Cool story, bro. Notice how many times he used my nickname and the variants he applied to it? I feel like some biologist living in the Congo who’s gained the trust of the killer gorillas. The hit was expert but, really I’m more excited about the familiar use of my nickname. Honestly, it’s the small victories that make life worth living.
In the silence after the hit, Sergeant Thor and I followed Last of Autumn’s horse down into the thicket while we waited for Sergeant Hardt to give the commander an update. The scouts got a chance to rest and see to their gear. That’s when Corporal Delgado told me how it all went down. Ten minutes later we were on the move again and humping toward the next set of hills along the ridgeline.
Back at the island, the rear security element observed and reported the enemy hitting again, in what seemed larger numbers than the night before. Of course the horde quickly figured out we weren’t there and scattered in large and small elements in every direction, trying to pick up our trail, or us. Three teams had already had close calls.
Ours came next.
We were climbing up the last hill with a panoramic view of the moonlit valley running off into the east and the west behind us. Still under the effects of Moon Vision, we could see everything. And again, our eyes could do that focusing trick. From up here the dead grass swaying along the high hills looked like the waves of a silver sea in deep swell. Down below we could see the Ranger teams in their individual groups struggling along the same route we’d come up. All around our people we could see the enemies’ hunters moving this way and that trying to get a location on us.
So far, so good. But the margin for error was slim to none.
And then just below us and ahead we saw the centaurs with a troop of goat men— half goat on the bottom, half man up top but with ram’s horns growing from greasy, dark curls of hair. These were running in two columns behind the centaurs.
We hunkered just below the top of the ridge. The scouts had been taking dead grass and adding it into their gear, so when we sank down it wasn’t full ghillie suit invisibility, but good enough at this distance and time of night. This new scouting element of centaurs and goat men hadn’t spotted us, but we’d gotten a solid look at them with our spooky Moon Vision. Up close and personal whether they liked it or not.
The centaurs wore shining armor over their torsos. Hammered scales of pretty decent make. Much better than that of the orc ground infantry. Across the armor’s chest was embossed the head of a figure I didn’t need to be a player of PFC Kennedy’s games to recognize. Anyone who’d taken the most introductory of Ancient Greek history or mythology classes could’ve spotted the head of a Medusa from way off. She wasn’t ugly as depicted on old coins and statues—she had a nice face as near as you could tell from an image stamped into a central plate on their armor—but the snakes left no doubt who she was. They were like living tentacles writhing across the chest plates. The plate itself looked like it was made of some ghostly white marble, and in the night with our powerfully enhanced vision, it was like looking at something from a netherworld.
The centaurs were cruel-faced and haughty, sneering and calling out to one another as they galloped ahead. They led the small scouting troop of goat men from the front, carrying spears and bows and ranging across their path. As though they were attempting to pick up our tracks. These were hunters. And they were getting close to finding us. If we hadn’t gotten held up hitting the orcs, and we were that much further ahead, they would have.
An image, like a movie, came straight into our minds from Last of Autumn. How the centaurs fought. We saw in our minds images of these same half men, half horses riding in fast among a series of half-sunken ruins in some kind of swamp forest. Cracked marble columns and broken statues of elves in great and fantastic armor, often riding beautiful horses that seemed lifelike and powerful even though they were made of carved stone. Kings and warlords from some long-ago age overgrown with vines and standing among ancient piles of ruin being claimed by a forest turning to swamp. The spray and foam of the brackish moss-laden water churned up around the centaurs’ hooves as they came through the water, shooting down elves, living ones just like Last of Autumn. Only these were males in light breastplates with heavier swords than the one she carried. The ninja sword. These were acting as defenders, and the centaurs came in fast like they were raiding a settlement.
They shot down the male elves and it wasn’t much of a fair fight. There were three centaurs to every elven warrior. The elves fought valiantly, sometimes with as many as five or six shafts sticking out of their chests as they bellowed war cries and swung mighty swords. But in the end, they went down under the overwhelming numbers, and moments later the cruel half-horse, half-man centaurs were carrying off small elven children, leaving slaughtered elven women in the muck water and bloody grass near the broken ruins.
You could feel Last of Autumn’s fiery hatred erupt in the brief vision. And I could tell it had been there all along like it was part of her DNA. But there was something that told me the rest of the scouts seeing this didn’t get that bit. I can’t explain it other than to say I just knew it. Like everyone was watching the circus and I’d spotted the child in the shadows picking pockets or playing with matches under the bleachers. Something small, dark, and hurt. Something that burned with a fire whose name was Revenge. And that was as dangerous as a wild animal. Probably even more so than anything we’d faced here so far.
My mind told me I needed to remember that and not forget it. It was… an important detail about her. But detail didn’t seem like the right word.
Then she was talking to me in Shadow Cant. Using words, speaking directly. She’d moved through the dead grass almost silently to come and kneel beside me as all of us studied the centaur hunting party making their way up to the ridgeline.
“These are bad. Very… dangerous. Raiders for the Black Prince out of the… Crow’s March. Servants of Sultria. I have to lead them away now… or they will find.”
That was the other part. They were climbing the ridgeline on a near parallel track to ours. We could see them working their way up a finger coming down off the heights. The troop of goat men who followed looked even more malevolent than the centaurs at the head of their troop. More of a brutal pirate vibe than the fine sneering cavalier nature of the horse-men. Their grotesque faces were pure lechery. Hairy with devil-goaty faces. They wore golden hoops in their ears and carried short cutlasses along with an assortment of daggers and small cutting weapons. They hooted and barked as they walked beneath the moonlight. It was clear they were out looking for trouble tonight.
Who among their side wasn’t?
Sergeant Hardt quickly assessed the situation tactically, and Autumn concurred with his take. If they found us, they’d harry us with the mounted centaurs, staying off and shooting their bows at us while the little goat men came in fast to get close and start cutting us up.
Yeah, we might be able to hold them off. They might not survive contact with our “boom sticks,” and that would put more than a few down here in a battle along the side of the hill. But they weren’t just going to try to fight us unit to unit. They were going to sound those Uroo Uroo horns. Or some variant thereof. In no time every one of theirs, the whole horde out there looking for us, would be heading straight for the route that the rest of the Rangers were using to escape to the canyon that led up and out of this haunted valley. We could get bogged down real fast, and that wouldn’t be good.
“Direct engagement is a no-go,” said Sergeant Hardt.
Problem was if we sat and let them take the high ground, they might get up there and just stay in our way. Or they might spot the other teams moving up through the hills and start rallying their forces to deny them an escape route while maintaining the high ground. Somehow they had to be dealt with and quick. Other than opening fire up here along the ridge line and drawing attention, it didn’t seem that there were a lot of options.
Last of Autumn flashed her solution in our minds a moment later. Already her dappled gray horse was coming up from the shadows of the draw he’d been waiting in.
“I need to… get them away… from you. Back down into the valley. They… will chase, thinking we… my people… are coming to help now. They… not want that outcome.”
I relayed this to Sergeant Hardt. Her plan to lead them away on a wild goose chase. Give the scouts an opportunity to secure the ridge. At least with the high ground secured, if it did turn into another full-scale engagement, then our company held a better position to fight from. The rest of the teams could come and anchor there, and we could make what would undoubtedly be our last stand. If we had to.
Then I added something on the fly. Something she hadn’t requested and I hadn’t considered until I just blurted it out. “I need to go with her, Sar’nt. She’ll need to stay in communication with the rest of the detachment, and I’m the only one that can communicate if she hasn’t used her trick.” Referring to the Moon Vision thing. “If that doesn’t work on everyone else in the other teams.”
Hardt studied me for a long moment and then checked in with the brooding Sergeant Thor who was studying the centaurs down there. Planning how many he could shoot down and how fast he could do it for the Thor high score. A small night breeze came up and shifted the dead grass around us in long waves once again. We could smell the ripe stench of the goat men.
Last of Autumn shook her head when she figured out I intended to go with her on her attempt to draw fire.
“If they see you… your kind… know we have made… alliance. Know your people are moving… this direction. They move all their terrible host here… stop you now. If just me… scout… they may not even… sound alarm. They may want me for themselves. Saying nothing… to the rest.”
Silence.
The dappled gray horse had come up and the centaurs and goat men hadn’t spotted us yet. But it was only a matter of time before that changed if they continued heading upslope. We’d be as clear as daylight in a few minutes. You could smell the sour vinegar of bad wine on the goat men’s breathy gasping as they climbed harder, humping packs as large as our own. Cackling and bleating mournfully like goats do. Whether this ability to smell was due to the effects of what Autumn had given us with the Moon Vision, or they just stunk that bad, I didn’t know. Maybe they were huge gutter drunks. They seemed the type if anyone in dark fantasyland was.
“She’s right, Talker,” said Sergeant Hardt. “You stay with us. Seems like she can handle herself.”
Except that was counter to everything Ranger. You always needed a buddy. Someone on your wing, or your six.
I’d already remembered the ring. In fact, I’d been thinking about it along the march and how to apply it. Tactically. I’d almost volunteered to use it when we’d encountered the orc ambush down in the gully. But to what effect? I’d sneak in among them and start killing bloodthirsty orcs all by myself? Yet once that sorcerer had directly attacked us, the ring hadn’t worked too well for him. If it had, we wouldn’t right now have his stuff. Would we? So there was that to consider. I’d kill one or two, and then it’s just me and the rest to figure it all out. Never great odds even with an MK18 carbine and all the ill will you could bear against someone and all their buddies.
Truth was, there were a few times I could have used the ring by now. Like with Volman, maybe. Or up on Sniper Hill. Though I’m not convinced it would have helped in either case. And honestly, the thought hadn’t crossed my mind when the opportunity presented itself. You’d think that if you had in your pocket a magic ring that could make you invisible, it would be on your mind constantly. When you’ve got a magic hammer, everything looks like a magic nail. Right? But it doesn’t. It isn’t. And you don’t. Or, anyway, in my case I didn’t. In my defense, I had a few things going on.
Now, however…
“Okay, guys… hang on,” I said.
I slipped the ring out of my cargo pocket and put it on. And I must’ve turned invisible because Sergeant Hardt swore and muttered, “Where’d Talker go?”
“I’m right here.”
I slipped the ring off.
“We took this off an HVT,” I said. “Turns me invisible. Stuff like this works now. Here, Sar’nt.”
I saw Last of Autumn looking at me warily. I sensed the moment for me to get my way and go with her wherever she was going. The ring had conveyed some kind of temporary authority over the Rangers. Not by the magic that came with it, but rather the simple magic of pulling a neat trick and getting a few seconds of awe in which to pull a con and get your way for better or for worse.
Linguists use this trick often. Mastery of languages other people don’t speak can let you get away with some really shady stuff.
Just for fun, of course.
“So… I’ll go with her,” I said. “We lose ’em and come right back. You continue on mission, Sar’nt Hardt. Roger?”
All he could do was mumble a “Roger,” because I’d just turned invisible. And that was a pretty neat trick when you thought about it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The centaurs were just heading up the final few meters of the ridge when they spotted Last of Autumn but not me riding away hard and fast. They saw Last of Autumn on her horse, the dappled gray, racing away under the moonlight, heading back down into the dark forest along the river valley. They missed that I was behind her, invisible and hanging on for dear life.
I’d ridden a horse once.
One time.
Now we were going at perilously breakneck speed down the side of what I considered a very dangerous hill on an unsafe grade. As in, if the galloping horse hit one rabbit hole it would be our necks that were broken.
I would have told her to slow down, but… weak.
So I just held on and tried not to fall off. In the dark and the wind, I cranked my head around to see the centaurs rearing up, as if to get a better look at Autumn, their fleeing prey, and then turning around in flurries of dirt to race back down the hill after her. The goat men had already turned and were loping with bandy-legged strides, braying into the air, and making for us as fast as they could.
You could tell that each faction within the enemy hunting force wanted to be the first to get the elf, but not just that—each creature wanted to beat even their own kind to reach her before anyone else as she galloped madly away downslope, heading back into the dark forest below.
The first arrows flew, and none were aimed too well. The centaurs had those powerful ranged marksmen recurved bows. The kind of bows Mongolian horse-mounted archers had once used to ruin half the known world. But in this case, quality didn’t lead to accuracy. Though, given the vision Autumn had shown us, I wasn’t counting on them missing again. The horny goat men, on the other hand, whirled crude slings about their heads as they bounded and leapt down the hill, then let small deadly stones fly at us with fairly good accuracy.
One whistled just past my invisible face as we raced away.
Our plan worked. The hunting force that would have run smack dab into the Ranger scouts at the top of the ridge was now tearing off in pursuit of this prized prey. And bonus: they weren’t signaling other enemy elements with their Uroo Uroo horns.
They wanted her for themselves.
Coupled with the memory she had shown us in Moon Vision, that sent cold shivers down my spine.
They were what I thought evil should look like.
Two minutes later we were heading into the thick stands of trees that signaled the outer edges of the woods along the slopes that led down to the twisting river. No doubt Sergeant Hardt was updating command with our plan. If no one engaged, the best the Rangers could hope for was that the enemy continued its outward fragmentation in every direction, losing the ability to bring forces to bear against our main body before we reached the climb up the narrow canyon to Phase Line Domino. If by midnigh
t we reached the rally at Fox, the bottom of the canyon, and started our ascent, then to me, that was a win for us. The enemy would have to follow Rangers up a dangerous pass. Rangers would make that very difficult for them. Whereas right now, crossing the night under the fading crescent moon along the open and rising foothills, any elements caught out in the open, with wounded and overloaded on equipment, faced a pretty tough fight. Surrounded of course.
No Ranger likes to fight that kind of battle.
But there would be hell to pay whatever the outcome. The enemy would pay dearly whether they liked it or not. Caught, the Rangers would go honey badger in a heartbeat. There would be much regret on the part of the enemy even if they did manage to pick and win that fight.
We had a head start, Last of Autumn and I on horseback, but it was clear the centaurs were faster. After all, they were horses without riders. They came forward quickly, getting ahead of the goat men who were kicking, punching and tripping one another to try and get to us first, lustily baying like goats do.
Now arrows were falling into the trees around us and soon our forward motion was slowed as Last of Autumn and her horse wove through the dense forest and down onto a trail that ran deeper into the late-night woods. It was an old trail that hadn’t seemed used in a long time. Shadows loomed up at us—giant trees that reminded me too much of the glowering trolls we’d faced the night before. Deadfall and dead growth had fallen across the track, and rains had collapsed the way in places. I wondered who had made this path. And then I looked up and toward our left at the edge of the forest. Some of the centaurs had taken intercept routes, and they were gaining on us by using the open ground outside the forest to get ahead of our escape.
Forgotten Ruin: An Epic Military Fantasy Thriller Page 28