by J. P. Ashman
Teeth clenching, the large man nodded and moved forward, wrinkling his flattened nose at the fresh stench the movement caused, whilst Rapeel motioned for the other to follow.
Keep moving, halfwits, Rapeel thought, as he followed his companions and tried to imagine the space into which they’d be assaulting Longoss. Several rats swam past him then, squealing as they went, with gods knew what swirling about in their wake. Not sure if I’d rather the bastard stays down here or makes for the surface, after all.
***
As soon as the lake had passed, along with its wetlands and uneven, dangerous paths, the horses of the group were again worked hard. They galloped for a while before slowing to a steady canter. Starks suffered the most, having hardly ridden before, but everyone in the group spurred him on and they silently acknowledged his efforts to prove himself to the more experienced and older warriors in the group.
‘Wait up, Starks, we’re not all as young and fit as you,’ Sav shouted from the back of the group, causing both Starks and Fal to erupt with laughter.
‘It’s all that ale you drank in Wesson,’ Fal called back from just ahead of the young crossbowman.
‘What?’ Sav asked, and Fal laughed again.
‘You heard… you’re getting fat.’
Starks laughed whilst turning in his saddle to grin back at the lanky scout, who could easily have ridden down the younger man. It was good for morale after everything the group had been through, and Fal was happy Starks was being accepted by the hardier men in the group.
He’s endured more than most these past few days. Fal knew how little of the world Starks had experienced up until now.
The sun had started to sink to the west, where the sky took on an orange haze as the giant orb neared the horizon. The wind was almost still and the warmer air across the meadows felt silky as it blew across Fal’s face, his horse working hard below.
Errolas’ hand went up then, and one by one the horses slowed as their riders pulled on their reigns. Starks almost shot past Fal, before hauling on the reigns harder than the others, his horse coming to an abrupt stop, almost throwing the young crossbowman over its head. Fal and Sav laughed again as Starks clambered back towards his saddle, grinning at the others.
‘Think we’re dismounting, gents,’ Gleave said, before sliding from his tall, bay mare. ‘It’ll give that horse of yours a rest after working her like that, Starks.’ It was said in jest and Starks took it so, grinning back to the pathfinder as the hardy soldier walked his horse ahead to talk to Mearson, whose arm was considerably better since Severun performed some sort of spell on it shortly after leaving Beresford.
‘I’m no cleric,’ the wizard had said, ‘but this should help a little.’ And so it had. Within an hour, Fal had noticed Mearson waving his arm around, amazed at the recovery, and Fal had smiled to himself, glad to have the powerful wizard with the group.
‘Make camp by those trees,’ Errolas said, his voice carrying easily as he dismounted and walked his horse over to a small copse of trees to the group’s right. They'd long since left any known path and so had to rely on Errolas’ sense of direction to find Broadleaf Forest. Sav had sworn he could find it, that anyone could find it if they headed east from their position, but they let Errolas lead regardless, wanting to waste no more time and knowing that finding it was one thing, but entering it was surely another.
Once they'd tied up their horses, they lit a small fire and with what provisions they had left, Sav cooked up an evening meal accompanied by a small amount of mead Correia had been given in Beresford before they left. Sav, to everyone’s surprise, passed on the opportunity, claiming he never drank when in the field.
‘That’s why he drinks so much when back in Wesson,’ Fal said, laughing, and Sav nodded his agreement, followed by a broad smile and a wink.
‘Well, you can count me out of that.’ Gleave took a large swig from the deerskin. ‘Warms you up it does, that’s for sure. Here, Starks, get some down your neck.’
Starks thanked Gleave and took a swig himself, sighing with appreciation at the sweet taste, before muttering something about Sav drinking in Hinton, which should be classed as in the field.
‘We can’t be far now can we, Errolas?’ Sav asked, ignoring Starks’ comment as he drank from a skin of water.
‘No, not far now; the Woodmoat is in sight.’ Errolas pointed to a faint outline of trees in the distance.
‘Woodmoat?’ Fal asked. ‘That’s your wood then, them trees?’
All were listening now including Correia and her pathfinders. They knew the lay of both north and south Altoln well, but none of them had ever stepped foot across the tree line they were all looking at, understanding it to be the realm of the elves and not somewhere you ventured without permission. Errolas shook his head though, surprising all.
‘No, the Woodmoat isn’t part of our realm. It is a defensive moat, of sorts.’
Starks frowned. ‘A moat of wood, how would that stop anyone, or do you mean a palisade?’
Errolas laughed softly, but realised then that everyone, not just Starks, was looking to him for an answer. ‘It’s not a moat as such, not like your moats of water. It is a barrier though and it surrounds Broadleaf Forest, although it won’t show on any map.’
Errolas paused whilst the group leaned in or shuffled closer to the fire, where sparks reached for the darkening sky from the fresh logs that crackled and burnt there. Once settled, the elf continued.
‘There’s a wide band of flat, solid ground surrounding our forest, and running around the outside of that, over there,’ he pointed to the distant tree line, ‘is the Woodmoat. The Meadow Guard sit in the Woodmoat and act as our eyes and ears. Highly skilled warriors, they are excellent marksmen with the bow and well trained with both sword and spear. They protect the Woodmoat and call for assistance if needed. Anyone attempting to enter our forest, be it foolish goblins or whomever, think they are actually attacking or entering our home, rather than our woodland defences.
‘Should they get past the Meadow Guard in the Woodmoat, however, they then realise they haven’t entered the forest at all and now have to pass the meadow itself. Fast and highly skilled cavalry units patrol the meadow in groups of a dozen or so. Those mounted warriors are lethal with both lance and bow, and should they catch anyone in their meadows, then they know the trespassers have surely killed elves to get there. It also leaves any intruders open to volleys from units of archers, scouts or rangers that would have come to the call of the Meadow Guard’s horns. As you can see, it would take quite a force to breach both the Woodmoat and the meadows beyond.’ Errolas smiled as he looked around at the group who sat in silent awe of the elf’s explanation.
‘Amazing,’ Starks said – a word he’d found himself using more and more since leaving Wesson – and Fal nodded as he looked across and strained to see the dark tree line of the Woodmoat in the failing light.
‘Why, if we’re so close, don’t we head straight there now?’ Mearson asked, before taking a swig of mead.
Errolas smiled as he replied. ‘I don’t think it wise to approach the Meadow Guard with darkness closing in on us, especially when I am one elf and you are many humans.’
‘But we’re allies,’ Gleave said, a little affronted.
‘Yes we are, but does Wesson not close its gates to anyone at night; elf, gnome or even human?’ Errolas’ smile remained.
‘Fair point,’ Gleave said, as he reached for the mead again.
‘I can’t wait to see your home,’ Sav said, and several of the group nodded.
‘Well tomorrow you will.’
‘It shall be a sight I never thought I’d see a couple of days ago, so it makes it all the more wonderful to me.’ Severun’s face dropped as he looked westward towards the rapidly shrinking sun.
Errolas followed the wizard’s gaze and then stood up.
‘What is it?’ Correia asked, she too standing and straining her eyes to see.
‘I’m not sure, I thought i
t was my old eyes playing tricks at first, but…’ Severun pointed and the rest of the group turned to gaze at the small circle that ever so slowly grew in the distant sky.
A tiny point of light flickered from its base.
Errolas squinted. ‘I’m not sure what it is, but it’s getting closer, slowly, but surely it is.’
Sav walked across and picked up his bow then, stringing it without a second thought and on seeing him do so, Starks walked over to where his crossbow was propped against a tree.
‘There again, a light came from it, only briefly mind.’ Mearson stood on tiptoes as if it would help him see further.
‘There’s only a light breeze,’ Correia said, ‘and it’s more from the east than anything else so it’s not moving closer on the—
‘It’s a balloon!’ she said suddenly. All heads turned towards her.
Errolas looked back towards the strange shape in the sky. ‘A what?’
Sav’s face relaxed in realisation and he de-strung his bow and leant it back against a tree. ‘One of the King’s reconnaissance balloons,’ he said reassuringly. ‘It’s alright Errolas, they’re ours.’ Sav sat back down by the fire again, craning his neck to glance briefly at the growing, dark circle in the sky.
‘I saw one once,’ Starks said, ‘down Dockside. It took off from the naval fort and headed out to sea. Never seen one up close though. Do you think it’s looking for us on the King’s orders?’
‘Could be,’ Gleave said. ‘It’s possible the plague’s been sorted out by our lot, and that thing’s tracked us from Beresford.’
‘Well, let’s hope so.’ Fal crossed his fingers. ‘I still want to see your home though,’ he added, looking to Errolas. Most nodded their heads in agreement, but Severun and especially Errolas didn’t seem to be as relaxed as the others now were.
‘We don’t know for sure it’s ours,’ Severun said, but no one seemed to take the warning seriously until Fal turned and saw the seriousness in the wizard’s face.
‘Maybe Lord Severun’s right, we should stay on guard. We can’t risk the mission on an assumption,’ Fal said, and without another word Starks lifted his crossbow back into his arms. Fal smiled inwardly at the young crossbowman’s initiative.
‘Ahh, come on Fal,’ Sav said, ‘who else has balloons except the dwarves, and they’re not going to be this deep into our territory or so close to the elves are they?’ He glanced back at the now rapidly growing balloon.
Fal shot him a look and Sav sighed before climbing to his feet, walking over to and re-stringing his bow again.
‘You should never assume, Sav,’ Fal said, a wry smile appearing on his face.
‘Because it makes an ass out of you and me, yeah, yeah, I know.’ They both laughed briefly over what could only be an old joke between the two of them.
‘They’re right, it’s best to be on guard. You heard him lads,’ Correia said, and Gleave and Mearson drew their weapons without question.
‘Should we put this out?’ Fal asked.
Errolas shook his head. ‘No, keep it lit, we’re probably being over cautious, but if we are attacked, it will draw the eye and those in the shadows won’t easily be seen. Sav, Starks and Lord Severun with me, Gleave and Mearson, you stay by the fire with Fal and Correia, but be ready, understood?’ All four nodded and Fal drew his falchion and seax before moving to the farthest side of the fire to the balloon, which was now creeping very close, the slight sound of its clicking dwarf built propeller reaching the ears of Errolas for the first time. Severun, Sav and Starks rushed into the copse of trees and readied their weapons whilst Fal, Correia, Gleave and Mearson acted calm, which wasn’t hard since they were convinced the balloon wasn’t a threat.
***
Rapeel’s boys did all they could not to gag as they crawled slowly through the pipe towards the flickering torchlight ahead. They knew that to stay low to the water whilst they followed the large rat, and to move slowly, meant less of a chance of their approach being heard or spotted by their target. The tunnel lay in darkness as the torchlight from the opening they were drawing closer to cast across but not into the pipe they travelled, and the small torch their boss’s man had been carrying had long since been extinguished in the waters behind them.
The large rat’s body twisted slowly from side to side as it quietly swam towards the end of the tunnel. It dipped below the surface of the sewer filled water just before reaching the flickering light of the torch. Grimacing yet determined, the youngest of the group – the rat’s handler – held his breath and followed his rat, pulling himself along just below the surface and out of sight.
Rapeel watched from the back as the other boys did the same, making their way further into the chamber as he and his two men reached the edge of the pipe and torchlight, weapons ready. He noticed the man in front grab a floating turd, before smearing it across the blade of his scramasax. He had to bite back a laugh as he thought of the weapon biting into Longoss’ flesh. If we don’t kill you straight away and you best us, Longoss, you’ll die a slow death for it.
Reacting to the sudden explosion of water as his boys erupted from the surface within the chamber, Rapeel shoved the man in front and he, along with the other, burst from the mouth of the pipe. They charged up and onto the right hand side platform. A torch lit part of the chamber, but cast black shadows into the corners where three blanket covered forms lay. It was those areas the boys and men rushed towards, believing them to be the sleeping forms of Longoss and his companions.
They were wrong.
As the first of the boys reached what he thought was a huddled form, he felt his lead leg snag on a thin cord stretched taut across the chamber. The pulling of that cord yanked the single, burning torch from the wall, dropping it to the sodden, oil slick floor.
The large rat squealed and dived off the platform and into the water as Rapeel fell back and under the water’s surface, an explosion ripping through the chamber and his group. Disorientated, Rapeel thrashed about and almost choked on the mouthful of sewage he took in. He managed to lift his head from the water then, only to crack it on the stone of the tunnel that the sewer flow had carried him back into. Gagging, he splashed out into the chamber again, only one of his two axes in hand. Wiping the stinking sewerage from his face with his free hand, Rapeel looked about as three figures thrashed around on fire, one of them large, the other two small. He looked to the water further along the half pipe and saw the youngest boy floating face down in the sewage. The ongoing fire’s reflection lit up the surface of the water around the boy, which suddenly erupted as Rapeel’s remaining man emerged, standing tall. The hafted-axe-wielding man looked to the screaming, burning forms thrashing around on the raised platform of the chamber, and then to Rapeel, who roared Longoss’ name with anger and frustration at the realisation of what had happened.
The burning bodies finally lay still as Rapeel approached the man opposite him. Through gritted teeth he said, ‘Grab the rat’s chain and find the nearest way up top for ’morl’s sake.’
The red faced man’s mouth curled in a sneer as he nodded and turned to retrieve the rat, which was cowering in the mouth of the pipe leading out of the chamber.
‘And watch where you’re stepping will you, there might be more traps,’ Rapeel said, moving back to the original pipe to search the sludgy bottom for his other axe.
You think you’re so clever, Longoss, burning a couple of kids and a dumb bastard? I’ll show you clever when I ram a shit covered axe into your ugly, stinking face.
‘The rat’s got a lead down this pipe, boss.’
‘Then get down and follow it, for crying out loud.’ Rapeel finally fished out his second axe and turned to follow the black rat and his man. He pushed past the corpse of the rat’s previous handler as he went. Sorry kids, he thought, taking one last look at his dead boys, we all have our time, but by the shitting gods it ain’t mine.
***
The light of the camp fire burnt bright as the dark shadows of night fell al
most completely over the land. The light breeze blew softly in the faces of the five men who stood in the balloon’s basket. It was hard to see far from the fire, but the half-elf informed Exley there were four figures in the camp and at least two had just disappeared into the darkness of the trees behind the fire. Exley nodded and readied his small but deadly crossbow, as did his two companions, whilst the half-elf readied a windlass crossbow that he rested on the basket’s sturdy wicker side. The other crewman, the human engineer, worked the dwarf-built propeller that directed the large balloon whenever there was insufficient wind to carry it in the right direction. He fired the balloon one last time as it dropped down towards the camp, the burst of fire giving it just enough lift whilst he halted the propeller, switching it briefly to reverse. The action dramatically slowed the balloon’s progress until they were at a near hover above the camp.
Exley Clewarth aimed his crossbow at one of the silhouetted figures in front of the camp fire. ‘This is it, men, these are the fugitives. Take no prisoners, they certainly won’t.’
The half-elf swallowed hard, far from comfortable with his orders from the Witchunter General.
‘Ahoy there, captain?’ a female voice from below shouted. This stayed the half-elf’s crossbow as he moved to pull the trigger.
‘Don’t listen, just shoot, damn you,’ Exley said quickly, knowing his small crossbow had a lesser range than the half-elf’s, and since they were still out of accurate range, he didn’t want to waste a shot.
‘Spymaster Burr here,’ the woman shouted. ‘I have pathfinders with me on an important mission. What news of Beresford?’
Both the half-elf and the human engineer looked suddenly to Exley, who cursed and nodded to his two witchunters.
The half-elf opened his mouth to shout a warning, but was cut off as the witchunters swiftly shot him and the human engineer point blank.
Just then, a way off from the camp and unheard by the humans, a small hedgerow bird dipped up and down on furiously beating wings, screeching its tiny heart out to warn the elf who'd spoken to it the day before. The elf’s ears pricked at the warning coming from Jenny Wren, and before the witchunters could reload their crossbows, an elven arrow, followed by another arrow and a crossbow bolt erupted from the shadows of the trees and headed straight for the balloon.
