Underestimate Me

The clattering caught up to Rowen before he was ready for it. Horse hooves pounded the ground. He did not notice that the eerie owl hooting ceased, nor did he realize no animals made any sounds. Something did capture his attention. At the edge of the tree line he found a series of broken twigs. It looked as if someone ran for their life through that particular footpath in the trees.

Rowen paused which caused the clanging behind him to cease and soft mumbling to start. He felt eyes on his body. The men had the same sensation of being watched, studied. “Why are there no forest sounds amongst these boughs?” One of the better equipped soldiers asked aloud, drawing Rowen’s attention from the twigs to the soundless canopy above his head. He saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“Let us go find the problem,” he told the questioner as he ventured forward. The soldier that asked the question grabbed his shoulder, stopping his ascent into the forest.

“Sir, should we not go ahead of yourself? Dangers could be masquerading in the darkening skies, and I promised your father myself no harm would come to you.”

Rowen silently growled to himself. He did not need nor want these men to corrupt what might be a perfect hint, the only clue, to who the rebel might be. However, the soldier would not back down. Rowen set his strong jaw and nodded. He almost called the expedition into that part of the wood off because of the darkening sky. If it got too much darker there would be no light to see by. He whispered a silent prayer to Balor before he followed his men off the main road into the darkness of the trees.

Soon the whole party saw nothing but large, dark brown, rough tree trunks. Few boughs hung low, and still no birds sang. The wind shifted rustling the lush greenery while sending a chill through the armored men. Rowen wrapped his lanky fingers around the hilt of his blade. ‘This is wrong, very wrong,’ he thought to himself. None of the men bothered to take hold of their swords. Not until the last moment.

Figures cloaked in worn leather as brown and rough as the bark on the tree trunks fell from the canopy, leaped from the boughs. “Draw your weapons!” Rowan screamed while snatching his custom sword from its sheath. His sword was light, double-edged, and fashioned after the blade Balor wielded.

“What the hell are these things,” cried the dumbest of the men Rowen was forced to bring. The creatures falling from the sky obviously women, more appropriately dressed for a battle than he’d expected, and their faced hidden beneath veils.

“Those are your rebels, I imagine,” Rowen answered before he dodged an arrow that would’ve went through his left eye. “Do not stop moving; they have friends above,” Rowen screamed over the screeching metal in front of him.

Several of the women made their way to him now. His men failing to block their attacks. He saw two of his men on the ground, choking on their own vile blood, and cursed under his breath. A sword swiped at his face. He flung his blade out blindly while leaning away from the blade trying to catch his face. His sword thudded against something fleshy, shaking as it hit. The woman fell to the ground with a large bloody gash in her chest.

Rowen stopped hesitating. Another woman swung a scimitar; he ducked and slashed her leg before pushing his blade through her stomach. His man, closest to him, fell at the hands of a skilled swordswoman. Rowen lifted his sword above his head, prepared to strike her down when a throwing knife nicked his right ear. His sword fell as he grabbed his ear, checking the true damage. Out of the corner of his eye he caught four of the men scurrying away from the battle into the darkest part of the woods.

“Traitors!” He screamed. The next woman faced him, not the skilled swordswoman. He took his anger out on her before moving to the next. An arrow struck him in his right shoulder. Rowen broke the end of the arrow, and pulled the tip out of his shoulder. He was forced to switch hands. Three more of his men fell due to the arrows in the trees.

“Balor won’t help us in this fight,” the man who noticed the lack of sounds earlier stated.

“Not when we are full of cowards,” Rowen agreed. The man rushed to stop an attack on Rowen, only to leave him open. Something crashed down on his back forcing him to his knees. He swung the sword blindly above his head. His shoulder poured blood because of the action.

‘This is it.’ Rowen thought, ‘I am going to die here.’

He closed his eyes, not wanting the last memory he saw to be a battle. Instead, he thought of his younger brother, Merek. He should have forgiven the boy a long time ago. His indiscretion, though he did not think of it as an indiscretion, was his own fault. The best night of Rowen’s life ruined him; it was his only regret.

Something clanged above his head. Rowen’s eyes shot open. One of his men pried the woman off his back. A silent nod was given in thanks before he raised his sword again. “No,” he said aloud; his voice loud and determined. “I will not be conquered here, not today.”