An Experiment, Part 4 – The Woods

2 for chasing the bandit, 1 for helping the innkeeper. Looks like he’s on his own.

Sparing a glance for the stricken inn-staff, you hurl yourself out of the door and into the night, blunt sword in hand. You think that you have been blinded for a moment, before your eyes adjust from the warm light of the inn to the near-total darkness outside it. It is full night now, the tall trees casting long shadows across the road in the light of the stars, before swallowing up that light entirely.

You see the bandit run into the treeline, and he is swallowed too, but you sprint after him – or at least stumble quickly, still dazed from the blow to your head. A little blood drips into your eyes, and you wipe it away hastily, keeping your eyes on where the bandit disappeared. Then you are in the trees, and in the dark. You almost run headlong into a heavy elm straight away, but by reaching out with your borrowed sword you can feel anything that gets in your way. You certainly cannot see it. Your eyes adjust to the darkness but that only serves to show you many different shades of shadow.

But you can hear the bandit, stumbling even more badly than you. That shield was heavy, and the serving-girl stronger than she looked. You hear a dull thump and accompanying curse as the bandit hits a tree, can hear the undergrowth rustling. You try to move as quietly as you can so you do not overpower your quarry’s noise. It gets no louder as you push deeper into the darkness of the trees, but gets no quieter either. You are on the right track.

Or you think you are.

You pause for a moment, and are struck by the stillness of the forest, the absolute silence. The light of the inn behind you is almost entirely obscured, as are the stars above your head. There is no sound of movement, no birdsong, nothing. It worries you. You have been travelling through the forest for days, and you know that even at night, there should be noise. Something is wrong.

It is only the crack of a twig that gives him away, but that is enough for you to dodge the bandit’s wild swing and crack him across the shins with your blunt sword. He staggers, club swinging wildly, and you shove him bodily into the nearest tree, hearing the dull thump of bone on wood. The bandit is dazed again, but still dangerous, and in the dark you cannot quite see where his nail-studded club is. But you catch a tiny glint of starlight from some piece of metal, and it is enough to aim for, and your next blow catches the man below his ribs. It does not cut flesh, but it winds him, and you leap forward and bear him bodily to the ground, smashing the club out of his hand and pressing the blunt edge of the sword to his throat. You can just see the bandit’s wide eyes above your hands.

“Alright, alright!” he splutters, choking slightly as your sword presses on his windpipe. “I’m done! I’m done!”

You stay there for a moment, unsure what to do next. The bandit sees your hesitation.

“Look,” he said, “I know when I’m beaten. The other two are probably dead or prisoners. Stubborn buggers. But you let me go, I’ll make it worth your while.” He hisses in pain as you press the sword down a little harder. “Camp’s not far,” he says. “Our camp and our stash. I’ll take you there. Cut you in. Just let me go afterwards.”

You kneel there, the bandit at your mercy, and think. You could bind him, and drag him back to the inn. It is still a fair journey to Whetstone, but you are sure the constables there can be persuaded to ride out and bring justice tomorrow. The innkeeper would doubtless be glad to bring all the bandits to justice.

Your sword is blunt, but it is heavy enough to do real damage. This man does not have to leave the trees at all. That, too, would be a kind of justice.

Or you could hear the bandit out, and go with him to his stash – if you trust his word.

What will you do?

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