Battle Cry VII

Gambell climbed to the top entrance of the volcano, frowning as he discovered no one was there. He then rode to the very peak of the volcano, where he found a trail of blood going down the slope before being stopping near the entrance.

“Quentle… just where have you gone?”

***

In the forest just beyond the volcano’s base, three hooded figures snuck away, holding ropes attached to the hands and arms of an unconscious dark-haired boy. They dragged him through the dirt without a care, hurrying away from the volcano.

“We just avoided a bunch of cavalrymen, big bro,” the livelier of the twins announced in a loud whisper. “Shouldn’t we just ditch the kid and skip town?”

“Oh, but that would go against our principles,” Hastor answered in his usual loose tone, unable to hide his exhaustion as he lazily lugged the boy along. “The Blonde Bandits are greedy; we can’t run from a failed job without at least securing some payoff, after all.”

“Does this kid even come from money?” She followed with a skeptical look.

“He may live in the slums, but I’m sure he has some sort of family that cares about him,” Hastor answered. “And where there’s love, there’s money, hehe.”

Just then, a lustrous knife soared from the trees to the bandits’ left, cutting through Hastor’s rope before the three could react. While their attention was spent attempting to react and find the source of the thrown knife, a large man stomped into the small clearing, closing the distance to Hastor before he could turn around to defend.

“Ye lot pr’voked the wrong lov’n fam’ly!” The grizzly man roared just as he sent his oversized fist into the unprepared Hastor’s face.

“Buh!” the bandit groaned as he fell violently to the dirt, and out of consciousness once again.

The twins drew their daggers and made for the large man. However, two young men emerged from the trees directly ahead of them with crossbows readied, stopping them in their tracks. A third person stepped out from the trees where the knife had come from, twirling another in his hand.

“Drop your blades, girls, it’s over,” the ponytailed Elem calmly demanded, lowering his crossbow at the sight of the knife-wielding Thom.

“An’ git on ‘way from my son!” the bulky Dagan growled, lunging over to rip the ropes off the boy. The girls stepped aside, dropping their daggers and raising their hands high. The shaggy-haired Thom and dirt-matted Graham took their hands and bound them in their own rope.

“Hoy, Quentle! Getcher ass steady, boy!” Dagan barked, shaking the boy’s shoulders.

“Huh, this again?” Quentle mumbled dazedly, slowly opening his eyes. “Didn’t this just happen yesterd—ah.”

Having finally regained his senses, the bloodied boy sat up with a raised brow.

“Old man? And Elem… and Graham… and Thom!” he exclaimed, slowly looking over each of his foster brothers.

“Di’nt I tell ye to watch yerself?” Dagan said as he gripped Quentle’s shoulders, sniffling.

“Hmm, I thought I did pretty good about that, though,” Quentle said without a care, gazing dumbly at the sky. “I don’t really remember what happened, but I went out like a light!”

Elem approached Dagan’s right side, shooting a concerned look at his adoptive father.

“An ‘at’s why I don’t like ye scarin’ us like ‘at, boy,” he grunted before lifting Quentle to sit over his shoulders.

“Whoa—oh yeah!” he exclaimed, “I kicked the Shlank Heir’s ass! Sent him flying over the volcano!”

Elem looked at him, mouth and eyes wide, to which Quentle responded by pointing at his biceps and winking.

“Gehaha, let’s go back o’er so ye can show us!” Dagan cried with a hearty laugh.

“Gehaha!” Quentle laughed in his best imitation of his adoptive father, “back to the scene of glory we go, men!”
As the group ventured back toward the canyon, several Knights appeared and took over the captive bandits, allowing the family to enter the volcano’s base on their own.