Runeblade

Cold wind gusted through the trees, cutting through Julian’s plate. Damp and heavy, it pierced through his layered gambeson, settling into his bones. A fitting prelude to winter. He clenched his reins, supple leather creaking under the strain.

They were running out of time! He longed to spur his charger into a gallop, and fall upon the foes that had dared to try and play him for a fool — but as little as he liked it, the situation required care. Every jostling step of his mount needled at his frustration, until even the faintest crunch of fallen leaves scraped him raw.

Kaius had found the camp. Brokenlight was there.

But it was a fortress full of men, and the delvers they followed were no fools. Even with their power, a direct assault on so many would be suicide with Brokenlight and his elite backing them — to say nothing about the naked vulnerability that Kanmost presented.

Just behind him, Sir Violetguard sat slumped in his saddle, swaying slightly with every step of his mount. If he looked back, Julian knew that he would see the man’s eyes wide open but glassy — mind distant as the scout soared through distant skies.

He didn’t need to wait for the retainer’s next report to know what was happening. Kaius and his team had a singular goal above all others. The Archivist. The Wellspring was secondary, as was their agreement to flush out the traitors riding alongside him.

Any man with even a modicum of strategic sense would know how they would react. Watch the defended gorge, allow the courier to arrive, and let Brokenlight leave. He knew Kaius would allow that bandit to simply waltz his way into his place of power.

And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Springing the trap early would be a fool's errand. Even if they braved the Crater to attack the gorge from the far side, their mounts would be useless against a fortified position. More importantly, he would be putting the Archivist at risk, which would place him at odds with the Delvers — their support would be too important for securing the wellspring.

So he had to simply content himself to wait, while the prize slipped away from him once more. At least it gave him time to get into position. He didn’t know exactly how Kaius planned to deal with the warband that would be left to deal with the camp, but he would have to do something to draw them away from the Archivist.

Whatever that team planned, it would no doubt involve drawing the camp’s defences towards the mouth of the gorge. Attacking from the crater was too risky — there was far too high of a chance that the defensive force could flee into Vainblood when things grew tenuous. A messenger could reach out to Brokenlight, or they could simply rally. Kaius didn’t seem the type to leave a bared knife lingering when he had a charge to care for.

That left an angle for his band to strike. Drawn away from the camp, and pinned by the delvers, there would be nowhere for the defenders to run when a full cavalry charge bore down on them. They wouldn’t even need to enter that darkness — such was the benefit of the windsouls.

That did still leave the question of exactly how the delvers intended to bait the bandits, and how he could help to secure the Archivist. He needed Kanmost alive. The man’s journals were gone, but even if they held the secret to opening the Wellspring, Julian had no doubt that Kanmost would still be able to tell them its location.

Sir Violetguard groaned behind him, his hauberk rustling under his plate as he straightened in his saddle.

“It’s like you suspected sir,” the retainer said. “The journals arrived, and Brokenlight immediately made for the Crater with his core team.”

Of course he had — nothing served the bastard by waiting.

“And the delvers?”

“The meles has stripped out of his underarmour. Last I saw him, he was making for the mouth of the ravine. The rest stayed up on the ridge. Their backline’s hunking down by a stone overlook about a third of the way in, but Kaius has moved closer by the camp.”

So that’s how they were going to do it. It was clever, he had to admit. A sudden, powerful beast attack would force the defenders to respond, but would give them no cause to suspect an actual attack by enemy forces.

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“If they’re about to strike, we need to speed up,” Kel said, frowning. “If we wait too long, they may retreat with the Archivist, which will make it far harder to follow our quarry."

“Aye, my lord,” Violetguard responded. “But I do not think we need to worry. They’ve been in position for a while — they seem to be waiting.”

“Waiting?” Adrian replied. “What for? Have they caught our scent?”

They’d had it from the very beginning — but Julian wasn’t about to share that.

“No doubt they are simply allowing Brokenlight to pull far enough away that he won’t notice their assault,” Julian said confidently. “No matter — it works in our favour. A camp of that size will be no small task, even for a band of their talents. We will engender an allegiance of circumstance if we ride to their aid.”

Kel raised his brow at Julian, giving him a questioning look. “Would it not be better to allow them to expend their strength? Our position with them is rather…precarious. It’s a needless risk.”

Mighty interesting for Kel to question him at this point — almost as if he had good reason to want the delvers exhausted and battle-worn. Or perhaps his right hand man was being genuine — Kel had always been the practical sort. Perhaps it was Adrian? He made some of the least sense, with how enmeshed the Steelhearts house was with the financial interests of Baanswell and its surrounding interests — but was that not the perfect cover.

Or maybe it was Edmund. Rosenhall sat rigid in his saddle, staring directly through the twisting, redleafed trunks ahead of them. The man had been…surly since the loss of his retainer. A simple lack of control? Or was it the visible peak of a mountain of bitter jealousy? Hard to tell. Edmund could be impulsive, but working against the House of Flowers would be suicide, considering his lacking peerage and tenuous position.

He flicked back to Kel, giving the lord a steady look.

“We need the archivist as much as they do, and considering the power of Brokenlight and his forces, it would not go awry to secure some battlefield allies.”

“They kidnapped you!” Edmund snapped, speaking for what felt like the first time today. “They should be swinging from the gallows, not invited to parlay!”

“And yet the fog of war is a dense curtain that invites even paragons to walk in the shadows,” Adrian replied, holding his arbalest at a low ready as he scanned the trees for threats. “The delvers were audacious, that much it true — but they did not act with undue scorn, and only a fool would expect warriors to wet their necks and wait for death. I agree with Julian — the guildhounds could be potent allies.”

Edmund grunted in response — though Julian could tell that he wanted to reject the point wholesale. Lower nobility were always so precious about respect; they let insecurity override good sense.

“We help the delvers, and that is that,” Julian said, laying it down in plain language. “Adrian, you will take your two retainers and hold a position on the ridge above the camp. I doubt the Archivist will be left completely undefended, so if someone holds him at knife point, take their head off. The rest of us will position ourselves above the rear of the gorge, right before the start of the darkness. When the delvers spring their trap, we strike at the rear of the enemy.”

Without waiting for a response, Julian snapped his reins. As one, their band rode into a full gallop, all but flying beneath the red-hued canopy of Vainblood.

…

Porkchop huffed, laying flat on his stomach in circumstances of extreme discomfort. The tall jumble of jutting rocks he was hidden behind squeezed him from three directions, the nook just a little too small for his bulk. That left his chest and head shoved inside a bush — one covered in thorns. He had to breathe shallowly and lie very very still, lest the hooked barbs inseparably tangled themselves into his fir.

Something crawled up his back leg, working its way towards his belly. He couldn’t even shake it free!

Worst of all, something that smelt like a cat had been marking these rocks until very recently — the acrid bite of their musk was inescapable, searing his snout.

His under armour would have made it a bit more comfortable — but that was pointless for their ruse. It would be…odd to fight without armour. He felt a little naked without it. Which was patently ridiculous — by the Matriarchs, he was a meles! Clothes were a thing of the weak and feeble minded. Armour was different. It was useful. Even against Steels, he would take far more injuries without it.

The thought made his ears perk up. Actually, maybe that wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Might even make things a little interesting. He’d need to sell the fight well enough to pull as many of the scum out of their camp as possible. That might work even better if they thought they were getting some licks in.

“Can I attack them yet? We’ve been waiting for hours.” Porkchop said, reaching out to the familiar presences that lingered further down the gorge.

“We just need to wait a little more until we’re sure Flowers has arrived — scratch that, Kenva just spotted a few of his archers. Go now,” Kaius replied.

Porkchop leapt forward, the stone he had wedged himself into groaning as he squeezed himself free. Huffing in excitement, he tore through the brush, making no effort to stay silent as he ran toward the mouth of the gorge.

He reached it in seconds, spying a few hidden metal stakes that had been scattered through the rubble. The alarm.

Porkchop strolled straight through it, eager to raise some hell.

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