Silus ran at a crouch, his armour shifting uncomfortably against his knees as he moved forward with a squad of the Helm of Jaws. They moved forward at a rapid pace, yet still conscious of attack.
The military dwarves of the Jaws presented a stark contrast to those of the Courageous Bolt. Commander Silus was a firm believer in discipline, and often found himself coming under verbal blows from Othtar, who found his pre-occupation with polishing armour and marching drills to be counterproductive. Silus however was firmly a dwarf of the old school of military thought, a believer in formations and battle drills. The two commanders were therefore the source of much friction within the military of the mountain home, as their successes on the field left a great deal of uncertainty as to which direction the military would go in future. Regardless of their personal beliefs, both commanders had a great deal of respect for the other.
Because of this, the dwarves under Silus’ command positively glinted, their armour reflecting the sunlight above them as they jogged down the road, feet pounding the stones in almost perfect unison. Their commander led the advance, his strong muscular frame easily visible at the head of the dwarves.
Suddenly, he raised an arm and barked for a halt. The dwarves behind him stopped in moments, and dropped into a combat stance, their hands reaching for their blades.
“The village should be just over the next rise,” he remarked, indicating the direction with the flat of his sword. Turning, he aimed his blade towards the dwarves and indicated a selection of them. “Falk, Rocard, Brabus, move forward and assess the situation. You are to engage only if provoked. Sound the alarm if you need reinforcing, and we’ll come running.”
The three chosen dwarves snapped a salute, and separated from the group. Silus watched them jog over the hillside, and sat himself down. “Stand yourself easy dwarves, but don’t get too comfortable, we may not be here for too long.”
***
The three crossbow dwarves moved ahead of their colleagues at a swift pace, eager to prove themselves. Of the three, only Rocard was a dwarf of much experience. The other two were relative new comers to the Helm of Jaws, and in the case of Falk, had yet to see any actual combat. Rocard was therefore on his guard and extremely cautious.
Surprisingly then it was Falk who was the first to spot the village which crouched forebodingly in a small valley ahead of them. A faint cloud of dust and smoke almost obscured its presence, but it was clear even to the inexperienced marksman that something was amiss. Blocking the main routes into the village were a series of obstacles, wagons turned onto their sides, stacked barrels and firewood, packed almost haphazardly across the roadway. He turned to his companions, and began to whisper in a low voice.
“Definitely a human settlement, but what’s with the wagons?” he asked.
“It’s some kind of defensive line,” Brabus replied. “Those blockades look like they’ve been forced several times. See the scratches, the breaks in the wood?”
“But they’re still holding out?”
“Looks like it, but I’m not sure how much longer they can stay that way. Depends really on who the attackers are.”
Falk found himself gripping his crossbow a little too tightly in reassurance, and readjusted his grip.
“Think it’s goblins?” he squeaked.
“Not this far south.”
Falk coughed, and deepened his voice.
“What then? Other humans?”
“Perhaps,” Rocard answered, turning away his head to hide a faint smile at the young dwarfs obvious discomfort.
“Think we should go down and check it out, or head back to Silus?” Falk asked, his eyes still fixed on the village ahead of them. Aside from the distant clattering of shutters swinging in the breeze, and occasional bark of a dog, not a sound could be heard from the village. To further the air of mystery, they could see absolutely no-one on the streets down below.
“We weren’t expecting anything like this,” Rocard finally answered. “We go back, Silus needs to know about this.”
“We could just go down and have a closer look?”
Rocard looked back at Falk in surprise. The recruit had seemingly lost his terror in the space of a few seconds, and was apparently now asking to place himself deliberately in a dangerous position. For a moment, the soldier was impressed, but still he shook his head.
“It’s not worth the risks Falk, and you know it.”
“But I’m ready now! I’m not scared.”
“This isn’t about you Falk. No-one’s questioning your skill, but if there’s a bigger threat to the caravan then the commander needs to know about it.”
Falk lowered his head, clearly disappointed. “I understand sir.”
Rocard slapped him on the back. “Don’t worry Falk, this is going to be a long journey. You’ll get your chance to fight, I promise you. And when you do, I’ll be standing right beside you.”
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Topic: The Captain's Log- Spiritwood (Read 61692 times)