FrivYeti/CalinPg23
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"How many do we have?" Garamond Silas looked through the trees at the burning fort, shaking his head slowly. A long cut bled shallowly down his side, and he coughed, turning to glance back at his decimated troop.
"We've got twelve men walking, and four more unconscious." Halward Patrick winced, rubbing his arm. "Could be as many as ten more scattered through the woods, though. Rabalais's not with us, and I saw him leading three or four folk out another way back in the fort." He sighed quietly. "Sir, what are we going to do? We must have killed a hundred of those monsters, but they just kept coming."
"We fall back to the town." Silas gritted his teeth, turning and walking back towards the soldiers waiting in the trees. The battle had been long and vicious. In the end, it had fallen to corridor-to-corridor battles throughout the fortress, as the hobgoblins isolated and overwhelmed the human defenders. Iron and steel failed before faerie magics, and most of his men were dead. Silas had fought a retreat from the fortress, and his forces had managed to break off and retreat - but they were remnants, not a fighting force, and he knew that. "If we're lucky, this is the only invading force. We can link up with the other soldiers and defend the city."
Patrick stared at him a moment. "How will that help, sir? The southern fort doesn't have any more men than we do. There must be a thousand hobgoblins still out there. We have to run!"
"Run where, Halward?" Silas glared at his companion for a moment, and Patrick looked away. "The city can't evacuate faster than the Fair Folk can attack. We have to, at the very least, hold the fae off for that to happen."
"Yes, sir." After a moment, Halward nodded, and started towards the others. Silas followed him to the clearing where fourteen men waited, some sitting, others lying down, and a few standing guard. He looked over the sorry bunch, and sighed again. Halward, in his own way, was right. These men weren't up for another fight. He didn't have more than eight without notable wounds, and they were demoralized. He swore quietly, glancing around, and then froze. Turning around, he looked at the trees that surrounded him, trying to figure out what was wrong. It was quiet - the animals had fled the battle, and no birds sang.
Then, he heard it again. Snapping twigs. Drawing his sword, he stepped forwards, waving the guards to position. Figures moved through the trees. He gritted his teeth, hissing back to Halward. "Prepare to retreat. Meet back at the town if you get seperated." Halward nodded, face pale, and Silas turned his attention back to the advancing foe.
Coming out of the trees, a man forged of rock and bone stood at the head of a troop of hobgoblins. Silas counted twenty-five, and his heart sank. The Fair Folk lord laughed, a deep, booming sound, and raised his club in salute. "Well met, human. You have run us a good game, but the game ends here." He smiled, taking a step forwards. "Drop your weapons, and some of you may live."
Silas took a step towards the Fair Folk, raising his sword. "I do not fear you, monster. Come, face a master-at-arms, and we'll see how strong you are."
"You must be joking." The lord's chuckle faded as he watched Silas stand resolutely, and one great rocky eyebrow rose. "Well, then." With one hand, he waved the hobgoblins back, and tossed his club to one side. "You have my attention, mortal. I am Goras, the Hillcleaver. Who may I say I slew?"
"I am Captain Garamond Silas, master of the army of Calin, and I stand against you, Goras Hillcleaver." Silas raised his sword in salute, and settled into a fighting pose. Goras smiled again, cracking his neck with the sound of a rumbling landslide.
"Ah, I see. So iron runs through the blood of all in your family, Garamond Silas. Very well. I will present your head to your son as a token of our victory." With that, he leapt forwards.
He was a blur of motion, a frightening avalanche despite his size. Silas had never seen anything that large move that fast, and found himself driven back on the defensive almost immediately. He ducked under the first great fist, his sword raised to ward off the enemy, and risked a counter-attack - his sword clanged uselessly off Goras's stony skin.
Cursing under his breath, Silas dove under another blow, which shattered a tree into splinters, and twisted his sword around. Taking a deep breath, he dove under the Fair Folk, stabbing upwards with both hands as he slid under the lord. Goras began to turn, and then let out a grunt of pain as the sword slipped through a crack between rocks and stabbed into his flesh. The lord cursed, reaching behind him, and grabbed the blade of the sword, turning rapidly. Silas scrambled backwards as the sword was torn from his grip, and he smiled grimly as the lord glared down at him.
"That was a cunning trick, mortal, but not cunning enough." Casually, Goras withdrew the sword, black with his own blood, and snapped it in half. With lightning speed, he kicked outwards, catching Silas in the chest, and sending him flying backwards into a tree. Silas coughed up blood, staggering to his feet, but the Fair Folk was already at him. Grabbing him by the head, he slammed Silas back into the tree, and wood splintered. His vision swimming, Silas tried desperately to clear his head as Goras chuckled. "This was a fun little game, and I would normally continue it. But I have no time. Perhaps I will keep your broken body mostly intact for your son. That might be... interesting." With another grin, he raised a great fist, ready to hammer it straight through his enemy's chest.
The arrow came out of nowhere. For a fraction of a second, Goras couldn't figure out why there was a searing pain in his back. Then the sheer pain registered, and he roared in agony, reaching backwards and tearing it from his back. For a moment, he stared at the iron head, coated in blood, and felt the pain of a blow that had landed perfectly between his shoulders. A second arrow came flying, and he batted it aside with one hand, roaring his defiance. "Mortal fool! You will die for..."
Silas, still hanging in the monster's head, saw his chance. With only a moment to compose himself, he slid a dagger from his jacket, as subtly as he could. Distracted by his mysterious new foe, Goras didn't notice the deadly weapon being prepared. Silas thought of the men who had died, and of the horrors that this monster would perpetrate, and screwed up his courage. Faster than he would have thought possible, he drove it upwards into Goras's throat.
For a moment, the Fair Folk stared stupidly down at the dagger jutting from his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, and blood poured out. Slowly, his grip slackened, and Silas crashed to the ground. Then, he toppled over backwards, with a thunderous crash.
The hobgoblins stared at their fallen lord. They looked into the trees. They looked at Silas. They looked at each other. Then, another arrow came from the trees, and another, and a hobgoblin dropped. As one, they spun and ran, howling in terror. Their leader was dead, and they didn't know how many reinforcements were coming.
Silas levelled himself painfully to his feet. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it, sir." There was a pause, and Rabalais Brewan dropped from a branch. With him, three other soldiers, all armed with bows, lowered themselves down, and Brewan managed a lopsided grin with a moment of effort. "You do get into the strangest scrapes, Captain."
"I know." Silas coughed, feeling a broken rib twinge. "We have to get back to town, Armsman Rabalais. We've won this round here, but the war still favours our foe."
great stuff as I believe I said elsewhere, but I've found a couple of errors, at least, I think they're errors. I've changed the first 'back' into 'pain' (it used to read "couldn't figure out why there was a searing back in his back") and below that, there's a "still hanging in the monster's head" which I -think- should be hand, but I'm not sure. If you're around, could you make sure my ad-hoc editing is correct? I havn't changed the head one yet, in case it's correct.
-- Darloth
