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Old 11-30-2006, 01:49 AM   #292
Child of the 7th Age
Spirit of the Lonely Star
 
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Lindir:

Somewhere amid the swirling sands and raucous sounds of battle, the two groups of archers had become separated. Noticing that one of the slavers had made it over the trench and veered off towards the south to avoid capture, Lindir and two of the freed slaves headed down the same path, braving the howling gusts of wind which slowed their progress and prevented them from seeing very far ahead. The horse on which the slaver was mounted had been wounded in the flanks leaving a trail of blood to follow. From the look of the blood soaked ground, the Elf guessed that the rider would not be able to get very far before the animal’s wounds would require him to dismount and go ahead on foot. That would make it considerably easier for the archers to catch up.

Lindir’s guess had been right. Moving as quickly and quietly as they could, the three had stumbled upon the man’s horse floundering on the plain no more than two hundred paces away from the tunnel. Still, there was something that bothered Lindir. Why would this attacker continue to plunge south with such certainty? Either he was deserting the fight or expected to find something that would help him.

The answer was not long in coming. Before they’d advanced another two hundred feet, they came to a stretch of terrain littered with giant boulders. Even with the howling of the storm, Lindir could make out mannish voices coming from just ahead. The man they were pursuing had apparently found some of his companions. Using a boulder for cover, Lindir peered out and could just make out two men on horseback. The slaver who’d lost his mount had now been heaved up behind one of these and was continuing to talk.

Lindir glanced over at his two companions. The one crouching beside him was a lithe and healthy woman in her thirties, the other a young man who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Both had been members of the original slave band that had escaped several years before. They were swift runners and experienced hunters, but neither had any training in conventional battle techniques or actually fought in a war.

Lindir made a quick decision, “I would give a great deal to have three horses right now, or to know where our cavalry is. But wishing won’t get us far. We are the only three here, and we need to figure out a way to harass these fellows on horseback, even if we are on foot. We’re not an army, and we can’t attack them directly. But all three of us are used to stalking and hunting creatures. The wind is our friend. They dare not take off at a gallop since they cannot see and would risk falling into a chasm or have their horses pull up lame. Even on foot, we can keep up. Let’s not let them know we’re here. We’ll wing out an arrow now and again and retreat quickly. It would be better if we had the cover of trees, but we can make do with the rocks and low growing vegetation. We’ll have to be careful, quiet, and fast--just as we might be in hunting a large and dangerous animal-- since the slavers are sure to try and get back at us.”

“But I don’t understand,” Gretl objected. “Didn’t the slavers attack us at the trench? Who are these men?”

“The group split before they entered camp. There must be others scattered about as well.” A grim image of the grove where the women and children were hiding flashed across Lindir's mind. But for the moment, he could do nothing about that. He pushed away that thought and added, “I don’t where their captain is, but he’s not here. Gretl, Wulf, now is as good a time as any for our scheme. The rocks will help us. Just let your arrow loose and run like mad to get out of the way. Come now. Let’s hunt some game!” Crouching low and carefully advancing from boulder to boulder, they made their way across the plain towards the spot where the men were talking.

Last edited by Child of the 7th Age; 01-23-2007 at 06:47 AM.
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