Bron was on the east patrol route a mere two hours after nightwatch started when he first noticed something odd out of the corner of his eye.
Past the tall fence that guarded the village, the ground... roiled. It flowed like a liquid thing - not solid and clumpy as the earth should, but more like the ocean tides.
He stepped closer, raising the torch he held in his left hand. That wasn’t a trick of the light, right?
BOOM!
A deep, resonant thud. The ground shook underneath his legs as his eyes widened. The earth outside the fence burst like a bomb, and he stared in disbelief as the dirt rose into the sky like an angry dragon.
For a second, it seemed as if that was all that was happening, but then the earth came back down, slamming into place and solidifying. It formed a ten-foot wall outside. The mud rampart towered over Corbin Village’s eastmost gate.
What the...?
More resonant booms. Bron, startled, ascended the ladder of the gate watchtower. He stood above the majority of the buildings now, and could see most of the village from his point of view. There were more mud walls forming, slamming into place. They didn’t look like they were protecting the village.
Then he saw it. The main gate to the village, being opened up from the inside. What looked to be around two dozen torches in the dark, coming in from the outside.
There was no time to think. He might’ve been less inclined to jumpiness usually - there was the possibility of it being some kind of merchant caravan - but the mud walls had kicked his suspiciousness into overdrive.
Bron lifted the horn tied to his belt, drew in his breath, and blew for dear life.
Essence crystals were expensive, McDougal mused, but worth it.
He had used the last of his hoard to gather the required energy for the rampart outside the village, but he had done it for a very good reason. All was lost if a single one of these fools managed to alert the wider world. No, they were all going to stay right here.
Jord had done what he was told. During his second rotation, when he was assigned to the center of the village, he had opened the main gates.
That had been the signal.
McDougal charged forth on his new steed, the Dire blue lizard. His men followed him, as loyal as ever and ready for rewards. Behind them, the last of the mud wall had finished coalescing, and now the entire village was fully cut off from the rest of the world.
Yellow-Bellied Jord motioned to him as the gates opened. As he rushed by him, he bent over and grabbed the coward by his collar, tossing him onto the back of his mount. Jord clung on for dear life.
If after all this, he was still alive, McDougal would kill him personally. But right now a body that could hold a weapon and be cowed was more useful than a corpse, and the skinny supplicant certainly had important information about the village that would certainly be helpful.
In less than a minute they had pressed into the center of the village.
“BANDITS ARE HERE!”
A woman cried from a nearby household - Ah, there was light inside. Suppose somebody had been keeping a late vigil, then? McDougal smiled. How unfortunate for them. Now they had to spend the last hours of their lives in terror instead of blissful ignorance.
His bandits split up, going in different directions. They were bandits, yes, and loot was usually their priority. But not tonight. Tonight they had different plans. To kill as many people as quickly as possible, and splitting up just made more sense.
Dead men told no tales.
They would be free to loot after they turned this entire village into a graveyard.
McDougal crashed through one of the buildings that dared to stand in his way. The stone wall compared its toughness against the scales of his Dire blue lizard, and the stone lost out.
Through the dust and debris, he could see a family in shock standing in the remains of their home. They were dazed as if they had just woken up. But the moment his eyes met McDougal’s the man jolted as if ice water had been splashed all over him, and pushed his wife and daughter toward the front entrance.
Oh no, there would be none of that.
He raised his war axe high, and brought it down.
Bron’s home was located westmost of the village, a decent distance from where the commotion had started. Which meant that it took around thirty minutes for Cain to arrive at the village center.
Along the way he had seen villagers outside their doors, confused and groggy as to what was going on; villagers that were making a break for the side gates with their families; and even some that he could see arming themselves.
Cain had steeled his heart on the way.
Some part of him knew that sooner or later he would encounter human enemies. Bron had warned him of bandit attacks on the road to the capital, but he hadn’t expected it so soon, and certainly not in Corbin Village.
He breathed in, and breathed out.
He was ready. He was ready, right?
It turned out he was not ready.
He came into view of the village center, caught a whiff of the air, and had to immediately stop his approach and throw up right there on the street.
The smell of blood and iron mixed in together with the smell of excrement, multiplied by carnage. He had eaten little in the past few days, but that didn’t keep him from dry heaving after he was empty. He wiped his mouth afterward with the back of his arm, eyes wide but terrified to look.
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Finally, he gathered the courage to do so, and saw the source of the disgusting smell. There, right there in the village square, stacked a pile of bodies, lit by a few fallen torches. Most of them were completely still, but a few still breathed weakly, groaning in pain.
Men, women, children. None were spared.
It was insane. The attack occurred only thirty minutes ago, but over fifteen people had been slaughtered. Probably more, considering the state of the homes he could see. He was sure not everybody had been dragged onto the pile.
He had to move, he had to do something!
His mind turned back to the hunting of the blue lizards, when he wondered if he was trapped in a game. He had no doubt now. It wasn’t.
Games were supposed to be fun.
Not something like this.
A flash of movement broke him out of his thoughts.
He saw a shadow moving out of a nearby house, dragging a young girl with braided hair kicking and screaming toward the pile. The figure raised its other arm, and Cain could see the shape of the object it held. A longsword, revealed by the torchlight reflecting off its blade.
THUNK!
Before he knew it, Cain had raised his bow and loosed an arrow. It embedded itself in the man’s arm, causing him to lose his grip on the girl and let out a pained howl, reeling back. The girl took this chance to put some distance between herself and the looming figure, scurrying into the shadows trying not to cry.
He cursed himself. That was on him - he shot too quickly, before the reticle had fully formed. He should’ve gone for a vital spot! But if he had taken any longer...!
The bandit, a scarred, rugged fellow, turned toward him, nursing his left arm - the arm that had been holding the girl. Cain was stunned by what he saw in those eyes. Not hot, violent anger like he had suspected, but a cool, deep, and ingrained promise of violence.
Cain raised his bow once more, and loosed another arrow.
The bandit cut it out of the sky with ease with his singular arm.
Cain swallowed. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he had hoped.
Bron swallowed his bile as he looked down at the man bleeding out on the ground in front of him.
He had gotten lucky on his way back. The bandit had been facing the other direction, intent on attacking somebody else, when Bron had snuck up from behind and plunged his sword right into the man’s midsection. He didn’t let go until the man went limp, and then dropped the body onto the floor.
The would-be victim, Aila the weaver, thanked him profusely before running off intent on getting as far away from the center of the village as possible. Not a bad idea, but Bron had seen the mud walls.
Even if they ran, there was only a matter of time until the bandits killed them all.
How many were there?
Corbin Village had a population of roughly three hundred or so people. Roughly half could probably take up arms, but they were mostly farmers. Bron estimated that the true number of people with actual experience in battle probably amounted to about twenty or so, but the issue was that they were completely scattered.
Reymond came up beside him. Bron noticed the man was breathing heavily, and his arms shook despite having an arrow notched and good to go.
“Roger and Nemain are dead, but we managed to take out one of them.”
Bron’s heart fell. It took three people to take on one of these bandits? And even then two died? Roger spearfished as a hobby and was one of the better lancers in the village. Nemain had spent a few years as a squire before she had decided that she wasn’t cut out for that kind of life.
Reymond knew what he was thinking.
“Red Riders,” he answered. They’ve all heard the stories. “War axes and longswords, a few tomahawks. Even if they threw away their insignias it doesn’t mean they don’t have their signatures. They’re probably elite stragglers that managed to survive the extermination campaign.”
The worst possibility.
The Red Riders were beyond dangerous. They’ve all heard tales of how the elites of the Riders were equivalent to any bandit lord in any other region. Sure, this meant that they often didn’t work well with each other, but they were all individually dangerous.
Bron looked down at the man he had slain. He had gotten really lucky, then.
Bron closed his eyes for a second.
The bandits had entered from the main gate and, judging by the location of the screams, attacked the village center immediately, bisecting the southern half of the village. The only location they could regroup and gather up a sufficient force was...
“Rey, gather up everybody who can fight south of the fountain. I’ll go get everybody else,” ordered Bron decisively. “We’ll meet up in front of Corbin Estate. Hopefully Tanner and Abigail have the same idea as us. Once we’re gathered up, we can take the fight to them.”
Reymond nodded, and dashed off.
Evacuation was impossible at the moment, and the bandits were intent on killing everybody if what he had seen was correct. There was no point in gathering up the weak and infirm, no matter how badly he wanted to protect them. The best thing they could do was to present a united fighting force, and hopefully do enough damage to convince the bandits to retreat.
It was a long shot, but it was the only shot they had.