Tig
He watched, he calmed his breathing, and he waited. An ant struggled to gain a foothold, fleeing to its nest in the lashing rain. He smiled to himself as the tiny forager discarded the minute stalk of grass it had diligently been carrying and settled underground, avoiding the boulder-sized raindrops.
He was no hero - far from it – but he was a pragmatist and this situation needed dealing with, now. For three days they had been following him. Like three needy hounds who knew their pursuit of their master would give them an easy life. Never giving up the scent, always picking up the trail. “Fucking dogs”, he said through gritted teeth. His horse was tired. He was tired. The nearest settlement was three days away, he’d never make it. It was now or never.
Today had given him two pieces of luck: the onset of a deluge of rain, the likes of which were rarely seen in this god-forsaken, arid scrubland, and an ally he could depend on. He was starting to shiver. His coat would have been some recompense for the raging torrent, but needs must and for the deception to work he’d have to forgo it.
He scanned his makeshift campsite directly in front of him. He was on the highest piece of ground he’d seen in the last two days: a massive outcrop of granite that must have been deposited eons ago. He patted its slick surface. The rock sloped upwards to a nice flat summit where he laid in wait with his notched crossbow.
Some people had pets they named, he had his crossbow. He pampered it, he meticulously fussed over it, and he loved it. He called it ‘True’. It was unusual for a crossbow. It could fire two bolts in quick succession due to an automatic reload. When one bolt was fired, another one took its place immediately, saving time and, hopefully, his life. It was the most extravagant thing he owned. He’d paid a Lyrian merchant a small fortune for it. Smiling, he kissed the stock of True.
The rain was making visibility nigh on impossible. He made out his horse and the individual sat beside it, hunched over, gaining some refuge from the sheets of falling rain. His campsite looked inviting to anyone, except someone trying to catch him unawares. His horse shook its head and let out a snort – had it caught something in the air?
An arrow thunked into the back of the hunched individual and two warriors clad in chainmail, carrying scimitars, came hurtling through the maelstrom. Tig caught the first one just as he was reaching the hunched over figure. His bolt penetrated the warrior’s right eye, who dropped dead instantly. The second warrior looked around, startled, trying to fathom out where the bolt had come from. With the rain obscuring his vision, he turned his attention back to the individual at the campsite and struck out with his scimitar. A second bolt caught him in the neck, cutting off his triumphant scream as he struck the hunched figure, and he fell to the floor, twitching.
Tig knew there were three of them. “When’s the other fucker coming?” he thought. A berserker roar of battle sounded behind him. He drew his sword and turned just in time to see the biggest monster of a man sprinting towards the lower slope of the rock. The warrior was immense, at least twice his size. “Come on, you big ugly fucker!” he shouted at the warrior, beckoning him on with his sword. Tig had the advantage of height on top of the rock – he wouldn’t need it.
The berserker’s legs crumpled beneath him at the bottom of the slope, and he toppled over, face-planting into the rock’s hard surface. Tig looked at the warrior, who was trying to regain his feet. Unconcerned, Tig squatted down and smiled. “How you feeling?” he asked the warrior, like a mother would speak to a poorly child. “Feeling a bit groggy? Muscles not working?” The berserker shook his head. Tig continued, “That pit you ran into at the bottom of the slope took me two hours of digging in the pissing down rain.” Tig picked up a tiny pebble and flicked it at the berserker’s head. “Bet you can’t feel that, can you?”
He strode down the slope towards the pit and stopped at the side of the prone berserker. His eyes followed the length of the man’s body down to his legs, one of which was twisted by the fall, and caught an iridescent gleam of colour. Tig squatted down and lifted the warrior’s head, gently turning it on its side to face him. He was missing two front teeth and blood was streaming down his nose, though his eyes were alert, flicking back and forth. Tig looked into the warrior’s eyes. “Yes, I know”, he said conspiratorially, “you want to rip me limb from limb. You want to shove your scimitar right up my arse. But you can’t, can you? You can’t move, you can’t speak, you can’t even curse me. What the fuck is happening, you’re thinking. Why can’t I move? Why can’t I kill this annoying little cunt?” Tig sighed. “You see, I don’t like unfair odds, never have. Three against one? They say bullies always come in threes.” Tig paused and looked down at the pit. “Do you know what a rainbow viper is?” The warrior’s eyes flicked back and forth rapidly. Tig smiled wickedly back. “Of course, you do. One bite can paralyse a horse in twenty seconds, a man in half that time. I needed an ally. As I said before, three against one”, Tig tutted, “not very fair.” He patted the berserker’s cheek and whispered in his ear, “I fucking hate bounty hunters.”
Tig stood up and looked towards the campsite. The rain was losing its intensity. He looked down at the warrior and said, “Well, nice talking to you, got to be off now. I’ll need to find your horses and provisions, hope one of you had a decent coat. Might as well leave mine on that scrub bush, it’s full of holes now anyway”, he smiled, looking at the campsite. “A bit like your two friends.
“Oh, I almost forgot! After the paralysis, your lungs fill up with blood and you choke to death”, he looked at the berserker’s still eyes and the blood pooling from his mouth, “although you probably know that already.”
Tig picked up True and strode down the rock slope, giving the pit a wide berth - he would leave the viper be, he could never harm an ally – and headed for his horse.
