Sshing!
The whetstone moved down the blade of the axe with a sharp ring, a sound that the bearer of the stone and the axe was so familiar with.
Sshing!
He was alone, sitting by a camp fire that burned in a low flame, just as he wanted it to. It offered no warmth, just light to see what he was doing.
Sshing!
His camp was set outside the Combe lumber mill, the cliff covering him from any passers by, but this deep into the night, the would have seen the faint glow of his fire.
Sshing!
Dogwood. Captain Dogwood , as he had been told in the Inn, was a leader of the Blackwold brigands. Deep in Chetwood, their numbers were great and many had swelled their ranks after the burning of Archet.
Sshing!
He was to kill Dogwood. He knew it would not be easy, not only did he have to track the captain, but also slay him at the right moment. He was a skilled warrior, he was told, and would not take any chances. It was also the fact that many Blackwolds roamed the wood, and would come running to their captains aid if he made too much nose.
Sshing!
With his axe now as sharp as it could be, he placed the whetstone into his pocket and placed a foot on the camp fire, with his foot down he scattered the burning wood and extinguished the flame.
Evernor now stood, his long axe in his hand while two smaller axes were strapped to his hip and another with the handle jutting behind his left shoulder. He wore a full black tunic with grey robes hanging from the sleeves, belt and knee flaps that he made himself. He pulled his black hood across his head, the hood reaching just to his eyebrows and slowly bent down, reaching for the camp fire ashes with his finger tips.
He slowly and carefully placed the ash across his face, breaking up the facial features into a blur of grey.
Then Evernor turned and made for Chetwood.
A Blackwold man sat down by the camp fire, yawning while his fellow brigand slowly turned the spit on a boar they had been hunting for the day. It was fun hunting, but now the night had settled it was time to get some hot food in them.
The camp that they were staying in had two tents for give people, which was never really filled with all five of them. Normally two would be on watch while two slept and the last sod went did all the hard work. Tonight it was just him and his friend Ted, while the other three slept.
They’ll be up once they smell roasted boar, he mussed to himself as he leaned closer to eat. As if to prove his point, Roselin crawled out of one of the tents, licking her lips slowly at the boar and sending a seductive wink at him.
‘Good mornin’,’ He said cheerfully, putting his knife into the boar and helping himself to some of the meat.
‘Move yeself Len. I want something warm in me for tonight.’ She said eagerly, sitting next to Len and taking her knife out.
I bet you do, he thought to himself.
The three of them helped themselves to the boar, eating with their hands and ripping the body with their knives. It was hard to tell what their hair color was, due to the amount of dirt that was in it. But they all wore the same black torn jackets and trousers, marking them as the Blackwolds.
Roselin was the their archer, as she had killed a watcher that was carrying a bow and took it for herself. She was not an elven bow master yet, but there was a lot to shoot out in Chetwood.
Len looked over at her. Roselin had said that she was wrongly accused of stealing and spent a whole day and night in a stockade. What happened to her during that time she didn’t say, but Len knew what he would do. Once she was free, Roselin ran into Chetwood and became a Blackwold, and lived happily ever after.
But, that was always the story of a Blackwold recruit. Ever the victim, never in the wrong. Len was different, as he killed a man willingly. The bastard trader had thought to rip him off on the price of a horse, so Len choked him with the horse reins.
Perhaps he had overreacted over it, but he really did not care. He became a Blackwold all the same, and was happier for it.
Roselin was attracted to him, there was something she found entrapping about how dark and evil he was. She did everything she could to pull him into her tent, but it never worked. And that was what made it all so fun. Roselin was being toyed with, and she loved it.
‘Go stand on watch, Roselin.’ Len commanded without looking at her.
‘Alright.’ She swallowed a bit of roasted skin and slowly rose, pushing her chest up first and arching her back, almost in pleasure with a small smile before standing up and walking away. Len did not bother to look, but his attention was on her anyway. He looked over his shoulder to see her swinging her hips at him, a smile slipping her lips before she disappeared behind the tree.
He turned back to the fire, and grinned up at his friends.
‘Tonight’s the night, lad.’
Evernor ducked down low, he was hiding behind a tree and saw a camp fire off in the darkness. He narrowed his eyes and sniffed the air, smelling the roasted meat and could faintly hair the voice of ideal talk. He saw a shadow move from the camp fire and leaned against a near by tree, folding its arms and looking around ideally.
A poor watch, he noted.
Evernor slowly moved across the wood, his footsteps planned and checked ahead of themselves for loose branches and small wild life, just as Rafen had taught him. He thought about the Ranger, his friend and brother. The Sons of Calth had parted ways with great sadness, but knew it was for the best.
If they remained together, they would all be attacked by brigands or even orcs that might roam in Eriador.
Evernor had taken a Warrior Pilgrimage. Armed with only his axe and his mind, he would set off into Eriador and fell any evil that might show itself.
It took time to reach the distance he needed, the camp fire of the Blackwolds showed him that two men were talking and eating by a fire, and another leaned against the tree. Evernor stopped, now was the time.
He reached behind his back and grasped the axe strapped to his back, slowly pulling it free and making sure it did not catch any light. The night was moonless, silent, cold and dark. Perfect for a surprise attack.
Evernor scanned the ground quickly before making his attack, taking a deep breath and charging forward, he threw the axe end over end towards the Blackwold on the tree. The Whoo whoo whoo grabbed the shadow’s attention too late, the axe slamming into his chest in a shriek of agony and surprise.
Evernor was surprised that it was a woman’s voice, but did not pause for a heartbeat. He drew the two axes at his belt and leapt at the men who came to their fellow’s aid. They looked up at their doom descending on them, both axe heads crushing their skulls in a wet snap. They fell in silence, unlike their female companion, who writhed on the floor with the axe in her chest. He slipped into the shadows, seeing two other men crawling out of their tents towards her.
Evernor waited.
They dropped down and looked about them, the woman unable to do anything but scream. The two Blackwolds looked at each other sadly, drawing their blades and ending her life with mercy.
Evernor took flight at them, his fists balled and crushed into the eye of one Blackwold, placing all his weight onto the punch. With his body down, he turned his left fist in a jaw breaking uppercut.
The two men staggered away, crying out in for help. Evernor took his axe from the woman’s chest and swung it, removing the head of the first Blackwold and brought his full wrath on the last one’s chest.
More Blackwolds had come at the sound of screaming, only to find five bloody bodies on the red sodden ground. Evernor was back in his hiding spot, he had left his larger axe hidden in a bush while he took his other three. They all were covered in blood, and he knew that the wolves of Chetwood would smell and find him that way.
He held his larger axe, the grip letting him to use it either one handed or two. He narrowed his eyes as a Blackwold came his way, seeing he did not really see him, only walking his way. Evernor remained still, and rolled his eyes as the Blackwold walked up to a tree and started to relive himself. He could see the arch of water coming from him by the camp fire that twinkled like small dots of light, smell the strong scent and hear it drum on the ground.
He was two meters from Evernor, and he slowly let go of his axe. He rose slowly, his hands spread and kept his eyes moving from the Blackwold to the main group. The Blackwold yawned, his eyes closed and Evernor struck.
His boots thudded on the ground and grabbed the man’s mouth and wrapped his free arm around his neck. Before he could make any more nose, Evernor dragged him into the shadows. He felt teeth bite down on his gloves, but grinned as it was stopped by the chainmail hidden under the clothes. Evernor held the Blackwold and suffocated him, watching the Blackwolds while a man died in his arms.
He waited until he was sure that the man was dead and not just playing, he lowered him to the ground and with one of his axes at his hip, he slowly drew a line across the man’s neck and let the blood flow.
The night was fading, and Evernor was running out of time.
The deep black of the night was slowly turning a deep ultramarine, if it became too light he would be soon be spotted and hunted.
He saw his next target, a camp of six. He would waste no time with this. Evernor powered across the ground, two axes in hand and threw them with all his might into the backs of the Blackwolds. Both fell with loud groans as the last four turned to see Evernor swinging his axe.
His axe bite into the neck of a woman, she fell with her fact fixed in a would be scream, removing it with a jet of dark red blood. The Blackwolds started to cry for help, seeing that half of their camp was killed in as many attacks. Evernor let them call for help a bit longer before charging, the axe head bashing aside their pathetic weapons and cut them down. With their arms cut from their bodies, he turned and left, leaving them to bleed out. He needed to find Dogwood, and leaving only silent corpses would do no good.
Dogwood walked along the path, already three of his camps were filled with the dead or dying. It had to be more then one man, he thought, it had to be! Even those who lived a bit longer could not say much, apart from begging for help, or death, as he knew it.
He had his sword draw, his eyes scanning the long shadows and trees. He never felt so scared in all his life. Everything and anything could be hiding the assassins and he would not know until they killed him.
Dogwood took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. He looked down the road and saw a shadow move. He stopped in his tracked and glared into the darkness, so sure that he had seen it. There! It moved again.
He grinned madly and charged, his feet smacking the ground as he moved towards the shadow. With a triumphant roar, he brought his sword deep into the man’s chest, hearing it split ribs, spine and then digging into the tree.
Dogwood cackled, holding the sword and looking at one of the assassins.
‘Not so tough now you’ve got a sword in you!’ He roared at the man’s dead face, and threw a punch into his face, and then his laughter died very quickly.
The “assassin” was in fact a Blackwold.
Dogwood’s mouth dropped and closed again many times, blinking rapidly and his breathing deep. It was not the fact that he had killed one of his own men.
It was the fact he was dead already!
Dogwood grabbed the sword hilt tightly and tried to pull it out with everything he had, but it was stuck, cursing colorfully and loudly, he placed a boot on the tree and felt the sword slowly give.
Evernor’s axe swung in a wide arch, cutting Dogwood’s leg that remained on the ground from the thigh. Dogwood bellowed as dropped to the floor, his grip failed on the sword and landing on the ground, clutching what was left of his thigh and looked at his killer.
‘Such is the fate of Brigands’ Those were the last words he heard.
Holding his axe high, Evernor beheaded Captain Dogwood of the Blackwolds like an executioner.
