I claim no ownership rights to any of the works of Rumiko Takahashi, or anything I've borrowed and modified from the Banestorm setting published by Steve Jackson Games.
The mega-map of Yrth can be found at www. sjgames [.com] /gurps/books/banestorm/img/banestorm_world. jpg (remove spaces and brackets).
Miyo instantly awoke at the soft touch on her shoulder. She opened her eyes to the pre-dawn night still so dark that she could only see the faint form of her awakener, outlined by the still-strengthening breakfast fire. Stifling a groan, she forced herself up out of her blankets into the cool night air, cool enough that if there'd been light enough she would have seen her breath, and stretched to work out the kinks from yet another night on the hard, uneven ground beneath the trees. She murmured, "The Wolf Hour shift?"
"Their replacements are headed out now," her awakener — Akane, again — reported, "they should be in any moment."
"Good." Instead of the usual practice of leaving the pickets serving out the last watch of the night in place until everyone was up, she'd taken the Kildar's advice to replace them with fresh people. After all, the early morning was one of the traditional times for a surprise attack, best to have pickets in place that hadn't already spent hours staring at nothing.
Miyo rose to her feet and stretched again, before crouching to find her leather armor, quiver and short sword by feel and memory. Rising again, she slipped them on with the help of her self-appointed bodyguard, then picked up her crossbow and headed for the fire to help with breakfast. She didn't really have anything else to do at the moment (Sergeants Kahori, Elfrithr and Osric had taken her aside a few days after she'd become the Scouts' sole lieutenant and explained the hazards of micromanaging), but she refused to just stand around and look self-important.
As she dished up porridge for the tired scouts that had picket duty for the last watch, she accepted the ready reports from her two sergeants (Osric standing back even more than he'd been doing when she was first promoted, at this point really just watching and giving occasional private advice), then glanced up at the sky. Being encamped in the middle of a forest she couldn't see the lightening horizon, but she thought the few stars visible through the trees were dimming. It wouldn't be long, now, before she'd be able to tell the difference between a white thread and a black one. "Replace the relief pickets so they can eat," she ordered, "we'll be moving out when it's light enough we won't be tripping over tree roots." Those orders wouldn't be a surprise to anyone, it was the routine for the past several days, since King Conall had decided they were close enough to wait for Lord Towne to meet him, but the repetition seemed to make everyone happier.
The relief pickets straggled in and she dished out their porridge then stood as she listened to the soft snippets of conversation around her as her scouts waited for the day, wondering if this would be the day the rebels showed up. Between one breath and another she knew — today would be the Day.
"Miyo? Miyo, talk to me, what's wrong? ... Miyo!"
Awareness of the world around her seeped back in, and Miyo realized that arms were around her, a worried Akane kneeling on the ground, holding her in her lap, scouts gathered around. She eased herself out of her friend's embrace and sat up, briefly smiling her thanks before rising to her feet and offering Akane a hand up. "Akane, go to the king," she ordered in the Anglic that was everyone's common language. "Wake him up, tell him that I said that Lord Towne will be showing up today — he needs to get the army up and moving as quickly as possible. Then catch up with us."
"But —"
"You're one of the newcomers, Ranma's wife. Between that and the sparring exhibition you two put on a week ago, his guards will take you more seriously than anyone but me and I can't leave. So go!"
Akane jerked a nod and was gone.
Miyo looked around and called out, "Kahori! Elfrithr!" Her sergeants materialized out of the fading night. "It's going to be today, but I don't know when," she said firmly before they had a chance to say anything. "Spread the word we're going to be double-timing to the ford."
Her sergeants nodded and separated, one headed east and the other west through the forest to pass the word. At least we won't be making as much noise as we would a little later, Miyo thought as she sat down to wait for them to return. The leaves of the intermittent woods they had been marching through the past week had been turning brilliant shades of orange, red and yellow, but had only just begun to fall as the nights grew colder.
It was only when the Scouts were headed for the ford that the doubts hit. What if today wasn't the Day? She had expected another visitation from Deborah to pass along any prophecies. That was the way it had worked so far ... how it had always worked in what she'd read of the Bible ..., dreams, visions, visiting angels, not pure knowledge shoved into her mind like ... like ... she didn't know what it was like, she'd just known, as certain as the tides. What if thanks to her own anxieties she was just deluding herself?
So when the forward scouts fell back to report that there was already an army crossing at the ford and King Conall's oh-so-clever plan had just fallen apart, her first emotion was pure, selfish relief.
/oOo\
Armstan threw off his blankets and sprang to his fur-topped feet looking around frantically, the halfling alert for any sound to indicate that they'd been found again ... nothing. His shoulders slumped in relief and he rolled up his blankets, then picked up his crossbow and strode over to the tiny, smokeless fire where breakfast was cooking, softly murmuring to those of his followers he passed to pack up and pass the word. The foresters had proven better than he'd expected — the halfling natural stealth facing off against years, even decades of experience and proving wanting — and even as deep into the forest as they were the core of the incipient rebellion against Lord #### of Oakwood had been too long in their current camp.
But we didn't have a choice, he reminded himself, not with the arrow Hobson took in his thigh. The other wounded could keep up with us, but not him— and it's tough to sneak about while being carried on a stretcher. Which was true, but it had required Armstan to break away from his little war of ambushes and escapades to get him to safety. If he ever did this again, he would set up a base camp where the wounded could recover and his men (and a few women) could relax between raids.
But that was a 'shoulda-coulda', and with Hobson mostly recovered it was time to get back into the fight before all those men-at-arms went home.
He'd just finished his own bowl of leftover venison stew when one of the sentries slipped into the clearing. "Foresters," he said quietly, "coming this way."
By now they had moving out in a hurry down to a routine — though they didn't have time to clean up to the point that it would look like they'd never been there, not as long as they'd stayed — and in no time (or orders) they were ghosting through the forest, crossbows drawn and quarrels in place, with those that hadn't stood watch in the lead as scouts and those who'd stood the last watch bringing up the rear.
And almost immediately, Rowan, one of the lead scouts, was racing back, her blond ponytail rippling against her back. "Men-at-arms up ahead," she murmured as she fell in alongside Armstan.
Armstan felt his heart stutter at the news, but managed to push through the shock to whistle out the pattern of bird-calls for a halt in place, then the pattern for group leaders assembly. As soon as they arrived, he said to them and the rest of the hobbits close by, "If the child-slaving bastards are in front and behind, they're probably on both sides and we don't have time to check. Besides, not everyone will have heard the alarm and stopped. So we're gonna sneak as close to the men-at-arms in front of us as we can and when I yell out we'll give 'em one volley then charge, bull our way through the line in front. Don't stop for anything, or you'll just get trapped when the rest close in. Scatter when you're clear, we'll meet at ... everyone remember the camp two weeks ago, with the waterfall? We'll meet there. Now spread out and pass the word, as quick as you can, we're outta time."
His mood darkened as he ghosted forward, and he castigated himself for every misstep that had led to this disaster. It was so obvious now that he should have sent to wounded away to be cared for by some of their supporters in the villages, instead of letting off the pressure on the foresters and men-at-arms, that even if he had kept everyone together he should have shifted camp at least once, and why hadn't he arranged more birdcalls than 'stop in place' and 'go'? Why hadn't he set up a rally point ahead of time? There was no way that everyone was going to get the word, especially the rear guard. And even if the ones that didn't get the word simply charged with the rest, some of them were going to end up wandering lost in the forest. Once as many of us get to the waterfall as are going to, I'll hafta hold a vote, see if they still want me in charge. He honestly couldn't think who could do a better job, but at the moment he couldn't see how anyone could do worse.
Then he caught the first hint of an armsman ahead trying to hide behind a tree, and froze in place. It wouldn't be long before his rear guard caught up, and they'd see how generous God was feeling this day.
/oOo\
Sir Domitius waited in the second line of men-at-arms, drawn sword resting on one shoulder and uncaring of the long-accustomed weight of his chain mail, struggling to remain at least outwardly calm and confident as he waited for his lord's foresters to hopefully sweep the rebels into the waiting ambush, assuming they were there (it was the third site he'd set up a sweep for, after all). Not that he had much hope that ambush would go undetected, of course, not as stealthy as even untrained halflings could be, but he hadn't left them any choice but to either try to break through his lines, or double back and try to break through the foresters with their bows. Either way, they would find multiple lines of men-at-arms to force their way past. There would be leakers, of course, he didn't have enough troops for the solid lines necessary to stop at least some from escaping, but enough should be killed or captured to break the back of the rebellion, reduce the survivors to scattered banditry.
Not that there would be many prisoners, not if his men had picked up on the hints he'd dropped that they would not be welcome. He was already heartsick of the whole brutal catastrophe his new sworn lord's blind stupidity had inflicted on Oakwood and had no desire to oversee the drawing, hanging and quartering for treason of a multitude of prisoners when that lord had tried to engineer the seizure their children and siblings to be sold off as slaves. Sex slaves, most likely in the case of the maidens, he had no illusions about that. He had no idea what Lord Brance was thinking, but it was his duty as his lord's sworn man to carry out his wishes however ugly they might be. But at least it would soon be over and he could put it behind him.
A suddenly horn rang out and even as he came fully alert at the signal from his foresters that this time they'd found the rebels' camp, a loud shout came from just ahead of the first line ahead of him and that line was abruptly no longer there as armsman after armsman collapsed, fell backward, stumbled about screaming as they clutched at quarrels imbedded in cheek or eye. Only a handful were left in the first line, and he had only a moment for a horrified glance along the row of fallen to realize they had all been taken down by head shots before screaming hobbits erupted out of the brush and charged toward the survivors. How had even halflings gotten that close!?
The wounded! Jerking himself out of his shock at his first line's instant decimation, he shouted, "Forward, now!" He led the charge himself, to pull those of his men that hadn't heard or understood along with him, then sighed with relief as the hobbits coming to meet him dodged around the few survivors of the first line without stopping.
I suppose they don't have time to finish off the wounded, he thought distantly even as his descending blade hacked away one hobbit's arm at the shoulder, then looped sideways and up to slice deep into the skull of another hobbit trying to dodge around him. He twisted the blade to dislodge it from the writhing soon-to-be corpse, and felt fresh shock hammer into him at the sight of the hobbit's well-developed chest. He'd just cut down a maiden. And where there was one, there'd be more. I really hope none of the men show any of them misplaced mercy, he thought grimly as he whirled and lunged after another hobbit that had slipped by him, sending a head bouncing across the forest floor. Drawing, hanging and quartering was a punishment only applied to men ... the women would be burned at the stake, instead. Much better a clean death.
Suddenly fire seemed to pierce through his throat, and he was choking. Hot wet was flowing down his throat, both inside and out, and he couldn't breathe! He dropped his sword and clutched at his neck with both hands, for his fingers to find the slim shaft of what must be a hobbit's quarrel. The wet heat was blood filling his lungs and drenching the quilted cloth under his chain mail. He dropped to his knees as the dark gathered round, and smiled as the world faded away. At least he wouldn't have to listen to the screams of men (and whatever his lord thought they were men, even if they weren't human) as they were hung until nearly dead, then cut down, emasculated, disemboweled and beheaded before their bodies were hacked into quarters and put on display ... or the more high-pitched screams of their wives or sisters as they were wreathed in flames. It was a fair trade.
/\
Konatsu watched as the man he hoped was the Sir Domitius Nabiki had asked him to kill toppled over to thrash on the ground even as two halflings jumped over him to disappear into the forest. He waited until the knight slumped bonelessly in death, then carefully slung his crossbow across his back and began the climb up higher into the tree from which he'd taken the shot. He was just grateful that the leaves had only just begun falling, in a week or so there wouldn't have been enough left for cover and while he was certain he could escape if detected, Nabiki had been crystal clear on the need for the assassination to appear to be a chance happening of the battle. Of course, she'd also wanted him to wait until whatever was happening up north kicked off and the lording here erupted in rebellion, and he hadn't been able to do that. But with this ambush of the rebels' camp he hadn't thought that he'd have a second chance — there might not be a rebellion after this.
Reaching the perch he'd picked out, he pulled the carved stick he'd used to allow his crossbow to fire a quarrel sized to a halfling's and broke it up, stuck the pieces underneath a slit in the bark, then went still. He figured he'd spend the rest of the day in his tree, then come down in the early morning darkness and look for the opportunity to do some eavesdropping, make certain he'd killed the right man. Hopefully, after that he could begin the trip north to rejoin his mistress.