The sun had long passed it's apex by the time they made their way to the top of the mountain face, and was now just starting its plunge toward the west. They all had climbing equipment, but there were close calls as each one of the three had nearly fell several hundred feet. They had each saved one another's life at least twice.
Breathing hard from the exertion and the altitude, they surveyed The Giantdowns. The fog that blanketed the valley had long since burned off, revealing blue sky. Wispy clouds lightly brushed the sky, flaring out at one end.
"Pretty," Drake said, admiring the view.
"Evil," both Finbar and Arla said in unison. The two Metamoran's weren't looking at the valley or the sky, but instead toward dark mountains, whose peaks could just barely be seen over the northern horizon.
Arla began examining their current surroundings.
"It looks like this was a ravine or a waterfall at one time or another," Arla stated. She pointed, at the round boulders and smooth face at the bottom of the dried riverbed, "It looks as if this ravine runs for miles. A glacier may have even ran through here"
Drake nodded in agreement to her assessment, then leaned out over the edge and looked down.
"By Eli and Lord Kammaloth!" he breathed an oath.
"What is it?" Finbar asked.
"You'd better come see for yourself," was the reply.
Finbar and Arla both looked, and swore in unison.
Snaking across the cliff was what looked to be a legion of Lutins.
After a quick count Finbar spoke, "I count over four hundred."
"More like six hundred," Drake scoffed. He pointed, "I also mark half a dozen Giants."
"We're in trouble if they make their way up here.," Finbar agreed.
"We'd best get a move on, then," Arla suggested forcefully, adjusting Drake's crossbow which was strapped across her back. She started jogging down the smooth floor of the ravine.
The two men followed.
They ran for over three hours, probably covering near fifteen miles when they reached a narrow gap. The three stared at the large, jagged boulders entrapping them on either side. The traveler stopped and glanced backward.
"Well," stated Drake as he stopped and unlimbered the spear strapped to his back. He drew his lupine mask back into place, "this is as good a place to die as any."
The two Long Scouts turned to face Drake. Arla stared in disbelief at him while Finbar simply regarded the tall traveler with his usual stoic demeanor.
"What are you talking about?" the ferret demanded.
"You are the ones fighting a war here. Your mission is to return with information. You can't complete it if you die here, or somewhere down this canyon, or even somewhere several miles away from safety. I'm going to make sure you carry out that mission successfully." The wolf-knight walked over to the granite walls and examined them closely.
"That's nonsense," Arla declared.
Finbar sighed, nodding in understanding.
"Nonsense or not, he's correct." He turned on his heel and began heading southward.
"Finbar!" Caroline snapped, trying to get him to stop. She turned around to gaze at the man who, for all intent, was focusing on committing suicide.
"Arla," Drake said, his face impassive, "Finbar knows I'm right, and so do you."
She shook her head, not knowing whether to answer or not.
"Could you give me my crossbow back, I have a feeling I'll need it. Also, could I have some of your share of food. You told me you have some rations left in your pack, and I'm going to need as much energy as I can. No, you can keep the water skin, you'll need it more than I do. I have enough for this job."
She relinquished the weapon and food, still feeling numb and disbelieving.
"You can't beat that many," she pleaded, "no one can."
The body language the knight exuded at her concern of their pursuers was one of mirth. "No one can-- or has?" he laughed. He snapped the mane of his helmet up, and the wolf's head followed. "Don't worry about me. Besides, ballads have been written about less. But do me a favor when you get to your destination."
The Finbar stopped down the way and turned around.
"What?" Arla asked.
"Have them send a relief party to this place, against the chance that I may survive, and to delay that fat army coming down on top of your heads. I might be able to hold out for four days," he gave another assessment of the canyon, "maybe a week if I'm lucky."
"We'll see what we can do," the collie-morph, sorrowfully trying to convince herself that the fighter probably wouldn't be seen alive again.
The tall man continued to study the canyon wall for a time as the two scouts jogged away.
"One more thing," Drake called to the scouts as he hefted one side of his staff.
"What's that?" the two asked in unison as they stopped.
"RUN!" the man roared, "FAST!" He spun around, his staff lashing out at a rock he had focused on. It shattered under both the blow and the pressure from the rocks above.
All around them, the whole canyon began to reverberate with a low rumble. Boulders greater than thrice the size of any of them began to jump and jerk their way downward to the dry riverbed. Drake sprinted towards the two rangers, who had wisely followed his advice, running away from the avalanche the old fighter triggered.
Where Drake once stood, boulders rained down, quickly filling in the canyon. On his heels, large, implacable rocks chased him. Dust filled the air obscuring the older man from view.
When it was clear that the rock slide had stopped, the two scouts surveyed the damage. Arla could barely make out the silhouette of a wall crossing the canyon. Its sides climbed to the sky. In the middle, it tapered down to around a hundred feet high. When the dust thinned out, she could make out a tiny figure, scrambling up its height, preparing to make a last stand in that nameless gap.
"Good luck, old hunter," she sent, as she turned around to continue onward and away.
Just before the start of the graveyard shift, two exhausted shadows riding horses approached the front gates of Metamor Keep from the south. >From within the gate, a dog started to bark excitedly.
"Halt," the guardswoman said, bringing her pole arm to bear.
The two shadows dismounted and saluted.
"Long Scout Arla reporting in with an urgent message," one figure said.
"Long Scout Finbar, reporting in with an urgent message," echoed the other.
"Had a feeling it was you two," the guard said. "Your mascot for the Longs has been waiting for you like always. We usually have to put someone on duty to make sure he stays fed."
The dog he spoke of was currently trying to get the favor from the scouts, but, when all it received was a scratch behind its ears, disappointedly fell silent.
"Get someone to take care of these horses, they're almost done for," Finbar requested, "and another to summon Misha for debriefing, now. This is important."
They went immediately to the Long Scout headquarters.
The two wearily draped across the chairs in the meeting room, idly taking turns scratching the again excited mutt -who ran back and forth between them for attention -as they waited for Misha.
The fox-morph came in with a great yawn.
"I hope this is important," he said. "I was about to turn in early, the first time in weeks," he eyed the two newly returned scouts, "And you two look worse for wear, even for a routine check. You should have taken the night to rest. I don't need the report till tomorrow."
Finbar gave Misha a hard serious look.
"I'm afraid we need to give the report, now, sir," his voice sharp. Since the scout was usually upbeat around the fox, Misha knew that this information really was important. He sobered up immediately.
Misha listened almost impatiently as the two scouts gave the report about the large outpost, it's approximate location, and their escape with their traveling companion. "Great, now we have something more to worry about," Misha muttered in reference to the large encampment.
"Sir?" Finbar questioned. Misha ignored the question. He asked, "What about this traveler?"
"We left him in the afternoon a little over three days ago," Arla said. "He ordered us to get back here as soon as possible while he held them off here, and to bring reinforcements," she pointed on the map at his approximate position, somewhere on the fringe of the great barrier.
Misha shook his head, "We can't do that, not for one man, he'll be long dead by the time we get there. All I can do is mention this to the next patrol going north that they'll have they're hands full."
"His life isn't important," Finbar spoke, "he knew that. What's important is that the ravine we took emptied out about ten miles SOUTH of Lorland, just outside the Curse's southern boundary. We spent the better part of this afternoon and early evening climbing down the bluffs. We had to borrow horses from the manor there, which we nearly killed trying to get here as fast as we could.
"Don't you see?" Arla added, her voice urgent, "This ravine completely bypasses the Keep going to the south. And there were over six hundred Lutins following us. With the discovery of this pass, they could be mounting an invasion right now!"
Misha said nothing, his face growing more impassive at their assessment. He walked toward the door, opened it, and grabbed the page standing outside by the collar.
"Get Duke Thomas in here now. I don't care if you have to wake him, or even carry his bed with him still in it, but get the Duke here, NOW!"
Misha turned back to the weary travelers, "After you two give him the gist, I want you to get what sleep you can. I'll try to get a sortie organized. We leave early tomorrow morning, and we'd all better pray that your friend could hold them off for as long as he hoped."