Hardly a sound could be heard as the lone rider made his way through the forest. His boots wrapped with cloth, his footsteps didn't register to the lone sentry as he approached him, having moved behind the sentry and coming up from the direction of the small camp where five others were sleeping around a campfire that had burned down to a few cinders. The hour was late, and the moon though up, shed little light on the scene unfolding beneath the trees. The rider knew the sentry would have trouble even discerning his approach should he have come from either side, first because he was tired, secondly because the fool had lit a pipe, and was puffing on it heavily, effectively destroying his own eyesight in the dark, with the constant flickering of the lit pipe-weed. His mistake, he would not live to rue it.
Slowing his breath the rider crept closer to the sentry, his dagger ready in one hand he reached the tree against which the sentry was leaning, and with a swift motion grabbed hold of the sentry from behind, covering his mouth, while his dagger flashed forward from the other side and with ease cut into the neck of the sentry from the side, severing his artery and windpipe in one stroke. The pipe fell to the ground flickering embers over a small area, but the sound had been too minuscule to awaken the sleeping men nearby. Holding up the dead sentry until he was sure all life had left him, the rider slowly lowered the body to the ground making sure to cause as little noise as possible. Then he turned and slowly made his way closer to the campsite, he knew several of the sleeping men were sleeping off a hefty dose of mead, they would pose little threat to him.
The five men were sleeping spread out in a circle around the campfire, two lay close to one another, while the others were spread evenly, he would have to move fast. Slowly edging closer, the rider made ready his dagger and sword, then he lowered himself down to the two men sleeping near one another, and poised the dagger near the throat of one, and the sword near the other. He calmed himself and let a few breaths pass, one of the other men moved and the rider froze in place, but the man was merely turning in his sleep. Drawing a deep breath, and letting half of it out again, the rider closed his eyes for a moment, then at the same time stabbed both his dagger and his sword into the throats of the two sleeping men next to him. They were dead before they even became aware of what had happened, but the gurgled outcrys woke the other three men. Hardly becoming awake before the rider was over him, the next man was incapacitated almost as quickly as the others had been, the sleepy mind also slowed by the drunken stupor of the mead, still trying to make sense of the scene before him, as the sword of the rider sliced across his abdomen opening it up to let his entrails fall to the ground, blood gushing out and quickly sapping the life from the man.
The rider advanced on the fourth man, noting that he had become entangled in the cloak he had used as a wrap to sleep under, again without word the rider dispatched of the man, a quick stab with his sword opened up the leg of the man, before the rider threw his dagger at the fifth man in an effort to slow him down while he finished off the one in front of him. The dagger clanged as it his the mail of the last man, the leader, but was enough to make him duck, giving the rider time enough to viciously slash the wounded man in front of him across the head with his sword. The strong overhead stroke almost tore the head off the man, and he fell to the ground, soon succumbing to his wounds.
The rider turned to the last man, and looked at him with eyes burning with the rage that had come over him two days earlier, yet still burned intensely. The man raised his own sword, and a dance of blades began under the trees, the clang of steel could be heard for a distance, as swords clashed against each other over and over in rage, and in pure frenzy.
The rider parried a stroke on his left side and snarled at the defender "So you thought you would get away eh Byrin?", he flicked his blade towards the chest of the man in front of him, forcing Byrin to raise his own sword to deflect the stab. "Damned rider.. I knew you were trouble!". Byrin reversed the attack and tried to force the rider back with a wide stroke in front of him. The rider stepped back, but then swirled to the right, bringing his own blade around and smashing it into Byrin's sword, it flew out to Byrin's left as he desperately held onto it, while the rider stepped in and planted a fist straight into his face, almost knocking the man out.
Byrin stepped back a few paces and raised his sword, wondering how he would defeat this madman in front of him, an idea sprang to his mind, "You want to split the gold?... there is more now that you killed off the others... we could split it, you and me, come on, what say you?".
The rider looked at Byrin, a small smile playing across his otherwise stony face, "You think this is for the money?... you really are stupid...". With quick steps the rider closed the distance between them and savagely began a series of attacks with his sword, forcing Byrin to retreat with almost every fell stroke that came hammering down onto his sword. In but moments the fight was over, a final swing from the left caused Byrin to loose grip on his sword as it flew away, landing on the ground several paces away. Knowing he had been beat, Byrin dropped to his knees as much with fatigue as with surrender.
Looking up at the rider before him Byrin hissed through labored breaths "So, I guess now you kill me too eh? like you did the others?". The rider just stood there for a moment in silence, his sword pointed at the man before him, "No, I won't kill you Byrin...my blade will nto be the bringer of your death". Moments passed thus, the rider completely silent as Byrin regained his breath, "So what?" he cried out towards the rider, "what are you gonna do?!?". A shrug, then a cold reply "First, you will gather your companions together, then a pyre will be set. So get up, and begin...Now!". Byrin hissed under his breath, "Might as well kill me now, than have me do that!" he yelled at the rider who looked down at him, and then with a nod stepped forward. Byrin closed his eyes, knowing this would be his end. But it was not.
Instead the rider stepped behind Byrin, and with a quick stroke of his sword, severed the tendons at the ankles of the kneeling man, Byrin screamed out as he was thus hamstrung, knowing he'd never be able to walk again. "WHY?" he screamed at the rider as he writhed in agony on the ground, his feet hanging useless from his legs.
"So you don't run..." was all the rider said before turning his back on the stricken man, and walking back to the camp a few paces away. The rider dried off his blade in a cloak that lay on the ground, then retrieved his dagger, placing it back in its sheath after having dried off that blade too. Satisfied he sighed, and stood in silence for a few moments, while Byrin threw one curse and insult after the other his way. With a final deep breath the rider began gathering the belongings of the men slain near one of the corpses, then laborously dragged the other corpses onto the first, ending with the sentry that lay a bit off. The embers from the pipe had started a smouldering among the pine needles on the ground, and the rider quickly stepped on them to kill them off, before they could spread and cause a real fire. Having dragged the last of the belongings to the small mound he turned to the campfire, and poked around it, causing the embers there to flare and flames to spark. Byrin meanwhile, had succumbed to merely whimpering where he lay.
Taking a stick with flame in it, the rider lit fire to some of the belongings in the small heap, he knew it was not enough to consume the bodies, but he did not dare build a real pyre among the trees. This would have to do. Looking on as the flames took bite in the clothing of the dead, the rider finally turned around and faced the whimpering man on the ground, walking over he began talking to the man on the ground.
"Master Granner and the drivers of the carts put their souls in your hands Byrin, only to have you condemn them in betrayal. They placed their faith in your honor, only to have you prove you have none, and neither did those upon which the flames now dance.", the rider stopped before the whimpering man on the ground. "I told you I would not kill you, and I won't, for you are already dead, bereft of honor, bereft of soul. Bereft of that which you took from the innocent, a future. No, I will not kill you Byrin, the animals will tend to that, or the sun, whichever comes first. You will never leave this forest, and you will spend your last days in agony, unable to run, unable to flee. Because that is what your betrayal left those who only sought to make trade with, no escape. So there will be none for you."
Byrin looked up, hatred filled his every fiber towards the rider that stood above him, "So now you got it all eh? got rid of us and got the gold! Talking about honor, curse you rider...CURSE YOU!".
The rider shook his head and spoke once more to the man on the ground "No, the gold will remain here, until someone else comes across it. Be they of honor they will see it for what it is, Blood money, and they too will leave it alone. They will know, that you and your men failed, in performing the duties of a guard."
Without further words, the rider turned from Byrin, and walked away, leaving the campsite, the mound of burning corpses, and Byrin the betrayer, who threw curse after curse after the retreating rider as he vanished into the forest once more.
A while later Nihtwulf returned to his horse, with a pat he slowly mounted it and led it off towards the south-east, a single sentence leaving his mouth as he rode away, the sun beginning to lighten the sky. "Styri is avenged, the duty of a guard is done."
A single tear could be seen, if anyone had been there to look.
