***
Delia didn’t particularly like the leader of the temple paladins. In her opinion Sir Brevis was pompous and self-important. In fact, she felt pretty much the same about the rest of the paladins, they were entirely too stuffy. Other than Islana, she didn’t have much use for any of them.
Even so, she felt much better once the sounds of the other riders fell away into the distance. Solitude suited her far better than being in a large company. Leaning forward she stroked her mount’s neck. She hadn’t had a lot of experience with horses, but she had known early on that she liked them better than most people. Horses were pragmatic.
“Isn’t that right, Biscuit?” she asked, directing her question to her mount.
Biscuit turned her head slightly, rolling one eye back to look at her rider and then slowed her pace. Clearly haste was no longer required.
Delia smiled, “You are entirely practical. There’s nothing mysterious about what you’re thinking.” She could almost read the animal’s mind. Biscuit was wondering when she’d be allowed to stop and have a go at the sweet grass beside the road.
Turning her attention back to the task at hand, Delia studied the dirt ahead. The road was well maintained, but unpaved. Down the middle the dirt was barren and hard packed where a multitude of horse drawn carts and wagons had kept the weeds from growing. Farther from the center a bit of sad grass grew, hardy stuff that had managed to survive the wheels of passing wagons carrying produce to market. Beyond that the roadside grass grew tall; it only had to contend with a yearly cutting from the maintenance crews.
She couldn’t tell much from the center of the road. It was too hard to show much. She studied the grass instead. Any recent passages might leave signs there, leaving bent trails through the grass.
Sure enough, she found the telltale sign of a wagon’s passage, not that that meant anything, “Probably a farmer smuggling a nefarious load of turnips into the city.” Delia snorted. What do they think I’m going to find out here?
Still, she continued to study the road. After a short while she knew that the latest wagon had been leaving the city, rather than heading toward it, based on direction that the grass was bent. She kept her ears open, but there was nothing unusual to be heard. The forest around her was quiet, other than the occasional bit of birdsong.
Several miles went by, and at some point, she realized the wagon trail had vanished. There hadn’t been any obvious roads or trails diverging from the one she traveled, so she thought it odd. Reining in Biscuit, she turned her mount around and headed back, watching the verges of the road more carefully. Delia spotted the turnoff after traveling less than a hundred yards.
The trees grew differently there, crowding around and over a long unused trail. Delia dismounted and looped Biscuit’s reins over a low hanging limb. “Enjoy your snack,” she told the horse who had already begun cropping the tall grass.
They stopped here, she noted mentally. The earth was torn and disturbed in places. At a guess, she thought they must have stopped briefly before continuing on into the forest itself. Circling the area, she looked for signs and was eventually rewarded with a partial boot print.
“Someone jumped down here,” she said quietly. “Maybe the driver?” The ground was still pretty firm, but the heel had made a deep impression, and that, combined with its width, told her that the farmer had been a large man. “But why did he take his wagon in there?” she wondered.
A few of the smaller branches had been broken, indicating the passage of the wagon. She might have been tempted to think the farmer had been heading for some isolated homestead, but the state of the underbrush told her that the old trail had been unused for a long time. This was the first time anyone had traveled it in quite a while.
Delia’s suspicions were fully aroused. She was tempted to take the horse, but she decided she could make better time on foot. Taking her bow from where it was tied to her saddle she strung it and set off. Her steps were light as she jogged into the forest, her feet settling into old patterns as she avoided fallen limbs or ducked beneath low hanging branches.
She wasn’t silent as she ran, something like that would have been impossible at that speed, but the noise she made blended in with the forest, no greater or more noticeable than the sound of the wind through the trees, or a squirrel rustling through the ground litter, seeking an acorn.
Delia continued running until a stray breeze brought the smell of something cooking to her nose. Pig? She couldn’t be sure, but whatever it was made her mouth water. She stopped and waited for the wind to favor her again, making note of its direction. That way, she thought. She knew from experience that judging distance from smell alone was nearly impossible, but given the circumstances, she thought there must be a camp nearby. Slowing her pace, she began to pick her way more stealthily through the brush.
The campfire turned out to be closer than she expected. After less than fifty yards she found it, nestled in a shallow depression in the land. Those who had made it had cleared away the brush for ten feet in each direction. The wagon was on the far side from where she approached and three large men were gathered around the fire.
Using greenwood, they had fashioned a heavy rack and spit to roast their kill over, but it was no pig, the shape was wrong. With horror Delia realized that the body skewered above the hot coals was that of a thin man, or perhaps a woman. It was no longer possible to be sure. They had skinned their prey before impaling it, and the fire had already seared the tender flesh beyond easy identification.
Her stomach flipped over, and Delia fought the urge to vomit. She was no more than twenty yards away, and any strange noise or sudden movement might give her away. Sitting down she took several slow deep breaths before looking at them again. When she did, she kept her eyes off the centerpiece over the fire, whoever it was, was already dead.
She saw now that her first impression had been wrong. It was three orcs gathered around the fire, and a fourth, much smaller figure was tied to the wagon. A child.
She had an arrow nocked and drawn before she knew what she was doing, but caution reasserted itself before she released. The orcs were armored and heavy-set. She couldn’t be sure of a killing shot. The distance and terrain favored her, but it was unlikely she could kill all three before they reached her. She needed help.
Relaxing the tension in her arm, she started to put the arrow away when again her nose alerted her; a pungent smell of rust and sweat. Turning, she saw the orc’s hand-axe sweeping down at her barely in time to roll to one side.
She had not seen the orc lookout as she approached, but by chance she had stopped close to his original position, and he had certainly noticed her. He bellowed a warning for his companions as he swung the axe a second time.
Being on the ground, with a larger, stronger opponent already attacking meant Delia had few options. She couldn’t continue her roll; the bushes around her wouldn’t permit it. The arrow she had had a moment before was gone, so she did the only thing she could, sweeping her bow sideways, she tried to catch the orc’s leg.
His stance was solid, though, and his mass made him practically immovable for her, but the move made him pause to laugh. His humor ended abruptly when Delia’s long-knife went through his boot, however. Swinging wildly, he caught the girl with the side of the axe as she tried to rise, sending her falling back through the brush.
Delia recovered from her fall faster than the orc could follow with his wounded foot. Springing up from the ground, she dashed away, leaving her bow and knife behind. She was unarmed now, and her only hope lay in reaching the church knights before the orcs caught up with her.
A chase ensued, and the three orcs from the camp soon outpaced their lamed lookout. They were fast, much faster than Delia had expected such large warriors could be, but they were still no match for her in the forest. She raced through the woods ahead of them like a wraith, nimbly leaping over some groundcover and sliding beneath tangles of vine and thorns that threatened to snare her. By the tim
e she reached her horse she was more than fifty yards ahead of them, though she lost much of that distance while she untied Biscuit and leapt into the saddle.
***
“What’s that?” asked the Abbot, looking ahead. The road stretched out before them, and in the distance, he could see a figure emerging from the brush on one side.
Sir Brevis squinted against the sun, “I think it’s our scout.”
“Something’s wrong,” said Islana, speaking over her superiors. She could see Delia was already whipping her horse to gain speed. The ranger was riding as though she had the very demons of hell behind her. A second later she saw the heavy forms of three armored men burst from the trees.
Brevis had noted it as well. Holding up a hand to stop the column he addressed his paladins, “Ready lances!”
The well-trained knights rode forward two steps and lowered their long weapons, but Islana had already kicked her destrier into motion. Sir Brevis swore as she broke formation, “Damnitt!” Looking at his men he yelled, “After her, charge!”
Their horses broke into a trot and began to speed up, but they were almost immediately outpaced as Mor Dai Melgehm shot past them on his speedy courser. Rapier in hand he raced toward the enemy, “Stand and deliver!”
Thomas watched him go, “I wonder if he realized that line doesn’t make any sense at the moment?”
The Abbott ordered the rest of the men to start forward, at a fast pace, but nothing like a charge. The distance between them and the charging paladins widened by the second.
Thomas rose close to the warriors, looking over at Grom, “Shouldn’t we be going faster?”
The dwarf, who was riding uncomfortably on a sturdy pony, answered, “Might be a trick, lad. Best we move at a steady pace. If things turn bad we can support them, if not we’ll be there in time to mop up after they get their glory.”
Ahead of them all, Islana raced toward Delia and the orcs, her hair streaming behind her. She hadn’t couched her lance yet, but there was a considerable distance left to cover. Reaching back, she pulled her helm loose from where it had been tied and settled it over her head. She wouldn’t be able to fasten the strap while riding like that, but she figured it was better than nothing. Then she lowered her point and leaned forward.
The orcs had already realized their mistake as they saw the knights bearing down on them with lances in hand. As one they broke off their chase and turned back to run for the cover of the forest. Two of them made it, but the third was only seconds from safety when Islana’s lance went through his back. The shock of the blow tore the weapon from her grasp, but she continued onward, trying to get her horse through the thick undergrowth to pursue her enemies.
Mor Dai pulled up beside her and vaulted from the saddle, “It’ll be quicker on foot!”
Delia had turned her horse around and dismounted as well, “They’ve taken a child.” Those were her only words before she too charged into the dense wood.
Islana was close behind, on foot now. In her armor, she was no match for Mor Dai’s speed as he wove in and out through the brambles and bushes, in many cases she was forced to waste valuable time hacking vines out of her path. Catching up to Delia would be impossible, but she persevered as best she could.
They were quickly out of sight, but less than a minute later she heard a roar that could only be an orcish battle cry. Islana struggled forward, heading toward the noise until she could see them again. She only spotted Mor Dai, however. Delia had vanished, and their vigilante companion was now surrounded by three heavily armed orc warriors.
Islana could see that one was limping, but between the three of them it was only a matter of time before they brought down the smaller man. Mor Dai was fighting valiantly to keep them at bay, but his rapier was a poor weapon against his heavily armored opponents.
Screaming her defiance to draw their attention, Islana advanced.
One of the orcs peeled away from the fight to meet her, leaving his two friends to harry Mor Dai. He carried a heavy wooden shield and a war hammer with an ugly metal spike on the end, an ideal weapon for facing an armored opponent.
For a second, Islana felt uncertain. She bore only her sword, her shield had been left with her horse, along with her mace. The longsword wasn’t ideal for facing an opponent in mail, especially when he carried a shield. She would be at a disadvantage in size, strength, and weapon. Growling at her own fear she stepped forward.
The orc wasted no time. Grinning, he ignored her first slash and slammed his shield into Islana, knocking her off balance as he brought his hammer to bear.
She had expected the move. Dropping her sword, she grabbed the shield with both hands. It still struck her with tremendous force, but she kept her grip, falling back and pulling to twist her opponent out of position. The orc’s hammer clipped the top of her helm, sending it spinning into the bushes, but doing her little harm.
Grappling with the orc, Islana managed to plant one foot behind his and shove, sending them both to the ground before he could strike at her again with the hammer. She landed on top of him, and while his greater strength still put her at a disadvantage, her weight hampered him even more. Islana levered herself over, temporarily pinning his weapon arm as she drew her misericorde.
The struggle was short and brutal, until at last she wedged the point of her long thin blade into the space between the top of the orc’s breastplate and the crude leather of his gorget. One hard thrust and the orc was dying, the blade buried in his throat while he choked on his blood.
Disentangling herself Islana rose, bringing the dead orc’s war hammer with her. She wanted the shield too, but it would have taken too long to retrieve. She waded into Mor Dai’s fight with devastating results.
One orc turned toward her, but a feint from Mor Dai sent it’s shield too high. Islana snapped the hammer out to shatter his knee and within seconds after that the fight was over.
Delia emerged from the brush then, carrying her bow and leading a young girl, “Looks like I missed the fun.”
Mor Dai was panting, “Good triumphed nonetheless, thanks to our lady knight here.” He dipped his head to Islana in a wordless gesture of gratitude. Blood was dripping from his scalp down one side of his face.
“That doesn’t look good,” said Islana. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
A quick examination showed that the vigilante had suffered a scalp wound and a heavy bruise to one of his legs. Neither seemed serious, but his eyes had a strange look to them. Islana and Delia walked on either side of him as they made their way back to the road, in case he should fall.
They met the rest of their group as they emerged, and Sir Brevis scowled at Islana.
Her superior was not pleased.
Chapter 17
Dark Stranger
Thomas watched while Sir Brevis spent long minutes giving Islana a thorough dressing down for her reckless action. He couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her under the older man’s withering barrage, but at the same time he was relieved. He wanted to yell at her himself.
Brevis finished with a curt, “Get that looked at,” indicating a heavy bruise she had gotten during her recent fight. After that he turned away.
Thomas was standing close by, “Let me…”
“I can do it myself,” Islana rebuked him, preparing to call upon her own hard won abilities to heal the injury.
He caught her hand in his own, “You might need your strength later—if there’s another fight. You can heal yourself in combat. Let me use my power for now, so you can save your own for when it really counts…”
She met his eyes, and he could see something in them. She didn’t speak, but after a second she nodded her assent.
Reaching inside himself, Thomas found the power Delwyn had granted him; his lips speaking soft words as her grace came forth. Running his fingers along her forearm he let the healing energies flow into her. When he was finished, he held onto her, “You scared me.”
Islana frowned, “Despite what the
Grandmaster said, I was acting according to my conscience. I wouldn’t change that, even if I could.”
Thomas nodded, “I know, but despite everything, I worry. I only hope She can forgive my selfishness.”
She blinked, and when she replied her eyes held a challenge, “You could stand to be a little more selfish.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
Islana straightened, “The Goddess, the light, grows stronger when we share our joy.” Turning away she took a few steps before adding, “Idiot.”
Thomas heard her clearly, as she had meant for him to. Shaking his head, he looked around to see Grom and Delia watching from a few feet away. Glaring at them he challenged, “What?!”
They both shook their heads and Grom muttered, “Idiot indeed.” The dwarf shook his head and moved off, but Delia stepped closer.
Leaning in, the ranger whispered in his ear, “Danger increases the appetite. Ordinarily I’d think to comfort you, but stupidity makes me angry. Especially when you continue to hurt my friend.” She stalked after Grom without waiting for a reply.
***
The Abbott and the Grandmaster debated what to do about the child they had recovered and eventually they decided on a compromise. Rather than reduce their force by sending her back to the city with an escort, they chose Mor Dai for the task. He was mildly wounded already. Sending him back with the girl allowed them to conserve their healing and avoid diminishing their numbers.
The vigilante wasn’t happy about the decision, but he saw the wisdom of it. Hoisting the girl in front of him, he left without much complaint.
The big question now, was where to go. The presence of orcs so close to the city was an indication of something serious.
“We should let our ranger search the area around their camp. There may be a larger encampment nearby,” suggested Sir Brevis.
Father Whitmire was uncertain, “Or it might be a distraction…”
“It is a little of both,” said the nobleman standing beside Thomas.