Betrayal
Episode 12 - The World Stone
Prior Episode < Table of Contents > Next Episode
recap |
We met Daymel, an old friend of Tasol’s and love interest of Myra. They believed Daymel dead in one of the night raids on Bannion and have now learned he survived as was apprenticed by his parents to the thieves known in Waterfell as the Jackrabbits. He agreed to help them find the path leading to the mountain pass as they raced to avoid the next Jackrabbit patrol.
Tasol’s mind raced about what to do as he glanced at Myra, safely hidden behind a tree, knives out. The look on her face was a solemn mix of concern and stoicism. With her hidden from sight, he turned his attention to the crew ahead. There were four of them. Tasol heard a low chatter among them as three of them fanned out, one staying back, drawing a longbow similar to Daymel’s– more Jackrabbits. They’d flushed out their prey, now ready for the taking.
Tasol glanced warily from side to side, his mind racing. He was badly outnumbered, and the archer now had a bead on him. Perhaps if he could draw them forward, Myra could surprise them, but still, the archer was a problem. Just as he was formulating a plan and taking a few steps backwards, an arrow whizzed past his ear, smashing into the trunk of a tree next to him, and the lead man called out.
“The next will not miss, my friend. Hold your position and keep your hands out to your side where we can see them, and perhaps you’ll survive this day.” He smiled a crooked smile of a trapper catching its prey.
Tasol stood his ground, flashing a knowing glance to Myra who returned it as she flexed her grip on the daggers, steeling herself for what was to come. He almost gave up her position as he searched to understand what he was seeing. A soft almost translucent glow seemed to envelope Myra’s entire body. Her arms crossed her chest holding the daggers, her fists played with the handles of the blades, and then he noticed a soft glowing light pulsing from the little tulip on her finger–from her ring. His eyes caught the movement of the advancing men, and he turned his attention back to them. He raised his hands, noticing the same soft glow from the acorn ring on his finger. He didn’t know what it meant, but he knew they needed to convince these men to let them pass, somehow.
“My apologies, kind sirs. Perhaps you can point me back to Garren’s Path. I’d just wandered off from my caravan to relieve myself and seem to have gotten turned around. I was hoping this creek bed would lead me back to the Path. Does it?” Tasol asked, doing his best to play the part he’d devised.
“It’s a far way from the road, and beg my forgiveness, but you don’t look like a caravaner. With those blades and all,” the man said, throughly unconvinced by Tasol’s quickly contrived story.
“I’m a hired hand,” Tasol answered quickly. “Protection for the caravaners. That’s all,” Tasol said as if what he were saying were the complete truth, but inadvertently moved his hands closer to his blades.
“Easy now,” the man barked as the archer pulled his string taut. “But the reason for your presence are neither here not there. Perhaps we can come to some arrangement to let you return to that caravan of yours.” The man then stepped forward, flanked by the other two, the archer maintaining his aim on Tasol.
Tasol was getting impatient, ready for this game to play out, but did his best to hold it in. The man on the right was steps away from Myra, just a few more steps forward–then things could begin and end, one way or another. Tasol held still, his palms facing the approaching crew working to hide the glow of his ring. He didn’t know what it meant, and he noticed that his body had a certain warmth and vigor to it. He hadn’t noticed it before, but now it was unmistakable, and growing stronger.
“Yes,” Tasol said in agreement, “an arrangement would work, but lies do not become men like us. We are men of action.”
The lead man chuckled. “Well-spoken, my friend. Well-spoken.”
The events that unfolded next happened so quickly that to this day, Tasol isn’t certain what exactly happened, but he knew that without Daymel’s help it would’ve been much different for he and Myra. As the men stepped forward, Myra was on them instantly and the first man fell, his neck sliced open neatly by the blade as he thrashed holding his neck, his life gushing out into the dry creek bed. At the first sign of movement from Myra, Tasol rolled to the left, drawing his machetes. Reaching out to slice through the man’s thigh, Tasol missed as the man as deftly leaped backwards out of range. A moment later Tasol heard the unmistakable slap of a bow string followed by another, and then a slight pressure on his shoulder just before an arrow slammed into a tree behind him. Glancing down the creek bed, the archer in the distance stood precariously and then tumbled over, an arrow lodged in his neck. Two down, but two remained, and the man in front of him was advancing on him quickly, sword drawn. Just beyond, Tasol saw the man who had been speaking facing down Myra, the jovial nature gone from his face, now full of contempt. His eyes weren’t trained on Myra, he was looking beyond her.
Without warning, there was another twang of a bow string and Tasol tightened his muscles, ready for the arrow to strike. But then he realized the sound had come from behind, and before he could turn, there was a wet thud just in front of him as another arrow found its mark. The man looked at Tasol in disbelief, his arm drooped to his side, still holding his sword, but the energy to fight had left him. Before Tasol could react, he heard the thwap of the bowstring again and another arrow found its home, plunging into the man’s head, sending him backwards, toppling over.
The man by Myra held his position, sword drawn. “Daymel! What are you doing? You will pay for this.”
Tasol finally processed the man’s words. Daymel, of course. He must have heard them and returned just in time to help. This finals Jackrabbit stood red-faced, glaring at them as Daymel closed ranks, an arrow knocked into his bow.
“I never liked you, Streel. You were always so pompous.”
“You won’t get away with this. This will be tracked to you, your arrows, and it was known you were on watch over this section of the trail today.” He paused, but before another word left him, Daymel’s bowstring sounded one more time and the arrow plunged deep into Streel’s skull. The man stood, wide-eyed, his body able to maintain balance for a moment until he finally toppled over unceremoniously. That was the end of Streel and his crew. Tasol and Myra both looked to Daymel both shocked but grateful.
“Thank you,” Tasol said to his friend.
Daymel looked at Tasol with a look of pure wonder. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?” Tasol asked, uncertain what he was asking about.
“That arrow,” Daymel said pointing to arrow in the tree behind Tasol. “The archer’s arrow was headed straight for you, and then it hit you but didn’t. There was a shimmer and,” Daymel trailed off trying to find the words. “Then the arrowbounced off you into the tree.”
Tasol turned to look at the arrow. He hadn’t seen what Daymel had, but had felt the pressure on his shoulder just before the arrow lodged in the tree behind him. At the time he’d felt lucky, but now looking at the dull metal of the acorn ring on his finger, he recalled the glimmer of it that enshrouded his body.
“I don’t know,” Tasol said, pressing his hand to his chest, searching for any reason why the arrow would’ve missed him, but he found none. “Maybe it hit one of my blades somehow, I don’t know, but I’ll take that bit of luck today. Luck and the help of an old friend. Thank you again, Daymel.”
“All is good,” Daymel said, nodding, “I never liked that guy, and his crew was just as bad, so good riddance.” He spit on the man as he started rifling through the fallen man’s pockets, taking anything of value, including his water-skin. “You should get their water too,” Daymel said, motioning to the other fallen Jackrabbits. “We’re going to need it if we're going through the mountains.”
If you’re enjoying this story, please consider sharing it.