Interlude – On The Horizon
“Kord’s balls, what the hell?” the guard exclaimed looking out at the east road. A naked figure was stumbling down the road, covered in blood. As it dropped in the packed dirt in front of the gate she could see it was not only naked but most of the skin of it’s arms and upper chest had been removed. In the distance at the top of the first rise of the road she spied what could only be a warband of hobgoblins.
A shout, the gruff voice of her sergeant barked up from below, “What is it trooper!?”
“There’s a man, I think it’s a man, he’s hurt, hurt bad in the road below and I shit you not sarge there’s a full hob warband no more than 200 yards up the road.”
“Awww shit. Coleson, Donal, Tig spread the alarm, I want every square foot of this gods damn wall manned and I want it done NOW!”
Pounding feet sped off behind her and the brazen clanging of the alarm bell started to sound. The halberd in her hand didn’t seem nearly as impressive as the dim light glinted off the naked steel arrayed among the hobgoblins. The ladder behind her creaked under the massive form of the dragonborn sergeant.
“Well fuck me sideways…” Sergeant Drakotta said softly.
“What do you want to do about him Sarge?” she said pointing out the bleeding figure below.
“Shit, can’t leave him there. And they’re held up far enough way for someone fast to get out and get him. I remember you’re speedy Bawndi. Get down that ladder, grab Hork and get out there and get him.”
“Crap Sarge, why…”
“Cut it trooper, get your ass down there now or you’ll be safer out there than here!”
Bawndi grimaced and nodded. She slid down the ladder dropping lightly to the ground below. “Hork! Get your skinny ass front and center, Sarge has a job for us. Tally, you and Peete open the gate, we’re going to run out there and grab that guy. If the hobgoblins charge you slam the gate you make gods damn sure that there’s no way I can make it back before they get to the gate or I swear to all hells I’ll have your ass no matter what it takes.”
As two of the guard turned the winches that pulled the massive bars back from the gate, Bawndi and Hork, a thin almost scrawny human but with surprising strength, stood poised as the thick iron bound wooden gates parted sideways. As soon as the gap was big enough to squeeze through they did so, sprinting down the road toward the bloodied figure.
Bawndi slid to a halt next the man, eyes taking in the ruin, the skin was gone from his shoulders in long strips that ran halfway down his back. She knelt, not sure where to grab the man as Hork retched next to her. “Suck it up! You toss on me and I’ll make you pay for a long time.” she hissed glancing up at the other watchman, tossing a glance toward the hobgoblins that remained motionless in the distance. “Grab the hands, I’ll get the feet. Hurry up gods damnit!”
Together they picked the man up, carefully but quickly rolling him over and then moved back to the gate at an awkward shuffle, Hork moving backwards to keep an eye on the hobgoblins. Â With release of held breath they passed through the gate again, multiple watch including the Anvil mercenaries were gathered around, weapons ready. A stretcher appeared and they laid the man on it. A watch healer stepped up and laid a hand on the man’s forehead and a glow appeared around her fingers and sank into the man’s flesh, the flesh knitting and healing.
The man screamed sitting bolt upright then trying to lunge away, troopers grabbing him and pressing him back down. His struggles died as his terror filled eyes took in his surroundings. Sargeant Drakotta pushed through the crowd, squatted by the man, “What’s going on? Who are you?”
The man shook his head, stammered, “Stanal, my names Stanal. They destroyed the village, killed everyone! They kept me alive to deliver a message.”
“What’s the message? What village?”
“My home, Greenoak village.”
One of the watch spoke up, “I know the place Sarge, maybe ten buildings, about thirty or forty people.”
Without looking back, Drakotta rasped out, “Next man that speaks is going to regret being birthed. Now, you, Stanal, what do they want?”
“They want some book they say is here, some book with a name in it. They’ll give you a week to come up with it. Every week they don’t get it, another village dies. When they run out of villages then they’ll march on the city.”
“What the fuck? A book?”
“Yes, that’s what they said. Said someone would know what they’re talking about.”
A voice called down, “Sarge, they’re moving out, heading south.”
Drakotta rocked back on his heels, shook his head. “Well someone sure as shit ain’t me.” He rose, yanking the man up with him, hand locked like a bear trap on his wrist. Bawndi, you’re with me. We’re taking this one to the captain. Frost, take over here. Keep them on their toes and keep everyone’s eyes open. This could be a feint of some kind. Send runners, make sure the east gate is covered and send someone to Joncel and make sure he’s got the river side sewn up.”
“Aye sarge.” replied a hardbitten trooper, “I’ll get’em moving.”
“Come on you, let’s go. And someone get these people moving, show’s over!”
Drakotta lead the way down the road at a swift pace, the farmer behind him and Bawndi trailing, naked steel in her hand and mistrust on her face.
