|
The wooden cart wheels creaked and moaned under the weight of their payload. The pulling horse snorted as he glimpsed tantalizing bits of Bermuda grass just outside of his lounging reach. The familiar voice ushered him forward.
Tigerhawke peered out from underneath the brim of her black hat. The long red feather flittered in the early morning breeze.
Ghostiger gripped the hilt of his black blade tucked under his right breast while puffing on a bit of hobbit grass he had procured from the many gifts that had been bestowed to the pair from their visit to Artus Pass. The small celebration turned tragedy managed to retain a glimmer of hope. Their newly forged alliance marked the beginning of many prosperous crossing in the seasons to pass.
The goblin war party had managed to track the scent for two days now. Even the orcish shaman managed to echo the outlines of a familiar image. The heart and cross. They could almost taste the majicks that emanated from the device. They had prepared their ambush point with feverish haste. Here, they would pounce on the weary travelers, making a quick meal of the soft flesh that covered pretty bone.
She wiped her sweaty brow and took a swig of the mead Grunk had gifted her. Drinking deeply she chuckled thinking of what the Sheriff's reaction would be when he'd have realized his banner was missing. The wet splatter made her blink in confused anger. The black arrow shaft vibrated, lodged in the broken bottle still pressed against her lips. The warped arrow was of goblin make and could only mean on thing, Goblins!
Ghostiger leapt to his feet and met an airborne goblin, securing his twin blades snuggly into the gurgling throat of his fallen enemy. Their shrieks gave no measurable count as to the number they would face. The crackling energy broke the stale air, impossible to ignore.
The thunderous voice began to chant 'Iceball Iceball...'. Tigerhawke looked over her shoulder and confirmed with her own doubting eyes. "ENIAD!" The living mountain twisted on the spot and effortlessly hacked a pair of goblin warriors with a single swing of his long sword. He snapped his gaze back to the stunned Red Storm official before nodding a quick thank ye and continued his majickal chants.
Flint threw himself into the fray as he bashed goblin brain in with sword and board. Torgas had begun to keep count on how many heads he could pop like ripe grapes. Shadowhawk's aim made for excellent fireside tales as well. Even their new found ally - Caesar swung his dual wielded swords with unrelenting courage.
Tigerhawke laughed out to the heavens knowing they would indeed see Red Storm again and joke about this moment, but now was not that time. She reached for her bow when a dark shiver washed over her. Before she could look up, she was face to face with the familiar face. It took seconds to materialize, empty orbs staring back at her followed by his sly smile.
"I believe this belongs to me..." hissed the dark shade as he reached for the fluttering banner. He took a moment to examine it and grinned wildly. "Now this is an improvement..." Tigerhawke nervously chuckled knowing his cryptic compliments were to be well received. "I knew you'd appreciate it Sut..." His dagger sang right above her head as the gasping goblin slid down next to her.
"We'll discuss this over breakfast m'lady..." Before she could agree with the assassin, Sutra was out of sight and somewhere in the fray. Without hesitation, Tigerhawke reached her bow and tugged at her quiver with bloodthirsty shafts. Her aim was impeccable.
The clouds raced across the sky as the goblin shrieks died out one by one. Soon, the caravan would be within the temporary safety of Red Storms walls.
There, they would regroup and invite the stragglers from Artus Pass to partake in the revelries they called the Ides of March.
S
[con't]
_________________
The general who advances without seeking fame and retreats without fearing disgrace, whose only thought is to protect his country and do service for his sovereign, is the jewel of his kingdom. -Sun Wu
|
