Hope Sundered

“The Azzies’ll have no trouble following us in this,” Sollin groused, pointing at the sky. His militia huddled together within a small grove, which offered meager cover against the chilly morning drizzle. “The ground’s so soft. Anywhere we go’ll be obvious!”

He winced and rubbed his throbbing shoulder again, prompting Bayse Avernol to offer some boiled greyfur bark shavings. “Chew on these, Captain. It’s an old family remedy. I promise they’ll quiet the pain.”

Sollin couldn’t prevent his eyebrow from arching but he pinched a clump from the small leather pouch in front of him and tucked it inside his mouth. Bayse watched as he chewed. He didn't want It was worth it not to disappoint his young admirer, Sollin told himself, and at least he could stomach the taste.

“The rain should slow them down also,” Crenshaw replied, “and perhaps there’s a way to turn this to our advantage.”

“How?” Sollin asked, irritated. “They’ll know exactly where…we…” His voice trailed off and his eyes grew wide. “Do you remember that ravine we camped in shortly before we arrived?”

“That old dry riverbed north of here?”

Sollin nodded. “I think it’s time we go back. I have an idea, but it’ll require everyone to do exactly as they’re told.” He turned to Bayse and smiled. “Maker’s mercy, this stuff actually works! My shoulder’s numbed a lot already.”

Bayse beamed with satisfaction. “I told you so, Captain.”

Crenshaw chewed pensively on his bottom lip. “The ravine could be a good hiding place, but if the Azrahterans find us, we’ll be trapped, slaughtered.”

Sollin grinned widely and nodded. “That’s the idea.”

⸞ ⸎ ⸟

Major Parcivon reached the small grove before nightfall. He’d been driving his men relentlessly after their humiliating defeat, denying them rest and meals as punishment for their failure. They marched in aggressive pursuit of the enemy, following the tracks left by the raiding party.

The abandoned Avelirian camp they found showed recent signs of occupancy. Deep ruts left by horses and wagons, now pooled with muddy water, headed north, though considerable effort had been made to conceal them in the unending sheets of bitter cold rain.

“Sir,” the approaching scout said. “I found something. Tracks from the camp heading east.”

“How many?”

“The mud makes it difficult to be precise but I’d say a lot, sir.”

Parcivon smirked. “They think they’re clever enough to fool us, but they’re only stalling the inevitable. They dared to strike us, and now they’ll pay dearly.”

Despite the waning daylight, the Azrahteran company followed the tracks north to a ravine, where a forward sentry confirmed the presence of wagons, horses, and tents.

“You thought you could hide from me?” Parcivon whispered aloud. He formed up his ranks and charged in, hoping to corner the Avelirians and take them by surprise as they had done to him.

Snarling like rabid animals, they descended upon…empty tents?

The entire ridgeline of the ravine came alive with archers who wasted no time unleashing their missiles into the fray. Among them Parcivon could see a short stocky man giving orders, hefting a weapon too elegant for its wielder.

Was that Morlo’s axe?

Atop his horse, Major Parcivon was an easy target. He took an arrow to the neck and one to the chest before falling from his saddle.

Desperate to flee the piercing rain of death, the remaining Azrahterans broke rank and ran for the ravine opening, only to find the rest of the Avelirians waiting for them. Both sides collided, producing a messy, all-out fight for survival. The sounds of metal clashing and men dying filled the air in a grotesque cacophony of battle.

The archers sent every arrow they had into the backs of the retreating Azrahterans. Once they were spent, each of them drew a melee weapon and charged down the embankment. This second wave did much to remove the pressure from the front line, but some Azrahterans still managed to break through, sprinting back the way they’d come.

Twenty-three of Parcivon’s company of two hundred men made it out of the ravine alive. Captain Sollin lost only seven.