Blessings of Faith Pt. 01

"You've been avoiding me." A shiver ran down Miles' spine as the raspy voice of Samir reached his ear. "You're getting better, but not nearly as good as you think."

"It's a small camp, Samir, it would be impossible to avoid you." Miles hadn't moved a muscle.

"Which begs the question, if it's impossible, why try?"

"Sharpening my skills?" he offered.

Samir snorted, "Be in the pit in ten minutes." When Miles looked over his shoulder at the spot he was sure Samir had been in; it was empty. The man was a spook from the south, able to disappear and appear just about anywhere. That wasn't the worst part about him though, it was his fighting style. Every move designed to disable, to bend bones in ways they were never meant to be bent, to dislocate and immobilize. Miles was always sore after a session with him.

Miles sighed and moved to the pit, a flat area with sand and gravel. He took the opportunity to limber up and try to stretch out as much as possible. After months sparring with Samir, he had to admit that he was far more flexible now than he ever was before.

Samir walked slowly to the pit. He was a ruggedly handsome man, clean beard along his strong jawline, short hair fluttered in the breeze, but that predatory look in his eyes and the way he seemed to glide silently along the ground just set Miles on edge.

Samir took a stance three paces in front of Miles. "You may begin. You have," Miles had already kicked sand up into the air and lunged forward. He was within striking distance and lashed out with his right hand with a controlled blow to the throat. Samir pivoted back on his right foot and then brought up his right arm to counter the elbow the Miles transitioned to.

Miles stepped back on his right foot, avoiding the straight kick that was aimed at his solar plexus and brought both hands down to prevent the follow-up to his chin from the bicycle kick. He dropped low and spun his leg to catch Samir's leg but hit only air. He maintained the momentum and spun quickly into a flying spin kick, but again missed as Samir repositioned himself immediately behind Miles.

Samir hooked his right arm under Miles' right arm, placed his right foot immediately behind Miles', and rolled his shoulder forward, adding to his momentum and sending Miles over Samir and into the ground. Miles gasped for air as his right arm bent behind him, a foot pressed on his left hand, a knee hit his spine and a clawed hand grasped his neck.

"And what was your mistake this time?" Samir held him tight; Miles was completely locked down.

"I didn't keep my arms tight to my body." Miles gasped through the claws on his throat, which loosened.

"Correct. Good use of sand, good follow through. Always moving from one move to the next, never stopping, always thinking ahead and covering your weaknesses."

Miles pushed himself up and rolled his shoulder, checking that it was still intact.

Samir drew a knife, holding it in a forward grip. "Again."

For the next hour, Miles became intimately familiar with the ground, as Samir tripped, tossed, flung, and slammed him into it. Luckily, the sand absorbed much of the impact. His limbs were also twisted, bent, and bowed as he attempted to escape holds and locks. Samir in turn proved to be the slipperiest of opponents, slipping out of every grab, flipping over himself to counter locks, and bending at impossible angles to avoid strikes.

It was an hour later and every joint and muscle ached. Miles was amazed by Samir's flexibility and fine control, as he never even nicked Miles with the blade, but always made it clear he felt where it was. He was happy that he had been able to disarm the wiry man once, but he still wasn't sure if Samir simply let him in order to lock up his arm and get Miles to tap out again.

Miles had just brushed off the last of the sand when Austin approached him. The old merc moved purposefully, a dour expression on his face. He stopped in front of Miles, considering him for a moment, sucking on his teeth.

"Do you know how many mercs I've seen die on their first encounter?" His voice rolled gruffly off his tongue. "Do you know how many kids I've had to bury because they thought they were ready?" He pulled a sheathed knife from his belt, "This knife, was given to me when I started as a merc. I've used this to slice more people open than I can count, and it's the only thing I've ever counted on. Because out there? You only have yourself. No one will save you. You'll need to save yourself."

Miles swallowed, maintaining eye contact with the veteran.

"Now, tell me." He stepped closer to Miles, in his face, "Do you think you're ready?"

"No. I know I am."

Austin leaned back, looking him up and down again. "Well, then. That makes it unanimous." He offered the knife to Miles. "May she serve you well." Miles took it gratefully and strapped it to his belt.

Austin turned to leave, but paused, looking over his shoulder at Miles, "That don't mean you're one of us yet rook. Best do me proud out there." He resumed walking back to the camp. "We break camp at dawn."

The Escort Mission

The next day the group struck camp at dawn. Miles rolled up and stored the tents on the cart, while Celeste was managing the cooking utensils. Helen was prepping Aurora, their only riding horse, and checking Tobi, the draft horse. Harun was laying out everyone's equipment for the mission and packing the rest onto the cart. Allen cleaned up the campsite while Dylan and Austin reviewed the mission.

Once the camp was struck, they donned their armor. They used primarily light leather like chest pieces, braces, shin guards and heavy boots. Each member wore a heavy cloak and grabbed at least one sword and knife. Each merc preferred a slightly different loadout, so there were additional weapons and armor that were available.

Harun typically wore chainmail over his leathers, but since this was a scouting mission, he decided not to weigh himself down. He grabbed a set of javelins and two throwing axes, which he kept behind him in his belt.

As the two best shots they had, Helen and Allen grabbed their composite bows and quivers, wearing swords on their hips. Miles dressed in a similar fashion, strapping a short sword on his left and extra throwing dagger behind his back, Austin's blade still on his belt.

Austin typically rode Aurora for the missions, but decided against it and would instead have her back with the cart. He grabbed his short spear and short bow.

Dylan and Celeste just wore their usual swords and combat knives, being primarily stealth and close combat fighters. Samir grabbed the same, but he undoubtedly hid at least a dozen throwing weapons on his person at any time.

It took them an hour to travel to Lustra, but beside a few startled rabbits, nothing of note happened. Miles was relaxed for his first outing; surprisingly relaxed. It was actually gnawing on him a bit, he had expected to be a bundle of nervous energy, but it seemed like any other day to him now. Celeste had even expressed her surprise at how collected he was, noting that it had taken her a few missions before she felt fully comfortable.

The group waited outside the town for the caravan to join them. A dozen merchant guards, a broad mix of men and women of various ages and sizes, eventually approached, eyeing the mercs, leading the two wagons, each being pulled by two draft horses. The lead guard approached Austin and clasped arms in greeting. While Austin had not worked with this man before, he did have dealings with the group, and had a reputation for doing the job well and without incident.

The rest of the guards didn't engage with the mercs, which wasn't uncommon. They typically thought of mercs as sellswords, which they were, with little loyalty and just as likely to turn on them as do the job. The mercs usually viewed the guards as poorly trained dopes who would run at the first sign of battle. The first day of working together was usually tense, but as they familiarized themselves, it would typically calm down.

Austin spent some time with the merchant representative, Jalas, for final review of the contract and confirm the mission. He had negotiated a 20% pay once they reached Crownhaven and all stipulated clauses to be updated. Once they finalized the agreement they set off. The trip would take three days, heading northeast, and take them through the Black Forest; they would stay in Crownhaven for two nights and then return along the same route to Lustra.

Traversing the open fields wasn't an issue as there were few places for anyone to hide. Still, the mercs melted into the surroundings, with the guards only ever hearing bird calls. Harun had stayed with the horses and cart as he was their representative within the caravan. He was also least suited for this kind of work but kept a watchful eye.

The guards had set themselves up with half in front and half behind of the caravan with two sitting with the drivers on the wagons. Jalas sat in the lead wagon.

Miles moved silently through the high grass, taking easy and irregular strides so as not to give away his position. He wasn't expecting anything so close to the town, but he moved with his short sword drawn and listened carefully to his team members' signals.

Miles spun around fluidly to his left and extended his left hand, throwing knife about to fly, and his lips pursed for a signal, only to find Samir not five feet away from him, watching him. The man simply nodded at him before moving off to check the others. That man always set him on edge. Miles replaced his throwing knife and continued on, barely breaking stride.

Once they cleared the grassland, they came upon the forest, which was the natural ambush location. There would be many opportunities to get attacked while they traveled through it, so the mercs began ranging farther ahead, disappearing into the underbrush.

Miles took the opportunity to dart up a tree and get a vantage point on the caravan as it passed by, sliding some jerky out of his pocket and snacking on it. He noted to himself that he should ask Allen what he used for it, because it had a flavor that was vaguely reminiscent of his childhood. Something about the wood perhaps reminded him of his father's cooking. He had grown up in the area, so that would make sense.

Miles briefly noticed Allen's head poke up over a shrub. With a grin he let out the soft, short whistle they used as a "head's up" notice. Allen froze and looked up in the trees, an irritated look on his face as Miles signaled to his own eyes and then pointed at him. Allen flipped him the bird and disappeared back into the foliage. Miles chuckled to himself. It could get boring during missions, so rather than get lax, they just played games designed to keep people alert. Allen probably regretted teaching Miles the game when they hunted since he ended up on the losing side more often than not. The man was a crack shot, but his tall and lanky form made moving through low-lying brush a challenge.

Miles spotted movement out of his right eye and groaned. Helen was sitting in another tree watching him. He glanced over and she pointed to her wrist, signaling him that he'd stayed too long in one spot. He threw up his hands in surrender and headed down the tree again.

As the sun began to come down, they decided to set up camp for the evening. They left the trail and found a sheltered location where they circled the wagons and the mercenary cart and went about raising tents and starting fires. The mercs did their best to cover their tracks, but hiding the passage of heavy wagons and horses wasn't ever easy. It should keep them hidden from any but experienced trackers.

Allen spent some time chatting up the guards and getting to know them. He also managed to trade some of their spare meat for pork and chicken, which he happily handed off to Harun, whose turn it was to cook. Harun simply set up a spit-grill and roasted them over the fire. He did routinely baste it in his special sauce, which was a mixture of honey, salts, and mustard seeds. It was the only thing he ever did with meat, but it was delicious.

Austin set them up on a rotating schedule to roam the area. The guards were largely useless in the forest, so they would manage the camp watch while the mercs set up an early warning net. Helen, Allen and Miles would work separate watches as the best archers and the others would provide a second set of eyes. Miles volunteered for second watch, as everyone hated to pull that duty and he was the low man on the totem pole.

Once schedules were set, Miles grabbed his dinner so that he could get some shut-eye early.

***

Miles was awoken later with a soft kick to the foot. Allen signaled that he was up and went to grab some sleep in the newly vacated spot when Miles took off. Miles nodded to Dylan who was just getting up and they silently established in which directions they would set up.

Miles found himself a tree on the North side of the camp so that he could keep an eye out. The waxing moon provided enough light to see several dozen meters out. He could see the guards switch out an hour later, with two swapping in and circling the camp. He heard the low hoot of the wooded owl, which was their all-clear signal. He couldn't tell where it came from, but he cupped his hands and gave one back.

He shifted a little, thinking about the prior day's spar with Celeste. He had this weird sense of déjà vu, like he had fought her twice, but they weren't the same. In one he blocked a blow and received a kick to the gut, and in the other he shield-bashed her down. Maybe it had just been a lot of spars, but the weird feeling lingered.

He idly thought about her, how she had hated him when he joined and took great pleasure in kicking his ass during sparring. That slowly changed, and now she was his closest friend. Although, they flirted more than friends did, or should. He pondered a bit more on it before shaking himself out of it and resuming his watch.

His watch passed without incident, and Miles woke Helen up for her watch. He quickly fell asleep again and was woken up at dawn to the smell of breakfast.

***

Miles grabbed some eggs that Helen probably raided from a nest somewhere and chewed on some jerky and remaining chicken. He wasn't sure why, but he was feeling on edge today. He had a prickly feeling on his skin that bothered him, occasionally walking around the camp and checking the trees for markings but finding nothing.

The feeling didn't dissipate throughout the day. Something was bothering him, and he was sure it wasn't just nerves. He mentioned it to Austin, wanting to get the old merc's input. Austin hadn't noted anything amiss but preferred to be on the cautious side. He didn't immediately dismiss Miles' concerns as first mission jitters and decided to widen their net and tighten security.

They ranged even further out than the first day and used their whistles to communicate, but there was nothing to be found. They maintained this formation throughout the day until the evening when they set up camp again.

Celeste sat next to Miles while he chewed on dried fruit and jerky. "You doing alright? Long hauls can make you tense, and it'll start to fray you if you let it."

Miles sighed, and rolled his neck, "I don't know, I'm just feel something, like on the back of my neck that makes my hairs stand on end." She nodded, munching on her fruit.

"Well, Austin's got a good sense for danger, and if he's taking precautions, then it might be true. The only thing we can do though is stay aware and wait for it."

"What do you think of the merchant and his guards? They seem on the level with you?"

Celeste continued to eat and casually moved her eyes across the wagons and guards, never moving her head. "I haven't chatted much with them, but they seem like regular guards to me. They're tense, but not jumpy. Haven't caught any of them reaching for hidden weapons either."

Miles huffed, still having that sense that it was off somehow.

***

Miles ended up taking the second shift again, but this time he climbed a tree further away from the camp so that he could keep an eye on them and more of the surroundings. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness, the full moon's light occasionally piercing the tree cover. He glanced toward the camp once or twice as a check and saw four others awake and on guard around the perimeter. Austin had put the guards on a higher alert watch following their conversation.

He squatted on a big branch, leaning against the trunk, largely hidden from below. He kept his bow and three arrows in his left hand again, with two more in his right, just as Allen had shown him, and continued to scan the area. An hour into his watch and still nothing had happened. He had set down his bow and arrows within easy reach and pulled some jerky from his pocket. He let it hang from his mouth as he slowly chewed on it, keeping an eye out.

He saw the shapes moving through the underbrush silently, at least five of them. Without moving from his position, he looked to the camp, and thought he saw some motion on the other side as well. He took the jerky from his mouth and cupped his hands, making a hooting sound that blended into the background. The group though knew that the hoot was out of place and there was suddenly rapid commotion in the camp.

A horn rang out and the figures accelerated, having lost the element of surprise and charged the camp. Miles could see now that there were at least two dozen, maybe more. They still hadn't spotted him and were just about below him when he lifted his bow and rapidly fired off three arrows.

The first arrow struck one assailant in the shoulder, causing him to cry out. The second arrow hit his companion in the neck, dropping him instantly. The third arrow missed as the group had quickly scattered.

Miles jumped to another branch and raced to the other side of the massive tree. He heard two arrows fly up into the tree, near where he had been hiding. He could hear metal on metal clashing and shouts from the camp.

Miles leapt to another tree, just catching himself before slipping, and moved along the branches. There weren't any more arrows flying toward him, so he paused to locate them again.

It looked like one of them was dead, but the others had sped off to the camp, leaving two behind with bows, warily eyeing the trees. He didn't have a good shot here and didn't have a shield, so he couldn't close the distance quickly.

Miles repositioned again to a lower branch and grabbed a stone from his pocket. He watched the two archers nervously moving backwards toward the camp to join their friends, who seemed to be getting overwhelmed.

Miles threw the stone high into the original tree he was in, watching both pivot and loose arrows. He adjusted just before he fired his two remaining arrows in rapid succession and dropped to the ground, rushing around the nearest tree with his sword drawn.

He had heard one of them scream and one body hit the ground, but he could still hear feet shuffling on the forest floor. He tried the trick again, tossing the stone in the opposite direction, but there was no arrow this time. Instead, he heard the feet moving steadily away, creating more distance, but not rushing.

Miles got low to the ground and crouch walked carefully from the tree. The archer had moved too far now, and he couldn't see him. He glanced toward the camp, seeing some of the assailants down now. He licked his lips and continued the game of cat and mouse, quietly moving to another tree.

The stand-off continued with him moving around carefully and the archer nervously moving around until they heard a horn sound again. The archer broke into a sprint away from the camp and Miles.

Miles sighed in relief and went back to the downed assailants. He found the archer with an arrow in his throat, glazed eyes staring upward. He confirmed that he was dead before finding the other one, who still lay face down where he fell. He approached cautiously, having heard too many stories of supposedly dead people getting up again for a last strike. This turned out to be prudent and the man suddenly threw a knife at him when he was within a few meters.