[Vfw-times] MK: Counter strike part 10

[COkane8116 at aol.com]

   In front of him was their target. The bright yellow and gold stripes that 
covered the tent were easy to see even in the darkness. At one end a canopy 
extended out from the tent it's far end upheld by three poles. The area 
beneath the canopy was free of snow and mud; instead a carpet covered the 
ground. Upon that rested a chair and a table. Hanging vertically from one 
edge of the canopy was a banner. A small fire burning in a brazier 
illuminated the banner enough for the vulpine to see it clearly. Two rampant 
griffons of gold were on a field of blue and gold squares. It was a heraldic 
emblem he didn't recognize. It certainly wasn't Baron Calephas emblem.

   He could see the forms of a dozen guards pacing back and forth around the 
tent. Unlike all the other guards they'd seen tonight these were humans. They 
were dressed in long robes of blue and gold that covered them from the new 
down and were all carrying large shields on one arm. In their free hands they 
each held long swords whose blades glistened and gleamed with a light all 
their own. Their shields were painted a bright red and emblazoned boldly upon 
them was a gold fist grasping a silver circle with Crosshairs in it. Below 
that was a silver teardrop. This was the personal heraldic emblem of Nasoj. 
That meant these were all members of Nasoj's person guard. Incredibly tough 
and experienced soldiers and fanatically loyal these men wouldn't run or even 
flinch when attacked. They would stand their ground and fight to the bitter 
end.

   A soft golden glow filled the tent lighting it up completely. He could see 
the faint shadows inside. The vague outline of a bed and some tables were 
barely discernable. As he watch the shadow of a figure moved across the tent 
and sat down at what must have been a table.

   Suddenly a tent flap opened and light streamed out so bright that Misha 
had to raise his hands to block it out. Two figures backed out of the tent 
slowly bowing as they went. They only straightened up when the flap had 
closed and the light disappeared.

   With surprising speed the two figures moved towards where the Longs were 
hiding, stopping less then twenty feet from Misha. If they knew of the 
vulpine's presences they made no sign of it. They were simply standing and 
talking. One of the Lutins, the taller of the two removed a pipe his coat 
pocket and slowly lit it. In the thin light of the pipe he could make out 
some details of the two. The one with the pipe was dressed in chain mail 
armor. A long sword hung in a scabbard at his hips. Gold and silver glinted 
from all his fingers telling of great personal wealth.

   The other lutin was thinner and only slightly shorter. He was wearing the 
studded leather armor that most Lutins wore but his wasn't the tattered and 
patchwork that most had. It was clean and obviously well cared for. The one 
lower corner had been cut, probably by a sword and carefully mended with 
metal wire. In the wane light of the pipe he could just see the dagger emblem 
edged in silver on both Lutins chests. It marked them as being from the 
Silver Knives tribe. This was a chief and a sub chief who was probably one of 
the chief's sons.

   The chief silently sucked on his pipe for a moment in silence. "Say it," 
he said in the cold tones of command. All he got in reply was silence.

   "You mad I tell the General we stay and fight."

   "Yes Father," came the curt reply. "This battle is lost already. Keepers 
attack tomorrow and they kill everyone."

   "I know," the chief commented. "I talk with other chiefs before we come 
here. We all decide to go home."

   "Go home?" the son asked. "Why we talk to that fool?" he said pointing 
back to the tent. "Why we not leave BEFORE we talk to her?"

   "That one," the father said pointing to the tent with his pipe, "she in 
control for the moment. When she ordered us to fight if I say no she would 
kill me. OUR heads would hang from her tent and all of our tribe be tortured 
as an example for others."

   "So what we do if we don't fight and we don't leave?"

   "We go and lead our warriors to where she want us to guard and pretend to 
be brave and loyal. Her officers watch us but she not have enough for them to 
watch ALL of us, so we wait. When they grow tired we slit their throats and 
leave quietly."

   "What we do about the Four?" the younger one asked. "They kill us all if 
they know we leave."

   "They're crazy. Too busy with their own plan to worry about the battle. 
They not care what happen with the battle. All we need worry about is the 
officers left to guard us."

   The sub-chief smiled broadly and laughed. "We wait till very late and then 
they be asleep first."

   "No," the chief countered. "We not wait long. Little time left."

   "Why?" his son asked.

   "Keepers not wait for dawn when she expect them to attack. They attack 
tonight."

   "How you know this?"

   "That is what I would do. Remember this son. NEVER underestimate a person. 
Expect them to do what hurt the most."

   The younger lutin simply nodded as his father started to walk. He had to 
move quickly to catch up. "What happen after the battle? The Keepers come 
after our tribe?"

  They were moving at a good pace and were quite a ways away but their voices 
came clearly to the fox over the snow.

   "No, not this winter. The snow is too deep and the cold too sharp."

   "What happen in spring when there is no snow to stop them."

   A long silence followed. It was a question Misha himself wanted answered. 
"I don't know. Nasoj no longer King of all Giantdowns. No one rule 
Giantdowns. When snows melt everyone fights to see who gets to rule it."

   The fox agreed with the lutin on that point. With Nasoj's power waning the 
entire power structure of the North would change. There was no way telling 
how things would go. A fact that Misha found unsettling. Very unsettling.

   He strained to hear the Lutins fading words. "Winter is very cold but 
spring will be very hot."

   "And bloody," his son added.

   "Very bloody," Misha agreed silently.


*****


   The road was quiet. The mud and snow mixed to form a rough and treacherous 
path. Edmund and his knights had to dismount and lead their mounts on foot. 
Still it was a calm night. The air was clear but cold and frost covered 
everything. The only sounds to be heard were those of him and his soldiers.

   The terrain around the road was surprisingly open. For a full one hundred 
feet on either side the ground was open and fairly level field. Although the 
trees that lined the fields were as thick and tall as any he'd ever seen. 
Edmund had expected the road to be a mere narrow track, overgrown with brush 
and trees. But such a tight and narrow path would have made for an easier 
ambush. With a faint chuckle he realized that the constant raids and ambushes 
by Keepers like Misha had most likely prompted the Lutins to clear the growth 
away from the road.

   A loud trumpet blast suddenly echoed across the snow from the wood off to 
Edmunds left. Then a second blast answered from the woods to his right. 
Behind him he heard several voices curse and swear.

   As he looked to his right hundreds of Lutins erupted from the tree line in 
a dark wave that covered the snow like a blight destroying crops. They 
swarmed towards the humans screaming and whooping as they ran. Among them 
bounded a dozen dire wolves howling with delight at the upcoming feast. 
Tonight they would gorge on human flesh.


*****


   The fox backed away slowly and crouched low behind a large hide tent. 
Across his lap lay Whisper. The axes blade all but invisible in the darkness. 
In a moment his small grouped all together for one final conference. Only 
Danielle didn't join them. Instead she kneeled behind a tent and kept guard, 
watching and listening.

   "Looks quiet," Misha said using hand signal. "I saw only twenty human 
guards."

  Finbar nodded in agreement, "I saw no sign of anything else. Looks too good 
to be true."

   "Agreed," Rickkter said. "I see a lot of magic coming from those guards."

   "What type?" the fox asked.

   "Difficult to tell. They are all very heavily shielded."

   "The tent. Can you see in it?"

   "No," came the curt answer.

   "Finbar shook his head, "This feels wrong."

   "It has to be an ambush," Caroline added. "We got into the camp far too 
easily."

   Misha pondered for a moment. Something was wrong, there were too few 
guards and the camp being completely empty was not a good sign. It meant that 
all the troops were on the line in formation ready for a battle. And if they 
were in battle the place for their commander would be with them. Not in a 
tent back at camp. But if the general wasn't in the tent, why have such 
powerful magic protect it? And if not the general, who WAS in the tent?

   If the general wasn't in the tent why the powerful guards? Why was the 
camp completely empty? A smart general would have kept some loyal troops back 
to defend it and the hundred or so sentries they'd seen were hardly enough to 
keep the scavengers away never mind actually defend it.

   It was all wrong. His instincts and skills told him this was wrong. There 
were too many questions. Misha balled his left hand into a fist and softly 
punched his right palm. Then with both hands held flat and horizontal he made 
a sweeping motion. The message was clear. "Withdraw. Mission canceled."

   That drew nods of agreement from the rest including Rickkter.

   "We can do more good at the battle," the raccoon signed. "Someone must be 
in command there."  

   "MISHA! THE TENT" Danielle said out loud. Her whispered voice booming like 
a dragons roar. Then she stood up in plane view of everyone including the 
guards.


   Misha saw a ball of bright blue fire erupt from inside the tent. It 
blasted through the canvas walls and charged at the group like a rampaging 
dragon with a roar like an exploding volcano.

   Danielle shouted something that was inaudible over the roar and pushed 
both hands away from her like she was shoving against something large and 
heavy. The ball of flames suddenly deflected skyward as the pine marten was 
flung backwards. Misha saw all the guards from the tent rushing straight at 
them as an unearthly wail filled the air. All around he heard the shouting of 
soldiers, the twang of bows being released and the hiss of arrows in flight. 
A score of figures rushed at them from out of the darkness.

   The Longs reacted without thinking. Years of training and experience saved 
them now. They all scattered away from the tent seconds before a dozen arrows 
thumped into the ground where they had been crouching.

   Suddenly above them was a blinding flash of light and the ground bucked 
and heaved like a living animal. He was knocked flat by a wave of searing 
heat that scattered everyone like leaves in the wind. Then the wave passed 
and the darkness returned.


   The world around him dissolved into a kaleidoscope of sounds and lights. 
Misha stumbled to his feet as two figures rushed at him, blades held high 
over their heads. Whisper slashed forward and back and two men fell, headless 
in front of him. The fox spun around the axe invisible in the darkness. He 
felt the barest shiver as the blade passed through the torso of lutin as tall 
as himself. He swung the axe in a high arc over his head and brought the flat 
of the blades down on the skull of a figure completely sheathed in flowing 
red robes. The weapon connected with a meaty smack and blood and gore sprayed 
everywhere. The body dropped to the ground without a sound.

   Two people came slowly towards him appearing out of the darkness like 
phantoms. Around him raged the fighting but he saw none of it. He had only 
eyes for the two coming at him. They moved with a slow, fluid grace that 
Misha had never seen before. Behind them the remains of the tent burned 
brightly throwing wild shadows and light across their bodies. Their blood red 
fur rippled with each movement revealing the power in their lithe bodies. He 
saw long, sharp fangs, each as long as his hand sticking out from large 
muzzles. The fingers of each hand were tipped with razor sharp claws. Fangs 
and claws gleamed in the firelight but their light was nothing compared to 
the wicked light in the eyes. The red glow seemed to burn from the pits of 
hell itself. Just glimpsing them made him shiver.

   Suddenly a brilliant bolt of magic shot between Misha and the two 
attackers bringing them to a sudden halt. A tall figure following and blocked 
their path bring the two to a sudden halt. 

   "Good evening," the figure said in a voice Misha recognized. The figure 
stepped between the two attackers, the fire making him a shadow, though Misha 
was still able to see the double sword held level with the ground at waist 
height.

   Both of the creatures hissed and drew swords, along whose edges flames 
danced and licked. In unison that raced straight at the figure. There was 
flash of blades and flames and the loud ringing of steel on steel as the 
three parried, swung and slashed at each other. A moment late they paused.

   "Ladies, that's not a nice way to greet your guests," Rickkter said. If 
the brief skirmish with the two feline attackers had effected him it didn't 
show.

   Misha had little time for being a spectator. He had problems of his own. 
They just appeared out of nowhere swinging massive axes at him. The fox 
parried one blow with Whisper and ducked under the second. The blade coming 
so closing that it clipped the fur on top of his head. 


   A sudden flare up of flames from the burning tent gave Misha his first 
real look at the two attacking him. They were about his height but easily 
twice his weight and all of it muscle. Their powerful bodies were covered 
with a thick, dense fur that was solid black except for a small blaze of 
white on their chests. Wolverines, he was fighting wolverine morphs. 
Wolverines were a rare enough species among the morph Keepers that Misha knew 
most of them. His friend Andre and his wife Jenn were both wolverines. But 
these two weren't Keepers. They had to be the result of some of Nasoj's 
magic. As he parried two more blows a part of his mind wondered who they were 
and if they had they volunteered to be changed or were more victims of that 
evil mage.

   The two morphs separated, coming at Misha from two directions at once. 
They didn't rush the fox but swung their weapons in tight circles in front of 
themselves as they slowly inched forward. The blades cut swiftly through the 
air threatening death with the merest brush. If the fox turned to deal with 
one attacker he was laying himself open for an attack from behind by the 
other. A simple but effective strategy. Whoever or whatever they were or had 
been, Misha knew one thing about them. They were very good.


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