NOVEL NEXT Chapter 90: Border patrol
A word about a settlement hidden on the outskirts of the dark forest that provided sanctuary to those in need spread quickly around the people who lived in the fringes of Valtima. It started with another community that was in the midst of falling victim to the Empire's troops, posturing as common thugs. Foreboding howls signaled their as men of the empire were caught up in the middle of the raid's turmoil. Then came arrows, silent and deadly; they found their marks on the raiders’ vitals, the neck and the eye, a favored target. Lightly geared in order to be mobile and fit into their role as a rural bandit, and partly because they did not expect much resistance from the disorganized peasantry, their armor was insufficient for the engagement. Still as trained soldiers, though caught unawares, they recovered and regrouped quickly, yet another surprise came their way as their assailants finally laid eyes on them.
Hooded Elvish women, mounted on large wolves, were loosing arrows one after another at them wielding an unusually compact bow that possessed peculiar curves never seen before in bows. Devilish was their aim as it seemed that they were undaunted by the unstable sprint of the wolves they were on. In the chaos none who observed saw the harmony of their movements, in the wolves’ gait there was a small window where the archer had but a moment of stability to take their shot. This could only be achieved by deep rapport between the mount and the archer, followed by years of training to be reproduced, normally that is. These wolves were no regular wolves. Of those Rufus gathered, they were the ones to receive the gift of Telepathy from him; a spillover from kindred. The elves truly were synchronized with each and every thoughts and impulses of the wolf they rode on.
Not to give up without a fight, the men of the Empire tried to retaliate in kind as well. But landing a shot on a moving target was difficult already, even more so when the wolves… almost seemingly knowing when they were being targeted, made sudden turns and jumps the moment they fired their own quarrels. In the meanwhile they had to stop, aim and fire, dangerously vulnerable to return fire. Despite their attempts to use neighboring structures as cover, the mount's greater mobility allowed them to simply maneuver around the cover and resume their assault. All the while their fellows without ranged weapons were trying their best to bar the way of the wolves, they simply became easy pickings for the Elves. Besides the Elven archer on top of it, there was still the ferocious wolf that could handily pin down a person and tear through their jugular to deal with and they did not even attempt to try to face the beast. Realistically, sacrificing a man while the rest surrounded the monster and attacking it from all sides would be an effective strategy… Yet no man wished to be the sacrifice as it was a sure promise of death. Thus they were picked off one by one.
Though they outnumbered them… it was they that were outmatched. Knowing that continuing on like this could only end in one way, they ran for their horses. Not in an orderly retreat, but in a full blown panic. After all, horses were valuable military assets of limited quantity, meaning that there were only so many horses for so few men. The rest, of course, marched on foot here. Now in this losing fight it was a free for all scramble for the horses to flee. Abandoning the less fortunate, let them be damned so long as they made it out. Turning their backs to the elves was their greatest mistake. Ran down and hunted like some game, just like they did to unarmed peasants of the kingdom. Though there was a singular difference between them and the elves that now pursued them. They often chased after fleeing villagers to entertain themselves, purposefully letting them run, giving them headstarts to then run down on horseback, blades in hand; a travesty of the thrill of the hunt.
The elven rangers however had no such desire for thoughtless slaughter. Velauhart’s savage nature taught and trained them to become hunters, for if they did not they would have died as the hunted. With steely coldness they pretenselessly shot them down, no headstarts, no mercy. Efficiency, their hallmark. In a sense, they weren’t even equal to an animal to be hunted down. Few of the make pretend bandits that fell down were either shot by elves in passing - a preferably painless end - or mauled to death by the direwolves - a far more brutal way to go - if they hadn’t already died from being trampled on by their ‘fellows.’
Regardless of how many the Elves felled, it couldn’t be helped that some would make it to their horses to escape. Conventionally, horses, especially war horses bred for speed and endurance would easily outrun a pack of wolves. Not direwolves though, they could easily rush down the swiftest of horses. Still they did not give chase. A faint sense of worry welled in the eyes of both the beasts and rangers as they knew that in the wilderness between here and their camp, Fifth Ordinal, Echo and her brood patiently awaited their flight.
The ordinals answered directly to their Liege, The white lady of the black forest and brought down judgment on her behalf in her absence. Echo as she was known has yet to master the intricacies of the human psyche and her “Indoctrination” as she put it were imperfect. While successful most of the time, creating loyal servants out of their enemies for her mistress. The ‘patients’ who did not respond favorably to the process were left as deranged lunatics, their minds broken beyond any reparation. Those who lost their minds were often sent to the first Ordinal, Alpha, and more often than not are never seen again. Elves and the direwolves alike prayed to Alicia, to let as many of those who escaped to successfully pass the trials ahead of them, before turning back.
As they returned the chaos was starting to settle, few people had rallied to put out any stray fires and searched for survivors, women and children coming out of hiding. Some sobbing at the loss of family members, others weakly shouting out their names, still clinging to what little faith they had that they were still alive, the rest were aimlessly trudging about, in disbelief of reality. In the spacious area closer to the heart of their village some of the survivors had gathered, mostly by the elderly waiting for the return of their mysterious saviors. Though there were many questions, the rangers were already done with their business here and were about to leave. Before their departure however they offered a direction towards the Velauhart, where they would be protected from the raiders.
There were many different reactions, mostly of confusion - ‘as to why they were saved’ and ‘who they were’ - combined with that of shock. In all varieties of human cultures, Velauhart had a reputation for its hostile environs. It was sometimes hallowed, sometimes haunted. It was sacrosanct at times, and reviled at others. The den of monsters where evil slept, and a place of true nature untouched by mankind. Whatever the interpretation, one thing remained constant: the men who had stepped in had never returned. They were now being told to seek out that forest for their salvation. As the decision was of the humans to make on their own, the rangers left without a word or answer. Villagers expressed a variety of reactions as they bid them farewell. Mostly thankful, but this one time there were a group of youngsters who had taken the loss particularly hard.
- “Why didn’t you come earlier!”
Everyone dealt with loss and grief in their own way. Denial, acceptance, guilt…
- “If you showed up earlier they-… they wouldn’t have had to die!”
Theirs was anger, misplaced anger.
- “Why, did you save-”
Before the words could fully exit his mouth he noticed the arrow mere inches away from his eye. The next moment it had struck the earth a few steps behind him, leaving behind a strange gust of wind. A shallow cut had been made across the side of his face, in the same level as his eyes were, where fresh warm blood dribbled. Somehow the arrow had curved in a way that it just missed him. What met him was a piercing green eyes boring a hole into him. The wolf that she was mounted on charged at him, causing him to revulse and fall onto his back to scramble away. Barely an adult human, crawling back was hardly a walking pace. The direwolf caught up to him easily. Just when he thought he was done for, raising his arms up and in front of him instinctively to protect his head, whimpering. Nothing ever came of it.
The Elven ranger dismounted with lithe hop, standing in front of him, before walking past him to pick up her arrow from the earth, inspecting its tip for any damage. And as she did bitter questions were became their answers:
- “Quite ungrateful for the life you have now, why didn’t you die fighting then?
If you were strong we wouldn’t have shown up.
Why did we save you? That was never our intention. We were driving away barbarians making a mess around our homes. You just happened to be saved from the process.”
After blowing away some dirt and debris, and wiping it down, she put the arrow back in her quiver.
- “As for why I didn’t hit you. It’s much easier to pick up a missed arrow than to pull it out of your eye socket and clean the blood and gore off of it. We value arrows more than your life.”
The tense atmosphere didn’t allow for any objections or interventions from bystanders, not without a very real risk of death.
As for the survivors of these encounters, with much of their livestock lost, their crops set afire, homes raided, the options were very limited. Very few had any relatives in neighboring villages. Though they could try their luck with taking refuge, a village was often made from a tight knit community that had little room for outsiders. It was quite common, if not an expectation for someone born in their village to die in that very same village at the end of their lives without ever seeing the outside world. Besides, without a property or a house, they would be treated as another mouth to feed, one that they couldn’t afford. Borderline slave treatment was ahead of them in that matter.
And towns and cities were already crowded with slums, not to mention the far and a grueling journey. Most importantly, there was no promise of safety or food from cities anyway, many who lived in towns’ slums were those who thought they could ‘make it big’ or ‘start a new life in big cities.’ With each and every option coming with their own bag of risks. There was a third option; to set out for the black forest. Seemed just as valid as the others. At least their safety was guaranteed there… Thus started a rumor, that a haven lied in blackest depths of once accursed forest. Drawing refugees and survivors from all around its area…
Alicia was working on making the river wider and deeper, and its banks taller for the freshet that Llynbel would cause, so that it wouldn’t spill and cause any unwanted damage along the way out of the forest. She had some of Gustave’s Enedra to help with the process. As she was in the middle of the work a report from Alfred came in.
- ‘Mistress, Priest conveys that watering down the potions is not currently possible, and in turn she will simply increase production.’
- ‘That so? Then just tell her to not put any significant strains on herself or the production process.’
Although she was highly skeptical of Paxton’s elixirs, after seeing their effects in action, she had to acknowledge her efforts and the very real results. Still it was somehow unbelieve to her that a ‘potion’, something out of fiction, existed in front of her. But accepting the fact, she knew there would be many that would be wounded in the coming conflict, effective treatment would be in high demand. And she was preparing for it the best she could.
- ‘Delta has entered our communication range and is returning soon. We’re preparing a preliminary report.’
- ‘Already? Understood, tell me when she has returned.’
An army marched towards them… the flames of war, at their doorstep.