[Vfw-times] MK: Counter Strike part 12

[COkane8116 at aol.com]

***


   Stunned Misha lay there for a moment unsure of what had just happened. 
Some part of his mind recognized a spell and he realized that Rickkter had 
cast it. Everything seemed to slow down for Misha. Like some sort of strange 
spell had been cast. He could see and hear everything going on around him. It 
was as if he was standing nearby watching the fight instead of being in it. 

   Nearby he saw the creature that had been hit by Rickkters spell was 
slowing getting to it's feet shaking off the effects of a spell that should 
have killed it. The raccoons spell had bought him a few moments more of life. 
Soon the two would attack him again and he had no doubt about his chances of 
surviving. But strangely that thought didn't bother him. Instead he could 
only think of his people, his fellow keepers.

   He could see Rickkter locked in a deadly ballet of swinging blades and 
twisting, dancing bodies. There were a blur of motion and sound. He saw the 
raccoon jump over a sword swipe that would have cut off both legs and then 
twist out of the way of another that was supposed to disembowel him. He 
lashed out with his odd double bladed katana, spinning it in a complete 
circle like some sort of child's toy. He caught both of his attackers cutting 
deep gashes into their chests. One of the creatures leapt backwards and the 
other leapt forwards. The raccoon back pedaled fast to avoid it's slashing 
swords and claws. The flaming blade skittered and scrapped along the steel 
plate protecting Rickkter's chest without penetrating. It's three-inch long 
claws found a point where two plates met at his right wrist and those talons 
ripped through the chainmail protecting that weakness and the skin that lay 
beneath it.


   Nearby he saw Jotham and Georgette standing back to back fighting a solid 
ring of Lutins and humans. Already a half a dozen bodies lay scattered on the 
ground. As he watched a man wielding two short swords lashed out at Georgette 
slashing across her chest and stomach. She staggered for a moment before 
burying a dagger deep in the man's chest. Two people rushed at her, swords 
slashing in front of them. She parried both blades easily and then kicked one 
of the men in the groin. With a groan he doubled over and dropped to the 
ground. Georgette again parried more weapons aimed at her as she gave the 
figure on the ground another, harder kick.

   He saw Caroline, his dear, sweet Caroline helping Padraic up off the 
ground with one hand while keeping two human attackers at bay with the sword 
she held in the other. Stretched out on the ground behind them lay the body 
of some great, black and red hound. Smoke and flame issued from the sword 
wound in its neck. The rabbit's whole leg was blackened and bloody but it 
didn't stop him from drawing a sword and fighting one of the two men 
attacking them.

   Slightly behind those two, Misha saw the lithe form of Finbar, a sword in 
each hand fighting a dozen Lutins. Already seven corpses lay scattered around 
him, a testament to the ferret's prowess. With horror he recognized one of 
the bodies as Danielle's. The Pine Marten mages arms were singed and 
blackened and she looked dead. Finbar was straddling her body with his legs, 
protecting her.

   They were losing. Deep in his heart he knew they were already doomed. In a 
moment the two he was fighting would kill him and then move on to slaughter 
Caroline and Padraic. Then Jotham and Georgette would die. Finbar being 
slightly away from the group might stand a chance of fleeing. But the ferret 
wouldn't leave Danielle. He would fight on to the bitter end. He wondered for 
a moment what would happen to Rickkter. Would he too die or would he make 
some miraculous escape?

   They would all die and there was nothing he could do to stop it. These 
were people who were his friends. Whom with he had laughed, sweated and 
fought beside. People he had shared the good times and the bad times. They 
would all die.

   He remembered laughing and cheering at Laura's marriage. He remembered how 
shy and nervous Danielle had been the first time Misha had met her. He shared 
their grief when Craig died.

   Padraic, poor Padraic. He had been dragged into this whole thing without 
any time to choose. Now he would die far from friends and family. In an odd 
thought he wondered if Raven herself would speak at the rabbits funeral.

   His dear, beloved Caroline would die. He could almost see the grief 
stricken Will at his daughter's funeral. Her death would kill him. He would 
slowly fade away, all reason for life gone with his beloved daughter. Misha 
would never get to hold her in his arms again. Never again would they snuggle 
close at night under some tree watching the stars. All his plans and hopes 
for their future together were now gone.

   Without having to look for it he saw where Whisper had landed. He could 
easily see it's black form against the stark, white snow. He could easily 
call the blade to him but to what end? With his arms pinned he couldn't use 
it. Even if he did get his arms free he stood little chance of defeating the 
monsters he was fighting. He was too badly hurt and these things were tougher 
then he was. A lot tougher. There was no way to save anyone.

   Or was there? Desperate people do desperate things.

   "Tchau Uae" he shouted. Reaching out with his heart and soul as well as 
his voice. "HELP ME!"

   Everything went suddenly quiet as if a great hush had fallen over the 
world. All the fires and open flames snapped then guttered out leaving the 
battlefield in utter darkness. A darkness so deep and pure that it just 
seemed to swallow all light. Only a thin, wane moonlight gave an eerie glow 
to the scene. Many of the Lutins looked up in shock at the moon for it was 
still early in the month and the Night Lady had long before gone to her sleep 
that night. Moments before there had been no moon. 

   The battle stopped. No one moved or spoke.

   A wind blew through. So cold that it bit right through to their very 
souls. Chilling their hearts and killing any courage and will that remained 
there. It knocked over men and Lutins alike scattering them like snow in a 
storm.

   A deep red glow seemed to ooze from Whisper bathing everything around it, 
turning the scene into something from a grotesque nightmare. The human's skin 
looked as if it was it was covered with blood. Making the living look like 
the dead.

   The glow grew stronger and started to slowly form into a shape. First to 
form was the head. Then a torso with two long, powerful arms with claw tipped 
hands. Broad wings spread out behind and above. Long, thin, spidery wings 
with wicked talons on their edges. Two stocky legs hung from the torso and 
ended in surprisingly small legs that each held five talons. Each as long as 
a mans hand. The figure hung there about an arms length above the ground not 
disturbing the mud beneath it. As frightening as that form was worse was it's 
eyes. It didn't have any, just two deep, dark pits of blackness that seemed 
to bore through any who saw them.

   One talon tipped hand shot out and grabbed one of the things that was 
about to kill Misha. The creature managed one, short shriek and the red, 
glowing hand wrapped around it's throat cutting off all sound. It easily 
lifted the struggling creature off the ground. The wolverine squirmed and 
twisted, desperately trying to escape. 

   Misha knew what was coming but still he couldn't bring himself to look 
away. There was a soft crunch and the creature went suddenly limp. Then it's 
body started to shrivel and curl up like a wine sack being squeezed dry. 
There was a soft whisper of a noise. Almost too soft to hear and yet it cut 
straight through to Misha's soul. The empty carcass dropped to the ground 
with a sickening thump and the rattle of dry bones.

   With a casual swipe of one arm she sent three of the men surrounding 
Georgette and Jotham flying. Two of them landed in pieces their heads rolling 
along the ground like some child's ball. 

   One of the head came to rest in front of a lutin. A tough, battle hardened 
warrior with countless scars testifying to his bravery. He looked down at the 
bloody sphere with eyes wide with terror. Then he looked up to see that 
taloned arm reaching for him. It was just a hands breath from his throat when 
the warrior let out a shriek of pure terror and ran off into the night.

   That broke the spell over everyone. Chaos erupted. Men, women and Lutins 
scattered screaming in all directions. All thoughts of fighting and killing 
swept away by the primal terror. For Misha it felt like being in the calm at 
the center of the storm. Around him figures screamed and wailed as they 
stumbled and ran about in utter panic.

   Through this bedlam there suddenly came a tall figure shouting orders at 
the fleeing people. It deliberately stepped into the path of a dozen fleeing 
Lutins and ordered a halt. The warriors paused unsure what to do. This figure 
wore a bright, red, blue and gold brocaded robe the covered her form from 
foot to neck. In her left hand was a sword whose blade had jagged edges like 
the teeth of some fearsome creature. Black ichor dripped from that wicked 
blade.

   Two other figures stepped out of the shadows behind the women. Misha 
couldn't make out their faces from the distance but one appeared to be an 
utterly huge man and the other a women in a luxurious fur coat. However as 
quickly as they appeared they seemed to vanish into the same shadows they had 
come from.

   The blood red creature from the axe swept forward towards the Lutins and 
the figure stopping them. The woman raised the sword and a beam of white 
light erupted from the blade and struck the wraith. If the magic of the sword 
had any effect it didn't show. The group of Lutins scattered like leaves in a 
wind. More fearful of wraith then woman. 

   The mage lashed out with the sword but the wraith put out one hand and 
stopped it easily. Then it gave a swipe of the other and the arm with the 
sword still gripped in its hand went flying in a spray of blood.

   Again that blood red arm reached for a throat, this time it was the 
woman's throat. Misha could not watch this time and he closed his eyes try to 
block out the scene. But if watching it was bad, hearing it was worse. Much 
worse. With his sharp canine ears he heard the crunching of bones as the 
mage's throat was crushed. Then he heard that soft, sickening whisper of a 
sound. In his mind he could imagine the stark raving terror going through her 
mind as the wraith slowly drained the very life from her body. He wondered 
what it must feel like as ones life was ripped from you. The pain and terror. 
His body began to shake as the tears flowed down his muzzle. Then he heard 
the thump and rattle of the dry husk of her body hitting the ground. Shaking 
uncontrollably he lay there with his eyes closed as he tried to block out the 
terrible image in his mind of that woman's death. Suddenly a terrible 
screamed ripped through his anguish. It was a terrible scream of primal 
terror. Misha's eyes opened of their own accord.

   Less then an arms length away was one of the creatures that had been mere 
moments from killing him. It was on it's knees screaming and crying as the 
wraith reached for it. In a moment that red hand closed around his throat and 
lifted the creature off the ground. In fear and desperation the wolverine 
morph looked at Misha. He saw pain, fear and a desperate pleading in those eye
s. He couldn't help but think of his good friend Andre. That wolverine morph 
was his friend since childhood. Was Andre so different from the terrified 
thing dangling in front of him? He heard the soft whisper of it's life being 
drained away.

   "Stop," Misha said in a quiet tone. "Please. Let him live."

   That terrible whispering noise stopped. The wraith opened it's hand and 
the morph dropped to the ground at Misha's feet. It lay there as still as a 
corpse too terrified to move. Misha could see it's chest rising and falling 
rapidly as it breathed. It's throat once the same black as the rest of its 
body now bore a white blaze in the shape of a grasping hand.

   They were alone on the battlefield. All that lay around them were the 
dead. Fires burned fitfully here and there amidst the wreckage. It was as if 
the whole world had died and only these three were left.

   The red, ghost of a wraith looked at Misha with those black pits others 
would call eyes. It seemed to be deciding, pondering and judging the fox. It 
reached out with one hand and lightly stroked the side of his head. Its touch 
was oddly warm. He'd expected it to be as cold as tomb but it wasn't. The 
warmth reminded him of his mother soft caress and of Caroline's sweet 
embrace.

   "You're taller then I expected Tchau," Misha commented.

   The faint trace of a smile crossed the monsters lips and a deep burbling 
laughter came to Misha's ears.

   It turned and looked to where Rickkter was standing. The raccoon had not 
moved or spoken. He looked more like the graven image of some forgotten god 
on the walls of some long abandoned temple. "Tehen thesas," it said and bowed 
deeply to the raccoon. The wraith drifted back to where the great axe Whisper 
lay. It hovered for a moment over it then seemed to just seep into the weapon 
and was gone.


*****


   The camp was quiet when Edmund and his troops finally reached it. The 
stench of death filled the air mixing with the sharp sting of burning wood 
and cloth. They carefully picked their way past the abandoned sentry posts. 
Only the scorched ground and charred remains of wood marked that there had 
been sentries at all. The entrance was deserted, the thickets dragged across 
the opening hadn't been pulled out of the way, they had been trampled down 
into the mud. The only sign of the guards was a solitary spear that lay 
broken and twisted in their path. The only sign of life in the whole camp was 
a bright fire that blazed in the center lighting up everything like a beacon.

   Dismounting Edmund led his troops past the remains of the gate and into 
the camp. Around him his soldiers and knights moved as cautiously as him. He 
watched as a pike wielding man used the tip of his weapon to up end a hovel 
made of bone and hide. Then he carefully poked the scraps of various things 
that lay underneath. All he found was a few scarps of cloth and some bones. 

   The camp was too rough and broken a place for the tight square. Instead of 
the square they had used before now Edmund kept the formation loose, fluid. 
They could have marched up the road but he had fallen for that trick once too 
often. Instead they would move stay off that obvious path to an ambush.

   There was no need to decide where to go, that was easy. The paladin 
instinctively knew that the Long Scouts would be found at the center by that 
bright fire. He was sure the fox was the cause of the blaze.

   They passed countless rows of hovels, tents and lean-tos as the group of 
soldiers moved slowly up the road deeper into the camp. At the front moved 
seven of Edmunds best hunters.

   Suddenly a soldier off to his left gave out a shout. With his sword in 
hand he raced over to where a group of soldiers was clustered together.

   "What did you find?" the paladin asked.

   A short, brown haired man with a long bow strapped across his back was 
knelt next to the overturned remains of a tent. In the center of what would 
have been the tent floor was a round hole barely a foot in diameter and some 
three feet deep.

   "Large enough for a lutin to crouch in and hide," the archer said out 
loud. "They covered over the hole with this cloth and waited to Misha and his 
scouts passed," he said holding up a dirty, brown piece of wool.

   "How?" someone asked. "Even the simplest fool would think to look 
underneath."

   "Watch," the archer replied. With a broad sweep he draped the cloth over 
the open hole and both disappeared. Gone was the hole and the cloth covering 
it, replaced by a rough dirt floor.

   "Magic," Edmund hissed.

   "Illusion," the archer explained. "An army could walk past this place and 
not suspect the Lutins that lay hidden."

   The paladin looked up and all around. In a moment the archer was standing 
up and looking around as well. On all sides as far as the eye could see were 
tents and lean-tos. Hundreds and hundreds of them.

   "Shit," the archer muttered.

   "Form a Square centered on the road," Edmund shouted. "Scouts out front."

   "Facing which way?" someone asked.

   Edmund didn't answer out loud but pointed towards the center of the camp 
where Misha and his scouts were. "Inward."


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