Alt Much?

D12 Goal: 20,000
Word Count: 13849
69% of Target

Man … sucking wind here. Hope to catch up this week-end.

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Within a half hour the squad had found their target. The small stream was really little more than a brook, it’s stony bed cut by a thin but steady flow of water. The size of the bed indicated a much larger body of water once inhabited the are but somehow had been reduced to creek no more than a stride and a half across. The channel that had been cut trough the land indicated that even at it’s height the stream would have been fordable by horse though would have posed a problem to those on foot.

It was greener in this section of the Hollow Lands. Small shoots of life erupted randomly and stood in stark contrast to the burned out husks of once magnificent trees. Some of the larger trees had survived the many burns the land had experienced and provided a very thin canopy above. The squad kept to these canopied areas when they stopped. The Demimonde employed griffin mounted goblins as a form of light attack and scouting force.

Burn signaled for a halt then dismounted to scout the near side banks. The squad arrayed itself to form a loose picket but remained mounted. The tracker spent less than two minutes on the ground and was back on his horse and heading to the other side of the stream. His eyes were on the ground and scanning the pebble strewn bed for anything that might indicate a track. The corporal motioned for Grey and another trooper to cover their tracker. Reaching the other side, Burn signaled for the rest of the squad over as he dismounted once more. Meirien moved into position next to Burn.

“Find anything?”

“Nothing though that doesn’t mean no one came this way.”

“Suggestions?”

The tracker thought for a moment then pointed upstream, “I say we follow the stream and scout the banks every so often. If I were trying to move quickly I’d stick to the water as much as possible and only leave it when absolutely necessary.”

“Alright, take Grey and Gilnas with you. Gil has keen eyes. Show him what to look for and have him track on the other bank. Grey has good instincts and can provide security while the two of you track. The rest of us will hand back a little and provide a more general security. I don’t want to move too fast but don’t like the idea of staying too long in one area. We will rely on you to set the pace.”

The tracker nodded his consent and mounted. Moving away from the squad, he gathered up Grey and Gilnas and proceeded ahead. Burn took Gilnas back to where they had originally entered the stream bed and use those tracks as an example of what to look for. The track would be a week older but the disruption would still be evident. They then moved out ahead of the group, Burn tracking on the right and Gilnas tracking on the left of the stream. Grey walked his horse down the middle scanning both banks for possible ambush.

Meirien waited until Burn and his group were about one hundred paces ahead then spurred his horse after them. He signaled the squad to follow in double file at alternating interval. The troopers knew enough to scan the woodline while their leaders kept an eye on things in front. Sloth and Mina took over rear guard. They continued this way for quiet some time. The stream meandered about the wood and sometimes they lost sight of their vanguard only to almost stumble upon them as they rounded a bend.

It was during one of these moments that the squad rounded a particularly tight bend and spied Grey motioning for them to close. Meirien spurred his horse to a trot and the squad kicked up water and pebbles as they closed the interval at double speed. They had traveled a total of over four leagues at barely a trot and this, coupled with the knowledge that the enemy knew of their presence, created a nervous anxiety that made their mounts skittish.

“Report,” the corporal said curtly. He didn’t mean to be so abrupt but they had been travelling at a much slower pace than he desired and every hour spent this way increased their risk.

It was then that Meirien noticed that the surrounding riverbed seemed a bit less uniform that it had for the previous four leagues or so. Deep furrows indicated where horses had dug in while attempting either to wheel about or change direction rapidly. There were a score of such furrows and something else that now caught the corporals eye. There was blood. The thick, viscus black blood of orken kind and the dull red of the finer races. He couldn’t make heads or tails of what happened. He hoped Burn was able to read the chaos better than he.

“Burn spotted something interesting and took Gil to investigate.” Grey pointed up the riverbank to the right. “The fight moved up o’er the bank there. ‘E left me ‘ere to guide you in.”

Grey turned his mount and led the squad up the bank. Evidence of the struggle was even more apparent once they cleared the steam. Freshly broken branches littered a trail of coarsely overturned ash and dirt. There were intermittent splashes of black and red blood scattered across branch and stone. Whomever cut the path had Demi on their tail.

In moments they had caught up with Burn who was dismounted and crouched on one knee next to the trail. Gilnas was mounted beside him, bow drawn and arrow knocked. Meirien dismounted and approached. He noticed that Burn held an arrow in his hand and was looking at something on the ground.

“What do you have Burn?”

“The disturbance in the stream bed indicated an ambush of some type. I checked the left bank and found some pretty nasty traps set out that were ment to impale riders fleeing that way. As luck would have it our brother troopers reacted according to their training and fought through the ambush instead of running away from it. I don’t think the orks were expecting that and were overrun. I found horse track covered over by orken with ork sign spread out up and down stream. I’d put the force at about ten to fifteen orks. These arrows and blood drops indicated a running battle this way. “

Burn pointed further down into the wood with an arrow. Meirien could barely make out a faint trail of churned up dirt that marked the passage of either horse or ork.

“I can’t tell if the blood is man or beast. From the imprint it looks like one of the horses was carrying a heavier load than the other. A doubled up horse would have slown them down, possibly slow enough for the ork to keep up. If one or more of the horse were wounded then the orks would definately have been able to keep apace.”

The tracker stood up and mounted his horse. It was now nearing afternoon and the squad had ridden without rest. Turning his mount, he slowly picked his way down the trail created by the fleeing troopers. There would be no rest until safely back in the the Overlands. Finding the messenger would take precedent. Looking back briefly, he saw the squad form up in column while Granis and Talia took up outrider positions. This formation wasn’t as safe as a wedge but allowed for a faster rate of travel.

They traveled for another half league in this fashion. Burn stopped every now and then and noted that the distance between the horse tracks were getting shorter which indicated the horses were tiring. The ork sign showed the same slowing as if to keep pace. This wasn’t so unusual. Any good hunter knew that a tired prey was easy prey. Burn also noticed something disturbing; at two different intervals several ork broke away from the main body. It would seem they were going to attempt and encirclement.
The trail abruptly ended in a clearing about fifty or 60 paces wide. The mid-afternoon sun streamed lazily down onto green grass that was slowly emerging out of the ash. Within the circle lay the broken bodies of two horses and the remains of the messenger party the squad had been hoping to find. The sunlight surrounded the fallen like a halo. The whole scene reminded Burn of a kind of offertory. He had seen similar arrangements left by the wood elves near his region though those offering contained less viscera.
Burn guided his horse slowly into the clearing while Meirien directed Talia and Granis’ teams to circle right and left to secure the perimeter. The two teams fanned out and moved through the wood in ghostly silence. The corporal took the remainder of Burn’s team and followed the scout who had reached the remains.

The smell of rot hit burn in a sickening wave. He fought back the nausea as he dismounted to inspect the results of an obviously successful ambush. The two horses had been gutted with multiple shafts protruding out at various angles. The two parties of orks that had broken away from the main band must have managed to range ahead and attack them once they entered the clearing. The orks following would have cut off the possibility of escape by retreat. One horse was slightly ahead of the other and there was a fallen trooper between the two beasts. The shafts of numerous arrows littered the area, poking out of the ground like strange flora.
Burn passed the first horse. It lay on it’s side with four shafts driven deep into it’s chest. A couple of paces ahead lay it’s rider. The dark haired trooper had several arrows driven into his chest. He lay slack jawed and open eyed on his back with his sword still held loosely in his right hand. It appeared as if his mount had crumpled as he attempted to fight his way out of the ambush the same way they had in the stream bed. He must have been flung forward and continued the assault on foot. The body was already showing the first stages of decay. He was probably in the van and bore the brunt of the initial attack.

A few more paces into the clearing brought him to the mount that had been carrying the two troopers. The horse lay parallel to the line of travel and it too bore multiple shafts in it’s chest. It also had an arrow lodged in it’s flank. One of the troopers lay splayed out on his stomach just to the side of the horse. There was several arrows burried up to the hilt in his back. His daggers had been flung to the side by the impact of those projectiles.

The other robe clad trooper lay cradled in the crevasse between the horses corpse and the ground. It looked as if he had crawled in there seeking sheleter from the elements. This was an unusual position for a body to find itself and stranger still, the body didn’t show the same state of decomposition as the other troopers. This gave Burn hope as he crouched down to check for signs of life.
Rolling the body away from the horse he heard a very low, almost inaudible moan. There were a couple of puncture wounds in the man’s chest but they seemed mostly healed. There was also a deep gash in the man’s abdomen which, like the arrow wounds, was mostly healed.Excitedly, Burn gave a sharp whistle which was a rehearsed signal for medical aid that the squad had worked out in previous drills. A whistle could cut through the din of battle and bring aid where it was desperately needed.Talia came thundering up and leapt off her horse in that effortless way of the fey.

“Talia, this man is still alive. I think it’s Rathebourne.” The trooper was wearing the standard hardened leather of a normal cavalry trooper but his surcoat showed the symbol of Macha emblazoned on the chest and still visible even beneath all the blood.

The elf maid knelt down next to the priest and began chanting a spell of magical healing. Priestly spells were much more efficient in tending the wounded. It was quicker, sometimes manifesting beneficial effects immediately. Magical healing would work in a pinch but was much slowing, the effects took minutes instead of seconds.

Earis was a magic infused world. Most denizens could use it in some form or fashion though most abstained. The possibility of being tainted and possibly getting corrupted made even the most perfunctory magic a risky endeavor. Talia was what was known as a True Mage, one skilled in avoiding such taint at least for the most part. A lesser healing spell was well within her tolerance.

The soft green glow of magical energy slowly engulfed Talia’s hands then moved to Rathebourne’s chest as she covered the areas where he had been wounded that was most vital to his immediate survival. As soon as the glow left her hands she started chanting again to attempt a healing on his abdomen. Burn watched as the once dying man took one then another deep breath. He was far from out of the woods but this gave the group some hope that their search wasn’t in vain. The woulds slowly knitted over the next eight minutes and Rathebournes breathing became stronger.

While the priest healed, Meirien set the squad out into the woodline to form a loose picket while he and his team leaders conferred on what to do next.

“So, we found ‘em. Let’s get the blazes outta here.”

“Agreed, how soon can we move him Talia?”

“Well, true magic healing is a little slower than priestly healing. It will be about ten to fifteen minutes. I don’t think I can speed …”

“I’ll be able to ride in moments if someone would be so kind as to give me a hand up.” A thin, raspy voice intoned from behind the squads leaders.

They all turned to see the priest, now propped up on one elbow, a wry grin on his face. He was drawn and had obviously been through the wringer but seemed to have an oddly optimistic air. Dark blond locks framed a warm and compassionate face. Rathebourne still had a certain peaceful, priestly aura even after having spent days in grime and gore. Talia was the first to reach him.