Devlin came to with a start, inhaling deeply, only to choke on the snow that shot up his nostrils and begin hacking up his lungs. At the same time, he could feel someone on top of him, keeping him pinned against the ground. The ambush! He must have passed out. I'm not dying like this! He jabbed an elbow back into his attacker. Nothing happened. No grunt of pain, no snarl of anger. Devlin prepared to ram him again but then it all came back. The black-armored knight with the horned helmet. General Vokoun.
Devlin dug his elbow into the general's ribs and twisted his body off. It landed with a soft thump in the snow. Devlin sat up, eye darting back and forth. But there were no enemies. The sun was going down. How long was I unconscious? He wiped snow and crusted blood from his brow, wincing as his hand brushed against his left eyebrow. His eye was swollen within a hair of being shut. He noticed the dull throbbing of his head as well. Devlin grunted and turned towards the general's body. He shrieked and scrambled backward at the sight of the headless body, holding down vomit. His hand bumped into something metallic and he turned his gaze from the body to it. It was a helmet, buried facefirst in the snow. He picked it up. The General's hel- The general's head plopped into Devlin's lap.
"Aah!"
Devlin vomited. A lot. All over his boots. He shoved the head out of his lap, then sat there for a moment, absolutely aghast. He didn't know how to react. What to think. His hands sat at his side. limp, and his head hung forward. He could feel and hear his heartbeat in the silence. Silence? Devlin dragged his head up and took in his surroundings for the first time, being sure to flit over the disembodied general.
Hoden's Pass had been decimated. The watchtowers were prostrate, blown into a million splinters, the soldiers' tents were flailing in the wind, half unhooked from the tent stakes, and what was left of the makeshift mess hall, nothing more than a large tent with wooden tables was smoldering in the gentle breeze. Devlin's mouth hung open. How did this happen? How did the Sadorians get through the pass? He pursed his lips. It really didn't matter how it had happened, did it? It just had.
~ ~ ~
A quick survey revealed that there were no survivors. Devlin held back the tears at first as he recognized friend after friend, strewn in the snow, but by the end he let the warm tears trickle down his cheeks. After a moment of quiet sobbing, he knuckled his eyes and sniffed. Pull yourself together. Remember your training. Observe surroundings, identify threats, come up with a strategy. He inhaled once deeply, closed his eyes and swallowed hard, then clenched his fist. Whoever did this would pay.
His observations told him that no one was alive and that the assault party was long gone. He had to warn someone though. Whoever could trample through Hoden's pass, back up, whoever could get to Hoden's Pass was someone to be worried about. Devlin found only a few Sadorian bodies compared to the two-hundred Astorian troops. He noted the distinctions between Sadorians and Astorians were quite apparent for a country whose founding ancestors were brothers. The Sadorians were broad, blond and blue-eyed, with squarish faces and impressive beards if Devlin was being honest. There were also black tattoos running up and down their necks, cheeks, and if Devlin had to guess, their arms as well, although with their heavy fur coats and hoods he couldn't tell.
Devlin quickly rifled through the jackets and jerkins of each Sadorian, looking for a hint as to who they were. He found nothing except the wooden carving of a bull painted black, in every Sadorian warrior's clothing. Devlin raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. A black cow? That's not Sadoria's coat of arms. He rammed one of the carvings in his pocket and wrenched his sword from the first Sadorian whom he had killed. We may have come from the same ancestors, but Astor would have never allowed for what your people have done. And neither would King Ormen.
Devlin dug through the wreckage of the officer's tent, procuring a satchel which he jammed a map of Velhurland, two canteens. and what little rations he could salvage into. marched past the carnage that was Hoden's Pass to the stone bridge that curled over the small creek and connected the pass road to the trail down the mountain. Devlin knelt as he crossed the bridge. The footprints of the Sadorians veered off into the snow, headed east, and after about twenty feet the tall snow was blown away in a path wide enough for five men to walk side by side. Did they shovel a path?
Devlin plunged into the waist-high snow, doing his best to shuffle where the Sadorians had already trampled it down until he came upon the clear path that winded down the creekbed, over a small rise, and out of sight. The snow rose on both sides of the cleared path like white waves, tossed aside by the wind. This was no man's doing. Devlin rolled the carving in his pocket. He reached in his satchel and pulled out the map. It was a local map, with only the nearby mountain range, water sources, and local settlements. Devlin followed the creek with his hand. It ran east, wiggling its way for several miles down the mountainside till it curled around a small town. Devlin squinted. Potter's Creek. If the Sadorians got their first it would be the next Hoden's Pass.
There was no army camp between the pass and the settlement, the nearest one being at the base of the mountain. Atheron was well past Potter's Creek. Too far to reach in time. Devlin rammed the map back in the satchel and set his jaw. It was up to him. Potter's Creek. Sounds quiet enough. Devlin rolled his eyes. Not for long.
Points: 173529
Reviews: 1589
Donate