Blade of Erogrund

Chapter 30- Footfalls

As soon as the footfalls had traveled a short way farther, Godric leaned close to where Matthias crouched beside him. "Do we draw on them?"

The other boy shook his head as quietly as he could manage in his cloak, his eyes never ceasing to stare through the thicket of leaves that hid them to look into the darkness that disguised their hunters. "No. We don't know their numbers or even if they're hostile. It's possible they are a remnant of the First Army. No, we wait."

Godric shifted his kneeling stance as best he could in silence, but his hand itched until he let it clasp the reassuring iron of the pommel of his sword.

After the sounds of many footsteps had grown faint and then grown more audible as the search party presumably returned, the first speaker cursed again under his breath. The stillness of the night did not carry his utterances to where they hid, though the orders that followed were more clearly pronounced.

"Light the torches," he hissed. "If they are in these parts then we'll find them. If not then they won't see the light anyway."

Even in the darkness Godric could see the sudden look Matthias flashed him. After his questioning eyes were answered with a nod, he gently eased his sword from its scabbard, its few metallic shrieks masked by the sounds of flit and steel not twenty-five feet away.

Few sparks jumped into the engulfing night until someone spat. The voice the leader had called Kanora interrupted. "Ox, does it honestly take this long? Give me that." The rustling of jostling hands ensued until a final scratch was heard. Sparks flew and a torch roared to life.

The blazing stick proved more a log than anything else, though the tar-soaked rope that wrapped its tip was nonetheless enthralled in crackling flames that illuminated the bearers. A short man in ragged, chipped, and wretchedly incomplete half-armor had the dubious honor of holding the flaming baton in what appeared to be the arm that was missing its armament from the elbow down. A cowl that appeared to be in as bad of disrepair as the crumbling metal that covered him draped most of his face, though the stubbed start of an unkempt beard was seen growing from his dagger-like chin.

A woman stood next to him. Standing a full two inches taller, she carried a heavier presence that nearly matched the half-moon-shaped ax that leaned against her wolf hide-bound legs. More pelts covered her chest and shoulders, though these were darker black as though they had come from a bear. Her short, auburn hair was knotted messily with the exception of a few strands that ventured down to her muscular, scrapped arms.

A third figure was dismounting a shaggy, grey horse as the torch was lit. It was a man of no impressive size or baring, but the stance of the other two clearly betrayed his command. A weathered and somewhat torn cloak wrapped his sure frame, under which he wore a thin jerkin of chain-mail according to the metallic shivers that echoed his movements. His right hand carried a short, double-edged sword that proved to be in greater quality than the equipment worn by his comrades. In his left hand was a small, metal-studded buckler that was beaten into disfigurement and hung from a single leather strap about his left shoulder.

"That more like it," he murmured, his gaze searching the small area around them that was revealed by the flames of the torch. "Get the others going."

Two other men who appeared similar to the one who already held a torch came from the edges of the light and retrieved similar torches, lighting them by the flames of their companion's until their rays scratched the shadows that wrapped themselves around the trees behind which Godric and the others crouched.

Even as Godric whispered a silent thanks that they revealed no more, one of the horses whinnied softly at the sudden light. His breath fell short as his mind told him that the inconspicuous commander of this hunting troop would inevitably notice.