Faith, Shaken

With light feet, Ben and I traverse the scattered outcropping, terrain like the hunting grounds near our royal manor. Lush grass covers where there is no rock, and above, forest-filled mountains paint the horizon. When my feet come by boot prints and broken twigs, I whisper as I point to over the ridge, "Make haste, our target."

Although we’ve been tasked with a human target, the years of hunting experience pays off well. My heightened senses detect the smell of burning wood. Encroaching the ridge, a branch cracks under Ben’s heavy boot. I shush Ben, and criticize, “For covert movement, you must maintain balance upon the balls of your feet.”

Ben scoffs, “You think to patronize me, Isaac? You may be my older brother, but remember: I have more experience than you on the battlefield.” Despite being only of age 15, Ben has served under many commanders of well renown. His talents were discovered by Bervius Ardula. Ardula wields the title of Count, for the Essence of the Maker cathedral. His influence coerced the Knight-Commander of Yevelle to allow Ben to spar with another individual; a famed one at that. Ben lost but had shown enough resilience to testify for his might. Ben’s combat prowess is that of a gift, and has helped us survive. Albeit, it’s a pox for me. That head of his needs not any more growth in size. 

I retort, “That may be so. However, this requires cunning different from any battlefield. Detection could send us to an early grave. Now, what does the contract say about whom we are dealing with?” 

Ben rolls his eyes and pulls out the parchment. He has been knighted, and as a squire was taught to read. I did not have the privilege, but he has taught me the basics of reading; and some, though not a lot, simplistic writing skills. “Our target is Betrand. He has several counts of theft and murder under his name. He’s identifiable by the crest on his breastplate: denoting his allegiance with a group of thieves who have long since scattered. He is the only target.”

I nod toward Ben and pull my hood over my head for precaution. Unlike Ben, whom has shaggy brown hair, my hair is a pure white and rests in uniform. Upon rising up and peering over the ridge, I detect Bertrand. He is addressing two meager looking individuals in tattered clothing within the confines of a simple camp in the midst of trees in a small clearing in the valley. Closer inspection of the thieves reveals a series of small blades attached to their bandoliers. Bertrand bears the crest mentioned on his right breast, etched into his plated tin armor. There are no other potential threats, it seems. 

I crouch and turn to Ben, his eyebrows raise in interest. “So, it seems Bertrand will be an easy target. He wears a leather hood and no protection over his shoulders nor his arms. Be wary, as he is with two low-lifes armed with throwing knives,” I mention, whilst sketching the positions of the opposition in the dirt. I glance up at Ben. “He wields a large sword, but that is something I’m sure you’re more than familiar with.”

Ben laughed, “Oh please, give me a challenge. His head will be atop my pike before your arrow even reaches him.”

“Matters of life and death should not be taken lightly,” I snap back. “We should develop a plan.” I wrap my finger around my chin, considering the array of scenarios. “I will act as distraction for the low-lifes, you charge for Bertrand.” 

Naturally, I am quicker than Ben. Despite being two years younger than myself, he stands about half a foot taller than I do; towering at six feet three inches. Though I may not be the strongest, nor the biggest, my gifts lie in my dexterity and agility. Ben utilizes his power by using the lance as a weapon of choice, whereas I prefer a bow. As backup, leather sheathes attached to my sides hold steel daggers. I prefer not giving the enemy the chance to come that close.

 Pointing across the valley to a lone standing tree on the opposite ridge, I face Ben. “I shall make my way to the southern ridge opposite from where we are: near that tree. I will take out one of the low-lifes, and hence their looks be averted towards my direction. That is your chance to intervene in Bertrand’s fleeing. I don’t suspect him to stay stationary as an archer looses arrows on his peons.”

Ben nods in agreement.

Creeping along the ridge, I carefully tread over loose rocks to ensure they do not give away my position. Innate abilities from hunting take effect, as I guise my silhouette using the environment. I manage to discern a familiar name spoken of by one of the three in the clearing. My curiosity leads me towards a cluster of trees near their vicinity. 

I push my back up against a tree and turn my head to see beyond it. Bertrand stands at about the same height as myself, his complexion much more weathered. He has a deep, authoritative voice. “He’s made plans to move forward against our faction. I wish for you two to deliver a message to Milo.” Bertrand pulls out a roll of parchment and hands it to one of the tatter clothed individuals.

The individual takes the parchment and proceeds to inquire, “What does this mean for us, Ser? Our presence is being thinned out with each passing night. Should we not end this before more lives are lost?”

Bertrand snaps, “Aye, and do what, then? We live on life normally? You forget who it is we are dealing with. Count Ardula is, ironically, merciless.”

A feeling of suspense and disbelief comes over me. Ardula is also our caretaker, and took Ben and I in after our father was killed. Signs indicate our mother was captured, as pools of blood were present in the house where there was no body, apart from our father’s. Upon exiting the house with Ardula, we witnessed Dad’s corpse laying, lifeless. The sight was emotionally upheaving for both Ben and myself, and Ardula held onto us as he shielded our eyes from the sight. 

Seldom do the common rabble have anything negative to say about the Count, as he has been distinguished as the Priest for the People. On the other hand, he hired us as sellswords for ridding of Bertrand, which we have been told never to discuss with anyone. I do not believe he would have us killed if we fail, but I would rather pass on taking the chance.

Bertrand continues, “Even if we were to escape the clutches of being jailed or stoned, we would continue to live in this oppressive state under the rule of a minority! Think of generations to come... Your children, your children’s children, all to be serving under the authority of the church and crown, for what? Destiny? Birthright?”

The sickly individual sits, brows furrowed, searching for an answer. He says, “We continue to fight this way, there will be no more generations to come from us. Such trifles will ultimately lead to our deaths. This predicament is out of our control. I say we leave it to the gods to determine our fate.”

Bertrand responds with irritation, “Perhaps your god would see that you suffer for generations to come, but I am compelled to fight for what I know is right. If it is a death wish you ask for: please, turn yourself in to the crown. However, I have a less painful alternative to your struggles.” Bertrand grasps the hilt of his blade and unsheathes it. The sickly man’s eyes widen as he jumps to stand. “I will see to it that you do not share any information regarding our operation.” Before the ill man has time to respond, Bertrand’s sword impales his chest. He glances over, and says to the cowering individual, “I don’t s’pose you have any discrepancies with our goals here with the Light Brigade?”

The other individual takes a second to swallow his nervousness. “No Ser. I will see that Milo receives this message in a timely fashion.”

I remember the plan that needs be carried out per order of the Count. I backtrack near the top. Peering down from the ridge, I have an open shot at the low-life accompanying Bertrand. I glance up to see if I can spot Ben on the opposite ridge. He is standing amongst trees, with just a faint glimmer reflecting off of his lance. We’re in position. I begin to look down my sights, drawing the arrow back whilst visualizing its flight pattern. I adjust the bow slightly to offset the wind conditions, and let the arrow fly.

Reviews

[Z.James]

Working on:

Condensing dialogue and long winded descriptions.
Flow and transition between paragraphs.
Protagonist description.

Please let me know if there is anything else I need to work on!