Fan Fiction ❯ The Climatic First Encounter ❯ Trust ( Chapter 8 )

Trust

 

Pausing long enough so the humans could actually see him, Shade ducks under a branch and takes off running again. The forest was dense, branches reaching out almost like arms to pull at his clothing and to scratch his skin. But Shade didn't worry about any of that. If he or the bounty hunter were going to survive, they would have to rely on Shade getting the upper hand over the bandits.

 

Dropping to one knee and sliding to a stop, Shade holds his breath and listens for the sounds of feet crashing behind him. However, what he does hear isn't exactly what he was hoping for. The idiots weren't chasing him anymore and had seemed to stop as if they were looking for him. Cupping his hands over his mouth, Shade goes to yell but is interrupted by another shout. Not very successful in chasing after the elf, the ruffians had stopped and entered combat with someone else and Shade instantly knew who that other person was.

 

With a muffled curse, the elf shoves aside the branches and runs back towards where he had hidden the bounty hunter. Shade's heart was pounding heavily in his chest and he didn't know why he was so worried about one human, let alone one that was attempting to arrest him for a crime, but for some reason Shade liked him and that apparently was reason enough. Arriving near the battle, the elf instantly sees that the bounty hunter has managed to drop one of the bandits but now he was fighting off two others and holding his own. With light footsteps, Shade takes careful steps working his way around the fight, allowing his gaze to spread around the area, searching for an escape route.

 

Suddenly a figure appears not more than 10 yards behind the bounty hunter. Picking up his pace, Shade moves to intercept, half afraid he will not make it for the human was too involved with his fight to notice. As the bounty hunter drops one of his opponents, Shade watches in horror as the figure leaps to attack. The elf only had one choice, changing the grip on his sword; he sends it sailing through the air. The balanced blade whizzes past the bounty hunter and pierces the chest of his assailant, causing him to drop to the ground. Never halting, Shade approaches the remaining bandit, using his foot to sweep the surprised man off of his feet. Glancing up to the bounty hunter, Shade yells, “Finish him!”

 

*****************************************************

 

Ramian had dropped one, easy, but he knew he was in trouble when the other two closed on him. He dropped his bow and went for his knife. The two bandits had swords—nice ones, he notices, catching a glimpse of the leather-wrapped hilts—but they didn't know how to fight close.

 

Sword fighting's about keeping a blade's length distance between you and your opponent, looking for that opening in his guard; Ramian has never been taught formally, but he's watched people learning, young elves taught by their old spry elven swordmaster. It was all very precise, ritualized, even, but he knows he must have learned things then that he only understood subconsciously until the moment he had to pull a knife and defend himself in a squalid dockside alley.

 

Knife fighting's different. Screw precision, screw waiting for an opening. Knife fighters knew that it was quick and brutal, and they also knew that you always got cut. Old scars trace up Ramian's forearms, mementos from the time he had to fight just to get some kind of respect down there by the docks, when old salts assumed he was an easy mark because he was young, never mind that he was tall and brawny and already knew all about having to fight for respect.

 

One of the bandits' lunges with his sword, but instead of pulling back, Ramian moves forward, swinging past the tip of the blade and drawing close, twisting his knife into the man's gut with one clean stroke, in and out and back, and the man goes down.

 

It gives his partner pause. Ramian grins nastily—the mental aspect of the fight was half of it—and waves his bloodied knife in the bandit's direction. The bandit keeps his sword tip up, defensive, like he's waiting—

 

A noise behind him makes Ramian stiffen, realizing that he'd miscalculated, someone behind him, too late, too slow, he's a dead man.

 

But then, out of nowhere, there's the elf, popping up and throwing his sword in the way that was wholly impractical with anything but a perfectly balanced blade. It sails past Ramian and lands with a solid thunk, wet-flesh sounds and a soft gasp behind him.

 

The elf's fast enough to sweep the last bandit's feet, and yells at Ramian to finish the man, but there's something about the law of dockside that's stayed with him. Kicking a man when he was down was fine, but killing him was a line few crossed, because someday, one day, it would be you down there, and on that day, you wanted to live. Ramian kicks the bandit hard in the jaw, hearing the bones break with a crack, but as he steps back, the man's still breathing.

 

He looks up.

 

Just the elf, no more bandits, and as the battle-high subsides Ramian lets out his breath, swallows, then looks back at the elf, who's trotting over to pick up his sword.

 

Damn elf saved his life, and Ramian doesn't know what the hell he's going to do about that.

 

He stares at the elf for a few moments, but then forces himself to look away, to stop thinking about it and focus, dammit, because they weren't out of danger yet.

 

Ramian pauses to listen, but the sounds of fighting back at the camp have died away. Instinct tells him to just get the hell out of there, but there's something that's bugging him, a lingering feeling that things weren't right, that something was very wrong. “Come on,” he tells the elf, pausing to recover his bow before leading Shade back through the forest, back toward the camp, and it's either a testament to the elf's trust in him or some instinct they share, knowing that there was more to this than a simple bandit attack.

 

They move past the ridgeline, the elf moving as silently as he through the forest. They make a good team, Ramian finds himself thinking, but those thoughts start to lead him to places that are too complicated to think about right now, so he quickly and firmly makes himself stop, moving quietly up to a large oak instead, and edging around it to take a look.

 

The camp's below, and the bandits are spread out throughout it. The caravans' resistance must have been crushed fairly quickly, because there's a large group of travelers on their knees and only a small pile of bodies. Ramian and Shade watch while the bandits walk through the group of prisoners, looking carefully at some, sparing others only the briefest glance. Two men discover a body on the far side of camp and let out a shout, which causes a tall, blonde haired man to look up and break out into a trot, hurrying over to the body. The man—the leader, Ramian figures, peers carefully into the corpse's face but shakes his head. They're not close enough to hear the words, but the leader tosses the body back down onto the ground.

 

“They're looking for someone,” Ramian tells Shade, but the elf is quiet. After a moment, Ramian turns to look at him, and the elf's face is tense and set. Shade glances away.

 

“He was an elf,” Shade says quietly, gesturing at the body the bandits just discarded, his sharp elven vision obviously letting him see in better detail that far away than Ramian can.

 

After a moment, Ramian frowns. “They're looking for you.”

 

The elf just nods, once, bitterly, Ramian thinks, but then Ramian grabs Shade's arm and pulls him back into the forest. They have to get out of here, he thinks, put as much distance between them and the caravan by nightfall. If the bandits really were after Shade, if it wasn't just a random attack, then there must be a really good reason why they were looking for the elf, and Ramian doesn't think it's because of the bounty. Granted, it was a good bounty, but not split thirty ways. He glances back one more time toward the caravan, but he's sure, once they bandits satisfy themselves that the elf wasn't among the prisoners, would leave the rest alive and spread out to hunt for them. Getting away from the caravan was actually the best thing they could do for the survivors.

 

They're both quiet as they walk. Ramian heads toward the stream, following it for a while to obscure their tracks. He keeps up a steady pace, handing the elf rations to eat as they walk. They can't risk stopping for anything longer than five minutes, and they probably shouldn't risk a fire, either. Fortunately he still has some rations in his pack, along with his healer's kit, bedroll, waterskin, and a few other basic supplies. They would manage. He passes the time as they walk trying to plan their next move, but his thoughts go around in circles. Who were the bandits working for and why were they after the elf? What did this have to do with the person that the elf supposedly killed? Maybe, more importantly, where should they go next?

 

Ramian realizes that he's starting to think of the elf as a partner in all of this, an equal, which is a little strange to think about. He hasn't worked with anyone since the old man who trained him how to be a bounty hunter; when the old man had been killed; he went solo and told himself he really preferred it that way.

 

Now, though, he has to make a decision of sorts, but perhaps, he thinks, he's really already made it. He keeps going until the sun starts to sink low on the horizon, then angles away from the stream, finding a clear patch of ground to make camp.

 

It's good to rest—Ramian sets down his pack, leans his bow against a nearby tree, and then pulls off his boots. Unrolling his bedroll and sitting down, he fishes more rations out of the bottom of his pack and hands some to the elf.

 

Ramian looks at Shade for a few moments when they're eating, thinking again about what happened on the ridge. Not only had the elf come back to help him, he'd saved Ramian's ass, and being indebted to his prisoner wasn't exactly one of those things that the old man's teachings had ever covered. Ramian doesn't have the first idea what he's supposed to do about any of this, and honestly, would prefer not to think about it. But seeing as how they were in the middle of the situation, he doesn't exactly have a lot of choice.

 

The way Ramian sees it, he can either trust the elf, or not. It was a pretty simple decision, really. Ramian rubs his jaw and sighs. “So,” he says slowly, meeting the elf's gaze. “I think you better tell me how you ended up getting this bounty on your head.”

 

[Author's Note - Phew we got it out! I tell you this is not the best time of the year to work, raise a family, shop and write fiction! You can't seem to get it all done in what time you have. Also I would like to say that to those of you wishing to see some more physical interaction between our two guys here - It will come but you must be patient. This is a real story not just fanservice or porn without plot. As always please enjoy and I think we will have an update sooner this time around. **RogueKittiekat]