yer not e’en on ta map. Surprisin’ they came for ye.”

Ingrid had taken a pipe from her vest and filled it with some dirty-looking leaves. She had the habit of smoking as a means to calm her nerves.

The old man made a sound of agreement.

“It shows his majesty’s concern. We better not have a two-sided war on our hands. This land won’t survive it.”

They observed the merrymaking below. The townsfolk wouldn’t be as carefree in a week’s time.

Old Will scratched his cheek.

“If I had my youth, I’d have gone along. Boys that age are grown only on the outside; they still need someone to take care of them.”

He sighed.

“They were raised good, but it made them soft. They’re more suited to tilling soil and herding pigs than soldiering.”

Ingrid watched as the senior’s visage became cloudy. In a gesture of comfort, she put a hand on his knee.

“Outta yer hans ‘ol Will. Aint nothin’ can be done.”

William patted her hand gratefully. He continued.

“Just one more reason not to dally. The king’s men won’t hesitate to grab any of yours that are of age.”

He did his best to impress the severity of his situation.

Ingrid nodded slowly.

“…aye. An’ we’ve a few.”

She cast her eyes toward the sky. Fluffy, white clouds drifted lazily across the blue expanse. They didn’t seem the type to bring bad whether.

‘Goes ta show, dunnit?’

She puffed on her pipe.

“Right ye are. I ‘preciate it, as always.”

After Ingrid had given her thanks, she became silent, lost in her own thoughts. She didn’t know what the future would bring, but she had a bad feeling about it.

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“…hardly ever see their sort around here. Unlucky fellows, aren’t you?”

A thirty-something man, wearing a tight, brown cap over his head, conversed with the group of four. He was the woodsman who’d been sent by Ingrid and William.

A boy, two years Sixth’s junior, trailed behind him. He was trying desperately to hide his fascination with a certain white-haired beauty, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

Slapping the youth on the back, the man introduced the two of them.

“I’m Davin, and this is Davin junior. We call him Davie, to avoid confusion.”

Once introductions and handshakes had been exchanged, Davin continued.

“I see you’ve a bloody sack dangling from your hip, mister Wilk. I assume you were thinking of exchanging it for a reward, but I’m afraid you won’t have much luck. We don’t have that custom here.”

The mercenary frowned. After going through the trouble of beheading the scoundrel, tossing his noggin into the woods seemed a waste.

The woodsman stuck out his hand.

“It’ll attract beasts this close to the road. You can give it to me and I’ll dispose of it.”

When Wilk didn’t, Davin laughed sheepishly.

“I’m not trying to do you in. If you’ll get rid of it somewhere else, that’s fine by me.”

After staring at the woodsman for a long moment, Wilk handed it over. If he found something out later, he’d take his loss out of this fellow’s hide.

The man carefully hung it from his belt.

“If you want, you can confirm the incineration with your own eyes.”

Remembering something, he raised a finger into the air.

“Ah! What happened to the rest of him?”

The mercenary shrugged his shoulders.

“We left him some distance from the road, into the woods.”

Wilk pointed a thumb over his shoulder.

Davin made a noise of consideration.

“Wish I could’ve sent a few to fetch it with a cart, but if more scoundrels are hanging around here, it’s too unsafe.”

He frowned, thinking of the news his father had shared with him. He was old William’s son, which was part of the reason he’d been sent to take care of these. It also meant he was privy to information others weren’t.

‘I wonder if it’ll be possible to get the soldiers to deal with this mess…’

Although they seemed capable, some things shouldn’t be asked, especially not from one’s guests.

He made a dismissive gesture.

“In any case, it isn’t something you folk need to worry about. We may not have money to give, but we’d be amiss if we didn’t repay you in some way. You’ll find that Annesley’s hospitality is second to none! In fact, I’m sure the mayor will personally serve you dinner.”

Neither Wilk nor Freldt said anything. If the town wanted to thank them, wouldn’t it be impolite to refuse?

While this was going on, Sixth noticed Davie stealing glances whenever he thought Griffin wasn’t looking. He considered teasing her about it, but his heart wasn’t in it.

‘…that bandit that ran away first was called ‘Corkus’. It looked like him, for sure.’

He was wondering why it was necessary for her to collect these people, specifically.

If he remembered correctly, none of the original Band of the Hawk were that extraordinary. Well, maybe that wasn’t true. Guts and Pippin were powerhouses, no two ways about it. The rest of them though… were they really that special?

‘Judeau had the pixie dust, didn’t he? That’s pretty important.’

As for Casca – the fact that the original had instated her as his second-in-command spoke for itself. But what about the rest? The Band hadn’t consisted of only two handfuls of individuals; there were many other mercenaries. The only thing Sixth could think of was that they were mostly young kids Griffith had picked up.

‘…and I’m one of them.’

The fact that he fit that description so neatly wasn’t comforting. Maybe it was all coincidence?

‘Pffft, not likely!’

He sighed and shook his head. There was no point in worrying about things he couldn’t control.

His growing distress had attracted Griffin’s attention. She looked at him curiously.

Sixth suddenly found himself in the mood for a bit of mischief. He leaned close to her ear and whispered something.

“That guy keeps looking at you. Do you know each other, maybe?”

Griffin frowned. She turned her head, catching her admirer flat-footed. Davie hurriedly looked away with reddening cheeks, but it only made it obvious what he’d been doing.

She looked irritably at Sixth.

“Why do you care where other people are looking?”

He waved his hands innocently in front of his chest.

“Hey, why are you getting mad at me? I was just curious.”

Two fingers pinched his side.

“Ouch!”

He tried to slap her away, but she strengthened her grip and turned.

His face turned red in an effort to fight the pain.

“If we were alone, I’d have shown you a thing or two!”

He whispered fiercely into her ear, finally managing to pull her hand off him. He was going to have a bruise tomorrow, for sure.

She was unimpressed.

“If you say so.”

Sixth vigorously rubbed his side. He regretted antagonizing her. He’d thought to fluster her, but it hadn’t worked. His mood plummeted further.

‘Damn it, I want to eat something and have a wash. We better arrive soon…’

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