the foggy remnants of sleep began to clear, and the mercenary recalled how he'd come to be locked inside a very old barn with several other soldiers. As he sat up and peered around, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the priest could hear shouting and the beginnings of some sort of scuffle just beyond the walls of the barn, and he realized that the fighting was what had awakened him.
'What's going on?' Kovrim asked of no one in particular, standing and stretching as he observed many of the rest of the dozen Crescents standing or kneeling, peering through gaps in the log wall.
'Lieutenant Matrell is out there,' Hort Bloagermun said, turning toward Kovrim. 'He said he and some other Crescents were in the forest, and they were going to try to free us!'
'What?' Kovrim said, not sure he had heard correctly. 'Vambran's here?'
'Aye, sir,' Old Bloagy replied, still pressing one eye to the wall. 'He crept up to the wall here and spoke with me just a few moments ago.'
Kovrim realized his knees were shaking in relief. Vambran was alive! He was mounting a rescue attempt!
But then, Kovrim began to frown, for he could see no way for such a plan to succeed. The old mercenary knew how many soldiers had been with the company aboard the ship, and how many Vambran was likely to have remaining under his command. It was a pitiful number to take up against the entire army gathered in the clearing where he and the other Crescents were being held. It was foolish to try a head-on assault, and Vambran would know that, too. Kovrim's nephew was no fool.
'No, something else is happening,' Kovrim announced, moving to the wall to get a look. 'Vambran may be out there, but this is not his work. He wouldn't try to attack the entire silver raven contingent this way. They must have been spotted out in the woods.'
'Those aren't Crescents out there,' another soldier reported from the opposite wall. 'Someone else is attacking the camp.'
Kovrim switched positions to get a better look. In the dim light of the embers of the many fires, he could see very little, but the motion all around the clearing was continuous, and he could occasionally make out a figure leaping up from the shadows, pouncing on a soldier of the silver raven group. The sound of the fighting grew louder as more of the attacking force poured into the camp.
Nearby, the guards standing watch at the door to the barn cried out, and Kovrim raced over to see what had become of them. Three silhouettes were arrayed against the pair of mercenaries, all of them dressed in crude, natural clothing and swinging curved blades. One of the figures was an elf.
'Druids,' Kovrim said, understanding at last. 'They're attacking the logging operation.'
'Maybe they'll free us,' another soldier said. 'We should shout to let them know we're in here!'
Kovrim started to protest such a notion, figuring the druids were well aware of the Crescents' predicament and unlikely to do much about it. The veteran soldier had campaigned against the druids during his years of service, and he knew that the woodland people did not distinguish between rival bands of mercenaries, and the Sapphire Crescents certainly appeared to be a rival band. To them, every soldier was an enemy of the trees, and it was doubtful those attacking the camp that night would have any concern for the plight of the dozen prisoners inside the barn. If they escaped, the woodland folk might even turn on them, as well.
Kovrim was forming up a plan to get the men out himself, but it would require good timing. 'Get ready to flee when the right moment comes,' he ordered, causing a stir all around him as he moved toward the door. 'You'll know when that is,' he promised them.
The three druids overwhelmed the pair of guards in front of the barn, but they did not turn their attention to the prisoners, as Kovrim had suspected. Instead, they melted into the shadows again, leaving the men inside to grumble and wonder aloud why they had been ignored.
The fighting raged on, with shouting, horses whinnying in alarm, and the ring of steel on steel everywhere. Kovrim began to think that the druids would win the contest, for it seemed to him as he watched that there were more and more of them and fewer of the silver ravens. That's when he decided it was time to act.
Uttering a simple phrase, he instantly found himself on the opposite side of the door, standing next to the bodies of the downed guards. The priest grabbed the log that had been used to bar the door and shoved it aside, prepared to open the portal and lead the Crescents into the woods beyond the camp.
But the blaring sound of horns began ringing out through the forest. The clarion call echoed from down the path the Crescents had followed upon arriving at the camp. Kovrim turned just in time to spot a contingent of cavalry bursting into the clearing, charging ahead to attack the scattered, ill-equipped druids. Behind the cavalry, a large force of infantry marched into view, a wide column of troops who maneuvered precisely into a skirmish line and moved through the camp at a steady if not spectacular pace.
Damn it to the nine hells, Kovrim thought, yanking the door open. This may get dicey.
'Hurry!' he said. 'Before the reinforcements catch us!'
The prisoners inside the barn began filing out, turning and making a beeline for the trees. Before even half of the Crescents were out of the prison, though, shouts rose up from nearby. Kovrim spun in time to see a trio of mounted soldiers bearing down on him and the men escaping with him.
'Run!' he shouted, urging the soldiers to fade into the woods. As the rest of the Crescents fled, Kovrim turned back toward the mounted soldiers, planning a distraction to slow them down and give the men time to escape. Slipping a hand inside his shirt, the priest removed a bit of parchment he had stored in a secret pocket. He gave it a quick kiss then began muttering a prayer as he crumpled the scrap and made a circular motion with it around his body.
The parchment crumbled to dust in Kovrim's hand while at the same time, a glowing field of protective energy sprang up, surrounding his body. He ran toward the cavalrymen, hoping his magical barrier would be enough to protect him from a stray attack or two. In the back of his mind, he began to formulate the words of a final spell, one that he could use to whisk himself away from the fighting.
When the time comes, he told himself. Not too soon, though. Must give them time to get deep into the woods.
The first of the cavalrymen began to twirl a light mace menacingly, and Kovrim darted in the opposite direction, hoping to lure the soldier along with him. The priest huffed and puffed as he zigzagged through the camp, trying to draw attention to himself while at the same time avoiding being cornered. The woodland folk had gone into a full retreat, it seemed, for there were only the dead among them still within the confines of the camp. It became apparent that he was alone in his frantic plan, and more and more mounted soldiers closed in about him, trying to contain him. He felt a bit foolish, like a lone chicken in a fenced yard, running willy-nilly all about, trying to keep himself off the chopping block.
When a mounted soldier approached him with a halfspear leveled at his chest, Kovrim stopped and raised his arms out to his sides as a show of surrender. He began to speak the words of that last spell, ready to send himself instantly over many miles of terrain in an instant, all the way back to Arrabar, where he would regroup and bring reinforcements to aid the stranded Crescents.
Before he could complete the triggering phrases, though, something struck him hard from behind, on the back of the head, and he sank to his knees, stunned. The words of the spell vanished from his mind, and blackness replaced them.
Kovrim slowly came awake with a throbbing pain at the base of his skull. He discovered, to his dismay, that he had a large, leather-wrapped bar of steel rammed into his mouth like the bit of a bridle. The bulging thing pressed back against the corners of his mouth, keeping his teeth pried open and depressing his tongue. It was firmly anchored with leather straps that ran over and around his head, as well as beneath his chin. The entire thing buckled in back somewhere. Furthermore, his arms were stoutly manacled in front of himself, each fist tightly encased in a hinged metal ball that prevented him from even flexing his fingers. Kovrim was helpless to even try to unbuckle the harness. The mercenaries who had recaptured him were apparently used to dealing with enemy mages and priests. All in all, it was a rather effective way to keep the priest from talking. Or casting any more spells.
Kovrim realized to his further dismay that he was back inside the barn, along with most of the Crescents. The men had not made it far into the woods, it appeared, before they had been rounded up and returned to the makeshift prison, and the glum faces made it clear to the grizzled priest that their failed escape attempt had cost more than a spell. They were without much hope.
