Storm Hawk – Chapter 17

*Scene 01* – 05:43 (Sifting Through the Ashes)

The roads and grasslands were wet and saturated from the passage of the recent storm.  When Ryden and his mount topped the brow of the hill leading down to the location of the burning column of fire, the smoke had whitened into a general haze about the grounds.  A large figure stood amidst the smoke appearing to sift through the ashes of what had been a two storied structure with an accompanied stable yard, circular turnabout and large barn with some small outbuildings and sheds.  The charred, skeletal remains of a corner wall still stood precariously on one end of the burnt building, supported by an inner stair that appeared to have been the last to burn.  Blackened support beams had crumbled with the burning of the lower floor.  A soot blackened stone fireplace still stood where once a dining hall must have been.  The smoke shrouded figure carefully moved between the fallen beams and smoking substructure.  Judging from the porportion, the figure was a large man and Ryden realized this could be none other than Hanokh, The Walker, whose mysterious acquaintence he had just made in the hovel they had burned together in Basia.

He nudged Stormlight forward and the horse snorted and balked at the smell of the rising smoke, its nostrils flaring.

When they had reached the bottom of the small hill, Ryden heard the giant man’s voice calling out to him from the smoldering structure.

“Ryden, tie your horse away from the smoke and come over here?”

He did as he was asked, tucking his face into his cloak, as he carefully made his way through the ash and charred beams and crumbled waddle, moving alongside Hanokh. “Did you walk here?”

“Through here. Not to here,” Hanokh rumbled, gesturing to a smoking beam fallen over what looked to be a twisted branch. “Wrap your hands and help me lift this.”

Ryden twisted his hands into the slack of his cloak, taking in a breath of acrid smoke.   Coughing he caught the charred beam, while Hanokh’s massive wrapped hands pulled upward, soot powdering his arms.  A cross beam slid off of the one they lifted pushing smoldering floor planks into the pile of scorched lumber and debris.  As the swirl of ash cleared, Ryden gasped realizing what he had thought to be twisted branches were the remains of a human radius and ulna, a small skeletal forearm.  Below the beam and the plank of a bartop, lay the rest of the blackened skeleton, a crushed skull stared blankly into the desolation of the fire.  It was small but larger than that of a child.

“A woman,” Hanokh spoke above the crackle of the still smoking embers.

“The Inn keeper’s wife?” Ryden queried.

“No,” Hanokh huffed. “A servant to the family,” he said rising to his full height.

“I could find no evidence of the others.  They must be away.”

“Or taken,” Ryden offered morbidly, wishing a fraction after that he had not voiced the thought.

“Perhaps,” Hanokh conceded, moving again towards edge of the piled debris, turning the scorched barplank over and away from the remains, kneeling down once more, to gently move the skeleton onto his spread cloak, that he had laid down.

“What’er we going to do with her?” Ryden asked.

“Give her a dignified burial,” Hanokh answered gathering the bones into the cloak and hauling it up carefully.

From beyond the smoke they heard the approach of a rider on horseback, and the snort of the steed as it balked and tried to turn away from the lingering drifts of floating ash.

Ryden put his hand to the hilt of his sword, but Hanokh raised his hand.

“Who goes there?” Ryden demanded.

A shadowed figure swung down from the mount, still grasping the reins.

“My name is Shimri,” the voice of a male answered.  “What has happened here?!”

Hanokh responded, emerging from the smoke carrying his carefully bundled burden.  “It appears the Xarmnians have paid a visit to Begglar’s Inn.  What do you know of this?”

Stunned, the newcomer took a step backward as Hanokh rose to full height.

“You are…”

“Yes,” Hanokh answered, brushing the stunned recognition aside but continuing his questioning.  “What do you know of the whereabouts of Begglar and his family?”

Ryden stepped up beside him, dwarfed by the giant man.

Shimri’s gaze shifted to Ryden.  “I know you, I think.”

“I am Lehi.  We ride with The Storm Hawk.  I recognize you too.”

“Do you know where Begglar has gone?” Hanohk asked,  stepping out from the remains of the building’s foundation.

Shimri looked from Hanokh and Ryden and then back to Hanokh again, as his horse sidestepped and turned, avoiding a passing drift of smoke.

“Why do you seek him?”

“Travelers have returned to these lands from the outer region.  Strange things are happening in the lakeside villages.  I believe the time has come for the for old prophecies to be considered once again, and the stone quests to resume.”

“What do those things have to do with Begglar?”

“He is one of them.  He knew this time would eventually come, and I believe Xarmni has taken an interest in the highlands once more because of it.”

*Scene 02* – 08:18 (Riding the Ruse)

Meanwhile, back in the decending valley, on the rutted road leading up to the Xarmnian stables, Storm Hawk and her disguised Lehi riders met the Xarmnian riders at the lowbridge crossing.

To maintain the illusion that they were a Xarmnian weapons convoy, delivering a shipment from the Iron Hills forge and foundry, they formed in regulated ranks, with a tight formation around the armory wagon, slightly turning their sentries’ flanks to the centerpoint on their cargo in the Xarmnian bristle-style.

Storm Hawk had moved back into the drag position, with her strongest Lehi warrior, Yasha taking point and lead.  Rather than moving across onto the deck of the bridge he awaited the approach of the first Xarmnian challenger, holding his weapon in relaxed readiness.  There was a practiced custom that the Lehi had learned from hidden observations watching how Xarmnian groups met each other outside of the inner realms of the Xarmnian territories.  Yasha knew that any show of weakness would be met with contempt and violence, and any show of bold bravado would provoke a challenge, if not measured and matched carefully.  The newcomer must maintain a reserve while the firstcomer assessed them.  So, Yasha guided his horse to the edge of the bridge and waited, as the opposing party moved towards them.

A stout, cruel-looking man in hard leather, with chiseled, granite features and a hawkish nose, rode imperiously atop a large black horse, blocking their path onto the bridge.  Two massive, three-headed, dog-like creatures, the size of matured mastiffs flanked the horse and man, their ears flattened, jaws slackened, muscles bunched into a crawling crouch.  They were cowled in thick matted black hair, their mouths ferocious with teeth.  A low triple-growl arose from deep within each of them.  The formidible man was the first to speak.

“What is your business!?” he demanded, glaring down at them.  “Who approaches the king’s outpost stables?”

Yasha rode forward onto the bridge to meet the imposing warrior, making full eye-contact, careful not to look down to the two dog-creatures or show any sign of dread or weakness.

“We are recently come from the Iron Hills forges.  Captain Jehaza has ordered armament from the foundary in preparation.  We need relief stock from the king’s stables for the journey back.  We are expecting to meet a contingent soon, for the ride in, but our own stock are wearied from hard riding.”

“Iron Hills!” the large man sniffed digustedly.  “That would account for the stench!”

The two dog creatures mewled in agreement, sniffing the air as they came closer to Yasha’s horse.  Their menacing growls increasing in threat and volume.

“Who might you be?” Yasha challenged back, glaring at the contemptuous man.

“My name is not important.  It is my sword that you must fear.  I am a bruel of the Protectorate.  My business is not your concern.  I have my orders.  A convoy will have been authorized by the court.  I will need to see that order, before you may come any further.”

“How do I know you are authorized to see our orders?” Yasha shot back.

The bruel moved boldly forward drawing his weapon.  “This steel is all the authorization I need.”

Another of the disguised Lehi rode forward stopping just to the right and behind Yasha and spoke up.  “My name is Battair.  I am an envoy to the Xarmnian crown.  Why have we been stopped?”

The bruel moved closer turning his horse, glaring at the newcomer.

“There is a question of authorization,” the bruel growl.

“Authorization?!” Battair snorted, “I am a kingsman, sir!  If you are of the Protectorate, you are free to examine what we bear, but if you are anything else, than what you present yourself to be, it will not go well for you when we return to Jahaza to give our report.  This mission was not one of our choosing.  Few relish any assignment in the Iron Hills, and we are anxious to return to the stone city as are those who sent us.  Would you risk raising the ire of the king?”

The bruel pondered the man’s words for a moment before he irritatedly turned his horse, and sheathed his sword.

“I give you leave,” he growled, signalling those of his company, on the further side of the bridge to part and allow the convoy to pass.

“Give way to the king’s convoy!” he shouted, as the Protectorate guardians moved off of the roadway, creating a gauntlet passage.

The disguised convoy proceeded, but the Protectorate guard moved back shouting oaths as curses, as the convoy and the smell of the Iron Hills wagon reached them.  The additional dogs, held and collared by tracer reins, whimpered as the wagon passed  rubbing their dark massive paws over their noses, rolling on the grass to avoid the foul odor coming off of the travellers and their cargo.

The Protectorate tried to look imposing, but it was hard to maintain that aspect under the onslaught of such a malodorous parade.

The bruel that had impeded them rode ahead to the stable master and from the distance informed him of what had transpired and what the needs were.  Stable men scrambled and soon a remuda of supply horses were gathered to transition to the approaching convoy.  Rather than awaiting them, the string of horses were led out by a stable crew and came down the road to meet them at the turnabout.

So supplied, The Storm Hawk and her crew, headed back out of the valley. Fully equipped for their journey ahead.  The Protectorate giving them no further impediment.

When they had reached the head of the valley and proceeded upward, the bruel rode closer to one of his men.

“Follow them, but don’t be seen.  I want to know which road they take out of the highlands.  There is something about this that I just don’t like.  Have one of the others get our prisoner out of the barn and we will join you soon on the edge of the range.  I will expect a full report.”

“Do you suspect they are not who they say they are?”

“I am not yet sure.  But if they aren’t, I am sure they will soon lead us to our missing Innkeeper and his family.”

“What of the lone rider?  The one we followed through the rain? That upturned ground.  The broken furrow and deep trench.  Do you think she fell into it?”

“The horse was running blind in the wet.  There was no way around it, unless he reversed course.  But then we arrived and would have covered up any sign that the rains themselves did not erase.  The dogs are no good gathering scents through the rain.  He could have retraced and cut off to the left of the rise, down to the northwest.  There is a winding road from the top, down the northface.  If the rider is with the others, he might be a drag watch, scouting along their back trail.”

“What of the trench?  It appeared to have been breached from below.  Not one they could have dug on their own.  Something large must’ve found its way into the granary.  The Inn keeper and his family, might very well be rotting within the belly of some burrowing behemoth.”

“Too easy of an explanation not to be sure.  We will check out the north face of the escarpment to leave no doubt, but the timing and arrival of that shipment seems too convenient, not to examine further.  I did not recognize any of the riders, and I don’t think I have heard of one named Battair at court. But there are so many new additions in the king’s service to risk pressing this particular stranger.  It would make sense to employ others new to us while we patrol the kingdom perimeter.  Especially on the eve of war.”

*Scene 03* – 05:08 (Crash and Rescue)

Dust filled the air as Begglar and I followed Nell into the passage towards the grain bin that served as the women’s dormitory.  The walls shook under the influence of tremendous weight moving violently above.  Ferocious roars battered us with echoing sound fists, pounding all around us.  The ensconsed torchlights flickered through plumes of powdered rock and shifts of falling silt.

Begglar took Nell’s hand as they plunged through clouds of grain dust stirred by the grinding motions getting swiftly closer.  The air turned gritty and coppery, as we blindly stumbled forward to the women’s alcove.

“Get the women out!” I shouted hoarsely, “I’ll find Miray!”

From a shadowy passage, I heard a child’s scream, and bewildered sobbing as the dust and silt enveloped the tunnel.  “The child!” Nell gasped, but I found Nell’s hand and squeezed it, unable to see the alarm on her face.  “I’ve got this. Go on now.  Begglar, help her get the women to safety.”

I turned into the fronting tunnel, feeling my way along cold, cracking stone.  “Miray!” I shouted, desparate to her her cries just once more.  Low diffuse lights shone ghostlike through the noise and swirling dust. Fear played a tempanic thrum in my ears, as a gutteral roar reverated down the open shaft.

Fumbling my way ahead, I saw the dying torchlight flicker and snuff out in the swirling dust.  Gritty darkness descended with the fading glow.  “Miray!” I screamed against the shrinking light.  “Mister Brian!” a small shrill voice responded, as I leapt blindly forward, feeling my way along the trembling walls, trying to stay on my feet.  Rocks fell around me, as support beams cracked and rocked.  Another roar drilled through me with piercing terror, but I could not turn back. “Keep yelling, Miray!  I’m coming.  I coming.  Let me hear you!”
Her cry and wail somehow bore through the shuddering, and I found a small searching hand in the dark.  My arms and hands found her, and I pulled her towards me gathering her up against my chest, hunching over her to prevent the falling rocks from striking her. “We’ve got to move. Hold tight to me.  I’ve got you.”

Loosened stones bounced and bruised my back, but adrenaline coursed through me, as I crouch carried Miray back toward the end of the tunnel.  A crossbeam crashed down in front of us, unloading a quantity of sand and gravel, but leaving a brief triangular aperture that we scraped through as another beam cracked and fell from behind where we had just stood.  Something that sounded like metal tines tearing through rock raked the tunnel floor behind us.  A wave of heat, like a flash furnace, blew grit and sand against me as I swayed and almost stumbled.  Miray clung tight to me, and I held her with my right arm, shielding her, my left arm grasping for anything that could keep me balanced.  My shoulders seemed to be on fire.  Something large and monstrous was following us through the tunnel, but I dared not look back.

Just ahead, Begglar and Nell were ushering the women out of the bin, gathering up traveling gear as quickly as possible.   Broken rock and debris streamed down through the overhead channel shaft, and the women had to move swiftly to the perimeter of the bin to avoid getting crushed and burried.  The thick mounds of grain made swift movement difficult.   The roars from above terrified them, but Nell forced them to make haste, gathering them together into the outer tunnel that ran alongside the outer edge of the escarpment above.

Christie saw me stumbling out of the smokey corridor, but she could not see what I carried.

“Miray?!” she cried.  “Miray is gone!  I can’t find her!!”

“I’ve got her!” I croaked coughing through the dust.  “She’s right here!”

A cry of relief escaped Christie’s lips as she rushed forward to me, attempting to help me with my precious cargo.  “Let me help with her.  Is she hurt? Is she alright?!”

“There’s no time!” I yelled. “Whatever it is, it is coming right behind us!  Run! I’ve got her!  I won’t let her go!”

Suddenly the tunnel collapsed behind us, and the roar pierced through the rubble and debris.

“Move!” Begglar yelled from ahead.  Nell and the women were watching anxiously, as we came through the debris caked in dust.

The other men joined us as we scurried through the outer corridor along the sliding granary doors to the stables at the far end beyond the dining galley.

The tunnel was collapsed, choked with slabs of broken stone and debris, but something heaved under it, causing the mounds to earth and stone to tremble.

Dominick had the teams waiting for us as we quickly piled into the wagon and into the saddles of the extra relief horses we had used as pack horses.  Four served as team horses, two as the spare.   Nell swung up into the buckboard bench alongside Dominick, and Begglar and I took the spares.  The ground outside was wet, saturated and slippery, but the crew managed to get the others into the wagon bed, without too much trouble.

Whatever was back there in the caverns of the granary would have to hunt for us further on the road, for none of had any desire to remain in that place any longer.

*Scene 04* – 08:17 (Seeds of Dissention)

As soon as the rainstorm had passed, two sinister sisters lifted out of the branches of the trees along the once dried streambed, now flowing with clear, clean water from the pouring falls cascading down the cliff of the escarpment.  The two harpies had witnessed everything. From the Inn keeper and his group departing their home beyond the coastal hills, to their stop at the forbidden mound, to their trek up to the top of the escarpment.  They saw the mysterious beast breach the hilltop road, once the wagon and the party wound their way down the switchback back to the base of the escarpment.  They witnessed the travelers’ strange procession down the dry streambed to their whispered interviews with the Inn keeper, before the root clenched, testing sword. With interested, they marked the one man who was finally able to lift it from its rooted sheath.  They shuddered at the confrontation with the young girl in their company that had, heretofore, been masquerading as one of their group.  They shrank back into the leafage as the young girl’s corporeal disguise literally unraveled from her, revealing her to be a malevolent wind spirit.

The proximity of the beast at the top of the escarpment clarified what was really transpiring.  The embedded young girl-thing was the distracting lure, which the beast in pursuit was using to vector them into position while its waiting jaws moved swiftly underground to consume them before they realized their danger.

Observing this coordinated move sobered the two sisters to the knowledge that this gathering of mysterious travelers not only threatened the balance of political and martial powers and rulers in the Mid-World, but the strangers’ mission also had roused and threatened to spiritual kingdom operating between the worldly dimensions.  Wind spirits only consorted with their like-kinds.  The beast was a monster of supernatural origin.  Perhaps connected to the very dreaded creature that was rumored to still sleep in the high eyries of The Walls of Stone mountain range in the far northern region of The Mid-World.

The Xarmnian king was not the only Mid-World regent that stood to lose their claimed fiefdom, but the kingdoms of the Half-Men under The Pan stood threatened as well.  If the new beast signified a connection to the ancient creature lurking in those mysterious peaks, it would eventually draw the monster to itself to free itself from its slumbering prison, for it was told that the ancient beast’s mind was still linked to the Surface World beyond this realm—the land from which these travelers had come.  The land on the otherside of the seven mysterious, roving occuli, serving the dreaded Marker Stone.  The Stone that buzzed with supernatural life.  The disruptor.  The threat to the order of men, beasts and principalities.  The Mid-World signet of the being living in the High Realm of Excavatia referred to as The One.  The orinator of the legend of The Stone Quests and their attenuated prophecies.  For centuries, mysterious happenings in the Mid-World lands were ascribed to The Stone Marker.  Stories which eventually irritated those in positions of rule.  That is why the eventual actions of the Xarmnians to cover up and bury The Stone had been received with a kind of grudging welcome from The Pan and its kind.  Burial, for a time, decreased the buzzing of their minds as they internal natures vacillated and clashed along the spectrum between beast and human.

The group’s odd procession down the creekbed had particularly drawn their interest.  It was not lost on them that the peculiar sword that had been clasped in the dry-bed of the once pure spring was for all signs and purposes a covenant sword, from the days when such provincial districts of the Mid-World were divided into land grants among the familial clans which first occupied the territories. Each of the communal provinces were brought into being under a land covenant issue under the signet of an ornamental covenant sword which was crafted by the finest artisans of the clans. The swords represented both the commitment of each of the honor-bound clans to both protect and defend their land grants in perpetuity, and confer these covenants and the rights and privileges granted under them to their posterity.  It had been these covenants and their early vigilant defenders which had relegated The Pan and its kind into the far outskirts of the Mid-World wastelands.

It was not until the coming of the mysterious clans of the east that the covenant lands had ceased to be so vigilantly defended.  The fractious interlopers, lured the rightful covenant keepers into compromise, allowing the newcomers to live among them and alter their ancient ways, and intermarry with them, until the newcomers had overrun the territories and had a falling out that split their growing clan into the Xarmnian and Capitalian factions.  The Capitalians pushed to the lands beyond the far western mountain range and The Walls of Stone, while the Xarmnians built their own fortified stone cities and began incorporating and annexing the covenant lands by undermining their tribal traditions and cheating them through skewed trade deals.  When the covenant lands began to succumb to the militant campaigns and underhanded dealings with the Xarmnian kingdom, The Pan and their Half-Men began to move towards the central lands again, as the indigenous covenant keepers were undermined, and the supernatural elements of the Mid-World began to fade from being a manifest presence of protection.  The Half-Men and The Pan had not been able to stand against those beings which appeared to support the covenant keepers, but with their accounts seeming to fade, the Half-Men became more embolden to move back into the lands left unguarded and in tumult under the claims of fracturing interests.

The seeds of dissention and unrest were ripening into large grapes of wrath that would soon bleed red into the wine of war.  The human kingdoms would fall under the weight of their own greed and avarice, and The Pan and his Half-humankind would take the bloodied field to feast upon what remained standing, when the occupants of the lands were weakened by the ravages of war.  With the supernatural guardians no longer bound under the conditions of their being covenant keepers, there would be no force able to withstand The Pan taking full dominion over all of The Mid-World.  The one threat to the machinations of The Pan, would be anyone who might somehow complete the stone quests.

The two harpies gathered air into their wings and pushed upward into the higher breezes.  Their decision made.  Let Delilah deal with the Xarmnian human.  They would align with Delitch at the rendezvous point on the bald peak.  There was much to report.  She had gone to see The Pan and should be waiting with news of their meeting.  The forests of Kilrane would be purged of the nymphs either through a negotiation with The Pan or by other means.

*Scene 05* – 08:03 (Blood Sent)

High on the ridgetop, one of the Xarmnian Protectorate hunters, a scout named Bayek, sat atop his black horse, careful not to skyline himself. He scanned the valley below the crennellated ridge of the opposing valley range holding the Xarmnian stables.  His bruel had been clear. Don’t let the suspicious weapons shipment out of your sight.

He had watched the Iron Hills shipment train and riders turn onto the main road and proceed, as expected towards the highland’s westward descending road.  So far, so good, he thought to himself.  A weighted wagon could not easily traverse the rocky open country without following the cleared roadway, and the only known passage down the upper shelf of the Mid-World highlands in reasonable proximity was along that main road.

His compatriots had gone back to the stables to get their prisoner.  The Bruel had questioned and beaten the man severely, but he had been unable to get much more than fragmented information out of him.  The inn keeper and his wife and boy had taken these newcomers to the site of the forbidden Land Horn Stone.  With interest, they had learned that there was a secret tunnel underneath its burial mound.  So the inn keeper and his conscripts had thought they had been clever, had they?  He wondered again for what possible reason, they would risk their own lives and lands to defy the Son of Xarm’s edict.  For what purpose had they gone to the concealed Stone.  Did it still exert its power and influence even now?  None had dared touch it, for its origin was clearly from another world.  The very ground near it scortched up their feet when they had tried repeatedly to deface it, sending their mightiest soldiers writhing to the ground in paroxysms of pain.  When they were pulled away from it with ropes and cast nets, the Xarmnian apothecaries examined them and found that their armor had seared them and melted their flesh underneath.

Who were these interlopers?  This outside group of people traveling with the inn keeper?  The man they had in custody was weak, and easily cowed.  The group had two very small children among them.  Hardly an invading force.  One would expect the group to be comprised of warriors if these newcomers foolishly dared to take up the ancient quest of The Stone.  None of these factors, if true, made sense.  The man had not appeared to be defiant. In fact, he had been terrified, desperately mumbling pleas not to be killed through his bloodied lips.  Perhaps they had been too hasty in swiftly riding down and spearing through the other fleeing associates of their current captive.  Too late they had realized one of the escapees they killed was a young woman.  She would have made a more interesting prisoner.  There were many more intersting ways she could have been prevailed upon to get their answers.  More interesting, indeed, than merely beating up the snivelling old man.

As Bayek watched the wagon and company grow smaller in the darkening distance, suddenly he stood up in the stirrups of his saddle.  The flanking guards had peeled off of their detail and were riding ahead.  There was something beyond them that they were catching up to.  He unpocketed and raised his field glass to get a better look, searching the distant horizon against the misty air, and occasion flash of distant lightening.  Peering through the glass he had difficulty locating the group, but at last he found them as they emerged against the face of the rising moon.  There was another wagon just ahead of them.  At this time of falling evening, that further wagon could only be the very party they were looking for.  And at present, it looked like the company from the Iron Hills would be the ones to finally apprehend them.

Just then, Bayek heard the approach of snorting horses and his band of Xarmnian warriors coming up along the shelf to the ridge, his bruel, riding large and powerful in the lead, their train of massive dog-like creatures following, anxious to get back on the trail.

Bayek turned his horse, urgently beckoning his leader forward.

“What news?” the bruel gruffly barked.

“My Bruel, I have just sighted the wagon of our quarry.  It appears that those foul-smelling knaves guarding the Iron Hills shipment, may have a lead and could capture the fugitives and get the credit for it.  They are just now nearing the highland descent road.  We can still catch them, but we must hurry. Let the dogs run free.  There is a steep angling slope ahead that should lead us down to the main road.  Follow me.  The dogs can find their way down faster without our help.”

Another horseman paced up to the ridge, holding their bound and bruised prisoner, between him and the front of the saddle.  The old man’s head lolled to the side, pain and despair had withered him into a spindly shell of the man he was before being captured.  His hands were bound and tied to the saddle horn, his shoes had been discarded and his feet were pale and bare.  Even if he were to somehow fall out from between his captor’s muscled forarms, he could not get far on stony and uneven ground going barefoot.  “What should we do with him?!” the man’s restrainer asked.

The bruel snorted, glaring contemptuously at the frail man, his face twitching with cruel mirth.  “Wait here with him for now, and watch.  Once we  take his companions below, he may be of no further use to us.  Slit his throat and toss him out for the carrion birds.  Then you should be free to swiftly join us in the valley below.”

The old man stiffened slightly at the bruel’s words, but it was the only indication he gave that he had heard what his fate was to be.  Through blurred eyes he looked beyond to the valley and the road far below to the small dimming specks that were his former party.  Silently he prayed that somehow they might evade these cruel men hunting them, if not only for their sake, but also for his own that he might be spared at least one more day to look for way out of his seemingly hopeless predicament.

As they were speaking, the dog handlers dismounted, and came down to the dog-beasts, unfastening their leads from the creatures collars.  The unleashed dogs, bounded up and down, sensing that they were about to be in the hunt again.  Drool and foam gathering in their slackened jaws, their ears flattening and flexing, their muscled legs quivering with bloodthirsty excitement.

Their handlers barked a command, and the hairy monsters were off, bounding down the hillside towards the silvery road ahead, panting and growling as they went.  The horsemen remounted and spun, following their scout’s lead, charging down the narrow ledge that Bayek had identified.  Ahead they could hear the dog packs’ eerie baying and snarling noises, as they descended.  Bounding down the incline.  Sounding like shrill piercing cries of the half-wolves of The Pan’s kingdom. Their vicious throaty barks echoing down the hillside, reverberating off of the valley floor.  The dog creatures had no need to follow the slanting ridge shelf and would achieve the main road long ahead of the horses and their riders, but the horses might make up the ground between when they reach the base of the valley and could sprint again.  In either case, whether Xarmnian pursuers atop their horses or the vicious pack, the hunt would soon reach a violent and bloodied conclusion.

*Scene 06* – 11:56 (Down A Dangerous Road)

A wispy fog lay silver along the rutted track running alongside the white pasted wheat field as Begglar and I rode our horses alongside the rumbling wagon.  We had made no more than a mile down the angled track, headed for the main descending road when we heard noises coming from beyond the point of the escarpment along the main road we had hoped to join under the cover of the darkening dusk.

We had gone beyond the granary gates, but the beast that had been within could easily have burst through the outer doors and pursuing us even now.  The Xarmnian hunters had been in the area, Christie had confirmed, and it could just as easily be them coming along the backroad on our trail.  In either case, we had to move faster along the path to get ahead of our pursuers. We weren’t sure how much of the mists would give us cover to slip away.

Leading a weighted wagon, going overland was out of the question, and there weren’t enough horses to carry all of us, even if we doubled-up.  The buckboard would just as easily bog down on the soft shoulder, along the edge of the wheatfield, if we turned off of the hardpacked trail for the rains and mists no doubt had softened it.  With enough momentum and speed we might attempt to clear a ditch and drive into the field itself, but the wagon wheels would sink in before we got far enough to conceal ourselves.  Thankfully, Begglar and Dominic had had the foresight to lower and fold away the high wagon canopy, for it would have stuck out over the tops of the grain and whiteflag our enemies towards us.  The surrounding mists were not yet dense enough to cover us,  if we attempted to pull aside and remain quiet.  And if the beast in the granary were in pursuit, even that would not spare us from eventual discovery.  There were no clear options left.  We were in big trouble.  Death stalked us any way we tried to look at it.

Even if the travelers coming down the main road were allies, it was not the custom for highland travelers to risk moving down lonely roads in the evening hours.  Both theirs and and our presence here in the night would raise suspicion.  Marauders and thieves roamed the night, and the Xarmnian Protectorate were charged with conducting night patrols, ostensibly for the “safety” of the local from such brigands and cutthroats.

I shouted across to Begglar, “Is there any other way out of this valley than the main road?”

“Not in this direction.  The other way is down through the village of Crowe.  We need to ride and may need to see if we can get some space between us.  There is a little known cut through the woodline along the edge of the uplands.  It winds through some dense forestland, the way eventually narrows into a mere gametrail and it is doubtful that we could get the wagon through, but if it comes to that we may abandon the wagon and use its bulk to block any horse pursuit.  We’d have to go on by foot, but it might buy us some time if we get reach the turn ahead of whoever is coming.”

I gripped my reins and considered for half a second, bobbing up and down on my mount.  The side road joined the main road, just up ahead.

“Take the lead and I’ll fall back into the drag point.  Does Nell know of this cut way through the woods?”

“Aye.”

“Then let’s make for it.  Tell Nell to drive the team as hard as she can. We don’t have any choice.  I’ll let the crew in the wagon know to secure themselves and hold on.”

I reined my stead into a slower trot, letting the wagon come up alongside me, as Begglar rode astrive and informed Nell of our plan.

Fearful faces turned towards me as I neared the open buckboard.  Christie held Miray tightly in her arms, and Miray had buried her face into Christie’s shoulder.  Lindsey rode alongside her and the child and was near enough to me that I could speak to her over the creak, gait and jangle of the turning wagon wheels and jostling team, snorting in their harnesses under the tracer reins.

“Lindsey.  Tell everyone to hold on tight. We’re going to try to make a run for it on the main road.  Nell is going to have to drive the horses hard if we hope to make it to the cutoff we need to reach ahead of whoever is coming along the main road.  It’s going to get bumpy and rough.  The roads here are not made for fast travel in a wagon, so have everyone anchor to something and hold on tight.  We may have to ditch the wagon once we get into the trees so be prepared to get out quickly and into the woods.  Dominic and Nell will help you to which way to go.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I need to fall back and get some idea on who may be following.”

“Do you think the beast followed us out of the granary?!”

“I don’t know.  I wish I could say for sure.  There are a lot of dangers here.  We just have to do what we can against what we know.  People here do not often travel at night unless they are either desperate or up to no good.”

“Well that’s comforting…” she snorted.

“Sorry. I wish I could offer something more optimistic, but that is about how it stands.  Tell everyone to hold on.  I don’t want to lose anyone.  Not ever again.”

“Don’t worry Mister O’Brian.  I’ll tell them.  Be careful.  You saved this little one. We trust you know what you are doing.”

I fell back further as Nell and the wagon began to pick up speed.  Normally, a statement like that would give one confidence, but for me it did the opposite.  Especially since I knew what I about to do was perhaps insanely stupid and taking an extreme personal risk, but what they needed most right now was time, and I saw no other clear way to give them that.

By taking this course of action, I was ceding the position of de facto leader for this mission to Begglar.  Perhaps, I had been doing that all along. He knew the country better than I.  He had a network of contacts in the underground.  He had a greater stake in the position than I, now that he had a family here, and he had leadership experience, but I could not help feeling that this was shirking my responsibility.  I was no hero.  My last attempt at heroics got others killed.  This course may be wrong, but this time I was bearing the greater risk.  I was trying to view my present posture not as heroic, but as pennance.  Saving Miray had been instinctive, and clear-cut.  But this felt like an act of cowardice.  My guilt worked on me, stealing my clarity.  Something about that beast in the granary tugged at my thinking.  Some infernal hook, pulling me towards further risk and danger.  My life and past forays had been a Gideon’s fleece, repeatedly seeking to reassure me in this calling.  Deep down I was running from the responsibility of leadership, because I feared the weakness in myself and my record of past failures.  Doubting myself, somehow induced doubting the assurance and protection of The One.  No verse of the Ancient Text came to mind, to steel me in the moment.  I had led us into a fearful box of perilous circumstances with death being the only way out.  If another life was to be lost this night, I was making sure it would be mine.  If The One wanted me to lead this stone quest with this company, He would have to spare me in my own folly.

Resolved, I steered my horse across the pasture, cutting through the long grass toward the main road for a better look at our pursuers.  If they took me, hopefully the delay might buy Begglar and the others a little more time to make it ahead to the forest cut path.

I needed a sense of how many their were in the approaching group to account for the risk we were taking by pushing through on the night road.  Holding back might just cause the newcomers to slow and find out what we might be doing out here on a lonely trek of moonlit road.

I saw ahead where Nell had turned from the side route to the main thoroughfare as well.  The path was more travelled and the way was broader with a pale loamy dust and hardpack.  The earlier rains had tampened the road dust down a bit, keeping it from raising a plume of aerial grit behind us.  Often, distant travelers could observe how fast a lead might be traveling by the sheer amount of dust they raised galloping down the road.  With the mists and the dampened road, I hope that the followers might not guess immediately just when Nell and the others picked up speed.

From the shadowy moonlight, I could make out that the followers were a large company, apparently leading a couple of wagons of their own.  There were seventeen or eighteen of them at the most and they appeared to be heavily armed.  They rode flanking the wagons in a guarding formation, that I dimly recognized as being Xarmnian.

My breathe caught in my throat. Not good.  Not good at all.

Just then I was spotted.  Three of the approaching guards broke rank from the central column and started riding fast.

I turned ahead, spinning my horse towards my company and our own wagon. Nell had gathered the reins and had picked up considerable speed driving the wagon and team hard with Begglar atop his horse riding just ahead of them.

I rode out of the ditch and charged towards one of the guarding riders, angling ahead to drive him wide.  As I gained the main road, I unsheathed the sword I had in its scabbard at my hip, brandishing the steel, letting the rider know I was in earnest to defend my company.

The horsemen were riding fast, but I was able to drive one of them off the road and into the surrounding roughlands.  To his credit, the horsemen and his steed were very skilled.  They leapt over scrub brush, dodged broken rock, wended their way through uneven ground never fully breaking stride.  Our horses snorted as their heads surged up and down, neck and neck.

I rocked in the saddle, getting a better feel for the step and plummet of my horse’s pounding footfalls as we galloped along the edge of the road, keeping the other rider into the rough, softer shoulder.

A berm of dirt rose along the edge of the roadway and the rider road his faster horse up onto it raising their path two to four foot higher than the road my horse followed.  The rider’s stallion suddenly leapt from the berm crossing swiftly ahead of me, turning my horse so abruptly that I was almost pitched out of my saddle.  I felt a sharp sting graze my head and burn along my right ear, slightly cutting a shallow gash across my scalp.  The rider had struck me with a quirt strap, and my horse faltered as it almost stumbled to the roadway.  Being a dray horse, my steed had far wider hooves from pulling large loads.  Rather than tumbling, it skidded to a stuttering turn, its powerfully muscled haunches restabilizing it against the abrupt stop.  Ignoring the lash to my head, I glance behind and before me, my knee pressing against the front saddle strap to keep from being thrown.

What I took to be approaching Xarmnian wagons were not far behind me and, turning again to the front, I saw that two of the faster riders were catching up to my team ahead.  One rode what appeared to be an incredibly fast horse, and its rider edged the running wagon to the shoulder, brandishing some weapon I could not clearly see.

The wagon canted into the soft shoulder almost turn down, but Nell valiantly turned the team into the slant, righting the threatening tilt of the wagon.  The other rode ahead turning against the crew, blocking the forward roadway, silhouetted against the pale moon.

Other horsemen rode abreast of me hemming me in, lowering sharp pointed lances in my direction.

We were out of options.  Captives, with no hope of escape.

Suddenly, in the far distance we began to hear the sharp report, and baying echoes of packs of wild dogs.  I knew if those were the same creatures I had seen in my prior sojourn in The Mid-World. It would be those coming ferocious creatures that these Xarmnians would gleefully use to tear us all to pieces.

*Scene 07* – 15:56 (Flight by Moonlight)

Ahead and to the lead of our company, our blocking and silhouetted captor spoke sharply, “You’re late, and you’re going to get your party killed going it alone!”

A longbow and sword scabbard bristled from the shape of the dark figure before us.  The speaker’s face and body were obscured in shadow, but its back and outline were silvered by the glow of the rising moon.

“Storm Hawk?!  Is that you?” Begglar asked.

“Of course it’s me.  We came out looking for you when you didn’t arrive earlier.  Figured you might need chaperoning to get you safely in.”

“We?”

“Don’t worry about that now.  Hear the dogs?  We’ve got to move quickly.  Why didn’t you take more horses?  Your dray team is old and tired, Old Sailor.  They may have the strength to carry your wagon overland, but not the speed for it.”

“There wasn’t time.  The Protectorate Guards were coming through Crowe.  Pursuing a fugitive family.  Don’t know how they knew to come to us, but they did.  And the Xarmnians not to far behind.  We hid them and delivered them to the underground, shortly after these from the Surface World arrived.  We discovered as few days before that we were under surveillance.  They had planted a troll spy in our Inn that did not report back.  Leaving, the Protectorate already fell upon three in our company when they deserted us.  You know how they operate.  We couldn’t borrow Xarmnian stock.  They would’ve alerted the stable guards first to look for strange travelers and report back.  The need for faster horses seemed to be our most obvious next step, so we came on without them.  Predictability is too deadly to chance.”

“So is slowness,” the one called Storm Hawk observed, starting to turn away from the ridgeline and descend again into the darkness between us.

I spoke up from beyond, “Hello, Maeven.”

She stopped, reining her horse to shift back and around our wagon, coming closer to where her men held me at spearpoint.

“I know that voice,” she spoke quietly.  I raised my head trying to get a better look at her through the shadows. She had changed so much from what I had remembered.  She rode tall and confident in the saddle.  Her long, raven-feathered, hair was tied back and, no doubt, bundled to keep it from revealing it as an ebony crown of womanhood. She was no longer wispy thin, as I had know her, but had filled out from hard riding, and weapons training.  Her thighs had gained muscle from maintaining core balance on a charging mare.  Her arm were banded, with shaped hide pieces, giving her the appearance of having a masculine upper bulk, but she carried it off, undergirded by a strong, sinewy structure beneath, narrowly revealed at her joints between the sleeves.

Her face was in full shadow as she quietly considered me, her back turned against the large, radiant face of the distant moon.  At last she spoke, her voice tinged with amazement.
“Brian…,” she huffed in a contralto tone, that seemed to linger somewhere between exasperation and stunned amazement, “…is it really you?”

“It is,” I responded.

Her horse turned slightly, giving me a glimps of her face backlit by moonlight, a silver sheen on her cheek.  She wore what appeared to be a half-scarf under her chin, which she had pulled down and away from her face, revealing the fair visage beneath.  Hiding her femininty, must have been something of a challenge, riding among a company of loyal men, leading diruptor and mercy missions, amidst a land ruled by the mysogenist contempt of brutal Xarmnian soldiers and their Protectorate gangs.  If the Xarmnians were ever to know that they had been repeatedly outsmarted by a women, their rage and insensed shame would know no bounds.  Out of spite, they would viscously burn and pillage the captive villages presently held under Xarmnian thrall, to bait her out of the shadows and into strategic traps.  Whereupon, her capture would involve humiliation, domination, and brutal physical violations that reduced her to the place of contempt they held for anyone that might dare challenge their superior assumptions of themselve in the pecking order of the powerful.

Her personal risk was extreme, which stood as a credit to the level of her bravery.  She had much changed from the shy, unassuming and hesistant girl I had know from before.  There was steel in her now, and determination, that I had not seen in her before.

“So,” she said, a little louder now, “…you have returned.  Begglar said you would, but I did not believe it.  Can barely believe it now, seeing you again with my own eyes.  I had thought you had done with us.  These Mid-World forays.  The Stone quests and such, seeing as how you thwarted the last one.”

Her words stung, and I did not know exactly how to respond.

Taking in my hesitancy, she continued,”You should now know that I no longer answer to my Surface World name outside of the protection of fortified walls and in places where enemies cannot overhear it.  Why did you come back?”

I cleared my throat, “Would you mind telling your men to lower their spearpoint a might?  They are so close to my face, I can almost shave by them.”

A bit of mirth entered her voice as she signaled her Lehi horsemen to relenquish their vigilant guard a bit, and I sighed relief as those sharped points tilted and were sheathed back into carriers in the horsemen’s saddles.

Maven, now infamously known as The Storm Hawk returned to her interrogationing.”You could not have comeback on your own volition.  The oculus must have returned.  Why were you brought back?  Are you now leading this company of travelers?”

“I am.”

“And you do so by attacking those who may be in allegiance with you?”

“I did not know this was your band of Lehi.  What with those beast dogs echoing beyond us and you carrying yourselves as Xarmnians do.  In the dark it was hard to tell.  I have been away from such things for over twenty long years.”

Maeven responded, “These canyons in the pass echo and tend to amplify the sound.  They will be here very soon–you can be certain of that–but not as fast as it sounds.  There are Protectorate brutes coming from the ridge and watching us above.  They follow the cerberi. My Lehi are aware and watching, and will alert us.”

She gathered her reins and shirked out of the bow curved around her back shoulder, reaching behind and into a quiver, bristling with arrows.   In a more alert and confident voice, she addressed me curtly, “The greedy fists of Xarmni have grown longer in their reach and more skilled in their cunning.  If you had pulled that stunt of driving a Xarmnian off the road in the times before you might have confused them. But they are not as easily disrupted and mercurial as they were back then. Even so, I would have expected better of you than this. Leadership requires calculation and foresight. What you just did was reckless and impulsive.  But in that, it seem that not much has changed in the past twenty years.  You’re STILL reckless and headstrong!  I’ve learned hard lessons about the folly of those traits.  And now, you expect me to believe you have returned here to lead a quest?”

I chuckled at the irony.  “We are both ever the reluctant warriors, it seems.”

“Ever the reluctant fools if we don’t start moving and get that buckboard over the rise!”

Begglar had moved closer, at that point, and leaned over and whispered, “I think what she’s trying to say is that she missed you, laddie.”

“What was that?!”

“Oh, nothin’. Nothin’.” Begglar feigned a look of innocence, but winked slyly at me.

The sound of the baying and barking dogs, echoed ominously in the background growing louder.  A low whistle caused Storm Hawk to straighten, and clench her mount in the girth, signalling to the beast that its strength and speed would soon be called upon again to carry her through an imminent conflict.

With that, Maeven put two fingers from her other hand to her lips and blew a loud, high-pitched trilling sort of whistle, that sounded avian and piercing in the cold night air.

From the near distance, we could hear the sound of galloping, snorting horses, thunderously heading our way.  Our eyes had grown more accustomed to the darkness, and we could see tall shadowy figures on horseback converging on us through the grain fields, from a dark copse of trees, and from the packed roadway behind us.  Another series of high-pitched whistles signaled her Lehi into pre-arranged postures and formations.

A primal fight or flight instinct took over our company and they reached for their newly gather weapons, unloading and tightening in back to back around the wagon, now deeper off the shoulder of the road, mud caking and rising around its wheels.

Maeven rode around our company and the wagon in a widening circle, observing their defensive posture taking form.  The younger ones remained near and protected by Lindsey and Christie, shunted behind them, ready to duck under the wheels and take cover.  The men–young and older–stood aground outside the wagon sidewalls, their weapons drawn, looking uneasy and uncertain.

Seeing the young ones huddled and beginning to climb beneath the bed of the wagon, she turned to us and asked,“Why are the children not armed?”

Begglar responded, “We didn’t intend them to fight.”

“Intention or not, the fight will come to them,” she answered, “You know this to be true.  You trained your own son early, knowing you cannot protect the youth from unguarded moments.”

Quickly, scanning and observing the others, holding their drawn weapons unsteadily or struggling to pull swords from their scabbards, to me she asked, “Did you let them pick their weapons?”

Embarrassed, I answered in the affirmative.

“It is quite clear you have not led a company in a while.”

“It has been a few seasons.  But you are correct we should have taken the time to oversee and choose weapons more suited to them.  We had hoped to refine the choice once we arrived in Azragoth.”

“You would never have survived the way ahead.  The old forest road through Kilrane has grown unseen eyes.  Many men have disappeared there of late, both ours and Xarmnian alike.  The guardians have not been seen there for many seasons.  I think The Pan may have grown bolder and now has his agents exploring it. Xarm shows no objection.  Rumor has it that they’ve relinquished their claim to it, after so many years of quarantine.”

As silent as a shadow, she dismounted and moved to the front of the team of horses and took the bridle of the lead horse and started leading them off the softer shoulder back onto the hard-packed path.

“Mists and rains have dampened the roads, and ditches.  Any way we turn will be discovered,” Begglar lamented. “What’ll we do about our wagon’s wheel ruts?”

“You’ve been on this path for a piece, and it is still dark yet.  The wheel ruts have only bruised the shoulder for a bit, and we are leading two wagons behind you.  Your wheel imprints will get lost among ours.  There is no way to distinguish them without the clarity of full daylight.  They woould have to ride back down the adjoining side road to get the level of distinction needed to tell them apart. What you need now is speed, and some way to keep those dogs off.  You won’t beat them for scent, or throw them off track unless you can get into water.  So you do the next best thing.”

“And what would that be?” I enjoined.

“You do something highly improbable. You switch rides. We take one of our wagons down through the gorge, disguised as yours.  The guards will naturally expect you to take the road with a wagon.  We’ve fooled them some into thinking we are a Xarmnian convoy bringing weapons from the Iron Hills forges.  Our wagons are drenched in the taint and scent of that place.  Their dogs’ senses are overloaded by the smell, and may not recognize your trail and sign in the eagerness of their pursuit.”

“But the main road is the only way down to the valley floor for a wagon,” Begglar interjected.  “What are we to do with the other wagons?”

“There is a narrow wooded trail below the brow uphead,” Storm Hawk pointed.

“We know of it,” Begglar assented, “We had considered abandoning the wagon in that wood path when it narrows to block riders in pursuit, but we would have to sacrifice many of the provisions we brought for the journey and bartering in the local towns ahead.  Protectorate are still loathe to walk when they can ride.  I thought we might get far enough ahead to lose them in the woods, but with their devil dogs…” he trailed off.

Storm Hawk nodded, having already formulated a considered plan, “Load your team into our weapons wagon.  You’re not gonna like the smell, but we have those vicious dogs to consider.  Your natural scents should be covered by it well enough. If they are not fooled, the Xarmnians’ll ignore the dogs if they think we’ve split up and sent the wagon one way and some foot travelers another.  The scented wagon will be what you abandon in the wood trail.  There is still a way down a little know back route to Azragoth, that we can take horses through.”

“Horses?! The wooded trail you speak of ends in only game trails, deer and such.  The main road is the only way down to the valley floor for a wagon,” Begglar interjected.  “What are we to do with the other wagons?”

“The winding roads down from the highlands are narrow and steep.  Difficult for horsemen to arrest the movement of a weighted wagon ahead, and there are only a few places where they might get around a decending team.  The split pursuers will be forced to follow it all the way down.  Raise the cover and hide the contents of the wagon.  We’ll do the same with our wagons.”

“That accounts for two wagons, what of Begglar’s wagon?” I asked.

“There is another narrow wooded trail along the ridge that cuts back into the valley where the Xarmnian stables are kept, but it is too wooded to be seen from a distance.  My men will bring your wagon down that path and return it to you later in Azragoth.  The Xarmnians will be curious enough to want whatever you’ve taken in the wagon that is so valuable that you’d risk being hampered by it.  They’ll have to split there riders up to be sure.  They’ll be as confused as I was why you might travel so slowly, knowing they are coming to kill you.”

“You said the Protectorate was watching us from above.  What will they make of us talking here?”

Maeven/Storm Hawk pursed her lips, “I am hoping they will think we captured you and are holding you as prisoners until they get down here.”

“Are you confident that gives us enough time to do all we are planning?”

“No,” she reined around gliding back up into the saddle, turning her horse and setting an arrow notch to the string of her bow and holding it there, all in one fluid and practiced motion. “There is another option.  You and your party will try once more to escape us, making a run just over the brow of this hill.  We’ll need to make that attempt look good,” she eyed me indicating what we and they must do for the pursuing audience now coming fast down the road behind us.

By then the horses and riders had reached us and were forming a perimeter around us.  In the moonlight, they were armed heavily and had their hands fisted, one with gathered reins and one resting on the pommel of the swords at their hips ready to draw them forth.

In a language, I did not know, Maeven shouted a command to them and the riders held their mounts steady for a moment.  The noises of the dogs were growing in the distance as were the other galloping strides of more oncoming horses.

“This ruse will not fool them for long,” Maeven said, “my Lehi horsemen will need to appear to pursue your company for a distance, so load the children in the wagon.  There is a rise ahead.  The pursuit will be silhouetted by the moon.”