The Price of Freedom ~ Part II

[Izvilvin]

The sun rose early that morning, creeping out from behind the mountains in the distance to shed light across Underwood. The rain was gone but the mist was still floating about, thinner than it had been, yet still obvious in the early light.

Izvilvin awoke as he did every other morning, in a bed and thankful to be there. The Drow would never in his life complain about an uncomfortable mattress, for he recalled too keenly the feel of rocks under his back during his stay in the Kachuck mines. He felt refreshed after a good night’s sleep, especially because it had been so long since he’d taken any rest.

A light breakfast of fruit and berry juice ensured he would have energy for the day. Izvilvin thanked the innkeeper with an extra piece of gold, readied his weapons, and retrieved his horse from the stable. By the time he managed to communicate to the stablehand which steed belonged to him, convinced the boy that he was not lying, and mounted up, it was time to meet.

His horse carried him to the center of town, which happened to be a mere forty feet from the inn. He recognized most of the soldiers gathered, including one from last night that he didn’t remember the name of. To his surprise only one look of disgust came his way, and even that ended quickly as the man who shot it seemed to catch himself.

The smell of mud seemed to drift all around him, but Izvilvin enjoyed the scent. It was the sense of early morning, promising a day of production ahead.

He let out a deep, slow breath through his nostrils. Would today be the day that he stabbed Letho in the back?

Izvilvin’s long fingers dropped to grip Icicle’s hilt, but found nothing. He looked to his hip and recalled that he no longer held the blade, had given it to Christina just yesterday so that she had a suitable weapon with which to fight. The Drow remembered thinking it would be difficult for her to transition from Rosebite to a normal sword, and giving her his own to try and ease the change.

One of the men gathered said something in a commanding voice, so he sat up and looked ahead. Christina and Letho had yet to arrive, but Izvilvin doubted that they were late. It was unlike two soldiers of such caliber.

Soldiers of caliber, and he needed to make sure one of them never made it to Gisela. The thought made his stomach turn.

[Christina Bredith]

As the sun rose, it greeted a pretty blonde woman who had already been awake for some time. She was sitting on a cheerful little wooden chair just outside the building in which the Rangers made their headquarters, but the look on her face was stoic and silent. It was a strained expression, filled with concentration and foresight, all of the type not often displayed on her features. When the sun finally bathed her in its glow over the nearby rooftops, she squinted to keep it away, and that was the first real motion she had made in an hour; apart from it, a passer-by might think she was dead.

In a nutshell, Christina was afraid. She may have always put on the mask of a woman who feared nothing and saw the silver lining to every thunderhead, but a mask only counts for something when there are those around to see it. Time was marching slowly forward, and with each tick of the clock in the living area behind her, she knew she was one second closer to war.

Images flashed through her mind of the invasion of the city in which she grew up. It had been ravaged by orcs, a swarm of seemingly unending numbers, each more merciless than the last. Occasionally her face would twitch slightly, remembering their dull faces and yellowed teeth and eyes. She thought back on the way they shattered windows and snatched defenceless, innocent people away from their own lives, only to crush them like insects. She remembered the screams of the frightened women and children as the army advanced and defeat seemed imminent.

But most of all, she remembered the loved ones she lost that day. Jeremy, who she saw die with her own eyes, and her parents, whose screams she heard as she ran from the carnage. If only she could have protected them. But she was too weak… she was nothing compared to her aggressors. They were so powerful, hardened by war and battle. A little girl was no match.

Would things turn out the same today? Would she fight and fight, but to no avail, only to watch the people she cared about get torn apart by blade and arrow? She had become good friends with the Rangers since she had come here… and then there were Letho and Izvilvin, too. She didn’t think she could bear to watch them fall like her parents had. But what choice did she have? She had to fight… she had to win – to protect them. Nothing else was important, not even her own life. The alternative was worse than death.

Christina only became aware of the time when snapped back to attention as a few fully-suited Rangers started filing out of the building, ready to assemble at the town square before riding north. Lenwë was among them and, seeing her sitting there with a blank expression on her face, he paused to ask if anything was the matter.

“The matter?” Christina turned up to him, looking for only a moment like a deer in the headlights. She then scratched the back of her head and laughed brightly. “Nothing’s the matter! Let’s go kick some imperial behind!” Lenwë paused for a minute, and laughed quietly, though he didn’t seem particularly amused. Christina felt as naked as though he could see right through her mask; but if he did, he made no mention of it.

“Yes. Let us do just that, my little rosebud.” The elf’s slender brows furrowed ever so slightly, and he marched toward the nearby town center to join with the rest of the Rangers. Christina lagged behind for a minute longer, wondering how much longer she could keep this up. But she knew she had to… for the sake of all the brave men and women gathering there with their horses and weapons. And for all the people in Concordia – in Corone – who had no means to fight for themselves. With that resolve firmly entrenched, Christina followed the group to the now-bustling village square and, at the beckoning of the Marshal in charge, she fell into place with the rest of them.

She had to be brave, too. The alternative, she repeated, was worse than death.

[Letho]

The morning was as eventful and bustling as it was to be expected before a large offensive, but for Letho it was merely an extension of an already drudging night. After the training session with Sienna, the Marshal proceeded with his initial intention, seeking out a cleric that was willing to offer him more then a curse in the dead hour of the night. Unfortunately, none of them had the razzle-dazzle magic capability to mend his broken bone, so the swordsman wound up with some sort of concoction that smelled like sewage, tasted worse and made his head woozy. Luckily, balance wasn’t needed for collapsing back into the bed, but by the time Letho managed to do that, he was left with about two hours worth of slumber before the bugles blasted out their waking fanfares. But even before the irritating call of the trumpeter, everybody seemed to be awake. There was tension in the air, the edgy kind that made people keep their mouths shut and their thoughtful eyes focused.

Letho and the Marshals weren’t immune to this sensation either, but in manifested differently in their case. Their sternness went up a notch, their conversation limited to only that which had to be said. That made the final briefing somewhat foreboding, but that was to be expected; they weren’t about to march into a field of daises, but into an open confrontation against a vastly superior opponent. It was more then enough to make each and every one of them acknowledge the possibility that they wouldn’t see Underwood ever again.

Even though the Ranger’s offensive seemed across-the-board, it actually couldn’t have been called a large one, not with the numbers they had at their disposal. With the latest batch of troops that arrived during the night, they had a little under a thousand of able Rangers, and about half that much of voluntaries. A hundred and fifty Rangers were given to each tandem of Marshals as well as some fifty-odd conscripts, while the rest of the troops took strategic positions throughout Concordia, mostly fortifying themselves in some larger towns and villages. They were trying to secure the fort, the fort being the green expanse of one of the largest forest in the known realms. It looked like a ludicrous plan, especially when it was laid out on the map, but it was the only one they had. Sitting in Underwood, behind its weak wooden walls and shallow moats, would be like keeping your eyes shut and hoping that your enemy didn’t see you.

Once the briefing was done, it was time for final preparations, and in Letho’s case that meant arming himself. Except his composite bow – which was useless to him due to his broken arm – the brooding Marshal had no equipment, and even though his rank and his injury were bound to keep him away from open conflict, Letho simply felt naked without armaments. The Underwood armory offered neither a wide assortment of weapons nor some exceptional quality – most of the quality weapons were checked out by the time Letho got to the armory. Luckily, the master-at-arms who was assigned to the defense of Underwood provided the Marshal with his own spear.

“If you fail, my spear and my creaking bones won’t be able to stop them anyways,” the man with a bushy white beard said. The spear itself was of extraordinary craftsmanship, its shaft made of carved nihon wood, its prevalida tip glistening in a strange hue of light azure. Compared to the magnificent spear, the eklan shield with the emblem of Corone Rangers – the mounted archer – looked almost unsightly. There was no need for armor; they were supposed to be light and mobile. Not to mention that donning armor with a broken arm would prove to be quite difficult. He did, however, pick up a rather plain longsword from a barrel filled with them and scooped up about a dozen throwing daggers.

Unlike with weapons, the squires at the stables had a horse prepared for Letho. A white charger looked genuinely mighty and royal, muscles rippling even as he was walked in front of the Marshal. After some trouble while mounting the ivory beast – due to his useless right arm – the swordsman clucked it forward to join the others at the main square. He was followed by a fair number of stablemen that led horses for those that couldn’t provide their own.

With his shield strapped across his back and his spear held in his left, Letho stood before his platoon, his half of what was designated on the maps as the ‘North Company’, with his horse snorting restlessly beneath, almost craving to break into a gallop. Except for the trio of people that he was familiar with, the rest were merely nameless faces to the Marshal, and amongst them he was supposed to pick two deputies. Izvilvin was ineligible due to his language barrier, Sienna was too young and only Christina looked like somebody who could effectively command troops in battle. Finally, after his keen eyes got satisfied with what they saw in the congregation, Letho spoke, his voice rising over the commotion.

“Most of you know by now where we are heading and what our mission is, but for those of you who don’t know what north from the ‘North Company’ stands for, let me repeat,” the Marshal spoke, his voice kinglike, dominant, eliciting a chuckle or three from the congregation. “We are not supposed to take command over the North Passage. We are not supposed to hold it for a week or two and then return to our homes. We are going to take the North Passage and hold it for as long as it takes. Have no doubt; the Empire is going to throw everything it has on us. But this is our territory. We are Corone Rangers and we guard the borders of freedom!” A round of cheers and shield-striking ensued, but Letho’s voice rose over it still.

“We are the Highwaymen and whoever crosses out path is going to pay a heavy toll!”

Letho was unaware of this, but the troops of all companies seemed to be listening in to his speech, and soon the entire square was joined in one brutish choir of hoots and sounds of metal striking against metal. It became so loud that the horses became to neigh and grow restless, breaking the neatly formed lines of gathered soldiers. After about a half a minute of this, the Marshals calmed their platoons down, each in their own way.

“Alright, quiet down!” Letho ultimately said to his men in a more down-to-earth tone. “Now, which one of you knows the Comb Mountains and the North Expanse best?” Unsurprisingly, at least half of the rangers raised their hands and swords and bows. Their cockiness made the Marshal smirk one of his cryptic smirks. “And which one of you is the meanest bastard around?” Most of them laughed. Amongst those that didn’t, Letho noted a rather barbaric-looking mountain of muscles whose bow seemed almost too thick to be usable.

“You. What’s your name?” the spear-wielding Marshal asked, tucking the spear beneath his armpit and fishing for something in the pocket of his leather overcoat.

“Aldeir, sir!” the man replied, straightening his back and pushing out his muscled chest which made him even more impressive.

“You’re my new deputy,” Letho said, throwing a silver badge of a mounted archer towards the man. “Take the first three columns and lead out our van.”

“The center three columns are with me, you included,” the Marshal continued, pointing towards Sienna who was sitting in the first row on a rather skinny-looking chestnut mare. If the young blonde had some objections – and given the fact that he didn’t include her in the vanguard, she probably did – Sienna kept it to herself. With another badge in his hand, Letho spurred his horse’s flanks lightly and approached the remaining three columns of mounted Highwaymen.

“The rest of you will be in charge of our rear. You will respond to Christina Bredith. You give her lip, I tear those lips off your face myself,” he said, flicking the last badge towards the blonde with a reassuring smile.

“Now, let’s move out!”

[Christina Bredith]

While Christina normally saw it as her job to ease the tension when it was in abundance, today it just didn’t seem appropriate somehow. Even the light-hearted, bubbly blonde couldn’t really see a way to defuse a situation like this. Truth be told, she was in need of a little soothing herself. There was a chaotic mix of determination and nervousness broiling within her, and her concentration was so fixed on seeing which side would win that she couldn’t bring herself to pay attention to what was going on around her.

It wasn’t until Letho called her name that she snapped back to attention – just in time to gather what he was saying, and catch the silver badge tossed at her. She was in charge…? The badge was reflected in her glistening, wide eyes, camouflaged against their own natural colour. She tilted her head slightly and twirled the thing in her hand, stroking its contours with her fingers. Such a small thing exuded so much confidence! The Marshal has faith in me, she concluded, knowing that there were any number of others here he could have chosen as a deputy. Then I’d better not let him down.

Christina may not have had much experience on the field, but if nothing else, she had genes on her side – both her parents were army commanders, and so she soon found that she too could exude an aura of confidence as would be expected of someone in her position. Perhaps that little badge awoke something in her that she barely even knew was there.

Christina pinned the silver archer to the breast of her red jacket and spun around her steed, a beautiful black mare called Shadowmere, to face the columns she would be responsible for. The stoic, strained expression on her face was all but gone now: instead there was a pretty, confident smirk tugging at those ruby-reds. Her golden locks rolled down her shoulders and the piercing silvers of her eyes scanned the men assembled. Except for the neatness of her uniform and the blade at her waist, she might have looked more the part of a noble taking a riding lesson than a deputy marshal. It was enough of an absurdity to make some of the volunteers scoff – and even some of the Rangers, too – despite Letho’s threats (which, of course, Christina would have much more fun backing up on her own).

“Well, boys,” she called as the vanguard took off northward through the forest, “you heard the man. Let’s watch their little behinds, shall we?” The woman slowly began turning Shadowmere around, but she passed a glance at Izvilvin on the way, and smiled briefly. When she was facing northward again, she jested, “I guess I’ll be the only one appreciating the view.”

The second van was preparing to move away, and soon it would be their turn. Christina turned her head over her shoulder, ran her hand along the base of her neck, and then tossed a shower of hair backwards over her shoulder. “Let’s go remind those imperial bastards who really owns this country!”

* * *

The ride northward through the forest was uneventful enough, and except for the galloping of a couple hundred horses the picture was almost serene. The sun shone down between the trees in scattered rays like something out of an oil painting, and although they were generally scampering away to avoid being trampled, there were many forest creatures hovering about. Concordia was still a safe haven for those allied against the new Corone Empire, of course – the mighty watchful eye of imperialism had not yet set its sights on the piddling little Rangers and their toothpick army. They would soon come to regret it.

Escaping the forest took as long as it did because of the necessary drop in speed that came with having to manoeuvre such a large contingent along so winding and narrow a path. The vast plains of Corone would spread out before them to the north, beyond the Comb Mountains, when they finally escaped, and Christina couldn’t help but remember the last time she had seen them – it was only a matter of weeks ago, and yet it felt like a different era. Corone was a republic, then, not an empire; Gisela was not yet the site of a bloody massacre; the world was just different.

The mountains were just barely visible on the horizon from Christina’s position at the head of the third van, and so she knew it would be a long journey. They were no longer safely behind the veil of secrecy that Concordia afforded them, either; these plains were patrolled by the no-doubt-powerful imperial army, and they were under the empire’s watchful eye.

Sure enough, just a few hours from their final destination, Christina detected a touch of chaos at the head of the Ranger army, and she knew that they must have been engaged by an opposing force. There was a shadow riding toward the gap between the first and second vans from the west. It was, she suspected, nothing they couldn’t handle but, even so, it was her job to bring up the rear and make sure they weren’t ambushed, surprised, or flanked. Drawing her borrowed blade and signalling wide, the woman began to manoeuvre her van along an arcing path, to catch the hapless opposition unawares and, if it came to it, cut off any chance of their escape.

((The battle's all yours, Cy. I guess it'll be dealt with easily enough like he said. ^^ And then we'll be at the mountains! Or something.))

[Izvilvin]

The official breakdown of the group’s hierarchy passed without any attention from Izvilvin, whose eyes were trained beyond Underwood’s gates and on the distant Comb Mountains, mountains he could only see because his eyes could travel the miles.

They were off toward those mountains before he knew it, traversing the wilderness once more. Their reprieve from travel had been short but sweet, and Izvilvin once again felt strong of body. His heart, however, was weak.

Whomever he fought, whether physically or in any other sense, the Drow always fought for the light. As twisted as his past might have been, Izvilvin had an innate sense of good in his heart that guided him, a mute pledge that dictated who he was and what he stood for. Even while he was a Step lackey, he’d done nothing in cold blood. Now he was expected to kill a man who also fought for the light, who, despite Izvilvin’s inability to understand his words, projected strength of heart that matched – perhaps surpassed – his own. Perhaps he still was a lackey.

The night had been long and restful, and Izvilvin carried with him today a clear head. He wanted to defend this land, now that he had a bit of an understanding for what was happening; wanted it more than just about anything. As much as he wanted to lead forth and charge headlong into Gisela, slay whomever was in charge of the Corone Empire and set things right again, Izvilvin knew there was only one man who was leading, here. Letho’s resolve was positively infectious, seeming to radiate from him at times. Izvilvin had seen the swelling of human chests when Letho spoke.

The Drow painfully reminded himself that he had no options. As easy as it would be to run away and let Corone sort itself out, he had a mission to accomplish. Step was more of an entity than it was an organization, sometimes, able to find Izvilvin wherever and whenever he was needed. Even if he were to go underground in the mines of Kachuck again, he would be found. As selfish as it felt at that moment, the Drow knew he had things to accomplish ahead, and couldn’t sacrifice himself for the good of a nation that wasn’t his own.

Step would kill Christina as well, he knew. Izvilvin killing Letho would spare her, if she could escape Gisela.

As cruelly as these thoughts plagued him, the ride through Concordia was still pleasant. The forest was safe from war, at least for the time being, and the bit of sunshine that poked through the thin mist made him feel peaceful. He caught himself glancing at Christina more than once.

The three vans, seventy-five men (and a woman) strong, took three days to break out of Concordia. Their nights were no more than six hours of rest long, and sometimes less. It would have been grueling to typical men, but these were warriors, soldiers of legend who fought for more than just themselves and their families. They fought for the future of the continent, and would be remembered until the day Corone died. Izvilvin wondered if anybody realized just how important the impending struggle would be.

The plains were different. It was windier. The mist was gone now but the chill was not, so Izvilvin wrapped himself in a light blanket. He kept his eyes sharp, and on their second day of travel across the plains, it paid off.

The landscape was not completely flat. Hills were common as they neared the Comb Mountains, which seemed to grow every moment. Izvilvin spotted the imperial army, some fifty strong, before they even knew the vans were approaching. He had to wonder why they didn’t keep him in mind, especially if Step was on their side.

“Humans waiting for us,” Izvilvin announced to the company ahead of him, led by Christina Bredith. It was the longest string of words he’d put together in days, and easily the longest in Common since any of the soldiers had seen him. As they looked back in shock, he was seen pointing Northwest, where the imperial soldiers were.

Christina nodded in trust and began to organize movement. Rather than charge toward the hill, the company carried on ahead, bows at their side. Izvilvin, meanwhile, had his midnight steed trot just a bit faster to pass into the second caravan, for he had no ranged weapon.

They played into the ‘trap’ that was set for them. A tall hill on their side, the group would have been completely blindsided by the fifty soldiers as they charged downward, white steeds galloping with haste. Instead, as the imperial soldiers revealed themselves, they were shot down mercilessly by wave after wave of arrows, notched as quickly as they were fired. The skill of the Rangers was something bewildering to Izvilvin, who had a sai in each hand and was ready to leap from his mount at any given moment. He never got the chance.

As the imperials witnessed their front lines being wiped out, they tried to turn and flee. But their horses couldn’t handle changing direction while on the downward slope. Some fell, few managed to actually turn and run. Those who remained were mowed down by arrows that, like hawks diving at their defenseless prey, found vital points.

The battle was not a battle at all. It was a rout.

The company enjoyed a brief celebration, a moment of joy during their struggle against the newfound Empire. They had defeated the imperials without taking a hit to anything but their arrow supply. A victory for the resistance! Those who’d been doubting their chances were beginning to sway.

And yet among the bolstered men (and woman), Izvilvin found he could not even crack a smile.

The next morning, the road became harder, littered with pebbles and boulders. By the time noon came, they were approaching the pass. Everywhere he went, death seemed to follow. It would not stop anytime soon.

[Letho]

With his spear idle at his side and his squinted eyes on the hillock, Marshal Ravenheart observed the aftermath of the short-lived skirmish. Both man and horse covered the grassy knoll - the riders lifeless, the wounded beasts twitching and struggling to get back on their hoofs – serving as a gory proof of the Rangers’ efficiency. It wasn’t a slaughter, just a very one-sided battle. A little over two score of riders came down the hillside and descended on their flank, catching the Rangers unaware, but their formation was non-existent, their attack looking more like a stampede then a charge of a military outfit. With Aldair’s van breaking right and Christina’s platoon circling around the hill to get behind the attackers, the element of surprise was snuffed out by no more then three volleys of arrows before it ever got a chance to cause some serious damage.

Dismounted and walking amidst the corpses, Letho ascertained the reason for the feebleness of the charge. Short swords, chain mails, maces, spur-less boots... They weren’t cavalryman, but footsoldiers, probably on a retreat back to Radasanthia from some of the nearby settlements. They wanted to turn this clash into a melee, but they weren’t fast enough. Few were faster then a fired arrow.

“Gather the unharmed horses,” the bearded Marshal commanded to Aldeir and Christina, stabbing his spear through the throat of a steed that neighed in anguish the pair of arrows imbedded in his belly caused. The merciful deathblow was the only time Letho had to utilize his spear today due to the effectiveness of his Rangers. Yanking it out single-handedly, he added: “Bury the dead.”

“We had no casualties, Marshal,” Aldair was quick to report, his voice rumbling as it came out of his muscled chest.

“They did,” was the short response, coming in sync with the relentless pair of brown eyes. The huge Deputy had a rebuttal, calm in the saddle of his horse and looking down at the Marshal.

“It will take us most of the day to bury them and we’re in the open.”

“Then you better work fast,” Letho said with a tone that made it clear his word was the final one here. To further accentuate this fact, the spear-wielding leader of the Ranger company turned away from the pair, proceeding deeper into the battlefield. It was disquieting how quickly hostility took root in people. Several weeks ago, some of these Rangers might’ve drank at the same table in the same inn as these fallen soldiers, they might’ve argued and chided each other, and now they were ready to leave their corpses for the crows. They all seemed to be in need of a lesson that he gave Sienna last night. They hated soldiers for being soldiers. It was like hating the water for being wet.

***

It turned out that Aldair’s prediction was rather pessimistic, because the Highwaymen were on the move about an hour after the sun reached its zenith on the sky, leaving behind a batch of fresh graves. There was no more cover to be found between what the men started to call the Second-Blood Hill – the First Blood being the one drawn in Gisela – and the Comb Mountains, so they crossed the distance mostly in a steady trot, riding their mounts at a continuous pace and keeping their ranks in formation. Unlike on previous days, there were no rain-bearing clouds looming threateningly above their heads, but the breeze that swept down from the dull peaks of Comb Mountains was cold enough to remind most of them that autumn of the north wasn’t as mild as one in the southern regions.

This became doubly apparent when the plains started breaking by the seams, making the terrain more craggy with each mile they crossed. First, the plains gave way to a series of hills covered with coarse grass and thicket between which the procession swiveled like a snake cut in three equal pieces, but soon the grass evanesced and the soldier pines began to stand watch on the steeper rocky hillsides. To the left of them, the South Road cut through the relatively flat terrain, with mountains flanking it on both sides. Though Letho’s eyesight couldn’t reach that far, he was certain that on the west side of the pass, Arin was climbing his way into the hills as well, heading towards Fort Eli. This left Marshal Ravenheart and his troops with the east side and Old Eli, a forgotten citadel abandoned and crumbling ever since the Age of Dawn.

Even though the Comb Mountains were considerably less extreme then the Jagged Mountains farther north, its passages and valleys were still too treacherous for horses to handle, especially the concealed ones that were charted only on the Ranger maps. That was why the entire company came to a halt in one of the secluded vales. To the west, the vale rose and fell in a series of rugged hillocks, shielding them from the eyes of those that traveled down the South road. To the east and upstream of the bubbly creek that cut through the valley rose a smooth, impassable cliffside. The only safe routes out of the valley were north and higher into the Comb Mountains or south and back to the Concordia plains. This was where Letho halted his troops, just as the sun abandoned the sky and left them with the fading twilight and its accompanying coldness.

“We’ll proceed on foot from here,” the Marshal commanded, dismounting from the saddle of his pearly charger and waiting for his deputies to approach him. “Aldeir and I will continue towards Old Eli as soon as we set up a camp here. Christina, I want you to stay here with your men and make sure the horses are ready in case we need a quick retreat. Post a sentry on the west hills to look over the road, but not Izvilvin.” Even though they spent most of the time riding and the thundering of the hoofs failed to provide a good background for conversations, Letho had heard how good the drow’s eyes were. Good enough to notice those fifty men from all the way back of their lines. “I need him and at least one more to go northwards before us and scout the path.”

“I’ll go,” a female voice intruded. The bearded Marshal didn’t have to turn towards the origin of the voice to acknowledge that it belonged to Sienna. The blonde teenager was standing confidently within an earshot of the three, her rifle slung over her shoulder, her posture almost firm enough to be soldierly.

“No, you’ll stay here with Christina,”

“I did not join you to watch over the damned horses!” her voice was almost a growl, her usually pretty face crumpled into an expression of anger.

“Perhaps, but you did join, and therefore you are under my command.” It wasn’t an explanation enough for Sienna, who stood there with her hands on her curvy hips, demanding a better one. The resolve, though rebellious, made Letho snicker. “I can’t have you revealing our position with that rifle of yours.”

“I’ll go get Delios. Perhaps his eyesight isn’t as good as the blackskin’s, but he can hit a running hare from a hundred yards,” Aldeir spoke, shouldering his massive bow and disappearing from sight. That left the Marshal with Christina, but Izvilvin wasn’t too far away; it seemed to Letho that the drow was never too far away from the blonde. But before he spoke to the dark-elf, he turned towards his female deputy once again.

“You did well today,” was all that he found fit to say, his hand clasping her shoulder briefly, perhaps saying more then his words, saying that he was glad that he found somebody to rely on. His communication with Izvilvin, however, was a bit more troublesome, as per usual.

“You certainly have a good pair of eyes on you,” Letho began, speaking in Common and realizing a bit too late that the drow probably didn’t understand him. “Your eyes see far,” he added, struggling with the rough pronunciation that probably massacred his words. “Go north with Delios. Scout. Report.” the Marshal dictated, pointing towards the Ranger that Aldeir picked from his squad.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin accepted Letho’s observation with a nod, and his order with another. He would gladly contribute as much as he could until the opportunity to betray his comrades came. He’d finally come to grips with the reality of the situation, so it was with a business-like determination that he left his horse behind, met up with Delios, and headed up the slope northward.

Delios himself with a broad human crowned with a mop of sloppy brown hair. His shoulders were high and his chest projected, as if he were constantly trying to show up his follow rangers. A forest-green cloak covered him, and had Izvilvin not known otherwise, he’d have thought the man was wearing a full or half plate of armor beneath it.

The two walked in silence for some time, and Delios took more than a few quick peeks at Izvilvin out of the corner of his eye. If the human thought Izvilvin wouldn’t notice, he was a fool. They walked for some time, rising higher and higher, until they eventually came to the remains of a ruined citadel. Beyond that was a spire-like jetting rock, which Izvilvin slowly crept toward and cautiously mounted.

Over the crest of the pillar, he could see the distant plains and the remains of a ruined citadel. More importantly, he noticed with alarm, was the sight of several hundred armed infantrymen, marching toward them from the north. He didn’t know whether or not they were Empire Soldiers, but they weren’t more than four hours away.

The Drow slid down the rock and landed hard. “Soldiers,” he said to Delios, enunciating as carefully as he could. “Many. Many.”

Delios made his way to the top of the path, which gaze him a view not as clear as Izvilvin’s had been. Even if the human had climbed the same vertical stone, he wouldn’t have been able to make out even a sign of the approaching squad.

Together they made their way back southward, Delios lagging behind a few steps as Izvilvin tried to explain the numbers to him. Night was falling, but Izvilvin’s eyes shifted to allow him night vision, as useful a trait as any his heritage gave him. By the time they arrived back at the valley, it was full-blown nighttime. With any luck, the coming soldiers were stopping for rest as well.

Izvilvin wasn’t greeted with any response, but that was typical. It was Delios who stepped forward to deliver the report. “The Drow says there are hundreds of soldiers approaching, but he couldn’t make out any emblem or sign. They carried no banner, so we don’t know if they’re friend or foe.”

Meanwhile, the Drow was moving through the camp. He’d spotted Christina when he arrived, and spotted a sheathed Icicle with her, which was good. As he awaited Letho’s response to their report, he snatched up a small remainder of bread that was left out, the only bit of food he’d had in a while. Something told him he’d be needing the energy.

[Letho]

‘Hundreds of soldiers’ was a definition that covered too broad of a spectrum of numbers for Letho’s liking. It could mean two hundred. It could mean seven. Vagueness was a variable and Letho wasn’t too fond of working with them. Either way, it meant trouble. It meant that the Empire wasn’t foolish enough to disregard the importance of the South Passage and let them peacefully plant their behinds in the Comb Mountains. It also meant that another skirmish was approaching, and chances were that it would be neither one-sided nor benevolent towards his Rangers. But at least they had the upper hand now. Given the range of Izvilvin’s eyes, the incoming soldiers were still many a mile away, and by the time they reached Old Eli fort that sat perched high on the mountainside, they would have a bunch arrows welcoming them from an elevated position. Their numbers wouldn’t account for nothing, but they wouldn’t stay high for long either.

“They are most likely trying to reach Old Eli as well,” Letho said once Delios was done with his report. Producing the detailed map from the breast pocket of his leather overcoat, the Marshal beckoned his Deputies closer before he unrolled the parchment. It would’ve been impossible to acknowledge the contents of the fully detailed map of the funnel-like South Passage in the darkness of the chilly night, but by then there were a couple of fires crackling throughout their campsite, and one of them was close enough to shed some light on the parchment.

“I think we’re going to get to the fortress before them, but that doesn’t account for too much,” Letho spoke, pointing towards the tiny picture of a fort that represented Old Eli. He wished that the actual citadel was as sturdy as the drawn one on the map, but the truth was far from it. All that was left from the original Eli fort were decrepit walls as treacherous for defenders as they were for the attackers. “We’re going to position ourselves around the fort, use its walls as cover and push them back with arrows. If they move back north, we’ll let them go. If they try to push southwards and past us, towards Concordia, however, I want you to lead your platoon out of the valley and into the passage,” he concluded, looking into Christina’s argent eyes.

“But it probably won’t come to that. Once you bloody someone’s face, chances are they’ll turn tail and run,” Letho concluded, rolling the map into a narrow cylinder with small, rapid movements. It was only then that he noticed that amongst the eyes and ears that were ascertaining his plan, Sienna’s eager and curious blue ones were severely missing. He didn’t voice his concern though. Instead, once the map was safely tucked away and his equipment was settled in his gauntleted hands, he gave an order to his troops.

“Let’s move out!”

***

Sienna had disobeyed a direct order, but she didn’t feel the guilt a soldier usually would when she went against the words of their superior. This was mostly because her superior was none other then Letho, a person she knew before this hell broke loose and threw them all into the chaotic sea of war, a dreamy hero that lived up to his fame as he rode into her little town to save the day the heroes usually did. But her lack of obedience also had roots in spite and anger. Letho got her father killed. Maybe he didn’t exactly put Edonas to the blade, but he delivered him to the executioners and sat on the sidelines as others did and that made him responsible. She couldn’t listen to such a man, not until he redeemed himself for the crime he committed in her eyes.

That was why, when she had been ordered to stay behind, Sienna had no intention to follow that command. She waited for the night to descend, bided her time with dismantling her rifle for the umpteenth time, antsy to finally put it to work. And once the time was ripe and her companions were inattentive, she snuck out of the camp instead and made her way northwards. The night thickened by then, making the darkness inky enough to camouflage her departure, and since she seldom fraternized with the rest of the troops, none noticed that the brooding teenager wasn’t around anymore. She couldn’t stay behind, not when the Empire vermin was drawing near. She had to see them. She had to kill them, to get her several pounds of flesh.

As it turned out, her lack of navigational skills prevented her from getting that which she coveted. The path up the mountain was easy to follow at first, but once it started to wind this way and that, Sienna slowly started to lose her sense of direction. The stars above offered no help. They were sparkly and magnificent with their gentle glows, jewels on the black velvet, but they were a code that she didn’t know how to decipher. Cliffs rose around her. Fear overtook her. She felt so alone in the abysmal darkness that she could almost taste her loneliness, feel it clamp her gut and send a shiver down the base of her neck and further down her spine. How could’ve she been so foolish?

Her wandering eventually led her to a grove of evergreen trees and it was in this seemingly unremarkable batch of trees that smelled of fresh pine sap that she stumbled upon that which she was searching for. They weren’t the soldiers Izvilvin saw, Sienna knew. No, the terrain here was too rocky and elevated to be the South Passage in the west. If anything, she had ventured eastwards, in the opposite direction of the Old Eli fort, and here she found over a hundred soldiers huddled in the darkness, suffering the cold touch of the night without the fire that would’ve surely revealed their location. Logic told her to make her way back to the camp and alert the others, but her logic failed to take into account the fact that she had no idea how she got here. A blind man would have more luck at retracing his steps. No, she was on her own and she had to do as much damage as she could. Taking cover behind one of the pines, Sienna took the rifle off her shoulder. Her fingers worked the loading mechanism with agonizing slowness, opening it, placing the bullet it, fastening it with a muffled click. She could probably take down three or four of them before they located her. It wasn’t enough to sate her anger, but it was a good start. The young lass brought the rifle to her shoulder. She lined up her sights with one of the sentries.

But she never got a shot off. A hand made of metal grabbed her from behind, almost bruising her face as it covered her mouth completely. She didn’t try to scream. She didn’t even struggle against the grasp. She knew death came for her and it froze the very core of her being. The words that crawled into her ear, however, thawed her just as fast.

“Shhh. Calm down. It’s me.” Letho’s voice didn’t need an official introduction; she knew its sound even when it was spoken in a mere whisper like right now. Once his hand was off of her face, allowing a barely audible sigh of relief to sneak past her lips, speechless Sienna turned towards to face that Marshal that stood inches away from her. Even in a hazardous moment such as this one, her juvenile, hormone-plagued mind acknowledged that this was the closest she ever got to him. The fate had a weird sense of humor when it decided for this moment to take place about fifty paces away from people that would gladly kill them. “We need to get away from here now.”

They shared a glance filled with mutual understanding. And then the tranquility came to an end.

In that short second that it took for Letho’s and Sienna’s eyes to meet, a human figure almost materialized in their proximity. This specter seemed as dark as the night that enveloped it, and below its hood, where its face was supposed to be, the blackness was darker still. It was like staring into the nothingness and find that, even though you couldn’t see a thing, you felt that it was smirking right back at you. It took Sienna a couple of seconds to note that something was wrong with Letho, and once she saw what he beheld, the dread swept over her. Behind the back of this creepy, faceless figure, the rest of the soldiers were stirring from their slumber.

“Go,” the Marshal ordered her, picking up his shield, keeping his eyes on the unmoving wraith. “Alert the others. They shouldn’t be far.” The response from the blonde was something he failed to predict.

“Bull. We’ll alert them together.”

And with that said, Sienna’s rifle was on the move. The girl lined it up with the apparition in less then a second and pulled the trigger. The thundering gunshot was a good announcement for a night depraved of silence.

[Christina Bredith]

Christina had been on pins and needles for hours since Letho had departed following their meeting. She had alerted him about Sienna’s absence because, as surly and unfriendly as the blonde teenager was, there was one soldier who had missed her. Perhaps it was the fact that the two of them made up the only women in the whole unit; it might have been the girl’s inexperience in these matters; maybe Sienna even reminded Christina somewhat of a younger version of herself (though she was admittedly friendlier back then!). Whatever it was, the warrior felt the need to look out for Sienna, more so than the other soldiers.

She wasn’t quite ready to put all the blame on herself, though. She had been busy preparing the horses for a quick departure and making sure the Rangers under her command were at once suitably-rested and ready for the same. Sienna was a big girl, and it was her own fault if she got herself into messes like this. She was impetuous, stubborn, and headstrong. Hell, it was one of the things Christina liked most about her! Really, the prime source of Christina’s troubled mood was the fact that Letho was the one who had gone after her. This, she knew, would not be the last time Sienna’s blood lust would cause trouble for them. It was the thing Christina hated most about her.

The blonde was standing at the northern edge of the campsite some time after midnight, biting anxiously at her thumb nail, a nervous habit she had exhibited often since this journey began. She was as still as if she were frozen by the bitter chill of the mountain night’s wind. The rest of the camp was also in a lull. The horses were either dozing or grazing as they pleased, but all were suited up and leashed to keep them from wandering off. An artist could have painted the scene as easily as if he was working with statues.

Suddenly, a gun shot tore through the empty night, and it was followed by a cacophony of ravens and other mountain birds voicing their distaste. Christina’s heart leapt full force into her throat. “Sienna! Letho!” She glanced northwest, in the direction of the shot’s source, and her body tensed. What happened? Did Letho manage to find Sienna before the shot was fired?

There were too many questions to mobilize the camp just yet. The shot would obviously have drawn enemy attention as well, but Christina didn’t even know where it had come from yet! Besides, if Letho and his men were able to escape through the dark hills afterward, then riding out with a full platoon of rangers would only make a mountain out of a molehill. At the very least, the gunshot had roused anyone who was awake into action, as well as some that were asleep, so she would be able to mobilize them more quickly if needed.

Less than half an hour later, the camp was in a mild frenzy over what to do and Christina was doing her best to get those who were awake prepared for the eventuality of riding out. It was then that a wounded ranger – Christina recognized him as one of Letho’s men – hobbled into the campsite clutching an arrow wound. Breathily and through many fits of coughing, the messenger quickly recalled the events that were transpiring, and Christina’s blood immediately ran cold. She stood straighter and spun toward the rest of the camp, where half of the rangers were still asleep. Her voice rang out with urgency and command.

“I want everybody up and ready to move, now!”

She strode into the center of the camp filled with a sense of determination. There was a table with a map laid out, pinned down at its corners to defend against the wind. Although they couldn’t light much by way of fire under these circumstances to avoid being seen, Christina had a lit torch brought to her to examine the situation.

Old Eli was a good march directly northwest of them, but the most direct route there was far too cumbersome to traverse on horseback due to the surrounding mountains. According to the messenger, Letho and his company had not quite reached the old fort yet; they had stumbled across a brigade of enemy troops in the mountains, and were retreating westward onto the South Passage when they were assailed by a second force that was likely attracted by the gunshot. Sandwiched in between a rock, a hard place, and two armies, Christina knew the only thing keeping them alive was the rangers’ home-field advantage. I just hope it’ll hold them until the cavalry arrives.

It didn’t take ten full minutes before the vast majority of the company was up and ready to ride, and that was all Christina needed now. The very few that were left behind would be ready to ride before the full group was out of the campsite anyway, and she had personally instructed a couple more to stay behind, tend to the messenger’s wounds, and make sure the campsite would not be seen by any stray enemies.

Christina swung onto her steed and raced westward out of the camp, down a gentle slope and onto the sweeping path that was the South Passage. The company immediately swerved north, hugging the feet of the mountains as closely as they could while still safely maintaining formation. If there was one thing Christina knew, it was horses, and how to treat them – years of privilege and dotage had exposed her to just about every aspect of the equestrian arts known to man. There wasn’t a ranger on staff more suited to pampering these horses than Christina Bredith, and it showed now, for they were moving with speed unmatched.

Before long, the right flank of the opposing army could be seen on the horizon; the passage was wide and clear enough for the moonlight to cast a solemn glow on the soldiers and their armour. Made up primarily of archers, they were facing the mountains to the east and firing up into the foothills, where Sienna, Letho, and his men must have been. Christina drew Icicle from its scabbard at her waist; the air around it immediately frosted over from its bitter chill. The blade was still a bit foreign to her, but it reminded her once more that Izvilvin was not far away, and if nothing else, that was of comfort to her. She lifted the sword up over her head and cried, “Alright boys, do what you do best!”

Like an executioner’s axe, the sword fell, and the first volley of arrows whistled through the night.

[Izvilvin]

The gunshot was an announcement clearer than any other Izvilvin had ever heard, proclaiming that once more, battle had begun. He’d been leaning stoically against the face of a dark boulder, bread in his hand as he tried to grab some rest, thinking his duties done for the night. If nothing else, perhaps, he figured they’d need to move to avoid the oncoming army. Someone had evidently decided otherwise.

Everything was a blur as the contingent saddled up, readying bows, arrows and blades, mounting their horses and forming positions. Izvilvin found himself lost in it all, with nothing to do but keep himself ready. Like so many times during this journey, he felt like he didn’t belong.

He waited several minutes atop his mighty, black horse before the group was ready. Leading the way, Christina brought them down from the mountain path, then set a raging pace along the base of the range. Izvilvin pulled himself low and spurred his horse onward as best as he could, amazed that the rangers could keep up such a speed without running into one another. He could see mountains across the plains, and realized they were in a wide field between two groups of mountains.

A barreling, messy horde of hooves and steel, the cavalry arrived to witness the flank of the opposite army showering the mountains with arrows. Izvilvin was caught between two thoughts, one which supported the idea of Letho being killed here and now, and one that opposed the Corone Empire.

Whatever his thoughts were, his sense of duty overrode his heart and he ploughed forth. He was one of few who did not have a bow, so he stopped midway between the armies, several others joining him. The arrows from Christina’s group rained down, bringing screams from the imperials. Before they could fully react or change their strategy, they were bombarded once more by the expert archers.

They would not stay and be mowed down, however. Raising tower shields of a silverish metal, glowing in the clear moonlight, the imperials swapped their bows for swords and charged. Among them screamed a voice, commanding and strong.

Izvilvin heard a voice from behind him, as well, and those who had charged up with him began to pull back to join the others. The Drow imagined they were going to switch to a melee battle, given they were being charged – he wasn’t sure how secure he felt with only short-ranged weapons. Mounted fighting was suited to those with polearms, or at the least, swords.

Looking back as his horse returned him to the others, Izvilvin scanned the ranks with his lavender eyes. A cloaked figure stood out the most, somehow radiating less heat to his infrared vision. The Drow pegged him as the leader, and reasoned that if he were to die the soldiers would lose heart. Perhaps even the soldiers on the opposite side of where he thought Letho and the others were.