The Accidental Archmage, Edmund Batara [read after TXT] 📗

still all forest as

far as he could see, though the trees on the other side seemed to be less tall. The

silence which accompanied him was now gone. It felt as if he just removed earplugs.

Refilling his makeshift water containers, he crossed the shallow brook and entered the

forest on the other side. This time around he couldn’t see the beginnings of a trail or an

uncluttered path through the vegetation. It was slow going. His arms now sported cuts

and gashes from the plants and branches blocking his path as he forced his way

through.

To make matters worse, bugs now started to congregate around him. It did occur to him that his amateurish crashing through the undergrowth was announcing his

presence throughout the area. It was after some painful and torturous three hours by

his watch when he saw the incline. The terrain so far had been relatively flat. The

incline, rising around twenty to thirty feet, could give him the opportunity to look

around the forest from an elevated position. The trees on top of it looked to be

climbable. Unfortunately, that was where he met the wolf pack welcome committee.

His panic-stricken dash from the wolves took him in the opposite direction. All he could

think of was increasing his distance from them. In the end, his tired body forced him to

stop. Taking a drink of water, he looked around and found a short thick branch which

could serve as a club. The wolves appeared to have stopped chasing him. He examined

the surrounding trees and found one which could serve him as temporary shelter. He

needed to rest and prepare for the night. Fortunately, the trees had reachable branches

and his chosen tree had two adjoining branches of acceptable thickness around six feet

from the ground.

Climbing up, he arranged fallen branches between the two tree branches and formed a

shaky platform long enough for his body. His emergency blanket he placed on the

temporary platform and folded half of it for warmth. His backpack he used as a pillow.

He now had to hope and pray he wouldn’t fall down during the night.

Morning found him hungry, miserable, and tired but alive. He discovered his makeshift

bed also served as an impromptu massage dais. In a bad way. His body ached and his

sleep was very uncomfortable. Despite his tiredness, he woke up several times during

the night due to unfamiliar forest noises and the fear of falling off the tree.

After a breakfast of biscuits, a piece of jerky and water, he set off again. He was

starting to feel that he would be lost forever in this forest. Or die as the main course of an animal or two or ten. He came to the realization he had already lost significant

weight. His 180 pounds must have already dropped to 150 or 160. He could feel that he

was starting to weaken. His clothes were dirty. He knew he stank horribly and the dirt

and leaves in his hair didn’t improve his appearance. He wouldn’t be surprised if some

insects had started to make it their home. He was also worried about his cuts and

bruises. Some were starting to heal but he hoped infection wouldn’t be an issue. The

possibility of getting sick while roaming around lost as a blind man in a labyrinth was

unpleasant to contemplate.

After another few hours of struggling through the forest, he started to hear shouts in

the distance. Crouching, he tried to move as fast as he could towards the commotion.

Taking cover from tree to tree, he could also hear the distinctive sound of metal hitting

metal. After about fifteen minutes, he heard a loud yell. He noticed that the noisy clash

had stopped.

Slowly he moved forward, still trying to maintain his tree to tree movement. He could already see a clear expanse through the trees ahead. He stopped and turned towards

where the sounds came from. It came from his left, some distance away but he couldn’t

see who made it. As he moved closer, he dropped to his stomach and crawled forward.

The clang of metal he earlier heard made him nervous. As he got closer, he took cover

behind a thick bush and carefully pulled a clump of leaves apart.

A body lay before him. It was on its stomach and the cause of death was the two

arrows sticking out of its back. In front of him was its head. It had a short iron helm

and its body wore leather armor of some sort. A short sword lay a short distance from

its right hand. It wore metal gauntlets though the pants and footwear appeared to be

leather, same as the armor. He couldn’t see the face but blood was already soaking the

leather armor and the forest floor. Beyond the body, the forest growth blocked the

view.

Tyler froze. But seeing that nobody followed the dead man, he crouched forward,

taking care to be as silent as possible. He picked up the short sword, the weapon

feeling unfamiliar in his right hand. After passing the body, he went prone and crawled

forward, taking cover behind another bush.

As he peeked, he saw three covered wagons with horses. Around it was several bodies.

Dead, he supposed. On the forest side of the wagons stood a group of about thirty men

in mismatched armor with spears, swords, axes, and bows in hand. Fortunately, they

had their backs to the forest and were looking down at another group lying on the

ground in a line. Prisoners and bandits, Tyler concluded.

Though he was a good sixty to seventy feet away, he could hear them but he couldn’t

understand the language. Those on the ground comprised some men in armor, some in

robes, and three were women. Around nine people. They all had their hands on the

back of their heads. The bandits were shouting at them. Some were laughing.

After a while, one of those standing removed his helmet and pointed to two of the

women. Two men came forward, pulled them up and tied their hands behind their back.

The two women were pushed to walk to the other side of the wagons. The man who

removed his helmet appeared to have better gear than the rest, with a great sword

attached to his back. He yelled