The Bandits of White Bend
by J. G. Proctor
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
conclusion
For several hours, they traversed half-hidden game trails through a forest of ancient oaks that had been old even before humans had settled these lands. Almar was not half the horseman these knights were, but he did his best to hold on and follow them. As the paths became narrower and harder to find, Almar reflected that Sir Pellinore had not been lying when he said that he knew these woods and trails well. Eventually, they came to a clearing in the forest and saw the Old Tower rising from the hill like a sword thrust into the ground and left to rust.
The hill was heavily wooded, which would thankfully mask their approach as they rode carefully to the foot of the hill. Sir Pellinore then signalled for them to all dismount. “We will leave the horses here with Sir Tristane. Sir Tristane will also take responsibility for the care of Miri,” Sir Pellinore ordered.
“My lord, I am as strong a knight as any of you. I am ready for this!” Sir Tristane protested earnestly, hand clenched excitedly on the hilt of his sword.
“I do not doubt your prowess, Sir Tristane. Why do you think I have given you the most important job? If the bandits surrender to me, then we will need Miri’s testimony for their trial. She must be protected,” Sir Pellinore said firmly, meeting his subordinate’s earnest pleas with mild reproof.
Sir Tristane looked abashed and inclined his head in respect. “I will do as you command, my lord.”
Sir Pellinore, Almar and the other knights crept carefully through the woods. They could not rely on surprising these bandits. Men in gleaming plate armour trying to sneak during broad daylight was perhaps not the best idea. The main goal was to get as close as possible before the bandits noticed them and pelted them with arrows and crossbow bolts.
There were no sentries or traps or anything to impede their progress. The bandits were either extremely confident or extremely foolish. With the bandits having a mage, Almar had been expecting to see some sort of magical defences, either wards or traps, but he saw nothing. A Spell-Born mage might simply be ignorant of the crafting of such defences.
They reached the edge of the tree line without incident, where they surveyed the ruins of the tower. The tower dominated their view, reaching forty feet into the air and being about half that in diameter. There were some crude tents around the base of the tower, and the smell of meat cooking over the fires curled into the air. Bandits were lounging around fires, drinking and eating without a care in the world, apparently. Weapons lay loose on the ground. Although seven bandits were lazing around the fires, there was almost certainly more in the tower itself.
“Can you see the mage?” Sir Pellinore whispered. Almar restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Contrary to popular belief, mages did not universally wear pointy hats and brightly colored robes.
“No, they may be in the tower, though,” Almar replied.
“Can you not use a spell to detect their magic?” Sir Guilliame asked incredulously.
“Only if they are actively casting a spell,” Almar explained.
Sir Pellinore was deep in thought as he looked at the scene. “We attack now, while we still have the element of surprise!” he declared.
“But the mage, my lord?” Sir Everet asked nervously.
“We cannot sit here waiting to be discovered. We will simply have to rely on Master Kalatis’ skills to ensure our victory,” Sir Pellinore commanded. He turned to Almar.
“Master Kalatis, I ask that you allow my brothers and me to lead the charge. We will break them and hopefully flush out their mage for you to deal with once and for all,” Sir Pellinore plotted.
It was a reasonable plan given their lack of time and other options, Almar reflected. He nodded his agreement.
“My brothers! Let us bring these bandits to justice!” In practised unison, the knights drew their long swords and lowered their visors. Almar followed by drawing his sword. The knights arranged themselves in a triangular formation and strode briskly out of the tree line. As soon as they were clear of the tree line, they began to run.
“You wretched robbers and murderers! Surrender yourselves to face justice or die upon our blades!” Sir Pellinore yelled as a challenge. The seven bandits scrambled to their feet in surprise. One made the prudent decision to simply run in the opposite direction. The other six quickly picked up their assortment of weapons: old spears, wood axes, and what looked like a blacksmith’s hammer.
The knights quickly closed in on the bandits.
A bandit with a spear tried to fend off Sir Guilliame. Sir Guilliame simply snatched the spear out of the bandit’s hand and slashed his sword across the bandit’s chest, tearing the bandit’s quilted jacket.
A bandit with a rusty wooden axe charged at Sir Everret and swung his axe in a powerful blow. Sir Everret buffeted the charging bandit with his shield, sending the man sprawling to the ground. A quick thrust with the knight’s blade finished the bandit off.
Meanwhile, Sir Guilliame had engaged the bandit with the hammer. It was a heavy and awkward weapon, designed to create, not destroy. Sir Guilliame easily evaded the bandit’s clumsy strikes. The bandit swung desperately again and again, overextending himself. Sir Guilliame slashed downwards on the bandit’s unprotected face. The bandit collapsed to the ground, screaming.
Five more bandits emerged from the tower. These seemed to be the elite, covered in chainmail and equipped with bows and sharp blades that glinted in the sunlight. With five of the original bandits dead, dying or fled, the remaining two fell back to join their comrades from the tower. The knights used this opportunity to resume their formation.
Almar watched for a moment as the new bandits joined the fray. He held himself apart from the scrum, patiently waiting for someone to cast a spell. However, much to Almar’s dismay, none of them did anything even remotely resembling spellcraft. A mage could still be hiding in the tower, he thought as he raised his magical defences.
“I will give you one last chance: throw down your weapons and surrender yourself to my justice,” Sir Pellinore offered.
A hulking bandit with a rusted chain shirt, large hammer and badly burnt head stepped forward. He sneered at the offer and spat at the ground.
“I would rather die with your blood pooling at me feet than with my own piss dribbling down my leg while I swing at the end of a noose,” the bandit declared with a manic gleam in his eye.
“As you wish,” Sir Pellinore responded as he and his knights readied to charge the bandits.
“No!” A sudden shout echoed across the hilltop. Emerging out of the trees was the little peasant girl, Miri.
Miri stood beneath the trees, arms crossed in defiance, as magical fire swirled all around her.
* * *
Bandits and knights alike recoiled in fear at the sight of Miri in all of her terrible power. With a flick of her wrist, Miri sent a blast of fire at the bandits. Most of them jumped out of the way, but one poor archer was not quick enough and caught the full brunt of the blast square in the chest. The bandit screamed as the magical fire consumed him. Almar ran to interpose himself between the knights and Miri and prepared himself to defend them against Miri’s attacks.
“You left me behind!” Miri screamed, not at Sir Pellinore but at the bandits.
The bald bandit with the burnt head looked around frantically. “We did not mean to! It was an accident. You burned the whole village down, Miri!” The bandit pleaded, his eyes wide with fright.
Miri stalked towards the remaining bandits. Although the devastation she had unleashed was formidable, Almar thought that she appeared to be doing nothing more than throwing a tantrum. It seemed obvious to Almar now that Miri was Spell-Born. How else could she have survived the fire that had devoured the home in whose ashes she had been playing when they had found her?
“You said you’d look after me!” Miri screamed, voice raw with pain and betrayal. The fire swirling around her seemed to glow white-hot as her anger increased. She raised her hand towards the cowering bandits.
“You lied to me. You were very, very bad. Now you need to be punished,” Miri declared with all the self-righteous fury of an aggrieved child. A wave of fire exploded from Miri and raced towards the bandits. Almar reached out with his magic to try to dispel the fire. It was incredible, like trying to push a charging bull back by the horns. Miri had no finesse, just pure power.
Almar could not dispel her magic. He did not have the power to do so. All he could do was redirect it. With an erratic and unpolished thrust of his off-hand hand, he sent the spell shooting upwards into the sky like an upside-down comet. The fire quickly dissipated above them.
Miri looked at him in outrage and confusion. Almar suddenly realised she had probably never met another mage.
“Enough, Miri. You wield a power you cannot control. Stop! Or you will kill us all,” Almar ordered. He hoped that he sounded more confident than he felt.
“I DON’T WANT TO,” Miri screamed in defiance.
“These are bad men, Miri. You are right: they need to be punished, but that is best left up to the adults, no?” Sir Pellinore called. He had raised his visor, the earnestness of his expression visible to all.
“No! I want to punish them,” Miri said as tears streamed down her face.
Almar was beginning to realise what he would need to do. The child was out of control and far too powerful for Almar to suppress magically by himself. Too dangerous to live. She had already destroyed three villages and killed who knew how many people.
The knights would never dirty their hands with killing the girl. Almar was loath to do it; if there were any other way, he would not even consider it. But as he saw the flames twirling around her grow higher and reach towards the leafy canopy above her, Almar knew that he had no choice: Miri must die.
Miri was about fifteen feet away from Almar. She hovered about a foot off the ground, buoyed by her own magical flames.
Almar charged.
Miri had been distracted by Sir Pellinore, but she turned in time to see Almar swing his blade overhead at her. She did not have the eyes of a deranged monster bent on human destruction, but the eyes of a frightened and confused child. Regret seized Almar’s limbs, but it was too late; he could not stop the sword’s descent.
The sword froze in motion above Miri’s head. Miri’s hands were raised as if to fend off the blow, and her magic had obeyed. She raised her eyes to meet his, fear turning to anger and with a throwing of her hands, she blasted Almar away. He landed on his back in front of Sir Pellinore with a sudden gasp as the air was knocked from his lungs.
Almar was winded. He scrambled awkwardly for his sword, but could only watch as Sir Pellinore stepped over him and walked slowly towards Miri.
“Miri, child, enough. Please, there has been enough death,” Sir Pellinore said calmly. His sword was sheathed, and he had raised both hands to the air to show that he was unarmed.
“Almar tried to kill me!” Miri cried, voice shrill and frightened.
“Yes, he did. You were scaring him, Miri. Scaring all of us. It is time to stop,” Sir Pellinore stated placatingly.
Almar watched in surprise as Miri did not cook the knight alive in his own armour. Instead, she floated back down to the ground. The flames subsided. Gone was the terrifying Spell-Born. In its place was a scared and crying little girl.
Sir Pellinore approached, knelt in front of her and gently embraced the child. Almar stood up, picked up his sword and sheathed it, feeling heartily ashamed of himself. What few bandits that were still alive after Miri’s onslaught were fleeing into the woods.
“Come, my brothers, let us leave this place,” Sir Pellinore declared, picking up Miri and walking down the hill with the child in his arms.
* * *
They found an unconscious Sir Tristane slumped against a tree. Miri explained that Sir Tristane had tried to prevent her from running away, and she had pushed him into the tree, and he had knocked his head. The young knight was unhurt, though a little embarrassed. They spent some time gathering their startled horses, who had escaped their tethers once Miri’s light show had begun.
It was decided that the group would return to Sir Pellinore’s estate. Miri would reside with the lord as his ward until either her parents could be found or she had come of age. Sir Pellinore promised Almar that he would write to the Mages Guild immediately to find Miri a tutor who could teach her to control her magic.
Almar nodded his agreement to this plan silently, unwilling and unable to look at the girl he had almost murdered.
The following day, Sir Pellinore rode with Almar to the boundary of the lord’s lands. Even though he had already provided Almar with the promised pass of safe passage, the knight had insisted on riding with Almar to the border as a courtesy. They rode in tense, awkward silence for most of the way. Sir Pellinore had not said anything to Almar since they had left his estate that morning. Almar had likewise not engaged with the knight, but he knew he had to say something. Sir Pellinore had been more than fair to him.
“My lord, I wanted to apologise for...” Almar began.
“For almost murdering a little girl?” Sir Pellinore interrupted bluntly. There was no trace of the elderly knight’s usual good humour. “You would do better to apologise to Miri, Master Kalatis,” he continued reproachfully. His tone was mild, but his words cut as deftly as a sword.
“You are correct, of course, my lord. I was wrong,” Almar admitted with a slump to his shoulders and eyes downcast with shame.
“Why did you try to kill her?” Sir Pellinore asked. “You carry with you now my seal on your letter of safe passage. I must know what sort of man I have enabled,” Sir Pellinore replied in a harsh tone, all pretences of geniality gone.
“I thought it was the only way. She was too powerful to contain or suppress magically,” Almar explained. He sat up straighter in his saddle, not wanting to seem cowed or weak.
“You believed it was the only way.” Sir Pellinore replied haughtily, “You saw only her power, not the little girl that wielded it.” Disgust curled off him. “I will not pretend to know you, Master Kalatis, or the nature of your journey, but you wield a sword. Most likely, you will find yourself in a similar situation again. I am sure you will think it is necessary to repeat the actions that you took with Miri, but I ask that you remember that violence and death are not the only solutions,” Sir Pellinore stated without looking at Almar as he reined his horse in. His gaze swept the landscape, taking in the gently rolling hills criss-crossed with vineyards and dotted with small white specks of sheep out to graze.
Almar nodded, listening to the knight’s wisdom. He realised that they were at the edge of Sir Pellinore’s fief. The old knight offered his hand. Almar shook it and, with a final nod in farewell, Almar rode east towards the Altharan River, towards an uncertain future.
Copyright © 2025 by J. G. Proctor
