The Rubbish Realm

Chapter 3

Chapter 3
Evander peered around the corner of the accursed shack. “Nobody’s there. Commence.” he whispered in the dull darkness, the only light shining down through what appeared to be a crack in the sky. Strange, he thought to himself, but he didn’t dwell on it very long. He had a job to do.
Nothing happened. Evander sighed, his despondent face hidden in the moonlight. “Melton, I said, commence!” he whispered harshly, exasperation creeping into his voice like water into wet soil. It was already there, he just laid it on more thick than usual. For that matter, he could hardly remember the last time he hadn’t been exasperated. That must have been when Imogen- no, now was not the time to think about Imogen. He had a job to do. “Melton!”
“What does commence mean?” Melton asked innocently.
Evander winced at the sudden noise. “Quiet!” Then he paused for a moment. That actually explained a lot! No wonder he never went when I told him to! “Commence… my old army captain used to order us with long words pretty often.” The army… his finest days… “I’m pretty sure that one meant start.” With that, Evander took off towards his target - the biggest and neatest building in the whole city, even neater than the town hall. The arsenal, or, as he’d so aptly called it before (even though Melton didn’t get it), soon to be the “arson”-al.
A clatter was heard nearby, along with a loud “Ow!” Clearly, Melton had ruined the subterfuge again. At least Evander was used to it, and at least their cover hadn’t been blown yet. They weren’t close enough to their target to be suspected for anything worse than petty theft. “Shh!” Regardless of location, now was no time for noise. He trod lightly along the dew-stricken cobblestones, the slick stones slipping out from underneath his shodden feet. Surprisingly, there weren’t many potholes, so he didn’t roll his ankle creeping over to the lighted shed. Judging from the grimace on Melton’s face, though, it seemed as though he had. At least he hadn’t yelled “Ow!”. That had happened before.
A guard peeked around the door of the arsenal, lit torch in hand, causing a startled Evander to reach behind his back to grab the bow and arrows he always kept strapped there. Angling it upwards, he drew the bowstring only about half as far as he usually would, loosing it into a gentle arc. The bowstring wobbled slightly in his hands as the arrow arced gracefully through the air - before the guard gasped, falling to the ground, the fletching visible in his neck from the torch, setting the wooden floor ablaze. Melton winced and turned away for a moment. He never did like the death parts. “Hurry!” Evander called, knowing that with the flames it would only be a short time before they were discovered. His work was far from done.
The flames illuminated his route as he sped straight towards the arsenal, bow in hand already nocked and ready. With no time to waste, he burst through the burning doorway, Melton following close behind and stumbling over the dead body, to his obvious disgust. “Who left that there?!?” he yelled, knowing the futility of further silence and trying to summon an inner reserve of bravery. And he would need it.
The rest of the guards stormed in towards the commotion, armed and ready, but they weren’t the only ready ones there. Evander had been watching the doorway, taking full aim, and so when the first guard entered the corridor, he let another arrow fly. Before the guard even registered that Evander was there, it struck him in the neck, right on target again. His years of practice in the army were paying dividends against it. While nocking another arrow, he noted Melton had disappeared from the morbid scene. He never did like seeing them die. As the flames crept up the walls towards the guards, threatening to envelop Evander with their stifling heat, he yanked a couple arrows out of his quiver and scattered the rest on the floor beside him. Speed was of the essence, and he couldn’t afford to waste split seconds reaching behind his back. He could hear them whispering around the corner, plotting his demise, eliciting a snicker from Evander. They were the ones who would meet their demise.
As they all ran around the corner simultaneously, vicious swords unsheathed to deal a final blow, Evander stared them down, his voice dripping with relaxed malice, as if he knew they couldn’t harm him in the slightest - and as if he knew he could. “My name is Evander Branson. You killed Imogen. Prepare to die.” Nevertheless, they continued their mad dash towards him, but they had completely forgotten about the corpse now lying at the end of the hallway, and as they rushed down the corridor the two unlucky frontrunners tripped on it, losing their blades in order to avoid stabbing themselves with them. And Evander released.
The arrows sliced through the air with merciless rhythm. One clipped a wrist. Another sank into a widened eye. A third ricocheted off the wall to catch a soldier in the ribs. One struck a guard through the cheek as he rose, and a scream was cut short as a spark-lit arrow cut his throat. His sixth - fletching cut - hooked wickedly into a man’s side. And his last he loosed high into the rafters, grinning as the final fool charged - only to be smitten by gravity itself. By the time his bowstring stilled, seven lay dead and four remained.
Fearing for their lives, the four that were still living fled down the corridor, Evander in hot pursuit. Brushing off a spark from his wrinkled brow, he set two arrows upon his bow just in time to see Melton, sweat beading upon his brow, yielding but still living despite all four of the guards rushing him while he parried with just his heavy wooden walking stick. True, it had protection spells on it, but it was only a matter of time before they would have been able to get around Melton’s, albeit practiced, parries if Evander hadn’t come along. Letting loose both arrows at once, one guard fell and another grasped his arm where the potent projectile had embedded itself, bringing a wry grin to Evander’s wizened features. Melton took full advantage of this surprise attack to gain a few precious feet of space between him and his assailants while Evander, running too fast to stop himself, used what he had on hand, impaling one of the remaining guards with an arrow before slamming into the far wall, accidentally snapping his bow. The snap jolted through him, just another broken thing in his broken life. But as he turned to the guards, they weren’t looking at him. They were staring, eyes wide with terror, at the burning ceiling.
Melton wheeled around to face Evander. “You know, they might have a point.” And with that, he fled towards the back exit, away from the roaring flames. “They probably have explosives anyway!”
Evander nodded curtly. “They’ll die anyway. They all do.” Then, he followed Melton towards the exit, all while muttering “There’s got to be a catch. They’ve never let me off this easily before. Also, I’ll have to get a new bow.” Remembering he was still carrying the splintered weapon, he threw it to the ground. He didn’t need the weight. Didn’t need another reminder of how fast good things broke. Certainly didn’t need a reminder of how she had fallen from a different bow, a pointless casualty in a pointless war.
But as they burst into the pitch-dark outdoors, the only sound that met them was a sound like thunder, except louder and without lightning. And as Evander stared at the anomaly in the sky, was it - no, it couldn’t be - was he only imagining it - that it was growing larger?