The Forsaken Hero

The road cut between grassy hills marred with craggy cliffs and boulders. Thick groves of pines sprouted in the valleys, hiding small, trickling streams and animal dens. We found ourselves in a shallow hollow, surrounded by armed men and women. Their armored gleamed dully under the evening sun, scrappy and pocketed with rust. They concealed their faces behind red masks and deep cloaks, a mix of Beastkin, elves, and humans among them.

Their leader, a massive bear-kin, stepped forward, a greataxe resting on his shoulder. The twin crescent blade of the weapon sparkled with magic, looking heavy enough to weigh more than I did. He scrutinized us, his brow furrowing, before turning to one of his men.

”Didn’t you claim this was Byron’s ride?”

The condemnation in his voice was obvious, and the bandit scout paled, staring at us with wide eyes. ”I swear on m’mom it’s his. Has the gold stripe en’ everything!”

Snorting, the Bandit leader turned back to us. ”Well, at least they seem wealthy, so this won’t be a total loss. Still, I’ll be taking from your share to make the difference.”

”Yes Sir! Thank you, sir!” The bandit squeaked, sagging in relief.

”Now listen,” the leader continued, addressing us loudly. ”Frankly, we want lots of trouble, just not with you. I don’t know what you’re doing with that carriage, and I don’t care. But I assume you’re friends of that bastard, as you’re riding his carriage, so I can’t leave you unscathed. Turn over your valuables to us, and we’ll let you live. Oh, and your women. Been a while since we’ve had ourselves a real beauty.”

His cruel leer sent shivers down my spine, and I edged closer to Fyren. The adventurer’s grip on his sword tightened and hints of his inner violence danced within in his eyes. Fragments of his aura leaked into the air, placing a stifling tightness in my chest.

Soltair nodded, seeming unsurprised by the offer, but his response was cold and emotionless. ”Not happening.”

”Oh, don’t be like that. We’ll return ’em when we’re done. Whatever’s left, that is,” the bandit said, chuckling darkly. His vicious laugh prompted the others to break into cackles, filling the hollow with their devilish voices.

The chilling chorus compelled me to look around, and I realized just how many there were. This was no motley array of sellswords and thieves, but an organized force to be reckoned with. The bandits shifted seamlessly between the trees and boulders, making an accurate count elusive, but there had to be at least fifty of them. Through the Eyes of Fate, I could see the majority of them fell between second and third level, ranging up to the leader, who possessed sixth himself. They were no weaker than Lord Griffon’s army, though still inferior to the elite soldiers of the Crimson Guard.

The bandit leader brought his hand up, giving some sort of signal, and the tense silence shattered as bows creaked and a dozen arrows were drawn, each crackling with magical energy. Without hesitation, I cast layered several Aegis spells, creating a shimmering protective barrier around our group.

The bandits’ eyes widened as they witnessed the simultaneous chantless cast, and a series of nervous mutters rippled through the hollow. The leader straightened, his earlier nonchalance evaporating. ”You’re no small fry,” he muttered to himself, then raised his voice and demanded, ”Who are you?”

Soltair met his question with a wide grin. ”Heroes.”

Before the bandits could react, he released his aura, freezing the air in a hundred-foot radius. The sudden pressure caught me off guard, squeezing my chest painfully. Affected as I was, it was no surprise when a series of muffled thumps echoed around us the weaker bandits collapsed out on the spot, overwhelmed by the seventh-level power. Even the stronger among them looked strained, stumbling before regaining their footing. Beads of sweat formed on the bandit leader’s forehead as he surveyed the hollow, growing pale at the state of his followers.

”Damn it. Attack!”

Following his shout, he slammed his axe, sundering the ground and sending a shockwave hurtling toward us. Soltair threw his hand forward, conjuring a burst of light, and the ground trembled as the two forces clashed, kicking up a storm of dust and debris.

Soltair’s aura wanted as he countered the attack, freeing the bandits once more. They stared at us in fear, but an unseen force compelled them to obey the Leader’s commands. I tensed as the deep thrum of their bows launched a volley of arrows at us, reinforcing our defenses with my mana. Colorful explosions of flame, ice, and lightning crackled against the Aegis, swirling together with the sandstorm to obscure our view.

I waved my staff and summoned a gale, dispersing the haze to reveal the bandits’ next tactic: a direct assault. They seemed surprised as their cover dissipated, but could only grit their teeth and charge onward. Trithe’s blades scythed through the air, releasing streams of fire that danced through their ranks, incinerating bandits without pause. Their screams reverberated off the hills as the flames consumed them, blazing hot enough to reduce them to cinders.

Soltair stepped forward, casting a glance my way. ”Stay back and provide support,” he ordered before launching himself into the fray.

”I’ll handle the rear!” Fyren bellowed, hefting his massive sword high. The scent of burning ash filled the air as a dull, gray light radiated from his blade, the atmosphere shimmering with heat.

In the moments before the two sides clashed, I filled the air with magic circles. For each buff spell, I was forced to replicate it three times, one for every member of the party. It was easy for the low-level spells, like Fortunate Parry, or Sure Strike, but I was left helpless when it came to Mirror Sphere, my strongest spell. I hesitated, unsure of whether to even cast it when a thought struck me. There weren’t any mages. Then where had that initial explosion come from? It had stressed the strongest of my spells, which were capable of holding back one of Korra’s sixth-circle spells.

I scanned our surroundings with the Eyes of Fate but found nothing amiss. Countless first and second-circle spells reinforced the bandits’ attacks, but nothing that posed a significant threat to our party, even without my protective spells. Were they harboring a secret trump card? My unease deepened as I recalled the warning from my mana. It had never alerted me to anything less than a mortal threat, and these bandits simply lacked the qualifications to challenge us seriously.

Burdened with uncertainty, I decided to save my mana and remain vigilant. If I acted prematurely, I might be unable to counter whatever they had up their sleeves. Besides, from the look of things, the fight was well under control.

Soltair and Trithe fought separately, roving agilely over the battlefield. Whenever their paths seemed to cross, I noticed Sotlair adjusting his movements, distancing himself from her. While her sword and flames rolled across the hollow, decimating bandits near and far, Soltair kept his light close to his sword, opting to charge ranged opponents instead of using his powerful magic at a distance. I observed him for some time, perplexed by his uncharacteristic restraint, until I caught the anxious glances he cast at Trithe and me.

Fyren fought with relentless fury, moving swiftly along our rear, his blade a blur of death. Unlike the demons, who would survive for several seconds before crumbling into ashes, the bandits burned with war cries on their lips, oblivious to their impending doom. Swords, spears, and axes shattered before his relentless onslaught, leaving their wielders as nothing more than dissipating echoes of ash in the gentle breeze.

I turned as their air shook, tail twitching in surprise as I found Soltair on one knee, holding a desperate parry against the bandit leader. The ground cracked, cratering beneath his feet, as the waraxe sparked against his holy sword, slowly pushing toward his neck. Shouting, Soltair rolled out beneath him and jumped back, claiming some space.

The bandit’s red aura whipped the air about him into a frenzy, churning with the full power of his soul. Soltair, in contrast, panted heavily, yet only faint traces of light curled around his body. His face twisted with frustration as he continued to lose exchanges and the bandit leader forced him into another clash.

”You’re weaker than I thought,” the Bandit Leader jeered. ”Where’s all your fancy light and magic?”

Soltair clenched his jaw, his muscles straining to support his sword. His eyes slid over, locking onto mine, and I nodded. We were far enough apart. The worry faded from his face, replaced by a confident grin.

”Careful what you wish for,” he warned dramatically, just loud enough for everyone to hear.

The next instant, he began to glow. The bandit leader had just time to widen his eyes before everything went white.