SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Winter Sun Chapter 1

Chapter I

"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment."

-Buddha

It never ceases to amaze me. On clear winter mornings it’s awe-inspiring.

     All night we had been running and were working our way along a line of trees, bearing eastward and climbing ever upward. The rolling hills were steep in this region and covered in a patchwork of light forest and open meadows. Somewhere ahead of me a crow cawed twice; that would be Tick. The sky was the watery gray-blue of winter pre-dawn, the bare branches stretched black against the sky. I cawed once, then once again after a pause of a single beat.

     I began the lope up the hill breathing like a spider, an old ranger trick, breathing like the spirit of an animal. At the top I found myself on the crest of what we called the divide; the highest point on a series of ridges that stretch southward from Ravenia. Many peaks in the vicinity are higher but this ridge is of greater significance topographically. From here the water sheds east to the Shard River or west to the Sea of Storms. There was no sign of the tall wiry scout amid the cover atop the Divide.

     I crouched and scanned the shadows. Tick was just a few yards away smiling at me, I grinned back. We waited in the twilight of early morning for the rest to make it to the top. One by one they all joined us, near silent shadows in the early morning gloom. The ground was frozen and our breath curled around us like smoke from a dragon's jaws, but we were dressed lightly and armored in leather and brigantine. I stood feeling the muscles of my bare thighs flex. It had been a long climb.

     "We are now in enemy territory so don't do anything stupid." My voice was barely a mummer. We were looking southeasterly along a broad valley. Not far to the East was Beacon Hill. A tall mound that was visible for miles and surmounted by Taores Keep; which had fallen not that long ago and by last report was being refortified. "Patrols will be more frequent, do not engage unless you have no other option. With luck we have gained enough time on that raiding party to cut them off." From where we stood Taores was a good two and a half days travel on foot.

     The group of orcs we had been pursuing had quietly crossed into Ravenian territory, bypassed several farmsteads without stealing so much as a chicken. They contacted someone and were making a run back to the Mage-Lord Estuar, their dark master, after one small insignificant raid. The powers that be believed there was an exchange of information. We had been sent to stop the messenger and retrieve the message if possible. Fifteen skirmishers against however many we encountered. I felt we had not been given the whole story.

     Orcs are large muscular humanoids with greenish puss colored skin, way too many fangs and are considered everyone’s favorite race to hate. Some say the orcs are creatures of fell twisted magic that corrupt the world around them with their foulness. Ever been to the city dump? How about the sewer? Never mind. Others hold that it doesn’t matter that they were ugly, warty and psychopathic, they had a place in our society; as long as they are willing to work the jobs no one else wants for wages that are well below subsistence level they are welcome. In the Stormwall mountains to the south where they hold sway any human, elf, dwarf or gnome they find is treated as a slave and a source of food in the lean times.  Tit-for-tat.

     It was more than a millennium ago that orcs ruled the entire Calirian peninsula but they were still angry and still remembered it in fireside tales. It was this anger that Estuar played on to build his army.

     "I will take point. Tick, you are second." I told the grizzled vet who nodded.

     "Daraë, you are left flank and Gillian, you are right... Stay tight." Daraë was a lean muscled half-elf. His eyes were distinctive in that the left was blue while the right was green. Gillian was a local girl with big dark eyes and strait dark brown hair cut at the nape; she was an odd one, taking all her silver and forging arrowheads from it. A werewolf purportedly killed her parents. These two were the best archers I had.

     I looked down at Maryn Toor, "Mary, take rear guard." Being just over seven feet tall has advantages when dealing with others when you are a woman and a half-elf. Mary was the closest to my height at six and a half feet, so even the big, red-haired man looked up to me. He nodded once.

     "Bardir, you are on Sanalba." I always assigned someone to watch out for our only mage.  Sanalba was a small woman with a ribbon of raven black hair, and the only mage to ever volunteer to work with a scouting unit. The rest waited with the generals, sending magical messages with orders, and scrying the front for the brass. Sanalba Pester has more "brass" than all of the army's generals put together and was an indispensable part of my command. Bardir was sweet on her; I let him do what came natural with that.

     "Coryn, you are roaming." I told the fleetest of my troops, the dark haired man nodded, as if he enjoyed running back and forth between all the company positions.

     The sky was getting lighter, sunrise approaching fast.  Thin streamers of clouds laced the sky. Instead of starting off I simply stood and gazed eastward.

     Wornel groaned, "why does she have t' do this?" Tick shot a dangerous look his direction. Mary just placed one huge hand on his shoulder... he shut up.

     The Eastern sky glowed with a gentle miasma of golden light. Slowly, the clouds turned from gray to orange and then to rivulets of molten gold. The land slowly took the shapes of day from the silhouettes of night. Moment by moment light filled the world. I breathed and watched and dreamed of not risking my life and killing.

     Sunrise. It never ceases to amaze me.

     "We have light," I said. "This is our time, they are at their weakest.  Let’s do it."

We worked down through the valley sticking to scrub for cover, still moving at a lope, just a more cautious one.  I was paying close attention to my surroundings, orcs can be terribly clever when it comes to traps that maim and kill. The patches of snow we avoided but the frost was thick enough to show our passage quite clearly. The sun would erase our tracks before long; hopefully, that would be soon enough.

     I stopped and listened then sped on, stopped, listened then sped on... Every third of a mile or so I would leave a small mark and signaled with a double crow call, soon to be answered by a single caw followed by another a few moments later, Tick acknowledging my signal. The landscape was getting boggier by the mile.  Soon we would be nearing the mires. At this time of year, it was fields of partly frozen mud and water that never froze all the way due to the amount of decaying matter in the marsh.  If the orcs we were trying to catch were headed back to Taores Keep as supposed then they would pass over the marsh. We had run all night to cut them off, taking the arduous path over the highest pass. The band we were chasing would be coming strait at us in a short while, more than twenty of them by the last report we had.

    After about an hour and a half the sun was high enough to reach the valley floor. We had come upon the ruins of a small hamlet, about twenty-odd buildings along the sides of a single road that ran beside a stream. At the north end of the hamlet the road forked, heading north up the valley and east, fording the stream to do so. There squatted what had to be the ugliest watchtower in the world. The whole place reminded me of Trollstone, the village where I was born and "raised".  I took an immediate dislike to the place.

     We spread out and explored. The houses, shops and barns were burnt out stone and wood structures, not an intact roof in sight. The corrals and paddocks were broken down and holes were smashed in the stone property walls.

     "It was called 'Torenadia'." Gillian was a local girl after all, and knew some of the local lore. "The watch keep was called Cyn Nar, ugly bugger isn't it."

     "You and your understatements." Daraë was not kidding it was positively ungodly. Made of dark gray stone it squatted on island of stone and sand on the north side of the ford. The front was almost perfectly square; save for the crenellations, giving the illusion it was a cube. It had a wide gate on the front and half a dozen arrow slots above it. A stone ramp descended from the gate into the ford.

     "The stable and carriage house on the north end of town must o' been part of his manor. Let's check it out"

     I weighed the idea; it had a lot of merit, come a worst-case scenario. "Good thinking Wornel, we will."

     "Really?" His expression was one of shock.

     "Yes, but can you tell me why in the middle of this mission it would be a good idea?" I had started toward the ford but kept to the cover of brush and ruin while doing so. Wornel was thinking rather fiercely.

     "Because we need to know if there is an enemy hiding there? I mean look at it, it is obviously abandoned"

     "That is one reason but not the main one. If there is an enemy there it is a lone sniper or lookout for another force. I want to decommission him if he is there." We had come up to the carriage house. "What I really want is to see what possibilities it offers in case things go seriously south later on during this mission. Now quiet down."

     From the side it lost some of its box like quality. The gatehouse was joined to the keep by walls maybe fourteen feet tall; both gatehouse and keep stood over thirty feet tall. While the gatehouse was squared off the keep had a tiled slopping roof. The whole was at most forty to forty-five feet on a side. "Who else spotted the boat in the village?" I asked.

     "I did," said Gillian, "do you want me to take a couple of people and get it?"

     "Take Gaery and Riran, the three of you should be able to handle it. Bring it here and wait for our signal. If you can find some oars that would be a big help." I added.

     "Boat?" asked Wornel.

     "More of a punt, really." put in Tick.

     "Who is coming with me?" I crouched and unlaced the top of my boots, stepping out of them and peeling off my wool socks, I stood barefoot.

     "I always offer Brialyn, but you always hit me."

     "Shut your head, Mary. Any volunteers to stay and guard the bank?" most of the others were stripping off boots as well.

     "I will and I guess Udo is staying too." Andrë gestured to where Udo was exploring along the bank northward.

     "Keep a sharp eye and an arrow nocked. We won't take long."

     "Is door on back, a dock too." Udo reported as I was starting to wade out into the ford.

     "Good, keep an eye on it but scout a bit further up stream, look for landings." The bald man took off.  "Andrë, have Gillian pull the boat up to the dock." I ordered.

     I carefully waded through the water, sliding my feet through the sand and mud. It was nearly freezing but I would have dry boots to put on in a few minutes. I kept my shield ready on my left arm, just in case, and Sanalba was close to my right, away from the keep. The water flowed around my knees, thigh deep to most of the others. I reached out and steadied Sana, as we called her, when she looked like she was about to go over. It was not long before we had covered the thirty or so yards to the ramp leading in.

     "A romantic hide away for a knight an' his lady." Maryn was grinning. "It don't look like it would stand much o' a siege." We were all drying legs and feet with cloths from our packs and donning socks and boots again.

     "Right, it doesn't look good for much," Gaery, having been raised in Ravenia, rarely criticized any building that offered sanctuary from the elements, "'cept maybe growing patches of mildew."

     "We’ll see." I lead the way in. The passage was about five feet wide and all of fifteen feet long, it was tall enough for a knight to ride his charger through. Murder holes gaped above so I moved my feet a little more quickly. The Gates themselves lay asunder. Not an auspicious sign. The portcullis was still raised though and looked in working order.

     Pressing on we found the courtyard was small and cramped, under forty feet wide and fifteen across. Most of the lower floor of the keep was largely open and given over to stables, room enough for three horses. These would have been for the knight’s mounts; other mounts and animals would have been kept in the carriage house. Stairs lead up to the keep; they were open to arrow fire from the walls and arrow slots in the keep and gatehouse. The courtyard had snow in all the shadowed areas but was in good repair. Ivy vines clung to the interior walls. There were stone planter boxes on either side of the steep steps, low cedar shrubs growing in them. There were signs of a fight, broken arrows and burned patches. I dispatched two men to reconnoiter the lower works and another to guard the courtyard. The rest of us went up and into the main keep.

     The door was inset by almost five feet; it was ajar and showed signs of having been forced. It opened into the great hall that was a ruin of broken tables, bloodstains and scattered pewter ware. There were three windows high on the opposite wall and two fireplaces, flanked by doors, on both ends of the chamber. The stairs ascended on either side of the main door, three arrow slots spaced along each flight. Balconies loomed above.

     The other chambers on the lower floor consisted of the servant's quarters on the west and the kitchen on the east with storerooms under the stairs. The kitchen had a steep stair to a storeroom on the ground floor. A well was here and a huge, thick door to the dock Udo had mentioned.

     The upper floors were small with balconies over looking the great hall, a gallery ran along the north wall connecting the east and west wings. The Lord's chamber was on north side the master-cook's room on the east as well as a small armory. Through out the main keep we found signs that someone mounted a bit of resistance to the invaders, a broken spear here a dented shield there. Some impressive splashes of blood . Doors here opened onto the walls. From there access to the gatehouse was possible. A sniper on the banks would have no problem staying in complete cover and peg anyone walking on the wall. We moved quickly to the gatehouse.

     The East side gatehouse door was still barred on the inside but the west side door was smashed open. The entire gatehouse was open inside, the murder holes in the middle still locked down. Stairs spiraled down in both front corners. Pieces of a broken sword, a pitchfork, a wood-ax and other shattered debris lay scattered amid the bloodstains on the floor. The stairs spiraled down into dark chambers below. The one on the east side lead to a chamber that contained the wench for the portcullis and the only personal item I had seen yet: a rag doll. The wench required a half turn back before it would release the lock mechanism.

     The westerly stairs lead down to the gaol.

     We gathered in the courtyard. Gillian had pulled the skiff up to the dock on the back of the keep and was awaiting me there.

     "Hey, Gillian, was the knight here of fighting age?"

     "I think so, His father died in the Twilight Fens. He took over after he came of age. Sir Radric I think."

     "He was most likely called to defend the Compt Taores.” I mused. “If he was smart he sent his wife to Ravenia."

     "Who was here to fight then?"

     "Villagers trying to protect their lands likely. No one really made use of the keep's assets. Seems a viable safe hold if we get in desperate enough straits."

     "We pulled the skiff up on the bank and concealed it. Anything else we need to do?"

     "Good work. We need to get moving again."

     We forded back to the west bank and formed up the same as before. In the low lands we covered ground more quickly. I had detected and disarmed two deadfall traps within an hour of setting out from Cyn Nar, less than an hour after that I also detected smoke. I signaled Tick twice and started strait back towards the unit. We met up in about 5 minutes. In another three minutes the rest had joined.

     "I smell smoke, none is visible so I am guessing a cook-fire maybe a camp." I was tense, our quarry should not have had time to cross the mires and set a fire yet. The others shared my tension. "We likely have another force out here."

     "Maybe a rendezvous." Sanalba chimed in. "Do you want me to take a look?"

     You could feel the relief in the air when I said yes.

     Sanalba started by casting a pinch of seeds in the air from one of her many pouches.  She chanted a mesmeric chant and then passed her hands, thumbs interlocked before her eyes, lifting them strait up in the air. After a moment a robin descended and perched for less than a second upon her hands, it then flew off. We waited for her report.

      "I see a cluster of orcs camped on the near side of the marsh, an ogre is there too. They're camped in a stand of woods... more than 30 of them..." She paused for more than a few moments. The winter sun provided no warmth; the winter wind chilled us. We waited silently. "I spot five sentries, they have those leather strips over their eyes, the ones with the slits..."

     Orcs are creatures of the dark realms below the ground. Their eyes are incredibly sensitive to light and many wear such strips to protect their eyes.

     We had a quick planning session while we chewed some jerky and drank a little ale. It was what had become typical of the war... Need dictated a complete massacre of the opponent just to keep the mission objective possible. We needed to use the bog as part of the ambush and the forces arrayed there would overwhelm us if we let them survive. I was a bit bitter about it. Kill or be killed girl.

Less than an hour later I was in position. The enemy sentries were stationed at the cardinal points with one roaming between them. I waited for the roaming sentry to leave, then maneuvered directly behind my target. With my right hand I cupped his jaw jerking his head back and to the right. My left hand plunged downward driving my long dirk between the orc's ear and his gorget. I pulled the blade back towards me as I withdrew, ensuring the carotid artery was fully severed. I lowered his corpse and arranged it as though he decided to take a nap.

     Udo wandered up from the direction the roaming sentry had gone. If there was a stone cold killer among us it was Udo. He had his crossbow loaded and was carrying his dirk, bloody to the hilt. He generally looked like he was in an unfocused daze, unless he had just killed something, like now, he was totally focused. I nodded to him and gave the all clear. Less than 100 yards to the south was our objective, a camp of resting orcs. The other sentries were eliminated one by one. I did not even think of it as murder.

     With the sentries dead we were ready to attack the camp on three fronts: On the Northeast Daraë lead Gaery, Riran, Wornel, and Andrë. On the North-West Gillian lead Dorakal (the company healer), Bardir, Coryn and Baran. I lead Tick, Maryn, Udo and Sanalba from the North. We silently moved into position.

     "Brialyn, do you have 5 pence I can borrow until tomorrow?" Tick asked me moments before I gave the signal to attack.

     "Here," I fished in my gipser and handed him the copper coins, "but I really need them back." 

     "Thanks." Soldiers' luck rituals, neither of us would die if one owed the other.

     "Lets do it." I fired the first arrow strait at one of the orcs that was sitting up by the fire. My shaft found its mark in the left eye of the orc warrior and he fell motionless. A hail of shafts followed as my troops fired and an instant later more orcs died or were wounded. The ogre woke up, brushing the shafts from his belly as if they were mere bugs.

     With a series of gestures and a few murmured words from Sanalba a ghostly hand appeared and started drifting towards the ogre. The remaining orcs were rolling for cover and firing crossbows back in our direction. The ogre roared and tried to bat the ghostly hand away, his meaty fist passing through it like smoke.

     Where there is smoke there is often fire; and fire erupted from the hand searing the ogre's head. He howled and beat at the flames. The ghostly hand vanished. I fired three more arrows in quick succession at the ogre’s head. I dropped my bow, all three arrows had hit, and all three had bounced off. Eyes watering, he charged our position. Udo fired his heavy crossbow strait into the ogre's belly and the shaft vanished within. The Ogre did not even slow down; he smashed the bald man aside with his fist and raised the club to strike at me. Maryn swung his great mace at the thing's knee. He connected with a lot of his considerable might but the ogre's knee did not break. The ogre's club grazed my thigh as I dodged to the side.

     I swung my Elvin Flambrge, N'nracor, from the strap over my left shoulder and slashed in one smooth motion.  The blade chopped deep into the monster's right hamstring and it went over backwards. I leaped onto its chest, using my weight to drive the great sword through his chest, pinning him to the ground. Once again N’nracor earned its name, the Heartcleaver. The surviving orcs were charging us as they had little choice, running into the bogs would leave them open to our arrow fire. I kicked the orc charging me in the face to buy a little time, the rest of my troops had drawn their broadswords or preferred weapons but N'nracor was stuck in the ogre's chest.

      I drew my broadsword just in time to block his blow. Even with my size and strength the blow left my arm stinging, orcish cleavers are heavy weapons and I fell back.

     Maryn swung his great mace left then right, an orc felled with each blow.

     Tick had dodged and tripped his foe, then with a quick thrust killed him. Spinning he blocked an incoming thrust from another orc.

     Udo was on his feet again, blood streaming from his long nose; he never showed pain but looked perfectly focused, black eyes glittering. He grabbed an orc by the hair and chopped it across the back of the neck then hilt punched the next one in the face sending it to a knee.

     I noted Sanalba had vanished, good girl I thought, as I regained my footing. The orc kept trying to press his advantage. I parried another blow and riposted turning my attack against his forearm. Black blood flowed from the wound and he flinched back, just a bit off balance. I feinted high and then cut under his blade, chopping into his side.  My broadsword cleaved through his mail leaving a deep gash. As he crumpled my follow-up strike caught him on the side of the head... So much for questioning him. I thought wryly.

     Maryn had taken off in pursuit of a fleeing orc. Tick had finished his opponent and was pivoting toward the east where the sounds of conflict were still sounding.  Sanalba had reappeared at my elbow. "Tick, Sana, go check the west flank." I smacked Udo on the back, "C'mon."

     We charged across the camp and leapt into the brush where the fighting could still be heard. My leg was starting to throb where the club had grazed it.

     The mass of orcs seemed to have fled in this direction. We took two orcs from behind and plowed into the remaining mass, slashing. Gaery was down, face wet with blood and Andrë was pined to a tree with a barbed spear through his chest. With Udo and me joining in the odds here were suddenly in our favor.

     I kicked the knee out from under the orc that was chopping at a hard-pressed Riran, who was still trying to protect Gaery while I slashed at the orc who was trying to flank Daraë; my sword stroke decapitating him. Riran attacked the orc I had tripped with a vengeance, the short man's long black hair wild around his face. Muscles bunched in great knots he slammed his ax deep into the orc's chest, cleaving mail and bone alike. 

     Daraë and Udo tapped blades over the bodies of the fallen orcs, odd that; they usually did not get on too well. Wornel squatted with head hanging; the wiry-muscled, yellow haired youth had seen too much war already. I would start to worry but he did volunteer. If you can't stand the heat...

     I signaled, and then knelt to check on Gaery; I was surprised to find him alive. He was still unconscious with a nasty gash on his scalp. Head wounds do bleed a lot but he still looked bad.

     "Dorakal," Daraë called the company healer, "Gaery needs some help."

     "What about my nose, is prolly broke?!"

     "Gaery may not make it if we wait, Udo, you'll live." He got that look, like he was going to go for me. I raised my blond brows and gave him that slight smile, like I wanted him to. "Or not... Your choice." Udo went all unfocused. Kinda spooky watching his black eyes fade to dull gray.

     Udo wandered off to pick over the camp and collect the right ear of each orc felled. Our bounty and bonus pay depended on this, and Udo seemed to like the work.

     Maryn had wandered up looking cheerful as usual and presented me with my sword. I ordered him, Riran, Tick, and Sanalba to secure the area then turned back to where Dorakal was still looking Gaery over. "He gonna make it?"

     "Too early to tell, really. It is safe, I think, to move him if we need."

     Gillian had come up beside me. "No one seriously injured on our flank, the worst seems to have come your way, Daraë." She has a surprisingly deep husk voice for her size. Daraë was trying to pull the spear out of Andrë, "You want help?" She asked.

     "Yeah, I need a hand." Pulling together the spear came free without having to work it up and down so much. I held Andrë so he would not be dumped on his face. I lowered his still warm body to the ground. Blood was spilling out of his mouth, his eyes had that cloudy look, open slightly and unfocused. I have seen a lot of corpses, never do they look shocked or horrified or surprised or at peace. They simply look slack and somehow flat.

     "What’re we goin’ to do with him?" asked Wornel.

     "Strip him and sink him in the mires."

     "WHAT?!" Wornel's voice was rising in pitch, "SINK HIM IN THE MIRES??!! Funny how my temper was rising at the same rate his voice was.

     I smacked him, hard. Maybe I smacked him a little too hard because he went sprawling. I grabbed him up by the throat and with one hand slammed him into the trunk of the tree where Andrë had so recently breathed his last. Wornel's feet were dangling a good foot off the ground, my knee came up between his thighs and pinned his hips. I leaned in close until I could see my eyes, green turned aqua by reflection in his blue ones. He was looking desperate as he clawed at my wrist heedless of the spikes on my vambrace. I let him hang a few moments.

     "What would you have me do?" My voice a whisper, "Build a cairn, so the orcs can loot it and then feast on his corpse? How about a pyre? That'd be heroic. Bring every damn orc patrol and hungry ogre down on our heads so we can all be ‘heroes’."  His face was turning red; Daraë placed a hand on my arm, careful to approach while in my field of vision.

     "Brialyn, he's a boy, don't hurt him for not understanding." His other hand brushed the stray blond strands on my forehead. Gillian had moved in on the other side hand on my right shoulder.

     "He hasn't survived what we have. He doesn't know." Her voice soft like someone speaking to a cougar, "He still thinks war is glorious and we are right and they are wrong by dint of birth. But he was assigned and we have a long way to go." I looked between them then back at Wornel.

     "Don't push me any further, boy." I released him and started striping off Andrë's weapons. Searched him for keepsakes. If I wasn't bringing him back, not even his body to bury, then his family, lady-friend or whoever deserved something. Gillian helped while Daraë walked away with Wornel, soothing the ruffled feathers.

     "Dorakal how is he?" Our healer was still examining Gaery.

     "Bad, but I have seen bigger miracles; most likely he is going to need to be carried out." We might be running for our lives and all knew in that case Gaery likely would not be coming with. Hell.

     "See what you can do; it'll be up to Maryn and I to do the carrying and that won't help his condition."

The day wore on. We slept in rounds and ate a little. With a few words and a lot of silence we sank Andrë deep in a bog on the edge of the mire. We scouted positions and found a bonfire laid and ready. It appeared the orcs were going to guide their brethren with a very bright signal fire. Our prey was likely entrenched on the other side of the mires waiting for nightfall. Gaery passed in and out of consciousness but seemed stable. We ran tight triad patrols to make sure no one was creeping up on us. These patrols never stopped moving and as soon as one returned another took off.

     In the camp we found a large cache of supplies, torches, hard tack, tarps, stakes, two bull’s-eye lanterns, five kegs of oil... They had soaked the wood for the fire in oil as well. This raised the question why would orcs, who see as well as elves in the dark, need so much light?

     A human mage or priest in their midst perhaps? We would find out soon enough. The signal fire was set on a spit of dry land that pointed south into the boggy mires. These flats of mud and vegetation were usually impassable but during the few times a year of frozen weather the fields of mud and water could hold a man's weight. If he did not stand still... The mires never truly froze, too much decaying matter, and standing in one place too long causes a body to sink; quickly in the summer, slowly in the winter, until swallowed whole.  There are also channels of water and deep bogs that increase the treacherousness of the mire a thousand fold. There are legends of Mud-Trolls as well.

     Hmmm, thinking again, that is probably why they have five kegs of oil... Mud trolls regenerate non-fire based damage. I had another use in mind for them.

     Looking out at the mires, Tick reminisced about the bad old days, fighting in the Twilight Fens. Every so often his Celestial Radiance, known to most of the world as the Mad Theocrat decides it is time to expand his empire to include the Calirian Peninsula. There are some major geological reasons why he and his predecessors have not succeeded. The first is the mountain range called the Serpent Peaks; peaks so steep and sheer as to be logistically impassable for any army. That left the Twilight Fens, a treacherous and deadly avenue, as the only viable route for an invasion. Around thirty years ago they tried. They gave up fifteen years later.

     The Theocrat sent his troops south and they tried to take the causeway. The imperial generals were fairly incompetent and expended quiet a few men in the initial campaign. Soon entire sections of the causeway were shattered. The war turned into one of raid and counter-raid as units of men slogged and punted through the Fens. While many fell in battle and many fell to the creatures of the swamp, the majority of deaths were from disease and fevers. The Rashanza, nomadic river and caravan folk, that lived there played off of both sides but eventually decided to back Ravenia. We did not want to end their lives and beliefs, we just wanted to use them and were, in the end, honest about that.

     For four years Tick survived in that hellish world where the sun never really burned through and all was gloomy. He spoke of leaches as long as your hand and great shambling mounds of vegetation with no seeming vulnerability, no sense of pain and no form of communication. They were big on engulfing people and squeezing the life out of them though. Snakes that could swallow a man whole and the alligators that feed on them. He had a buddy who had hung himself rather than keep fighting in that hellhole. He had also fought real mud trolls...

     One skirmish with the Imperial troops got real strange when a group of half a dozen mud trolls attacked; both sides had to pitch in to survive the attack and in the end both withdrew rather than fight each other.  Tick ran into one of the Imperial soldiers in a later battle, they recognized each other and literally could not fight so backed off and walked away.

     Tick had served his four years in the latter half of the war. He was nineteen years old when he signed up, felt like ten times that when he left the front. Two years after he mustered out our generals proved less incompetent than the Theocrat's and the Imperials were forced to pull out. The Divine edicts of Heaven were not carried out and we infidels were allowed to live and prosper. On the street Tick remembers being treated kind of weird afterwards. Those guys fought all that time and while we "won" there were no decisive victories, and the enemy was never that real to the public. He was off to the north more than a week's travel by fast horse. The only war heroes were the buddies you had afterward.

     The winter sun was getting thinner as hazy skies turned partly cloudy. You could see the effects of Tick's stories on the younger of the troops. This war might be no different; you may get a "thanks for risking your gozzers..." but no real gratitude. Damn, I hate civilians.

Sun down was fast approaching and the clouds glowed red. Stars gleamed in the deep cobalt-blue sky. In the supplies we had found a scroll of instructions, written in Barkuel. Once again Sanalba earned her place in my heart; she is poly-lingual and Barkuel, the language of the orcish tribes, is but one of the many languages she has mastered.

     At moonrise we gave the signals from the bull’s-eye lanterns, received the expected response and lit the bonfire. We huddled close thankful for the warmth for the few minutes we could spare, the winter sun a passing memory of what it was to be warm. After heating our capes and cloaks we set the bodies of several orcs at the fire as if warming their toes. We then cocked and readied the two-dozen crossbows we had salvaged from the orc's camp. Due to the thick swirling mists that were rising like a N'dji dancer's veils, we would be waiting until we had clear targets. That placed our range at maybe twenty yards when we fired and then we would have to stop them from fleeing... No matter how you looked at it this would not be easy.

     We did have a further advantage. Sanalba, as always, had some tricks up her sleeve including copies of spells on arcane scrolls. She had a few that fit this situation. One summoned a storm of freezing ice and sleet, it would create enough cold to freeze the mud solid, giving us stable footing to charge out on. With the lay of the land we planned to do this on the eastern flank, we would be able to reach a sizable clump of dead vegetation and neatly catch our enemies in an "L" shaped field of fire. She also had one that would cause simple water to combust, lots of water out there. She had other nasty tricks to stop any spell caster they might have.

     I loved that girl.

     Did I mention she had brass?

     We were warming by the fire and discussing the possibilities. The air was getting colder by the moment; it had been hovering just around freezing all day long. Unfortunately our time by the fire was going to be limited. It would take them a little more than an hour to cross the mires moving at the speed they would need to keep from sinking. After a few more moments of silence I gave the orders.

     "Maryn, you and most of the boys get to form your line along the banks. You boys wait for Tick's deadfall trap to be released, which is your cue to open fire. Keep it steady and accurate, if you see a mage or priest concentrate on them." 

     "Tick, Gillian, Daraë and Coryn; you all get to come with me. Sanalba is going to cast the ice spell between that far spit", I gestured to the east, "and that clump. We will hide there then open fire on cue."

     "Sanalba, you are going to then head west and wait for the best moment to spring your other surprises..."

     "No, I am going with you."

     Did you hear all that brass clashing together?

     "Oh no you’re not..."

     "Brialyn, think about it. From that isle out there I can cast both spells to greater effect and with that bog pond over on the west flank if I cast my firewater spell then the only way they have to run is through our ranks." She was getting excited. "Also, any spell casters will be running from the arrow fire on the banks in our direction."

     Did I mention that I love this girl?

     "I don' t want you at that much risk. Not many mages will work with a unit of skirmisher-scouts." I held up a hand to stop her protest, "But you are right. We need to contain them. Does anyone have a better plan?"

     My question was met with silence.

     "Okay then we do it Sanalba’s way. Maryn, we need to talk..."

     As the rest got ready Maryn and I retreated to the shadows. "Release that deadfall when the first one is five feet from the banks. If things go seriously south and I sink in the gods-damned mire you are it, get them out."

     "Right-O." he was grinning ear to ear. But he always did. "Some nuts on that girl."

     "Yeah, she is something..." We clasped arms and went our ways.

     I made my way to the East. I found my group was ready to go. We waited a few more minutes enjoying our warmed blankets then dropped them and picked our way out to the isle of dead twisted tree roots and brush. The mud was softer than I had anticipated and we almost had to jog to keep from sinking. On the isle we hunkered together for warmth.

     "When I cast this icestorm I will line it up with that large birch." Sanalba whispered and pointed.

     "Coryn, you stay on Sanalba. The rest of us will take to the bridge she is going to make for us." Icy water was beginning to seep through my oilskin boots. It was going to be a foul night. Of course the wind had started blowing up the valley from the south. The smell from the mires was enough to choke a body. The temperature continued to drop.

     It was not long before we could see torches dancing out in the mist. We could hear the occasional grunt of frustration and guttural curse as one or another of the orcs fell or hit a softer spot that sucked them in. Sanalba did her stuff and a small storm of sleet and ice formed in the mud between our isle and the banks. The water in the mud froze and the mires heaved unevenly with the hard freeze created by the spell.

     "Let's go." I ordered quietly. First Tick then Gillian then Daraë. As I started to move out Sanalba touched my hand, "Be careful, Brialyn, Maryn doesn't have it in him to lead us out of this." Her dark gray eyes held mine for more than a few heartbeats.

     "You too..." my throat was a bit tight. I turned and moved into position, the memory of her hand on mine.

     Keep your mind on business girl! I admonished myself. I reached my position, halfway between Daraë and the isle. We took our positions and jammed our shields into the semi frozen mud.  Normally we would not be able to stand on the sheet of glaze ice such a spell creates but the mud froze so unevenly that it provided us with a near solid, very rough surface to stand on.  I crouched readied several arrows and waited. In a matter of minutes dark shapes bearing torches began to resolve themselves. The mass of troops looked like more than forty but the mist was playing hell with even my vision. I nocked an arrow and let my mind still itself. No good can come from counting in a situation like this.

     More stars had become visible; the western sky was still tinted red with the setting sun. The Arrow of Heaven had become visible. Soon the Winter Hunter would rise on his never ending hunt. Maryn released our trap at that moment.

     When the deadfall hit the lead orcs the two kegs of oil and the lit but shuttered lantern broke open and ignited, lots of screaming, flailing orcs burning and howling. I stood and fired arrows in a steady stream of shafts. Gillian was out shooting me but not by much. The boys on the bank set up a war-cry and kept a steady flow of bolts and arrows pouring into the enemy. Many shafts thunked into shields, but many more found their marks. The orcs started to fall and their ranks wavered. I could hear commands howled in Barkuel and a few more human sounding curses in our native Amalanthi. The orcs were starting to sink. They surged back toward the far bank.

     A line of fire shot upward about six feet. Smaller rivulets of fire danced around the edges. The whole stretched more than sixty yards from the islet almost strait west. The first ranks tried to stop but were shoved into the flames by those behind them. More screams of pain as more orcs burned. The orc commander was in an untenable position, he could not have them rank up and concentrate fire to flush their hidden enemy, whose numbers remained unknown. He also had fire blocking him from either bank. He was being directed and knew it. Unfortunately for him, his troops broke ranks and started to scatter. I will never know exactly how many died in the bog to the west. There were undoubtedly others who slipped past us in the confusion of battle and darkness. When I saw them starting to break I tossed down my bow, drew on my battle gaunts and swung N'nracor free. Dancing lightly right and left I hacked and thrust blocked and dodged.

     I spared attention to those near me as much as I could. To my right Daraë and Gillian were holding their own. I couldn't spot Tick through the melee but saw plenty of mayhem around his position. To my left Coryn was fighting for his life, the orcs saw the advantage of the isle as well. Sanalba was casting sand into the air and blowing it at the orcs with whispered words, several of the orcs fell as though sleeping. A much larger knot was assaulting them however.

     I had to close ranks with them or they would fall... "Daraë, cover the breach!" I bellowed and leaped toward the isle. I heard Daraë curse and more steel on steel behind me. I caught the next orc in my path, N'nracor chopped through him with ease. I sidestepped and almost went down as my foot encountered the warmer mud on the verge of the icestorm effects. A fiery line of pain was my reward as a blade grazed my leg. A blow followed it to my armored midsection that winded me. Lucky girl... You should be dead! I scrambled back and parried the next blow, turning my blade as I did to spin my adversary off balance. I followed up with a sweeping blow that severed his spine.

     I hacked another out of my way and stabbed one in the back who was flanking Coryn. Sanalba had pulled a wand and intense bright missiles of light peppered the orcs. Coryn pivoted and with his short sword hamstrung an orc trying to flank him on his left, while blocking another orc’s ax blow with his broadsword. I kicked that orc in the arm and he staggered. Coryn hacked down splitting the orcs skull.

     Through the confusion I spotted a knot of controlled fury in the center of the action. By the look of their facial tattoos and ritual scars they had to be orogs, the orcs' bigger meaner cousins. They had a man with them in dark traveling gear. The orog captain was having his troops toss dead bodies on the fires blocking their retreat. By the still burning fires on the banks I saw my troops were fully engaged. A near miss by an orcish cleaver brought my wandering attention back to more immediate business.

      I struck his blade aside and ripped upward with mine, a blow that disemboweled him. I slashed savagely to the right and caught an orc, who was trying to slip past me, in the back of the neck with N'nracor's great reach.

     Sanalba cursed the fates. The dark dressed man and she were locked in a magical duel, hurling spells and counter spells. It was fast and furious enough to cause heat like distortions in the air between them, reality warping around their art. They were both a bit luminescent I noticed as three arrows from Gillian’s direction streaked strait through the man as though he, or they, were not real.

     Daraë had closed up to the isle. Like myself, he was bleeding form a dozen or so minor wounds, but looked whole. We continued attacking the remaining orcs. Cut, parry, and riposte... Coryn screamed, the orc he had hamstrung had got to a knee and with an over hand slash severed Coryn's arm just below the elbow. Coryn fell to his knees stunned. Two orcs moved in for the kill. I dove into them knocking one back into the mud. I blocked the other's blow and kicked the hamstrung orc; he fell back into the firewater howling and thrashing as the burning water engulfed him.

     Sanalba was sweating profusely then suddenly seemed to stiffen and collapse in a shower of sparks. Oh Hell! Not good! The man in dark cloak staggered in relief then fell as he found he had sunk up to his knees during the spell duel. I had seen Sana cast spells until the backlash had caused her to fall unconscious before, we could ill afford it now. As the mage struggled to regain his feet his arms vanished into the mud. At least that much is going right… I thought.

     Gillian was firing the last of my arrows at the orogs. The surviving orcs were closing ranks with their more powerful orog brethren and were attempting to quench the firewater enough to cross without being painfully consumed. They are in retreat; we have turned forty odd orcs by the Hunter! One was stooping to pull the mage out of the mud when Gillian pegged him in the neck. The orc collapsed on top of the mage, who shrieked his terror in a voice I usually associate with choirboys, sinking him even more quickly. Daraë was seeing to Coryn’s arm.

     I signaled to the rest. Time to finish this… I started into the mire hopping from high spot to high spot, N’nracor at the ready, Gillian and Tick spread out to my right. From the banks Maryn, Udo, Riran, and Wornel were advancing as well. We all looked a little chewed around the edges and I sincerely hoped that more had survived than this. We were still out numbered two to one.

     All of this and we still had not achieved what we were sent to do.