Chapter Fifty-seven *NEW*

"I told you those cattle must belong to some wealthy scum, too fine of animals to be owned by a peasant."

"Aye you did, now shut up and look for anything valuable."

"Valuable? Have you seen the inside of that workshop! That dragon hide would feed us for months!"

There was a round of laughter between men and women, a group of bandits, robbers, thieves. A group of miscreants who were attempting to ransack the manor during the short hours while Gaalin was away. Instead, he returned prior to them demolishing the property any further than the storm had.

"Let's use that wagon over there! Hey you! Grab one of those horses and hook it up, fast!"

Men laughed, "We're going to need more than just one wagon with all this stuff!"

Gaalin tethered his horse to a tree down the hill, trying to silently sneak past the cattle that had entered the paddock to join the rest of their herd and to devour the fresh hay. He walked along the back side of the barn, stepping carefully amongst the wet soil. Pressing his back against the barn wall, he walked to the corner of the building.

He listened to the laughter of the bandits, listening to them gleefully sort through all the supplies he had just recently stored away. Overhearing them as they tore through the storage in the barn, they clattered around in the workshop, and the fought with the locks on the manor. He ground his teeth together when glass shattered, and glancing past the building he saw one of the bandits broke through a window on the manor and lifted a woman inside.

His waist was bare, he did not carry his sword with him today and now he regretted it. He carried no sword, no dagger, no bow. He looked around, trying to find something he could use as a weapon. There was, a branch. Damnit.

"There's crates of gold in here!"

He flinched, the chests of treasure, all the valuables that had been awarded to his ladyship, he left it just beyond the threshold. How careless of him! Withholding himself from slapping his open palm against his forehead, he retreated behind the barn wall and thought. What was he to do?

"Get that door open! I need help carrying these!" The woman's voice shouted, he could hear her and the other thieves shaking the door against its hinges, and for once he was thankful that he locked the door prior to leaving that afternoon. With hardly enough time, he knew he had to move fast otherwise those bandits would break down those doors and would greedily make off with his ladyship's valuables.

He peeked from behind the building once more, trying to figure out where all the bandits were. Two at the manor's main door, one by the wagon, one hitching up the horse, one inside the workshop, and at least one had made it inside the manor. These were the ones he could at least see, though hearing the destruction moving around the property, he wasn't sure if there was more. He needed a weapon, he needed something other than his fists to take the intruders out, so his gaze moved towards the workshop.

The interior was most likely in shambles at this point, he could hear one of the bastards inside tearing through its contents. Yet within the shop he knew there were several weapons, still under repair or creation, yet they were weapons. If he could reach the workshop, if he could find a blade and disarm the bandit inside it, he could move forward.

"That's it! The door is open!" a man cheered, "Quickly! Come help us lift these, they're heavy!"

Gaalin felt his teeth click together, turning to sneak to the back of the barn. He listened to the bandits claim his and Libelle's possessions, their conversations tickling his ears as he crept along the back of the barn, pausing as he reached the opposite corner of the building. Pausing long enough to confirm that he would be able to run from his location to the side door of the workshop. The two bandits closest were loading things into the wagon left there just days prior with their backs turned. It was the moment he needed, and he seized the opportunity.

With his head low, Gaalin rushed through the mud and reached the side door of the workshop. He glanced inside and a single man inside, fortunately with his back turned to him just like the others. Even better, the man carried a long sword at his waist. Quietly lifting a jagged piece of a broken blade from a nearby bench, he remained crouched and walked slowly towards the man. Slowly, cautiously, up until he was kneeling just behind the man.

"Damn, look at this stuff." The man whispered to himself. "The quality of this metal is insane."

Gaalin stood up, his height considerably taller than the bandits, enough that he was able to see the man picking through refined ore and blades. The man turned his head to look out the nearest window, his vision missing Gaalin just briefly as he moved with the shadows to stay hidden.

"Hey!" The man shouted, "Who do you think lives here? Some rich old bastards?"

There was a chuckle and laughter beyond the building, a shuffle of men, and several "Who knows!"

Gaalin returned to standing directly behind the man, "Someone you'll never know."

"Wha-!" The man started to spin around in surprise, his eyes wide, but his voice erased in and instant. Gaalin quickly slipped his palm over the man's mouth, his other hand dragging the sharp piece of metal over the skin of his throat in one efficient motion. Initially the man thrashed, his arms flailing and his feet kicking. Restraining the man from making a commotion, Gaalin held the bastard against his chest, holding him firmly up until the man started to go limp.

Lowering the man to the ground, he dropped the thief onto the soil and knelt beside the corpse. He lifted the blade from his hip, holding the grip firmly in his grasp while moving to the doorway of the workshop. Outside, the other bandits were unaware. Until he heard the clatter of a metal bucket.

His red eyes turned swiftly back towards the bandit's corpse, fast enough to see a bucket fall beside the man's feet and his brown eyes too lock with his own. Damnit! I thought you were dead!

"What was that!"

"Did you hear something?"

"Oye! Leif! Was that you?" The voices came closer, and Gaalin stared at the man he thought he'd left a corpse. The man smiled, ever so briefly before his eyes dimmed.

"Leif! Answer us! You, go check it out!"

"Leif!"

Gaalin's teeth clenched together again, pinning his back against the wall beside the doorway, hidden in the shadows as he heard footsteps approaching.

"Leif!"

His grip on the sword tightened, raising the blade over his shoulder.

"He was just in there, why he isn't answering?" Their footsteps stopped just beyond the threshold. "Sten, go around back."

Their shadows moved around the building, one remaining at the main entrance while the other walked to the opposite side of the building. He waited until the men entered the workshop, remaining in the darkness behind the opened door. Waiting until they moved around the clutter, stopping at Leif's corpse.

"What the hell?" They spoke. "Quiet! His throats been slit, someone's here."

"B-behind you!"

The men shrieked like frightened women as he lunged at them from the shadows, his sword striking them down one by one before they were even able to lift their own blades. Yet the commotion alerted those outside the workshop, and his tactic of ambushing the bandits was no longer an option.

Hearing the screams and the gargled gasps, the other bandits took up arms and rushed towards the workshop. Several reaching its dark entryway where Gaalin lurched out like a predator stalking its prey. One after another he struck the blade against, feeling its dull edge tear through their flesh, watching the red liquid surge from their wounds. One after another he watched fall, skillfully evading their attacks, fighting like the warrior he had grown to be over his many years of battle.

Had he not had a blade, destroying the lot of them would have proved more difficult, more time consuming, but ultimately not impossible. With the stolen blade in his hand, he made short work of them. Ignoring the remaining pleas for mercy, cold heartedly cutting them down even as they attempted to crawl away from him. Some remained alive, wounded, but still clinging to life even as the last of their comrades collapsed to the ground.

His breath was ragged, his posture slumped forward as he stood in the center the murder scene. He panted, the sword dangling from his hand as he watched his breath form a puff of cold air in front of him. His eyes closed, and then he listened. Listened to the animals, to the rustling of the trees in the wind, to the dripping of blood into the residual puddles of rainwater: to the trembling gasps that didn't belong to him.

His head tilted over his shoulder into the barn, his gaze narrowing at the young female bandit trying to sneak from its heavy doors to the tree line. When she realized he saw her, she screamed and tried to run. Only to stop abruptly as the worn sword that Gaalin had just had in his grasp pierced the barn wall in front of her nose. He'd thrown it, except he missed.

"I didn't intend to leave any of you alive." He said.

The women screamed again, collapsing to the ground, and scooting backwards away from him as he approached. "No! Monster! You're a monster! Stay away!"

He said nothing more as he closed the distance between them, kneeling down in front of her and staring into the murky blueish green eyes of the dirty blonde-haired woman. "You're sort of… pleasing."

"Please, let me go. Please, I'll leave, and I won't ever come back." She had tears running down her cheek and snot running from her nose. "Please, I beg you."

Gaalin smirked, "You'll do."

Her teary eyes widened, her screeching intensifying as Gaalin stood up in front of her. Screaming as his fingers twisted into her snarled hair, while he dragged her backwards and her nails dug into the skin of his forearm, while she was tossed onto the pile of straw. While he...

"Libelle… my ladyship. Please hurry home. I can't wait much longer."

"Libelle, I can't wait to marry you."