Chapter Five

The compass worked both better and worse than I expected.

In my haste and excitement, I’d gotten what I’d asked for with the magical device, but with no trigger word to disable the magic, my compass had lost its normal function.

It was a fair trade, I’d decided, even if it would be hard to replace the original. I had little gold, a horrifying face, and an uncovered Devil-Mark. This meant that visiting any settlement would be an exercise in frustration at best, and lynching at worst.

Even so, the Compass of Animal Detection had exceeded my expectations.

On the first day alone I’d doubled my count of animal ‘victims,' filling my reserve fast enough that I ended up enchanting a steel leg-trap with an attraction effect for lack of any obvious option. The second day was as good if not better, with my reserve once again filled by mid-day.

The trap, sadly, had underperformed, though through no fault of it’s own. It had indeed captured a deer of it's of its own overnight, but with the sheer velocity I was clearing the forest, the trap proved a liability in the daytime. The compass led me from animal to animal so quickly that by day two there was little use for the traps that I'd set up. I was losing more time doubling back to check on them than the reward I was getting when they happened to be occupied.

“Maybe a trap that alerts me when it is triggered?” I mused aloud, my head twitching up slightly at the sound of a distant crack. I held my breath, listened, and glanced down at the compass. An animal in that direction, nothing to worry about.

A trap alarm really was an interesting idea. The fact that it would allow me to make the traps lethal in the first place was an added bonus.

Sadly, it wasn’t the option I was leaning towards. Two days of chasing the point of my compass through the woods had gotten me a little… turned around, as the map splayed out over a nearby tree stump could readily attest. With no compass and cloudy skies, I’d been making best guess estimates about my position for the better part of a day, and I’d begun to worry.

A map enchanted to show my location would be 280 SR, enough to wipe nearly the entirety of my current reserve of 305. It was a steep price to pay, doubly so when the map only extended a few dozen miles in any direction. A map of Greenhill was useful now, but it would be garbage once I’d moved on from the forest. Spending energy on that enhancement was spending souls on my own peace of mind.

“Armor instead?” I wondered, tugging at the thick, black woolen robe. I wanted to protect myself, but something told me that a magically bolstered robe wasn’t worth much more than a robe without the unholy reinforcement. “The Robe of Comfortable Defe-“

The last of my mocking title died on my lips as I heard another crack, this one closer than before. It was coming towards me, and as it did, I could hear… talking.

The Compass of Animal Detection considered humans to be animals, good to know. I suppose I should have been glad the thing worked at all, rather than just pointing to me at all times.

Never was very good at being thankful.

I quickly bundled the map and swept away the refuse of my presence before I ducked down snugly against the rough bark of the largest tree I could find, hoping the bulk of it would hide me from their presence.

“-an’t have gotten far.”

They were looking for me, that much was clear from the way the mounted, imperial man spoke to his more pedestrian retainers. Either they heard me, tracked me, or had some other method of discerning my location, which marked perhaps the first time in ages I prayed that someone was following my incompetence.

“No, Sir Levall.” One of the unmounted retainers, a squire if I had to guess, assured the knight. “The cur is probably hiding amidst the trees, waiting for us to pass.”

“You’re so sure he’s seen us coming?” Levall countered, scowling down at a squire I was almost certain was several years his senior.

“Poacher or no this man is an adept hunter, given how quickly and accurately he tracks his prey.”

“It could be a group of-“ Said the other squire.

“No.” Interjected his older companion. “The Duke’s party was quite insistent that they saw only a single set of prints.”

"One, ten? The number of poachers makes no difference." The youthful blonde knight said with boisterous conviction only those brought up to believe they were better than their subjects could muster. "If we kill them we earn the Duke's favor. We earn the Duke's favor, and we can work our way towards a seat at the table, and perhaps a holdfast to call my own."

A hedge knight. I decided in an instant. All the arrogance of true nobility without even the property or the subjects to back it up.

The boy knight was probably the latest in a line of unneeded sons. The third or fourth child, there was nothing for him to inherit, which left him noble, but forced to earn his living rather than simply lord his position over others. Even his servants were hand me down, judging by the nearly middle-aged squire in his employ.

“So, how do you propose we smoke him out?” The knight asked, turning his attention to the older of his retainers.

It was a fair question, one I was genuinely curious about myself. If they were so sure I was nearby, the Knight wasn't going to just walk away. Eventually, they'd find some sign of me, either my tracks or my impromptu bolt-hole. Hiding was out of the question, and the knight was mounted which ruled flight out as an option.

Steel it was.

But how best to confront them?

Castoff from an older sibling or not, the armor the hedge knight wore was considerable. Half-plate covered him in burnished steel from neck to thigh, and an open-faced helm protected him from anything but a straight shot. Even if I found a gap in the armor, I could see chain glittering beneath that would pose a problem for my dirk, to say nothing of the dull edge of my amateur sword.

His longsword, on the other hand, looked like it would be happy to cleave me from shoulder to groin without much effort.

The servants were predictably less well armed and armored. Still, a mace could crush my skull all the same, while their hard leather would at least slow down my arrows, if not stop them outright.

Rushing them was a fool’s errand. Even if I took one by surprise, I’d be outnumbered two to one, and by more competent warriors at that.

Archery was only a little better. I’d always been a good shot, but I had significant doubts about the penetration of my arrows. If they were closer, or if I hit an area without armor, they’d be as effective against humans as they were against animals, but the closer my target was, the less time I’d have to get off subsequent shots.

What I needed to do was set a trap.

A trap. I repeated the thought in my head, nearly laughing aloud. I hadn't even given the trap hanging from my pack a first thought, let alone a second as an option in combat. I'd enchanted it to attract animals, after all, but then, the compass was pointing to his would-be assailants, wasn't it?

With measured slowness, I took a knee and reached back for the steel trap. I untied it and drew a slow breath. It was old and well used, its joints showing hints of rust. To set it up normally involved an awful clatter, but if I was careful?

I pushed down on either side of the steel ‘jaw' of the device. The teeth were not particularly sharp, but at full draw, the tension was enough to shatter bone. If I could lure one of them into it, he'd never walk again.

My teeth were on edge with ever creek and rattle, but the knight assuaged my fears as quickly as they cropped up. The young man, certain of his impending victory, simply could not shut up. He joked with compatriots, stomped unabashed through the woodland, and even called out to me, ordering my surrender!

I probably could have set off the trap, and the man wouldn’t have heard it over his own blathering.

The trap locked into place with a barely audible metal ‘clink,' after which I took a few moments to cover it as best I could with surrounding foliage. The trap attracted animals, but a human wouldn’t be stupid enough to reach in for whatever bait I offered. I’d have to lure them in this direction.

Before I did that, I had one more bit of preparation.

I carefully set down my pack, freeing up both my bow and considerably mobility. Then I reached over my shoulder to free an arrow from my quiver. Rather than nock it, however, I gripped the arrow between my hands and focused on both it, and my Devil-Mark. An instant later, a message appeared superimposed over the arrow:

Arrow of Paralysis +1 – 110 SR

Enchanting a single arrow was a colossal waste. Even if the arrow wasn't ruined by the impact, the magic would be expended the moment it struck a target, regardless of whether that target had been what I'd been aiming for in the first place. At the same time, it was the only way for me to reliably enchant anything in my arsenal to be able to deal with the Knight's armor, let alone to do so in a timely fashion.

That last bit was critical. The moment I began the enchanting process, my mark would begin to shine with a light that I would not be able to conceal. The light would make good bait, but I’d have to finish the enchantment quickly if I had any hope of using it in time.

"No sense in waiting, I suppose," I muttered, fingers tightening around the arrow as I focused my power upon it.

A few seconds later came the expected response. "The hells is that?"

Just your run of the mill, everyday Marked One. Come and look! I thought snidely, driving my power into the arrow as both its head and my own lit up the surrounding foliage with an eerie purple sheen.

I didn't dare look around the curve of the tree as footsteps began trampling their way through the overgrowth, but I still listened closely. Two sets of footsteps. It was one more than I'd wanted, but apparently, I could only stretch my luck so far.

The enchantment finished before the first of the men rounded the corner, my violet light show sputtering out save for a faint glow that emanated from the tip of the newly magical arrow. I quickly stowed the arrow in the belt of my robe, and produced my dagger, bracing for the bloodshed to come.

“Who th- Aagh!“

The sound of the older man's scream was more satisfying than it should have been, I thought, doing my best to smother the smug grin that had blossomed unbidden to my lips. Yes, it was good for my continued survival that my trap had been a success, but it was another thing entirely to delight in a man’s pain suffering. I’d lost enough already, without losing myself to the pull.

Fight now, moralize later. The less critical side of my mind demanded as the second squire rounded the corner, his eyes wide with surprise and horror at the sight of his crippled comrade.

My knife took him in the abdomen with a strength I didn’t realize I possessed, the thrust nearly lifting him from the ground.

The retainer’s surprise seemed to only grow as he looked down. The man stared in wide-eyed disbelief at the dirk embedded in his abdomen, and at his own blood as it trickled across my hand and down the length of my heavily scarred forearm.

“You stabbed me.” He stammered in stark contrast to the agonized screams of his compatriot.

"I did," I said grimly, my jaw tightening. As the man stared in horror, I drew out the knife and drove it home again. "Twice."

A mace tumbled from dull fingers as the squire fell back from my blade, clutching in sudden desperation at his wound. He tripped, over a root and collapsed back against a tree without another word, his eyes already beginning to glaze over. I’d hit something vital then.

“Answer me!”

The hedge knight’s voice shook me out of my own shock.

Killing a man, a stranger, was far different than killing a beast of the land. Self-defense or not, I knew the squire’s expression would haunt me for the days to come, but for the moment the knight was a far more substantial concern.

I slid the dagger away, then took a second to wipe my hand off on the side of my robe. The act wasn't out of shame or disgust; instead, it came from pure practicality. I had one shot at the knight, and I didn't need blood on my hands fouling my aim, metaphorically or otherwise.

“Whoever, whatever is out there. You’d best... you’d best show yourself. I am Robert, the fourth son of-"

"I don't care," I growled, as I stepped out of cover, lined up my shot and fired.

The arrow whistled through the air and struck clean. The sound of its impact, of metal and wood crashing hard against steel, resounded through the forest, scattering what few birds had chosen to remain through the clang of the trap and the accompanying screams.

A second, larger clatter came a moment later as the knight tumbled end over end off the back of his spooked horse, landing in an unseemly lump on the forest floor.

Done and over in less than a minute. I don’t think that could have gone better.

“You son of a whore!”

Well, okay, perhaps a little better.

I notched another arrow, studying the greenery for the source of the knight’s scream. He sounded more angry than hurt, which didn’t bode well for me.

“There you are.” I heard the voice again as the knight emerged from the undergrowth, sword in hand. My arrow had impacted him cleanly enough, but rather than take him full in the chest, as I’d intended, it had buried itself to the fletching in his shoulder.

The paralysis magic I’d enchanted it with would disable him if left alone, and it would weaken him progressively as moments passed. Unfortunately, like so much of my magic, I’d only ever really tested the paralysis effect on woodland critters. It could disable him in a minute, or an hour. In a sword fight that would be the difference between life and death.

I had no intention of fighting a trained knight blade to blade.

Before the knight could say one more word, I had another arrow in the air. Without magic, this one splintered helplessly off his breastplate. It did still make him flinch, which was a small blessing as the heavily armed warrior continued to advance on me.

I peppered him with two more shots before he drew too close for comfort. At thirty paces I began to retreat, turning my back on the knight and jogging away from him at a brisk clip, much to his dismay.

“You... stop! Stand and fight you coward.”

Stand and let me kill you more like it. I was under no illusions of my ability to fight him, even wounded and partially paralyzed. Running was the one advantage I had over him. I’d rather be a coward than dead.

Shoot and run, shoot and run. My remaining supply of arrows was limited, and his breastplate had proven more or less impenetrable, so I began to concentrate my fire on exposed or lightly armored areas. I alternated headhunting and shots at his legs, hoping to either kill or cripple him, but to no avail. For all that armor, the man was surprisingly light on his feet.

The boy. I corrected myself. The signs were obvious every time he drew close enough for me to recognize his features. Sixteen, seventeen perhaps. A fourth son hoping for some minor glory, even while he himself was a minor.

If I didn't know any better, I'd have accused my own Devil-Mark of testing my resolve. I'd have to do much worse than kill some glory hound in self-defense before all this was over.

"Surrender," I said flatly, as I turned and planted my feet, throwing down my hood to reveal my hideous visage, and more importantly, the devil mark curled across my brow. "The first arrow I struck you with was enchanted with paralysis magic, you have to be feeling its effects already. You've lost.”

I wasn't sure whether it was my words, the sight of me, or the infamous mark, but the young man slowed in his pace, then stopped at a considerable distance. He eyed me from there, blade held in a white-knuckled grip. “You’re lying.”

“Pull the arrow out and check.” I shot back with a calmness I did not feel. “There should still be a glow to it. How do you think it pierced that plate of yours?”

The latter half was a bluff, any visible sign of my magic would have dissipated the moment the arrow’s progress was halted, but it was not one he was likely to call. He didn’t seem like the type who’d willingly pull an arrow out of his shoulder to prove a point.

“I’ll kill you before-“

"You'd have to catch me." I concentrated on my Devil-Mark, forcing just a minute fraction of my power to the fore, as if I were preparing to invest power. The mark reacted, flaring to life with sickening royal energy. "And if you get within arm's reach I will end you."

"You devil," Robert replied, beginning to advance once more.

“Reaper.” I spat back, the word coming to my lips with a shocking certainty. Vincent of Greenhill was dead, and I needed a new name. I could do worse than one that instilled the sort of fear and uncertainty that sprung to life on the boy’s face. “My name is Reaper. Do not mistake my offer for kindness. I will be taking the souls of your companions, but a noble scion will do better to spread my message than a low-born servant who might be hung for his failure.”

“And what message is that?” Paralysis or curiosity had slowed the knight’s steps once more.

The light of my mark had dulled to a pulse barely visible in the streams of daylight that pierced the canopy overhead. I concentrated on it once more, throwing power into the bow in my left hand, flooding it with enough magic to make for a good, theatrical light show as I replied. “This land, this forest. It is mine.”

Robert scoffed. “A Marked poacher with delusions of grandeur.”

“What better way to draw out a noble to make my proclamation?” I lied. “You think I was fool enough to leave such obvious tracks by accident?”

That seemed to shake him. The young noble glanced away, looking down to the arrow through his shoulder. He rotated his arm a few times and then frowned. He couldn't feel the wound.

“Do you think I missed on purpose? If I wanted you dead, boy, you’d be dead.” I smirked. “Throw down your sword and flee. With luck, you’ll be back to your keep before the paralysis takes hold.” I met his eyes, fully cognizant of the horrific nature of my own appearance as I stared him down. “I can’t even imagine the horror of full paralysis in the woods, being gnawed on by predators who assume you are carrion.”

"E-enough!" Robert responded in a too loud voice. For just a moment I worried I had pushed my luck too far by calling attention to his youth. Instead, I was rewarded, his eyes finally downcast, shamed. "I will deliver your message. And when they come to kill you, I will be at the head of the pack."

You’ll be searching an empty forest for weeks. I snickered to myself. "I won't be merciful a second-time child. Begone.”