Recompense for a Lost Soul

[vii] Battle of Bloodied Snow - |part 1|

For a span of three heartbeats, nobody moved a muscle. A gentle breeze whispered across the road. Pitcher stood as still as a statue. All eyes were on him. None of them held recognition. But Pitcher knew, Mallen would hear about him regardless, his life of peaceful wandering would be ruined. And it did eventually get ruined, just not in the way he expected.

His purple eye gave him a general idea of how many were present. All the academy people had left, all except Emily. There were about thirteen people from the guard Sylli had mentioned to the mercenary's twenty plus. Pitcher was concerned about how lacking the guard was in number. It led him to believe that they had gotten separated or distracted somehow. He'd worry about that later, for now he breathed a slight sigh of relief that no one had recognized him. Mallen either mustn't have told his mercenaries or they didn't realize it yet. What concerned him was the red spell the mercenary was about to cast at Emily. The fact that some mercenary knew about it meant that Mallen had trained them well. As expected from Mallen. . .  Pitcher sighed in his mind. 

He had to be fast. In and out as quick as possible. He generally preferred to kill in a single slice to the throat, while avoiding the fuss of exchanging blows. It helped that everyone seemed to be using magic. All of them were internal catalyst users. Very few had swords or other weapons. But if the degree to which Mallen had trained them was more than he expected, then he would have a fight on his hands.

A cool passing wind shifted the layer of top snow, and Pitcher pounced. His mercenary days had taught him the basics of sword, but his battle sense was learned and relearned many times through all of his experiences. And his primary instinct was to slit the throat as fast and cleanly as possible. No suffering for the victim and no need for prolonged fighting. Exchanging blows was only a concern when the opponent also had a weapon. 

He targeted the man to his left. Standing with a wide open stance, the mercenary had his casting hand limp at his side, his mouth was open, transfixed by Pitcher's sudden entry. Strengthening his legs, Pitcher dashed at the man and jumped upwards and forwards, aiming the sword at the mans right jugular vein. He sliced the right side of the man's neck clean open, kicking off of the wide-eyed head and rolling to the side his slash had been aimed, effectively killing the man and toppling him within the fraction of a heartbeat.

The mercenary hit the soft, snowy ground, blood gushed out of the large gash in his neck. A trembling hand reached up to clutch it, causing him choke and splutter on his own blood. The dying man cast a twitching look at the boy who had moved on to his other prey. The man's vision began to swim as he caught sight of more necks being sliced and blood gush out, ready to join his own in painting the white canvas of the ground in the crimson red of mortal Ichor.

Pitcher had killed two more in the same way by slicing the jugulars. He preferred to not cut through the windpipe and clean through the neck. There was always a second of delay as the blade crunched through the spine, even with a honed blade like Devilsbane. And in a battle, every fraction of a second counts. He glanced around the battlefield quickly and saw Emily being ushered away by two guards. Hopefully somewhere safe thought Pitcher.

It was only after three had hit the snow that the others reacted. They raised their casting hands and took on fighting stances. A few of the mercenaries aimed spells at the boy's back but were hit by spells themselves, cast by the guards, who had started showing up in larger numbers. Within seconds, the whole battlefield was alight with sounds and flashes of spellfire, and in the middle of it was a young boy, weaving in and out of the fighting. Everywhere he stepped, another mercenary died.

The guards who had had the initiative to remove Emily from the battlefield had returned and joined the fray. They wheeled around and caught sight of the man who was dressed in fancy attire, rushing towards them. He muttered something under his breath and flung it towards the two of them. It looked to be a sharpened form of coagulated lledrith. Miraculously it swerved around their partially ducked heads and flew towards something behind them.