Waking up was an arduous ordeal. It had snowed sometime during the night, blanketing some of the carnage littering the clearing. A small bank had formed at the mouth of the crevice, and I had to kick it out of the way to stand up and tend to my necessities. After what seemed like an eon, a small fire was started and snow melted down to clean my face and hands. Brenten’s cloak, the only one that could fit me even closely, was sacrificed to make bandages for my hands and arms. The tattoos seemed fine still, a quirk in the way mana flowed through them causing the splitting to radiate from them. At this point my arms were more ravaged flesh than not, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep this up.
Ablutions taken care of, the grim task of looting the dead could not be put off any longer. Some would find my actions ghoulish, but gathering together food, water, any intelligence, or any trinkets of value gave my mind the thought of making it out of this to focus on. I could not allow myself to fall into despair, to think on my lost friends or the hopelessness of this situation. Tears prickled the corners of my eyes, thinking on who I lost, but such things were quickly pushed away as my mental inventory was updated. A few intact and full waterskins, some unidentifiable travel rations, a few cloak pins and one very lovely gilded comb made their way into pockets inside my cloak. Should keep me going for a couple more days. Should bring me back to camp, allow me to warn the others what is coming.
Every fiber of my being wanted to just lay down and sleep, to rest my abused body for a few more hours. But the patrols and scouts were getting more numerous now, and any more workings threatened to push me over the edge and put me into my final sleep. No, my best bet at making it out of this was to keep distance between myself and any groups wishing harm onto my person. So I pulled my cloaks closer to my body and shuffled off.
The landscape varied little in this part, tall evergreens breaking up the foothills and outcroppings of the range. It had its benefits over long slogs through the mountains themselves, I thought, but right now I’d give anything to be walking those trails. Pursuit would be difficult to maintain, and since we’d been posted here it had become familiar terrain. I’d be able to run circles around the patrols and if push came to shove I knew what caves I could hide out in and get some rest. The lowlands afforded me none of these advantages and only gave me easier terrain to work through. Not a good trade off.
Camp was made early, as my feet could not be convinced to keep moving anymore. Rest was needed. Luck was on my side and another hollow beneath a tree was put to use as a makeshift shelter. I couldn’t be bothered to attempt to start a fire, so I shoveled cold rations into my mouth, mechanically chewing and swallowing with deep swigs of water. Wolves howled mournfully in the distance, and sleep came easily and without warning.
I woke with a start, light streaming into my shelter and my mind clouded with confusion over where I was. Obviously Collum and Callen convinced me to go drinking again and stuffed my drunk body in a tree, those twin bastards. Reality swiftly came back and the grief was mercilessly shoved down. Mourning can come later. Inventorying my supplies occupied my attention and I set off at a stiff pace, better rested then yesterday and desperate to keep my mind occupied. The landscape was starting to even out, the trees becoming thicker. Good signs that I was finally leaving the mountains. With luck, 8d be able to find the Coulver River and follow it to Fishrun. An Imperial Relay Station was maintained there, and I could get word out about the invasion. Then I could truly rest.
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It wasn’t until the sun was high in the sky that I realized the normal forest song had gone unnaturally quiet. A bad sign I knew, half remembered conversations from my youth filtering to the fore of my mind. Predators were around, and I desperately hope it was the natural kind. A bear or drake I could deal with. My pace slowed, and I paid closer attention to my surroundings. I became hyper aware of an unfamiliar sword bumping against my leg, scavenged from some dead soldier long ago. Better than my field axe or dagger for defense, although the basics of swordplay seemed so long ago, an old skill woefully underused.
The snapping of branches alerted me to the ambush moments before the soldiers swung into view. How in the hells did they get ahead of me? Steel sounded as I drew my sword from the scabbard, mind quickly running through half remembered lessons from the Academy. Really should have listened to Gallig whenever she brought up sword lessons. Thoughts of my strong armed comrade flashed into my mind before ruthlessly being pushed away. Can’t afford distractions right now. Five of them were spaced around me, the trees working against them making their shield wall. That and the lack of war hounds was where my luck ended. Each one was armed with a wicked spear, the razor shard heads glinting in my direction. Any one I decided to take on left me in prime position to be skewered by the other four. Thoughts of using magic to get out of this flashed through my mind, but I almost dropped from the spike of agony that pushed its way into my head.
Silence reigned over the small standoff, each side waiting to see who would move first. Inevitably one of us would, but for now the inaction was my greatest ally so I remained still. I wracked my brain to think of a way to survive this. Magic was out, and even if my sword skills were at peak performance and they were half trained conscripts it was a pure numbers game. A small seed bloomed in my mind though. They COULD be half trained conscripts, but they should be well aware that we HAVE magic, if not exactly what it looks like. Half baked plans were created and scrapped immediately, before finally settling on a so mad its genius plot.
Moving as discreetly as possible, my offhand gathered the nearly empty back of crystal powder from inside my cloak. Chanting arcane sounding nonsense, I began weaving my sword point in vaguely mystical movements. The soldiers across from me immediately tightened up, shouting something in their gibberish language and brandishing their spears threateningly in my direction. Fear was evident on their faces and my nonsense theatrics reach a fever pitch, none willing to make the first move and draw attention to themselves. At the climax of my performance I discretely pitched the featherweight bag in the direction of my sword, praying to whatever God was listening that I pulled this off.
Fortune was on my side, and the wildly waving sword struck the bag, releasing the crystal powder in an impressive cloud. Sunlight caught the motes, and even though I knew what I was looking for the effect was spectacular nonetheless. Glistening particles rained down among the trees, looking as though the stars had planted themselves among this patch of earth. The frightened soldiers turned and bolted, attempting to put distance and trees between my powerful magics and themselves. I even witnessed one trip his fellows up to get a better lead. I almost sat there laughing before realizing I only had a slim window to make my escape. Picking a direction at random, I took off through the trees and began my sprint towards freedom.