Murdock Lied ▻ Merlin

T W O

Murdock was small and lithe, quick-witted and even quicker-footed - most of the time. Adorned with fair curls and freckled cheeks, his forest-green eyes usually sought a peaceful compromise before heated controversy. Never before had he been caught like this. Sure, when he'd stolen from farmers he'd been attacked by dogs, and when he had looted villages he'd been chased by men, and even when he'd thieved from the druids and merchants and hermits and knights he'd escaped any serious trouble. But not this time.

Murdock had heard word from the village people that a strong, fearless group of bandits were roaming the forest nearby, and so - inspired by tales of the outlaw's riches - he'd decided to spy on them, just to see if it was worth it. Just to see if it was worth sneaking back into their camp at night and plundering some of their steals for his own.

And oh, how it was. He saw them counting their coins and admiring their jewels. He saw them cheering their wealth and slaying their plentiful livestock. He saw them eating and drinking until their hearts were content, and his own heart yearned for such riches.

So he'd approached their camp just as the sun began to rise, star's glistening above like diamonds - soon to fade - wood smoke hanging in the air like a blanket as fallen leaves crunched underfoot and the fire crackled gently. It was dying. Good. Let it die. Let them all wake up cold and pillaged.

Murdock had nothing against bandits - after all, he was as bad as they were, stealing and thieving - but there was something about these men that made him uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the blood on their daggers or the chains at their sides that made Murdock's pulse quicken. The sooner he got out of there, the better.

He'd tread lightly over to the horses, - careful not to disturb the sleeping men, sprawled around the campfire in varying degrees of decency - where the bandit's supplies were still tied on, and spent a few minutes riffling through each one. There were ten steeds in total, and it wasn't until Murdock reached the last that he made his decision. One stolen horse was no big deal when you had nine others - and even better, it gave Murdock a quicker getaway than escaping on foot.

Quietly he untied the rein and mounted the horse with ease, putting his foot in the stirrup and jumping up; at which the horse skittered and whinnied nervously. It was young, and had probably just been broken, and yet Murdock felt a glimmer of taut satisfaction fizzle up his spine. He could get a lot of money for the colt, and with it came a satchel heavy with gold and jewels. Gingerly he kicked at the horse's sides, and trotted through the trees, away from the sleeping bandits - thankfully undisturbed by Murdock's arrival, presence, and swift departure.

His heart skipped with a surge of adrenaline. He'd done it - he and his brother could buy a house of their own, and a field to grow crops, and perhaps even a cow, or a goat. They could live together, just the two of them, and not have to worry about watchful eyes and prying roommates that came with living at the village inn.

Occupied with these content thoughts, he didn't see the snare until it was too late.

A sharp twang split the heavy silence as the horse reared up and whinnied loudly, a thud announcing an arrow that was now deeply embedded in the horse's side. Head height. A trap for thieves like him. Murdock clung to the reins - panic spreading like ice in his veins - and tried to calm the bucking creature - but to no avail; he was thrown to the hard floor and lay winded as the horse careered away through the trees: head held high, eyes wide and white, foam clouding around its mouth, blood seeping from its wound.

Murdock gasped for breath and sat up. There it was; the tripwire like a snake on the forest floor, triggered and lifeless, and a previously loaded crossbow hidden in the brush.

The horse; gone. The riches; gone. Most importantly, his getaway. Gone.

He heard voices.

No. They couldn't find him, not like this.

He struggled to his feet. Gasped in pain and hugged his arm to his chest. He realised with a jolt that he had landed heavily on it when he was thrown off the horse - but there was no time to examine it now.

How had he been so stupid? How had he not noticed the wire glinting in the first light on the sun? It was a simple trap, one designed to catch out the inexperienced of thieves. There must be dozens around here, and yet-

No. No time to think about that now. He had to move, had to get away. Had to put distance between himself and the bandits. They couldn't know that he took the horse, because if they caught him they'd-

No.

Murdock was weeping then, stumbling past the trees, kicking up leaves, not going fast enough-

Joel. He had left his brother, alone. Why had he done that? He hadn't even told him that he was leaving the village that night.

There! The treeline. If he could just make it out of the forest he could hide, and if they found him they'd have no proof that he was even in the forest when the snare was triggered.

He was counting now: one, two, three, four... shit, how his arm hurt... five, six, seven... only a few more metres... eight... voices, there were more voices, but he didn't look back... nine... getting dizzy.... ten... the last tree. He leaned against it, just for a second. Not thinking. Needing his breath back, needing to clear his head and his vision to stop wobbling.

Too late.

A shout, a hand on his shoulder.

A flash of movement, an explosion of pain and fire erupting in his head.

Swimming in liquid darkness.

A flash of light; the sun.

Gone.

Darkness.