Hunting Freedom

[charclone]

Optio Amulius Zuf Genialis, second in command of Count Arruns Lu Bonifatius’ cohort frowned. Besides the Count and his son, there was twenty men from the cohort. Behind them was the gate through which they had traveled to this world. Around them were unfamiliar trees.

But before him, amidst the ruins of some celebration of some sort, was what concerned him.

Standing alone, clad in black armour, a knight blocked the way. Behind him, people, dressed in clothing both familiar and strange, rushed aboard some strange, long, horseless carriage, clearly meaning to escape while the knight bought them time.

“Hah! Finally! Someone with some backbone!” Jeered the Count’s arrogant son. One day, that boy’s arrogance would cost him. But so far, he had been lucky. As well as smart enough to pay attention to his training master, Optio Amulius admitted to himself.

“Father, perhaps we should at least match his challenge!” The Count looked at his son, before motioning his troops back, and nodding to his son.

The boy dismounted his horse and drew his blade.

The knight simply shifted his posture, the strangely shaped blade remaining before him. It reminded Amulius of flames. Decorative? Or was there a purpose behind the shape of the blade? Amuluis pondered.

The Count’s boy approached the knight, his own blade, shorter than the knight’s, held before him.

“Careful boy, you aren’t nearly as well protected as he is, and his blade has more reach.” Amulius cautioned him.

“I can see that Optio! But that also means he is slowed by the armour, and the blade is heavier than mine. Harder to stop and feint!” The boy laughed.

“Idiot.” Amulius muttered under his breath.

“Careful Optio. That is my son, though your attempt to council him is appreciated. Still, even if they escape, a noble prisoner would be of far more value than a few slaves.” Count Arruns said.

“I meant no disrespect Count.”

“Of course you didn’t my friend. But one day my son will be in charge, and he already dislikes your cautious attitude. Hopefully, I can turn this lesson to teach him why such cautious advice is valuable.”

The horseless carriage roared and moved along the black stone road. The knight spared it a glance, before the Count’s son yelled, giving away his intent, and charged.

The knight’s blade came up and parried the blade with practiced ease.

The young noble attempted a feint, that became another lunge.

As the knight parried it, it suddenly became obvious to the Optio.

“That knight is inexperienced. Practiced with the blade, not half bad, but I doubt he has practiced with it long, nor has he been in a real fight. Probably some nobleman’s son that came to test his mettle at this festival.”

The Count nodded, wincing as the Knight finally counterattacked, a vicious kick to his son’s shin, followed by a swipe at his chest, that turned to a lunge as his son danced back.

“Well, his mettle is surely being tested. Though, I wonder, where is the militia? Surely such an event would warrant some form of guard for the nobility?”

The Count’s firstborn batted another horizontal swing aside and lunged again. As before, he relied on the point to penetrate the armour. His aim was poor, and the knight dodged. Instead of hitting the, presumably, thinner, besagew it skittered off the knight’s pauldron.

The hilt of the knight’s sword came up, and the pommel smashed into the heir’s head. Instead of backing off, the Count’s son instead rolled with the blow, and stepped inside of the knight’s reach.

With a scream, he drove the point towards the knight’s throat. His blade sparked as it slid off the gorget protecting the throat.

He attempted to step back, to gain better momentum.

The knight advanced, and grabbed his still outstretched arm, holding that held the sword.

The knight swung his sword up, to cut the boy’s arm.

Rather than risk losing his arm, either to the blow or the injury, he thrust his other arm in the way.

Count Arruns began to step forward as he heard his son scream in pain, before stopping himself.

With a heave, aided by the pain of the blow to his off hand, he wrenched his arm free, and feinted backwards. Again, the knight attempted to pursue, but the Count’s son instead stepped inside the knight’s reach, his blade again aiming for the knight’s throat.

Again, it bounced off, but the Count’s heir learned his lesson. He pressed the attack, trying to find a weak point. The knight for his part did a decent job of keeping his joints protected, keeping his arms close, and attempted to open of the distance.

Finally, one of them made a mistake.

The Count’s son feinted again, this time for the slits in the helmet. Instead of falling for it, the knight smashed his armoured head into the boy’s own.

Stumbling back, and bleeding profusely from the nose, the young noble charged, refusing to let the knight open the distance.

Batting the Count’s son’s blade away with the hilt of his own sword, the knight sidestepped the charge, and brought his blade down at an angle.

Count Arruns gave an anguished cry as his son fell, the knight’s blade finding the gap between the helmet and armour and biting deep into the flesh and bone at the back of the neck.

The knight was visibly breathing hard. In the distance, the rest of the Legion gave cries of victory. But on this small portion of the battlefield, there was silence.

Finally, after several heartbeats, the Count broke it.

“Take him alive!” The Count ordered; his voice hard.

Optio Amulius winced, as the knight went down. Bravely, valiantly, but futilely, he tried to resist, until a soldier got behind him, and smashed the haft of his spear into the knights head.

The knight fell and was beaten swiftly to unconsciousness.

Silence resumed.

“Bring him. Put him and my son’s body on his horse. We return to camp.” The Count ordered; sorrow audible in his voice.

 

[charclone]

Optio Amalis watched the troops march back through the gate.

“Optio! Where are your troops going!” A Centurion angrily stormed up to him. “Who ordered you back through the gate!? We are winning, but we still have that stone city to take. Turn your troops around!”

“They are going home. As am I.” Count Arruns said, as he came out of the Gate on his horse.

“Count! Sire, I, uh. My apologies, sire.”

“Don’t apologise, you were simply doing your duty.” The count glanced at the trail of looted goods being brought through the gate. “Which is more than I can say for some.”

The Count directed his attention to the Optio.

“Well my friend. My son’s body has been seen to. I have sent our troops to set up camp, near where we made camp in the Alnus forest, and have set a healer on our prisoner.” He sighed. “The people of this world don’t seem to have much fight in them, but those that do? … I’m glad my son at least died honourably.”

The Optio and the Centurion glanced at each other and ignored the mournful tone in the Count’s voice.

“Well, if it pleases his lordship, I can ensure a portion of loot is sent back for him, in memory of his son.” The Centurion said, tentatively.

The Count nodded, slowly.

“Come my friend. Let us go home and put my son to rest.”

There was a strange rumbling from the other world, when they were about halfway through the Gate.

“Sounds like thunder my lord. Heh, looks like the legion will be rained on while there.” The Optio joked.

“No… it sounds… strange. It sounds unlike any thunder that I have heard… more like… an explosion spell.”

“A mage perhaps? Have the enemy counterattacked?” The Optio glanced up at his liege.

“Perhaps, but perhaps not. In either case, my course is set.”

“Yes, my lord.”

They continued in silence the rest of the way, the strange sounds of explosions echoing strangely in the Gate.

“Aaah!” The Optio sighed. “The other world smelled so strange. Its good to smell the air of ones homeland!”

“It is tasteless to me as ever.” The count shook his head. “Come, form the men for the march. We… do you hear that?”

The Optio glanced behind him.

He saw a panicked tide of men, mounts, and demi-humans, all charging in a desperate wave for the other side.

The Count’s horse neatly sidestepped the mass of bodies.

The Optio grabbed a soldier.

“What is the meaning of this!?” He screamed in the panicked boy’s face. “Are you not part of the Imperial Army? Act
like it! Now! What just happened!?”

The boy shook so hard his armour rattled. He stuttered as he spoke.

“F-flying swords. Dropped things that exploded. Camp was destroyed. Then… then flying chariots. Metal beasts.
Something… something splattered on me from them.” He looked down at his bloodstained armour. “Oh…oh. Oh! Oh gods!
He… he’s all over me! I… Oh gods!”

The Optio released the gibbering boy.

He glanced at the mass of bodies, driven into a panicked retreat.

“Sire… if they put these many men into retreat…”

“We don’t have the troops to hold them. Find Senator Godasen. He is supposed to be in command!” The Count
gestured at the Gate. “My duty to Augustus here is done but am no coward. We establish a defence first, then I return home.
My son… my son will have to wait. He would understand.”


Tala mopped the blood from the brow of the unconscious otherworld Knight.

“The Empire seems to be intent on taking your lands, as they took mine.” She muttered to herself. Her ears twitched.
The sounds in the camp had changed… more troops were moving through, but it wasn’t the regimented marching.

She turned to clean the cloth in the bucket. A shift in the Knight’s breathing betrayed his wakefulness.

She kept up her work, not betraying that she had noticed.

Part of her was jealous. Like him, she was taken as a prize. Unlike him, she was a slave, while he was a captive to be ransomed back to his people. The leather collar at her throat itched.

The faint scrape of metal on metal, and the groan of strained fibers from the rope that bound his hands told her he
was awake enough to move. Technically, she was supposed to alert the healer, but based on the groans and occasional screams, he seemed rather busy. Interrupting him would only earn her a beating.

Then there was an unfamiliar sound.

She turned and saw the Knight, still in his armour, using a nail, taken from bed from the looks of it, to wear through his bindings.

He looked back at her.

With a tug. The rope bindings around his wrists snapped.

The Knight grinned and stood up from the bed.

She could see the fear in his eyes, but it wasn’t stopping him.

Technically, Tala should have called for help. Sounded the alarm. Alerted the guards outside the tent.

Instead, she simply held a shaking hand up, and held a finger to her lips, to signal silence.

The Knight nodded. He glanced around, and held up a hand, gesturing to it, and touching he armour.

“Gauntlet?” She spoke softly, and pointed to his gauntlets, sitting on the table the healer had used when removing the armour to check the blow to his head. Next to them, sat his helm.

“Gauntlet.” The Knight mimicked. He spoke another word as he picked them up. A word, she guessed was his word for gauntlet.

He nodded to her, as he put them on. His helm going on last. It was buckled on, the claps and buckles hidden as he shifted the gorget.

He said another word, and mimicked sword fighting.

“Sword?” She asked.

“Sword.” He sounded out the word and nodded. Uncertainty in his eyes.

Tala frowned.

She hadn’t seen where the sword had been taken. She hadn’t seen him brough in with one either, so she didn’t know what it looked like.

She held her hands up in a shrug.

The knight glanced at the entrance to the tent, and then at the back.

He walked, more silently than Tala had thought possible for someone in armour and stepped into the gaps between the rows of tents.

Tala followed.

Partly she was terrified of being caught, with the Knight gone. But the vast majority of her? She had waited for a
chance to escape, perhaps to Italica, perhaps elsewhere. The other side of the Gate seemed a good enough choice and with the camp in chaos, and a friendly local, this seemed the best opportunity.

The Empire had failed to break her. They failed to kill her. She would make them regret that mistake, however she could.

The pair moved between the tents. The Knight seemed to understand how the camp was organised, as he moved towards the supply tents. Tala wasn’t surprised, the camp was organised mostly the same as every Imperial camp. They seemed to always organise them in the same shape and pattern.

A large, fancy, officer’s tent the Knight paused at. He seemed to be listening.

Tala listed as well. The tent to her ears was empty.

Inside, they found that it was.

Maps of Alnus were spread out around the table at the centre. But Tala’s attention was on the weapon hung on a rack. It was a short spear, its blade was long, meant for both cutting and thrusting.

It was the weapon of her people’s Royal Guard. She picked it up and flinched as a blade was drawn from a scabbard.

She whirled, the spear at the ready, just as she had been trained.

The Knight gave her a look and sheathed his sword.

It was strange, the blade looking like flames, rather than the straight edges she was used to seeing.

The Knight swung the sheath onto his back and stepped back into the space between tents.

Tala was right behind him.

 

[charclone]

Captain Edgar Johnson was not supposed to be in command of his unit. His CO, however, had been on leave when the news came. Fantasy creatures, medieval armies, attacking Canadian soil.

There was a belief that Canadians were peaceful people. The Germans in the First World War, and the Italians in the Second, learned that this was not the truth. And now, so too had these Roman wannabes.

Mixed US and Canadian aircraft leveled any formation that attempted to organise resistance large than a handful of men.

Canadian troops on the ground had engaged what remained. Most of the fighting had been in the fields, where a medieval festival had been taking place, though some scattered units of the enemy had made it to a nearby town, apparently, they had been pressing toward Toronto, visible in the distance.

The fighting had been brutal on the medieval idiots.

The captain could count two cases where they had actually been able to fight back, both had ended with bayonets or short-range fire.

The idea that anyone would attack Ontario would have been ridiculous to Captain Johnson earlier in the day. The world had been shocked. Hell, he had even heard rumors that that North Korea had offered support. No one would take them up on it if it was the truth, but it certainly helped underline the absurdity of the situation.

Edgar was a big man, of Scandinavian descent. But he was not a violent man. Yet, he felt a fury unlike he had ever felt before.

“Sir, uh, the General will see you.” The captain gave the poor corporal a nod.

“Sir.” The Captain saluted the American General, who had been placed in command of the NATO response.

“Captain. You were affiliated with the festival that had been taking place here, correct?” The General glanced up from
a pad he was looking at. “This was taken from a security camera, got plastered all over the internet. How many people from the festival do you know?”

“Not many sir.” The captain followed the General’s invitation, moving around the desk and peering at the pad.

A video was restarted, of a knight in black armour, holding a rearguard while people fled in a bus. Edgar paled and swallowed when he saw the valiant knight go down.

“Know him?” The General studied Captain Johnson. “Media is clambering for a name, been calling him the ‘Black Knight of Canada’, amongst other things. Looks like they took him alive for some reason.”

“Ransom probably sir, it was uh, something that was done commonly in the past, with nobles. They probably mistook him for one because of the fancy armour… and yes, I think I know him. Blade and armour looked familiar. I helped make that armour.” The Captain steadied himself. “Son of a friend. We both had interest in medieval history… ironically, his favourite medieval story was that of Zawisza Czarny of Garbow, aka Zawisza the Black, a Polish knight who died fighting a rearguard against the Ottomans, while his King and army fled. He also wore black armour, hence the name.”

“Then let’s hope his tale has a happier ending. We are bringing in drones to scout the other side, from NASA. Politicians are being paranoid, so are the eggheads. But once we get the go ahead, we are taking a force to the other side, partly to rescue any and all people kidnapped.” The General nodded at the pad. “You say he was probably taken as a prisoner for ransom? Fine. We’ll pay in lead. And if they killed him? They can pay a wergild of flesh and blood. Your unit is being transferred to my command. Keep fortifying that ‘Gate’, we’ll be sending the Drones through when they arrive, and then we will be kicking those primitive screwheads’ asses all the way back to Rome… or wherever they came from.”

The general frowned.

“That’s the right term, right? Wergild?”

“Yessir.”



Tara wasn’t sure if the Knight was sane. His plan took a little to piece together, due to the lack of a shared language,
but she did see the logic.

They would escape the camp, simply by walking out.

Getting what they needed from an armoury tent would be impossible. But hunting supplies, and food, were much easier to get. When they entered through the back of the supply tent, they immediately set about filling a sack with whatever food was preserved and on hand.

“Would you like some help?” A soft voice asked.

Tara twitched and grabbed her spear. The Knight stood, his blade in his hand.

Before them, another Warrior Bunny stood. Tara didn’t recognise her.

“You two are looking to escape, yes? You have a plan?” She said.

Tara saw a savage look in her eyes. This one was looking for more than just an escape.

She nodded.

“I hope your plan was more than simply walking out in the chaos.” The newcomer said.

“A Knight and slave going hunting wouldn’t arouse suspicion.” Tara replied.

The newcomer blinked.

“That… actually might work… keep filling the sack… I have an idea.” She disappeared.

The Knight gave her a questioning look.

Tara shrugged and continued filing the sack, they needed enough for three people now, if the other one didn’t betray them.

A soldier in armour walked in. Before either of them could do anything, the soldier removed their helmet.

“My master is in a… deep sleep. He won’t notice I’ve taken his armour, and I think I can pull off looking like a bodyguard.” The Warrior Bunny grinned, and she held up a bow, with a quiver of arrows. “I also took these from his tent.”

“Tara.”

The newcomer blinked.

“Forest-on-the-Hill Clan?” Something in the newcomer’s voice made the Knight tense. Tara understood the… dislike of her clan, considering how the war was lost. “Hannah.”

The Knight snorted, apparently finding something amusing about her name.

“What?” The newly identified Hannah asked. “Something wrong with my name?”

“He doesn’t speak any language I know and keep your voice down. What about the Guards?”

“Dead drunk. Now, hand me that spear, I’ll give it back when we are clear. Carry the sack. We are leaving.”

And so, the three of them walked out of the tent, looking like a Knight, his young soldier, and his slave.

The sentry at the entrance was bored. Nothing but panicked people, all saying the same thing, coming into the camp. Maybe the occasional runner from the main camps near Alnus Hill, but nothing interesting.

He started to doze off when he heard the clanking of armour. He opened his eyes, and leapt to attention, as a lord he didn’t recognise, in full (and expensive) plate walked past. A nervous looking slave carrying supplies behind him, with a boy in armour behind him.

The sentry frowned, the armour looking ill-fitting on the feminine looking boy, but then, his lordship probably just
told him to take any armour he could find. Nobles were always impatient with their underlings, wanting things done instantly.

He gave the boy a sympathetic look and a nod, getting a nod in return.

Maybe if the boy was lucky, his lordship would lend him the slave. Pretty looking thing, for a Demi-human.

The sentry watched them disappear into the woods. The spear and bow the boy carried made it obvious why.

“Heh, probably isn’t much of anything to hunt with all the soldiers marching and running about, but I’m not going to try and tell a noble what they can’t do.” The sentry frowned. “Never seen that noble before, I wonder which family he is from.”

The sentry shrugged it off. His was not to reason why.

The sun had already begun to set when a runner came up to him.

“Sentry, a prisoner escaped! Be on the lookout for a prisoner wearing full plate black armour.”

He stared at the messenger, his blood going cold.



In the forest, the trio rested.

“I can’t believe that worked.” Hannah gasped. “I was ready to spear the sentry when he gave me this odd look, and run.”

She sagged and leaned against a tree.

“Hah! I’m out of shape. Imperials beat us if they see us trying to keep up our skills, and my master was more interested in my looks than any skill I had.”

“Did you actually kill him?” Tara leaned against her spear.

“No, well, I don’t think so. I was told to poison him by his rival, something to make him sleep way too long, and get in trouble with the Centurion. I held onto it, to see if I could use it to escape. It probably kicked in fully after we left. He was already sleeping, so I poured it down his throat, carefully.”

The Knight scratched shapes into the dirt.

“What’s he doing?”

“Drawing things… ah, I think he is trying to learn languages.” Tara explained. She pointed to one. “The sun, Sol. I think that is the moon, Luna.”

The Knight gave an exclamation.

“Ah! Lingua Latina!”

He said a number of other words, pointing to the trees, the pictures, and himself.

“The words sound… similar to what the Empire speaks… but different.” Hannah noted.

“Maybe he knows a language similar to the Empires?” Tara guessed, before turning to the Knight. She spoke more slowly, saying the names of things he pointed to.

Hannah listened. The Knight’s language was… strange.

Something in the distance approached them.

“Quiet, something’s coming!” She hissed, drawing the bow.

The Knight drew his long blade, while Tara hefted her spear, pointed in the direction of the noise that she could now
hear as well.

 

[charclone]

The Count fumed.

"They were in my tent! They are now armed! The otherworlders could counterattack at any moment!" He whirled around to face his Centurion. "Do we have any idea when they escaped?"

"No, sire. Sometime before sundown, and the sentry reported seeing an unfamiliar noble and soldier leave camp with a slave, but I doubt the prisoner would be so bold as to simply walk out like that." He replied.

Optio Amulius laughed.

"We teach our soldiers to obey nobles. If it didn't look out of place, why should they risk stopping a noble?" He shrugged to his liege. "Honestly, I could see the prisoner trying."

Count Arruns gave a mournful sigh.

"Centurion, take some men, and go after the prisoner, he is probably headed toward the Gate. Optio… I just want to go home. Put my son's body to rest. But I can't abandon a prisoner, not without making an attempt, it would cost me too much political influence. Molt would have me stripped of most of my titles for cowardice." He glanced at the Centurion. "What are you waiting for? Move!"

The Centurion leapt up and saluted, nearly running out of the tent.

The Count sighed again.

"My friend… what am I to do?"

"I don't know sire. The escaped prisoner… well, honestly, would the Senator not agree to some form of deal, leaving the prisoner to him, in exchange for letting you take your troops home?"

"Possibly. He's arrogant, because he had the talent to be a mage, but… he would want something else, to help against the Otherworlders… our auxiliaries, maybe? The Elves, Orcs, and Wolfmen have an obligation to serve still, I think that might work. He won't like it, but morale is already too low."

"Well, the men aren't happy about having them around, so it would certainly help, as would being able to go home."

"Then it is settled. We shall negotiate with Senator Godasen, and then we shall go home." The Count sighed. "I just hope my wife will forgive me for letting our son get himself killed."

"Sire, your son…"

"I know. He was headstrong, arrogant. But I should have tempered him. But I didn't. Now he is in Emroy's realm."


Hannah kept the bow steady as something approached through the undergrowth. The Knight stepped to stand beside Tala, his sword gripped in both hands at the ready. Tala kept her spear ready to use, tensed for a lunge.

Both Hannah and Tala knew that they were far from top form, but they weren't going to surrender meekly.

"Please, we surrender." The trio stared at the pair who stepped from the underbrush. They wore torn clothing, collars about their necks, and showed signs of stress. "We… you aren't soldiers… oh thank the gods."

The male elf collapsed to his knees and prayed. His companion, a female elf, simply sat next to him and rested, ignoring the weapons pointed at them.

Hannah and Tala stared in surprise.

The Knight glanced at them both, shrugged, and walked over to the sack where it had been dropped. He pulled a pair of waterskins out, and a loaf of bread, and handed them to the elven pair.

"Hey, we need that food." Hannah protested.

"Not if we are going straight to the Gate, its only a two, maybe three days walk to it." Tala countered.

"You… are going to Holy Alnus?" The male elf stared at them. He glanced at the Knight with a look of dawning comprehension. "You… you are from the other side!"

The Knight held a finger to his helmeted mouth.

"We just escaped from an Imperial camp, so please keep your voice down." Tara said.

"Ah, yes. My apologies, my lover and I… we were captured after we left our village. We were hoping to travel to another community, as our families feuded with each other. We escaped just before the army crossed into the Gate and have been running since." The Elf explained, between slow bites of bread and water. "I hope you aren't opposed to us coming with you?"

His lover started to snore, making him wince.

"My apologies… we have been running all day."

"Clearly." Hannah sighed. "Can either of you hunt? Just in case, we want to keep our food supplies up."

"Oh, yes. I am rather good with a bow. My lover however, she is a skilled druid."

"Perfect." Tara gave them a smile. "Unfortunately, we need to move, before they send out a search party."

The Knight scratched something in the dirt and said something in his language.

"What did he say?" Hannah asked.

"Still don't speak his language. But I think he is asking what we are…" Tara trailed off as she looked over the scratches in the dirt. "Uh, he's basically saying what I was… but he put more thought into it." She grabbed a branch. "I like his idea. Give me a hand with it."

They needed the female Elf's assistance, to make the proper preparation, but after several minutes, they were on their way, following the Knight's suggested path.

Despite when the Knight flinched at her magic, he offered to help her when she stumbled.

"Ah, no thank you, sir knight, I am fine just a little tired." She said, rather flustered, when he drew a picture of someone carrying someone else. "I just need a little time to rest when we stop, that is all."

"We probably aren't going to stop until nightfall." Hannah said.

"I'll make it, just a few more hours, right?"

"Why are we going in such a strange path?" The male Elf complained. "I thought we would head straight for the Gate?"

"Knight's suggestion." Tara said. "Makes us harder to track, and we aren't taking a predictable path."

"Oh." The Elf replied.

The walked further in silence, walking through the forest in a route that would put their former location on the other side of the camp from them before they headed toward the Gate. It was a simple idea, but Tara appreciated the Knight was thinking clearly, despite the blow to the head he had taken when captured.

An idea appeared in her head.

She began to point to various things, naming them in the Imperial language, getting the Knight to name them in his language.

They went back and forth. It was made easier by the Knight knowing a language similar to what the Imperials spoke, however different it was.

Certain words were similar, such as 'miles' meaning soldier, but others, such as 'deos' was different. It was rather vexing, but Tala found that despite the circumstances, the Knight was easy to talk to.

"Tala." She patted herself.

"Richard." The Knight copied her.

"Richard." She tested the sounds, before giving him a slight bow. "Pleased to meet you, lord Richard."

She knew he didn't understand all the words, but she could tell he understood the intention.

 

[charclone]

A.N. Here, since I wrote another chapter, and I liked the length, you can have one from the backlog.



The Centurion was not a tracker. Therefore, he chose five soldiers to accompany him, two of them woodsmen who were proficient trackers.

"Three tracks, one clearly in armour, another wearing a soldiers sandal. One barefoot, Warrior Bunny I'd guess." One of them reported.

The other tracker agreed.

"How far do you think?" The Centurion asked.

"Not far, looks like they were slowed down by the supplies they probably stole, and weren't runnin'." The accent both of the trackers spoke with was boorish and was getting on the Centurion's nerves.

"Fine. We make double pace then, catch them before they can get any further."

The soldiers grumbled about it, but they obeyed.

The Centurion wasn't worried about the difference in numbers. A noble would likely be tired of Demi-human company after about a day, especially on the move in armour. The traitor, if that was what the person in legionary gear was, would be killed, and the slave would be dealt with. No, the Centurion was not expecting to have to fight very hard. He was correct, he would not be fighting.

The sun began to set when they found the temporary campgrounds.

"Looks like they met up with two others and started covering their tracks. They doubled back." One tracker reported.

"You couldn't have mentioned that sooner? And what is with the scratches in the dirt?" The Centurion grumbled.

"Uh, pictograms look's like. That Knight must not speak the same language."

The Centurion sighed.

"Fine. Fine. Come on, we are losing light." He started to move, following the obvious footprints through the grass, leading in a loop from the camp. Something tugged against his foot, and he had just enough time to notice the grass rope snap.

Something fell from the tree, and the last thing he saw was an arrowhead.

The remaining soldiers stared at the corpse of their officer. An arrow stuck out the fallen branch that has swung at his head from above, piercing his eye deep enough to kill him.

One of the trackers grumbled.

"This is why I stick to hunting game, not slaves 'r prisoners. Less likely to set traps."

They debated for an hour before voting and agreeing to return to camp with the Centurion's body.


Tara awoke next to the Knight… Richard.

The armour he wore beneath the plate was warm, but softer than the ground. When she had lain down next to him for the night, she nearly broke a rib from laughing at the shade his face took, though he didn't protest.

Hannah had taken the first watch that night, followed by Tara. The male elf, who they still didn't know the name of, had taken the last watch.

The Knight was the most heavily armoured, and in the best shape for a fight, while the female elf was their best hope for covering their tracks, being a druid.

The smell of cooked meat hit Tara's nostril.

They had chosen to use a tiny hidden valley in a hill as their camp, and overhanging cliff hiding them from any Imperial wyverns. Near the back, past the overhang, Hannah was roasting several small animals over a smokeless fire.

"Sleep well?" Hannah snarked with a drawl.

The two elves snorted from where they were curled, snoring.

"I didn't realise elves snored." Tara shook her head. "But anyway, I thought he was on watch?"

"I sent him to bed when I got up to go hunting. I caught enough for everyone." Hannah answered with a smile.

Tara frowned, sensing something off about the way she smiled.

She shook her head, and chose one of the carcasses, lifting the stick it was on away from the fire.

They ate in silence. Eventually, Richard joined them, blushing whenever he glanced at her. He spent several moments inspecting it, before shrugging and eating it, using his teeth to tear the meat off.

"Huh, would have expected an Imperial Noble to complain." Hannah said, frowning.

"You were looking forwards to it?" Tara asked.

"Well, no, I just…" Hannah shook her head. "I was expecting it, yes. I'm… surprised at how different Richard acts compared to Imperials."

"More reason to cross the gate then. He doesn't seem to like slavery, and I'd rather be a servant to a noble like him than a slave in the Empire." The male elf said as he walked over. "I didn't introduce myself, or my lover, did I? I'm Kenwen, and she is Elomorna."

Said female elf continued to snore.

"Kenwen, Elomorna." Richard repeated, then tapped himself, and said his name. He pointed at Tara and Hannah, naming them as well.

"Pleased to meet you, lord Richard." Kenwen gave a formal bow. Richard copied the bow.

Hannah snorted.

"He's still learning the common tongue." Tara said.

Richard handed Kenwen one of the remaining things of meat.

"Move, soon." Richard said, as Elomorna wolfed down the last of the meat several minutes later.

"Hmm?" Hannah blinked and hummed questioningly.

"I think he is saying we should move soon." Tara explained. She and Richard began to converse, in broken tongues and pictures in the ground.

"Going to explain the plan?" Hannah asked

"Okay, so, we are probably being pursued. Richard here has a plan to buy us time to open up the distance and lose them." Tara said, smiling.

As she explained it to the others, Hannah too smiled, a much crueler and predatory smile.


Count Arruns stared at the corpse of the Centurion for several minutes. This Centurion had served under him since he had joined the army. Finally, he reached over to the body, and took the vine staff from its belt.

He handed it to Optio Amulius.

"Congratulations on your promotion Centurion." He ignored the Optio's, now Centution's, pale face. "I want you to select a new Optio. Have them lead some troops to flush the escape prisoner out, and drive them toward us, once we are on the other side of the forest. I will meet with the senator, and hand over command of the auxiliaries, you will set a trap for the prisoners. Then, once we have them, we go home."

"I… understand, sire." Centurion Amulius frowned. "Do you have any preferences as to who I select and send?"

"No. Send twenty men with them."

He dismissed the new Centurion, and walked back to his own tent, leaving the morgue behind. As he walked, he thought.

The dawn light glinted off of the armour and weapons as the camp was packed up to move. He had been enjoying a meal of roast pheasant, taken from a peasant village nearby.

He knew it would taste of ash, now.

Part of him wanted to send the entire formation in, his entire Noble Cohort, cavalry, infantry, and auxiliaries, all three hundred soldiers, in after the Knight. First, he lost his son to him, and now a favoured officer.

He forced himself to calm down. Sending the Cohort would be gross waste of manpower, and would most likely result in a dead prisoner, or no prisoner at all. Besides, it was his fault, not the Knight's, that his son is dead. He chose to take his son along. He ignored the warnings of his tutors and Amulius. The Knight struck the fatal blow, but it was his actions and inactions that resulted in his son being in the way of the blade.

He sighed as he sat down before his now much colder breakfast.

He finished it quickly and mechanically. As expected, the fat and juicy bird tasted of ash.

A few hours later, they were on the march. The new Centurion had sent twenty men, all tough and strong, to flush them out. They would camp in the forest near where the camp had originally been, hopefully fooling the Knight, and would allow a coordinated effort.

The Count glanced at the cart that was carrying his son's body.

He hoped his wife would forgive him.

 

[charclone]

They moved single file, along a deer trail. Careful to leave few records of their passing. Elomorna using her magic to subtly alter the trail.

It was Tara that first heard it.

"Wait." She said in a hushed and alarmed voice.

Everyone froze, as she listened. She heard the clanking of armour, shouts of orders. Men marching in formation. Parallel to their to their path.

"Stay hidden. I'll go check." Hannah vanished with the grass and bush.

No one dared to breath to loudly.

After several minutes she returned.

"I overheard them complaining about marching back to Alnus." She said with a grin. "Looks like they gave up the chase. We killed the last Centurion. Saw a new one marching with them."

Tara scratched and muttered a translation as best she could to Richard.

He glanced back in the direction of the camp. He pointed.

"Smoke." He pointed to the marching men. "Soldiers, loud."

He scratched in the dirt with the point of his sword.

Tara blinked and nodded.

"Smoke from the camp still. They left a force behind to chase us, probably straight into them."

Hannah grinned.

"Then we hunt them instead." She hefted the bow and arrows she carried. "With Richard's plan, we could do a lot more than just kill a few to buy time."

Tara frowned.

Richard glanced at the elves; his expression unreadable behind his helm.

"I'm for it." Elomorna said.

Her lover blinked.

"Are you sure?" Kenwen asked her.

"Yes. We have a better chance if we aren't pursued."

Richard looked at her and nodded.

As a group, they turned around, and went back the way they had come. They had preparations to make.


Captain Johnson rubbed his eyes.

"We've found some of Richard's things. Armour is missing. We don't know for sure its him but… he is definitely missing. Isn't among the bodies." He reported. "We also found the Major. His wife informed us of where he had been planning to go. Found his car off a nearby road, crossbow bolt to the chest when he tried to get out."

General Samuel Jameson winced.

"Well, I assume you've put the call up your chain of command?"

"Yessir. No solid word on if or when we will get a replacement."

"Fine." Samuel sighed. At least the Canadians spoke English. Having to learn a language, and deal with a subordinate that spoke very bad English, was an experience he hated dealing with. It made things much harder. "The eggheads, sorry, scientists, got a report together. In short, they don't understand a thing about it. How it works, where it came from, or where it goes. Might as well be magic."

Johnson snorted.

"Any news on when we can cross?"

"Not yet, captain. Eggheads are sending a probe over, some sort of rover. I want you to keep your people dug in where they are. If the scientists say it is safe to cross, then you will be the first unit across. Reinforcements should arrive by the end of the week, with enough supplies we can actually engage, but I'm not going to throw men into the pits of hell, just because we didn't look before we leap."

The Canadian captain nodded.

"When was the last time you slept, captain?"

"Yesterday, sir. I've been up checking over the mop up and getting my troops dug in."

"Once we are done here, go get some rack time." General Jameson ordered. "You unit is being transferred to my command. I'm keeping you in command, for now."

He gestured to the map of the surrounding area on his desk.

"I'll transfer your unit back for a day. Rest, rearm. I've got some Marines ready that can take your place. Once we get word back on what the other side is like, I want you as part of the first wave. I was impressed with how your unit reacted when word came down."

"Now, get some rest major."

"Yessir."

The General sighed after the Canadian had left.

He looked over the politely worded request. The scientists that had been attached had more or less demanded he not send anything over, partly out of fear of destabilising whatever the gate actually was. The other part was the wanted 'dedicated equipment to ensure accurate readings'. Which translated to him as 'don't let your monkey brained soldiers do anything, they might break something'.

He shook his head. The head scientist had been polite, at least. It was probably an intern that misunderstood what they wanted the letter to say. Wouldn't be the first time a subordinate misunderstood command.

At least they would have their rover ready to go in a few hours. He had put his foot down when they suggested using one of NASA's. Sure, it would have everything they needed, and then some, but an EOD rover with some modifications was cheaper and faster. He needed to know if it was safe to send people over their, and if they could fight safely. Not how much water there was in the soil. That could wait until they had a foothold.

He blinked when a staff officer delivered a request from them a minute later.

"What do they need a squad of soldiers going to a bunch of computer and hardware stores for?"

He read further.

"Oh." He snorted. "Well, good to see my initial impression was incorrect. They aren't a bunch of intellectual asses. But that is a lot of Raspberry Pis, and… well, never mind. It's a reasonable request I suppose."


"I don't care about some prisoner you lost, Count Bonifatius. I am busy preparing for the otherworlder's counterattack, and for the army to launch raids to keep them off balance." Senator Godasen spat. "Be glad I'm not calling you out for your cowardice."

If pressed, Godasen would have said he was referring to the Count's desire to leave the field and take his son's body home. But everyone present in the Senator's tent knew he was referring to the Count's decision to leave the other world, making him the only noble to survive the trip to the other side.

Fewer realised that the only thing keeping the senator from accusing the count of cowardice was the fact that Prince Zorzal had been a friend and backer of the count's son. One, not even a senator, did not make an enemy of an Imperial prince lightly.

"I see, senator." Several officers flinched at the count's tone of voice. "The you do not care if he escapes past the gate, and reports what he has seen of your defences? Or if he rallies the slaves into a rebellion?"

"Such would fall on your head, count. He was your prisoner."

"Yet, you are preventing me from correcting 'my' mistake. You are not the only one with friends in the Senate. I wonder what the Emperor would think of my report, noting that you are explicitly forbidding me from securing the surrounding countryside."

"Don't you dare try power plays with me." Godasen waved a finger at the count. "You might have powerful backers, but it only with the support of the Senate that the Prince will be named heir."

Count Arruns held the senator's gaze. After several moment, the senator glanced away.

"We are wasting breath. Fine." He spat. "Leave all but your personal guard, and I will permit you to hunt for the escaped prisoner. The Auxiliaries and the rest of your men will help dig and fortify against the counterattack. Once we drive them back, we will launch our own attack, and crush these barbarians."

Centurion Amulius had a feeling the senator would not be able see such a plan to fruition, but he wasn't sure if it was just him being jittery, or if it was a portent from the Gods.

"Very well, senator." The count ground out through clenched teeth. Without being dismissed, he led his officers from the tent. He stormed through Godasen's camp, making his way to his own forces. "How many men does that leave us?"

"About thirty." Amulius reported. "Enough, but… if the Knight is any good at woodsmanship, and is smart, he might slip past us pretty easy. We don't have any hounds either and I wouldn't trust any of Godasen's men, even if we could borrow them."

"Fine." He sighed. "We'll make do. We will make do."

The walked in silence, passing soldiers and slaves working hard to quickly dig fortification.

They both winced when an overseer decided a group was not working hard or fast enough and began to lay into them with his vine. They recognised the soldiers and saw the fearful look in the overseers eyes.

Whatever they had seen on the other side of the Gate had frightened them. Enough that they were desperate not to face it again. Morale was low.

"Might have a revolt on our hands, from all the slaves and auxiliaries, sir."

"Probably why Godasen is working them so hard. Keep them too tired to do anything else." The count shook his head. "He can't keep it up, though. I hope he was at least smart enough to call for reinforcements."

"With the way he was talking? He probably thinks that the survivors are cowards."

 

[charclone]

The Optio was freshly promoted. He had volunteered to lead the twenty, thinking it to be an easy mission. Go in, find the prisoner and slave, capture them, and bring them back. Drive them toward the main body if possible. They had chosen to wait until nightfall. Yes, the slaves would be further, but that was fine. They knew where they were going, the prisoner and slaves would be exhausted, and if they went slow to cover their trail, they wouldn't be very far in a forest. If they went fast, it would be easy to follow them.

Instead, it had been an exercise in misery.

The new Optio had assumed the trick against the old Centurion had been a bit of luck. He was wrong. Very wrong. The targets couldn't be far, not with the number of traps they had lain.

He leaned against his spear, keeping the injured foot off the ground.

The first trap they found had been a log, dropped from a tree branch when the thin rope was pulled by a foot. They kept off the trails after it crushed a legionary.

But that only meant they were running into more cleverly hidden traps, as the Optio had discovered. A shallow pit, with a group sharpened sticks around the outside, tore his foot open. Another had been tripped, and had his throat tore open by a pair of similar traps.

A branch with a stone grown into the end used as a spring-loaded club was far to common for the Optio's liking. Between injuries and deaths, he had twelve that could fight, only three without any injuries, counting himself. They still outnumbered their prey, but not nearly as much as they would like.

"I should not have volunteered for this." He sighed.

A sudden cry of surprise, and a legionary vanished into a hidden crevasse. The forest was silent, and the remaining legionaries froze. The Optio counted his heartbeats. At ten, another scream echoed out, this time with words.

"Getitoffgetitoffgetitoff!" The soldier cried flailing a snake that had sank its fangs into his leg. Someone hit him over the head, freezing him long enough for the snake to be killed.

"Have the very gods turned against us? Is that what we heard through the Gate?" The Optio wondered aloud.

"Oooh… it burns, it burns… should it look that colour?"

The Optio sighed.

"Get him back to camp. The leg looks like its swelling, must have been a Hardy's Beloved."

The soldiers sighed in relief, aside from the one moaning on the ground. He might still survive if the medicine they had worked. The Hardy's Beloved snake was rare, and very deadly, the only blessing was that it rarely stayed around civilisation.

The ten remaining demoralised soldiers slowly made their way back to camp, carrying the dead and wounded, unaware that they had been watched the entire time.


Tara slipped into her companions' camp.

There was no fire this time. To much a risk of the light being seen. But they rested all the same.

With five people, instead of three, the supplies wouldn't last long. They bought time, but not much. But the traps had bought them even mor time.

"Well?" Hannah pressed.

"They are falling back, and have lost around half their strength, with most wounded. But they mentioned their Count was coming, and they were to drive us to them." She answered, scribbling a pictogram into the dirt.

She had Richard conversed, in broken Saderan and pictrograms.

Hannah snorted.

"If you are trying to get on his good side, there are faster ways to do that."

"And what, exactly, do you mean by that?"

"Well, you're a Warrior Bunny, and he's a man."

Tara made a face of disgust.

"I'm not going to further those idiotic rumours."

"They weren't true?"

The two Warrior Bunnies glanced at the male elf. Kenwen flinched and held his hands up.

"I… uh…"

"We aren't nearly as dependant on other races as the rumours suggest, no. There was a notable slant toward female births, but it was more a case of… I think it was three girls for every boy? But that only encouraged tribes to seek mates outside of their number." Tara sighed as she explained.

Richard made a choking sound, stood up and walked away red faced.

Tara gave him a questioning look, only for Elmorna's giggling to catch her attention.

Tara stared at the pictograms Elmorna had drawn to show James what had been discussed. In far too great a level of detail. She felt her face blush.

"Hah! You Forest-on-the-Hill Clan are a bunch of prudes." Hannah mocked.

"At least our mates chose to stick with us!" Tara countered.

Hannah snorted.

"And that's a good thing? Don't you ever get tired of them?" She shook her head. "Never mind. Its growing late, and we will need to prepare for tomorrow."

Tara huffed. She picked up her spear and went off to find where Richard had wandered off to, ignoring both Elmorna apologetic look, and Hannah's snickering.


"So, sir, they got confirmation that its Richard."

Captain Johnson glanced up from his supper.

"How?" He asked the Lt., after swallowing.

"One of the survivors was set to duel him, armoured up along side him. He was on the bus Richard bought time for."

Johnson swore.

"Okay, has the general been informed?"

"Yessir."

"What about his family?"

"Not yet, sir. It was only confirmed a few minutes ago."

He sighed.

"Okay. I'm a friend of the family. I'll call them. Thank you, Lt.,"

"Of course sir."

The Captain wolfed down the rest of his meal as the Lt. left.

He fished his phone from his pocket and punched in an ill-used number.

"Hello? Yeah, its me… I have some bad news… Richard is alive, but…"


Centurion Amulius nodded with satisfaction.

The plan was… good enough. But it required the other group to be already pushing them toward Sacred Alnus.

They had at least been able to secure good supplies, some bows, and the 'members' of the guard were experienced woodsmen. Trackers, and hunters mostly.

With any luck, not only would it be over quickly, but none of their troops would suffer at Godasen's hand. He was working them and working them hard. Perhaps too hard, as the veterans and officers that had escaped from the other side of the Gate were in a frenzy. Terrified of what they had seen.

He had pinned one and forced him to talk. All he got out of the man was that they appeared to be some form of mage nation, or perhaps used enchanted crossbows in their forces. They had seen none of the enemy, instead, they had faced flying swords and birds, that smashed formations with ease, and armoured beasts of some sort, that hurled fire.

There had been rumours of the enemies forces, being on the ground, moving in the shadows, firing some strange staff, which Amulius took to be some sort of slim crossbow, but it was only rumours, as those who had seen them, where declared cowards, and either in chains, working alongside slaves, or had been tied to posts and lashed, depending on rank.

It was no matter to the Count or Amulius. They would be away, the Count's feudal obligation already paid much earlier, in excess, during the war with the Warrior Bunnies, and later mop ups of bandits. Soon, they would be headed home, with a prisoner to show for it, and far away from the otherworlder's counterattack.

Amulius looked at the earthworks and fortifications and frowned.

A barricade was at the Gate, but most of the fortifications were around the hill, to keep the enemy penned in, he assumed, yet, if they fought at range, the elevation of the hill was surrendered to them, giving them an advantage.

He thought about mentioning it to the Count, but then decided against it. Let the Senator dig his own grave.

 

[charclone]

The count glanced back, to the camp where his men were being put to work in the early light of dawn. He flinched at the sound of a whip.

"Senator Godasen will have much to answer for." He muttered. "Optio… my apologies. Centurion, let's get moving."

Centurion Amulius smothered a snort at the count's mistake.

"Yessir." He barked orders to the remaining soldiers with them, before turning and asking a question to his liege. "Sire… why has the senator pushed for the fortifications to be raised so quickly?"

"Because he is a fool." Count Amulius looked over the hill of Sacred Alnus, and the fortifications around it, as he walked with his troops. "Do you know how many troops were with the army that went through the Gate?"

"About twenty-five thousand."

"And how many have you seen?"

"Only about a thousand, plus probably about the same with the other two camps, and there is maybe another thousand scattered throughout the woods hunting deserters and foraging."

"So, about four thousand."

The Centurion paused as he processed this.

"Over twenty thousand soldiers are gone…"

"By an enemy that prefers to fight at range, based on what I have gotten out of the survivors."

The centurion looked at the count, his face pale.

"But… then why hasn't the senator tried to build the fortifications to…"

"…to better protect against enemy ranged attacks, or simply bottled them up at the Gate?" His liege interrupted. "Because he is a fool. The damned mage is building things to his advantage, giving him easy angled from which to hit the enemy troops, while they are bottled up by his."

"Do you know what Godasen specialised in?" The count asked rhetorically. "Sieges. Attacking and defending. He knows how to crack walls and keep his own from cracking. He was here in case there were castles we needed to break, not in case we needed another army commander. Well, that and politics."

Count Arruns sighed.

"He hasn't considered the enemy's advantages are greater than his own, and that he should be trying to negate them, to level the field."

"Is the battle already lost then sire?"

"Of course not. But I suspect it will be very bloody, and we may not hold the hill, especially with the senator not making any attempt to hold it."


The Optio yawned as he stood up and made his way to the bushes to relieve himself. They would need to go slow and keep a warry eye for traps. With his own foot ruined, he would have to stay behind, and send the remainder to make a racket, looking more for the traps, rather than the prisoner, if they wanted to have any success.

At least it would drive their prey toward the Count. A hundred soldiers would be more than sufficient to encircle them. It would be like hunting rabbits, the men making a racket to drive them from their holes and into the waiting jaws of the hounds.

He snorted as he did up his trousers.

Like hunting rabbits. One of the slaves, possible both, were Warrior Bunnies.

"I should tell the others… er, later. They will get a kick out of it."

He re-entered the edge of the camp and paused.

There was supposed to be three sentries. Where were they?

His blood went cold.

He heard the creak of metal behind him, and he spun around tearing the knife he kept at his side from its scabbard.

He saw the black blade in the air, swing down. His attempt to block only meant the cut was shallow across his neck, rather than nearly decapitating him.

He was nearly driven to his knees by the force of the blow. He did drop his knife.

As the Knight raised the blade for a second strike, he heard someone cry an alarm behind him. A sound that died to a wet gurgle as the man died.

The Knight shifted his grip and drove the tip of the wavy blade into his chest.


Tara wiped her spear clean.

It wasn't clean work, killing soldiers as they woke for the day, or in their sleep, but it was necessary, and effective, as she had learned during the war.

Three had died when their attention lapsed, just before the sun came up. Hannah had used a knife, dropped by one of the slain soldiers that had been killed in a trap, and slit the throat of one, while Tara killed another. Kenwen had shot the third in the ribs with the bow, to keep him from sounding the alarm.

They then moved from tent to tent, slitting throats.

One had gotten up, and Richard had moved to attack him, she lost sight of them both at the edge of the forest. Another had awoken, just in time to see Tara's spear plunge toward his neck. She had been worried it would alert the remainder, but the only movement was the breeze, or the others.

An armoured form appeared from the trees.

She tensed, before relaxing as she recognised Richard.

Her alarm grew when he tore his helmet's faceplate upward and threw up on the ground.

Hannah walked around, saw this and laughed.

"Not used to actually using that blade?"

Tara punched her, sending Hannah reeling.

"What in Hardy's name was that for?" She spat to the side, as she pulled herself up.

"Don't give me that crap. Or were all of you Red-River clan born heartless murderers and rapists?"

"At least we were tough enough not to give in to the Imperials and adopt their ways!"

"No, instead you kept taking and taking and taking! Lives, people, whatever you wanted, without caring about the consequences! And look what happened! The Imperials had enough of your shit, and now our whole damn people are gone!"

Hannah shook her knife at Tara.

"Our people are gone because that bitch of a queen sold herself after her so-called army turned and fled in the first battle!"

"I was at that damn battle. Do you know what I saw? You clansisters charging an Imperial line, against orders, and dying! They sought only bloodshed and died! Left our flank wide open to the Imperials cavalry!" Tara knew she was treading on thin ice; both of their bloods were up. But she found she didn't care. She finally had an outlet for all her rage, her anger, sorrow, and pain. "You know what I think? I think your clan and others like them, were so damn afraid of change, they'd rather die than adapt!"

Hannah screamed and swung.

Tara felt the blade scrape her cheek, as she stepped back out of reach, bringing the haft of her spear up, knocking Hannah's weapon arm askew.

She was about to bring the blade of the spear around for a lung when a sudden mass knocked into her and Hannah.

She felt a gauntleted hand grab her arm. Hannah likewise found herself caught.

"Enough! Stop!" Richard yelled; his face still specked with vomit.

The smell of it on his breath snapped Tara out of her rage. She suddenly felt very hollow, and very weak.

Her spear clattered to the ground, and she felt her legs give out. Hannah, having also dropped her weapon, sat down across from her.

The three of them sat in silence for several moments. The elves gave them a glance, and began salvaging what they could find from the camp.

After some more time, Hannah finally spoke.

"So, you were at the battle? Where?"

Tara found her voice raw, and her eyes wet.

"I… I was Tyuule's bodyguard."

Hannah's face started to twist, likely about to say some barb, before she reconsidered.

"That… must have hurt when she betrayed us. She wasn't just your queen, or a clansister, but someone you must have known personally."

Tara nodded, tears running down her cheeks. Richard shifted himself, sitting next to her to offer support. She accepted it.

"Some of them were, yeah, that much of a coward that they'd rather die, but most of us? We saw… this. We were changing, adopting Saderan ways, losing our own." Hannah spoke softly. "We feared we would be slaves just the same, just with a whimper and meekness, rather than a cry on our bloodstained lips."

"That's why we formed the monarchy, all those years ago, so we would be able to develop our own centralised kingdom, against the Saderans' influence." Tara replied.

"Yeah, well… we didn't see it that way."

"Obviously."

They lapsed back into silence.

"Hey, Tara… how much does Richard understand of what we are saying?"

"Enough." Richard replied, much to Tara's amusement.

 

[charclone]

Hannah and Tara were no longer at each other's throats, but they wouldn't consider each other friends. They kept their distance as they trekked away from the camp, leaving the bodies where they lay. They stopped at midday, at a river, partly to wash, and partly to rest.

Richard had blushed when Tara had stripped off the rags she had been wearing, stained with blood and dirt. She now, after a bath in the river, wore looted Saderna clothing. It was better than going naked, as much as seeing Richard's reactions were funny, but she found the clothing too loose for her liking. A belt tied around her waist helped.

Hannah had done the same but kept herself on the opposite bank. Richard had been third, stripping off all his armour had taken a while, and he had needed Tara's help to put it back on in a timely manner. The clothing he wore underneath was strange, stained as it was with sweat. Some strange emblem on it, a human with a strange sword, holding it above his head, while a female leaned against him. A golden man behind them to the left, with some strange blue and white object. Behind them, a black mask was in the starry sky. There was some strange grey circle or sphere in the corner, and many strange objects seemed to be moving toward it. There was writing, similar to the Saderan's, but the language was too different for her to even make an attempt at reading.

The elves had been last, while they kept watch.

Tara found the noises they kept making to be very distracting, apparently, they were lovers.

To distract herself, she tried to continue teaching Richard.

"Through."

She drew arrows and shapes, naming them, the movements. He taught her his words for the same. Some were obvious in their similarity, such as triangle, others, she suspected, were words from another language, that had merged over time, making things difficult.

"How… you deal with…" Richard struggled to find or remember the word. After a moment, he drew a picture in the dirt.

"How do I deal with the killing?" Tara spoke slowly and clearly. "Honestly, I… its not fun. I don't enjoy it. But… it has to be done."

She shrugged.

Richard nodded. He had his helmet off, and it took her a moment to realise he was crying.

She didn't say anything, and just started doing her best to comfort him with a hug. They stayed like that for several minutes, Tara remembering her own night terrors, waking form nightmares where she had been the one on the receiving end of the blow, and being comforted by her mother. She felt her throat and eyes burn, remembering finding her mother dead, another tribe's knife buried in her skull.

Any further emotional moments were cut short when Hannah bound across the river.

"Small group of soldiers, eight by my count, with twelve prisoners. Escaped slaves and deserters, I think. Headed this way." She said in a rushed tone. Elmorna and Kenwen hauled themselves from the water and began dressing quickly. "We have some time, should we run?"

"Soldiers? Slaves?" There was a dark look in Richard's eyes.

"Yes, soldiers and slaves." Hannah repeated.

Richard stepped away from Tara, and picked up his helmet, securing it in place. He fastened the sword to his back and tested the edge.

"Fight."

"These aren't wounded and demoralised solders, they are…" Hannah started.

"Tired from a march, and from watching more prisoners than they can easily handle. We jump them, take out two or three, and the numbers are much more even, especially with the looted weapons and armour we took." Tara interrupted.

"Well, at least you have some fight in you, when it's a fight we should avoid." Hannah snarked. "What about you two?"

The elves paused in their efforts to buckle the armour into place and shared a look.

"We probably have better odds of reaching the gate as a group, since we will probably need to fight the guard." Kenwen began.

"Besides, they will probably notice all the footprints in the river. I can handle the grass and dirt, but that is beyond me." Elmorna finished. "We fight."

Hannah shrugged.

"Fine." She shook her head. "Been too long since I spilt blood in an actual battle anyway."


Captain, acting-Major, Johnson gave a muffled yawn. The briefing had so far been a waste of time. They already knew the US-Canada wargames had been cancelled, what, with the faux-Roman invasion. The science types had been talking on and on about things either above his head or stating the obvious. There were obviously humans on the other side, and who cared of current science said the wyverns couldn't fly, they clearly could.

"In short, small arms are deflected at long range by the scales. Short range rifle rounds should penetrate, and the wings membrane is not as heavily protected." The Lt. assisting the scientist summarised. "If you see one on the ground that is injured, do not approach. We would prefer as many live samples as possible, but it you need to kill it to avoid unnecessary risk, do so."

With that, the second to last scientist left. The Lt. shuffled his notes.

The last scientist had been the leader, some local professor that had volunteered right at the start, and thus made her the senior expert on the invaders.

"I'll keep it brief. Languages are hard, especially ones that are unfamiliar. It has only been a few days, so our initial efforts are still ongoing. The invader's language does appear to be Latin based, so we have a much better starting point than we would have otherwise had. A basic phrasebook is, I believe being worked on…" She glanced at the Lt. who nodded. "However, I don't know when it will be distributed. I'll leave that to your logistics officers."

Johnson blinked. Apparently, that would be a short brief. The general stood up and took the podium.

"Its been four days, and we have confirmed reports of our people being taken to the other side. We will be going in after them. We will bring them home." He said. "One last thing. There are reports of 'mages' among the enemy. We have no confirmed sightings, but we have evidence of them having some form of weapon, deployable by a single person, that can damage armoured vehicles. If you see anything like it, either in mopping up the forces that had tried to go to ground, or in the coming assault, report it, and try to capture them, if possible. This is a complete unknown, and we need more intel, but do not throw lives away."

"Any questions?"

"There were concerns of gravitational differences affecting our artillery, any news when we will get updated formulas and intel on that?" An officer from one of the artillery units asked.

"Nothing confirmed yet, as gravity appears to be very close to Earth's, on the other side." The general said. "Any other questions?"


Count Arruns found himself fuming again, as he stood over the remains of the camp he had left behind.

"Crafty bastard." His friend muttered.

With their much lower numbers, they had decided to link up with the force they left behind and pool their recourses. They had marched through the day and night, arriving midday of the next day, only to find the camp in ruins, all but one-man dead. Most slain in their sleep.

The lone survivor had a shallow gash along his throat and had been able to hold it tight enough to keep from bleeding out too quickly, hoping that help arrived. He would be dead by nightfall.

But his words had told them what had happened, if not in detail.

Traps had been used to wound and bleed them. And as they slept, as a greatly depleted force, they had been slaughtered in the dawn. He had seen two Warrior Bunnies, two elves, one probably a druid, and the Knight.

"Centurion. I want their trail found. We move through the night."

Amullius winced.

"Sire… I'm not sure that is a good idea. The men are already tired, and if we attack them, or stumble across more traps…" He trailed off.

The Count shook his head.

"The sooner we find him, the sooner we can get our people out of the Senator's hellhole." He sighed. "But I am no fool, my friend. You are right. We won't engage, and we will move slow enough to check for traps."

He glanced at the slowly dying soldier. The Count kneeled next to him.

"Emroy's realm, or will you accompany us in your final moments?"

The soldier tried to grab the Count's sword.

He unsheathed it for his dying comrade, and put it in the soldier's fist, laying both on the dying man's breast.

"You family will be looked after." The Count swore. "You… lost your wife, some years ago. But you children still live. I will adopt them."

The soldier nodded and released his hand from his neck.

The Count and his men stood in silence for several minutes.

"We bury the bodies, and then we move." He ordered.

 

[charclone]

The eight soldiers died quickly.

The first three died to arrows, unaware. The two elves and Hannah were very good shots.

The remaining soldiers turned and moved. The prisoners tried to block them.

The soldiers were not armed for battle, but for capturing deserters. They had their blades and shields, but they relied on the nets and clubs they carried.

A third soldier died, as he forced his way past the prisoners. Kenwen grinned at the shot he had made.

The soldiers were caught by surprise when Richard and Tara came upon them from behind. Three died, one to the pommel of Richard's flamberge Zweihänder cracking his skull open through his helmet, another to Tara's spear opening an artery in his neck, and the third died when he spun around, and a prisoner wrapped their chains around his throat.

The last soldier died to Kenwen's third arrow.

"Ha! That went better than expected." Hannah laughed. "Now what do we do with them?"

She gestured at the prisoners as she walked from her hiding place.

"Free and arm them." Tara said. "Best chance we have of getting through the Gate."

"Senator Godasen is fortifying the whole perimeter of the hill." One of the prisoners said. "You'd need an army to punch through. Better off heading south to Elbe and acting as a mercenary."

"Or turning bandit." Another commented. "Then again, that's usually the same thing."

Tara frowned.

"Fortifications would make it… difficult." Hannah said. "But I've snuck past Imperial fortifications before."

"Your… you were one of Tyuule's bodyguards." A voice said.

Everyone glanced at the voice.

One of the prisoners was a Warrior Bunny. Unlike Tara, who's fur was a pure white, this one was a near black shade. Her face marred by a nasty scar.

"The world on the other Gate. They can make the Empire pay?"

The group fell silent and looked at Richard. Tara whispered a translation in his ear, as best she could.

Richard simply held up his blade and pointed it at Alnus.

"Welp. Were all going to die." A prisoner snarked. "At least I won't get killed by the otherworlders. Heh, wiped out most of my cohort. Its why I ran."

"Same. Then Godasen decided to work us to death, instead of letting us fight. Hah! I hope we get to smash his nose in."

"I wouldn't recommend it. I hear goblin's noses are mostly bone!"

The prisoners joked and laughed as their chains were loosed.

"To Alnus, the Gate, and the other side!" One exclaimed.

"Eh, maybe we should hit the prisoner camp they are setting up, and free some more men." Another suggested.

"Good idea. You know the way?" Tara asked him.

"Sure."


"All dead, sire." One of the woodsmen reported. "Looks like sometime yesterday. Arrows, they removed 'em, probably to use 'em again. 'Tis what I'd do."

The Count nodded and sighed.

"How far are we to Alnus?"

"Less than a day, even through the woods sire." Amulius said. "But… the tracks go South."

"Loosed the prisoners to cover their trail?" The Count guessed. Then he remembered the camp, and traps. "No… he's after the Senator's troops."

"What?" Centurion Amulius gaped. "That's crazy. He'd have no chance of going back…"

"Unless he knew reinforcements are coming. Perhaps he was warned with magic, and that prompted his tactics… or perhaps he is important enough that he things they will send a rescue attempt." The Count said. "He might be mistaken… but my threats to the Senator seem to be becoming reality. The gods seem to have a sense of humour."

"Aye, my lord."

"What is in the direction they went?"

One of the woodsmen shrugged.

"One o' the camps set up, by the Senator, fer foraging, and warning in case he's attacked."

"Foraging? So, if it was attacked, there would be risk of starvation, and he would need to remove troops from guarding the gate?" The Count frowned. "He's crafty. Pull troops away, and he can either slip through, or leave it open for attack."

"Should we warn the Senator?"

"No, Centurion. I already have." He gestured in the direction of the camp. "Now, let's get going."


The news channels flickered past.

"… The President promised full and complete support to the Canadian Government in dealing with the current crisis…"

"… of France has stated that potential options are being considered…"

"…I mean, come one! Dragons? Knights? Romans? They can't even keep the story the story straight. I'll tell you what this is, it's all fake, trying to cover up the real threat…"

"Hey, go back one, I'm curious what the conspiracy nut was saying."

"He normally rants about US politics, so don't bother."

"Fine. Fine."

"…the US should be lending Canada atomic weapons, to send through the Gate. Who knows what is on the other side? No. Better to cut it off at the source and take no risk. While it is sad that we would lose the people that were taken, who's identities have not been confirmed, the fact is it would be safer simply to close the gate, rather than risk hundreds, if not thousands of lives keeping it open."

Johnson winced.

"Like hell." A US Marine officer in the temporary Officer's Club shouted. "No one left behind. Besides, we crushed 'em. No need for nukes."

"It doesn't pay to get cocky, but yeah. We're going in." Another US officer said.

"Jerry learned to fear us in the First World War, time we taught old Caesar the same, eh?" A Canadian Army officer, transferred in with his unit yesterday, joked. "Besides, Johnson here knows what it's like to face them."

Johnson frowned as he became the centre of attention.

"Biggest worries are the reports of magic being true, and the dragons. AA can take them down, but missiles are expensive, and they had a lot of those wyverns. If we didn't have air superiority, we're going to rely on fifty cals, whatever AA missiles we have, maybe elevate the Bushmasters on the US Bradleys, and I heard the Oerlikon GDFs were being pulled out of storage." He said. "Not a huge worry, numbers are the real risk. They charged our damn machine guns and IFVs like we were offering free food after a famine."

"Heard the Romans were rather brutal in punishments, they liked soldiers to follow orders, so death was preferable to disobedience." Someone said.

"Yeah, it was pretty brutal." Johnson agreed. "Still, you'd think their moral would have broken after the wiped-out half of them in a second."

"Shock? Unable to process what they are seeing?"

"Probably."

The room went silent as everyone focused on the TV.

"…Not to mention the risk of biological contaminations, disease, magical plagues. Who knows what is on the other side?"

Whoever had the remote changed the channel.

"…I'm headed to the recruiting station now. They attacked us, Canada! The last time anyone did that was, I think the Germans in WW2 when they shelled a lighthouse..."

"You aren't worried the war might be over by the time you finish training? Or the risk of dying?"

"Sure, I'm afraid of getting killed, but we'd need to occupy the idiots that attacked us…"

"… announced they condemned the pointless waste of life and aggression against Canada…"

"… condemned Canada's and the Queen's obviously Imperialist ambitions of rebuilding the British Empire on the other side of the Gate, calling Canada's reports of attacks as propaganda…"

"Heh." Someone snorted. "Guess the rumoured offer of support from North Korea was false."

"…hell yeah, I'm hoping we go over there. There might be elves, or some other hot fantasy race over there! I'm just hoping I get to head over and meet some of them…"

Johnson snorted.

"That would be my luck. I have to sit through meetings, while Richard gets to meet elves and… bunnygirls or whatever." Polite laughter floated around the room and Johnson's joke.

"You know one of the people taken?" The Marine officer asked.

"Yeah, the Black Knight of Canada." Johnson confirmed. "I helped pay for the armour, though he helped forge it and the sword."

"I hope he's okay. I'd like to meet him once we find him." The Marine said. "Rare you see bravery like that from a civilian."

 

[charclone]

Vel was not highborn. He had been born to a wealthy farmer, that had made his wealth selling meat to the Imperial Dragon Rider Corp. Because of this, he had grown up seeing many wyverns. It had sparked in him a desire to fly. He did everything he could to be able to ride a Wyvern. He volunteered helping clean their stalls, helped clean and feed them. He knew he would never be able to even have a hope of riding any of the dragons the Empire had tamed, but a Wyvern, he thought, was well within his reach.

He was wrong. Despite then encouragement from the riders in the Corp., their suggestions, even carefully introducing him to some of their mounts, he was never allowed into the Corp., when he enlisted. He learned that there was an unofficial policy of keeping anyone non-noble, or not rich enough, out of the Corp.

He had been relegated to infantry. He had served for a handful of years, even fighting against Bunny Warriors once, when they ambushed the supply wagon he was escorting, but it was all for nothing to him. He saw the flying creatures the otherworlders had used against his formation. They cut down anything the Imperials had that flew and destroyed formations from above.

So Vel ran, partly from fear, partly from seeing the wyverns he had loved cut down so easily. He deserted as soon as he had gotten back across the Gate. He was soon captured and feared he would be crucified. Instead, he was told he would be put to work, and if they worked well enough, the deserters would instead face decimation. Some would die, rather than all.

Yet, as he was being transported to Alnus, from the camp where they recorded who had deserted, he was freed. Now, he found himself sneaking through that same camp in the dead of night, half of its sentries dead, slicing throats alongside a Warrior Bunny and other defectors.

Most of the troops in the camp were rear line. Either retiring veterans past their prime, or people who bribed their way into rear formations. In short, the security was a joke. Vel's old centurion would have had them all flogged.

He froze when he saw something move. At first, he thought it was an ogre, with a tarp lain overtop. It took him half a second to realise the truth.

"Wyvern." He whispered to the others. "I… I'll try and distract it. Go."

Normally over twice the length of a large horse, with powerful legs ending in clawed talons, and massive wings, this one bore a scarred face, and curled tightly under its wings, something he had only ever seen one do after its rider was arrested, and it had not seen him in some time.

His hands shook, and he felt himself sweating. Then he realised something. A wyvern wouldn't tolerate being so close to tents, not without a reason.

The others vanished amidst the shadows, leaving him alone.

Slowly, he approached the wyvern.

"Who…" A voice started to say, before breaking down into coughs. "Who's there?"

The voice was wet, faint… and familiar to Vel.

"Vel, sir Hostus."

"Ah, young Vel… finally… got into the Corp.?" The voice gave a weak laugh, before dropping into strained breathing. "Come… here… let… me see you."

Slowly Vel approached the voice.

He found Hostus, a rider he had known since he first visited the Corps.' fortress near his home. He lay in a pool of his own blood, bandages soaked through, and clearly old. In the dim light, Vel could see the wounds that his eyes had been reduced to.

"Thoos… got off better than I did. Hide protected him… but… the thing they fired at me… put shards of metal through my body. I'm surprised…" Hostus fought for breath. "…I… lasted this long. I can feel… Emroy reaching me… but… I couldn't go…until… someone… could look after… Thoos…"

The old rider gave a ragged gasp and expired.

"Is someone over there!? Get away from that Wyvern!"

Vel's heart leaped into his throat. He swallowed and mentally prepared a lie.

"Sir, the rider has died. I was his replacement sent from the main camp."

The Decurion stomped into view, holding a torch. He glanced down at the dead rider, and at the wyvern.

"Huh. Didn't know they could train replacement riders. Well, why didn't you show up sooner?" He demanded. "We had to build the damn camp in this shitty spot, just to protect the thing. Wouldn't let us move the rider or get too close. To many damn blind spots."

"My own mount… only died recently."

The Decurion glared at him. His face softened after a moment, and he looked at Hostus' body.

"Friend of yours?"

"Yessir. My teacher. He… died, slightly delirious. Barely recognised me… thought I had only recently graduated."

The Decurion narrowed his eyes.

Vel was sure the officer could hear his hear beating through his chest. It felt like it would burst from his ribcage.

The Decurion opened his mouth to say something when a sudden cry went up from somewhere else in the camp.

"Intruders! Intruders in the…" The man was cut off by a wet gurgle and the sound of steel piercing flesh.

Vel made a hand signal, taught to him by Hostus long ago.

Attack.

The Decurion died as Thoos ripped his head off.


Tara pulled her spear from the dead Saderan. He had woken and used the latrine, returning just in time to see her slit the throat of his tentmate.

Shouts from the camp called out. She heard weapons being drawn. She darted out of the camp and caught sight of some of the deserters they had freed arming themselves, forming ranks and pushing those still alive and loyal back, many already dead.

There was a sudden roar of a wyvern, and Tara briefly panicked.

Richard appeared between two tents, coming from the entrance, the rest of the deserters and liberated slaves with him. They loosed arrows further into the camp, gaining cries of pain and surprise.

Richard gave a yell and rushed into the fray, their soldiers rallying to him.

If Tara had the numbers correctly, they had the advantage of numbers now, most of the soldiers being dead from slit throats.

Richard swung at a group of spearmen that had formed ranks, his zweihander shattering the cheap wooden hafts of the spears. He jabbed, swung, parried, and butchered his way through.

A shadow passed above, and the defenders cheered… until the wyvern wept down and carried off the Centurion in command of the camp, and a soldier unlucky enough to be next to him. Thoos circled, and dropped them on the defenders, still desperately trying to form a defence.

They broke and ran.


Tara found Richard, standing amidst a quartet of half armoured soldiers, their wounds making the blame of their deaths obvious. He stood still, his armour and blade caked in blood. Slowly, she stepped over the bodies, and touched him. His armour bore more scratches and dents than it had before, but they were remarkably tiny, a testament to his armour's durability.

Beneath his armour, she felt him shake. Slowly, she led him to a nearby tent, and used the rags she found inside to clean his armour as best she could. Carefully, she removed it, piece by piece, cleaning it as she did so. Richard sat in the cot, doing his best to control his breathing.

One of the deserters entered the tent, along with an elf she didn't recognise.

"Lord, what next? We are stripping the camp of any loot and supplies."

They spoke to Richard, assuming he was in charge. To be fair, he had decided their path… and chose to use traps, though the actual execution had been mostly Tara's work, since Richard's grasp of the language was still tenuous at best.

Richard took a deep breath and leaned over to her.

"What they ask?" He whispered.

"Where next?" She replied.

Richard frowned. He was silent for several moments.

"Alnus, and the Gate."

 

[charclone]

The Count's score and a half of men followed the trail, straight to the ruins of the camp as the sun began to set. As soon as they saw the remains, the counter ordered his men to spread out and search for survivors.

"Well? What happened?" The Count asked one of the soldiers they had found hidden in a couple of bushes nearby.

The man shivered.

"I don't know. I suddenly heard a call to arms in the night. I saw… uh, other soldiers, slaves armed with spears and swords…" He looked the count dead in the eye. "There was an Apostle with them. Cut right through my spear like it was firewood."

Count Arruns' heart dropped. An Apostle, the direct agents of the gods of Falmart? He would admit he didn't remember all of them, but if one had chosen to assist the prisoner and the slaves, the odds of them holding Alnus, let alone capturing the Knight, just plummeted to Hardy's realm.

"Which one, soldier? What did their uniform look like?"

"Black plate. But it wasn't normal I tell you. It turned away any blade that struck it, without a scratch. Spears, blades, I swear I saw a hammer just glance off." The soldier shook. "When the wyvern carried off the Centurion, we ran…"

"Sir…" Centurion Amulius started to say.

The count pulled him away from the men.

"I know… his plate showed damage… but at night it was probably hard to see that. It was well made, maybe even enchanted…" A plan formed in the count's mind. "I see his plan now. How many prisoners do you think they held here?"

"I'd guess, between the size of the camp, the number of soldiers here… and the number of broken manacles… call it two hundred. They looted all the weapons too. Looks like they were processing them here, with a hundred strong garrison, plus patrols, gathering wood, and sending them to the main camps to work."

"How many fighting men do you think are in the main camps?"

"A thousand… but between the Senator working them hard, with the harsh punishments we've seen... probably closer to four hundred. Most would break or be too tired to fight properly."

"Still outnumbered… but how many of the camps have wyverns?"

"None, sir. As far as I knew, all the wyverns died on the other side of the gate. Closest would be Italica, maybe, if they aren't stripped for whatever reinforcements are being organised."

"Tell the men to gather and remnants, and form up for a march. With an 'Apostle' supporting the prisoner and escaped slaves, I am going back to Alnus, and taking my men home."

The Centurion blinked, and then smiled.

"Where did that wyvern come from, anyway?" The count wondered out loud.


Vel led them, by acting as a scout, to deviate from the planned route, and attack another convoy of prisoners and a small logging camp. Their numbers swelled. Nearly three hundred, roughly two hundred and eighty slaves, deserters and mercenaries looking to avoid being forced to fight the otherworlders again.

They camped in a small valley, resting and eating what supplies they had taken, waiting for nightfall.

Tara spent her time doing her best to ensure they followed Richard. She realised quickly, that most of them disregarded her. Most of the Warrior Bunnies they had rescued were split between her and Hannah, along old ideological lines, but aside form them, command fell on Richard.

Which made things very difficult, especially with Richard's inability to speak the language fluently. This meant she was spending more time teaching Richard.

One of the Warrior Bunnies that followed her stepped into Richard's tent, as she was doing her best to teach him proper sentence structure. He was memorising words quickly, partly through use, and partly through him recognising the necessity.

"Yes?" Tara asked the girl.

"Hannah just came back. She hit a logging group. Had a bunch of elves with her. She wants to talk to you."

Tara sighed.

"Send her in."

The girl bowed and left. Hannah strode in, almost glowing with pride.

"Hundred strong group, and we killed them. No losses or wounded. They had elves with them as an auxiliary, who defected." Hannah grinned. "Seems they don't like being treated like slaves."

Tara was about to rebuke the danger Hannah was flirting with, the Imperials still outnumbered them heavily, when Richard spoke.

"Rescued slaves? Good." He said. "Strike at dawn."

He drew in the dirt. The hill, the camps, and lines to represent the fortification being constructed.

"Sleepy, sentries unaware. Move through fortifications, between camps. Attack any group between us and gate. Run for Gate… need white flag, red leaf."

"White flag with a red leaf?" Hannah cocked her head.

"Flag of… kingdom." Richard replied. "Plan… crude. But simple. Thoughts?"

"It will be hard to move so many people through quietly. We might need to send groups to cause a distraction. Having something to signal our side would probably be a good idea… I'll see what we can put together." Tara said. "But… overall, I think it will work."

Tara glanced at Hannah. She didn't trust her. Her clansisters had ignored ordered and led to the entire army being defeated by the Imperials. She was even acting like them, more interested in raiding than winning.

Tara forced those thoughts aside.

"Hannah, make sure our people are ready. Dawn. We need to be rested and ready to fight. At least it won't be night fighting, but we need to be up that hill by morning, so our people need to run fast."

"Got it. No more raiding. Time to run." Hannah flashed a smirk at her. "Enjoy what you can of the night!"

Tara ignored the joke. Apparently, Hannah had been paying attention to Richard and her language lessons.

Slowly, the noises in the camp died down as people went to sleep. A watch was set.

The sun set. Richard lay in the bedroll. Tara saw that he wasn't sleeping, merely resting. She sympathised. It was always nerve racking before a battle you knew was coming. She sat next to him.

She awoke suddenly, not sure what was wrong. Richard sat up and listened. Thunder echoed. Smaller cracks sounded.

Richard leapt up. He said a word that Tara didn't recognise.

"Guns."

He spun and grabbed the sword, before setting it down and trying to buckle on his armour.

It was dark, outside and inside the tent. Tara stood and did her best to help Richard get the armour on.

"What is going on?" She asked.

Richard looked at her, and she could just barely make out his smile in the dark.

"My people. Attack camps. We attack, now!"

 

[charclone]

They saw the fires and heard the screams before they saw the camp. The small army moved swiftly as they could through the dark. At the edge of the forest, they saw the camp at the foot of Alnus hill burning. They saw the smoke rising from the other two camps, illuminated by the likewise burning fires.

Richard didn't pause, maintaining a steady march towards the camp, urging everyone on, the 'flag', a white silk sheet taken from somewhere with the silhouette of a leaf on each side, in one hand on a pole. The leaf was more brown than red, but Richard considered it close enough. His other held his sword.

"Through the gaps in the wall! Charge!" Tara shouted.

Whatever had caused the destruction in the camp, had torn down parts of the wooden palisade that ringed the camp. It was through these gaps that Richard's forces slipped through. Inside was chaos. Something was killing officers, soldiers ran around, trying to establish bucket lines, recapture escaped mounts and slaves, muster to stations, all at once, with no clear direction. It took nearly a full minute for the camp to realise they had foes inside.


"Tulip-lead to Fisher-lead, say again?"

"Tulip, I say again, we were successful in panicking the horses, and destroying the supplies. No joy with captives. We are seeing an unknown force attacking Camp Beta, they have infiltrated the from the south wall, and are engaging local forces."

"Any identifiers?"

"Leader seems to be in black plate. Holding a white and brown flag."

"Confirm, black plate?"

"Confirmed Fisher-lead. Black Plate."

"One captive was reported to be wearing black plate, Canadian. What does the flag look like?"

"White, brown leaf on it."

"…"

"Orders Fisher-Lead?"

"…what is your current position?"

"About halfway from Beta to point Chuckle."

"Acknowledged. Provide cover, and spot for Fisher's mortars."

"Wilco, over."

"Roger, out."


Tara saw Richard, flanked by an elf wearing Imperial armour, disappear amidst the throng of bodies as the Saderans finally began to form a defence. An arrow hissed by her ear, earning a cry of pain from a charging Imperial.

Another died when she disembowelled him with her spear. She smashed the haft of the weapon into the face of another, wrenching the blade out of her first victim. Behind her, the slavers in the camp were freed, more to help sow confusion than to help them escape, but those that stood with them would not be stopped.

She sidestepped a thrusted spear. Something landed behind the soldiers and exploded. The spear was dropped and the soldier that tried to kill her fled in panic.

She and the Warrior Bunnies with her cut their way through the demoralised and panicked Imperials, trying to open a corridor through the camp. Suddenly, there was a gap. She saw Richard pull his blade from a soldier's gut. She saw the mace in the hand of another soldier. Saw the blade connect.

She slipped under the thrust of one soldier, driving her spear blade into his ribcage as she ducked past. She saw Richard fall, and a cheer rise from the Imperials.

Richard got up.

He grasped his blade with both hands and drove its point into the throat of the soldier that had struck him. He stood unsteadily, as the Imperials panicked and ran. Tara grasped the fallen flag and held it up.

She swore under her breath as Richard roared and pursued the fleeing Imperials. Her confusion was sparked when a soldier that didn't run suddenly had his head explode. She crushed it and focused in directing their own troops to pursue. Letting the noble that was supporting them get captured would not earn them any favours, she told herself.


Count Arruns frowned. The soldiers were fleeing from the southern camp. Obviously, the otherworlders were attacking, though the lack of devastation from above, as described by the survivors, made him think this was just a scouting force, mean to keep them off balance.

Something landed amidst the fleeing soldiers and exploded.

"Senator…"

"Be quiet Count!" Senator Godasen's fear and panic was understandable and audible. But that does not mean he should be showing it in front of the men. "I have a battle to command."

The Count shook his head.

He turned and left the Senator to his own devices. An officer rushed past him and died from an invisible blow. Count Arruns winced and kept his head down as he moved about the Northeast camp.

"Centurion, how are the men?" He called out.

"Too many sick and injured sir. The Senator pushed them hard." Centurion Amulius shouted to be heard over the panic in the camp. "We won't be able to march fast."

"Fine, get them ready to move. This is only a probe, I think."


"Vel, right!?" Tara shouted up at the wyvernrider. "Where did Richard disappear too!?"

"Northeast! He's got the Imperials on the run!" The rider laughed. A rock was held in the wyvern's claws as it took off, likely to be dropped on the Imperial's heads.

"Get the wounded up the hill to the Gate, everyone who can fight, with me!" She shouted, hoping that she could be heard, and would be obeyed. The Imperials in the camp were broken, most fleeing, a handful surrendered.

They moved, as fast as they could, out of the gate, on the heels of Richard and the retreating Imperials. The Northeast camp wasn't far, fortunately, but that only meant that the Imperials weren't feeling long.

Arrows hissed out from Tara's motley collection of troops, as elven archers put their missiles into the faces and bodies of the Imperials sentries, and anyone that tried to turn around and fight them.

They went straight into the enemy camp, with no formation or plan.


"Fisher-lead, Black Plate is charging enemy camp Alpha, allied forces are following. Please advise."

"Tulip-lead… maintain support. Granite-lead, swing your team around, maintain suppression. Can you get anyone close?"

"This is Granite-lead, negative, enemy concentration too thick and we have non-combatants in tow, will attempt to thin enemy numbers from here."

"Understood, over."

"Roger, out."


Count Arruns saw the flow of battle. The men were already low on morale. What he did not expect was to see the senator and his guards running. Godasen saw him, stopped, ordered his men to face the enemy.

The Count nearly burst out laughing when he saw their foe. Soldiers near him dropped, struck either by his blade, or some invisible force, certainly adding to the legend that their former prisoner was an Apostle.

He stood back as the Senator died.

He first tried to cast a spell, but his concentration broke when two of his guards died in a breath. The Black Knight strode forwards, cutting down a third. The fourth to die was the senator himself, his mage robes doing him no good against the otherworlder's blade.

Suddenly, there was a surge, a veritable wave of bodies, as the deserters and slaves under the Black Knight's banner arrived.

Centurion Amulius ordered his men to form ranks. Shields and spears levelled at the Knight.

"Hold." The Count shouted. "The battle is lost. Withdraw."

The Centurion blinked and followed his gaze. The senator's sightless eyes stared back. The Black Knight stood over the senator's corpse, blade at the ready.

Count Amulius knew he had no hope of winning this battle. He suspected the Empire had no chance of winning the war. He wouldn't voice his thoughts, but he would save who he could.

"You have fought valiantly, sir knight." The Count said, and the sounds of battle faded at his voice. He raised an arm, sword in hand, and saluted the knight. "I did you an injustice, after you defeated my son. I yield the field, as the most senior commander left."

Part of him hoped that he really was the most senior commander. Another part hoped that whatever weapon had struck down the senator's bodyguards would not strike him.

The Knight mimicked the salute, his wave-edged blade in hand. He nearly collapsed, but a white-haired Warrior Bunny, carrying their crude standard, step forward to support him.

The count sighed.

"Centurion. Withdraw our troops. We go not to Emroy's realm today."


"Hostiles are retreating, Black Plate is slowly being guided to my position. Sending Granite-2 and Granite-3 to guide them."

"Understood, Granite-lead. Continue to provide status updated on Black Plate."

"Wilco, Fisher-lead."


Slowly, Tara guided Richard up the hill. The sudden appearance of two black clad soldiers startled her, and others in their force, but they clearly weren't Imperials.

The guided them to the gate.

At the top of the hill, one stepped forward, and made Richard lie down. They quickly stripped the helmet off and set to treating Richard's injury.

She saw how the soldiers were nervous, as more and more of their troops arrived at the top of Alnus. She nearly jumped when a large metal beast appeared from the gate, with some strange pipe sticking out its front. Several more followed, of different shapes and sizes. Soldiers in strange green pattered clothing appeared from within them. More appeared from the Gate.

One approached her, as she sat next to Richard. She heard him speak, but it took her a moment to realise he was thanking her. He spoke to the medics.


"Yeah, that's Richard." Major Johnson said. "How bad?"

"Bad enough we want to get him back across the Gate." The JTF2 medic replied. "But I'm not sure his… bodyguards will let us take him from them."

The medic gestured to the white-haired bunnygirl, that was sitting next to Richard.

Richard's eyes moved.

"How aware is he?"

"Enough… that I can try and translate." Richard groaned from the ground. "Did anyone see what hit me?"

"Mace, I think." One soldier said. "Why did you charge the other camp?"

"I only could see the soldiers… enemies. So, I charged them. Head hurts."

"Concussion." The medic explained. "Can you tell them to let us take you to the other side?"

"They… are escaped slaves. I think they want to get to the other side." Richard said.

Johnson winced.

"I'm already in enough trouble… probably, with starting the counterattack a day early." He explained. "Fuck it. Tell them to leave the weapons here… no, fuck, ex-slaves… fine… tell them they will be under guard. I'll coordinate with the General, to get them settled in."

He hoped Richard was able to translate effectively and clearly.


"So, as I understand, you can translate for us." General Jameson said. "We need a translator. Don't have many that are fluent."

Richard blinked.

He had been surprised when the general had walked into his hospital room.

"Docs say you are good enough to walk and talk, though not at the same time." The general shrugged. "That's all we need, at this point. Getting the… army of yours settled in the camp we have established outside Alnus, alongside refugees from surrounding villages the Imperials started torching before we showed up, is difficult enough without having anyone that can speak the language fluently."

"Am I seriously the only fluent person we have?" Richard asked.

"No, we have her." Samuel pointed at Tara, sitting next to Richard's bed. "Plus, another bunnygirl, and some academics, but… well, most of them are either not the type, or busy with interrogations."

"I… see." Richard thought it over. "Any chance we can convince them I'm not a noble?"

The American general chuckled.

"We'll see, but there was some talk about making you part of the Canadian Peerage."

Samuel burst out laughing at the face Richard made.

Tara, understanding every word, shook her head. The fact that Richard was not a noble had been a surprise, but the treatment had been far better than she had expected.

"Speaking of," the general turned to her. "We need all the translators we can get."

Tara thought it over.

"If he goes… I will."


A.N. And the Story Ends.

This is the end of Hunting Freedom. Short, yes. I might do a sequel, but not anytime soon. I hope everyone enjoyed it.

 

[charclone]

I have started posting the Sequel, you can find it here!