Though the blonde man's words rang with truth, Marcius didn't have to even look at Jared's face to know that an eager smile would be plastered on it, behind twinkling amber eyes. Jared was looking forward to this. He would seek out the encounter despite other options being available. It was the adventure the swordsman dreamed about every day. He could see the profile of Alicia on her horse in front of him. She, too, sat erect in her saddle, alert and poised, her attractive face flushed with budding excitement. Marcius felt his heart flutter a bit at sight of her, but he shook that thought as soon as it formed.
Instead, he growled a bit in frustration at the duality of the situation, grabbing the reins of his horse so tight that the leather dug deep furrows into his palms. Every fiber in his body was telling him that something was wrong with this. They were riding so nonchalant into the very heart of an ambush!
The worst part was that his two companions were seeking it out, as if they were trying to prove something! Damn it all, whatever happened to fear being the normal reaction to fighting? He just wanted to be left alone, to be allowed to do what he enjoyed. It seemed as if fate had a different plan for the apprentice. Why did things never go according to plan or desire?
So be it, Marcius promised grimly after a few moments of intense internal debate. If things are so adamant about coming up despite my wishes, I will meet it head on as Jared and Alicia do. He realized during the course of his thoughts a grim grin of his own had found its way on his face, matching, more or less, the ones his companions wore.
Oh, the irony. . .
The trail gradually grew wider, the well beaten path extending outwards until all three of them were able to ride next to each other with room to spare on either side. They were now traveling through the remains of an ancient river bed, and the edges began to become rockier slowly rising in height until they extended around the travelers, like an impromptu funnel of solid stone and dirt topped with thinning vegetation.
Looking up, Marcius could just barely see the hills beyond. They were littered with caves and recesses. Gray boulders, worn smooth by time and the elements, were strewn haphazardly. The trees were sparse now and far less thick, for root was hard to find in the rockier terrain. Though bushes and other types of small foliage flourished wherever there was room.
The part that made his blood run cold and drove away the bravado he had been building up was the fact that, even to his inexperienced adventuring mind, it was obvious this spot was perfect to ambush someone. Any of the numerous shadows above and beyond them could hide a person, someone waiting until the time was ripe.
The sun shone through the thin overhanging trees above, forming a puzzle of light and darkness which played tricks on the eyes. Steep, rocky sides now reached up and around, almost in a complete circle. It was as if they were riding through a nature made tunnel that had the top lopped off. Marcius's imagination pictured several featureless sneering bandits, just out of sight above them, waiting to reach down and slice off his head with wickedly edged blades.
He began to see people where there were none. The shadows held innumerable terrors to his rampant imagination, and he found himself jumping at every noise and movement he saw out of the corner of his eye. How far was the ambush again? He tried to ask, but all that came out was a staggered wheeze. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, which, along with his lips, was completely dry, leaving a nasty tasting film in its place.
The gentle gaits of the horses were also nerve-wracking on the apprentice. Each soft clop of the hooves on the dusty path seemed to seal his fate, walking ever steady to where they knew lay a group of people that intended to kill them.
His heart stuttered when Alicia stopped abruptly. "Get ready," she said softly.
Jared gave Marcius a confirming glance, and the swordsman's amber eyes did indeed shine brightly. No doubt his chest was beating just as fast as Marcius's, but for an entirely different reason. Marcius's head betrayed him, nodding his affirmation to Jared before he even had time to reconsider. Alicia led them forward, gently urging her horse to a half trot, forcing Marcius and Jared to hurry to follow suit.
The attack came quickly and without warning as the brown stallion's cloven hoof hit the soft, well trodden earth a third time. The deceptively gentle zip of arrows filled the air and their ears, spooking the skittish horses and causing them to rear in distress. Marcius was thrown off immediately, even as he reflexively took cover at the noise. He managed to avoid the brunt of the fall, coming up in a disorderly sideways roll. The scared horses took off, leaving a trail of reddish-brown dust that hung about obscuring vision. Marcius counted himself lucky he wasn't trampled or riddled full of arrows in the rush.
He looked up and saw the answer to why he was not a pincushion. More than a dozen black shafted arrows hung about suspended in the air, stopped as if they had hit an invisible wall of air. It must have been one of Alicia's spells. Another volley came, and was similarly halted, hovering about like a swarm of angry insects before dropping to the ground.
Jared and Alicia managed to dismount with a bit more dignity than Marcius. Already the two were pressed up against the wall in a defensive position, the swordsman out in front, flashing blade in hand. Jared gestured frantically at Marcius to join them.
I have to reach them! Marcius felt vulnerable out here by himself, with at least half a dozen yards between him and his friends. No more arrows flew, but they also had not seen hide or hair of their attackers. No battle cries, no promises of death, not even the bright glint of unsheathed weapons. Nothing but the gentle rustle of leaves in the cool afternoon breeze.
Marcius's legs protested as he forced himself up quickly, intent on getting over to Jared and Alicia.
Marc, above you! Faerril's cry took precedence over the myriad of other thoughts and priorities that danced in his head, and he ducked instinctively, turning as he did so, right as a sharp jagged spear stabbed where he had been moments before.
The attacker seemed a bit stumped as to why it felt no resistance of yielding flesh, the spear flailing a bit before a head peeked over the lip to check out the situation. A green face peered back at Marcius. The goblin's nostrils flared a bit as it flashed him a derisive toothy yellow sneer before disappearing back into the brush above him, taking the spear with it.
Thanks, Faerril.
Alicia and Jared are in trouble! The familiar responded, not bothering to acknowledge the gratitude.
Marcius had completely forgotten about those two. A quick glance behind him confirmed what the wyvrr had said. The defensive position the pair had taken also trapped them. Two gray skinned oggrons and a human used long spears in a similar fashion to what the goblin had done to him, jabbing at Jared and Alicia from above the overhang like they were a pair of cornered animals.
The attacking bandits kept their faces wrapped with what looked to be dirty white towels, while the rest of their bodies were sheathed in a rag tag ensemble of leather and ill-fitted mail armor, most likely 'liberated' from previous, less fortunate, victims. The only thing on them that seemed to show any semblance care of was the weapons they wielded. They were well made, sturdy, and noticeably sharpened to a killing edge. None of the bandits carried less than three visible weapons, ranging from deadly knives to swords of all shapes and sizes, not including the wicked spears they were using to attack his friends.
Jared was hard pressed to keep the spears away from them with his shorter sword, and it seemed as if Alicia didn't have an answer to the dangers, for no spells came forth from her either.
Marcius's mind hurriedly skimmed through the limited options available to him. His vantage point from across the path gave him an open shot at the attackers above without risking hurting his friends, but what spell was appropriate? Time was rapidly ticking by, any moment someone could attack him again, since there was no doubt that many more bandits were hidden all around them.
Hurry, Marc! Hurry! Faerril practically yelled as two more bandits joined the siege, jumping off the ledge to land lightly in front of the pair. One held a nasty dirk and short sword, while the other chose a more direct battle axe, stalking in with an air of confidence. They all knew being attacked from above and in front would be too much for the pair to handle.
He took the first spell that came to mind: a simple bolt of pure nether. It wouldn't kill them most likely, but it would cause some serious damage nonetheless. "Icantium engrio!" he mouthed, his dry lips cracking painfully as his nervous hands formed the sigils as quickly as they could.
He pulled the energy around him, condensing it into a single pulsing ball. It heeded the call and came forth. Pointing his finger at one of the oggrons above his friends, he gave the nether a gentle push, releasing the design of the spell. A stream of soft green light issued from the fingertip, arcing deceptively quick to impact against the creature's chest.
There was a sharp crack as it struck, the snapping of bone painfully audible. The oggron gave an off-balanced lurch forward, trying in vain to remain erect, but eventually gravity proved the stronger and it came crashing down, narrowly missing its companions below it. The body hit the ground with a wince inducing thud. It lay very still.
Marcius could only gape stupidly at the result of his spell, his mouth hung open in amazement. It is one thing to daydream about casting a spell offensively. It was another thing to do it. The full realization of the power he wielded came to the surface with full force, along with the particularly frightening memory of the lesson he learned when he was getting his familiar items. He, Marcius Realure, was a force to be reckoned with? Would he, too, one day play with the lives of men, just like the dagger and cloak at Ken's place?