Alone

Farah Greenbow hurdled a fallen oak, then dropped down to her knees and allowed her momentum to carry her under a low hanging branch laden with drooping, rain-slick leaves.

Springing back to her feet and adjusting the bow slung across her body, she continued her sprint through the thick and thoroughly drenched forest. She was headed downhill, towards the swollen stream at the bottom of the ravine and the place she had prepared during last night’s storm.

Behind her, several angry voices called out. They were fanning out to try and close her in, and to their credit they were actually managing to keep up with the seasoned ranger. Farah could tell from the noise that all six of the remaining bandits were in pursuit. That was no surprise, she’d been harrying the outlaw clan for the last three days and had already felled eight of them with well-placed arrows. Farah was a little surprised they hadn’t scattered, or at least tried to set out with a handful of their ill-gotten gains, but she supposed greed could be a powerful motivator.

"Perfect," she breathed, dodging around a gnarled trunk and leaping down the first ten feet of the sudden drop-off behind it.

Her boots hit the muddy ground in a slide and she had to fight to keep her balance as her feet dug furrows through the wet brown clay that lined the steep hillside. She bit her lip, noticing a recently fallen branch blocking her path near the bottom. Placing a hand over the quiver-full of arrows at her hip, she gathered herself as best she could and leapt out of her muddy slide, clearing the branch and landing on her feet at the bottom of the hill.

"Shit!" Farah gasped as one of her boots lost purchase and she rolled her ankle painfully. She hopped a couple times then gritted her teeth and ran on.

"Son of a kobold," she swore against the waves of pain shooting through her foot. Minor as it was, this injury had the potential to cost her dearly.

Not for the first time, Farah silenced the annoying voice in her head reminding her that she should have pulled in a couple other rangers for this job. The posting was meant for a team of at least three so Farah had needed to forge a couple other signatures to claim it. She'd get an earful from the hallkeeper in Brengar when she reported back for the bounty. 

If she reported back. 

Farah quickly struck that thought from her mind - she’d been doing this a long time, and had taken on many, much more difficult missions. She didn’t need a team of replacements, she could handle this alone.

Farah spotted the river through the trees ahead and blew out a relieved breath. Time to take her position. Or at least, that’s what was meant to happen at this point - but the sound of heavy footfalls and rustling foliage to her right dashed Farah's best laid plans.

"Gotcha you sneaky rat!" the bandit snarled, ripping his sword from its sheath as he closed in. 

Farah's lip curled in annoyance and she skidded to a stop, wincing when a fresh wave of pain shot through her ankle.

"Lucky you, mud-for-brains!" she retorted. She reached towards a sheath hidden on her back before thinking better of it and moving her hand to the hilt of her sword instead. She allowed her mouth to quirk up in a sly smile when the bandit lunged forward, trying to strike her before she could draw. She didn't have much time to waste on this off-balance and over-eager idiot.

Neatly sidestepping his lunging downward slice, Farah stuck her uninjured foot between the bandit’s flailing legs. The man tumbled down face first with a yelp, and before he could even flop over to face his foe, Farah’s sword had found his heart.

“That’s one,” Farah breathed, sheathing her sword and sprinting off upstream along the riverbank. The other bandits would have closed the gap some thanks to that fool. She was running out of time. 

An arrow ripped through the air before her face, causing her to stumble. Farah cast a quick glance backward and spotted the archer’s outline at the top of the ridge. Another arrow reached out and Farah had to twist her body to the side and crash into a tangle of shrubs.

“Great,” she muttered, pushing her way through the thorny mass of twigs. She was covered for now, but that archer was no joke. 

Emerging from the bush, Farah spotted her choke-point up ahead. A massive fallen log spanned the river from bank to bank, disappearing into the underbrush on the other side. On the close side however, Farah had carefully felled every tree and bush she could manage, creating a wide open landing with no real cover. Grimacing against the twinge in her ankle, Farah leapt up onto the log and quickstepped her way across. The muscles in her back tensed, expecting an arrow at any moment. She leapt the last few feet into light cover on the other bank, rolling around the trunk of a wide maple and unslinging her bow in one movement. She leaned, breathing heavily, with her back to the tree-trunk as she took a moment to steady her nerves.

“Keep the crossing hard-covered,” the ranger whispered to herself. “Watch the flanks, nail that archer, and you’ve got this.” She gave a dry chuckle as she finished. Such an odd habit she’d fallen into -.she was talking more and more like Araline every day. The old gang would have laughed at her. 

She wished they were here.

Farah sighed as the bushes rustled on the other side of the river - if they weren’t complete idiots, they’d spot her trap and spend the next few moments figuring out how to cross without getting shot one by one. She slid an arrow from her quiver and bent an ear their way, though she didn’t expect to hear them scheming over the sound of rushing water. She frowned when she noticed the river’s swift flow had calmed considerably in the last couple hours. Enough so that fording it on foot wouldn’t be overly difficult. That might change things.

Damn it, Farah silently berated herself, this wasn’t a good plan. Jay could have come up with something better - or would have accounted for changes in the river. He’d been one of the few rangers Farah knew who’d actually lived long enough, and been successful enough, to retire. Farah’s heart twinged as an image of the old eyra flitted into her mind. It was quickly joined by the others. Traston. Kytris. Araline. She shook her head half-heartedly, trying to dash away the nostalgia. They’d all disappeared from her life now, one way or another. Jay had been the last. She’d gotten word from his family just a few days before setting out on this mission. 

He’d left her his cabin in Fair Sunset.

“Hey! Ranger!”

Farah pulled herself out of her contemplations with a start, but resisted the urge to peek around the tree trunk at whoever had hailed her.

“We know you’re over there! Must be pretty tired after putting us through Hell the last few days.”

Farah scoffed quietly. 

“So why don’t we strike a deal? You stay on that side of the river and a couple of us will head back to our camp and pack up - leaving behind some of the loot from that caravan of course. Then we’ll all run south like there’s a dred on our heels and you can tell whoever’s paying you the job’s done. Bring’em whatever we leave as proof.”

“Sure,” Farah muttered. She’d already scattered their horses and set fire to their food stores, so they wouldn’t be running far. Not if they intended to carry the silver and spices they’d stolen anyways.

“Well?” the voice called out again.

Again, Farah resisted the urge to engage. This was hardly her first time clearing out a den of outlaws. They had no horses, limited supplies, and were down to a third of their strength. Unless they wanted to abandon their loot and strike out with nothing but the clothes on their backs they had next to no options left. They were cornered - she knew, and they knew it. And that was why Farah also knew this one sided discussion was nothing but a ruse.

If she spoke up now, that archer would have her position and she’d be pinned before she could even get off a shot. But, in that same token…

Farah rolled back around the tree, an arrow nocked on her bowstring before she’d even finished the movement. She focused on the area she’d narrowed the voice to and spotted just a shred of cloth-colored material peeking through the bushes that surrounded her hand-made clearing. She loosed the arrow.

It had barely cleared the river before Farah was moving again, throwing her cloak out wide and spinning left, making for a thick tangle of shrubs just a few strides away. She heard a pained cry from across the river and grinned.

Just as her ankle gave out.

Farah tumbled to her knees with yelp, catching herself before she fell flat and heaving herself back to her feet as fast as she could manage. But she knew it was already too late. What happened next would depend on so many factors it made her head spin - the skill of the bandit archer, if they had a clear shot, where they aimed, the draw weight of their bow, the kind of arrowhead they were using, and of course, how lucky she was at this particular moment in time.

The sharp impact near the center of her back, just under the shoulder-blade, told the flailing ranger one thing at least. That archer was damn good.

But so was she.

Farah spun on her heel and dropped to one knee, nocking an arrow in a flash and sending it back in the direction of the bandit’s shot. Her guess was right and she spotted the archer just to the right of the log bridge, jumping to the side to avoid her wild snapshot. But Farah hadn’t intended to hit with that one anyways. Her second arrow, following a second after the first, pierced the archer in their side. 

The sounds of shouts and splashes to her left caught Farah’s attention before she could even think about celebrating. She stood and lifted her bow back to the left then gasped when another impact struck her elbow, stinging it painfully. More missiles fell around her, striking her chest and legs painfully. Farah threw her arm up over her face as she took in the situation. 

Two bandits were up to their waists fording the river, each carrying a handful of river stones which they were hurling in her direction. Two more men were back on the opposite shore, pelting yet more stones towards the beleaguered ranger. The idiots were trying to force their way past her choke-point.

Farah growled and snapped off another quick shot, nailing one of the men on the riverbank through his heart. He fell face-first, dead before he hit the ground. Farah reached for another arrow but reeled when a lucky throw caught her square in the temple. The ranger fell backwards, her butt hitting the ground hard and her vision flashing white. She tried to stand but her ankle twinged again and she flopped down on her side, the contents of her quiver spilling out onto the mud. Not good, the ranger’s suddenly sluggish thoughts told her.

Through the ringing in her ears, Farah could hear the splashes as the men fording the river drew closer and closer. She could smell the blood flowing down her cheek and tasted it when it ran between her lips. She could feel the wound on her back ache and she wondered if she was mere moments from bleeding out from an arrow wound. A repressive buzzing filled her throbbing head and for just one split second, she panicked.

“Ky!” she cried out. “Cover m-” 

Farah pounded the ground with one fist as she bit off the reflexive cry for help, remembering too late that her friend wasn’t coming. The shock of seeing Kytris walk away from her and Jay, in front of the guildhall in Chasm’s Gate, tore through her mind like a thunderbolt.

Willing away the pain and dizziness with a hoarse yell, Farah scrambled back to her feet. A quick glance towards the river showed that the two bandits making the crossing were over halfway to her. The one remaining on the far bank had dropped his rocks and was making for the log bridge. 

Damn it. 

With her head spinning the way it was she didn’t trust herself to land any shots, and her arrows were all on the ground anyways. Farah wiped the blood from her face and shouldered her bow, then sprinted off into the forest, cursing herself for her momentary lapse. As she ran, her mind drifted back to Ky.

Kytris had always been there. A fearsome, solid wall to guard her back when she needed help. She’d never once seen him bothered by an injury, even though he’d placed himself before more than one blade for the sake of his companions. But he’d left them so suddenly, and with so few words of farewell. As hard as it was to read a siska’s emotions, Farah had thought their years travelling and fighting together had meant more to him, that he’d always be there. At her back. But now that space was empty.

Farah ran through the forest as fast as her ankle would allow. She needed to regroup and take stock of her injuries before she could even think about re-engaging. 

She slid into a wide crook between two bulbous tree roots, reaching a hand behind her as she did and feeling the spot the arrow had struck. She sighed in relief when she didn’t feel a shaft. The half-lucky ranger brought her hands back before her face - no blood, the arrow had bounced off.

Farah thanked Ahma she’d decided to wear her maille under her tunic today, and thanked her again that the archer hadn’t been using a bow or arrowhead meant for piercing armor. The metal links and padded undergarment were hot, and a little heavier than she liked, but they’d probably saved her life.

The ranger reached into a pouch at her side, producing a clean bandage and a wide strip of cloth. Pressing the bandage against her bleeding temple, she wrapped the cloth around her head and tied it tight, flipping her black hair in it’s long single braid overtop of the knot. She reached for the water-pouch on the back of her belt but thought better of it and unhooked the small flask beside it instead. She took a long sip of the potent brandy within. As the warmth of the liquor spread throughout her body, the sounds of cautious footfalls on waterlogged leaves reached her ears. 

“Amateurs,” Farah breathed. The bandits were trying hard to be sneaky but to a woodswoman like her they may as well have worn bells. No doubt they’d noticed she wasn’t moving well anymore and assumed she’d set up somewhere with her bow again.

Not an option, unfortunately, Farah thought while looking down at her empty quiver. But she could make do. She lay her bow gently against the tree - she’d come back for it later. Maybe.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “We’ll finish this with blade-work.”

Farah drew her dark green cloak around her and snuck off into the woods. It didn’t take her long to find one of the bandits. The man was creeping around the edge of a clearing, peering warily into the brush on the other side. He held a well-maintained longsword and Farah could just barely make out the maille beneath his brown tunic. He wore a dented helm as well as plate metal knee and shin guards. This was probably the bandit clan’s leader, Farah thought, or at least their best fighter.

Farah drew her sword slowly and quietly, the single-edged elven style longsword coming free of it’s oiled sheath with hardly a sound. Stepping on the pads of her feet Farah maneuvered her way closer and closer to the man until she was just a few strides away. She’d take him down quickly and quietly.

“Chief! Behind you!”

Farah's head swiveled as she grimaced at the cry of warning, a second bandit stood sword in hand off to her right. 

Snapping her gaze back to the closer man, Farah lunged forward, determined to end him quickly. But her strike was intercepted by a flashing sword and she had to duck to avoid the counter. Undeterred and still holding the initiative, Farah pressed on, a flurry of blows forcing the bandit swordsman to backpedal into the clearing. Try as she might, Farah couldn’t get past the man’s guard, and what’s worse, she could hear the other two approaching behind her. With a frustrated snarl she bulled in, knocking the bandit’s sword to the right and cutting down towards his shoulder. The bandit let the weak blow bounce off his armor and swung towards Farah’s face with the hilt of his sword. But Farah hadn’t stopped moving. She ducked low under the punch, spinning as she did, coming up behind her opponent and immediately bringing her sword back around to slash at his unarmored elbow. But the bandit spun his blade in a wide circle over his right shoulder as he turned to follow her, deflecting her attack and squaring up with her once again.

Farah grunted, she hadn’t expected that last attack to land - its purpose had been to turn her around so she could face the coming charge of his comrades - but she was still impressed with that last parry. He was no common bandit, probably an ex-soldier or mercenary. She was confident she could beat him one-on-one if she had the time, but he would be a challenge under these circumstances. Maybe an insurmountable one. 

Farah backed a couple steps, creating some space between her and the swordsman, who didn’t pursue.

“Very bold, ranger,” he sneered. “But we’ve got you now.”

“You’re down a few people,” Farah retorted with a forced smirk.

“The silver will split better three ways.”

Farah scoffed in disgust. She already knew these outlaws were murderers - they’d killed half a dozen merchants and haulers in the raid that had gotten her hired - but that response still made her lips curl in anger. Some people could be so very heartless. Though such things didn’t surprise her much anymore, she’d heard and seen worse time and time again.

This world was a dark place.

The other two bandits broke the edge of the clearing and Farah backed even further.

“Any last words?” the swordsman crowed.

“Piss off?”

The swordsman leapt forward just as his comrades drew even on either side of him, letting out a hoarse warcry. Farah steeled herself - one way or another, the fight would end right here. Time slowed in her eyes as her opponents closed in. Farah drew in a deep breath. They weren’t even going to circle and flank her, just try to mow her down with one overwhelming charge. Not the cleverest plan, but since it was three on one…

No. No excuses. Find the weakness. Figure out how you’re going to win. Find an opening, then the next, and another after that, until all your opponents are on the ground. That was what Traston had taught her. 

He was the best swordsman Farah had ever known, and in their time travelling together, she’d learned a lot from him. If he were here, he’d tear through these bandits like a fenris through a flock of sheep. 

Over the last few years Farah had tried repeatedly to summon the courage to search for her old friend. But she was afraid he was still trying to drink himself to death in some dark tavern - or that perhaps he’d already succeeded. Her grip tightened on her sword. Even if that were true, she wouldn’t let his lessons go to waste.

It only took her a split second to spot it. The bandit on her left had blood dripping from under the sleeve of his right arm. His sword was hefted awkwardly in the other. He was the first one she’d shot from across the river.

Farah waited until the last possible moment - until the three bandits were nearly on top of her - before darting cat-like to her left, dodging the slash of the right-most bandit entirely. Her sword batted aside the stabbing blade of the bandit chief as he was forced to adjust mid-thrust. At the same time she deflected the injured bandit’s descending blade to the right with a well-placed slap of her gloved left hand. Most of her hand contacted the flat of the blade, but she winced when the bottom edge sliced through her glove and bit into her palm. Still, the bandit’s strike was weaker than it should have been, not to mention slightly off-target.

He was fighting with his off-hand.

Not wasting a moment despite her fresh injury, Farah immediately turned her shoulder inwards, towards the injured man, and slammed him in the face with her left elbow. He dropped his sword to grab at his broken nose and as he reeled Farah continued to rotate around him, keeping his body between her and the other bandits.

She swept away another thrust from the chief as he tried awkwardly to push past his stunned comrade then bulled forward towards the injured bandit. She got off a deep draw-cut across his gut and followed behind the blow to heave him away with a shove of her left arm. The thrice-wounded bandit careened backwards and tangled up with the third man, who was trying to cross behind him. They both fell in a heap. But Farah didn’t have time to celebrate.

As she pushed her first target away with one hand, she had to throw her sword up with her other to intercept the blade of the bandit chief. The parry - one handed as it was - was too weak and her opponent's sword pushed through to strike hard against her collar-bone. Her maille held but Farah gasped in pain from the heavy blow. As she lifted her arm to parry again she felt as if her sword had suddenly grown heavier, and the dull ache in her shoulder told her that the bone was likely fractured. Still, she blocked his next two cuts then darted back suddenly so that the next one hit nothing but air. 

“Get back here!” the bandit chief roared in frustration. He advanced in a high guard, and Farah smirked, seeing her chance in his impatience. 

She rushed forward again, ignoring the stabbing pain in her ankle and the ache in her shoulder, and met the bandit’s sword up high. They closed nearly nose to nose in a clinch with Farah at an obvious disadvantage to the bigger and heavier man. He released his sword with one hand and drew it back to punch, but Farah struck first. Her knee connected with his groin with a solid thump. 

As the bandit chief doubled over, Farah shoved him hard and he shuffled backwards, his shaking knees barely holding him up. To his credit he managed to straighten and keep his guard high - though that hardly mattered as Farah’s sword swept in low, above his armored knees to slice through the front of his thighs. He tumbled down with a wail.

Farah raised her sword to finish him but rapid footfalls behind her signaled the third bandit was upon her. She snarled and spun, swinging her sword wildly from right to left. The bandit skidded to a stop just out of range of the savage attack. Farah could see the fear and hesitation in his eyes and he backpedaled slightly, regarding the bruised and bloody ranger with a tight-lipped expression. She wouldn’t give him the chance to find any buried resolve.

Farah leapt towards him, hefting her sword back painfully over her right shoulder to hammer him hard. As deep as she was in her battle-fury she could still feel her finesse and control ebbing away. She had to end this quickly. She brought her blade down hard, hoping to knock the sword from his wavering hands. But the instant their swords made contact, Farah realized her mistake. She knocked the bandit’s weapon out wide, but the jolt made her own blade slip from her weakened grip and skid away across the ground.

Farah drew in a sharp breath and reached for the small dagger in her boot but the bandit, seeing her wide-open, lunged back in before she could get to it. The thrust bit through her armor and Farah felt metal scrape against her ribs. 

The tenacious ranger turned with the blow, preventing it from digging too deep. She fought the urge to back away - that would only get her stabbed in the back at this point. Instead she stepped inside the bandit’s reach and pushed his arms out wide with her left hand, punching him in the eye with her right at the same time. Her splintered collarbone throbbed with pain at the impact. The man swore and lifted his left arm to cover his face and swept his sword back up towards Farah with his right. She caught his wrist and slugged him again. As his head snapped back, Farah gripped his sword arm as tight as her bleeding left hand could manage and grabbed a fistful of his shirt with her right. She pushed him backwards and the bandit backpedalled furiously, preventing her from bringing him to the ground, he shoved his left hand into her face in an attempt to push her away.

Farah bit his fingers. 

With a yelp the bandit tumbled back as his legs lost purchase. Farah fell atop him, pinning his sword arm to the ground. Her other hand found his neck and she squeezed as hard as she could. She gritted her teeth as he struck her with a couple punches from his free left hand, but her grip only tightened. But then the bandit changed tactics and tried to worm his hand down to his belt. Farah scowled when she spotted the dagger sheathed at his waist. Quick as a viper, she released her choke and intercepted his hand, twisting his wrist painfully until she had that arm pinned as well. The bandit sucked in a much needed breath.

“You win!” he gasped. “Let me go! I - I’ll run.”

Farah took a moment to look him over. He was young, younger than her, and he looked genuinely scared. One of his eyes was starting to swell where she’d hit him, but other than that he was uninjured.

Farah growled in frustration. At this point she was lasting on battle-fury alone - when that faded she’d be practically helpless. Even now she could just barely summon the strength to hold him down, and the pain in her hand and shoulder from doing so blazed throughout her body. If she let him go, there was nothing to stop him from coming back and finishing her afterward. 

“Sorry,” she breathed. The bandit’s eyes went wide.

Farah snapped her forehead down, slamming it into his nose, then released his right hand. Before he could strike at her again she’d drawn the dagger from his belt and driven it into his heart. 

Farah rolled off the young bandit and climbed shakily to her feet. She glanced left. The man whose stomach she’d slashed was curled up on his side, trembling hands trying to hold the gaping wound closed. The bloodstain around his shoulder was slowly widening. He’d be dead in mere moments. 

As she bent to pick up her sword Farah saw the bandit chief was on his feet again. He was hobbling back towards the river, swearing with every step. Blood was gushing freely from the deep cuts across his thighs. Farah sighed and limped towards him. 

“No!” the man cried when he noticed her coming his way. “No! It’s finished! Mercy!”

Mercy. Farah hated hearing that word from the mouth of a liar. A murderer.

“Yeah?” Farah spat. “Why not finish me. Then you could have that silver all to yourself!”

The bandit tripped and fell forward. He flipped over onto his butt and started crab walking backwards, his face a mask of terror. Farah closed with a few long strides and kicked him hard in the face. He fell flat and Farah planted a boot on his chest, her sword-tip resting on his throat.

“Mercy,” he rasped. Farah’s eyes blazed with anger, and she raised her arm for the final blow.

But the sword - Araline’s sword - never fell.

Farah grimaced and willed her arm to strike, but it held as still as if the spectre of her dead best friend was holding it fast in place. 

Mercy.

Farah’s arm lowered slowly and was soon hanging limp at her side. She couldn’t - no, wouldn’t - do it. 

When Traston had given her his fallen wife’s sword, he’d told her to use it well. The battle at Garr’s Ridge played through her mind in a flash. The ambush, the five of them fighting together in their finest moment, the dragon fire. The end.

Farah closed her eyes. Araline’s last act had been one of mercy. Mercy directed towards a foe who didn’t deserve it, who had betrayed her nobility thanks to a heart blackened by pride and greed. But still, her friend - her captain, her sworn sister - would never have used her blade like this. Never in cold blood.

Farah’s gaze drifted back to the young bandit, stone dead with his own dagger sticking out of his chest. She’d already taken one life she might not have had to. What would it cost her to take another? Once again she cursed her choice to not bring along more rangers. If she had, she could have taken some of these men alive. They would have been tried and executed regardless, but that would have been the proper way to do things. But her stubbornness had limited her options.

Farah looked back down at the cowering bandit chief and opened her mouth, to tell him to run - or crawl. To get out of her sight.

But she didn’t get the chance.

Her leg collapsed from under her before she even felt the impact that caused her muscles to fail.

Suddenly on one knee, Farah looked over her shoulder to see an arrow sticking through the meat of her left calf, just above the cuff of her boot. Raising her gaze and turning her body slowly, painfully, Farah spotted a woman standing barely a dozen strides behind her. An arrow was nocked on her hunting bow and she had a bloody wound on one side of her abdomen. 

The archer.

Farah closed her eyes as the woman drew back her bow slowly and deliberately. But a dull thud behind her one moment later caused her eyes to snap back open. Her head turned slowly to see the bandit chief, his mouth hanging open in denial, and an arrow embedded in his eye. Farah looked back to the archer in shock. She was casually lifting another arrow from her quiver, a smug smile plain on her face. Farah glared at her.

“You people are sickening.”

“You’re one to talk,” the archer laughed. “Butcher.”

“I’m here executing a bounty,” Farah growled. “You killed six innocent people.”

The archer shrugged. “Gotta eat. And some of that silver and spice will buy me passage to Perspos. No bounties there to run from. I’ll live like a queen.”

“Was murdering your friends always part of the plan then?” Farah spat, jerking her head towards the dead man behind her. The bandit shrugged again.

“He’d have bled out anyway. The death I gave him was a mercy. Besides, it was his fault the two of us got chased out of the city guard. Just desserts.”

“Yeah? And how far do you think you’ll make it with that hole in your side?”

The archer smirked and lifted her tunic, revealing a maille shirt underneath. There was a hole where Farah’s arrow had struck but there wasn’t enough blood for the arrow to have penetrated very far.

“Did you think you were the only one with armor?” she taunted, laying her arrow onto her bowstring.

“Good for you,” Farah sneered. Her right hand inched towards her cloak.

“I know right? Now be still, I’m going to make you suffer a bit for shooting me.”

“Your mistake.”

“My pleasure,” the archer corrected. Her bowstring twanged.

With the last of her failing strength, Farah pushed off the ground with her uninjured leg, throwing herself up and to the side just as the archer released her shot. The arrow slashed across the ranger’s left arm, but Farah was beyond caring about pain at this point. Her right hand closed around one of the steel wardarts sheathed on her back, and as she fell back to the ground she gave flight to the wickedly tipped weapon with every scrap of finesse she could muster. 

Farah's breath blasted away as she bounced heavily back onto the ground. She turned groggily to lay face down, letting the soft mud cool her cheek, expecting another arrow at any moment. She didn’t dare to hope that her final desperate play had worked out.

But the arrow never came.

Farah pushed herself up on shaking elbows and flipped over to sit on her butt. The arrow in her leg scraped against the ground, and she had to grimace away the pain. She looked over to see the archer laying on her side, one hand gripping the dart that was embedded in the side of her neck. A line of blood wound its way down across her throat and over her collarbone, disappearing as it soaked into her shirt. She was staring towards Farah with an expression of shock and horror stamped across her face.

“You,” she choked out accusingly.

Farah nodded grimly. She took another few moments to gather some strength before picking up and sheathing her sword. Unhooking it from her belt and using it as a cane, Farah rose to her feet and hobbled over to the fallen archer. By the time she got there, the woman was flat on her back, one hand still trying to hold back the blood leaking out from around the dart blade. Farah dropped to her knees beside her.

"It's over," she said, her voice gentle but firm. She pushed the archer's weak and bloodied hand aside and gripped the dart. The woman began to breathe heavily and struggled against Farah’s push. Farah bristled at first, wanting to scream and sneer at the cruel woman. But what purpose would that serve now? The ranger sighed and looked down at her.

"You... fought well. Now get some rest."

The woman's eyes, still wide with horror, met Farah's and her struggling lessened. Farah felt a hand brush against her leg and grasp a handful of her muddy breeches. The woman’s breathing slowed and she nodded ever so slightly.

"Do it," she rasped. 

The ranger bit the inside of her cheek and let out a long breath, then slid the dart's stiletto tip out of the archer's neck. More blood gushed from the narrow hole and for a moment Farah felt the woman's grip on her breeches tighten. The two of them held each other's gaze until the archer's eyes glazed over and she saw no more.

Farah pushed the dead woman's hand away from her leg gently. She whispered a quick prayer, looking to each of the fallen bandits in turn before standing up shakily once again. As much as her bloody and beaten body wanted to, she couldn’t rest yet. Not if she wanted to leave this forest alive. She looked down at her impaled leg, and the dark stain spreading around the hole in her tunic, just beside her heart. Her head throbbed where the stone had struck it and her left hand and arm were dripping with blood. She could barely lift her right arm above the shoulder anymore.

“Yep,” she sighed. This was the worst she’d ever been hurt.

Limping over to a boulder, Farah sat down and opened up her pouch, producing more bandages and cloth strips. She wrapped her sliced hand and the arrow wound on her arm as best she could, using her teeth to help tie them off. Then she picked up a small branch the width of her finger and placed it between her teeth. Biting down on it hard, she gripped the arrow in her leg on each end and snapped off the fletching with a jerk that sent her head spinning in pain. She pulled the rest of the shaft through the wound, crushing the twig in her mouth to splinters as she did. 

Farah tossed the broken arrow aside, pulled up the leg of her breeches, and rushed to wrap the wound as quickly as possible. Blood trickled from the jagged arrow holes with each beat of her heart. The ranger chuckled wryly when the fingers of her left hand refused to close around the cloth, making it impossible to tie the knot. 

“Heh. Should have invited a couple more people to the party,” she croaked sarcastically to herself.

She wrapped the wound as tight as she could manage and stuck a twig through it to try and hold it in place. She stood up, leaning heavily on her sword, and laughed again when the sloppy dressing unraveled and fell to the ground.

“Oh well,” she muttered with a lopsided smile. “Time for a fire.”

Farah looked around at the waterlogged forest. Of course. She shook her head, her manic smile spreading wider. She glanced at the bloody corpses strewn about the clearing once again and began laughing weakly. They looked almost peaceful. 

A drop of blood wound its way down her face and dripped off her chin. Farah’s laughter trailed off. How much longer did she expect herself to go on in this dark world? When did she get to rest?  She looked down at her bleeding leg. The closest town was more than a day’s ride away, even if she lit the signal there was no way-

Farah slapped herself, hard. The sting cleared her head and the renewed pain in her left hand gave her an idea.

She pulled the last of her bandages from her pouch and chose a spot near the middle of the clearing. Piling the bandages on the ground she perked up as another thought crossed her mind and she crawled over to the archer. She slid the women’s arrows from their quiver with an appreciative nod. Pulling the flask of brandy off her belt, Farah doused the bandages with what remained of the potent liquid before piling on the arrows and reaching for her flint and dagger.

As the fire sparked to life, Farah produced a small bag of red dust from the bottom of her pouch. When the fire was strong enough, she threw on a few handfuls of damp grass to help it smoke and tossed the powder bag into the flames. Red smoke drifted up out of the clearing shortly afterwards. Farah crawled back to the boulder and sat down with her back against it.

Her client and his haulers were camped on a hilltop nearby, waiting for her signal. Maybe they’d be kind enough to dress her wounds and carry her to a sanctuary.

Or maybe they’d leave her for dead and be relieved they didn’t have to pay her. That would be a fitting end to her stubbornness and faked self-confidence.

Farah looked around the clearing one last time and smiled sadly. She wondered if Araline and the others would have been proud of her. Things had worked out despite her many mistakes. She’d fought hard. Used every last scrap of her wit, skill, and tenacity. Done a ranger’s job. Whatever the case, this was a good fight to go out on.

As her eyelids began to droop, Farah watched the red smoke drift lazily upwards towards the clouds. She was going to pass out in a moment, there was no avoiding that. Maybe her soul would follow the smoke out of this lonely little clearing and drift away into the sky. The ranger rested her head back against the boulder as her vision clouded.

If she ever opened her eyes again, she’d quit the guild and go live in that old cabin in Fair Sunset. But if she didn’t, she hoped her fallen friends would be waiting for her. Away from this dark place.

Beyond the stars.

______________

The light was blinding at first, but by the time Farah’s eyes had fully opened she realized that the room she had awoken in was very gently lit. The smell of clean linens filled her nostrils and she ran her fingertips over the soft sheets that she lay upon and beneath. She brought a hand up to her temple, blinking in surprise at the feel of smooth, clean, unbroken skin.

“Welcome back, Miss Greenbow.”

Farah turned her head to see a well dressed gentleman of late middle-age sitting beside her bed, a closed book perched upon one knee. Farah nodded politely. He was her client, the man whose caravan had been ambushed and who had gone to the rangers guild when the local military turned him away. Farah sat up and crept a hand under the crisp white shirt that had replaced her bloodstained tunic, feeling the spot where the young bandit had stabbed her. There was no wound there either, not even a scar remained. Her leg felt normal as well.

“I should be dead,” Farah stated matter of factly.

“You’re not.”

“How?”

The client raised an eyebrow and pulled his chair closer, facing her directly.

“Your wounds were terrible,” he said. “But you received healing before they could take their toll. With a few more days of rest, you’ll be fully recovered.”

Farah shook her head. “We were too far from a sanctuary, I’d have bled to death before a cleric could-”

The client held up a hand. “I took the liberty of sending for a cleric the day before you set your final trap.”

Farah drew back in surprise. Clerics were usually very busy, and very hard to pull away from their sanctuaries. To summon one a day’s ride out of town on the supposition they might be needed was a tall order. The client went on.

“I suspected the battle would be more difficult than you made it sound, so I sent a message insisting that I had several injured men who could not be moved.”

“You lied?”

“Indeed. A wise merchant always acts on his intuition my dear. The man they sent wasn’t happy about it, but he ceased his nagging when we found you. Fortunately he was quite skilled.”

Farah nodded, still surprised. If what this man was saying was true, she owed him her life. She took a moment to look around the room. It was small but well adorned, and with a pair of cheerily decorated windows letting in light from outside.

“This isn’t a sanctuary,” she stated, rather than asked.

“No, this is my home. After the clerics and physicians were done with you I took you here to complete your recovery. My wife and household staff have been caring for you.”

“I see,” said Farah, stunned by his kindness.

“It was the least I could do,” he tapped his chin as if remembering something and reached back to lift a pair of items from a side table.

“A representative from your guild came by to check on you after I sent word of what happened. They left you this.” He handed her a letter and a bag heavy with small metal bars.

Farah accepted both, peeking inside the bag quickly - the bars were mostly of copper, with a couple pieces of gold. Not the full payment promised by the bounty, though she suspected she knew why.

Peeling off the rangers guild seal, Farah opened the envelope and quickly scanned the letter within. She gave a humorless laugh when she finished and dropped the paper onto her lap.

“Well?” the client prompted.

“I’ve had half my reward docked. And my guild privileges are revoked for a year.”

“I see.”

“My reward for being stupid,” Farah sighed. “I’ll have to apologize once I’m allowed back into a guildhall.” She stared into her lap and halted awkwardly before continuing, trying to find the right words. “You... didn’t have to do what you did. And you certainly didn’t have to sit by me until I woke up.”

The client waved away her concern. “Think nothing of it. My wife insisted that it wouldn’t do to have you wake up with no one to greet you, and your guildmate said you didn't have family in the country I could send for. So I’ve made sure someone stayed close until now.”

Farah gave him a thankful smile. In the country? She didn’t have any family whatsoever anymore. The house she’d been born into was a thousand leagues away - and her father had disowned her when she was barely a teen. Once again her thoughts drifted to Araline and her other companions and her smile faded to a faint and sad one. She’d lost two families in her life, and she wasn’t even thirty years old yet. 

The room was quiet for many long moments before the client sat back in his chair with a pensive look on his face.

“What will you do now?” he asked.

Farah shrugged. “Take it easy for the next year, maybe do a few odd jobs here and there. Who knows.”

“I would gladly hire you on as a caravan guard until the ranger’s guild allows you back.”

It was Farah’s turn to raise an eyebrow.  “I can’t possibly ask any more of you.”

“I would be the one doing the asking. You are a formidable woman, Miss Greenbow, my haulers would be glad to have you. Besides, I feel I still owe you a debt.”

“You retrieved all of your goods intact?” Farah asked, unsure of what he meant.

“I did, but that isn’t what I mean,” the client leaned in close to her again. “You didn’t just retrieve my cargo. You brought those killers to justice, at great risk to yourself.”

Farah nodded in understanding. “You lost someone in the raid?”

The client nodded sadly. “Two close friends. And my son-in-law.”

“I’m sorry,” said Farah. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t tell you.”

Farah swallowed hard. “Well, I was only doing my job sir.”

“And you did it admirably. I had my doubts at first, but you came through.”

Farah nodded again, averting her eyes. Was killing that many people, scum though they were, something to be admired? They hadn’t all been clean kills, and in the end, what had it been for? Silver and spice? 

Her gaze crept back up to the client and only then did she notice the tears rimming his kind brown eyes. She recognized that look. 

It was the same one Traston and the others had worn when she’d come back from putting down Araline’s killer for good. It wasn’t a joyful expression. But the vulnerability and relief in those eyes calmed Farah’s heart in a way she didn’t fully understand. 

She cursed herself for wallowing in self-pity - did she really think she was the only person who had ever suffered? This kind man was at peace now, and she was the one who had made that happen. But she could do better, she realized, thinking of her struggle with the young bandit, and her refusal to ask other rangers for help. She could be better. Farah turned back to look the client in his eyes.

“I - I don’t suppose you’ll be sending any caravans north soon? To Arvair?” she asked. He looked at her curiously.

“I’ll be leading the wagons to Oreman’s Glen myself in seven day’s time. I plan to stay with my daughter and her children for a stretch, and perhaps bring them home with me.”

Farah nodded, determined. She was a fighter, an explorer. A ranger. She enjoyed her job and she did it well. She could admit that - accept that - at this moment at least. If she had truly helped this kind man find some measure of peace and closure, then maybe she didn’t have to keep being so hard on herself. She didn’t have to keep comparing herself to her old companions, even if she did have room to grow. 

“I can accompany you,” she said, her voice stronger this time. “And I can help you find a couple hands to protect you on the way home. I’ll think I’ll be going on to Daemedra or I’d return with you myself.”

The client’s face brightened. “That would be most kind of you.”

Farah offered him a warm smile which he returned before throwing a hand to his forehead.

“Oh I’ve forgotten! My dear you must be starving. Wait here, I’ll fetch something from the kitchen.”

He jumped to his feet and strode towards the door.

“Mister Brooks!” Farah called after him.

The man stopped and turned back to her, his head cocked to the side.

“Thank you.”

Brooks smiled and bowed low to her before striding through the door and closing it gently behind him. Farah lowered herself back down onto the bed, a contented smile spreading across her face.

She’d forgotten.

This world was bursting with people like Brooks, people she could trust, people she could be proud to care for and protect. And if she was lucky, some of them would come to care for and protect her in turn. Just like her old gang had. 

So she’d go to Daemedra, and visit with Jay’s wife and children. And from there she’d chart a new course for herself. One where she could carry her lost loved ones with her but make room for new connections, new companions. Because despite knowing well the heavy ache of loss, and all the dark and hopeless things this world had shown her since they’d parted ways, Farah had come to realize something. 

All that they’d done, the adventures they’d shared, the lives they’d saved, and the souls they’d avenged.... those things mattered. And not just to her, but to every person their actions had ever touched. And, Farah had decided, she’d do it all again, over and over, until the day she died.

The ranger lay on her side so that she could watch the clouds pass by through the window. She let her tears flow freely down her cheeks.

This world was a bright place. And she was happy to still be living in it.