The Bandits of Infinity Forest

Chapter One

In the dark of night my two dogs, Yelena and Flint start up, growling. They relax slightly as they hear the familiar wild running of a scout, Jeff Riley.

He bursts into my deer-hide tent gasping: "One-hundred foot soldiers coming this way, Sir! And fifty-odd cavalry!"

I'm on my feet immediately and push him out of the way, grabbing my bow and quiver as I do so.

"Mount up!" I rouse my area of the camp. The call spreads as I wind my black horn, inherited from my late father.

I pull down the eye-mask built into my hood and sling the arrows over my shoulder as I stride to where my mare, Black Robin, is picketed. She rears and snorts in excitement as I approach.

"Steady, girl."

I quickly slip her tack on, giving her reassuring pats now and then to calm her.

"What's going on, Captain?" shouts my second in command, Jack, as he races toward me.

"Hundred footies, fifty horsemen," I answer shortly.

He groans slightly. "What's the plan, Sir?"

I give him a look, "Mount up."

He nods awkwardly and sprints away.

I quickly mount Black Robin and check for the dogs, who are hanging around the horse's feet. As we trot back to my tent I survey my camp of outlaws and make sure everyone's packing up.

Since we live in the woods with supplies virtually everywhere, our first rule, if we're attacked, is grab a weapon and ready your horse. Only after do you secure your other belongings.

I dismount and slip into my tent, first I grab my knife and water, then any remaining food and blankets-which only just fit into the saddle-bags. Finally, I roll up my tent and stuff it into an old tree-trunk since it's too bulky for the saddle in a charge.

Suddenly, the camp grows silent as the loud tramp of marching feet breaks through the still night air.

"Mount!" I yell as I sprint back to Black Robin. "Now! Now! Now!!"

As I sit astride her, my heart sinks when I evaluate our odds: my band of outlaws is only fifty strong. There are other groups hidden in the forest who'd help us, but it's too late.

The soldiers break through the trees, naked blades flashing in the moonlight.

"Attack!" I yell, and Black Robin leaps forward. Alongside, more men charge with us.

Bows twang and several soldiers fall, but there's plenty more to replace them, and, in answer, burning javelins are hurled forward.

Several of my men scream.

And then I'm upon them, I yank my sword out of its sheath attached to the saddle and lop off a man's head before parrying a blow and killing its deliverer.

The fight goes on for about half an hour. Luckily my men are all on horseback which gives us an advantage, while those whose horses have been killed shinny up the trees and pick off the enemy cavalry with bows.

Suddenly, a riderless horse blunders forward, causing Black Robin to stumble. Almost immediately rope nooses are thrown around her neck, while more catch her legs.

She falls to her knees, throwing me off. I reflexively drop my drawn sword but keep hold of my bow.

Jumping upright, I quickly fire at a soldier sprinting toward me. He falls, but another yanks me over from behind, drawn blade shining in the moonlight.

He leers down at me triumphantly, but then his expression changes and he howls in fear and hate as Yelena and Flint leap over me and attack him. He drops the knife.

I roll over and bury the blade of my own knife in his chest before racing toward the other end of the battle field where the soldiers are roping the bucking and kicking Black Robin to a sturdy pine.

I load an arrow and prepare to fire, but before I get a chance an agonizing pain erupts at the back of my head. I only have time to call: "Retreat!" before the world goes black.

When I wake, I realize my hands are tied tightly behind my back, while I myself am tied to the tree behind me.

When a tall stocky man crouched by the large bonfire in the middle of the clearing with the other soldiers looks up and realizes I'm conscious he grins and makes his way over.

"Howdy," he sneers, "w't's yer name?"

I consider this and decide it won't do any harm to tell him: it might produce fear to a good advantage.

"Jedi," I tell him.

He spits. "That's not a real name," he growls, "who are you?"

I blow out my breath, "Jedidiah."

"Jedi-What!?"

"Exactly."

He puffs his smelly breath in my face as he leans over.

"Well, Captain, I guess you'll be having a nice reception back home at the palace, won't you? King Luther will be delighted," he chuckles grimly.

My heart sinks: revealing who I am was a stupid idea. Now I can look forward to a torturous death. Yay.

"Don' mind me askin'," the man's speaking again, "but, w't's so bad about the royals, hey?"

I swallow. "Why?" I'm suspicious.

He shrugs, "J'st curious, I guess, I mean, me workin' for thim means they look after me fam'ly an' 'en 'ere's yous outlaws runnin' round tryina overthrow them, and I'm goin': 'huh?'!"

I stare into the fire. "They look after your family, eh? Well they killed mine," I say bitterly. "And you don't forget," I look at him furiously, "you don't forget how your father died trying to save you. You don't forget how, as you run behind your mother to stop the arrows, she suddenly trips you and ducks, just too late. What would YOU do, faced with that?!"

He looks disturbed, "They really did 'at?"

I nod, avoiding his gaze, trying to calm my sudden, aching rage.

"W-why?" he speaks more respectfully now. "If you don' mind me askin', 'at is."

"The dragons," I lie.

"O-ooh," he's suddenly subdued.

He sits in silence before finally walking back to his tent, deep in thought.