Outracing the Flames RPG

[Undómë]

‘No need to call Dorran, Master Leod.’ Meghan sat down cross-legged on the ground beside Brand. She leaned forward and adjusted a cool cloth the healer had placed on Brand’s head since the chill he had been experiencing now gave way to a raging fever.

If you’ll bring us some broth and tea . . . oh, with your honey in it, just a little please. I’ll see what I can get into him. Me, too if you please,’ she finished off giving him a smile.

Turning her attention back to Brand, she leaned forward resting her right elbow on her knee. Her hand cupped her chin as she rocked just a little back and forth, thinking. ‘You know, I think I only got up to my eleventh year on the farm in Bregoware . . . the last time we talked . . . remember?’ She thought she heard a groan from him, though she could not tell whether it was from pain or the anticipation of listening to the seemingly never empty treasury of stories from her childhood.

Someone had come up and set a big bowl of broth thick with some minced meat from what the others were eating. And their mugs had been filled with sweet tea. Meghan propped Brand’s head and shoulders up on a couple of rolled blankets and spooned a little of each into his mouth, ordering him to swallow. ‘Don’t make me do like I’ve done for my goats sometimes when they’re off their feed, sick with something, and getting weaker.’ She gave him another spoonful of broth. ‘I’m sure you’ve used it on your sheep,eh? Tube down the throat to the tummy . . .’

‘Good, good. I see you’re swallowing well now.’ She took a few spoonfuls of broth herself and a big gulp of the sweetened tea. After a fair period of him sipping at the tea and broth, she let him rest. ‘I’d offer you a bite of this dried meat,’ she said taking a slender piece of smoked goat from the inner pocket of her vest. ‘But it’s rock hard and I think you’d be asleep before you got it to where you could swallow it.’

Meghan wiped his face with the cloth from his forehead. He seemed to be dropping into a restful sleep. His breathing had evened out, and he did not seem quite as hot. She spooned the remainder of the broth into her own mouth, speaking low to him, in a sing-songy, remembering sort of manner between the spoonfuls.

‘When I was eleven, I helped my brother deliver our first set of twin kids. It was a mild winter; I remember that. And the first soft breath of Spring was just blowing across the new grass, just sprung up. You know, how it is, Brand. The smell of the first trees in blossom was sweet in the air . . .’

[Arry]

Brand frowned as the smell of blossoms drifted into his consciousness.

But it is nearly winter. . . I’m sure of that . . . there should be no apple blossoms, only the scent of coming cold on the wind . . .

His brow smoothed out as he recognized the source of the voice. Meghan’s voice. That’s what had prompted his recollection . . . Brand smiled and relaxed beneath his blankets.

At the edges of his hearing the sounds of the camp crept in. Leod’s voice and the shuffle of his steps as he moved carefully from wounded to wounded. In the distance came the soft voices of Dorran and Athwen. Fion’s soft laugh rang out . . . a moment of ease. A woman’s low voice asked questions of Leod . . . Vaenosa, perhaps. Someone’s boots crunched against the ground. A purposeful step. Osmod, he thought.

From a distance came the nickering of the horses. For a moment he thought he might get up and see to Lady. But the effort of getting up was too much; he settled back in. Incana would most likely be taking care of the horses. They were in good hands. Eostre, too, perhaps.

Meghan’s voice insinuated itself against the background sounds, drawing back his attention. The scent of apple blossoms blew in again on the breeze of her words.

It had been a struggle, the birth of the two kids . . . she was eleven . . . he could see her thin, sturdy little body bent carefully over the one her brother had handed her . . .

[Tevildo]

Leod plopped down on the ground and stretched out his legs on a spot not far from where Brand was sleeping. He was having trouble sleeping. The healer had been working ever since they'd arrived in camp, and every joint in his body felt as if it had been fed through a giant meat grinder. Leod softly chided himself. What kind of a healer can I be, if I can't heal myself? But even the sharp pain in his knees was preferable to the more serious problem that continued to plague his mind.

A simple healer, he reflected, could only do so much. He would not have confided to the others, but Leod was beginning to fear that he did not have the skills or potions to help Sythric and Brand pull through and regain their health. He could see that both their wounds were beginning to fester. He'd applied the honey paste to each, when he'd changed their bandages, but had not told anyone else how serious the situation was.

If the men were lucky, the wounds would clear quickly, and healing would begin. If not,..... Leod did not even want to think about the "if not", not here in the middle of the woods where no other help was forthcoming. They had come too far and survived too much to consider the alternative. With both Brand and Sythric unable to offer leadership, it was important that he keep his head clear and try to put a good face on things.

Leod glanced over at Meghan. She was still near Brand, occasionally checking on him and offering words of encouragement. Leod could not help but chuckle. "Mistress, you have a tongue on you," the older man quipped. "But you also have a way with people. You would make a good healer." This was the highest compliment that Leod could offer to any living thing. Then he nodded over towards Sythric. "I need to rest a spell. If you could stay awake, I would be much obliged. Could you keep an eye on Sythric as well as Brand? If you see any change in how they look, please wake me at once. Don't stop and ask if you should. Just do it. Don't worry. I will be up in an hour or two. I learned that knack long ago. But someone will have to sit with them meanwhile. I am afraid night often brings the worst..... "

The healer swallowed the rest of his words, afraid he had said too much, pulled up his blankets and drifted off to sleep.

[Farael]

As night fell, it was time for rest. Yet almost none of the riders could find any. Osmod had volunteered for the first watch, even though it was a watch only in name for there were many of them who were still awake. Leod had gone to get some sleep and Meghan was looking over Sythric and Brand who seemed to be injured the most. It would be something to consider the following morning, yet Osmod had other things to worry about. He had heard some of the tells Sythric and Ræwald had shared by the bonfire when they thought all of the rest were asleep and he wondered how it would be like to be a rider of The Mark. Visions of glory and fame ran through Osmod’s mind as he walked to the fire to get a cup of hot tea. He imagined himself sitting tall on his mount, his armour shining on the sun as he and his fellow riders charged against hordes of orcs –and were victorious. Absently he reached for the kettle, dreaming now about the time he would gain recognition in the field of battle and as a proof of his prowess he’d leave the head of an orc impaled on his spear as a warning to any other of those foul beasts that may follow.

Yet this orc’s head was hot. Burning hot. So hot Osmod could not help to let out a cry, as he found himself dragged back to reality and the fact that he had been holding on to the kettle, and not by the handle. Cursing at his lapse of attention he emptied half of his water-skin on his scorched fingers. For a moment he tried to act as if he was alright, yet the pain on his hand was just too much to bear. Feeling embarrassed and ashamed, he walked over to Leod who seemed to be at least partially awake and asked for a little help with his burns. He did not even hear what the healer replied, embarrassed as he was.

[Undómë]

Meghan looked up at Osmod’s cursing. She frowned, watching him pour water over his hand. ‘What on earth has he done to himself?’ she wondered as he passed by where she sat with Brand; she had missed his unfortunate encounter with the hot kettle.

Brand was asleep, his face relaxed, breathing even. She put the palm of her hand against his forehead, noting it had grown cooler. Meghan chewed at the corner of her bottom lips considering whether he would stay asleep. She glanced over at Sythric, he seemed comfortable, too, for the moment. Chancing that her charges would not do something foolish, Meghan stood up and hurried to where Osmod stood talking low to Leod.

‘Oh, Osmod! That must hurt horribly!’ she said taking his burned hand in her own. Meghan glanced up from her inspection of the blistered fingers and reddened palm to his face. In the wavering light of the fire she could see his cheeks were a little crimsoned; though it seemed not from the pain. She could see the hand did indeed hurt him but he seemed to be holding back the pain well.

‘Let me get your salves and such and your rolls of bandage, Leod,’ she went on, turning her attention to the healer. ‘And a little cool water . . . yes? . . . to clean the burn.’

‘Don’t worry, Osmod,’ she said. ‘We . . . well, that is, Leod, I mean, will soon get you fixed up.’

Meghan was glad the night hid her own reddened cheeks as she went to fetch Leod’s supplies. Don’t let Leod’s words swell your head, girl! she chided herself as she hurried along.

[Tevildo]

The young man lowered his lanky frame to the ground, offering his injured hand to the healer. Seeing the sheepish look that was spreading quickly over Osmod's face, Leod said nothing more that might increase the lad's embarassment, but merely nodded gruffly to Meghan to run and fetch his supplies.

Leod carefully inspected Osmod's fingers and palm, and then told the young man to sit for some time with his hand in a pot of cold water, explaining that it would take away some of the sting. After that, Leod called Osmod back again and put on some salve and a bandage, adding a word of explanation. "By the morning you should be feeling much better. It's not a bad burn. You should be left with a blister or two but hopefully nothing more than that. Best thing you can do now is sleep. I'll take a look at the dressing in the morning. Still, you might want to be careful not to reinjure it. Hold your reins in your other hand when you ride tomorrow and, a day or two from now, you'll probably forget this ever happened."

As Osmod headed off in the direction of his bedroll, Leod spoke to Meghan. "This doesn't look to be a night when I'm meant to get much sleep. Of course, you're welcome to help out if you want but you might want to think about getting some sleep yourself in an hour or so. I am going off on my own, not far from camp, to find some herbs that I badly need but I expect to be back very shortly to relieve you. Still, until I return, I would appreciate if you would tend to the injured. I don't like leaving camp at a time like this, but unfortunately I have no choice. And you do seem to have a way with tending to the sick." With that Leod stood up to gather his things, being careful to take along a stave and knife in case he ran into something unexpected, however unlikely that might me. He also carried a small lighted torch so that he could see the pathway more clearly.

Back home in his village, Leod often made a practice of going out after dark to gather herbs that he needed. There were certain types of plants that were actually easier to find by night than day, especially various lichens growing on rotted wood that were reputed to be excellent in dressing wounds. During the day, these humble grey plants would melt into their surroundings but at night some would give off an eerie luminescence. Perhaps it wasn't the wisest thing to be going out on his own, but Leod desperately needed more medications to help care for Brand and Sythric. The woods seemed quiet. He did not want to rob sleep from anyone else by insisting that they go with him. Everyone was too tired, and several were injured. He was the healer, and it was his responsibility to have the herbs and potions that would give both Sythric and Brand the best chance of staying alive. With that thought uppermost in his mind, Leod grabbed a sack, threw on his cloak, and with the briefest nod to Meghan strode out of camp. No one followed him and in a short time he had cut across the country, going far off the path, in search of the precious lichens.

[Arry]

Brand wakened briefly to see Leod bandaging someone’s hand. Osmod! Had there been another skirmish? No . . . some other mishap had happened. His gaze traveled round the little camp. All seemed peaceful enough. A number of the group were settled in around the fire, talking quietly; some were getting their own bedrolls put out for the night.

Meghan it appeared had finished checking on Vaenosa and was just now adjusting the blankets on Sythric. He saw her glance toward Osmod and then away. Brand raised himself on one elbow watching as she retrieved her blankets and looked about for somewhere to lay them out. She looked tired.

A twinge of guilt poked him. She had had little sleep the previous night from her watch on him. And she would be just as watchful tonight if he gave her reason to. He settled down again beneath his blankets and closed his eyes, smoothing out his face and breathing slowly as if resting peacefully.

He saw her settling in, less than an arm’s reach from where he lay. Brand smiled as she turned on her side and pulled the covers about her. He intended she sleep well this night, at least on his account. He would give her no trouble.

His fever still coursed through him, he could feel the heat of it filling the small spaces between his body and his own blanket. And the small movement he had made just to look about made his shoulder feel as if red hot pokers were being plunged though the flesh and bone. He clenched his jaw stifling a gasp as he tried to settle into a position of comfort. And such a position seemed very hard to find.

’Twill be a long night, boyo . . . he rasped to himself, pressing his right hand against the bandage on his left shoulder. Put your thoughts elsewhere than this infernal pain . . . remember one of the old tales great-granda used to tell you . . . the one about the Elves . . . and how they looked, so tall and shining upon their silver dappled horses . . . grey eyes glinting from their fair faces in the moonlight . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

"Hold tight to your bow, and keep your sword near at hand, for we may have need of these before this grim night has ended." The tall figure who rode in front hastily pulled his hood over his head, while the others in his party did the same. Anyone watching them from the nearby woods would have seen only the shadowy eyes of the lead rider; the stern look on his face, his features and form, were completely hidden from outside view. This was how he and the others preferred it.

"Come along now. Stop this idle chatter. No time for song or riddle or play." The rider at the head of the small column turned back to the others, urging them forward.

"Can we not rest, make camp for a short spell?" the youngest of the group implored, his body and head weakly sagging. Though all were strong and healthy, the ride had not been easy. They had ridden northward now for a full three days.

"No, impossible! After what happened earlier, you can not possibly suggest this. There is little safety for us in these lands. Indeed, rest is a luxury we can ill afford. We must and will defend our kin. This time I will not hesitate if any cross our path. We must reach the High Pass and cross over the mountain. It is our only hope in these troubled times."

"We should not have come!" came a stern voice from the solitary figure who rode in the back.

"Perhaps not," his companion responded. "But we could not leave without seeing the Edhellond . Too much of my heart is there." He did not add what the others were thinking: that the sight of the rocky promontory and the long-deserted harbors had brought happiness to none of them. Too many ghosts were whistling in the wind, too many folk who had forgotten. What had been even more shocking is that there had been laughs and jeers of disbelief from some of those in town. And then, once they had made their way back along the river, the attackers had come. He had not been prepared. This time, Nilhil vowed, he would be the one to attack first and ask questions later. He owed it to the others, for they had put their trust in him.

"Remember now," he growled. If you see or hear anything, let me know. Believe and trust no one. Even a solitary traveller may only be the lead man in an entire armed company."

With that, the party of six riders, all tall in body and carrying arms of great value and beauty, stepped onto the path again , swiftly making their way northward.