Fan Fiction ❯ The Climatic First Encounter ❯ Escape ( Chapter 7 )

Escape

 

He'd been dreaming.

 

Maybe it had been the warmth curled against him, the smell and feel of a man in his arms again. Maybe it was just because it had been too damn long and he wanted—no, needed—more. But it made him dream about Selamin, which was pretty damn stupid because that was a long time ago, ancient history, not like it mattered anymore.

 

But still.

 

The dream had played out like a memory, one of those times when Selamin had dropped by his place, drunk, stinking of cheap cologne that wasn't his, just about begging Ramian to fuck him. They'd argued, then somehow ended up having rough sex on the floor of Ramian's rented garret, after which Selamin passed out and Ramian had gone outside for some fresh air, pissed at himself and wondering why he put up with this kind of shit. But then the elf had appeared in his dream, grinning wickedly and sidling up to him, pressing close, and for some reason Ramian let him. The elf leaned forward, brushing his tongue against Ramian's lips, and it felt so damn good that Ramian woke up.

 

Except.

 

It hadn't been a dream, not exactly; he realizes through the haze of wakefulness, blinking as the elf leans in to kiss him, slipping his tongue into Ramian's mouth, pressing his hips against Ramian's. Damn, the elf knows how to kiss, and though it makes less sense than his dream, Ramian feels himself responding, enjoying the feel of the elf's hot, slick mouth against his.

 

Just as abruptly as the elf had kissed him, he suddenly pulls away, whispering something about ambush parties and attacks on the caravan. Ramian stares at the elf for long seconds, struggling to reconcile Shade's words with the tingling warmth still running through him, but then he shakes himself, hard.

 

Ambush party.

 

“Shit,” he mutters, then goes still, straining his ears for any sound. He knows the elf has better senses than he does, but Ramian has long been attuned to the sounds of nature; sure enough, he catches it, soft, deliberate footfalls in the trees to their right, perhaps thirty yards away. The recent rainfall made the ground soft and the leaves damp, both of which helped mask the sounds of the ambushers. It was probably the bandits that Ramian had tangled with before, but this time in force, judging from what he could hear. They usually picked off lone travelers, not caravans, so they must have amassed a large enough group to feel confident enough to attack a caravan this large. It made for bad odds, and if there's one thing Ramian isn't, it's a gambler.

 

Quickly, he turns his attention back to their campsite. Their packs are lying nearby, along with his bow, quiver, and the sword he'd confiscated from the elf. The horses' saddlebags, on the other hand, were on the other side of the now-guttering campfire. He immediately writes both off as losses—they can get along with just the gear he has in his pack. A plan starts to emerge in his mind, but first things first. Taking the key to the manacles out of his pocket, he unlocks the elf's bindings. Fixing his gaze to the elf's, he leans forward to whisper. “Do exactly what I tell you and we both might live through this. Now, when I tell you, grab your pack and follow my lead. We're going to head into the woods, slowly. No sudden movements, got it?”

 

The elf nods, serious for once, and it's enough to satisfy Ramian. The elf had been slippery enough when he'd first been tracking him that Ramian knows he'd be stealthy enough now. Rolling away from the elf, he rises to a low crouch and moves toward their packs, slipping his over his shoulders and handing Shade's to him once the elf reaches his side. Ramian grabs his bow and quiver, then, after a moment, hands the elf his sword.

 

A voice in the back of his head tells him he's crazy for giving a prisoner a weapon, that the elf will just stab him in the back the moment he turns it. But on the other hand, the elf had the knife hidden in his boot this entire time. He could have done something earlier, if he had wanted.

 

Ramian pushes the thought out of his mind. Now wasn't the time to second-guess himself, not when they needed to act. Keeping low, he starts to move forward, creeping across the short rise that leads to the treeline. The elf follows him, near silent, and like two shadows, they fade into the trees.

 

Signaling for the elf to stop, Ramian peers into the predawn dimness, catching sight of movement all around the caravan, likely small ambush parties moving in groups to get to the treeline, and then spreading out to surround the caravan completely. He's heard that the bandits have been getting bloodier as of late; Ramian wouldn't be surprised if this turned into a wholesale slaughter, the bandits just killing the ones who resisted and taking the rest for slaves. Briefly his thoughts turn back to the old man on the mule who had invited them to come, and the three women who had shared their campsite with Shade.

 

Turning, he looks at the elf to find the elf is staring at him, expectantly, the clear, somber look in his eyes piercing. In that moment, Ramian knows that the elf had been telling the truth, that he didn't kill anyone, but he can't let himself get distracted now.

 

“Yeah,” he mutters to the elf, answering his unspoken query, “I know.” Pulling an arrow from his quiver, Ramian raises his bow and nocks it, following the shadowy forms that flicker from tree to tree, silhouetted briefly as human-shapes under the dim light. It's not looking like he'll have a clear shot, but he just stops thinking about it, training his bow and following the movement, loosing the arrow when it feels right.

 

The white-fletched shaft leaves his bow as if in slow motion, streaking through the clearing and then hitting the silhouette dead on, causing the bandit to scream, pitch forward, and tumbles from the treeline into the camp near where a family's tent is pitched.

 

Shouts of confusion come from the woods around the camp as the bandits rush to try to get into position, then cries of alarm sound around the caravan. Ramian grabs another arrow and takes a second shot, but it's too rushed and the arrow sinks into a nearby tree.

 

“Get `em,” a voice shouts from across the camp, and a hastily-shot arrow arcs in their direction, followed by more, and the elf grabs his arm.

 

“We need to get out of here,” he says, urgently, and pulls Ramian toward the woods. Ramian can hear the twang of bowstrings and the snap of arrows sinking into three. More shouting, and then screams, behind them, but then they're into the woods and running hard, the elf close on Ramian's heels.

 

No time for stealth—they just run, branches tearing at their skin and clothing, probably leaving a trail a blind dwarf could follow, but right now they just need distance, to get far enough away that the bandits will give up and write them off as losses. He's not so foolish to look back, but he can hear crashing in the woods behind them that he knows is not his imagination. Ramian supposes that the more bandits that are chasing after them, the less were back at the camp killing innocent people, so in a way, it wasn't too bad of a thing they were after him and the elf.

 

Not that he believes that for a moment.

 

They run up a steep ridge and though Ramian expects to feel an arrow in his back, nothing happens. He ducks around a particularly large ash tree and bursts straight into a small clearing. Pausing for a few seconds to look around, Ramian tries to figure out where to go next. High grown had the tactical advantage, but from this point on he doensn't know—

 

The elf grabs his arm. “There!” Shade says, pointing at a particularly dark patch between two trees. Ramian can't see what the elf sees, but he lets the elf pull him forward anyway. “Hide!” the elf hisses, pushing him into a tall bush large enough to keep him from view. Ramian pushes back into the bush and then goes still, but after a few seconds, he realizes that the elf isn't joining him. Instead, the elf's footsteps race away.

 

Ramian curses under his breath—damn elf was going to get himself killed trying to escape his custody at a fool time like this! Was it really the time? But before he can pull himself out of the bush, he hears running footsteps charging up the ridge and three figures burst into the clearing, then slow, just as he had, looking around. All three men are dressed in dark, mismatched leathers and carrying shoddily made bows typical of what he'd seen bandits carry. When you lived in the woods as an outlaw, there weren't a lot of opportunities to visit the local bowyer, he figures. It just confirms Ramian's earlier thought that the attackers were bandits trying for the big score, apparently not content with picking off travelers for a handful of silvers and some bags of grain.

 

Crouched behind the bush, Ramian keeps still, his hand gripped around the shaft of his bow. If they got too close, he could easily pop up and take out at least one, but if they pressed him, he would have to be careful or he could find himself tumbling back down the ridge.

 

The three men walk past his position, their human sight as bad as Ramian's in the darkness. This would be a very different hunt if their foes were elves, he thinks, glad for the limits of plain human vision for once.

 

“Look at these tracks,” one of the men says suddenly, bending down. “They went this way.” He points in the direction that Ramian had heard the elf run.

 

“There! I see one of them!” another man says, and then all three men break into a sprint, racing after Shade.

 

[Author's Note - Look for the other half of the caravan encounter in a couple of days. The creative juices are flowing! As always, hope you like this update and keep the comments flowing. Both Irrion and myself love them. Thanks - Rogue Kittiekat]