Born a Monster

452 352 – Bandits are Lunch

I was wondering why spring rains were sung about so much; the rain was cold, drops infiltrating through the tree canopy to strike my body with cold and wet.

The chainmail, loose against the lanky human frame, seemed to gather the errant drops, holding them away with one sway, only to slap them against me with the next. So it was that I was jogging just to stay warm, when my ankle snagged on a piece of rope.

I turned the trip into a forward flip, sliding in the mud on my back rather than my face. But when I tried to rise, a descending boot came down squarely on my chest. I exhaled, but was definitely pinned.

“Well, now.” the man said. He had a beard that merged with his hair, one of the ones that came down well past the neckline of his shirt. Over that shirt was a vest of chain links, and over that a vest of brown cloth.

And there was a thin sword, whose point hovered above my exposed neck.

“Please forgive me, sir.” I said, “I do not recognize your heraldry.”

“Shut up, or be stabbed.” he said.

I decided not to be stabbed. I turned my head left and right, counting six others ready to come in and hack my human form apart with axes and a watchman’s pike. I also saw something else.

I sent.

.....

From the wet upper branches of a tree, it sent,

The foot bounced. “Aha.” the man said. “Unless my feet betray me, you are wearing chainmail.”

“I admit the obvious.” I said. “I am so armored.”

“That is far too rich an armor for a mere lumberman.” he said. “So... you must be a spy.”

The tip of the blade touched my chin, drawing a slight stream of blood. “Convince me otherwise, or die here.”

I sighed. “I am a scout, which is close to being a spy.”

I saw his eyes widen, and then squint. Crap, he was thinking. I needed to talk fast. “I don’t care about your life here in the green. Let me go, and I’ll turn in my report with no mention that you seven are here.”

As he laughed, the tip of the sword danced. I don’t think he noticed that I bled less than someone else in my position would have.

“Do you hear that, lads and ladies? He thinks we number only seven.”

Laughter came from some of them, including some I hadn’t seen.

“He knows better than to count our little sparrow as a whole man, yet.” one of the women said.

I looked around again. How had I missed so many?

“I know what you’re thinking.” the man said. “How did I miss so many? Am I that poor of a scout?”

He idly put another slice in my chin. “And yes, lad. You are younger than Sparrow. How would you like the chance to see your next birthday?”

I took a look at the shortest of those nearby. “Begging your pardon sir, but if that one is Sparrow, he’s around forty.”

“I am not!” the short man huffed. “I am Dustin, and I am six and thirty summers old, and not a year more.”

“I am Sparrow.” called out a clump of foliage just down the tree-trunk from the watcher. A chunk of foliage with a bow nearby, I noticed. Not strung tight, not in this weather, but easily within his arm’s reach. “I am eleven. How old are you?”

I raised my hands, palms facing the rain. “I am younger than Sparrow.” I said.

How young did they think I was?

The man made a few poking motions at my chest, possibly testing the strength of the chain links. “You see? You cannot bullshit a bullshitter, boy. Nobody under the age of twelve is permitted into the army. So you aren’t a squire, and not a scout.

“Scouts wear leather!” a female voice called out.

“Aye, and a good catch that is, Madge.” He squinted at me, poking the tip of my chin with his sword. “Child. You are not bleeding as much as you should be.”

“I have good genetics.” I said.

He spat in my face. “If by genetics, you mean a ring of healing, then yes, I believe you.” He slapped my left hand with the flat of his blade. “I’ll have that ring, young sir, even if I have to cut off that finger to get it.”

The... oh, he meant my signet ring. “Sure.” I said, removing it and handing it up to him.

He let out a low whistle. “The ring itself is brass, but damn me for being a spider if that isn’t the very symbol of our,” he snickered here, “great nation.”

He attempted to place the ring on his own left hand, whose fingers were by far too large.

“Magical rings are supposed to grow and shrink to fit one’s hand.” he said.

I blinked. “Who told you that?”

“Don’t mock me.” he said. “Everyone knows that.”

Well, I hadn’t known that.

“I want his boots.” Sparrow said.

“Dustin?” the man asked.

“Those are good boots, aye. But no more magical than that ring, I’ll wager.” he shook his head. “Too small for my feet.”

The ring went into his pocket, the sword back into his hands. “Your boots as well, sir, if you would.”

With a bit more effort than stretching should really take, I managed to remove my boots. They were going through my pack and having me remove items from my inventory when the horn sounded.

“That’s...” the man said.

“That’s the village.” Madge said.

“Our village is under attack!” Dustin said. “Damn all spies. Just kill him!”

Instead, the man snapped his left hand down, and hefted me by my neck. I grabbed his forearm and pulled, keeping as much weight as I could on my arms.

“How many are there?” he asked, looking into my eyes.

“It’s just me.” I said. “Something else is attacking your camp.”

“Your eyes,” he said, “are solid black. That is not natural.”

“They’ve been that color since I’ve been born.” I said.

“Tom!” Dustin said, “There’s not time. Just kill him.”

Instead, he dropped me. “Sit. There. Sparrow, watch him.”

“I want to fight, too.”

“And how quickly can you get out of that tree?”

A sulking murmur answered from above.

“That’s what I thought.” Tom replied. “Everyone else! Back to the village!”

And, with less noise than they should have, they set off.

Slowly, I sat up.

“Slowly.” Sparrow said. At some point, he had strung his bow. “I can put an arrow in your eye from here.”

I rubbed at my cheek, but it only seemed to spread the mud around, rather than remove anything. “I don’t doubt it. You’ve had long enough to stack your Aim actions.”

“I don’t need them.” Sparrow bragged. “You behave, and keep pulling things out from your inventory until it’s empty. Even a twitch, and I’ll kill you.”

I asked the lurker in the trees. He was a spider, black of skin and fur, red of eyes, and with the sign of two red triangles on his back. He was perhaps four feet long, and two wide, although his limbs made him look far wider.

he sent.

I rubbed my hands together, pulling sand from my inventory between them. “Slumber!” I cast at Sparrow.

His bow fell, the string snapping when it struck the ground. Sparrow himself seemed to curl up on the trunk of the tree. He snored loudly, but kept his balance.

I said.

His descent slowed, but did not stop. he said.

There was a soft pop as he reached Sparrow, breaking his neck with a quick twist.

I rose to my feet, stretching.

I sent,

He took a tentative nibble upon Sparrow.

And a good thing for me that I didn’t know that. Lies. A few magic items will resize, and many of the amulets and other necklaces will fasten and unfasten at will, but most enchanters don’t waste time and power on such niceties. They craft for power, not for utility.

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