Send a spelling or grammar correction to: Tracy Johnson
This is a first draft of a story set in the world of Greyhawk.
It is based on a home campaign so some of the people, places and things
may be different. Any helpful comments or suggestions are very welcome.
Thanks
Jason Zavoda
Kynwal took off at a run, flying over the mud with a surefooted
grace. Kyle and Audofleda watched him with envy. The ground had been
like treacle and sucked at their boots, almost pulling them from their
feet. It clung like glue as well and they were both coated with the
stuff halfway up their legs.
The monitor had an almost proprietory look on her face as she
watched Kynwal eat up the distance over the mire. She wore a half-smile
that made Kyle frown.
"His elven blood shows." said Kyle, looking back at the runner.
"He is a cut above the other recruits." She answered proudly. "And
all of the new recruits are better than the usual leprechauns we get."
"Leprechauns." Kyle grinned. "I thought that only Geoff rangers
called their new recruits that?"
"I feel like this is a Geoff army." said Audofleda. "The March
will not be holding onto Hochoch long, I'm thinking."
"It doesn't belong to the March." Kyle's voice deepened angrily.
"It belongs to the giants." retorted Audofleda, but she quickly
continued before Kyle could reply. "Sorry. I don't like to see these
recruits wasted, or us either, that bridge...."
"Agreed. But watch what you say." warned Kyle.
"Sorry." she said again, but stiffly. "Sergeant."
* * *
"Riders." Seidi called over to Matholwch and Nwyvre.
The knight had picketed his horse by the side of the old road,
and Nwyvre had stayed to talk and help direct the new arrivals across the
field.
Three companies had come and gone within the hour. The Eighth,
at work nearby where the road ended before the southern gate of the city.
The Thirty-Third, sent to the west to take up position near the fast
flowing Realstream. And the Twelfth, which had just departed, sloshing
through the marshy ground to the right of the Eighth.
"Where are the archers and the heavy infantry?" asked Nwyvre.
"Where are the Knights of the Watch?"
"I'm here, so the Watch is here." said Matholwch. "The regulars
are at least a half-day behind. The column stretches for miles and there
are two others just like it heading for the north and east gates of the
city."
"Are there no archers among these soldiers?" Nwyvre nodded his
head in the general direction that the companies had taken.
"Some, but most of the auxiliaries carry slings." Matholwch
explained. "Less to carry, easier to resupply."
"So many of Geoff's children among these soldiers. There should
be archers." the ranger said sadly.
"They have been away from Geoff a long time." Matholwch stared
off toward the east. "Our people have drifted. Most went to the March, or
the Yeomanry, some to Keoland, some further..."
"They've forgotten the bow?" asked Nwyvre. "It is in their blood."
"There are bowmen. The March has companies formed of nothing but
archers. They will be coming. But many of us were too young for the
longbow when the giants came." said Matholwch.
"What is this coming?" asked Nwyvre. "Your brother knights maybe?"
"Shouldn't be." Matholwch shaded his eyes with his hand. "Horsemen
coming, yes."
"But not knights." Nywvre had eyes that a hawk would envy. "These
are not in heavy armor, and their mounts are small."
"I think I know..." began Matholwch.
"These look like nomads." Nwyvre's voice rose in surprise. "What
have your Marchers brought to Geoff?"
* * *
(To Be Continued...)