Somewhere Beyond Chapter Five

Chapter 5: Ian's Duty, Emerald's Wait

    Ian walked north through the woods at a brisk pace. He knew the woods well, and suspected he knew where the bandits had setup camp - but he followed their trail nonetheless. Fades usually left barely a trace, but it seemed they had kept running - in case he followed them - for quite a while, so Ian could keep track of them.
    After a day and a half of walking - and occasionally becoming lost in his thoughts - Ian started to see obvious signs of a large group of fades, and a few signs that those fades were bandits. Most were innocuous, at first - signs that great effort had been put into harvesting small parts of trees that were easy for fades to gather; cut down shadow-tree groves (being a type of fade-wood) and bushes that were berry-less.
    Eventually he came across a sign that was not so vague - a warning to other groups that may be nearby not to trespass, menacing spikes surrounding a cage that contained a pile of torn clothing (though thankfully empty of a living occupant). Ian smashed the cage to pieces, and continued on his way.

    Roughly an hour later, Ian found the first sure sign of the gang he sought. In the distance stood a small tower, with a few small huts beneath it. Furtherest out outpost, thought Ian, which means five or so kilometres to the centre, if they're as big as they say.
    Ian approached the tower, keeping an eye out for those who would soon spot him. As he drew closer, he noticed additional towers to the left and right, roughly five hundred metres distant from the first.
    A coil of smoke started to emerge from the first tower. Well, they have spotted me, thought Ian, I doubt they signal whenever they spot a fade as well. Ian kept an eye on the tower as he approached it warily. Four fades stood at the top, looking out in each direction. A fifth was feeding the flames. Beneath, around the huts, it looked like some fades were arming themselves.
    The towers to the left and right were also surrounded by busy groups of fades, and from somewhere behind the first tower a second plume of smoke was rising. Ian kept approaching at a walk, and when he was perhaps five hundred metres distant, the fades from the first tower started to charge towards him.
    Ian kept walking, and drew his katana.

    The first fade to reach him - an over excited lunatic, as far as Ian could tell - was met with a quick slash that left him without his sword arm and head. Behind him came three more cautious fighters, armed with shields and javelins. Ian leapt forwards, and with one unnecessarily mighty cleave carved through two of them, shields and all; the third reeled back in time to save himself, but not his shield.
    Another slash and the third was dead; but the rest surrounded him, ready to attack. As they rushed at him, Ian swung his sword again, and again, slicing through those fades foolish enough to come close. One managed to glance a blow off Ian's armour with what would have normally been a mighty blow, but all were quickly felled.
    It is quite terrible how removing the fear of death makes everyone brave, thought Ian. They will not surrender or flee; the worst I can do, they know I cannot do to them all, for I have not the time. Ian sighed, as he was again charged, this time by the fades from the left and right towers.

    Ian carved a path through the fades, heading towards the centre of the camp. From what he saw, he guessed that they numbered a thousand odd; a reasonable number for them to cover the perimeter necessary to ensure no enslaved fades recorporealised outside of their borders.
    Slowly, but surely, and with the blood of many fades on his blade, he made his way towards the central camp, two and a half kilometres from the border towers. There, the slavers would have the captured fades penned up (those who had not been labouring nearby, at least - those would have been dragged inside after his rampage began, but would likely not yet be penned up).
    The camp itself was roughly three hundred metres in diameter, and surrounded by an imposingly tall but rough wooden palisade. It was made of solid wood, obviously slowly cut and dragged from the solid trees by the unfortunate captives.
    Ian sized it up, chuckling as fade arrows glanced ineffectively from his armour. At a guess, the only ones with weapons that are dangerous are inside, huddling around their leader - if there is one. Ian stared at the wall for a while, and sheathed his katana. He ran at the wall, and leapt up - ridiculously high by normal standards, but still not far up the wall - and grabbed a hold on the wall.
    Wedging his feet in between a crack, Ian climbed up the wall, and dropped gently onto the walkway behind. It creaked and groaned under his weight; the weaker, fade wood cracking underneath his armoured weight.
    Ian fell swearing to the ground, landing heavily on his back amidst the wreckage. Of course the scaffolding behind the palisade is made of fade-wood, he thought, and I am a fool for assuming otherwise. Slightly bruised, he got to his feet, and examined his surroundings quickly.
    The scaffolding he had destroyed had the bodies of several fades crushed within it, likely defenders who had been scrambling to where he was climbing the wall. Above him, still up on the scaffolding, several fades were aiming ineffective arrows that glanced (or simply broke) on his armour.
    A group of fades was rushing him from the centre of the camp, and the camp itself... Was as expected. Ian had jumped the wall into the slaughterhouse. A pile of fade corpses (nearly three metres high, and very wide) was on his right, all naked after being stripped of clothing and anything else they carried. The ground surrounding the pile was coated in fade blood, staining the ground. On his left was a large field, with a bloodstained trail leading from it to the pile.
    Terrible, thought Ian. In the distance, behind the pile and field, were a series of pens; most filled to the brim with fades, some with groups of fades being forced into them. Guards were everywhere, and behind the forty or so that were rushing him came a group of perhaps thirty dressed in brightly coloured clothes, wielding non-fade metal tipped spears.
    In the centre of that group stood a man wielding a sword Ian guessed was made of one of the fade-usuable metals; with an anti-gravity device in the hilt to allow it to have reasonable mass. Going to make him slow in combat, since he won't be able to get the blade up to speed easily, Ian noted to himself.
    As he had occasionally in the past, Ian found himself wishing for a ridiculously over-length sword or scythe with which to mow down the opponents who charged him. Several had dropped down from the scaffolding to join the central force, and more came from almost every direction to quickly surround him.
    Ian slashed through them, weapons, armour and all, keeping an eye out for those armed with weapons that could actually harm him. The constant fighting - all the way from the edge of the camp, though in ones and twos - was starting to tire him; and he needed to break the morale of the bandits quickly to stop them from overwhelming him.
    A loud scraping noise alerted him to the presence of the first spearman, as the spear's thrust glance off his shoulder. Ian clove the spear in two, and then it's wielder. He noticed that the spear wielders were surround him, so he charged through a couple of fades, ducked under two spears, and barreled into two of them.
    With a quick swipe, he slew them both, and started running at the next. Surprised at his speed, despite the fact that he appeared heavily armoured, the spearmen seemed unsure of what to do as a group except advance as he tore around the circle, killing them all one by one. At the end of his charge he found the leader, sword held steady, ready to fight. The surviving bandits backed off, seemingly expected some kind of confrontation.
    The tall, bulky man was garishly clothed, and seemed to know what he was doing with the sword; but he was obviously a fade. Ian ran straight at him, and swung his katana strongly into the bandit leader's outstretched sword; slamming it straight back into the leader's chest. As their leader collapsed, the rest of the bandits - their numbers once again swollen - charged.

    About an hour later, Ian cut down the last bandit foolish enough to fight him. He was tired after swinging his katana around for so long, but it was finally time to free the enslaved fades. Ian sighed as he walked, thinking, it's probably a good thing only a few of them ran, but they had no chance. If I can just throw them off when they try to bury me - which was pointless, unless one of the further down ones had part of one of those spears - there's no point in trying to bury me. I'm getting far too good at stomping skulls these days.
    As Ian approached the pens, the fades inside stared at him with a mix of hope, caution, and fear. Ian stood atop a small mound in the centre of the pens, and yelled, "You are now free. Should you wish to remain free, head to the east, and find the city there. Some of you may be confused as to where you are, some of you may not know the truth of where you are. But I will tell you this much: though I have killed many of them this day, the bandits will be back, and they will enslave you again. So flee quickly, in whichever way you choose!"
    Ian opened the gates to each pen, receiving many thanks - some of them tearful - from the rescued fades. After opening the last pen, he strode to the palisade's gate (the rope for which had been cut by some cunning bandits) and pushed it open. As the fades streamed out, some running, some walking, others organising, Ian set off south, heading back to his home.

    After heaving it all up upon a table, Emerald picked through the stuff Ian had taken from the bandits. The three he had killed were obviously all male. There were two short swords and a sickle amongst the stuff, which she guessed were their weapons.
    Emerald picked up one of the short swords, checking its weight. Not too heavy, she thought to herself, about the same weight as mine, but shorter and far thicker. I wonder if Ian can bend it with his bare hands? Emerald grinned, amused by the mental image.
    Placing the short sword back down, she sorted through the clothing, feeling the material each piece was made of. Underneath the clothing was the armour the fades had been wearing - some strange kind of leather, that seemed fairly sturdy. Emerald bent and felt it for a bit, before heading off to retrieve her blade.
    Upon her return, she gently tried to cut into the armour. It split when she gently applied pressure, and cut easily when she applied real force. Not much use against a solid weapon, Emerald noted. She set down her blade, and repeated the process with one of the fade swords. She was able to cut the material a little, but it was an awful lot harder to do.
    "I wonder if I should tailor it to fit me?" Emerald wondered aloud. Not dying is good, even if I come back, she thought. She examined the armour closely, looking at the seams, and how it all fit together. It seemed almost impossibly shaped - enough holes to get in and out of, but the material was more or less one big solid and perfectly shaped mass, although it had some flourishes, and seams where they seemed to belong (and were easily visible).
    "I guess this guy had a crappy image of armour or something. You, on the other hand," Emerald said, looking over another piece, "Obviously have the right idea, although that's an awful lot of seams."
    Emerald set the armour down, and taking her blade with her (sheathed on her right hip), she went to look at one of the books Ian had left open for her.

    Emerald spent several hours reading, and examining the armour, before she took a series of measurements using a piece of spare cloth. She then carefully cut most of the armour's seams, and then even more carefully the leather itself. It took her hours, but eventually she was able to resew the armour.
    The first time, she made a bit of a mess of it. It simply hung over her, far too wide on the shoulders and dangling over her front. She altered it to make it slightly more form-fitting, with clasps low on the sides made from bits of spare leather. When she was finished (many hours later), she put it on and examined herself in the mirror.
    She looked pretty silly, the armour only covering the top half of her body and looking... Strange. The dress she had been wearing only made it worse - the long lower half did not match the upper in the slightest.
    Emerald stared at her reflection thoughtfully. Maybe with a helmet and pants, or somehing. She chuckled aloud, thinking of Ian's possible reactions, before moving closer to check her appearance. She looked the same as ever; a faded brown colour and as if she was twenty-something again. She smiled at herself, before taking off the armour and wandering off to find something else to do.

    About two days after Ian had left, she heard a noise. And then another noise. A series of footsteps, coming from the lower floor. Emerald gripped the hilt of her blade, and softly made her way to the stairwell.
    As she reached the railing, she saw an armoured fade below - obviously a bandit - crawling out of the fireplace in the kitchen. A second fade trotted into view, seeming to turn around nervously.
    Emerald snuck back to her work room, and put on her armour. She then carefully hid herself behind the door, and waited. A short while later, she heard voices moving around - seemingly the bandits searching the house.
    It took them about fifteen minutes, but eventually one slid through the crack in the doorway. Emerald cut deep into his head, taking him by surprise, and he went down instantly. The second fade slammed himself into the door, nudging it by a centimetre, as Emerald pulled her sword free and held her sword above her head.
    The second bandit said, "So he's got a servant girl. How quaint," derisively before spitting at Emerald. "I'm going to gut you, and then we'll find you and do it again, and again, forever."
    Emerald glared at him, waiting. After a few seconds, the bandit charged and took a wild swing at Emerald. Emerald moved out of the way swiftly, and slashed the bandit's armoured stomach. Her blade cut through his armour, and deeply into the flesh of his belly.
    The bandit let out a grunt of pain, and Emerald swung her blade at the bandits hand. He barely blocked the swing with his sword, before stepping towards Emerald in an attempt to get close. Emerald pulled back her blade, and as he made a grab for her hair, she stabbed her sword through his exposed gut and up into his vital organs.
    Mild surprise on his face, he gurgled a little, before collapsing onto Emerald's sword. She was unable to hold up his weight, so she let go of her blade as the bandit collapsed to the floor, the blade deep within him. Emerald backed up a few steps and sat down on the floor, as what she had just done hit her.

    Emerald sat and stared at the bodies for about two hours, before she stood up to change her clothing. The armour, and her dress, were both stained with fade blood, and she barely managed to step around that had pooled in the doorway where the two bandits lay in the doorway.
    She tossed the armour and clothing into a pile, before quickly changing into a pair of cargo pants and a pretty, frill-edged blouse. She stared at herself in the mirror, running her hand through her hair. They won't be back for another two days, and you can watch the fireplace just in case, and Ian will be back by then, she thought to herself.
    I wonder why I don't feel guilty. I mean, they'll come back quickly, but they really are dead now. The fact that they'll be back, and soon, just makes it seem to... Not matter. And they would have killed me, repeatedly. Emerald sighed thoughtfuly. I guess not feeling guilty is the right response. Hell, Ian'll have killed, like, five hundred or more by the time he gets back. God, I hope he gets back soon.
    A while later, Emerald retrieved her blade. She went downstairs and sat in the kitchen, staring at the fireplace that was shared with the dining room, just in case someone came down. Eventually she got bored and decided to alter some clothing, but she did so in the kitchen, and kept a watchful eye on the fireplace.

    When Ian returned a day later, the first thing he heard after opening the door was a startled yelp from the kitchen. Emerald poked her head around the doorway as Ian quickly looked around to see if something was amiss, and said, "Sorry! I'm a little jumpy."
    With a slight relieved sigh, Ian said, "I suspect I also am. I was a little worried when I realised that I had left the chimney open after Mikhail's visit, but it seems - luckily - that I worried for naught."
    "Uh," said Emerald, "There's two dead bodies upstairs from the two bandits who crawled through."
    Ian paused, shocked for a couple of seconds. "Did they manage to harm you?"
    "No, I took them by surprise. Well, the first one. I think I lucked out with the second, since he didn't seem to have much clue beyond 'swing sword at lady' when it came to fighting."
    Ian smiled grimly. "I'll close up the chimney before I shift the bodies," he said. Emerald nodded, and returned to the kitchen.

    After turning the crank that sealed off the wide chimney from the outside, Ian took the bodies and dumped them outside; oddly, the seemed to have had most of their clothing and armour already removed. He rejoined Emerald in the kitchen, and stared at what she had been doing.
    Waving her hand at what she had created, Emerald said, "I figured I may as well use the armour you took off the ones you killed, and the two upstairs, to make myself some armour. Um, it's pretty light but kind of tires me out when I wander around in it."
    Ian looked at the armour Emerald had put together from pieces of several suit of hardened leather. She had obviously been working fairly closely off designs in one of the books he had opened, and adjusting it to fit her - her success in scavenging suitably shaped pieces from the bandits' armour was impressive.
    Emerald had created a fairly close fitting breastplate, with ties at the side to allow a proper fit and thus reasonable manouverability. It extended high around the neck, and down to the wrists on both arms. Alongside it sat a pair of leather gloves, one only part finished, and a pair of belted leather pants that were unfinished below the knees. An unsuccessful attempt at what looked like leather greaves sat alongside.
    "That is... Very impressive for a few days, even given an instruction booklet and all necessary materials. You have my congratulations for your resourcefulness," Ian said slowly, picking his words with care.
    Emerald giggled at Ian's carefully chosen compliment. "Thanks. I gave it a try. I figured I should have some armour in case I get into a fight, which I did already... That's why I'm in the kitchen, by the way."
    "I suspected as much. Now, I shall go and rest. I am tired from my journey, and from my battle."
    "Hey, how many did you kill? Hundreds?"
    "Yes. There were perhaps a thousand, although maybe two hundred fled. With their slaves released and the majority of them dead, they will be unable to reform for a long time - if they are ever able to." Ian glanced out a window before continuing. "Good day."
    "Cya later."

    Ian removed his armour, and cleaned the dust that had gathered on it and his katana as the blood of the fades had disappeared. After carefully replacing the armour upon its stand, and his katana with his other weapons, he made his way to his bed, and almost immediately fell into a deep, tired sleep.
    Emerald moved her gear from the kitchen to Ian's library, and spent a few hours working on it before deciding that she, too, needed a rest.  After hopping into bed, she sighed happily, and indulged herself in thoughts of how cool everything was. It's kind of tragic that this totally beats how my, hmh, living life was going.