The Bandits of White Bend

By J.G. Proctor

Photo by Nik Shuliahin 💛💙 on Unsplash

The tavern door slammed open, letting a gale of boisterous voices blow over the tavern’s patrons.

“Break open your finest reserves, my good man, my brothers and I have a thirst,” a young man called out, carrying the rich vowels and self-serious tones of an Elatrian noble.

The commotion drew Almar’s attention away from the mediocre carin root tea he had been drinking. From his vantage point in the far corner of the tavern’s main taproom, Almar had an unrestricted view of the new arrival. Almar felt himself tense as he looked up. The young man was armed and armoured with a full harness of plate and longsword at his belt, but it was his surcoat that drew Almar’s attention. It was a white hart rampant on an emerald green field, the symbol of the Knights of Trallian. The Knights were one of the oldest and most prestigious chivalric orders in Elatria. 

Almar’s fears were confirmed when three more knights walked into the tavern. They had removed their helmets and were clearly all human—no surprises there. The oldest-looking man had greying black hair and a beard, and as he walked towards the bar, he thumped the youngest knight on the back as if to admonish him. The other two knights who walked into the room were slightly older than the first knight and looked to be in their late twenties. As they sidled up to the bar, they jostled the youngest knight, who appeared to be far more interested in haranguing the tavern keeper for drinks than engaging with his peers. The eldest knight made room for them, relaxing against the side of the bar and keeping an eye on the room.

Watching the knights, Almar felt the weight of the sword at his hip, conscious of the points of his ears. Trying to leave now would only draw their attention, so Almar sat quietly and prayed that the knights would soon be too drunk to notice him. He knew he could handle them in a fight if it came to that, but he was trying to keep a low profile. Four knights of Trallian slain in a tavern brawl by a half-elf would create too easy a trail for his father to follow.

“You there, in their corner. Come and join us, sir. The Knights of Trallian never drink alone!” The youngest knight called out to Almar.

Damn it all to the hells.

Standing up to his full height, Almar inclined his head respectfully. 

“I thank you, sir, but no, I am not worthy of such august company,” Almar said, despising his conciliatory tone. These men were glorified thugs who rampaged across the countryside with nothing on their heads but delusions of grandeur, yet he was forced to flatter their egos.

The young knight looked baffled at the refusal and turned towards his older companion, who merely shrugged with a bemused expression.

“Are you not a knight or gentry, sir? I see that you wear a sword,” the knight said, his handsome young face scrunched in confusion.

“I am not,” Almar said simply.

“Then who is your Master?” challenged the knight.

“I have none.“ A charged silence gripped the tavern following this declaration. Almar looked at the other patrons for a clue as to his misdoing. None would meet his eyes.

“His majesty, King Dalvus, has declared that only knights, those of noble birth, or their entourage may carry swords. You claim you are none of these things. By what right do you wield a blade?”

“I am merely a traveller, sir, one who was regrettably ignorant of your King’s laws when he entered your country,” Almar replied calmly. The younger knights scowled at this statement and whispered to each other. The oldest did not participate. He instead ceased to lean against the bar, his arm dropping towards the hilt of his sword as he studied Almar. The other patrons of the tavern were studiously looking down at their tankards and pretending to be oblivious to the conversation between Almar and the knight. The barkeep tensely cleaned an already clean glass as he watched on, probably thinking about how much damage a fight in the tavern would cost him.

“Whoever you are, you are in violation of the King’s Law! I demand that you surrender your sword to me!” the youngest knight commanded, buffeted by the urgings of the other young knights.

Almar sighed in exasperation and got up from his table. By moving closer to the knights, he stepped into a better-lit part of the room. He lowered his hood, revealing the ears and the harsh angles of his face that proclaimed his heritage. 

“You are an elf!” The knight recoiled in shock. Murmurs of distress broke out in the room, and a few patrons quickly slipped towards the tavern door. Elves or the Elf-Blooded were seldom seen in these lands. These countries had suffered most cruelly under the yoke of the ancient Elven empire, and Almar could well imagine the terrifying figure he must appear to be to the knights. Almar’s harsh, sharply boned features, close-cropped black hair, and poison green eyes must have struck the knight as something out of a bard’s fable.

“Merely Elf-Blooded,” Almar retorted, readying himself for battle. Sure enough, the young knight drew his longsword and pointed the tip towards Almar. There was a sudden burst of movement in the tavern as the last of the patrons scrambled to get out of the way. Tables and chairs clattered to the ground.

In the confusion, the young knight took his eyes off Almar for a moment. A bolt of force shot out of Almar’s left hand, knocking the knight’s blade sideways. Quick as a heartbeat, Almar drew his slender blade, closed the gap between them, and held it precisely to the young knight’s throat.

“I do not wish to fight you, sir knight, but I will not surrender my blade. If you give me your word, I will withdraw in peace,” Almar offered.

Most of the other knights had seen Almar’s spell and reacted quickly, drawing their swords and spreading out across the room in a loose circle to block any possible escape. The oldest knight, however, had remained in position at the bar, unbothered. 

“You are a brigand! An illegal mage and a vagrant on my Lord’s land! I will not give you my word!” the young knight declared passionately.

Almar looked around the deserted tavern. He could kill this young fool, but then he would need to kill the others as well.

A very messy situation.

“Peace, Sir Tristane,” called out the greying knight from his place at the bar. “Master Mage, if I give you my word as Sir Tristane’s Commander, would you spare his life?” 

Not waiting for an answer, the greying knight walked calmly to stand next to the young knight. Almar was unnerved by the old man’s confidence in placing himself so close to Almar’s sword.

“I shall, Sir, but first I must insist that your companions also put up their swords,” Almar bargained in return.

“You drive a hard bargain, Master Mage. Very well. Guilliame, Everet, your swords please,” the elder knight commanded politely. There was a pause followed, mercifully, by the sound of two swords being sheathed. Almar lifted his blade slowly from Sir Tristane’s neck and sheathed his own sword. 

Sir Tristane looked as though he wished to continue the altercation, but the restraining hand of the eldest knight prevented him from doing so.

Hoping that the old man would be true to his word, he nodded to the nameless elder knight and made his way carefully towards the exit.

Almar reached the door without challenge. He was stopped by the smooth, deep timbre of the oldest knight’s voice before he could complete his escape.

“Before you go, Master Mage, I am curious to hear your story. How does a man of your abilities end up in a village like this? It is most unusual to see a Guild Mage so far from a city.”

“As I said to your companion, I am a traveller, not a guild mage,” Almar replied haltingly, twisting to look at his challenger head-on.

“I see. So, you are not bound by guild bylaws?” the knight asked, his expression calculating.

“No. May I go now, Sir?” Almar asked tersely, his patience straining like the leash of an eager hound. 

“You are, of course, free to go whenever you want, Master Mage. However, I would ask a favour of you,” the eldest knight said boldly.

“What favour?” Almar asked through gritted teeth.

“Please sit, my friend, I do not believe I have introduced myself properly. I am Pellinore de Rochemont, Knight of Trallian, and Lord of these lands,” Sir Pellinore said with a polite incline of his head.

Damn this pompous Elatrian nonsense. Still, if this man is the Lord hereabouts, he could make my journey very difficult. Best to play along for now.

“I am Almar Kalatis,” Almar replied whilst sitting down. Sir Pellinore went over to the bar and secured two tankards from the terrified-looking barman. 

“I apologise for not sitting with you. My armour does not allow it, you understand,” Sir Pellinore said with a smile and a nonchalant wave of his hand. The liquid in the tankards sloshed alarmingly with the motion. Pellinore placed the tankards on the table with a gentle thud. “We have already caused Jeanne enough trouble, no?” 

“Of course,” Almar replied stiffly. What was the old man’s game? Almar glanced at the other knights. Sir Tristane was glowering at him while the other two were trying to distract the young knight with stories of their glory days.

“Master Kalatis, you strike me as a man with a rare set of skills. Skills I would like to employ. As Lord of these lands and a Knight of Trallian, I am sworn to protect the people, and I find that I am in need of your particular skills,” Sir Pellinore explained whilst removing his gauntlets and placing them on the table. His hands were as callused and hard-worn as you’d expect for an experienced warrior.

“You have your swords,” Almar interrupted. “Your armour and your horses, too. Why do you need me?”

“My brothers and I have set out to deal with a gang of bandits that have been terrorising the more remote villages. Normally, this is the sort of thing that my bailiff would deal with. My duties to the Order of Trallian keep me away. The Bailiff would put together a militia, hunt the rogues down, and we’d be done with the whole thing, quick as that,” he said with a snap of his fingers, grinning. His expression darkened as he continued.

“However, these bandits have a Mage with them. I have asked the Guild to help us, but they refused. So, Master Kalatis, I need a mage to counter the magic and possibly kill the mage these bandits are employing. I will not lead my brothers against a mage without magical support,” Sir Pellinore explained earnestly. He seemed sincere in his concerns and his desire to protect people.

“I see. This is quite a favour you ask of me, Sir,” Almar replied carefully.

“Please, Master Kalatis, do not assume that I would ask for a favour without offering one in return. If you help us vanquish these bandits. I will grant you a pass that will allow you to travel unmolested throughout Elatria,” Sir Pellinore offered, taking a hearty swig from his tankard.

Almar considered the offer. Free travel through Elatria would mean a much quicker journey. He could travel on main roads and even find a berth on a ship sailing the Aralathan river. He was unlikely to get a better offer from anyone else.

“I accept your offer, Sir. When do we leave?” Almar asked resolutely.

Sir Pellinore placed the tankard down and smiled. 

“Right away.”

***

Almar and the Knights of Trallian sat on their horses and surveyed the destruction.

It was a sunny and clear day. Aside from the corpses and the burnt village, it was an almost picturesque Elatrian landscape. Rolling green hills and vineyards stretched as far as the eye could see.  The village of White Bend was small—no more than fifty households clustered around a bend in the Soontra River, a small tributary of the mighty Aralathan River.

The houses were all gone—burnt to the ground. The charred remains of timbers and scorched stone were all that remained to testify that people once lived here. It seemed like the fire had burnt most intensely in the centre of the village before petering out towards the outskirts, where the timber and stone buildings were mostly intact except for their thatched roofs. Slaughtered sheep and pigs lay rotting in the streets. Some of them had terrible burns, but it was the slashes and arrows sticking out of the bodies that had slain them. Flies clung to the bodies like weeds. There were a few people in the street. From his vantage point, Almar could only see two or three. The knights were appalled at the violent scene before them. They were young, with the exception of Sir Pellinore. Their idea of battle was limited to tourneys and tales of chivalric duels. Almar could hear the younger knights muttering oaths of vengeance upon the perpetrators of the horror.

“The bandits sacked White Bend a day or so ago. Most of the villagers managed to flee,” Sir Peillinore explained, eyes narrowed with anger. Gone was the genial lord of the manor who recruited Almar over a tankard of beer. Now, he looked every inch the proud Elatrian lord, ferocious in the defence of his vassals. 

“I will need to be closer if you wish for me to determine if magic has been used,” Almar said.

Sir Pellinore nodded tersely and waved at the knights to follow them. He and Almar rode down the hill that overlooked the village.

The smell was worse as they rode closer. Decay, ash and blood made for a potent malaise. To the mocking amusement of the other knights, Sir Tristane heaved the contents of his stomach over the flanks of his destrier as the group drew nearer the village.

Almar rode to the centre of the village, dismounted, and began casting a simple spell that would detect any lingering elements of magic. 

The knights watched with rapt attention. It was rare for them to see magic performed at all. The Mage’s Guild discouraged audiences from watching them work, lest they steal some guild secrets for themselves. Almar considered that overzealous paranoia. It took years of hard study to cast even the most basic spell. Unless one was spell-born, of course. 

Almar had scarcely finished the casting before Sir Pellinore called out to him. “Well, Master Kalatis? Is it magic?” 

Impatient for Almar’s reply, Sir Pellinore steered his mount closer to Almar until his towering mass loomed above him and looked down on him.

“Yes, my lord. It was magic, most assuredly. Powerful magic,” Almar informed him whilst studying the burnt houses across from the main square. These were all but destroyed by the fire, whilst the ones on the outskirts of the village had still been recognisable as houses.

“Powerful magic? In what way?” Sir Pellinore asked, looking at Almar intently.

“If you look at the ground here in the village square, my lord, you will see no scorch marks on the ground, but if you look at the houses,” Almar said, gesturing at the houses nearest to him. “You will see that the fire must have been intense, as they are more damaged than those on the outskirts of the village. Therefore, the spell that destroyed these houses was cast from where I am standing. Not only that, but the spell had enough power to maintain its strength in those houses and keep burning from there,” Almar explained to the group. Obviously, the power of the spell was more complicated than he was suggesting, but it was best to keep it simple for these simple country knights.

“You are not dealing with some hedge-witch or rogue guild apprentice. The power and control needed to cast and sustain a spell like this are well beyond their capabilities. Only a powerful mage could have caused such carnage.” Almar furrowed his brow in concern as he gazed at the devastation. Absentmindedly, his hand found its way to the hilt of his sword. The cold metal and well-worn leather were a comfort.

A powerful mage could earn a comfortable living in the Guild or at the court of a lord. Why would one be running around with bandits? Judging by the grave looks exchanged between the knights, they were also concerned by this information. Almar understood their trepidation. These men had likely never faced a mage in battle before. The Mages Guild wielded an effective monopoly on magic and kept their members away from frontline combat as much as possible.

“Can you defeat one such as this?” Sir Pellinore asked, face grimacing in thought.

“Perhaps. It will depend greatly on the mage in question. Raw power is not the only factor. Knowledge of spell-craft, temperament, and experience can affect the outcome of a mage-duel a great deal,” Almar explained as calmly as he could. He had never faced another mage in combat before, besides sparring with his father, and that hadn’t given him much confidence in his ability.

“My lord, how many villages have been destroyed in this manner?” Almar asked.

“Three so far. The bandits have also been attacking merchants and other travellers on the road,” Sir Pellinore replied. 

“Are we certain the village is empty?” Almar asked whilst scanning the ruins for any signs of activity.

“The last two villages were empty. The survivors fled to my manor; they knew my guards would protect them,” Sir Pellinore replied.

There was a moment of silence as the knights and Almar paused in thought. Almar could not understand what these bandits hoped to accomplish with such wanton destruction. Whatever valuables these villagers possessed had most likely been destroyed in the fires.

A clattering sound stirred their thoughts. Hands drew swords with a chorus of sharp metallic rasps. Almar spun towards where the noise came from, ready to unleash a spell. Sir Pellinore, however, had not drawn his sword. Instead, he rode toward the origin of the noise, one of the burnt-out houses. 

“Whoever is hiding in the ruins, I am Sir Pellinore de Rochemont, Lord of these Lands. Be you friend or foe?” The knight called out, calm yet firm.

There was another long pause. Almar feared the knight would be shot through by a score of crossbow bolts. Almar trusted in his magical defences to deflect any errant bolts. 

“I’m sorry!” Shouted the scared voice of a child. Stepping out from the soot and ash-blackened ruins was a small figure. She was maybe five or six years old, with messy brown hair and a filthy green dress. It was clear that she had been hiding in the ruins. At this sight, Almar and the knights all sheathed their swords. Sir Pellinore dismounted and approached the child, kneeling before her in the dirt. 

“Peace, child. We are not here to harm you. Did you see what happened here?” Sir Pellinore asked gently. 

The child approached warily, nodding her affirmation to the question.

“You must be very hungry and thirsty,” said Sir Pellinore, reaching into his saddlebags and pulling out a waterskin and a loaf of trail bread. With a smile, he held them out to the girl. 

“Here, eat and drink first.”

The girl took the bread and water with it, promptly sat down in the dirt, and began to eat. Almar watched the child with some suspicion. Could these bandits be cunning enough to use this girl as a distraction to make them lower their guard, and then ambush them? It seemed unlikely that men who would unleash such wanton destruction would be so cunning.

Sir Pellinore walked back to his knights and Almar, looking around the ash-strewn ruins of the village and frowning in concern. His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and his gleaming armour was somewhat duller from traipsing through the ash. 

“If this poor child saw the attack, she may know which direction they left, and we’ll finally have a chance to catch these monsters,” Sir Pellinore said in a low voice. The other knights nodded in agreement. 

“Have there not been any witnesses before?” Almar inquired.

“None that could give us a clear or consistent account. You must remember, Master Kalatis, they are simple farmers. Terrified out of their minds, none of them had ever seen magic before. Mages are not well regarded by villagers in these lands,” Sir Pellinore replied.

“Master Kalatis, would you join me in questioning her? She may tell us more about the mage they have,” said Sir Pellinore.

“I have little knowledge of children, my lord,” Almar said, feeling surprised and unsure at the prospect of interrogating a child. 

“Come, Master Kalatis, we were all children once, no?” Sir Pellinore replied with a smile to the amusement of his fellow knights. 

“My brothers, whilst Master Kalatis and I interview the girl, I need you to search the rest of the village. Perhaps there may be more survivors. Better yet, the bandits may have left a clue as to their location,” Sir Pellinore ordered. 

The knights quickly left to complete their mission, leaving only Almar, Sir Pellinore and the girl. Sir Pellinore approached the child, and Almar reluctantly followed the knight.

Sir Pellinore sank to his knees in front of the child, who had managed to inhale the bread that he had given her and was sucking noisily from the waterskin. 

“Child, this is Master Kalatis. he is helping me to find the men who destroyed your village. You know who I am, of course, but we have not had the pleasure of being introduced to you,” Sir Pellinore inquired kindly.

“My name is Mirabelle. My mother called me Miri,” the girl replied quietly. 

“That is a pretty name, Mirabelle. Are you feeling better after some food and water? Yes? May I call you Miri?” 

The girl nodded. She looked exhausted, Almar thought; her parents had likely died or fled. She had likely spent the last day or so hiding in burnt-out ruins. She seemed oddly calm; however, neither distraught nor crying. No doubt fatigue and shock played a large part in that. 

“Now, Miri, we need you to tell us everything that you remember about the night that the bandits came. You must tell us everything, anything you remember would be a great help.”

Almar observed Mirabelle intently as the girl told them in a small voice of how the bandits had come in the night. Her mother had told her to hide in the root cellar. She had climbed the ladder and pressed up against the door to the cellar to hear what happened. The bandits had ridden to the centre of the village and demanded that everyone bring all their coins, valuables and food to the bandits or suffer the consequences. The villagers were reluctant to give what little they had to these men, so the bandits threatened the use of magic, and their mage had been brought forth to intimidate the villagers. That was when the fire started. After that, it was all chaos and running around. The girl had risked opening the cellar door and peering out the window of her home. She had seen the villagers running away in terror as the magical inferno engulfed their village and horses galloped towards the southeast. 

“Thank you, Miri. Rest now. We’ll get you some more food soon,” Sir Pellinore said gravely. He gestured for Almar to follow him, stepping aside from the child.

“Well, Master Kalatis, any insights from Miri’s testimony?” Sir Pellinore asked as he absentmindedly brushed away ash from his surcoat. 

“If Mirri’s report is accurate, it suggests that the bandit mage may be a spell-born,” Almar replied.

“Spell-born?” Sir Pellinore asked. Almar sighed. Magical theory had been a core part of his education. He was always surprised when educated and reasonably intelligent men like Sir Pellinore were completely ignorant of fundamental magical concepts. Yet another problem that lay at the Mages Guild’s door. 

“To speak very broadly, my lord, there are two types of mages in the world. Those like me, who achieve their spell craft through study and practice, and the spell-born. Spell-born are those born with an innate connection to magical energy. They can shape it into spells almost instinctively. They tend to be powerful and unorthodox in their abilities,” Almar explained.

“These spell-born are surely the responsibility of the Guild, no?” Sir Pellinore asked.

“I understand it is one of their responsibilities. However, there is the question of jurisdiction. The Guild operates in most lands with a royal charter, and I do not know the details of the Elatrian charter. The Guild’s jurisdiction may only extend to the cities in Elatria and not the countryside. Now that we know that this is a spell-born mage, you might be able to petition the guild to intervene,” Almar said. 

Sir Pellinore thought for a moment, gazing at Miri as she scratched at the dirt with a stick. 

“No, we must pursue them now. I will not stand idle whilst my tenants are threatened.” 

“We still have no idea where they are, my lord. They have had an entire day to escape,” Almar replied.

“One of the disadvantages of being a wanderer such as yourself, Master Kalatis, is that you do not know the land. I know this land; I was born here, and my father and grandfather were buried here, as I will be. This land is my home. I know it as well as I know my face. I know where these bandits have hidden like whipped curs!” Ser Pellinore declared passionately.

“My brothers! Mount your steeds, we ride to bring these monsters to justice,” Sir Pellinore declared to the cheer of his knights. Soon enough, all were mounted, including Miri. Sir Pellinore had decided to bring the child with them as she was not safe alone in these ruins. 

They spurred their horses into a hard gallop towards the southeast, desperate to catch these evil men and make them pay for their crimes.

***

As they rode, Sir Pellinore explained that the only place the bandits could have ridden to from the southeast of the village was an old ruin that the locals imaginatively called the ‘Old Tower’. The Old Tower was supposedly an old watchtower from the days of the Elven Empire. The locals tended to avoid it, as it was rumoured to be haunted. Almar did his best not to roll his eyes as Sirs Tristane, Guilliame, and Everet exchanged ghost stories about the ruin. Most of it was standard folk tale nonsense, but a few sounded like old defensive enchantments that innocents had tripped over. Still, the tower had been abandoned centuries ago.

Whatever enchantments had been laid at the Old Tower would almost certainly have faded away.

Sir Pellinore was distracted from their banter by the presence of the girl whom he had insisted on bringing along. The girl was terrified of the horse, and it required most of Sir Pellinore’s attention to keep her from bursting into tears. To Almar, it seemed damn foolish to bring along a small child to a battle. Perhaps Sir Pellinore was just that confident. 

Almar spent most of the ride planning on how to defeat a spell-born. He had never met a spell-born mage, and everything he had read and been told indicated that spell-borns could be unpredictable and do things with magic that other mages thought to be impossible. However, Almar was not just a mage—he was a skilled swordsman, trained by his father in the ways of the elven spelldancers. He decided that the best plan would be to get close to the mage and kill them before they could cast a spell. Not the most involved or intelligent plan out there, but what it lacked in finesse, it made up for in simplicity, Almar thought grimly. 

Almar did not wish the knights to die needlessly against a far superior enemy; they would be little match against the abilities of a spell-born. Sir Pellinore had treated him fairly and acted honourably, much to Almar’s surprise, and Sir Tristane was hardly the first young squire to accost Almar in a tavern. What little experience Almar had had with Elatrian knights told him that they were pompous blowhards who cared little for anything but their pride. This adventure was proving educational, although it bruised his pride a little to be so wrong about Sir Pellinore.

Almar hoped they were not riding into a trap; he would regret Sir Pellinore dying if it came to that.

For several hours, they traversed on half-hidden game trails through a forest of ancient oaks that had been old even before the humans had settled these lands. Almar was not half the horseman these knights were, but he did his best to hold on as he followed. As the paths became narrower and harder to find, Almar recognized 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 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 to its foot. 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, clenching the hilt of his sword in excitement. 

“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, traps, or anything else 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. If they were a spell-born mage, they might simply not know how to craft 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 from the cookfires curled into the air. Bandits were lounging around open fires, drinking and eating without any apparent care in the world. Weapons lay loose on the ground. Although seven bandits were lazing around outside, there were 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 coloured 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 observed the scene. 

“We attack now, while we still have the element of surprise!” Sir Pellinore 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 seemed a reasonable plan given the lack of time and other options. Almar 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 closed in on the bandits quickly. 

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 of 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 of the bandits, 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 reform themselves.

Almar watched for a moment as the new bandits joined the fray. He held himself apart from the scrum, patiently waiting for one 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, thought Almar, 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 to 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 unleashed was formidable, it seemed to Almar that she was 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 which 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 bright 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 and 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, 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. She had probably never met another mage, Almar realised suddenly.

“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,” Mirr 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 it was aeons away. He watched 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 in 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.

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. They spent some time gathering their startled horses, who had escaped their tethers once Miri’s lightshow had begun. 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 fine, if a little embarrassed.

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 demanded in a harsh tone. All pretences of geniality were 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.

J G Proctor is a writing and romantic duo that love to explore fantastical worlds and interesting characters through a shared love of writing and TTRPGs.