Should He Kill?

Vance rode alone down the thin dirt road out of the village, the worn ground fading into a pair of wheel ruts in no time at all. Very few people came this way. The only traffic out of the tiny village would be hunters and wood gatherers, maybe teams of armed peasants or adventurer parties probing the very outskirts of the nearby forest for herbs and animals small enough to kill. The only semi-regular traffic was coming and going from the hamlet even further west, the king’s attempt to push his borders into the wild. And that traffic was minimal. The people forced to live out there did not want to be there; being forced to live on the edge of the untamed lands was a death sentence.

Vance rode a black stallion, a very fine warhorse purchased cheaply from a captain in the king’s army when the army had been severely cut back after the elven war to save money. An out-of-work captain couldn’t afford to maintain such a beast. Owning a horse was expensive, with stabling fees, feed, and equipment, not to mention it had to be regularly exercised, which meant taking it out of the city every day to be ridden or allowed to roam. Behind Vance trailed two mules, one tan, the other white. Vance’s equipment, tent, water, and food were split between the pair.

Feckle and Peckle were hours behind and would probably stop for the night in the village Vance was already putting behind him, unwilling to waste time. The pair were on foot, though Feckle had wrangled an ox and tarp-covered cart to haul their gear, food, and water. They were much slower, and Vance could only suffer their non-stop, idiotic banter for so long. Better they catch up because Vance wasn’t going to waste a second of his life if he didn’t have to.

Vance planned to reach the furthest kingdom hamlet that night and make it his base of operations while he explored the nearby forest and lands. Despite human resettlement in the area for three decades, very little exploration had been done, and the forest was as wild as ever. From atop the stallion as the kilometres passed, Vance watched the ancient trees and brush that had been hacked down to allow this narrow track to exist. In places, you could see for some distance because there was so little underbrush beneath the stately oak trees. But in others, the forest floor was thick with ivy and thorn bushes, the trees blanketed in moss and mushrooms. It was old growth, the forest gloomy and silent, another world.

When Vance looked at the forest, he saw two things: levels and money just waiting to be harvested. There were monsters and elves and other things galore to be fought and killed, precious opportunities for the brave and bold, like him, to grow and become stronger. Vance was twenty. He would be silver rank before his twenty-first birthday. He’d made a vow of it, and he intended to hit that milestone, no matter how improbably others may think it.

A tree had been chopped down and fallen alongside the pitiful road. The branches had long been chopped off, probably for fuel, and the trunk, nearly as wide as Vance was tall, was half-buried in grass, vines, and bush as the forest reclaimed it. The tree made perfect cover to hide behind. Tall grasses rustled. A male figure stepped out, followed by two more. All were masked with filthy bandanas.

The one in the lead, wearing homespun wool shirt and pants and a leather jacket, raised a hand in greeting, the other resting on the hilt of his sword. “Hail, friend.”

Vance slowed his horse and came to a stop. His eyes lazily travelled over the trio. The two in the back were armed with woodcutting axes. No archer amongst them, which was stupid, unless they were lying in hiding, perhaps aiming to shoot their prey in the back. Vance replied, “Friends don’t normally wear rags over their faces to hide their identities.”

The thug’s eyes twinkled. “Hide? No, no. It’s to protect against bugs. You know how it is.”

“Uh-huh. So you don’t want me to hand over all my valuables, give you my animals, that sort of thing?”

The man chuckled. “Well, now that you mention it, I sure would appreciate that kind of generosity. As you can see, we are folks with very little. You appear to be someone with money to spare.”

Vance studied him. He was not impressed. “You know there’s no traffic on this trail, right? So there’s no reason for bandits to be here. No one to rob. You’re obviously from the hamlet ahead. And since I’m heading that way, I’m obviously going to recognize you when I’m walking around. Covering your faces like this isn’t going to hide who you are. I’m going to recognize your voice, too.”

The thug’s amusement abruptly died. He stared at Vance for a long few moments before pulling down the cloth he’d used to cover the lower half of his face. “Well then. Not like we were hiding ourselves. You must have the wrong idea, friend.”

A smile crept over Vance’s lips. His body tingled with rising anticipation. His hands itched to grab his daggers and unsheath them, but he didn’t go for his weapons yet. He was enjoying this. “Yeah? So, what? You’re going to give up, just like that?”

“Give what up?” The man shrugged, faking nonchalance, though he was obviously unhappy. “We’re not here to rob you. You’re mistaken.”

“Oh? That so? Because you look like bandits. No. Like really stupid, lazy, morons pretending to be bandits. You were probably, what, out chopping wood or something, saw me coming, and thought you’d rob me? Crime of opportunity, is that it?”

The man’s jaw flexed before he replied, “Nope. You’re mistaken.” Though he didn’t look happy about it, he seemed to have changed his mind about robbing anyone that day.

But Vance wasn’t about to let it go so easily. This was too exciting. He threw a mocking smile at the sullen man and his quiet cronies. “Come on… Are you sure you don’t want to have a go? I mean, you know how much my horse is worth? This saddle? It’s enchanted, you know.” He waggled his eyebrows to taunt them.

The two peasants in the back exchanged a glance.

Vance continued, “I have a whole purse just full of gold. Well, not a purse, it’s actually an expensive magic bag. And it’s not full of gold, but I’ll bet there’s more in there than your entire hamlet has seen…ever. Because I’m rich. I come from a really rich family. But hey, good thing you’re not real bandits, right, because who knows how much I’d be worth as ransom.”

The man glowered at Vance. But hearing the two others whisper behind him, he glanced over his shoulder. The three men exchanged whispered words. All three cast glances Vance’s way, weighing him, judging him. Twice, Vance caught one of the men surreptitiously look off to the side and behind Vance. So maybe they did have one or two more in hiding, possibly with bows.

Vance wouldn’t give the game away by looking over his shoulder, but he didn’t like the fact that someone might have an arrow pointed at his back. Actually, the more he thought about it, maybe it only made things even more exciting. He might be in real danger here. His heart beat faster, and though he tried to appear relaxed, he tensed, ready to move the second anything happened. He found himself eager for something to happen. He quietly slid his feet almost out of his stirrups so he’d be able to get out of the saddle faster.

The trio on the ground came to a decision. The leader seemed to regain his bravado, and the three men separated, the two axe men going wide to flank Vance.

Vance grinned. “Changed your mind, huh?”

The leader snarled in annoyance, “Fuckin’ rich pricks. Shoulda kept your mouth shut.”

“Your mom didn’t. Opened right up for me. Just begged for my rich prick.”

The leader threw up an arm. It was obviously a signal.

Vance threw himself sideways.

An arrow whizzed over the stallion and into the branches on the other side of the trail.

Even as he was falling off the horse, Vance was reaching for the long knives strapped to his lower back. The moment his feet touched the dirt, the weapons came free.

The nearest axe man lifted his weapon and charged. His expression changed to one of surprise as, rather than run, Vance charged.

Vance slipped inside and past the clumsy chop of the axe, letting the blade whoosh by him. He flicked his flat-bladed dagger out, nearly severing the man’s arm at the elbow. Then he drove the point of the heavy, twisted parrying rondel into the man’s shoulder, as easily as stabbing a pin cushion. The rondel had originally been designed to block powerful sword strikes and to punch through chain and plate armor, so it went through the man’s flesh and shattered his upper arm bone without effort. Screaming in pain, the man fell to his knees, his arm ruined and bleeding badly. It had taken only a few heartbeats. Vance went for the leader next.

The leader was drawing his sword and had been about to go to his ally’s rescue when he saw the man fall. Seeing Vance charge, he went into a defensive pose instead.

Vance was a rogue, not a dual-wielding warrior. Rogues generally preferred to strike from behind or to attack while their target’s attention is elsewhere, like on one of those big, dumb tanks covered in armour. While Vance enjoyed that too, there was a particular thrill to be found in one-on-one battles where he tested himself against someone else, head-to-head, to prove who was better. The need to best his opponents struck a powerful chord deep inside him, and he lived to win. So while other rogues often tried to fade into the shadows, Vance dashed forward, right at his opponent.

The leader breathed deeply and braced with his sword, ready to defend.

Vance blew right past him, heading straight for the other axeman. Because the third man used his axe the same way he chopped wood, the slow, overhand chop was easy to see and avoid. Vance slid sideways around the down-coming axe, then drove his dagger into the man’s upper chest, all the way to the hilt. The wound was just below the collarbone, far from the heart, though maybe he’d nicked a lung. But it wasn’t immediately life-threatening. Sensing movement to the side, Vance smoothly shifted, turning the impaled man and putting him between Vance and the movement.

An arrow thudded into the axeman’s back. He jerked and croaked with surprise.

Vance withdrew the dagger so the man could collapse on the ground. He’d probably die soon enough without excellent medical attention. Not that Vance had any intention of assisting him with finding any. Vance turned his attention to the leader. If the archer was smart, they were running after shooting their ally.

The leader was backing up, sword point raised to the sky, his free hand raised palm up. “Hold. You’ve killed one man. Let’s let it end there.”

“I didn’t kill him. Your man shot him in the back.”

“This is all easily explained. We mistook you for a bandit on the road. Both sides fought in self-defence ‘fore we realized we were all in the wrong.”

“Ha. Pretty clever. Thing is, you’re the only one who made a mistake.” Vance lightly lashed out with the dagger, a simple, straightforward lunge only meant to test the man’s defences.

The leader parried. He made no attempt to strike back. “Look, no sense in hurtin’ anyone further. Surely we can come to an agreement.”

Vance grinned. “Why?” He darted closer. Dagger and rondel casually probed the other man’s defences. Well, casually to Vance.

The other man was obviously not nearly as much of a fighter. Still, he must have had some experience and training because he kept both weapons at bay as he backed up and tried to circle away from Vance.

Vance knew he easily outclassed the would-be bandit. He could have ended this in a single, deadly flash. But what fun would that be? He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he pushed the other man backwards. He flicked the dagger at the man’s head, forcing the sword in a high parry, and opening him up for a kill shot Vance didn’t bother to take. Then he dove low, forcing the man to quickly bring his sword down, leaving his upper body very vulnerable.

Vance laughed. “Look at you. You’re barely tolerable at this. I’m pretty sure I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back. While drunk. And sleep deprived.”

The leader of the failed bandit trio grimaced. It was easy to tell from his expression that he was scared, but he was doing an admirable job of overcoming it, frowning with concentration. “Enough of this. We are desperate men. We acted desperately. It was a mistake.”

“I’ll say.” Vance feigned moving left, then lunged right, nicking the man’s upper arm just enough to penetrate the leather jacket and draw a few beads of blood.

The man, to his credit, didn’t wince. Given his rough appearance and likely years of hard labour, he was probably no stranger to a little pain. He kept his plain longsword between them. “You don’t have to kill anyone.”

Vance felt himself slow for a few moments at the idea of killing. He’d never taken a life. Well, not a person’s anyway. He’d killed animals before, but that was it. Was he going to kill these men for attacking him?

He glanced at the axe men. One still lay curled on the ground, arm bloody, weeping at the pain. The other lay on his stomach, wheezing, blood bubbling on his lips. The arrow in his back must have punctured a lung, which was now filling up with blood. With medical attention, he could probably be saved. There was no sign of the archer.

He could kill these three without trouble. Even if the archer escaped and told his own tale, Vance would surely have no trouble convincing any authorities who cared that he’d been attacked and had killed in self-defence. No one with half a brain would believe that Vance, with his far superior gear and training, had ever been in any real danger. Yet, an accident could have happened. The archer might have shot Vance in the back instead of his own man. Maybe it would look like Vance had been vengeful in taking their lives, but legally, he’d very likely escape any serious inquiry, let alone charges. Especially with his family’s money.

What if these men had friends who would come looking for revenge? Unlikely. They were too poor. If anyone did get upset, a few gold in hand would probably buy off their anger or pain.

And if he did manage to chase down the archer and end him before he could tell his tale, there’d be absolutely no one to counter any story Vance managed to come up with. Not that anyone was likely to care enough to question anything. This was the edge of the kingdom. These men had very likely been sent here as expendable tools, and their deaths would be no great loss. They might even be convicted criminals. Who knew? Heck, Vance could drag their bodies into the forest, and everyone would probably think monsters had gotten them.

The point was, if Vance wanted to kill them. He could get away with it with almost no risk.

So, should he?