Below me I see the leader snarl in frustration and wave his men forward, the retreating bandits now surging forward again as they heft heavy crossbows and fire at the guards. At least two go down, the rest drawing katanas as they mill around uncertainly, but the lady knight is now riding hard back towards the caravan. “Form ranks,” she calls out as she rides along the back side of the caravan, then pulls up beside the wagon behind the healer’s.

Her katana flashes in the sun setting over the mountains as she leaps down off her horse and charges towards the bandits, yelling, “Up the slopes and at them!” Her retainers and the other guards yell war-cries as they follow.

The Young Lord and his squires are now standing on the rock as the Ogra-Ki roars a war-cry of his own and runs towards the slope, the healer who must be the Ogra-Ki’s father grabbing a gnarled black staff from underneath the cart’s bench and running after his son. Phantom ice crystals form in the hair of the Young Lord as phantom flames form in the Fire-Archer’s, his arrow giving off sparks as white mist forms around the Young Lord’s free hand. He flings ice darts at the Ogra-Ki as both archers loose their arrows at the enormous foe charging up the slope, and I draw Apprentice as I prepare to enter the fight.

But the healer’s hair is shining like the summer sun. He sings in a voice I cannot hear over the din of battle, but from his outstretched hand a gust of wind rushes forward and scatters the arrows as it melts the ice darts, the Blood-archer’s arrow skittering across the flagstones of the road as the Fire-Archer’s arrow hits a tree on the other side and explodes, showering the healer’s wagon with wood chips and flaming bark. Three bandits on the leader’s right draw rusty weapons and rush downslope as each archer pulls another arrow from the leather holder on his back.

‘Patience’, my sword Master says again, only this time to me, and I nod, shifting Apprentice to my left hand just in case. The young Ogra-Ki must learn to fight his own battles, and I watch a bandit with a notched broad-axe lift it as he runs towards the young warrior, before he trips on a leaf-covered root. 

The bandit stumbles and the Ogra-Ki braces his feet and swings one-handed, smashing the bandit alongside his black-haired head. His skull splits like a melon and he goes down, the Ogra-Ki swinging at the lean bandit with a rusty sword in his hand who’s right behind the first. But the bandit does a tuck-and-roll, losing his wax-hardened leather cap but retaining his sword as the Ogra-Ki over-swings and loses his balance, the third and much larger bandit with a rusty, two-bladed great axe coming to a halt as he raises his weapon.

The Ogra-Ki sees and swings wildly with his cudgel, catching the great axe just under its steel head and knocking it from the Bandit’s filthy hand. The cudgel goes after it and they gape at each other a moment. Then the bandit claws at his belt for his long dagger, but the Ogra-Ki grabs his arm and the two begin wrestling, the Ogra-Ki far stronger, but the bandit clearly more experienced as the Ogra-Ki’s feet slip on the leaves underfoot. The bandit pulls his long dagger free.

The Ogra-Ki rears back and punches the bandit in the face. His fist is like a hammer and the black haired bandit drops his dagger as he staggers away, the Ogra-Ki pursuing as he grabs the man by the front of his ragged leather armor and smashes the bandit’s face again and again until he’s limp as a rag-stuffed scarecrow. Behind the Ogra-Ki the lean bandit sneaks towards him with his rusty sword upraised…