Corrben and the other scouts crept up on the camp site. The southerners were sitting on crates, drinking stolen ale and smoking stolen pipeweed. There had been a raid on a Staddle farm and likely this was some of the booty. He crouched, his spear gripped in his hand, feeling a trickle of sweat down the back of his neck. There were three men, including one of those squinty eyed ugly bastards who were notoriously cruel and good fighters. The other was a woman, though it was hard to tell if she was young because her face was lined and dirty, hard from poverty and war.
At Brittleleaf's signal, they sprung from hiding, Corrben using his spear to catch one of the men before he was able to grab a shield. The long iron head pierced the man in the lower abdomen and when he yanked it back, coils of intestines came along with it. The man screamed, grasping at his guts and Corrben nearly dropped the spear in surprise. Twisting it, the barbed head finally tore free, in time for him to bring it up to block a sword blow from the squint eyed man. It nearly knocked him back, slipping in the spilled blood on the stone. The man sneered and drew back for another blow, Corrben dropping and rolling away. Swinging the spear around he tried to stab the squint eyed man but he dodged and with a hard blow, splintered the shaft of the spear with his broadsword.
Holding the broken haft, Corrben threw it at the squint eyed man's face forcing him to duck as he drew his sword. In the fray, Brittleleaf slew the other man and Oakdale was contending with the woman who fought like a wildcat, daggers in both hands. Shouts went up and they could hear boots on stone and Corrben cursed, reinforcements were coming. An arrow pinged off the stone wall near his head and he shouted to Brittleleaf, "Fucking archers! Let's go!"
Brittleleaf yanked his sword from the chest of the fallen man and held up his shield as one of the arrows thunked into the wood. He nodded, grabbing Oakdale who was cut up badly on his arms but had finally put the woman down. She lay moaning from a blow to the head, blood leaking in her filthy hair. The squint eyed man was not done and he grinned viciously as he aimed to lop off the young Watcher's head.
Corrben could feel the air as the sword passed inches from the top of his head as he ducked down and he ran forward, the only way to deal with the longer sword and reach of the southerner. Barrelling into him, he used his shoulder to hit the man's stomach, knocking the wind out of it. The Breelander was not tall but was built solid and it was enough to knock the squint eyed man back. Brittleaf jumped in, stepping down on the man's hand that gripped the sword and drew his own blade back, ready to end him.
"Wait!" Corrben shouted, "We take him, Grimbriar wants a prisoner and this asshole looks better dressed than the others."
They had to hurry, the arrows were getting closer to hitting their mark and the sound of men charging up the crumbling stone stairs. Corrben hit the man with the pommel of his sword stunning him long enough to bind his arms and force him to his feet. The Watchers dragged him along, Oakdale turning and firing his bow a few times to keep their pursuers at bay. They ran past their hiding place, not wanting to lead the brigands to their spot and kept going down the Old Greenway, pushing their prisoner down until they were at the edge of the Midgewater.
Corrben was panting, wheezing to catch his breath and Brittleleaf laughed, "Too much leaf, Fenflower. Now your lot know the marshes, right? Find us a path to those ruins."
He frowned, holding his side and grimaced, "You're right, I need to quit the pipe. And we've not lived near the marsh in quite sometime, thank you."
Corrben's family name came from hundreds of years past, when his ancestors scraped a living from the Midgewater, using ingenuity and hard work to rise above their meager beginnings. The name honored that, the flower of the fenland though now they had a proper sprawling farm away from the swampy area.
Oakdale complained about the cuts, "The midges will be all over me, blast that woman and her knives."
The squint eyed southerner glared at them, speaking in a rough, gravelly voice, "I'll not talk. Peasant cunts."
Corrben shoved him roughly forward, making him fall to his knees in the muck and then kicked his ribs, satisfied with the pained grunt. Grabbing him by the long stringy hair, he yanked him back to his feet.
Brittleleaf waved his hand, brushing away the gathering flies, "Go on ahead then, Oakdale, find Grimbriar and tell him we have a package for him."
