[Vfw-times] Mk Winter Assault part 82

[COkane8116 at aol.com]

It was still well before dawn when they finally saw the watchtower.  Lord 
Avery pulled his coat closer over his shoulders as he peered out through the 
sparse trees at the fourty-foot tall spire of wood.  It overtopped the trees 
to the north and the south, as they had been routinely cut down to keep the 
line of sight clear, but the trees to the east and west stood considerably 
taller.  The roof of the tower was hooded and so the snow did not collect in 
the eaves to weigh it down.  There was a ladder from the cupola to the ground 
though it was slick with ice, making a climb almost impossible to manage 
without something to either break the ice free, or dig into it.

Although the rim of the cupola was too high for the squirrel to peer into he 
could see the group of Lutins that had established a ramshackle camp at the 
base of the tower.  Bellicose laughter rang about their slack canvas tents as 
they shared a bawdy tale and drank heartily.  It was clear that the guard at 
the base of the tower was only supposed to defend it long enough for the 
Lutins waiting in the cupola to light the signal fire.  Given that the lands 
North of the Keep had not been subjugated this time, he had to wonder why the 
Lutins were not taking their job as seriously as they ought.

Berchem was at his side, and behind him was a human woman wrapped in tight 
furs.  Naomi was the Captain of Lord Barnhardt's corps of archers, but so far 
had failed to convince Lord Avery of her merit.  She had insisted that she 
come forward through the trees to peer at their quarry as well, though the 
squirrel was only really interested in Berchem's opinion.  The rest of their 
men waited back in the trees several ells, keeping as quiet and as still as 
they could.  The forest this close to Metamor was not as dense as the Lord of 
the Glen would have liked, but they would have to do.


"Well?" he asked softly as he slipped back behind the narrow trunk.  It was 
oak and, gnarled as it was, it hid them decently enough, despite the lack of 
leaves and piles of snow clustering the branches.

Naomi shrugged. "The overhang makes it difficult to fire arrows into the 
cupola, but I think that it can be done."

Lord Avery waited for the skunk to speak, hoping he kept his face passive.  
Her manor was hardly unappetizing, but there did come a bit of the natural 
superiority that he felt was in the blood of all that lived on Barnhardt's 
lands.  It was as if they were perpetually looking down their noses at he and 
his less urbane people.

So it was with some regret that he found Berchem nodding in agreement with 
Naomi's analysis. "It is possible to shoot arrows in there, but it will not 
be easy.  Of course, even managing to get arrows in there will do us no good 
if we don't hit the Lutins and kill them quickly."

"We could tip our arrows with poison," Naomi suggested drily. "Even a scratch 
would be fatal then."

Lord Avery shook his head; with a bit of satisfaction he had to confess. 
"Unless it will kill them instantly, it is no good.  It only takes a few 
moments to light the signal fire.  With the blizzard past, it will be seen at 
Metamor easily."

Naomi smiled at him then, in a way that he felt most unfair. "Our poison 
works very fast.  If they are even scratched, they will not live long enough 
to realize it."

"Magical?" Berchem asked, his brow furrowing in some surprise.

"In a way," she turned her head to one side in a most feminine fashion.  
Considering that Naomi had to have been a man when she was born, the gesture 
was rather startling. "One of Barnhardt's servants become a snake after the 
curses struck, a very venomous snake in fact.  He supplies us with his venom 
every month or so.  We brought some with us of course.  I'm not sure if it 
will be enough to go around to all the archers."

"There is one other thing," Berchem added, turning to face Lord Avery again. 
"We'll need to know how many Lutins are in that tower, and where 
approximately they are.  We can't climb these trees too much.  They aren't 
big enough to keep us hidden."

Lord Avery patted the trunk with one paw. "I've noticed that myself.  I was 
an archer once after all." He left it unsaid that Berchem was far better than 
he'd ever been. "We have three birds now, it will not be difficult to find 
out where the Lutins lay.  I'll have the infantry attack the camp once our 
archers have launched their first volley.  That should be more than enough to 
take the tower."

Berchem nodded his ascent at that, before turning to Naomi. "Just how much of 
that poison do you have?"

Naomi rubbed her palms together, her breath causing puffs of steam to rise in 
the air. "If we split our supplies in half, we'd have enough to lightly 
poison at least one arrow for every archer."

"We don't need all of our archers for this," Avery countered, thumbing his 
jacket with one paw. "I think we should split into three groups of fifteen 
each.  Naomi, you take your thirty archers, divide them in half, and move to 
flank the tower.  Berchem, you take fifteen of our men and move between the 
tower and Metamor.  That way no stray arrow is likely to come down on any of 
our own men.  I'll instruct the infantryman not to attack until after one 
full volley has been loosed.  Only the first volley is to be poisoned.  The 
last thing we need is for one of our own to be struck by a poisoned arrow."

The two nodded at that, then the skunk turned to the lanky girl and spoke in 
a cool whisper, "I'll pick my men, then I'll confer with you about the 
poison."

Naomi favoured him a slight grin, though through the cloth pulled tightly 
about her it was hard to say whether that grin ever left her face. "I'll have 
it ready.  Five minutes say?"

"Five minutes," Berchem agreed.  He then turned his sharp mephit features 
towards the squirrel. "We can be in position in another five to ten minutes 
after we have the poison."

"Then the attack comes in twenty.  I will see to the infantry.  May all the 
gods watch over you," Avery spoke the benediction firmly, though he had to 
suppress a chuckle when he saw Naomi make the sign of the Patildor tree 
across her chest.  It highlighted yet one more reason why relations were 
chilly between Avery and Barnhardt; the fact that they shared different 
faiths.  

As the two archers moved on off back into the trees and towards the rest of 
their men who were waiting in the woods, watchful and vigilant, Lord Brian 
Avery muttered beneath his breath, "Thank you Artela, for Nasoj, for his 
ambition, which has brought us foolish mortals together in common cause.  
Help us find victory over him here this day, so that he may no longer spoil 
your beautiful land."

His own prayer spoken, the Lord of the Glen followed after the archers, with 
only one last glance over his shoulder at the dark tower standing against the 
silhouette of the midnight mountains.  In thirty minutes time he intended to 
stand beneath it instead of hide from it.

>>>>

12/28 - 5:30am

Skulking through the shadows beneath the leafless limbs overhead, Lord Avery 
and Alldis roved from group to group of infantry to see to it that they 
understood the plans exactly.  There were no sentries lurking about the Lutin 
camp as, aside from the ones waiting in the watchtower above, they were 
contenting themselves to drinking and sleeping.  Even so the Glenners were 
careful, lest the Lutin guards were not as inebriated as their bawdy song 
made them appear.

At any other time than this Lord Avery would have marvelled at how few of 
Barnhardt's soldiers appeared to care that they were being led by a man who 
did not get along too well with their lord.  Yet Lutins were running amuck in 
their land, in their home.  Nothing else could have brought them together 
like this.  Even so, seeing them be only too happy to help gave Brian a bit 
of a charge that was not always present.

Alldis felt that thrill as well, like the warm rays of the first summer sun 
in the Glen filling every bone in his body.  After they had finished going 
over the plans with the second group of infantry stationed before Naomi's 
archers, taking only a minute to do so, they both had shared that same grin, 
knowing exactly how the other felt.  This was a common experience in the 
Glen, for they all knew each other, most of them very well, and nobody wished 
life would be any different.

The Lutin guards continued in their off-key singing, straining cultured ears 
with their waspish tones.  The squirrel watched them a few moments more as 
they sauntered around the stoutly built base of the tower before moving on 
through the underbrush, following after the heavily garbed deer.  Alldis 
stayed low as well, his antlers poking out some, but not so much.  With the 
darkness as close about them as it was they appeared nothing so much as 
another bush waiting for the Spring to return.  

So they did not feel any great apprehension when they finally reached Angus's 
infantry, arrayed in several packs before the archers, who were fingering the 
strings of their bows.  Why should they, Avery reasoned, when they had never 
been in any danger from these sorry Lutins in the first place?  It would 
hardly be any work to dispatch the ragtag force on the ground.  The real test 
of this venture would be to the skill of the archers, and to the lethality of 
the poison Naomi had supplied them.

Angus was fingering the pommel of his great sword, rubbing the new leather, 
which was already creased with moisture.  His dark charcoal eyes were grim, 
set towards the baleful tower that was dimly visible through the cluster of 
branches before them.  Garigan and the two friends of Matthias were arranged 
behind him while the two northerners, still clad in their furs, stood amongst 
the ranks of the Glenners.  Avery was not certain that he completely trusted 
those two, Andrig and Gaerwog, but so far they had proven true and had 
delivered a great enemy into their paws.  The squirrel would take great 
delight in seeing how the curse took Calephas before they executed him.

The badger turned his gaze towards the two of them, Alldis nodding fiercely 
back even as he took his place before one of the contingents of troops.  
Avery leaned in close to the badger and patted him on the shoulder with one 
paw, nodding his head as well as he and favoured him with a grin.  He turned 
that to the men standing at the badger's broad side and on down the line of 
his people.  They each smiled back in return, clutching blades and staves, 
eager to strike back at their oppressor.  

Finally his eyes set hold of Burris, who was bobbing his head up and down as 
he walked over to the squirrel.  The woodpecker's feathers, once bright red, 
had been dashed with soot to darken them because he would be flying against a 
sky rippling with clouds and ashen with their former tempest.  With a single 
nod of his head Avery gave the signal for the wood mage to transform himself 
into the form of a small bird.  A great deal of the soot cascaded off of the 
mage in that instant but his feathers remained black.  With a flutter of 
those darkened wings, he rose into the sky, the first signal in the fight to 
take back the watchtower.

>>>>

Berchem watched the dark shape disappear into the murky blackness above then 
cast his eyes once again to the tower in the distance.  His white streaked 
tail curled about the thick trunk of the tree he was perched in while His foot
 paws dug into the snowy branch.  His archers were arrayed among the branches 
a good twenty feet from the ground, which was as high as they dare climb 
without exposing themselves or stressing snow-laden limbs.  The trees in this 
portion of the wood were not as strong or as tall as those in the Glen, 
rendering their usual tactics unfeasible.  

Even so, as the skunk peered across the gulf to the cupola which was 
silhouetted in reds and oranges by the campfires below, he tried to see past 
that overhang and spot any of the Lutins that were supposedly stationed up 
there.  At his present height he knew that he would have little difficulty in 
sailing an arrow past the eaves and inside the cupola.  Whether he could do 
so with any accuracy was his concern.  Even if he could climb another ten 
feet higher he knew that he would not miss, but the trees were not steady 
enough to support his weight without swaying or rustling at that height.

He rotated the arrow shaft between his fingers and claws idly.  Berchem had 
it pointed downward so that the thick, viscid poison would not run down the 
shaft.  As there was nobody beneath them he was not worried about it dripping 
slightly that way.  The poison was thick enough that it did not run easily, 
but he had to wonder, given how long they had had to wait since applying it 
to the arrowheads, if there would be enough left on it for the poison to kill 
instantly as Naomi had claimed.

It only took a moment before he saw Burris's small form descending once more 
through the trees.  Bringing the arrow shaft to his muzzle Berchem kissed it 
softly, and then placed the notch against the string of his cherrywood bow.  
The woodpecker sailed down toward the archers with deeptive silence, landing 
an arm's length from Berchem as he began to shift into his morphic form, 
talons gripping the branch next to the skunk tightly.

The branch did begin to buckle slightly, prompting Burris to stop his shift 
at a median form just large enough for him to speak softly.  He turned to the 
head archer and whispered, "There are four Lutins in the cupola.  Three are 
in the far left corner playing some game, huddled close together.  The fourth 
is circling the other two sides, close to the edge.  His shadow should be 
visible."

Berchem nodded and then glanced back at the cupola.  Sure enough there was a 
slight darkening in the wall facing him, moving slowly across.  Turning to 
his right he spoke to the seven men arrayed there. "Aim for the dark shape 
moving along the wall facing us." After they nodded and notched their arrows, 
he turned to the left and added, "Aim for the far left corner.  Shoot when I 
shoot."

The other seven nodded then, tensing their muscles as Berchem pulled the 
bowstring close to his ear, his eye always on the point before him as he 
stretched his body out.  The quiet creak of eight bows being drawn whispered 
into the quiet, unheard by the raucous revelry of the Lutins not so very far 
away.  His eyes pushed the tree branches interposing themselves out of view 
and considered only that ghastly cupola, gleaming as if it had just risen 
from some unnameable abyss.  The tip of his arrow gleamed violet from the 
poison, dribbling slowly around the edge of the shaft past the metal tip.  
And there, in the shadows, he could see that dark formless blackness moving 
once more along the side.

Berchem took his eyes from the solitary Lutin and focused instead on that far 
left corner. He would have to aim his arrow so that it would just pass over 
the edge of the hut the cupola was placed atop of.  It would be a difficult 
shot, but it was better that eight tried for it at least, for it would be 
even harder for the other two groups to manage.  He almost laughed to himself 
as he pondered how many arrows would be sticking out of that sentry in a few 
more seconds.  Then, the moment of whimsy past, he turned his entire atten
tion to the subtle straightening he needed for his bow, the string nearly 
humming in his ear as he held it taut.  

And then, satisfied, he released.  The arrow shot forth with an audible 
twang, sailing through the darkness, and slipped effortlessly beneath the 
cupola.  A strangled cry drifted from the shadowed watchtower as a swarm of 
arrows joined the first.  Berchem watched for a moment as a good number 
struck the cupola or hammered into the wood. Some bounced off to sail 
ineffectually down to the ground.  The lion's share flew into the hut, 
however, finding some target to claim its own.

Berchem danced on his toes, cold from the snow, and began to climb higher up 
the tree, slinging his bow over his shoulder in one swift motion.  The string 
was still vibrating when it landed against the wool of his tunic, humming 
softly with a balefully languorous note.  Scrambling, pushing the snow aside, 
no longer caring for the racket he raised, he scaled along the shaking tree's 
bark, scratching and clawing at it to find just the grip he wanted.


Turning, he peered into the dark shrouded cupola as he worked, intent on 
seeing what good they had wrought.  A solitary spark filled the hut, then 
went out again.  With a shudder he realized that at least one Lutin was still 
alive and was trying in their last moment to light the signal fire.  Whether 
they had escaped all harm or the poison had not been s effective as Naomi 
claimed he could not guess, nor did he care.  Only he had the vantage to 
silence this vestige of the Lutin defence.

Drawing a second arrow, he put it to the nock and drew it tightly against his 
ear, the fur there running along the string, draping it in the powder he'd 
used to camouflage himself.  Another spark filled his vision; like the 
burning of the sun, it was all that he could see.   Berchem snarled beneath 
his breath, pointing his arrow as best he could, noting where the Lutin had 
to be, and loosed.  A third spark came to life,  then flew backwards and was 
extinguished.  A choked cry filled the air from that cupola briefly, then 
silence.