Young Writers Society

Elias didn't know who or what had come to their aid and there wasn't time to find out. As the arrow struck the bandit leader in the knee, some of his rabble seemed to think it a good idea to attack the refugees. Elias spun his staff and fended off the first to reach them, knocking his legs out from under him and rapping the bandit on the head.

"Wait-what-" Elias watched in shock as Megora ran to the fallen man, pulled his weapon from him and used it to slit the bandit's throat. His little girl. Killing. Murdering.

"Da!" Elias moved in time to block the blow with his staff but another came in high and the blade bit through his shoulder. He extended his staff to push the bandit away and stumbled back, falling against the tree. He was too old for this. He could feel his heart beating so loud against his rib-cage that he thought it might burst out and the air in his lungs rattled out. There was a tugging on his fingers and Elias squeezed back. They'd die here, die together in his arms.

"The staff, da. Give her the staff!" Megora was there and then she wasn't. There were screams and cries and he felt something pried from his hands before a shadow fell across his face. Auburn hair. Had to be his youngest, only his youngest had hair like that and she shook as she gripped the staff. Megora somewhere to the right with a sword. Paige holding his staff. Two of his brave, little girls.

"Rowan?"

"She's dead, da."

Simon's attack had evened the odds; but Alden's appearance ended the fight. The gryphon crashed into a small ring of the surviving bandits. Moments later, the bandits were dead. Simon remained hidden; searching the underbrush for more signs of bandits. There were none.

Alden whistled for Simon and he emerged from the underbrush. The bandits lay dead, as well as a few of the refugees.

"Report," Simon said simply.

"The area has been secured. Two bandits got away, the injured leader and some scout. They're traveling together; the blood leads away from the fighting." Alden turned to look at the survivors and then said quietly, "Three refugee casualties."

"Have we introduced ourselves yet?"

"No."

"I'll take care of introductions. I need you to go find another pair of rangers to lead them back. Then, go find Nikita and transport her to this group. I'm going to track the blood trail and see where the bandits are headed. I'll leave signs for you to follow. I'll see you by nightfall," Simon said quietly. Alden nodded and took flight again. The red orb had disappeared; Simon sent up a yellow one to replace it. The orbs were beacons.

He turned to see the remaining refugees. An old man knelt by one of the bodies, a girl. Flanking him were two other women; armed with a staff and sword. The old man was weeping, the women had eyes full of hatred. Other refugees stood around them; they watched Simon with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

"Are you the leader of this group?" Simon addressed the old man.

"No, he was," the girl with the sword declared; pointing to another body with her sword. Simon turned to gaze at her for a moment. She was strong and spoke with authority.

"Is it the intent of this group to settle in the lands of the Mountain Aerie?" Simon asked her.

"It is," she responded.

"Will this group respect the laws of the Aerie and it's customs?"

"Only if they are fair and wise. Tell us what they are," she countered. Simon smiled at this response.

"Many humans have come in past weeks, asking to pledge allegiance to a King, to join a country, or to settle our lands as a separate colony. All such requests were denied; because the Mountain Aerie is not a country, nor does it have Kings, nor is it a land to settle. It is a family.

Our Aerie is run by the Matron and Patron; they see to the needs of the Aerie. They reinforce one another; where one is weak, the other is strong. They have many sons and daughters, who in turn have many sons and daughters of their own. They prepare them to become fathers and mothers.

The Patron settles disputes, organizes labor, and sees to the defense of the Aerie. He meditates on the past and looks to the future, then he makes plans. He metes out justice.

The Matron manages, distributes, and stores the supplies needed by the Aerie. She carries out the plans. Her domain is the present. She sees that the family grows. To the guilty and helpless, she can grant mercy.

If you join the Aerie, you will have brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, daughters and sons. Those that are mated will have one another. Those who steal, lie, cheat, steal, or commit adultery will be sentenced according to their crime. Respect those that are your elders, nurture your children, and help your brothers and sisters. Care for all. Are these things which you consider fair and wise?" Simon asked. The group agreed.

"In that case, select from among yourselves a Matron and a Patron to watch over you all. They need not be mated, as long as they compliment the strengths of the other," Simon concluded.

Ria walked with purpose; her strides were short and quick, yet graceful. The Matron was waiting for her. The Matron had many daughters, but Ria was the only one that she looked after personally. When she asked why she had been singled out for that honor; the Matron had replied that she needed the most attention.

She had certainly received it. She been trained extensively by the Matron. She knew how to read and write. She knew math, finances, economics, philosophy, psychology, politics, history, and military science. She had been taught weapons and magic by Reth'sa, the famous weapon master of the Mountain Aerie, alongside Rangers. Then, when she had mastered all of these things, there was yet more to learn. She was bombarded by classes on etiquette, dancing, and tutored about the cultures and customs of neighboring countries.

She hadn't been groomed for something, she had been groomed for everything. She had finished her formal training a week ago. Since then, she had been told to relax and rest. It had been the most boring week of her life. She had leaped when she had been summoned.

Now she was almost there. She opened the doors and hesitated. The Matron and the Patron were both there.

"Close the door behind you," the Matron instructed.

I had just finished burying my family and I was carving names onto boards torn from the ruined cart. I had my things packed and ready to go. I was just waiting for Alden and Simon to return. I heard wings flap and Alden landed in front of me. "Hello Nikita." He said his voice solemn. "Hello Alden. Any casualties?" I asked softly. I heard my voice tremble with barely repressed tears. "Three among them one girl." He replied. I bit my lip to keep myself from crying. "Will they allow me to join them?" I asked. "Yes are you ready?" He replied. I marked the graves with the boards. "Yes." I said simply climbing onto his back. He flew me to the refugees and I was immediately glared at with fear and curiousity. Then an old man started to cry softly. "Don't you realize who she looks like?" He sobbed to a girl who was pointing a sword at me. "Yes. Do you have a sister named Arianna?" She asked still pointing the sword. "Yes please is she alright?" I begged ignoring the fact that Alden had left without me. She bit her lip and moved aside to reveal a shrouded figure. I walked forward barely aware of it. I knelt ignoring the cold seeping through my cloak. I lifted the shroud and started to sob softly staring into the familiar face of my sister. I stroked her icy cheek closing my eyes. "I'm sorry." The girls voice came from behind me. I covered Aria's face again and wiped away my tears. "Thank you for covering her." I replied turning around. The girl said nothing just stood full of a kind of quiet grace and strength. "We have a fire started if you would like to sit with us." She said her voice acknowledging my grief but still encouraging me to join them. I nodded and stood. She led me to the fire and I sat next to the old man.

Heatherington woke to the sound of muffled curses and shouting. He rose from his pile of furs and proceeded to the central chamber of the cave where Tobias made his headquarters, to find Traven, Wolf, Tobias himself and Gallus argueing. At his arrival however, they stoppped and Tobias approached him.
"Are you rested lad?" He enquired impatiantly.
"Yes, thank you, sir. What's happening, sir? Where is everyone?"
"They're out scouting for those bastard Gryphon Raiders, that's where. If what Traven tells me is correct - and Gallus has confirmed most of it - then we're well and truly fu-"
"We don't know that they tracked us here, I'm telling you you're overreacting!" Traven interrupted. This seeming fracturing of the command structure had shaken Heatherington. Tobias always knew what to do.
Tobias strode over to Traven until he was a fingers-width from his face, "There is a trail of blood, your blood, all the way from that ambush site to this cave. I have a pair of boys trying to clean it, but the Gods take me if we haven't been detected already. How did those pansy do-gooders find you in the first place anyway?"
Traven suddenly became sheepish, shifting from foot to foot and staring at the ground intently.
Wolf was astonished. "You went for a raid didn't you? You unthinking whorseson!" He made a grab for Traven, but Gallus - Darus' brother - stopped him with difficulty. Tobias ran his hands through his red hair. "I gave explicit orders to only attack those that came through the pass. All the bodies were to be disposed of, and no sign left of any struggle. That way, we'd never get caught. And you go and ruin EVERYTHING with your impatience and greed!"
Heatherington was shocked at the aggression coming from the man he admired. Surely it was only a minor setback?

Thirty minutes after the battle had ended, Wyndon and Dawn arrived. Wyndon was a strong black gryphon. Dawn was his rider; she was small and fragile; but her magical talent was as strong as the physical talent of Wyndon.

"Where's Alden?" Dawn inquired.

"He's running errands. I've got to go take care of a brigand problem, can you watch after these guys until some regular guard units to take them off your hands?" Simon replied.

"So we get to babysit while you go for the glory? Doesn't seem fair."

"I wouldn't mind having you along; but if this group gets hit again by bandits, they won't survive. Find Alden as soon as you're done with these refugees, maybe there will be some glory after all," Simon said.

"You take too many risks Simon," Wyndon warned.

"He means you owe us," Dawn said to Simon's retreating figure.

Following the trail of blood wasn't difficult. He didn't need the blood or the disturbed vegetation. All he had to do was figure out where he would go if he was injured. Easy terrain was preferred to difficult terrain. It had been an hour when he finally came across a bandit.

Simon turned a corner and there the bandit was. He pulled a knife out immediately, Simon didn't have much time.

"WAIT!" Simon yelled. He raised his arms and fell to his knees. He forced himself to quiver and weep.

"I...I'm not armed! Please don't kill me! I come to bring your leader a message. Please don't harm me!" Simon begged. He buried his head into the ground and weeped.

"Stop crying! Who are you, who sent you?" the bandit questioned.

"I am Nigel Selenicus, I am a Shepherd. Gryphon rangers descended on my flock, they killed a few and asked me to deliver a message to your leader. I was afraid so I said I wouldn't do it; but they threatened to take my flock. Without the flock, my family would die from starvation. They took me to a battleground, they told me to follow the trail, and here I am. I swear, it is all true," Simon said. The bandit was taken aback, and then, to Simon's surprise, he sighed.

"I know what you mean; I was forced to be an outlaw. I had to choose my life over loyalty and honor. Since then I have had neither my life, nor loyalty, nor honor; instead I am a servant to evil men: bandits and brigands," he sheathed his knife. "I am Artax. Tell me the message and I will deliver it for you. You need not be a prisoner." Simon hadn't expected a reluctant bandit.

"You are most merciful, Sir, but the Rangers expect an answer from me. If I should return without an answer, then the consequences for my family would be dire. Better to not return at all then to condemn them to death!" Simon said. Artax sighed again.

"In that case, I will take you to them Nigel. Follow me," Artax said.

Elias felt comfort in the girl sitting next to him but pain at the same time. He had lost his middle daughter and having the wrong girl sat next to him was a harsh reminder. His youngest sat on his other side and introduced herself to the girl: "I'm Paige," she said softly, brushing strands of auburn hair away from her face with a shaking hand. "This is my Da and my sister Megora and-" Her voice faded out. Elias pulled his daughter in close and rested a comforting hand on the other girl's knee. "Nikita," the girl said, filling in the gap. She probably didn't realise it had been meant for someone else.

"We should choose now," Megora decided as the last of the refugees gathered around the campfire.

"Choose what?"

"A Matron and Patron," Elias reminded them. Choosing a patron would have been a more difficult task had there actually been many men left but as it was the duty could not easily fall to anyone else. Elias didn't put his name forward but he didn't need to and when they asked he gave a stiff nod of assent. His family should be grieving. It pained him to see Megora so hard and in control when they should by rights be sobbing and holding one another. It almost made him start to cry again, just the thought of it. Elias knew that if she'd let them, they would have chosen Megora for Matron but the dark haired woman shook her head. There was a small mercy in that at least.

"No, it shouldn't be me," Megora said. "I'd still like a chance to have children of my own before I mother all of you. What about Adelle?" Elias lifted his eyes to the woman in question, she was an aging wild flower with pale, sun-bleached hair and the beginnings of wrinkles around her eyes. She made him feel old. After a little more discussion it was agreed and Elias gave his first order to bury the dead. The ground was hard but nobody complained. They took turns with the shovels and other make-shift tools until three shallow graves had been dug out.

The refugees laid the two young women and their deceased leader side by side and then began to cover them with dirt.

Tobias paced across the diameter of the cave, thinking hard. Tobias would think of something. He always did.
"Heatherington, go and get the map out of my chest."
Wolf sat up straight, staring out of the mouth of the cave as Heatherington left. "Someone's coming."
It turned out to be Artax, with a man with him. Said man was indescribable in appearance. Tobias glared at him.
"What do you want?"

Heatherington rummaged through the chest, pushing aside furs and bottles. He pulled out the map Tobias had spoken of and turned. He glanced at the map as he rounded the corner into the central cave. When he looked up, he froze.
The Ranger was standing in the middle of the room. Tobias, Traven, Wolf and Gallus were all dead, their corpses littering the room.
"Please don't kill me!" Heatherington cried, dropping to his knees with his hands clasped. "I haven't done anything wrong, I only just got accepted."
The dangerous looking man approached him menacingly. Heatherington nearly defecated from fear.
"Please, I beg of you, don't kill me, it wasn't me, I had no choice, please!"
Still he came on, no more than a pace from Heatherington.
"Please!" He screamed, "I just wanted somewhere I belonged!"
That, made the Ranger pause.

"Who am i?" I laughed scornfully at the question turning to the group of ruffians stood outside my quiet little smithy.
"I am Haven Eisenstein, first son of Reth'sa, weapon master of Mount Aerie."
"Yeah and i'm the Archoligarch of Syribril." Laughed their leader, a scruffy thickset man known locally as Weasel. "Just pay your protection money and we'll be out of your way. Then you can go back to fixing scythes and hoes for these useless wretches." He pointed out at the quiet little farm village with his oak cudgel.
"I told you i'm not paying you a penny. We are under the jurisdiction of the Mountain Guard."
"You want to do this the hard way? Fine." Weasel grinned revealing missing teeth in a rotten mouth. His two tatty henchmen stepped forward. One brandishing a dirty knife, the other a short spear.
"Maybe we should take one of your pretty blue eyes? Or perhaps losing that ridiculous blonde ponytail your so protective of?"
They edge forward and my hand closed around the two handed half weight hammer leaned against the anvil.
Knifey came forward first and the handle of the hammer cracked across his jaw, dislocating it and putting him out cold.
Speary decided not to take any chances after that. Clearly he had had a little training once upon a time, crouching low with quick short spear jabs. But he could have been armed with a magic spear in full plate armor and it wouldn't have mattered.
I feigned to the left, stepped forward and crashed the handle into his solar plexus. He too fell to the ground unconscious.
"You''ll pay for that you stupid oaf." Yelled Weasel charging forward cudgel raised.
Stupid oaf?, i thought. You irksome little man. You have no idea who you are dealing with.
I stood stock still. The cudgel whistled toward my head. In an instant i rolled my shoulder and felt the true power deep in the hammer. The weighted ended crash into his chest with the boom of thunder leaving lightning crackling in it's wake. Weasel flew across the road like a human missile and crunched sickeningly into the in across the street. The locals looked on open mouthed before quietly shuffling away.
I walked over to the broken gurgling heap that was Weasel.
"I am Haven Eisenstein. Legendary magesmith of the Mountain. Men have traveled leagues to seek my crafting of a single blade, payed a kings ransom simply to watch me work. If you return, i will kill you and all who come with you." With that I returned to the smithy, gathered my belongings and headed back up the mountain.
I had had my break. Time to get back to work.

Simon followed Artax humbly into the cave. He quietly noted the entrance and the people on guard.

"What do you want?" one of them said.

"My lord, I am Nigel Selenicus. I bring a message from the Gryphon Rangers. They demand that you lay down your arms and surrender yourself to the Justice of the Patron and the Mercy of the Matron. They await your reply."

"How many of them are there? Speak!"

"My lord, I saw only three; but there may be many in hiding which I didn't see."

"Then it's what I thought. They followed Traven here; and now we are in the caves while they wait outside to ambush us," the lead bandit. As if to highlight the fact, Alden descended into view.

"What do we do Tobias?"

"We'll have a better chance of holding them off from here."

"What should I tell the Rangers?" Simon asked.

"I believe actions speak louder than words," Tobias said; drawing his sword. What happened next occurred too quickly. As Tobias swung the weapon toward Simon's neck, Simon dodged beneath the sword. Magic swirled from Simon's heart to his fists. He punched Tobias in the chest, knocking him over with great force. He fell onto a stalagmite and there he was impaled. Next to be hit was Artax. Simon hit him square in the jaw, knocking him out instantly. Simon grabbed Artax's knife, it came out of its sheath as Artax fell to the ground.

Simon turned to see that the others now had their swords out. In their hurry though, they had forgotten about the gryphon outside. A large rock smashed into the head of one of the bandits; caving it in. The doomed bandit knocked into the other two. The moment of confusion was sufficient. Two quick thrusts later and the other two fell to the ground with slit throats.

In ten seconds, four bandits had been killed; and Artax had been neutralized. Another bandit appeared, but froze at the sight of his dead comrades.

"Please don't kill me!" the bandit cried, dropping to his knees with his hands clasped. "I haven't done anything wrong, I only just got accepted." Simon approached him with the dagger.

"Please, I beg of you, don't kill me, it wasn't me, I had no choice, please!" Simon continued onward.

"Please!" He screamed, "I just wanted somewhere I belonged!" Simon stopped a pace away. To go closer was to risk falling victim to a trap.

"If you wish to appeal to the mercy of the Matron, then lay down your arms," Simon responded. And, to Simon's surprise, the bandit did so. Simon then bound him tight in knots; he did likewise to Artax. Alden watched over the two as Simon did this.

"We've got a map?" Alden said.

"It looks like there are some camps where the other bandits may be. There were some scouts outside..." Simon said.

"Dawn and Wyndon took them out."

"Thanks for throwing the rock."

"I prefer to think of it as air magic," Alden said simply.

"Let's secure the rest of this place; then we'll take the prisoners back with us to the Patron," Simon said.

“Off the horse.” The gap toothed man ordered. “Now!” he barked when Varlan hesitated, closing the distance between them to only a few yards. Varlan lifted a leg over the horse and leapt lightly to the ground. The mercenary raised his hands and took a step towards the man. “Sword.” Gap tooth growled. Varlan sighed and undid his sword belt.

“There's no need to be violent, we can resolve this like gentlemen.” Varlan's voice was soft as if he was talking to a skittish horse. He held out the sword for the bandit to take. The man's hand snapped forwards and pulled it close to his chest. With the sword out of Varlan's reach the gap-toothed man and his knife carrying companions relaxed, their knives held limply at their sides. Varlan's hand went to his shoulder, as if to scratch it, and his fingers curled around the three inch nail hidden beneath the scale of his armour. Varlan smiled and took a step towards the gap toothed man.

“Throw in the horse and the armour and we'll let you stay for a while.” The man grinned impetuously. Varlan grinned back as he slid the nail out from its hiding place. As quickly as a striking viper Varlan lunged forwards, grasping the man's collar and punching the nail into the his throat. Blood erupted from the wound as Varlan punched again and again. The man dropped the sword and clawed vainly at Varlan's hands. The other bandits recovered from the shock after a few moments and ran to the assistance of their comrades. Varlan drew his sabre from the scabbard before discarding it. The first two reached him at roughly the same time, the first falling to backhanded slash that took out his throat. The second struck out with his knife, the sharp point sliding along the scaled armour. Varlan punched the man in the jaw and thrust his sword through the bandit's stomach. The mercenary pushed the screaming man off his sword, getting a punch to his jaw in return. Varlan turned and faced the rest. Three dirt covered men spread themselves out, knives in hand.

“Surely we can resolve this?” Varlan asked. Hope flickered in the eyes of the bandits and Varlan smiled inside. Few men relished the idea of charging a trained and armoured foe.

“How?” One asked, the boldest Varlan assumed.

“Give me supplies and a spare horse and I'll go on my way.” He hoped the man would take the deal, Varlan lacked the energy to take them all on.

“Deal.” The man said instantly. Thank god for cowards, Varlan thought. The man nodded to his comrades, who scurried off. The man kept his knife levelled and his eyes on the greying mercenary. The men returned after a few minutes with another horse, a small mare and a sack full of bread. Varlan took the sack and mounted the mare. The man finally lowered his knife as Varlan kicked his heels in and set off, Arseface in tow.

“Good doing business with you.” Varlan called back to the men as the mare climbed up into the mountain. It was time to see what those dark peaks held.

As Haven schlepped up the mountain, his hammer bouncing between his pack and his shoulder blades he felt a sense of enormous calm.
He made weapons. That was what he did and who he was. His father was a master warrior and the best teacher in the land if a little harsh. Yet even from an early age he lacked his fathers natural flair with a weapon. He recalled with pride the moment when his father had noticed his true talent.
Still in his early teens, not yet a man, Haven would work quietly in the forge. Helping repair tools and craft armaments.
"If you know how its made. See your blade or hammer or spear from creation perhaps you will find your gift." Reth'sa had smiled warmly and that was exactly what he had done.
While repairing a spear his father had snuck into the forge to surprise his son with a hearty lunch. As he edged closer to the boy, sweating in the heat of the forge, half formed muscles stretching under his rapidly bulking out frame, he heard him humming. Not just a simple tune but a lullaby. One his mother had sung to him as a child. As he hummed he punctuated each crescendo with a hammer blow, each pause with a heating in the flame. But more importantly as he hummed, his clan marking glowed. The tattoo all males of the eisenstein were marked with. The ironstone on his left forearm.
In the flames of the forge Haven nor any other had noticed, not that anyone payed much attention to him fixing tools in the corner. When the song was done and the spear complete Haven turned to see his father stood silently watching him. He took the spear from his son and handled, testing the weight and edge.
"And i was so afraid," Haven grumbled to himself. "Thought i'd soured it right up." He chuckled. But instead his father had brought it to his ear and launched it straight into a pine tree. A perfect throw. But what intrigued Haven was the trail it had left as it had flown. The falling leaves had spun around it and in its wake. As if the spear itself were the point of a hurricane.
"Father how did you do that?" I asked turning to face him.
"I didn't my child. You did. You have the gift of the ironstone. I'll take you to the forge master tomorrow. You will be a great magesmith someday."
I still felt the warmth of his tone even having relived that memory a hundred times. I was pulled from my revelry by a pair of horse off to my right also headed up the mountain. Atop one a greying man, by his clothing and riding style a soldier of some kind.
"Hail fellow. I am Haven Eisenstein. Do you also travel up the mountain?" He seemed to pause at mine before replying.