The path the fleeing cultist made through the woods was enough for anyone to follow once the dense underbrush of the tree line was passed. Even without the trail of mangled bushes and fresh footprints to show them the way, it was obvious to the Party to where he was heading.
After a short distance the thief's trail was briefly obscured by, of all things, books. Tomes of various sizes were scattered around the woods, across the trail and out into the woods of either side. In the center of the scattered material was a muttering man scrambling across the forest floor, snatching up books to add to a neat stack on a small cart.
The Party stopped to assist the man, called Tancred, rapidly collecting the man's books for him. Tancred was a scholar of some note in the region, quietly doing his research when the thief had blundered through the bushes, knocking his cart, and scattering his belongings. He was friendly and pleasant enough, but other than pointing along the already obvious trail he could offer nothing about their quarry. Checking first that Tancred was fine to be left, the Party set out again.
Just beyond a small hill, which the trail headed for straight as an arrow, lay a well traveled wagon road. That road went East only to Faygrove, and so the cultist must be heading West. The road went long and winding around the steeper sections of hills and stone to make travel easier on carts and wagons, and men burdened with heavy pigs.
"We know where he's going, and where it will take him." Sigwald said. "We can be in his front easily just by crossing the hills themselves.
The Party agreed and set off in a new direction. The way was not simple as a wagon road, but neither was it truly difficult. In just more than an hour the Party had reached a high summit from which they could see much of the wagon road below them. And as suspected, they saw the villain on that road and heading towards them.
"There is our quarry," Alart pointed to the tiny figure in the distance. "But something is wrong, he's moving far too quickly. He can't sustain that pace."
"There is the reason for his haste," Brold intoned, pointing beyond the cultist. Visible as flashes of movement through the trees they could see men coming along quickly behind.
"Bandits?" Kell cocked a questioning eyebrow. "He's going to be run down by bandits? It may be a just and amusing end to the man, but he does still hold the pig."
"Yes," Alart watched for a moment, gauging speeds and distance. "Yes, he still holds Volgrath. We can't let the bandits catch him. For his own reasons he keeps the pig alive, reasons those bandits do not share."
"There," Sigwald pointed to the road below them. "Just a bit on, the road narrows to a single pass. If we move now we can reach it before the bandits do, but unfortunately not before the thief. Still, there we can stop the bandits in their pursuit."
Moving as quickly as possible down the dense foliage and steeply sloped stone face covered
hill, the Party arrived at the small pass mere minutes after the cultist had passed, and only
moments before the approaching outlaws would reach it.
Quickly they took up positions to defend the pass. Catching the cultist and freeing the pig
would only put Sir Volgrath in danger if they had to confront the outlaws then. They had easily
caught up with the cultist this time, they could do so again.
The approaching outlaws, one of the nomadic groups from appearance, saw the Party as the pass
came into view. Fanning out, they appeared determined to enter the pass, though whether it was to
reach the cultist or merely for the challenge could not be said.
Whatever the motivation of the thieves, the Party moved quickly to engage, bringing the fight to
them in order to halt their advance as quickly as possible. Warton loosed arrows toward the outlaw
archer on the hill, but his points could find not purchase on the man. The return volley had no such
issues. Warton fell under the rain of wood and steel.
Brold, unnervingly quick for a dwarf, had raced up the steep slope also in an attempt to bring
down the archer. He was halted before reaching him by another. This man, brandishing a blade with
the simple confidence of a trained killer, stepped up to engage.
On the other side of the road Sigwald and Kell had both rushed to confront the apparent leader
of the brigands. Sigwald reached him first, his sword and axe striking well but finding only the
well placed steel of a parry. Kell burst through the trees to lend his trident, but neither could he
find an opening in the outlaws defense. Though the same could be said of the nomad leader, for
Sigwald and Kell let no strike pass.
The three men fought, moving fore and back, side to side. Turning and striking, the melee
clashed on through the trees.
Odmar stood in the road, blocking two of the outlaws as they tried to get to the pass. He
fought well and bravely, but could not bring either man to the ground. Sir Alart advanced to
assist, defiantly knocking aside with is shield the arrows that were launched at him. The first of
the outlaws fell to his sword as he still approached. The other after a brief exchange.
An arrow fired by the archer on the hill narrowly missed the knight.
"I'm going up there," Alart turned and walked toward the hill. "Go and help Sigwald."
Elman, seeing that the immediate threat to the pass was under control, loped forward to deal with
the archer himself. Taking a moment to steady himself, he threw a knife and was rewarded with the
archer's scream. He did not fall, but he turned his attention from Alart, whom he had been
relentlessly firing upon.
The outlaw nomad leader, though highly skilled, could not stand forever against the combined
efforts of Kell, Sigwald, and now Odmar. Shortly after his arrival, Odmar was wounded by the
outlaw's blade. That reduced the men facing him, but proved to be a fatal mistake as it took his
attention from the others for too long, and he finally fell from Sigwalds mighty blows.
Sir Alart reached the top of the hill, coming up behind the archer. He was heard, and the archer
spun on his heel ready to fire. He never did, instead he collapsed to the grass, a thrown knife
protruding from his back. Alart did not hesitate in his stride, simply changed the direction to
approach the outlaw fighting with Brold.
From the very first of the engagement, Brold and the nomad had been engaged in epic and equally
matched swordplay. Every blow parried, every step forced matched by one in retreat. Neither man
could strike the other, neither man could be struck. With the arrival of Sir Alart, the nomad was
now outnumbered so things would change. But no! Every blow from Brold, every blow from Alart,
expertly parried. And they in turn parried each of his strikes.
For long minutes the magnificent swords-play echoed across the pass until, finally, the nomad
thief stepped backward. Raised his sword to his face in salute, then with a downward slash and a
bow, he leapt from the cliff and ran off into the forest.
Moments passed in stunned silence as everyone in the party simply stared to the trees where the
man had escaped.
"I honestly was not expecting that," Alart said in a slightly amused tone.
"Guys," Elman called from below. "Can you bring down my knives?"
"Aye," Brold called back. "That was good throwing, though I can only find the one knife. Looks like the other is lost, lad."
"Nuts," Elman slumped his shoulders. "That was one of my good carving knives."
After some minor use of the medicinal skills both Brold and Elman posses, Warton was once again
whole and well. His wounds were not as bad as feared, and once the shock had receded the actual
injury was easily treated. Sigwald, crouched beside him to ask of him, clapped the man on the
shoulder and nodded at Alart.
"Good." Alart turned to the pass. "Now let's finish this."
Faygrove
Outlaws Border Dark Secrets
5 3 3
The Outlaw value remains unchanged.
Warton was Wounded, but the Fizzy Tonic fixed him right up.
Sir Alart suffered a Heroic Wound in this battle. (He was wounded, but said nothing and fought on anyway. It gives him an extra XP.)
Loot:
3 Hand weapons, Bandages, Greaves (fine)
Comments