The Bandits’ Raid – Part 1

A Note from MarriageHeat:

This story contains scenes of action and violence. While it is not the typical kind of story we publish on MarriageHeat, it is part of the greater story of a couple whose intimate adventures we have published before, and so we thought it appropriate. Even so, because of the violent nature of this particular story, reader discretion is advised.

 

Author’s Note: 

Hello to you all! I am very happy to write and share the continuation of Victor and Isabella’s story from The Lady’s Knight series. Please read those stories for background on the characters, the world they inhabit, and the relationship that tightly bonds Isabella and Victor. Specific events in this series will pull from that series. This tale is particularly more action-oriented, and though its later parts have marital intimacy, Part 1 has serious violence. I wrote with mindfulness to my own restrictions (I am sensitive to violence) but took my husband’s help on these portions as he was better suited to help me write serious scenes.  Please forgive me if it is improper for MH!

Enjoy Victor and Isabella’s next tale.

 

---

 

“We could have traveled in the morning, I need my beauty sleep!” the dwarven Geoffrey complained.

“Beauty sleep?” said Kallen, a Mair healer and personnel expert. “Now there is witty banter!” he scoffed.

“Well my wife thinks so! She likes to brush this beard here,” Geoffrey said, giving a cursory stroke of his adorned beard. “She worries that one day in the master-forge I may singe it off. That is, unless the Cabal get to it first!”

“Come now, surely we can be joyful,” Kallen said happily. “We are going home! You can sleep then, Geoffrey.”

“‘Then’… when is ‘then’, Kallen? I am no pointy-eared marksman to switch to nocturnal time upon command!”

“I heard that,” an elven ranger spoke from the personnel carriage behind them.

“I know. I get irritable when I am tired, which why I only make love to ‘me lady if it’s not too late into the nighttime. Speaking of which, at this rate I may fall asleep before I can do that!”

Victor remained silent, as he looked longingly at the horizon. His eyes probed the view, as the barely visible light of the darkening sky played on the slightly greyed hair on his head and face.

Kallen gave a questioning glance to Geoffrey, who remarked humorously, “And I am sure others here are already in their chambers with their lady, right Victor?”

Victor furrowed his brow; his deep tone murmured something.

“What, say again? My hair grows over the ears sometimes, Vicky!”

“Smoke. From the outskirts, there,” Victor pointed from inside the carriage, to a rising column of smoke some distance away.

Kallen remarked, “A bonfire? Could be children being naughty.”

“No, Kallen, the smoke is far too high-up and the clouds are too darkened for a bonfire. It could be children but surely they would not let them out to play this late, the sun is well on its way down.” Geoffrey fetched a small wrist communicator from his bag, and placed it in his hand as he fiddled with it.

“Dear beloved Lord above, please let this—ah, right. If you can, direct the rest of the carriages home. To the plume of smoke, we can take two of our—”

Victor interrupted, “No, no, you all take the carriages home as well. I can take a horse over. It does not require that all of us spend more time away from home.”

Kallen scratched his hair and said, “Not a bad idea, Victor. It may be that someone lit wine a’fire. The smoke is from the trees, not in Lorail anyhow.”

“Hence why it’s not worth all of us. It has been a long two weeks gents, I would rather not have all of us waste time. If its a spill or a bonfire I can handle it fine. You continue on through the main gates of the city. I can go through the trees. My cottage is in the Lorail River Village, which is accesible through a merchant’s route. I can go home directly from the location of the smoke.

Kallen reached out to shake hands with Victor, “very good then, my friend, give my regards to Lady Isabella.”

Geoffrey cancelled his order to the other men and disconnected his device. “This is wonderful, now instead of five hairs plucked my wife only takes one.”

Kallen looked at Goeffrey with a raised brow. “And why would she do that?”

Geoffrey laughed heartily as Victor climbed atop a horse with his items, “Because I chose to not go along with this fool, and be late for our special evenings. Imagine if I told ‘er I wasted time to see some idiot who dropped a match on some wine!”

Victor smirked, “Tell Lady Ethel that she is welcome to shave your entire beard, it will be considered a tactical advantage for us all.” he then rode away toward the smoke column.

Geoffrey gasped mockingly, “Why that…” he turned to Kallen. “So tell me Kal, any lass with your name after ‘ers ready to shave your beard tonight?”

 

---

 

Isabella was tending to the dying fires of the cooking space. She had hesitantly eaten, albeit a little later than she would usually, hoping that the statement in her dear husband’s correspondence regarding arriving just as the sun was going down was a very belated estimate. She cleaned the spaces, absent mindedly praying that she may see her husband this night before she fell asleep.

Isabel, patience, she chided herself at her own lack of patience. God will deliver your earthly lord to you soon enough. With a brief glance out of the window, she noticed smoke from within the trees that lie beyond the River Village.

She put on a shawl and went outside, as the chill air was carefully inviting rain from the darkening clouds above. As she walked, she noticed others doing the same, coming to a clearing in view of a main pathway leading into the trees and beyond. The villagers slowly neared the trees, speaking amongst themselves.

“Isabella!” her dear dwarf friend Ethel called out to her, “one of the others said they heard noises and saw the smoke, is that our lords returning?”

“I hope so, the sun has come down nearly and the clouds are darkened for rain. Oh, I only wish to take him home and give him rest – these nighttime returns are simply not safe,” Isabella remarked with concern.

“The smoke, could that be a fire? I thought the dead trees were removed weeks ago.”

“I thought so as well; perhaps a trader had an accident and the convoy stopped to help?” Isabella pondered.

“Oh, remember when Mr. Laori spilled oil? The guards went without armour to clean that before a spark set a flame!’

“I remember, the men had only their tunics on because it was so early in the morn,” Isabella giggles.

“Hmm… whatever it is, it is within the trees. If our men are to arrive, would it not be through the main gates at the far end of the city?”

“Part of me hopes they ignore the smoke. I would rather have my lord home sooner then having him venture for Lord knows how much longer. Getting through the trees would take much longer than the stone path to the city gates.”

“My lord has hair aplenty in that wonderful beard, so I ought to take an extra if he chose to see about a trader’s bonfire and not… you know… see about me!” Ethel exclaimed.

“Oh, your poor Master will not be pleased by your anger,” Isabella said with laughter.

“He is always late for our special evenings. I have my hair all nicely done, our son in bed, and a comb so I can sit on his lap and comb that beard of his!”

“Now, I do not wish to assume such sensual things of a lady, but I assume the combing is rarely the end of it?” Isabella remarked with a blush.

“Oh, it never is! Usually I end it with…”

Isabella interrupted by covering her friend’s mouth with her hand, “Ethel, if you go on I will be red as a tomato and I will not speak to you for days, I tell you, days!”

Just as the girls embraced and laughed, the sound of a villager screaming in blood curdling agony shook the air. Isabella was paralysed with shock, and turned to see a villager some distance in front of her with a spear straight through his torso. His face turned to hers as he fell to the ground, eyes open and face twitching.

Ethel screamed and ran, trying to bring Isabella with her, “BANDITS, RUNNN!!”

Still in shock, with legs clamped into place, she could barely move with Ethel. Few more villagers fell, some injured and others struck by sword or spear to their demise. In a glance backward that was brought by morbid fear, she witnessed the attackers emerging from the thick of the trees.

Large, grotesque, green-skinned men walked towards them, carrying spears and swords of bone and flesh. There came five, ten, maybe more. Isabella gasped, struck by paralysing fear.

The girl was 19, youthful and innocent to the realities of a true war or conflict. It was uncommon that the women of the city of High Lorail—and all of the Amancia Kingdom—were firsthand witness to violence. It was the domain of honourable men, of strong men.

Suddenly, a rope was thrown at her and encircleed her ankles, causing her to fall.

“Run, Ethel, may the Lord guide you, RUN!”

“No, let me—”

“NO, PLEASE RUN!” Isabella held back a sob in her throat as Ethel tried to undo the rope on Isabella’s ankles.

“Please,” Isabella sobbed, “run, dear, please! I—I am so scared, I do not want to see you gone too!”

Ethel cried, holding Isabella, “I will get guards. Here,” she offered Isabella a small hand tool from the pocket of her dress.

As Ethel scurried her little legs toward the nearest place she saw guards, Isabella worked to cut the rope from her legs. The rope rode up on her legs, pushing up her dress and pricking her soft legs and feet. Having only known the feeling of grass and water on her bare, sensitive legs, she whimpered with fear. More villagers ran as she saw the grotesque raiders slaughter another, then search for their next target.

She paused her work to see a villager look straight into her eyes from afar, as a sword plunged into his back, ending his life. The animals drooled from their mouths, searching the villagers. One ignored a man, kicking his body aside as he noticed a lady. He laughed in a contorted, disgusting manner, before trying to pull on her dress. She screamed in terror and kicked, trying to stave off her assaulter, but the beast’s putrid roars made her sob.

Isabella tried to pull on the rope, but the snare held fast. She looked up to find one of the raiders standing on it, eyeing her. His eyes searched across her form, drooling as he stared at her legs.

In fear and shame, she covered her legs with her dress. “Please… please go away…”

Her sobs were useless, as it slowly neared her. “I beg of you, I forgive your transgressions as the Lord does mine, please let me go!”

The creature snarled, using a stone-tipped spear to try to lift up her dress.

“No!” Isabella screamed and sobbed, tears flowing freely. She knew what the creatures wanted now. Very few men in all of Amancia dared lust for women so innocent and pure, let alone another man’s wife. The men of Amancia are held by women to be of highest moral caliber. These… animals… are not as such.

A stranger to lustful, greedy men, Isabella was shook to her core. Rain pattered on her slowly as the precipitation gained momentum. The creature neared Isabella, making noises toward the others, who halt their investigation of the women resisting their horrid advances.

Isabella shuddered in fear and disgust as she heard one of them snarl, “Pretty flesh…”

 

---

 

Nightingale Way? What a quaint part of Lorail, Victor thought to himself as he walked along the stone path.

Only two days prior, he had met an impossibly feminine, kind maiden at the Academy for Young Stewards, as she had brought sweets and played schoolground games with the boys like she was their sister or mother. Smiling to himself, he asked questions on where he may find the home of the father of Isabella, a Mister Orvane.

Upon being led by directions —and a rather useful compass used by sojourners—he arrived. He knocked, and a lady opened the door.

“Hello, and who might you be?” she asked in a kind voice.

“Madam, my name is Victor, Victor Ephraim. I am here to speak on a serious matter in regards to your daughter.”

“Oh dear, please do come in,” she ushered Victor to a seat, calling to her husband, “Beloved? Please come quickly, a Mr. Ephraim has come to see us about Isabella!”

A tall man, with a rather sizeable mustache, strode into the room. He took a seat opposite Victor, in a wooden chair that seemed as if it was made for the patriarch of the family. Victor’s gaze quickly glanced to the home decor: a normal, peaceful abode that had icons of Christ and beautiful open spaces, florals and the scent of fresh food. It was a picturesque life—something Victor had long since forgotten after nearly two decades of blood and metal.

“Ephraim, that name is familiar, dear boy,” Mr. Orvane said questioningly.

“Yes, good sir, I work at the Academy, and in other… important capacities… for the wellbeing of High Lorail and Amancia.”

“Are you then the tactician, the son of Ananias Ephraim? How old are you? Must be 25 or so?”

Victor’s gaze fell shortly, briefly remembering his late father. “Yes, sir. The very same, and 27.”

“Oh, my boy, I am very sorry, I realize I brought up a matter of strong pain I am sure. Forgive me.”

“Not at all, sir, it has been nearly twenty years since the Lord ushered my parents away.”

“Regardless, I am sorry to bring it up. Now, what does a tactician have to do here? Unless I am mistaken, rarely do the markets and churches of Nightingale attract much conflict?”

“Sir, it is a matter of your daughter. Two days prior, she had come into the Academy facility, which is strictly for young boys and men training. Whilst the farmers, scholars, clergymen, and such all have their orders and Academies, the Tactical and other Forces alongside any other entities involved with the lawful administration of Lorail train at mine. It is not allowed for her to enter.”

Mr. Orvane sighed, “Isabella, now what have you done my dear?”

His daughter slowly walked into the main space, head hanging low as she played with her dress.

Her mother gently touched her arm and chided her, “Isabel, have you not any idea of the rules? I know you must not have meant badly, but there are rules for a reason.”

Isabella blushed upon seeing Victor. Her face looked down, unable to look at him for long. Her thoughts ran rampant, her face shy and flustered red. Here? He came? I never thought he would… oh, dearest God, is this the man you sent for me, my lord and earthly authority?

“I was merely wishing to play with the children and give them some of the nice sweets of strawberry and creme I made, mother.”

Her sweet, lilting femininity flowed like honey from her voice. Victor was captivated, his eyes fighting not to look at her for so long.

Such a sweet voice, such soft pink lips and flowing hair. Oh, how I long to see those emerald eyes once more!

A mind like Victor’s is like most other Amancian men: celibate until a view of the woman the Lord sends for them breaks them into the realm of beautiful poetry. Victor sat straight in his seat.

“Sir, I mean no harm, nor do I mean to arrest your daughter. It was an innocent error, and one of charitable intent. I admired her youthful and demure nature. Her innocence was a stark contrast to what I see in my line of work.”

“Oh, is that so? Isabel is 18, of marriageable age now and yet she is always playing with the young children. I apologise for her disturbances, Victor.”

“Well, I come with a request for just that. Sir, usually it is customary to bring two family representatives to ask this, but seeing as I am all I have, I brought no one else. I wish to court your daughter, Mr. Orvane.”

Mr. Orvane nodded his head, coming to terms with Victor’s request. He glanced back to his wife, who meekly stated, “I have no qualms with whatever you respond with, my dear lord.”

“I appreciate you coming to see me on this, as is our ways. Amancia is a civilised place. And you are a civilised man. How long are you in Lorail?”

“My work demands me to travel in two months’ time. I shall then be gone for two weeks, and return thereafter.”

“Hmm.” Mr. Orvane pondered in silence, before giving his answer. “Most fathers of Amancia live by the creed that they and their daughters can judge a man of this world given one year. But a man of Amancian residence is so enjoined to the guiding Grace of our Lord that he needs no more than one month. I shall give you the same, my boy.”

Victor’s face, perhaps for the first time in ages, smiled gently.

“How about this, my dear Isabel, is that fine for you?”

She blushed, “As per your wish, father,” and giggled, running off behind the home as she lifted her dress up from the ground.

“Ah, look at the girl, Ivy,” he exclaimed heartily, “she is all shy now!”

“Yes, my lord!” his wife laughed sweetly at their daughter’s flustered escape.

“Then it is settled. One month’s courtship. I hope all will be proper, hmm? And if so, a marriage upon its conclusion, and you will have just about one month or so after your wedding before your first journey.”

Victor smiled gently, his eyes watching as she ran. She looked back from afar, and her gaze met Victor’s. She noticed the slightly aged but masculine features, the grey on his hairs, and the sheer power in his stature.

Dearie me, Isabel, she thought to herself. You shy away to speak to a man for courting, even looking! All of these beautiful feelings… Oh, have I saved my girlhood for a man to so gently hold for himself?

“… of work?”

Victor’s own short session of daydreaming was brought to an abrupt close with the ending of Mr. Ovane’s question.

“Hmm? I am sorry, I was elsewhere in my mind.”

“Not to worry, I was asking about your line of work, you mentioned that it was a stark contrast to innocence. I hope it is of a holy nature?”

Mr Orvane’s question was probing, but subtle. As a father, he must ensure his daughter would not court nor wed a rascal—if there ever was one in Amancia, let alone High Lorail.

“My work? Yes, of course.” Victor’s eyes moved from Mr. Orvane, to his wife, to the view behind the home. He let out a deep sigh, looking up into the eyes of who may be his prospective father-in-law. “My line of work…”

 

---

 

Isabella sobbed uncontrollably, the trap clinging to her leg as she tried in vain to inch away from the raider who leered at her. As she looked up, she was horrified to see more approaching her. She felt alone, and incredibly fearful that she may die this night—or worse, become nothing more than flesh to these greedy beasts.

Thud. Thud.

Isabella’s crying was softened slightly by the sound of heavy footsteps from the dark patches of trees towards the clearing.

Thud. Thud.

Isabella feared the worst: perhaps the raider’s leader, the one who would ruin her safety and honour as a girl. She closed her eyes, hugging herself as she sobbed. She prayed: O Lord, our God, forgive these beasts for their transgressions upon me, but give me strength so I may live as long as I am given. For my dear king who so lovingly touched me, rescue his heart from the pain of having to see his bride in shambles.

The beasts snarled and growled with hostility, looking past Isabella, some even taking out their weapons and readying themselves. Whoever this approaching figure was, they were no ally to the raiders.

Thud. Thud.

As Isabella’s rain-spotted vision cleared, she saw him. A figure clad in darkened, paneled grey armour, sword in hand and placed upon shoulder, emerged from the trees with a grim, determined stride. With his gaze piercing into the souls of these beasts, they hardly noticed at first that in his other hand was the head of one of their allies. It was a large head, with darker, more grotesque abrasions to the skin.

The armoured figure threw the head to the ground, and kicked it toward the beasts. They snarled upon recognising that it had—until very recently—belonged to their leader.

In the same moment that the beasts recognised their fallen leader, Isabella recognised the armour.

My lord… Isabella gasped in equal parts shock and relief as she realised who it was that stood between her and the most brutal horror a girl could face.

Victor’s commanding, authoritative tone echoed out, “Your actions today have been no surprise for a band of bandits, raiders and heartless heathens. Still I shall forgive you, as God does me. But make no mistake—” he plunged his sword down straight into the rained-upon soil “—for Lorail, for these villagers, you must answer. Justice and truth demand you pay your dues.”

His hands rested on the pommel of the sword, ready to strike.

One beast snarled into the air, unleashing a deafening screech that made Isabella cover her ears and whimper. The beast charged Victor. Isabella closed her eyes, only to hear the clash of swords but once, and the snarls of the rest of the bandits. Opening her eyes, she watched in absolute awe as Victor’s sword dripped with blood. He stepped over the freed head of the bandit.

As more bandits approached him in a fury, his sword feasted on more of their sickly red-green blood. Two charged him in a staggered formation, and his gloved hand grasped one by its throat as his sword pierced through the abdomen of the other.

Its sword mere inches from his face, Victor’s dark eyes drew fear and regret from the beast as it contended with a sword in its abdomen. With throat clutched, the other bandit clawed at his forearm brace and attempted to grab his face.

Victor, with a mere press of his hand, broke this bandit’s neck with a crude snap, and it fell limp to the Earth. More and more approached, meeting their fate as the deafening sound of swords clashing cut through the patter of the rain.

A more heavy bandit charged, perchance a brute. He attempted to bring his axe down upon Victor. By a short and smart shift, the heavy weapon landed upon the ground to Victor’s left as he lunged forward. His forearm gauntlet deployed a dark silver blade which he drove swiftly up into the chin of the brute. His arms went limp and the axe slipped out of hand. Victor used the blade’s insertion to pull the brute to his knees as blood gushed from the brute’s mouth and neck.

Though the wound from the hidden blade would already be fatal, Victor used the pommel of his sword to hammer the face of the brute repeatedly. These blows were intended not to kill an already-dying monster, but to shatter the gang’s morale. Each strike was akin to the roar of thunder behind him, as bandits snarled and cried out in fear. His pommel-strikes horribly disfigured the brute’s face, leaving a crater where sickly humanoid features once existed. Victor swiftly dislodged the blade from the ugly thing’s chin, and watched as he fell over dead.

“You have an opportunity, gentlemen. I hesitate to use that term, but perhaps you can yet prove yourselves.”

Despite the brutal beating of their comrade they’d just witnessed, they refused Victor’s parlay and took their chances to fight towards an inevitably fatal result.

Isabella whimpered and scurried on the grass, trying to leave the scene. Despite knowing her husband was the one saving her, a fear of the violent scene and terror upon seeing her husband act in such a manner made her shiver.

No, no, my lord… so… so much blood… Her breathing was shallow as her thoughts ran without borders or purpose. She cried and shivered in the chill of the rain. Victor was merciless, and Isabella felt a strange mixture of fear and fealty. Terror and thankfulness. Lost, and yet in love.

As the rainstorm and the fight continued, raindrops and bandits alike fell to the ground.

“Accept your dues. Leave this realm!”

A bandit managed to hit Victor with a club of bone on the side of his abdomen, eliciting a wince. Even through the heavy armor, Isabella could tell it was a painful blow, and her tears started anew. She witnessed Victor’s pain for the first time, albeit slight for him. He blocked the raider’s next attack, and turned him about. Holding him from behind, blade to his neck, Victor was poised to end him.

Victor’s sight landed on Isabella as she escaped. He spun himself the creature away from her so she wouldn’t have to see his blade end yet another life—then jerked the blade across the bandit’s neck, unleashing a firm grunt as he did so. One by one, they fell. A tactical, nearly dispassionate demise befell them.

One bandit, with an arm and a leg injured, was still crawling in an attempt to catch Isabella. But even as he grasped toward her, he grunted in pain as a thrown club hit him square in the back. Snarling, he turned over to resist, but was immediately forced to himself to Victor’s punishment. Victor placed his armoured boot upon the bandit’s face, crushing down. His other foot found the bandit’s injured arm and trapped it. The raider used his free hand to punch the boot, but to no avail.

“You will tell me who sent you here,” Victor demanded of the creature. “Bandits never come this far. You rarely have the gall to even attack sojourners. What has led you spineless creatures to launch such a raid?”

The creature snarled, screaming in the most terrifying manner from underneath Victor’s boot.

“You have little in the way of choice,” Victor growled through gritted teeth as his blade cut into the flesh of the bandit’s forearm.

“Bandits pillage, but never in settlements or townships. And they are rarely so disfigured and green…” Victor moved his sword along the abnormalities of the screaming creature’s arm.

Hearing no useful response, he whistled, and his horse heard from beyond the clearing.

“Brego, come!” Victor called. The horse followed his master’s word, rushing to his side.

With another whistled command at a different pitch, the horse raised itself on its hind legs before bringing its hooves mere inches from the head of the bandit.

“Noooooooo!” the creature screamed with great fear.

“Who sent you? Answer me! Or the next time my friend will not be as forgiving.”

Victor’s voice was commanding, unleashing righteous anger upon the beasts who nearly assaulted his wife and gravely harmed many villagers.

“Corrupters…” the creature hissed. “Corrupters… I no remember more… truth… no more!”

The beast struggled to speak and snarled some intelligible phrasing. Victor did not believe him, so he whistled. Brego nearly crushed the bandit’s head once more. The bandit screamed, nearly sobbing.

“Remember anything else?!” Victor’s tone was powerful, as if it would crack the Earth in two. His sword’s cold touch elicited a fearful screech.

“NOOOOO!”

“Thank you for your cooperation. May you have peace in death.”

He removed his boot, and plunged his sword straight down into the creature’s heart.

Isabella stared, with tearful eyes and a bated breath. Her shock, her fear of what violence Victor is capable of, shook her to her very core.

God, is this what one of your warriors looks like? Is that indeed the very man who I held to my bosom, who I fed by my very hand?

Victor’s eyes bore straight into Isabella’s, his gaze unwavering. Rain streamed down his face in rivulets, as his breathing was slow and heavy. His eyes spoke a thousand apologies.

I am sorry, my sweet girl…

 

---

 

This was the conclusion of the first portion of the series. If this portion is received well, and with the kind feedback of both MH staff and you kind readers, I can share the remainder! My husband was proud to be able to help with this story, as he enjoys fantasy worlds! I tried my best to dull some of the action to make it appropriate for a Christian website. We both certainly do not condone violence, but felt for the story and characters it was necessary and therefore not against principles so long as we presented it honestly and with consideration to the negative aspect of violence.

Part 2 will be a more intimate portion, detailing how Victor cares for his Bella. Part 3 will expand the world and clarify the raid and the future of this world, of High Lorail, and of our two main characters.

Please forgive any faults or improper portions of this. I am happy to fear your feedback!

Joyfully in Christ,

SophTea