<HTML>   This story takes place the day after the big story Winter Assault ends. I hope you enjoy. Comments are welcome. If anyone wants the whole of WA please feel free to ask me. I can send them the whole thing zipped.    Christian O'kane ******* Counter Strike A WA story By Christian O'Kane -----------------------------    Misha found the Dukes audience chamber a lot more crowded then he had expected. People of all shapes, sizes and species were massed into the small room making it hard to move around. Some of the faces he recognized, others he didn't. As he pushed his way through the throng he looked carefully at the people around him.    He noticed all the people fell into one of two categories; Keepers and visitors. It was easy to tell the difference between the two. The Keepers were all battered, worn, and weary looking. Many were wounded, some looked just tired and all looked haggard.    Standing in the center of the room, in front of the large table was the Duke. The black stallion was dressed in a hose and doublet of dark blue that looked wrinkled and worn. His mane usually carefully combed and braided was a tangled snarl. His ears were drooping forward unlike their usual perkiness. The horse looked tired. Misha was sure that the equine hadn't slept well in many days. Few keepers had slept much over the last few days.  Flanking the Duke was Raven and Father Hough. The Follower was dressed in the simple black robes of his order, a wooden cross dangled from a simple wound string that hung around his neck. To the fox he looked to be strong and healthy. He was glad to see that the wraiths that had attacked the priest had failed. The face that smiled at him was tired and care worn in spite of its apparent youth.    The Lightbringer priestess seemed far different then he had ever seen her. It was not her dress; he had seen her wearing the fine robes of her order countless times before. The changes were more subtle; a matter of how she held herself, the wolf seemed more, open, almost warm. Her whole body wasn't held with the same rigidity and formality that he had always seen her use. Instead she stood with softness and an ease that he had never seen with the wolf. It was a far cry from her usual cold, icy demeanor. He wondered briefly if the rumors he had heard about her and Wanderer were true. Perhaps the Ice Queen had finally found a heart. Still there was little time for such thoughts. Too much to do.    Looking about he found George standing off to one side. H was dressed in his battered plate mail armor. The jackal hadn't even bothered to clean the blood and dirt off of it. At his hip on a fine leather belt was his cutlass and boarding dagger. The jackal looked none the worse for whole affair. He certainly looked a lot better then the first time Misha had met the old bandit. At least this time they were both on the same side in this battle. Rois and her three students were standing off to one side, with the triplets looking around at the various folks. Colin was the first to pipe up, "There sure are a lot of people here, ne sensei?"    "Indeed," came the reply from the centauress.    Aisha, meanwhile, was watching the door, "Hey look!  Here come the long scouts."    Misha gave a short nod to the centaur and her students.    Scanning the crowd of keepers he saw many that he recognized. He saw the Lord Avery and Lord Barnhardt standing side by side. That was a surprise, seeing as the two had been feuding for years over a particularly rich section of farmland. The squirrel and the salamander nodded to Misha when he looked at them. Avery was dressed in a forest green doublet and a brown pair hoses. He looked rather subdued and not his usual chipper self. Misha had heard that the Glen had survived with little damage. They had even managed to cause some havoc of their own. He wondered what type of loses they'd suffered. How many dead?    It was hard to tell what the Lord Barnhardt was thinking. The salamander was bundled up in thick furs and wool in spite of warmth of the room. Misha could understand. Reptiles don't like cold weather. Under all that clothing it was hard to judge the nobleman's state of mind.    Jessica and a half a dozen of the Keep's captains and nobles who helped fill the rest of the room. All looked equally battered and worn. The moved about with the slow, irregular movements of a person who has gone beyond being tired and is only staying awake through sheer mental effort. The fox saw many familiar people. Some friends others merely distant acquaintances.    He noticed the young son of Sir Philton standing nervously in one corner. The young man was barely nineteen years old and seemed ill at ease in his armor. He was talking to a burly boar whose gray bristles were liberally sprinkled with silver. This was the young knight's first real test in battle. Although Turrel was supposedly in command Philton had sent his most experienced warrior to 'guide' the young knight. The domain his father ruled was a village of some two hundred people and the troop of soldiers consisted of ten soldiers leading twenty militia wielding spears, but to Misha even a group that small was a welcome addition to the army.    It took a moment of searching to find Rickkter. The raccoon was leaning into a corner, head down, probably brooding. He had a large black cloak drawn tightly about him but in spite of that Misha saw that raccoon's fur had been cut away in several spots revealing the ugly scars of freshly healed wounds.    The visitors were easy to pick out; aside from the odd dent or tear all seemed as fresh and clean. They moved about with a fresh active gait. Some nervously looking at the room around them, others at the strange forms of the people they had come to rescue. Many stood in groups talking idly among themselves as if they were still safe in their homes, far from danger.    Many of the strangers were plain humans, obviously from the south. Some had probably come at the behest of the Lightbringers. He recognized the heraldic markings they wore and noted with some satisfaction that many noble houses were present, some quite powerful. A few he noted with satisfaction were from Murigund, his own homeland.    In the corner stood a group of four men caught the foxes gaze. They were all dressed in black tunics, edged with silver. The rampant silver and gold griffin of Liena was boldly emblazoned on their chests.    That surprised Misha, not less then a month before the ruler of that country had been openly demanding that the 'Demons of Metamor be cleansed from the world'. And yet now his knights stood in the same room with those demons planning to fight as allies. The fox shook his head at the incongruity of that. One of the four, obviously the leader by his bearing looked straight at Misha with a cold, hard gaze that made the vulpine shiver. He had seen more warmth and love in a lutin. He made a mental note to keep a close eye on those knights to be sure they only killed Lutins.    "Wow, everyone is here," Caroline muttered under her breath. "Even Lord Cybury."    Misha turned to the otter that was standing next to him and she nodded towards a corner of the room.    He looked in the direction his love indicted and saw Lord Cybury of Mycransburg talking with George. The woman's lush, brown hair was tied in long braids that dangled around her face. Misha noted that the chain mail she was dressed in had been hastily repaired with wire in several spots and her helmet was no where to be seen. The tabard she usually wore over her armor was gone; the only traces were tattered bits of green clinging to the shoulders.    Misha suddenly thought of Wessex. The Ard'Kapler family had ruled Mycransburg for generations until the entire family had been slaughtered during Nasoj's last attack. Only Wessex had survived and he had refused to carry on the family obligations. Thomas had appointed Cybury to take over the devastated town and its holdings. He tried to understand in his mind what had happened to Wessex. From what Matthias had said the mage hadn't died at the hands of a lutin. But nothing the rat had told him made any real sense. It didn't bode well.    "She looks like she's been to hell and back," the otter commented breaking Misha's train of thought.    "Not surprising," Finbar said coming to stand next to Misha. "Considering how often they've raided her town in the past few years I'm surprised she managed to come at all."     Misha nodded turning his mind to more pleasant thoughts. "She's come with over a dozen knights and two score infantry. I'm pleased to see them."    "They're all tough fighters," Caroline said.    "The fact that the town still stands at all is testament to that," Misha commented. "They were among the first to arrive in response to our call for distress."     Finbar laughed, "That has to be a first, Mycransburg riding to the Keeps rescue."    "Misha," Duke Thomas said beckoning the Long Scout forward. "I'm glad you've come."    The fox bowed formally, "My apologies, Duke Thomas. I was seeing to my wounded."    "No need to explain Misha," the stallion answered. "Your Long Scouts have done a lot and paid a hard price."    "We all have," the fox answered, the weariness creeping in suddenly. Slowing his speech down.    The stallion pointed to the opposite end of the table. Standing there was a stranger Misha had never seen before. His bearing and demeanor told the Long Scout that he was a nobleman. His armor was made up of the finest steel hammered into large plates. The plates were carefully fitted to its wearers form, giving maximum protection and freedom of movement. This was the armor of a high nobleman. Few others could afford it. Cold, steely blue eyes stared at him from under a head of carefully combed black hair.    The large helmet that sat on the table next to him was topped by a figure of a rearing leopard edged in gold leaf. The complex heraldic pattern on his tabard was done in red, white, gold and silver and told of a long genealogy stretching over many generations. Overlaying that was a symbol resembling a gold letter E, with the points facing down to the floor. This man was a Duke at least, perhaps higher and the gold symbol meant he was of royal blood probably the third or fourth son of some king. "This is Lord Bidwell, leader of the fine knights coming to our aid."    "Lord Bidwell this is Sir Misha Brightleaf, knight of the order of the axe and bow," the Duke said pointing the fox. Misha gave a deep bow to the Lord who returned it with a shallow one. The nobleman looked at the fox with a cold, disdainful stare. Misha could imagine what this nobleman was thinking. The royal knight was dressed in the finest armor and clothes imaginable and he had just been introduced to a dirty, scruffy, gamey smelling animal-man dressed in battered chain mail. Misha looked more like a bandit then a knight of high rank and birth.    "What have you learned about Nasoj's forces?" Thomas asked.    "So far I've identified twenty lutin tribes and I estimate there was at least four thousand Lutins, and some four hundred human troops involved in the attack." He spread a map open on the table for all to see. He weighted it down on either end with daggers to keep it from rolling back up. "There is no organized resistance south of Giant's Dike. All we've found is a few scattered bands of stragglers, all headed north."    He tapped a line on the map that represented the dike, his finger touching the center of that old Sueliman earthworks. "Nasoj has mustered an army of around two thousand. So far he hasn't moved south of the Dike but he's driven off all our efforts to move north of it. Most likely he's trying to buy time for reinforcements."    Lord Bidwell nodded his head. "A sound strategy. What's the composition of his troops?"    "At least two thousand Lutins, some forty ogres, four giants and at least three hundred humans, mostly infantry," the fox answered. "I don't know how many more forces are moving south to reinforce them but sources estimate at least another thousand will be there within two weeks."    "What sources?" a knight standing near Bidwell asked.    "We have identified a force of some three hundred Lutins mounted on a mix of dire wolves and ponies camped at Massacre rock," the fox said ignoring the question.    "Sir Ellingwood asked you a question," Lord Bidwell said in a cold, domineering tone.    "I heard him," Misha answered in clipped tones, edged with anger. Caroline and Finbar shifted nervously, they knew what that tone of voice meant.    "Then answer him," the nobleman commanded.    Misha's ears flattened against his skull and he bared his teeth as he opened his mouth to answer but Caroline spoke first. "Most information is from the Keeps own scouts plus others."    "By others you mean spies," Ellingwood said, the contempt plain for all to hear.    Thomas rapped on the table with the hilt of a dagger silencing everyone. "Where the information comes from is of no concern as long as it's accurate."    "How do we know it's accurate?" Lord Ellingwood asked. "False reports have destroyed other armies."    "My scouts are the finest in the world," Misha said mixing pride, anger and pain.    "If they're so good," the knight asked. "How is it that you didn't see the attack coming until those monsters were climbing the walls?"    Misha's ears laid back and he uttered a deep, animal growl and his hackles rose up as rage boiled through him. He slammed his gauntleted right fist into the table and the loud crack of wood splitting echoed through the room making everyone jump. Then just as quickly, his whole body sagged in despair. Without a word he turned and walked to the window. Looking out he could see the charred remains of the lower ward. Smoke still curled up in places. A monument to his own failure.    A deathly silence fell over the room and no one moved or spoke for a long time. "The most dangerous enemy isn't the one in front of you but the one behind you," Father Hough said finally breaking the silence.    The cold, calculated look of the royal lord disappeared, replaced by surprise and shock. "I apologize for my knights rude question, we meant no harm," he said with genuine feeling.    "You couldn't know," the fox answered in a whisper. "No one did. Not even me, but I should have."    "What does the valley north of here look like?" George said, his soft words booming loudly throughout the room. Several people jumped at the jackals voice. "How much damage did they do?"    No one spoke for a moment, unsure of what to say or do. The jackal turned to his friend, "MISHA!" he shouted. "What does the rest of the valley look like?"    "George," Caroline started to say.    "THE DEAD ARE DEAD. Now isn't the time to worry about past mistakes," the jackal snapped back harshly. "We need to worry about the living."    Misha sighed with resignation. His friend was right. There would be time for guilt and second guessing later. "Majority of the towns and villages survived. Most only suffered minor attacks and raids. Only one town was destroyed; Tarrelton. It was leveled completely."    "It was in the line of march," George commented. "It's on the Sueliman road just north of here. The Lutins had to pass through it to get to the Keep."    "What about the people there?" Hough asked.    "Most were taken captive," Misha explained. "Cavalry caught some twenty human slavers trying to take the townsfolk north."    Ellingwood shook his head in disgust. "Slavers," he said in disgust. "They should be hanged."    "I slit the throats of the ones stupid enough to surrender," George commented cheerfully. "Is that close enough?"    The knight looked at the jackal with pure horror on his face.    "This is a fight to the death," Caroline said in a voice as cold as a tomb answering the knights unasked question. "Anyone who fights for Nasoj deserves no mercy. Even a quick death is too good for them."    "Everyone deserves mercy," Lord Bidwell said.    The otter slammed her fist onto the table, making everyone jump. "NOT THEM!" she screamed shaking with rage.    The man just stared at the otter in surprise, his jaw hanging open. The change in her was so fast and total that it scared him.    "You are not aware of the evils Nasoj and his minions have done," Thomas said calmly. "Any who work for Nasoj have no honor and are the vilest of humanity." "The leader of Nasoj's army is Baron Calephas," Misha said without turning from the window.    Bidwell stiffened noticeably. That was a name he knew.    "I thought he was dead," someone asked.    "Oh no," Thomas commented. "He has the disturbing habit of surviving."    "We'll kill him," Caroline said calmly, in an iron hard voice. No one doubted that she truly meant it.    "Back to my question," George said calmly. "What about the valley north of the Keep? What about Mallen, Mycransburg, Lord Barnhardt's castle, Glen Avery? And what about Outpost?"    "All were attacked to one degree or another," Misha explained as he returned to his place at the table. "Mallen was hit hard as was Glen Avery but most of the damage was material. The flames from Mallen were seen in Mycransburg and the defenders beat them off easily."    "We were attacked by over two hundred Lutins and killed half of them," Lord Cybury explained. "The rest fled but most didn't get very far. It would have been a hard fight if they hadn't been all dead drunk."    "Drunk?" Thomas asked, incredulously.    The woman nodded. "It seems the first thing they attacked in Mallen was Briar's brewery."    "Evil always destroys itself," someone intoned.    "Not always," George added. "Sometimes we have to help them along a little."    "What we need to decide," the Duke said. "Is what our next move will be."    "We attack," Misha said calmly. "We take our army north of the Dike and kill as many Lutins as possible."    "This won't be a leisurely hunt out in the woods," Bidwell said sarcastically. "This will be a bloody fight."    "A campaign in this terrible a winter will be almost impossible," Ellingwood commented. "Not everyone has the luxury of having a fur coat covering them. We'll loose more to the cold then to Nasoj. And Calephas may be a monster but he will stand and fight."    "I am fully aware of the problems of fighting in winter," the fox answered. "But we can't wait till spring. If we want to break Nasoj's hold over the Lutins we need to hit them now, while the memories of their dead and his defeat are fresh in their minds."    Misha noted that many of the people in the room nodded in agreement, both keeper and visitor alike. "But Lord Ellingwood is right. This winter is too terrible to be out in for long."    "A short strike," Lord Bidwell suggested. "A fast move north to deal with that monster Calephas and his army."    "Agreed," Thomas said nodding his head. "That should disrupt Nasoj and cause panic among the Lutins."    "There's already panic among most of the Lutins," the fox commented. "One more defeat will permanently destroy his hold over them."    "We can keep him off balance till spring with raids and skirmishes," George commented.    "We'll need to concentrate on Nasoj and what tribes he manages to keep loyal," Misha added.    "Will many betray him and desert?" Bidwell asked.    "Most will," the fox explained. "This is the second time Nasoj has promised them a major victory over us and failed. I doubt if he'll be able to keep a quarter of the tribes loyal. Lutins respect power alone and will only follow a leader who wins."    "Nasoj hasn't given them the easy victory and plunder he promised," Finbar added.    "This time he attacked us with some four thousand Lutins," Misha said. "Eight years ago he attacked us with an army five times that size."    "Most of the greenies decided to stay warm at home this time," Finbar snickered.    "And who says Lutins are stupid," George commented sarcastically.      "The plan, is to head north clearing any remaining Lutins south of Giants Dike," Thomas announced. "Then destroy the Baron's army before it can be reinforced to any substantial degree in one massive strike. For this we'll need the entire army."    "I agree and disagree," Rickkter said stepping out of the corner. "True, we need to hit Nasoj now before he can recover. Waiting till spring will be too late but maneuvering a force of several thousand in the snow and mud will be a difficult task. We've learned from prisoners taken their army suffered almost thirty pre cent losses just on the way down here, and they were protected from the worst effects of the snows by their mages. A better strategy would be a small strike force mounted on dragons. Such a force would be small, fast and hard hitting. Attack critical outposts, supply lines, and targets of opportunity. Give them reason to fear us. I've done similar raids before and they are devastating."    "Too small," Misha countered flatly. "Even mounted on dragons a small force can only do so much damage. The baron could scatter his forces into the woods and we wouldn't kill even a quarter of them." *** </HTML>