*
Numbly, Ambori sat on watch. He was perched up in the wagon's driver's seat, wrapped in his purple cape and shivering slightly. He wasn't about to complain about the chill since it was the only thing keeping him awake by that point. Ever since Hal became injured the rest had been forced to pull extra night shifts, adding to the weariness of the already exhausted party.
He yawned abruptly, then immediately wished he hadn't. That just made him feel even more tired than he had before. The bard's limbs wanted nothing more than to just curl up in a little ball and slide ever so gently off to sleep.
Snapping back up into a sitting position, Ambori realize that he had just about taken his own suggestion. Roughly jamming his red plumed hat upon his head, the bard jumped down from the wagon and started moving about. He started to go through his whole acrobatic warm up, anything to get the blood flowing through his limbs.
He scooped up a small handful of the slushy snow and rubbed it all over his face. For a brief second he reached full alertness and jumped around with a bit of life. He was also jumping around because a bit of the snow had dribbled down the front of his tunic and was giving him the chills. He tried to keep his yelps of surprise as quiet as possible
He walked over to the perimeter of their encampment and laughed. I hardly think that one beat up wagon and a ragged tent constitute a camp, Ambori thought with a wry grin. But Ambori shrugged, reminding himself that he was a bard, someone who was paid to make things at least sound more glamorous than they actually were.
Looking off to the east, Ambori could see the first fringes of the sun making its plodding way over the distant horizon. He smiled grimly. Fantastic! he thought. Once the sun's up I'll wake the others and then we'll get to walk until our feet are sore for another glorious day! With little effort, the bard was able to restrain himself from dancing for joy.
He yawned again, tears of exhaustion springing to his eyes. Ambori began to curse softly, knowing that there was only one way to make certain that he remained alert, if nothing else.
With great reluctance, the bard withdrew a dagger from each sleeve and one from his belt. He regarded them for a long moment, concentrating fiercely. Then, slowly, he tossed them into the air and began to juggle them.
This was an exercise that the bard was exceptional at when he was in full control of his faculties. But, exhausted as he was, this was an extreme test of his skill. Not to mention the danger of such an act at this time.
The three knives flickered in the pre-dawn light as they spun end over end. At first Ambori's hands were jerky and were having trouble keeping up with the motion of the twirling blades. But after just a couple of seconds, his skilled and well practiced fingers caught onto the familiar pattern and began to take over without conscious thought. Ambori smiled, knowing that he was now awake. At least, for as long as he continued to juggle.
I suppose if Tasha came out of her tent right now and saw me doing this that she'd accuse me of showing off again, Ambori thought with a grin as he remembered the other night. I really don't know why I did that. It just seemed like the thing to do. The bard chuckled to himself. And besides, it's obvious that she liked it. She just doesn't know it yet.
At that point one of the daggers slipped out of grip and nicked him slightly on the thumb. Ambori quickly stepped back out of the way and let the remaining knives fall harmlessly to the ground. He examined his thumb and noted that a bit of blood had begun to well up there. The bard shook his head with a grin. All right son, there's no need to get cocky. There's just as much chance that she'd like to kill you as well. Ambori laughed and stooped over to pick up his daggers.
As he crouched over Ambori heard a very faint noise behind him, one that didn't resemble any normal forest sound. Outwardly, the bard gave no sign that he'd noticed. He continued to casually retrieve his knives. When he heard the sound again, Ambori scooped up his last knife and dove to the right, rolling clear.
The bard scrambled to his feet in the slippery slush and tried to get his bearings. The sudden rush of adrenaline not quite removing all traces of his weariness from his bones. He saw a dark, hooded man fill his vision before plodding headlong into his slender frame. As they both tumbled to the snow, Ambori felt something cold and sharp slide across his ribcage. The bard grunted at the sudden pain and swung a clenched fist at his assailant.
The man on top of him arched back and cried out in agony. At the same time Ambori felt something warm and sticky dribble down his arm. Taking a quick look, the bard saw that he fist he had swung still had one of his daggers in it.
Ambori kicked the man away and rolled to the side, his dagger still in his hand. From out of the trees he saw more men in black hoods advance on him. Two of them held drawn short swords. With his superb agility, Ambori began to back away. The man that he'd stabbed was trying to weakly crawl away from the scene. It was then that Ambori noted the black arm band with the sigil of the sun on it.
"Sunraiders," Ambori mumbled to himself with dejection. "Don't you guys have anything better to do with your time?"
One of the hooded men laughed. "You and band have brought this upon yourselves, you .." He was silenced by the knife that caught him full in the throat, effectively taking his voice away in a gurgling rush of breath. The man collapsed to the ground, his hands pawing blindly at the dagger imbedded in his esophagus. Ambori blinked, in surprise. Well, unable to believe that he'd actually hit his target for once.
The other Sunraider began to charge, swinging his sword furiously. The bard stepped in close and ducked under the mad swing, driving his shoulder into the man's waist and wrapping his arms about the man's knees. Heaving with all of his strength, Ambori picked the man up and dumped him over his head and behind him. The man landed heavily on his back and coughed. The bard wasted no time and hopped lightly into the air, driving an elbow down into the man's face. The man cried out in agony and flopped about like a fish out of water.
Ambori took a quick look around the rest of the camp. Hooded men with black armbands were already advancing on the tent and the wagon. However, there was commotion in the wagon and it looked as if Ceorn was stumbling out of the tent even as Ambori raised the alarm.
"Wake up! For the love of the Gods Above, wake up! We're under attack!"
A man advanced on Ceorn, swinging his sword viciously. The kelt, obviously surprised and still trying to orient himself, leapt back out of harm's way. The man saw what appeared to be an opening and lunged forward, his sword looking to skewer. At that point Ceorn's instincts took over.
The Crimson Bloodied-Fist dropped to one knee and watched the blade slide overhead without harm. The ‘Raider unable to halt his forward momentum, allowing Ceorn to lash out three times. One fist to the thigh to knock the man off balance. The second fist to the side of the knee, breaking it neatly and with a loud snap and the third a straight uppercut to the groin, just because he could.
Ambori looked away from that scene, knowing that Ceorn could handle the three other Sunraiders that advanced on him. He swung his gaze over to the wagon where at least five individuals with sharp weapons were advancing towards it. The bard began to lumber over to their aid, drawing more daggers out his sleeves as he did so.
The lead man opened the door to the wagon and stepped inside. There was a bluish flash of light and a muffled scream. The man was launched from the wagon at great velocity. His flailing form sailed across the tiny clearing and collided headlong with a highoak tree.
Ambori smiled and slowed his frantic rush, knowing Garnthalisbain to be more than adequate in dealing with the men. He cockily flipped one of his daggers up into the air, casually catching the hilt on its descent. "What? Is this all of you guys? For some reason I expected more." The bard chuckled and turned back to retrieve his first dagger.
Then there came a brief moment in which all time seemed to stop for Ambori. Never before, in his entire life, had the bard seen anything more clearly. Turning back to the men he'd already dealt with, Ambo
ri was momentarily frozen in absolute terror at the sight of ten hooded Sunraiders, all with their weapons drawn and pointed directly at him.
Then came another moment in which Ambori had never felt more foolish in his entire life.
Then the Sunraiders surged forward en masse.
At that moment, Ambori of Threeapples Vale, turned and ran for his life. Screaming for help the whole way.
Off to his left he saw Ceorn fighting like a madman, hopelessly encircled by six men. The kelt already had cuts and sword wounds on his arms and back. Tasha was valiantly trying to hold off the two men facing her. Shiann was hiding in the torn up remains of the tent, screaming incoherently and holding both of the twins close to her. Two of the Sunraiders stood before her and the children, menacing them with their swords.
To his right as he passed the wagon, Ambori saw Hal stumbling out of the doorway. He was limping terribly on his bad leg and could barely raise his axe. Yet, several of the Sunraiders were hesitant to move in on him. Renora had a stick of firewood in her hands and was busily clubbing a Sunraider, who had picked her up on his shoulders, with it.
Garnthalisbain had stepped out into plain view, obviously trying to assess where his skills could be used the best. The mage focused his eyes on a target off behind the bard and raised his hands. Suddenly, Garn grunted in pain and tumbled to the slush covered ground. When he rolled onto his back, Ambori saw the arrow that had lodged itself in the mage's side.
Ambori continued to run for all he was worth. He could hear the muffled grunts and heavy breathing of his pursuers but he didn't dare look back to see if he'd lost any of them. His mind raced frantically as he searched for some way to do... anything.
So Ambori did the only thing that he could think of.
He screamed for help.
The colorful bard ran into the trees and began to side-step this way and that, hoping to cause one of his pursuers to misstep. There were many shouted curses from behind him. There was also a loud crash or two as people struck the ground and tripped over roots and assorted fallen branches.
Suddenly planting his left foot firmly, Ambori cut a sharp right and bolted for the road, casually leaping over the fallen log in his way. A great many new curses were hollered out from his pursuers behind him. Allowing himself a look back over his shoulder, Ambori saw that only four of the Sunraiders were still directly on his tail. The rest had all either fallen somewhere in the back or had given up the chase for easier targets.
Ambori smiled triumphantly and turned his gaze forward just in time to see a low hanging branch catch him right in the chest. Bizarrely, at the exact moment he struck the branch, Ambori would have sworn on his life that he'd heard the tinny sound of trumpets blaring somewhere in the background.
Ambori's feet kicked out from under him and his body flew in a very awkward fashion with his feet leading the way. His body sailed several feet through the air before finally striking the slush and mud. His frame plowed another few yards forward until a slender willow tree quite firmly stopped his momentum. Blinking away the stars and tears of pain, Ambori grabbed the willow that his now numb legs were wrapped around and gingerly forced himself to his feet. It was very difficult to keep moving at first, what with the wind completely knocked out of him from the fall and his manhood mashed into his pelvic bone by the willow tree. But somehow, Ambori moved as best he was able.
Something slammed into his shoulder when he was within twenty strides of the road. New pain lanced through his mind and bright blood, his own blood, spattered out before him onto the snow and mud. The force of the blow pitched Ambori forward, knocking him clean off of his feet and sending him sprawling face first to the turf.
Ambori's limp form slid until he reached the road, eating slush and mud the whole way. Tears flowed freely from the bard's eyes now, he had not even the energy to fight them. He was beaten.
He angled his eyes up to the rising sun, knowing that he was seeing it for the last time and waited for his death to come. No more running, he thought weakly. No more fighting. Just... no more.
Wishing that he had the strength to run his hand across his eyes, Ambori blinked heavily forced himself to look again. Silhouetted in the half visible sun were five large men on horseback. Off in the distance, it seemed that Ambori could hear trumpets again, though they were closer this time. The sound of horse's hoof beats quickly followed along with an incoherent sort of war cry. It seemed that the horsemen were all carrying long poles at first. But as they neared, Ambori was able to see that all five men were dressed from head to toe in gleaming plate mail armor and were each carrying a lance atop their heavy war-horse. As if their minds were one, the men lowered their lances and spurred their chargers forward.
From directly behind him, Ambori distinctly heard one of the Sunraiders say in a completely dejected voice. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"
Three of the horsemen thundered right on past him and headed on down the road, following the sounds of battle. The other two men rounded in Ambori's direction, their silvery armor gleaming in the early morning light the whole way. There was a full throated scream as one terror-frozen Sunraider was effectively skewered on the leading knight's lance. The rest of the hooded figures turned and bolted back for the relative safety of the trees, but not before one of the highwaymen was winged by the second knight.
Ambori tried to roll himself into a sitting position as the knights had a quick consultation. The one who had succeeded in his initial charge released his end of the lance and turned his stallion in the direction of the battle. The lance quivered slightly in the air but refused to drop seeing as the weapon's point had pinned its target to a highoak tree and was firmly imbedded there.
The second knight dropped heavily from his horse and came to Ambori's aid. He fell to one knee beside the bard and raised his helmet's visor. Beneath was a youthful face, sweaty from the exertion but flushed with excitement and the thrill of battle. He carefully assisted the bard. "Are you all right, good sir?" he asked in a charming tenor, the type that Ambori himself would have killed for. Anything would have been better than his natural singing voice.
Ambori grimaced in extreme pain. "I'll live... I think." He regarded the armored man up and down for a moment and grinned. "You've really got an excellent sense of timing, you know that?"
The man shrugged, an impressive feat considering the weight of his armor. "We try." He extended a gauntleted hand then and smiled. "Well met, good bard. I am Sir Raviron, Knight of Southmoor."
Ambori took the hand and shook it once. "Ambori of Threeapples Vale. Well met and damn glad to see you." He grunted painfully and gripped at his wounded shoulder, mindful of the sharp arrowhead that was protruding out of the front of Ambori's jerkin. The bard gazed at Raviron wryly. "I don't suppose that there would be anything that you could do about this, huh?"