[Chapter 3 - Scavengers in the Dark]

  I awoke with a start.

  The taste of blood filled my mouth, mingling with the saliva and dirt which pooled before my open jaw.

  My head was on the ground, the side of my face buried in the dirt.

  And coughing was accompanied by a discharge of crimson, a symptom following the headache tearing my mind asunder.

  Voices in the distance.

  I wasn’t sure how long had passed.

  The night air brushed against my skin, my nose catching with it the faint smell of smoke.

  Opposite lay the soldier in silver and gold.

  He was no longer hunched over, having collapsed much like I had.

  I tried to prop myself up on one arm, but I threw the other out immediately in front as my strength gave way.

  Voices again, this time louder.

  It took everything I had to force myself up, wrenching out an exhausted grunt as I staggered forwards to maintain some form of balance.

  Blood rushed to my head and I stumbled, endeavouring best I could to avoid the bodies strewn across my path.

  Each movement was accompanied by the screaming of muscle, a pain relieved only by my eventual collapse into the roots of a nearby tree.

  The voices were much closer now, emanating from the torch light which flickered in the treeline across.

  My gasps sounded in the quiet, a desperate attempt to bring my frantic breathing under control as I pressed my face against the cold wood, my eyes steady on the growing light.

  Two men soon emerged.

  They stepped into the clearing with flaming torches in hand.

  By their sides rested swords sheathed in leather scabbards, metal pommels glinting with every step.

  One was covered by a muted gambeson, the padded grey armour spanning his entire body.

  His companion favoured a metal breastplate instead, worn and grimy from neglect.

  Bandits, judging from their mismatched equipment, and the fresh blood which still glistened over their gloves.

  Deserters or ex-mercenaries, it did not matter.

  It would be of no good for them to know I was here.

  Words exchanged between the two, their tone conversational with a hint of snide cruelty.

  They seemed unfazed by the bodies surrounding them, occasionally stopping to peer closer at a fallen corpse.

  I put my knife away as I slowly pulled the handgun out in exchange.

  They seemed to be alone, there was nothing in their behaviour to indicate a larger group nearby.

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  The Eickhorn however would not help me here.

  A knife offered little against two full broadswords, not even mentioning the armour the two had borne.

  And as they trudged closer I could just about make out the words they spoke.

  The language was one unknown to me but still I strained my ears, attempting to make out anything I could.

  Pathetic. A rasp, drowsy but condescending.

  That single word filled my mind, startling me as I jolted forwards, eyes widening in response.

  Then a wince followed, caused by the sharp pain inflicted by the voice in my head.

  Adrenaline demanded that I regain my composure, and I held my breath as I glanced back, fearing that the two men had noticed me even across this distance.

  Nothing.

  Despite the intensity of the voice I heard they were oblivious, too absorbed in their exchange.

  For a brief moment nothing happened, the two conversing as they pressed closer.

  Then their words seemed to distort, their dialogue muffled, blurring in my ear.

  As quickly as it had come the feeling stopped.

  In its place, comprehension of their speech flowed into my head, clarifying itself as if they spoke a language I had always known.

  My brows furrowed.

  If not for the tense situation I would have exclaimed in shock.

  A snicker sounded at the back of my mind, but before I could query it the men’s voices disrupted my attention.

  “All this fucking money around us and we can’t touch shit.”

  A northern accent. It was thick, spat out by the taller of the two in the gambeson.

  “These guys are Atreian elites.” The other pushed a body to its side, turning him over with his foot. “They see one plate in your hands and you’ll be dead in the morning.”

  “We sell one set and we’re good for life. This guy’s alone can buy a whole damn village.”

  “You sell one set,” he turned to face his companion, his voice snarky, almost accusatory, “and you’ll be strung up a fucking tree. Noone will buy it you fuck.”

  He turned back, waving his torch in an arcing motion as he gazed across the clearing.

  I shifted to the side, shielding myself from view.

  The light danced across the trees before me, casting shadows which swayed from left to right. “Let’s just find some conscripts and take what we can.”

  “Oi, Ansgar.” A sudden nervousness, a hint of uncertainty evident in the larger man’s voice.

  A silence followed, and then the trudging of feet; coming closer whilst not quite directly at me.

  I sat with bated breath, desperately listening out to make up for what I could not see.

  My exhaustion had died down now, replaced fully by the blood I felt pulsing in my veins.

  Killing both would not be difficult, the gun punched effortlessly through steel.

  The problem lay instead where eventually their companions grew concerned, or else found the holes remaining in their unbreathing chests.

  Bandits worked in groups. Their presence here was most certainly reconnaissance.

  Nonetheless I held the handgun tighter, my knuckles white from the tension.

  I could hear them drawing nearer, the undergrowth crunching beneath their shoes, accompanied by the occasional thudding of metal as another soldier was pushed aside.

  I flicked the safety off.

  Only a few metres away now.

  I readied myself to swing, gun firmly clasped between my hands, moving to push myself forwards from the balls of my feet, and then-

  The same voice. This time the unease was clear.

  “Shit, is that…?”

  “Nemetus.”

  A single word, breathed out by the voice I recognised to be Ansgar’s.

  Gone was the cockiness, replaced by an evident panic.

  I risked a glance as I peeked out from behind the tree.

  Gambeson was knelt against the soldier in gold, one hand pulling the body back to show his face while the other held his torch out in front. Angsgar had recoiled at the sight, my eyes just barely making out his fearful expression in the dark.

  “We’re fucking leaving”. He staggered back, words shaking with an unknown fear. “Kallas, now!”

  Kallas stumbled to follow, hurriedly grabbing the torch he clumsily dropped beside the stream.

  They clambered back towards the treeline they had come from, the haste of their movement all the more betraying their agitated temperament.

  It was accompanied by the odd glance backwards, as if they feared the soldier would rise and give chase.

  Only when they had passed beyond the trees did I push myself up.

  With nowhere else to go, following them seemed as good a path as any.

  And with this distance I could move without fear of discovery, the forest shrouding my sight and sound.

  My exhaustion was still there, but the brief respite I had been granted helped me put one foot in front of the other.

  Unease at the earlier voice plagued the back of my mind, but for now there was nothing I could do to enquire it further.

  If not for my newfound understanding of the two men’s conversation I would have doubted that it had even occurred.

  Dismissed as a figment of my imagination, some paranoid hallucination wrought by the adrenaline and tension of the moment, and nothing more.

  Nemetus.

  The soldier was not known to me, but the fear he instilled was clear.