Highway Robbery

[Big_Panda]

“You do it.”
“No, you do it!”
“Why me?”
“I got her to stop!”
“Oh, like that took scads of effort; you yelled ‘stop or I’ll shoot’. You need to take a nap now or something?”
“Piss off.”
“Then do your job!”
In small secluded patch of road out in the Eastern part of the Frontier, a trio of bandits was having something of a disagreement. The Brothers Scorn (not their real name…they weren’t even related) had been at their chosen trade for little over a month, and there were still a few rough spots in their working relationship.
Highway robbery was a pursuit usually undertaken by the socially downtrodden and the financially desperate. Though the three young men with crude weapons were a liberal mix of both, their initial goal in becoming highwaymen had actually been to impress women. Natives of the small town of Enbrei, about four or five leagues distant, had been precious little there to help distinguish themselves as the virile man-men they knew they were.
But since the three –Dafford, Hace, and Markil, their names were- had grown up hearing bards sing about the daring escapades of highwaymen, it didn’t take a scholar to figure out what path they chose. After all, robbing nobles, seducing ladies, and dressing impeccably…it seemed the easiest way for a trio of small-town lads to acquire the three things that had eluded them all their short lives: money, respect, and women.
They would have settled for just women, truth be told. But Markil, who’d designated himself as leader on account of him being twenty years old and therefore the eldest of them, had declared that the first two usually led to the third.
Unfortunately, thus far they were zero for three. Even with five opportunities in as many weeks, each had proved fruitless:
The first two had been merchant caravans, too tightly guarded for them to even think about accosting.
A third had been a Priest of Dio, which Hace had refused to burgle; being from a religious family he had reservations about mugging someone who could call down holy fire upon his head. The large man, who otherwise did everything Markil told him to, had crossed his beefy arms and not made one move to accost the churchie.
The fourth had actually been Dafford’s father returning from Ves Vandril out by the Expanse, and they couldn’t bloody well rob him…Dafford was afraid of the man. He was the youngest of the three, and as yet had not alienated his own family through shame yet. Being Markil’s second cousin, he’d agreed to join him in larceny on the condition that no one in their family would know, hence the somewhat remote location for their thievery.
The fifth opportunity had been promising; a lone, elderly man shuffling towards Enbrei at dusk. Carrying a large satchel full of loot and with only a walking stick for defense.
Unfortunately for the Brothers Scorn, the walking stick turned out to be a wand, and the old man a traveling wizard. All things considered, the boys had gotten off light; they’d spent the better part of a week hopping, croaking, and snacking on flies.
Now, on their sixth week, they had met at their usual spot to discuss further endeavors. They’d just been about to dissolve the partnership when what seemed like a prime opportunity presented itself.
Or herself, rather.
Their current mark was a woman, who had been traveling alone with naught but her horse as company.
She looked tough, to be sure, with her rugged riding duster and her weather beaten hat. Not only that, but not a trace of wands or magical implants about.
But other than being a bit more fit than they were used to girls being, they found nothing really odd about her. Except for the hair, which was a curious shade of sky blue. This had reinforced Markil’s belief the girl was from the Western part of Eden, near St. Aven. They were all prissies out there, he had said, with their outlandish fashions and fancy hairstyles. And after all, they were three strapping young lads and it was just one girl…
Yes, this would be their first step towards greatness, to be immortalized in song and rhyme.
And so Hace, a beefy fellow who was easily the best shot out of the three, had popped up from behind a large rock (cunning tactics, he felt) and brought his crossbow to bear.
“Halt!” he had indeed commanded, and much to everyone’s surprise, she had. She’d even complied when Markil ordered her off her horse and then keep her hands in the air.
She’d done all this with an air of veiled amusement, Dafford alone had noticed. That bothered him, and he was about to bring it up, when his compatriots had fallen to arguing about who would search the captive, who would tie her up and so forth. They hadn’t quite thought that far in advance, after all.
“And I’m saying that Hace should tie her up…being the strongest and all.” Markil went on.
“Hang on, why can’t you do it?” Hace retorted, having become a wee bit tired of being ordered around.
“Because I’m telling you to, you oaf,” the blond-haired thief said, matter-of-factly. “I’m the leader here, on account of I’m the smartest.”
“Who says…”
“Hey!”
They all turned. Their “victim” was leaning up against her horse, arms crossed. She looked… impatient. “Idiots.”
The three of them stopped, Markil and Hace falling silent.
“Shouldn’t one of you dung-minded arsepots have tied me up by now or something? Sweet Dio and All His Saints, I could’ve been a league away by now, while you three daisy wavers’ve been havin’ a tea party.”
Markil had never been spoken to in such a manner before. At least, not by a female.
“Wh-what?” he spluttered. “What’re you-”
“If it’s too hard for ya’ll to figure out, let me make this abundantly clear,” she sighed, impatiently. “I’ve been accosted by trolls, goblins, gremlins, and other unsavory folk with less a brain in their heads than just squishy skull fodder. And they were all still better at holding folks up than you three...”
The Brothers stood there, flabbergasted at the verbal onslaught.
“Morons,” she finished.
“H…hey, shut up!” Markil blurted. “You can’t talk to us that way!”
“All signs point to yes, I can, son,” she sniffed. “And standing there all gawk-eyed like the loser in a ugly pony show ain’t gonna change that any time soon.”
“Shut up!” This wasn’t going well, Markil realized. “You’ll not talk to the Brothers Scorn in such a manner, you disrespectful wench!”
“Well lah-dee-dah, princess!” she spat. “How ya’ll figure on stoppin’ me? And mind you, I know insults in dwarvish. And I think I’ve got one specially for you, blondie.”
Markil trembled with indignance. “Hace, gag her!”
“Why not you?”
“Because you two are my flunkies!”
“How do you figure that?”
“I’m the smar-“
“Right, let’s not go down that path again.” Dafford said, finally. “Hace has got his crossbow, which means he’s got to stay clear of her. Markil, you’re the best with knots and suchlike, so that means you’ve got the job.”
Markil puffed up a bit at his younger cousin’s roundabout praise. “So I am. Very well, I’ll truss her up, then we’ll see what goodies she’s got, no?”
Hace grinned at the innuendo, Dafford just rolled his eyes.
“You just be sure to shoot if anything goes wrong, Hace.”
“Ayup, no problem,” the large man nodded. “Plant one right between the ribs, so I will.”
“Right. And Dafford,” Markil fixed his meanest eye on their youngest member “you be sure to stand by with our Secret Weapon, if need be.”
Dafford just simply nodded. Their “leader” took up a rope in his left hand, drew a rusty dagger from his belt with his right.
“Right, now no funny business, or I’ll cut you something fierce, girly,” Markil growled as he began his approach. She just rolled her eyes.
“Aw, hell no,” she lamented.
“What?” Markil stopped.
“You mean to tell me y’can’t even hold a knife right?”
“The hell are you on about?” the lanky thief said, not liking any of this.
“You’ve got a single-edge blade there, sunshine. That means only one side’s sharp. Ideally, that’s the side you want facing the other guy.”
Markil’s eye flitted down to the blade in his hand. The blue-haired woman was correct. He turned scarlet with embarrassment and rage.
“I ain’t holding it wrong!” he said defiantly. “It’s a reverse grip technique my father taught me.”
“Well then, looks like brains and looks run in the family,” she snorted. “That’s just sad, boy. Turn the damned thing around; you trip, you’ll gut yourself.”
“I’m not going to trip!”
In an eyeblink, the woman spun low, sending her left leg out in an arc, sweeping Markil at the ankles. With a yowl, he went pitching to the side and luckily for him, she plucked that knife out of his hands as he fell.
As the lanky would-be robber landed with a thud, she turned and sent that same blade spinning through the air at his friend with the crossbow.
Hace shrieked as the blade sliced a thin red line across his left shoulder, pinning him to the tree by his dirty gray overshirt. With a tuunnnngg his crossbow went off.
It was moments later, after the blue-haired woman snatched the bolt out of the air, that they all began to think they’d tried mugging the wrong person.
Meanwhile, Markil just stared dumbly at the pointy metal tip that had almost plunged into his left eye. His mouth moved but no sound came out. He looked up at the blue-haired woman who’d for some reason saved his life.
“Some shot, your friend is,” she remarked, and then punched him square on the jaw. The would-be leader of the Brothers Scorn sank to the ground.
With a snarl, Hace tore himself off the dagger. His left arm was too injured to use his crossbow now, and he didn’t have the time to reload it anyway. Instead he wielded it like a club as he charged towards her.
She ducked one, then two swipes of the makeshift cudgel before snapping her boot into the big man’s jaw. Two teeth popped out of his mouth, but he still kept coming.
Tossing the crossbow aside, Hace wrapped his meaty arms around the woman and hoisted her into the air. She let out a short hiss as he immediately began to squeeze her, bear-style.
Her hat tumbled off as she slammed her forehead against his. Three direct hits didn’t seem to do much except make her head spin a little faster. This would-be highwayman was a lousy shot with a crossbow, but damned strong.
With tremendous effort, she managed to pull her arms free, and immediately began to rain a series of blows onto his face and head. Even that didn’t do much until she began bringing both fists onto his temples. His grip slackened after the third blow and felt herself being lowered as the big man slumped to the ground.
She pushed himself away with her right foot, using her hands to check her ribs.
Click.
She knew that sound. She whirled while cursing herself for forgetting there’d be another one; a kid, almost.
“Stop right there!”
Dafford held a well-worn, but apparently cared for pistol in his left hand. He was doing his level best to not shake like a leaf and was failing miserably.
Blue just looked from the gun, then to its owner, then back to the gun.
“I’ll shoot!” he maintained.
“You pulling iron on me, boy?” she said. “Look at you…you ain’t never fired one before, have you?”
“I have!” Dafford spat defiantly. “The best shot my family has!”
“Hnnh,” she snorted. “They all shake much as you do?”
The young highwayman grabbed his trembling hand, fighting back tears of shame. “Stay where you are! I’m serious!”
“I very much doubt that,” she said, taking a step forward. “You hand that over before…”
PKOW
Dafford had tried to fire a warning shot past her, had been aiming for a tree just to her right. But it was a powerful old gun, and the recoil nudged his shot while sending him backwards to the ground.
When he looked up, he noticed a small rent had sprouted on the left shoulder of her blue long coat. She just stared at it…
“Uh…” was all Dafford could say. “I-I’m so-”
When she turned to face him, her eyes were chips of cold crystal. Suddenly he found himself feeling for the gun he’d dropped.
She was on him in the next moment, sending him spinning with a backhanded slap to the face. Even as he reeled from the blow, he felt for his weapon, finding it in the short, wet grass. He plucked it up with desperation, bringing it to bear…
…and stared straight into the barrel of another gun, this one in the lady’s hand. If Dafford had his senses about him, he would have thought it a beautiful piece of work, the way it shone in the daylight.
As it was, he found himself scared out of his mind.
“Get up,” she said through grit teeth.
He looked up at her uncomprehendingly.
She thumbed back the hammer on that terrible weapon. “I said, get the hell up, boy.”
After another second of that bewildered expression, she grabbed him by his tunic and hoisted him quite roughly to his feet.
“See this here gun?” she said. “Wearing one may be prudent these days, but drawing one means you’re ready to kill. Firing one means you’re ready to die. That what you’re looking for, boy?”
With that, the blue-haired woman lowered her own weapon. For some reason that really unnerved Dafford.
“One free shot. And with that shot, you go from being whatever you are now to a killer. To be able to kill means you have no fear of death.”
Dafford thumbed back the hammer, now afraid of what this crazy woman was going to do.
“You afraid of death, boy? For mark me, if you pull that trigger and you don’t kill me, no force on Creation will stop me from ending you.”
Half mad with fear, Dafford just stood there, facing this insane woman fighter who was daring him to shoot her. Half a day ago he’d been minding the farm. How had things come to this?
Finally, the old revolver slipped from his hand to the grass. He never took his yes from her once until it had and then looked away. Her gun still held high, the woman began towards him. His breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes, bracing himself…
There was no crash of gunfire, but rather a soft clack.
When he opened his eyes, he saw that she was emptying the four bullets out of his grandfather’s gun. She tossed the bullets out into the wood. After doing do, she turned it over and over in her hands, regarding it with admiration. He didn’t dare speak.
“This here’s noble steel,” she said at last. “You’d do well to treat this with some respect…what’s your name?”
To his own surprise, he answered. “Dafford. Dafford Hinckley.”
“Dafford. Right,” she said, almost thoughtfully. “How old’re you Dafford?”
“Eighteen, next Friday.”
“Eighteen,” she nodded. “Good age. Old enough to dream big, young enough to be stupid about it.”
He began to protest at the comment, but ultimately decided it best to keep his trap shut. She’d holstered her gun, however, and he unclenched a bit. She was taking out a small black cigarette from a belt pouch.
“Let me tell you something,” the blue haired woman went on, mumbling a bit around the smokestick. She was patting herself down at the same time. “Right now, you-dammit, you got a light on you?”
He blinked, and then slowly shook his head. “I don’t smoke.”
She threw him a look, and then nodded. “Huh. You’re not totally brainless, then. Good. Anyway what I was saying is, right now you’re of a mind that the things you want in life need to be taken.
“And you’re partly right, all truths be told; be a liar if I disagreed with you. Ya’ll sometimes gotta fight for what’s yours, even if some jack tells you it ain’t. The difference, though…ah ha!”
She fished a lone match out of her hatband. “Always forget I keep one there…the difference isn’t just what you want, and is it worth the taking. Even more importantly, is the taking worth what you want.”
“I don’t understand,” the young man said.
“Man gets judged by what he wants, what he values. He also gets judged by how he goes about getting those things. Look here,”
She tossed over a worn leather pouch. A small jingle sounded from within. “In there’s about six pennies and silver half-bit. Ask you this; would that have been worth killing a body over?”
Dafford slowly shook his head no. “It wasn’t the money we were after, anyway….we just..”
He had to chuckle at how childish it all sounded now. “We just wanted to be big shots, I guess. Be able to throw a little weight around town.”
She tilted her head back and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. “Whatever else it is you want, whatever it is started you out here failing at robbery, I doubt it’s worth this. Very few things are.”
With that, she got to her feet, flicking the spent cigarette away. She paused briefly to yank the knife out of the tree, giving the Hace’s prone form a glance. Giving him then the similarly unconscious Markil a look, she turned back to Dafford.
“Get new friends.”
He just stood there, watched her get back on her horse. He nudged the stallion into a trot and just continued on her way; same road, same direction, as if the last fifteen minutes hadn’t happened.
She was nearly out of earshot when he found himself calling out to her:
“Who are you anyway? What’s your name?”
Serrada Blue just grinned to herself, and kept riding.

ONWARD BOUND: THE BALLAD OF SERRADA BLUE
VOLUME 1: THE LONE STAR WALTZ
EPISIODE 0 – Highway Robbery
by Darrick Chen

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FIgured it's worth a diversion. Sorry, the italics don't seem to have carried over.

[Silver Adept]

Good stuff. I have to admit, it sounded like an Onward Bound story one we met our girl (probably a good thing). Hopefully we get to see this script in visual form sometime soon.

[Big_Panda]

Incidentally, folks, since i mucked up the formatting on this post, you can see a much nicer version (italics and everything) at www.onwardbound.net.

It's a good time,

And Silver, about seeing these stories visually? I agree with yhou, I can't wait. Unfortunately I don't have a regular artist these days so for the time being most Onward BOund stories are going to be text, maybe with some spot illustrations.

[Silver Adept]

That's fine. Since I bought Deuces Wild at ACEN, if I need to, I can use that for Blue's visuals, but I've read enough books that I don't really need to. So work on getting an artist to bring those things to life. Or you'll get enough stories and sell that as a book.

[Minosheep]

[Big_Panda]