The column moved very slowly down the road. No one was in any hurry to get closer to the ruins that still stared down at them. Still the group moved forward and the shadowed fortress loomed larger and larger.
Suddenly up ahead of them a figure blocked their path. The figure was dressed in leather armor that was painted white to match the snow. He recognized the ferret Finbar. The scout motioned with his hands to the right.
“That way,” Finbar commanded. “Keep to the marked path and touch NOTHING!”
Sir Terrant nodded and urged his mount in the direction the ferret had said. He didn’t bother to repeat that last order to his own people. None of them would be stupid enough to go near anything.
The path was marked with simple, green ribbons tied to sticks and posts stuck into the ground every ten paces or so. Up ahead a mound of stone two stories high loomed up and the marked path swerved to the left. Tall, stonewalls loomed up through the trees towering twenty feet overhead. The line of sticks and ribbons lead to a breach in the walls where the rubble had rolled down into a long easy ramp. Terrant was forced to dismount and carefully lead his horse up the ramp. Picking each step with care he moved through the breach and back down to the forest floor.
The snow was noticeably thinner here and he could see the paving stones beneath the snow quite easily. He waited patiently as the rest of his people moved through the breach and formed up again around him. It gave him time to look around and see exactly where they were.
He saw mounds sticking up out of the snow all around. Trees grew around, over and even through the mounds seemingly taking no notice of them. He recognized the weathered and crumbled remains of a wall with a doorway and window in one such mound. Out of another he saw a small statue sticking up, its head long gone it still sat in a niche in a wall. They were in the middle of a town. And from the number of mounds and ruins that see it was a large one. Perhaps it had once been home to over a thousand people or more. Once it had boasted temples, taverns, inns, whorehouses and homes. Its streets once alive with people were now only home to snow, ice and ghosts.
With a shiver he realized the breach they had entered had probably been made by the attacking Lutins centuries ago. And that more then likely he had stepped over the graves of many unknown men who had died trying to block that breach and defend their homes. He had been stepping on the dead. A cold shiver ran down his spine.
It only took moments for everyone to make it across the walls and into the town. The knight made sure none had been left behind and then began the slow march through the ruins. The cloth and sticks wove a path amidst the remains of the town. Moving straight past a long, crumbling wall now crowned with trees and snow. The path turned and moved past a large open field devoid of ruins and trees. His eyes picked out the remains of a fountain its beautiful statues now scattered into pieces. It’s large basin once home to singing and tumbling war now filled only with earth and snow.
All around them were the remains of a Seuilman town now reduced to half tumbled walls standing guard over piles of shattered stones and bricks. Nothing moved in this dead place except themselves. Always looking down on them was the tall hill fortress. Looking at it Terrant noticed that although the town was in sunlight the fortress wasn’t. It was always covered by shadows and dark, brooding, menacing trees.
It was none to soon when the stonewalls loomed up again in their path. This time the trail didn’t lead to a breach in the walls but straight up to a large square gatehouse. The wooden gates were long gone and its rooms were laid open to the sky but there was no debris clogging it’s entrance and he could see the path clearly leading straight through the building and off into the forest.
It was with great relief that he moved though the gatehouse and back into the forest. Somehow after being in that town the woods were a welcome relief. He found Sir Edmund and Misha waiting patiently under the spreading branches of a tall elm tree.
The knight took a careful count to be sure that none of his people had been left behind before approaching the two.
“Any trouble?” the paladin asked.
“No Sir,” Sir Terrant answered. “But I will be glad to be far from this place,” he added truthfully.
“Agreed,” Misha answered. “There’s been no sign of the Shadow which is good. But let’s not push things. We’ll be marching till dusk. That should put us at the edge of the forest and far from these ruins.”
The knight nodded. The farther the better.
Sir Edmund walked slowly along the perimeter of the camp checking each guard personally. He talked to each one being sure that he understood what was expected of them. With easy words and manner he calmed the nervous and strengthened the unsteady. The utter silence and pitch-blackness of the woods around them only made that job all the harder. It set everyone’s nerves on edge; even the fox and his scouts were ill at ease.
He stopped walking and stared out into the darkness.
“You believe that a shadow really is out there?” Sir Terrant asked to the silent paladin.
Edmund nodded slowly. “Misha believes so. And I as well.”
“I’ll be glad when we put these woods far behind us. They are haunted. I didn’t hear any birds singing or see so much as a single animal.”
Again the paladin nodded. “With the undead roaming the fortress and a shadow in the woods itself no creature will live here.”
“Be sure all the sentries stay at their posts the entire night,” Edmund ordered. “And no lights or fires.”
“That will be hard to enforce,” Terrant countered. “A good fire boosts a mans nerve.”
“And attracts every monster and lutin who sees the flames. If the men are afraid of the dark remind them that Misha and his people are out there,” he said pointing out of the camp and into the blackness. “Those brave people are actually looking for that shadow. Trying to keep it from attacking us.”
Terrant shivered a moment. “Will they be safe?”
The paladin shrugged. “No telling but the Long Scouts are all hardened veterans.”
“But they were all as frightened as the rest of us,” the knight countered. “This place un-nerves them too.”
“We’ll rotate the guards frequently and always have at least two at each post. Plus an additional sixteen soldiers in four patrols wandering the camp in random patterns,” Edmund ordered. “Tonight no one is to be alone and all those not on duty are to try and rest. We’ll start assembling for the march two hours before dawn.”
“Understood sir. Dawn cannot come soon enough.”
“Agreed, but dawn will come. It always does.”
Below is the Lords prayer in Latin
“Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum,” Edmund
prayed softly. It had been a long and trying day. The passage through that ruins
of destroyed Seuilman town had been long and trying. Edmund could understand
why the Keepers avoided the place. It would un-nerve the most hardened warrior.
He was glad to finally find the time for his prayers. He truly enjoyed them. Concentrating his heart and soul into the words let him forget all the worries of the world. It let him think of what really mattered; his faith and the world beyond this one.
“Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra.”
He didn’t see it at first but he felt it with an instinct built of long years of fighting and travel.
“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris.”
It was merely the feeling of being watched, that he knew he was no longer alone.
“Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo.”
He also knew that it was the shadow.
“Amen.”
Turning slowly he caught sight of a black mass pooled near a tall oak tree. The figure vaguely visible in the thin moonlight was roughly shaped like a human but it was hard to tell where the shadows ended and the figure began. If the two were separate.
“My name is Sir Edmond Delacot. Protector of the innocent and defender of the faithful and a Knight of the Order of the Protectors,” he said and bowed deeply in greeting to the shadowy form. “Be you spirit, or living creature, if you seek to do evil this night. It may be dearly bought.” With those words he placed his right hand upon the hilt of his sword.
The creature didn’t answer but simply stood there watching the paladin with eyes as red as flames. After a moment it stood up and moved slowly in a circle around the man. It just seemed to flow over the ground making not a sound as it did so.
Edmund never took his eyes off of it but turned slowly around as it circled him. He was sure it was gauging him, looking for a weakness.
The paladin didn’t show any weakness. He refused to panic and flee but he wasn’t so stupid as to draw his sword and attack. Instead he crossed his arms and simply looked at the creature.
“Nul Tulo,” Edmund said calmly giving the old Seuilman greeting used when meeting a person who was your social equal.
The shadow stopped in its tracks and seemed to be shocked. A very long silence fell over the pair. It was a long time before it spoke.
“Flituro gi,” the shadow answered giving the traditional reply in a voice as soft as a breeze whispering through trees.
“Mekolatu sull le trant. Nataluno ba fernu shlitan verturn.” ‘It is my honor to meet such an esteemed person’ the paladin said in Seuilman.
“I apologize if my men and I have intruded onto your land,” he continued slowly in the same language. Speaking the old tongue was never easy. It had long ago faded from common use. Remembered only by a few antiquarians and clerks who kept it alive for their own obscure uses.
“Why have you invaded this land?” came the shadows question.
“Nasoj is the true invader here,” the warrior answered. “We are merely passing through as we seek to destroy his evil.”
“The trivial affairs of barbarians is of no concern to me.”
Edmund was surprised to be called a barbarian and his pride got the better of him. “My family has been a great noble house for over thousand years,” he replied with more anger then he had intended. “My founding ancestor was Marsus Decolious who led the army that defeated the barbarian hordes at the Glade of the three Stones.” He was proud of his genealogy even if some of it felt more like a fairy tale then truth. Marsus was supposed to have changed into a giant wolf and single handedly slaughtered a score of warriors. That part of the story had always been hard to believe until he had arrived at Metamor. Now it seemed almost mundane.
“When the empire fell my ancestors stood their ground and fought to protect the innocent. Even with his home destroyed and all other places taken his castle alone withstood the barbarians. It was untaken despite a dozen attacks. My ancestor Sir Tormus died defending the great church of Dartuth. He gave his life so that all inside could flee to safety.”
The shadow just looked at him for a moment and he could feel those red eyes boring into him. “If you are of his house why do you not wear the emblem of the empire?”
“The empire is gone for many centuries,” the paladin said shaking his head. “Long have we struggled to regain the peace and prosperity that we lost with its downfall.”
There was a long silence before it spoke again. “Where do you hail from?” the Shadow asked.
“From Marigund. The land the Seuilman call Pintia.”
“Then you are a long way from home. Why do you come here to fight? Do you not have wars closer to your own land? Why invade mine?”
Edmund ignored the implied threat. “I have dedicated my sword to the Great One who created us all. I fight evil wherever it may be. Borders matter little to me. Where there is evil I destroy it.”
“Even evil like me?” it asked.
“You are not evil,” he countered flatly. “I do not know what your truly are but you are not evil. The only evil here is that which has trapped the lost souls who haunt these woods.”
The shadow didn’t speak for a very long time. “I failed to save them in life and now in death I still fail them,” it said in a voice full of pain. “They walk and haunt these woods still. And I cannot give them the rest they deserve. All I can do is watch and weep at their entrapment.” There was a great sadness in the fox’s words that seemed to come from its very soul. Those eyes stared into his own but they didn’t seem so hateful. Instead they seemed full of pain and anguish.
“To all things come rest and release,” the paladin said softly. “It is just a matter of patience.”
“I have waited six hundred years. Watched their tortured souls repeat their deaths each night.”
Edmund stepped closer and laid his right hand onto the shadow’s shoulder. It felt cool to the touch – like water fresh from a mountain stream. “I promise you this. I will find a way to free them. With the Great One as my witness I so swear.”
The figure shivered a bit and looked at him. And the pain drifted away from it’s eyes for a moment. Then there was doubt and anger.
Edmund laid his hands on the shadows head. “Be at ease.”
Calm filled the air and the figure relaxed.
“I know in my heart that the Great One meant for us to meet this night,” the paladin explained. “It is my destiny and honor to be allowed to help put these people to rest.” He was telling the truth. He could never explain how he knew it but he did. The knowledge was there. As if whispered to him by an angel.
“The night is young, I wish to see these souls. I must if I am to help them.”
Without a word the Shadowfox stood up and moved back into the forest. The Paladin followed.
It was almost dawn when the paladin finally returned to the camp which was in turmoil. He just walked out of the woods as easily as if he’d simply gone for a walk. Sir Terrant, Misha and a dozen knights and soldiers swarmed around him.
“Sir, are you all right?” Terrant asked. “We thought that the shadow or a ghost had taken you.”
“I am well and unharmed,” the paladin answered calmly. “I went off to pray alone and lost my bearings. It took me a while to find the path back.”
Misha gave a laugh and a shake of his head, “After all the warnings to your own people you yourself got lost.”
“Back to your tasks,” Terrant ordered. “We are leaving within the hour.”
The crowd dispersed as quickly as it had gathered. Misha, Terrant, and Edmund stood silent until they were alone.
“You’ve seen it,” Misha stated simply.
“Yes. It came to the camp before midnight, while I was in prayer.”
“And?”
“We spoke.”
“You spoke to it?” Terrant asked. “It didn’t try and kill you?”
“I think it was more curious then hostile.”
Misha nodded. “It took you to the fortress.” That was a statement of fact not a question.
The paladin hung his head in sadness. “So many lost souls. Trapped between life and death.”
“Worry about our war,” Misha suggested. “Theirs is over.”
“Their war IS our war,” Edmund answered enigmatically. “They are one and the same.”
“We both fight the same enemy,” Sir Terrant commented. “It’s been the same enemy for a thousand years.”
“So exactly how large is the army arrayed against us?” Bidwell asked Misha and the other people standing around him. The group was standing under the bare branches of an old elm tree. The snow underneath it had been trampled down and a small table set up.
“This is the Baron’s main army,” the vulpine answered pointing to a spot on the map. “So far we’ve found three thousand Lutins from some ten tribes. Also he has two hundred and fifty humans all heavy cavalry, thirty-five ogres and four giants. Plus another two hundred and fifty Lutins and fifty human infantry who are from Nasoj’s Druzhina - his personal guard.”
“They’re about even with our own forces,” the nobleman commented. “How accurate is that guess?”
“That’s from a visual head count, but what we need to worry about is what we don’t see.”
“Meaning?” Bidwell asked.
“Nothing certain,” Misha answered. “But a lot of little clues scattered about point to the fact that they’re hiding something. And there is definitely powerful magic being used.”
“Makes sense that Nasoj would send magic to back up his arm,” Rickkter commented quietly.
“He needs to win this battle. Nasoj needs to show that he is still powerful,” the scout commented. “Or he will loose what little control he has over the Lutins.”
Bidwell nodded in agreement. “It will be long after dark before the bulk of the army has arrived. So we must put off the battle till tomorrow morning. I doubt that he’ll risk leaving such a powerful position and attack.”
“That will give me and my people time to maneuver behind his sentries and strike at the Baron himself,” Misha stated.
“You make it sound so simple,” a nobleman said.
“It isn’t easy but we’ve been doing it for years,” the fox explained. “Once darkness hits we can sneak through the sentry line with little problem. The difficultly will be getting to the Baron. He’s sure to be surrounded by a lot of guards and mages.
“He’s a tricky bastard. He always manages to save his own skin,” Finbar said, speaking for the first time.
“I’m surprised he is fighting at all,” Sir Edmund commented. “He has the character of one who would have fled long ago.”
Misha nodded. “Me too. It’s possible that he HAS fled and that someone else is in command now. Some still loyal lackey.”
“Don’t matter who it is,” Finbar commented. “We’ll kill him.”
“The main body of his army is deployed here,” The Misha, said pointing to the map, “behind this stream but he has a line of pickets on this side along with some five hundred Lutins. The Barons tent is several hundred yards behind the river alongside the road.”
“Is there a ford nearby?”
“There was a bridge there once, but that stream has never been very deep,” Misha explained. “The only place to cross is fifteen miles upstream at Denders crossing. But it’s a foot bridge and barely able to handle one person at a time. There is a ford.” He pointed at a point on the river in the dead center of the defenders army. There was a faint brown line, obviously it represented the ford. “The road itself runs straight across it. It’s only about waist high but it’s going to be VERY cold.”
The nobleman nodded and ran his finger along the blue line that represented the stream before stopping at the brown line that represented the ford. “All the Lutins on this side of the river are merely to slow us down and give warning to the rest. The real fighting will be at the ford. He’ll put his best troops there.”
“Once it gets dark,” George commented. “I'll send my people out to stir things up a little. That should keep them off guard till dawn.”
“Why wait till dawn to attack? If we strike tonight we’ll certainly catch them off guard. They wouldn’t be expecting humans to attack in darkness,” Rickkter said suddenly.
The fox scout nodded in agreement. “The Lutins prefer darkness because they know most humans can’t see. But that means little now as most of us can see in the darkness.”
“I don’t need to see a lutin,” Finbar added. “I can SMELL them a mile off.”
“We can also smell you a mile off,” commented George sarcastically.
“I’ll place the infantry here on the left flank with the bulk of the cavalry,” Bidwell said, cutting off any further exchange of insults. “The center and the rest of the line will be held by a screen of light cavalry and infantry.”
“George, I want your people to be on the right flank and stir up trouble. Make them think we’ll attack there.”
The jackal nodded in response. “Done.”
“When we attack we’ll sweep towards the river. Any Lutin we find will either be forced to choose between standing and being killed by us or drowning in the river. Once we have secured this side of the river we’ll move on the ford. The hardest fighting will most certainly be there.”
No one doubted the man. Crossing a river against a determined enemy would difficult, if not impossible. More then one army had been destroyed trying.
“I’d like to keep Sir Edmund and his people with me,” Misha said. “I could use the extra support.”
“Of course,” Bidwell answered. “What are you planning?”
“A double stroke. My people and me will infiltrate the Barons camp while Sir Edmunds troops swing around the army and come at them from the northeast. Once we strike all shades of havoc will break out. Without Edmunds troops to come to our relief we could be overwhelmed.”
“How will you get across?”
“We can cross at Denders crossing,” the fox explained. We can ride as far as the river with sir Edmund. It will take Edmunds troops at least two hours to cross one at a time. That will allow my people to move ahead and take get to the camp first.”
“I think you should take Rickkter with you,” George suggested.
“Why?” Misha asked.
“I think you might need his magic,” was the canine’s answer, which explained nothing.
Rickkter smirked. “You said the baron would be protected by magic, didn’t you? Besides, I can create some nasty havoc behind their lines, give them one more thing to worry about.”
“All right,” Misha said. “Rickkter will come with us.”
It was a dark night, one of the darkest Misha had ever seen. There was no moon up and there were no stars in the sky. The only illumination seemed to come from the snow itself. It’s whiteness adding a faint white glow to the night sky. He knew that was simply because the clouds were overcast but he couldn’t help but remember an old childhood fairytale about a demon who ate the stars. He shook his head slowly to try and rid himself of that thought. There was far too much to do.
Slipping past the outer line of pickets had been easy even if they had to
crawl through waist deep snow to do it. A line of sentries standing outside
of a shallow ditch surrounded the camp. Behind that was a barrier made of vines
and branches woven into a wall some two feet high. Behind that was a second
line of sentries. A seemingly formidable set of barriers that should have made
things very difficult for the Longs to penetrate.
The sound of snow crunching underneath him as he moved seemed to boom out into
the night. In reality the sound was a faint squeak as the snow was compressed
under his weight. Still even a soft noise like that could betray their presence
to any guard who was doing his task and quietly listening and watching. Their
big worry was the tracks they left in their wake. With the tracks so deep and
wide any fool could follow it. But there was no helping that, the Longs had
no other recourse. Moving in single file would at least disguise who had made
the tracks making look like a deer trail. The rest of the remaining Long Scouts
trailed closed behind him. Each spaced some ten feet apart, close enough to
protect the others but far enough apart so that a spell would not catch all
of them. The white cloth that covered them from nose to tail made them invisible
even at this close range but still Misha worried.
Lucky for Misha there seemed to be no one listening or watching. The outer picket line had consisted solely of Lutins, most of whom cared little about guarding. Some had been drinking, others eating or gambling many had been sleeping. The fox had even stepped over the sleeping forms of two Lutins without waking them. Being dead drunk Misha had little worry the two sleeping sentries would wake up. He doubted they’d wake up if the entire Metamor army marched past.
The deep ditch had been filled in by thick, heavy snowdrifts and was really nothing more then a shallow depression. The two foot high fence behind that was covered in many spots by more of the same snowdrifts that filled the ditch. It was just as easy to cross.
Once past the picket line they had skirted the edge of the camp looking for some unprotected entrance. The camp itself was eerily quiet, nothing moved among the tents, hovels and lean-tos that composed it. Only the sentries surrounding it and the occasional lutin sentry wandering about were to be seen. All as bored and tired as the outer picket line had been. And just as easy to get past. The difference was this time they wouldn’t do it without shedding blood.
They found a spot where three Lutins were drinking and playing dermok, a gambling game of sticks, rocks and coins. The three were huddled around a small fire in front of a lean to made of wood and hides. There was no one else around them for quite some distance.
The Longs grouped together a mere twenty feet away flat on their stomachs in the biting cold snow. The white cloth that covered them from nose to tail made them invisible even at this close range.
“It’s a pitifully small group,” Misha thought to himself. “Barely a month the Longs had fourteen members and now we have half that number and one; Padraic wasn’t really a Long scout but merely a candidate. No,” the fox corrected himself, “the rabbit IS a Long scout. He’d passed the harshest test if all – combat and not been found wanting. When this was all over they would have to give him a proper initiation.” Misha gave a silent chuckle to himself as he imagined what Padraic would look like dyed a nice shade of pink with a huge pink bow tied to each ear. Putting that last pleasant thought aside he returned to the business at hand.
“The camp looks empty,” he signed. “Except for some guards it seems empty.”
“It is empty,” Rickkter replied using the same hand signs. “I can sense no one in the camp besides the sentries around the tent.”
Misha nodded. He was glad to have the warrior/mage along. His magic was already coming in handy.
“No one?” Caroline asked. “That doesn’t seem right. There should be at least a few people.”
“That has me worried, too,” Rick added. “Just the guards on the perimeter and walking patrols. The tents and everything else are empty.”
“They can’t have cleared the whole camp,” Finbar argued.
“They would if they were expecting an attack,” Rickkter explained. “Put every soldier on the line to fight.” He made a gesture with his paws to indicate a shrug. “I can’t tell you for sure. It’s certainly possible. It could also be a trap, or simply that they’re trying to bluff their numbers for any force considering attacking them. All I can tell for sure is that those tents are empty.”
“Agreed,” Misha added. “But the only way to find out is to go in. And there must be something inside or they would not have guarded the camp.”
“Padraic, Caroline and me will kill the three sentries with arrows,” the fox ordered using hand signals. “Rickkter will cast a silence spell to make sure no one hears anything.”
The raccoon nodded in response for once not arguing with Misha. No matter how obstinate he could be Rickkter was always dependable when things got nasty.
Finbar held up a small, hand sized crossbow.
Misha understood the ferrets question and answered him with a shake of the head. The Hushpuppies poisoned bolts would make short work of any one guard but it was slow to reload. When the first guard was killed the other two would run screaming, alerting the whole camp. All three had to be killed at the same time.
More orders ideas passed back and forth silently between the Longs and their commander. Then just as silently they moved into their proper places, each moving especially slowly making sure of the placement of each hand and paw. Each long moved with slow practiced skill of experts with no doubts or hesitations. Finally no more orders were needed and everyone was where they needed to be. Now it would all come down speed and skill.
Misha, Caroline, Padraic and Rickkter lay flat side-by-side in the snow. The Long scouts each held a bow in one hand. One either side of them were the other scouts. To the left was Finbar, to the right was Georgette. Danielle and Jotham crouched low behind watching and waiting.
The fox looked towards Caroline and stroked her muzzle with his hand for a moment. She tenderly kissed that hand and smiled at him. It was a long moment before she reluctantly let go.
Looking away from her Misha focused on Padraic. The eyes that looked back at him were full of doubt. The fox grasped the rabbit on the shoulder trying to get him to relax.
“Ready?” the fox asked with his hands. Both the rabbit and the otter nodded in answer.
Misha grasped his bow tighter and shifted until he was standing on his hands and knees. His bow was in one hand and two arrows in the other. He looked at his companions and saw that they had followed his motions.
He gave a short nod of his head towards Rickkter. He watched as the raccoon’s hands and lips moved in silence as he cast a spell.
Misha took two deep breaths and then pushed off the ground and into a kneeling position. He caught sight of his target; a small lutin who was in the center of the trio. The creature was taking a drink from a bottle. In one swift motion the fox knocked an arrow onto his bow, bent it and released it. Seconds later another arrow followed the first.
The lutin put down the bottle and spotted Misha. In that spilt second before the first arrow hit their eyes locked. Keeper and lutin stared at each other in surprise. Then the arrows struck destroying that surprised face and the brain behind it.
In an instant Finbar and Georgette crossed the open space between them and the three dead Lutins in moments. They grabbed the still warm corpses and propped them back into a sitting position as they themselves crouched down low. Misha, Caroline and Padraic all dropped back down into the snow.
Anyone looking at the scene would be hard pressed to see anything out of place. The fire still burned and the three figures sat around it. Seemingly asleep or just quiet. One would have to get close to see that all three were dead.
For five long minutes no one moved. They lay still and quiet, listening for any sign that their attack had been spotted. There were no shouts of alarm or surprise. No one came running and no alarm horns or bells split the night. It remained calm and quiet.
Finally Misha gave the signal and Caroline, Padraic, Rickkter, Danielle and Jotham moved swiftly across the open ground and into the camp. Misha came last kneeling down next to the lean to, using it’s shadow to disguise his outline. Again the eight keepers watched, listened and waited for any sign of alarm. Silence was all that greeted them.
The easy part was over.
Along the river a quiet battle raged. Darkness had settled in and it was long past midnight. At midnight two hundred and seven of Metamor Keeps scouts had crept forward and fallen upon the pickets. Short, desperate fights raged the length of the line as Keepers and Lutins each tried there best to kill each other.
It was an uneven fight. The keepers had all lost so much. Homes destroyed, friends and family dead or maimed during the hideous attack during the Yule season. They had no reason to run away, hesitate or to show mercy. All they wanted was blood. They wanted revenge. The Lutins simply wanted to escape. Most had no stomach for a hopeless fight for an overlord all hated. The picket line was overwhelmed in minutes and the combined army charged towards the river sweeping all before it.
The fox stepped slowly past the collection of canvas, hide, bones, sticks and scraps of cloth that were loosely tied together into the vague shape of a tent. A careful glance inside showed that all the rest he had passed, was empty. Inside were a few burnt embers on a floor of dried mud. Empty. Misha crouched by the tent for a moment then rushed forward to the next one. Behind him Caroline rushed up to take the place he had just left. Behind her was stretched Rickkter and the rest of the Longs.
“This is getting very, very bad,” Rick quickly signed.
“But there’s no one here,” replied Carol.
“Exactly.”
“Enough arguing,” Misha commented. “Keep a close watch but we need to keep moving.”
It was only at the ford that there was a fight. Here a hard knot of humans and Lutins stood their ground supported by a dozen ogres and four tall giants. Three times the cavalry and infantry charged across the icy water and three times they were thrown back after bitter fighting.
Lord Bidwell ordered the five hundred archers forward and showered the ford and it’s defenders with arrows. Then four hundred of his finest knights charged across. This time on foot. It was five long minutes before the attackers withdrew to their side of the river. Behind them the bodies of humans, Lutins and keepers floated on the water turning it deep red with their blood.
Again the archers rained arrows down on the ford and more Lutins and men fell into the water. With a shout Ellingwood led the charge across the river with the knights at his back. Again the fighting raged as savagely as ever but the defenders didn’t budge.
The humans and keepers withdrew back across the river for the fifth time. Even as they fell back arrows hissed overhead taking a terrible toll of the tight formation.
Nearby stood Lord Bidwell watching and listening to all that went on. He would have preferred to be in the fighting, leading the troops himself but he was in command. So he stood back, giving orders through messengers, blaring trumpets and thumping drums.
George materialized out of the darkness trudging through the mud and snow to where Lord Bidwell was standing pondering what to do. The jackal was dripping wet below the waist. The ice on his fur crackling as he walked.
“They’re not budging,” the canine commented. “We need to get rid of those giants and ogres. With those gone we can smash the rest.”
“We could send a group to Denders crossing and come up behind them.”
George shook his head. “It will take hours to get a decent sized group across.”
Lord Bidwell turned to three figures that stood near him. In the darkness and confusion the boy, the girl and the young dragon had seemed so insignificant.
"Aisha, Colin, Drake, we need your assistance now. I was told you could summon an elemental to aid us." He point towards the river and the ford. “At the ford are a group of humans and Lutins backed by giants and ogres. We need the giants and ogres killed or driven off. Can you do that?”
All three blinked at that, and Colin said, "We'll do our best to summon one for you, sir."
Colin and Aisha dismounted and joined Drake laying in a circle on the ground, feet facing outward, hands joined. They stare up at the sky, at something only they can see. Soon, however, there is a faint glowing high in the air above their heads, as a giant ice crystal starts to form. It grew in size, until the three, as one, called out, "Come forth, Shiva!" The crystal shattered and a woman floated down, landing next to the three who had summoned her, who were on their feet by then. The woman had blue skin and hair, long hair, which was in a tight braid down her back. She wore almost no clothing, and her voice was as a winter wind when she asked, "How may I be of service?"
Colin pointed to the army defending the ford, "They are blocking our way, please try to take out at least the giants, more if you can."
Shiva bowed, "It will be done." and flew toward the ford, and hovered in the air. Targeting the Giants, she raised her arms and showers of giant icicles propelled by arctic winds raced from her hands. The giants were able to knock a couple away, but the arctic air made them stiff and sluggish, slowing their reactions.
Tough skin that had easily brushed off arrows, spears and javelins were punctured in hundreds of places by ice harder then any steel. One giant caught an icicle as big as a mans body in his eye. Bellowing in a voice that could be heard miles away the monster staggered off into the night clutching the bloody, icy mess that had been its right eye.
Another giant caught an icicle just as big in his mouth, into the back of his throat while he was yelling about the pain from the other icicles. The shaft of frozen water plowed through the roof of his mouth and into the brain beyond it. Without a word the creature staggered backward, killed so fast that his body didn’t know it was dead yet. He collapsed on the far shore sending up clouds of snow and mud when he struck the ground.
"Can't hold the weave for much longer," Colin thought to his two siblings, and shouted out to Shiva, "Thank you for your assistance, Shiva. You are dismissed." Shiva nodded, bowed, then dissipated. As soon as she was gone, all three collapsed to the ground, drained.
Lord Bidwell ordered another attack and the knights charged again into the ice cold water. This time Bidwell led them. Gone was the time for command. This was the hour of decision.
The fighting raged for five long minutes in a bloody and savage melee at the waters edge. But despite their fearful losses neither side was willing to give ground.
Finally Bidwell himself managed to duck under the broad sweeps of a giants club. In his hands was a claymore. The two handed weapon had a blade as long as his arm. With one powerful swing he chopped deep into the monster’s right knee. The creature toppled over to one side sending waves of water splashing over everyone. Without a word the remaining giant turned and vanished into the night, with a speed that was surprising for something that big. With him went all of the remaining ogres.
That made the opening they were looking for. They fighting had been as costly for the defenders as it had for the attackers. With the giants and ogres gone they simply didn’t have the strength and numbers to block the whole ford. Instead they bunched together in the center fighting as fanatically as ever. Two hundred infantry both keeper and humans skirted around the edge of the fighting. Wading through water so deep that the shorter ones had to be carried to keep from being swept away by the current. They swarmed around and fell upon the defenders from behind.
Cutoff, surrounded, attacked from all sides and hopelessly outnumbered they could have, they should have surrendered but they didn’t. Instead they kept fighting. It was only when the last of them was dead did the fighting end.
With the ford now clear the main army crossed the river in force. All attempts at organized resistance had disappeared like a forgotten dream. Then the true slaughter began.
In front of him was their target. The bright yellow and gold stripes that covered the tent were easy to see even in the darkness. At one end a canopy extended out from the tent it’s far end upheld by three poles. The area beneath the canopy was free of snow and mud; instead a carpet covered the ground. Upon that rested a chair and a table. Hanging vertically from one edge of the canopy was a banner. A small fire burning in a brazier illuminated the banner enough for the vulpine to see it clearly. Two rampant griffons of gold were on a field of blue and gold squares. It was a heraldic emblem he didn’t recognize. It certainly wasn’t Baron Calephas emblem.
He could see the forms of a dozen guards pacing back and forth around the tent. Unlike all the other guards they’d seen tonight these were humans. They were dressed in long robes of blue and gold that covered them from the new down and were all carrying large shields on one arm. In their free hands they each held long swords whose blades glistened and gleamed with a light all their own. Their shields were painted a bright red and emblazoned boldly upon them was a gold fist grasping a silver circle with Crosshairs in it. Below that was a silver teardrop. This was the personal heraldic emblem of Nasoj. That meant these were all members of Nasoj’s person guard. Incredibly tough and experienced soldiers and fanatically loyal these men wouldn’t run or even flinch when attacked. They would stand their ground and fight to the bitter end.
A soft golden glow filled the tent lighting it up completely. He could see the faint shadows inside. The vague outline of a bed and some tables were barely discernable. As he watch the shadow of a figure moved across the tent and sat down at what must have been a table.
Suddenly a tent flap opened and light streamed out so bright that Misha had to raise his hands to block it out. Two figures backed out of the tent slowly bowing as they went. They only straightened up when the flap had closed and the light disappeared.
With surprising speed the two figures moved towards where the Longs were hiding, stopping less then twenty feet from Misha. If they knew of the vulpine’s presences they made no sign of it. They were simply standing and talking. One of the Lutins, the taller of the two removed a pipe from his coat pocket and slowly lit it. In the thin light of the pipe he could make out some details of the two. The one with the pipe was dressed in chain mail armor. A long sword hung in a scabbard at his hips. Gold and silver glinted from all his fingers telling of great personal wealth.
The other lutin was thinner and only slightly shorter. He was wearing the studded leather armor that most Lutins wore but his wasn’t the tattered and patchwork that most had. It was clean and obviously well cared for. The one lower corner had been cut, probably by a sword and carefully mended with metal wire. In the wane light of the pipe he could just see the dagger emblem edged in silver on both Lutins chests. It marked them as being from the Silver Knives tribe. This was a chief and a sub chief who was probably one of the chief’s sons.
The chief silently sucked on his pipe for a moment in silence. “Say it,” he said in the cold tones of command. All he got in reply was silence.
“You mad I tell the General we stay and fight.”
“Yes Father,” came the curt reply. “This battle is lost already. Keepers attack tomorrow and they kill everyone.”
“I know,” the chief commented. “I talk with other chiefs before we come here. We all decide to go home.”
“Go home?” the son asked. “Why we talk to that fool?” he said pointing back to the tent. “Why we not leave BEFORE we talk to her?”
“That one,” the father said pointing to the tent with his pipe, “she in control for the moment. When she ordered us to fight if I say no she would kill me. OUR heads would hang from her tent and all of our tribe be tortured as an example for others.”
“So what we do if we don’t fight and we don’t leave?”
“We go and lead our warriors to where she want us to guard and pretend to be brave and loyal. Her officers watch us but she not have enough for them to watch ALL of us, so we wait. When they grow tired we slit their throats and leave quietly.”
“What we do about the Four?” the younger one asked. “They kill us all if they know we leave.”
“They’re crazy. Too busy with their own plan to worry about the battle. They not care what happen with the battle. All we need worry about is the officers left to guard us.”
The sub-chief smiled broadly and laughed. “We wait till very late and then they be asleep first.”
“No,” the chief countered. “We not wait long. Little time left.”
“Why?” his son asked.
“Keepers not wait for dawn when she expect them to attack. They attack tonight.”
“How you know this?”
“That is what I would do. Remember this son. NEVER underestimate a person. Expect them to do what hurt the most.”
The younger lutin simply nodded as his father started to walk. He had to move quickly to catch up. “What happen after the battle? The Keepers come after our tribe?”
They were moving at a good pace and were quite a ways away but their voices came clearly to the fox over the snow.
“No, not this winter. The snow is too deep and the cold too sharp.”
“What happen in spring when there is no snow to stop them.”
A long silence followed. It was a question Misha himself wanted answered. “I don’t know. Nasoj no longer King of all Giantdowns. No one rule Giantdowns. When snows melt everyone fights to see who gets to rule it.”
The fox agreed with the lutin on that point. With Nasoj’s power waning the entire power structure of the North would change. There was no way telling how things would go. A fact that Misha found unsettling. Very unsettling.
He strained to hear the Lutins fading words. “Winter is very cold but spring will be very hot.”
“And bloody,” his son added.
“Very bloody indeed,” Misha agreed silently.