Wild Card 22

The rain had petered out over the last few hours, the cloud cover overhead thinning as the barge had gone north. Now, as afternoon gave way into early evening, and a hint of reds seeped anemicly through the cloud cover from the setting sun, Sparhawk led Faran down the lowered ramp, the horse obviousl1¹y eager for solid land. Berit and Kurik had laid out one of the canvases to protect the packs as they were rapidly hauled off the barge and prepared to be strapped to their pack horses.

"You're certain you want to debark here?" asked the barge captain. "There's a good few leagues before the river gets too shallow to make good time."

"This is less predictable," Sparhawk replied. "A fast rider could make it ahead of us and set an ambush. Better to undercut their preparations if possible, and with luck, slip past them at an angle in the night."

"If that's your say, that's your choice," the captain said with an indifferent shrug.

"Thank you for the transport, neighbor. I wish you luck."

As Kalten joined Sparhawk on the shore, he sidled his horse up next to Faran, who was somewhat restive. "So what's your real reason for us getting off here?" he asked.

Sparhawk shrugged. "Kurik suggested it. Something about angles making distances shorter."

Kurik led his own mount down the ramp along with one of the pack horses. "Sparhawk, we desperately need to rest the horses. It's a miracle none of them have gotten colic or snapped a ligament yet, but if we don't give them at least a day - preferably two - of rest and care, our luck isn't going to hold out." He eyed his mount critically. "And I want to tend their hooves while we do it; the last thing we need right now is for one of them to throw a shoe."

Sparhawk grunted, dissatisfied. "We need shelter. Something to make us less visible."

Kalten looked thoughtful. "You know, we might have an opportunity here," he said.

"What kind of opportunity would that be?" Kurik asked, scanning the barge before calling out, "Talen! Get moving, stop pestering the barge workers!"

"We need to rest the horses anyway, right?" Kalten asked, looking around them speculatively. "Seems to me like a good opportunity to find a place to fortify and wait for the seeker."

"That sounds an awful lot like inviting a siege to me, milord," Kurik said stiffly in the tone he typically used when he wanted to call Sparhawk's intellect into question. "And that would leave us far worse off than if we'd just waited for Martel with Count Gerrich at the Baron's keep."

"It does, doesn't it?" Kalten agreed. "But it also gives us a chance to use Sephrenia's concoction against it."

"That wouldn't do us much good," Sparhawk replied sourly. "Every time we've fought its thralls, it stayed back from a distance at a vantage point with a good view and an escape route."

Kurik eyed Kalten. "No, I think I know where he's going with this."

Kalten looked smug. "We know what it does and how it likes to attack. We just set up the best vantage point FOR it. With a nice little surprise waiting for it just under the surface."

"That's actually a rather devious idea," Sparhawk commented thoughtfully. "More clever than I would have credited you."

"I can't take ALL the credit," Kalten admitted. "I had a little help."

"Whose idea was it, Tynian or Talen?" Kurik asked.

"You wound me!" Kalten protested.

"So both," Kurik answered his own question.

Sparhawk found Kalten's surly expression to be quite amusing.

At Kurik's insistence, the horses wore no barding - and judging by their condition, even after the relatively restful hours aboard the barges, Sparhawk only needed to watch the animals to understand why. Despite careful currying and extra feed, it was plain that the horses were far from top form. Warhorses were built and bred for power and speed, not endurance, and four days of riding in barding had tested them severely. It was probably only the ever-present drizzle and chill of the spring air that kept them from losing one or more of the horses to heat stroke.

"Only a few hours walk at most," Sparhawk said. "We'll set them to forage while we make ourselves a small encampment. I'm thinking fraises?"

Ulath grunted. "Good for a start, maybe concealed at the bottom of a trench. A shallow one," he added, seeing everyone's dubious expression.

"If we dig a trench, we'll want a soft faced berm above that," Bevier said, scratching his chin. "May as well get some use out of all the dirt we'll be moving and make it a pain for anyone to walk or run up."

"Sparhawk, I didn't bring enough shovels for that," Kurik interjected, clearly annoyed as he and Talen cinched straps on one of the packhorses.

"We're not using shovels," Sparhawk replied, turning to face Sephrenia, who was boiling water for tea. "Little Mother, that earth fissure spell that the Pandion marshal used during the Zemoch war. How shallow can those fissures be made?"

"The spell was meant to split the ground apart, not dig it up, Sparhawk," the small Styric woman replied without a clear answer. "The Younger Gods aren't fond of strange alterations of incantations in an effort to do something the spell wasn't meant to do. Better to develop a new spell entirely, but don't you think it's a little demeaning to ask the Gods to move dirt for the sake of piling it somewhere nearby?"

"The need isn't so much for the earth being moved," Sparhawk responded, "as for it to be moved quickly in larger volume than we have time for. We need the dirt in a shape and position that will protect us from the Seeker's thralls. And there's a difference between being unfond of a request and rejecting it. Can the depth of the fissures - and the shape, for that matter - be adjusted?"

Flute was paying close attention to the conversation for some reason, but Sparhawk's attention was focused on Sephrenia, who looked both uncomfortable and annoyed with the question. Grudgingly, she finally admitted, "It... [i]should[/i] be possible to do so. Carefully. But do not underestimate the toll that will be extracted for audacity, if nothing else."

"I've been a practioner of the Styric secrets for some two thirds of my life, Little Mother," Sparhawk said with a shrug. "I like to think Aphrael knows me well enough by now to expect this sort of thing from me."

Flute's playful, amused trill of her pipes seemed only to irritate Sephrenia all the more. Sparhawk couldn't decipher the reason for the little girl's subsequent smirk at him, and after brief consideration he chose to chalk it up to all women being incomprehensible in how they nettle one another - even miniature ones.

After packing up, they took a few hours of slow travel. The bleak landscape had changed very little, save for the cloud cover thinning somewhat, enough to get a general idea of the time of afternoon. Sparhawk wasn't entirely happy with the lay of the land, but they did find a pair of shallow knolls, risen out of the muck high enough that water mostly ran off them, leaving them relatively solid ground. As Kurik, Berit, and Talen began setting up camp, the five knights were going over the rough layout of their soon to be fortified knoll. Nearby, Flute was playing a soothing melody for the horses, which were foraging around the hillock.

"We are lacking in sufficient wood nearby for the raising of proper fraises," Bevier announced grimly. "We shall need to rely upon berm and trench and pray it holds adequately against assault."

"The forage here is pretty bad, as well," Kalten added, giving the horses a watchful glance. "There's decent grazing on the berm itself, but not nearly enough for this many horses. We can't possibly set up a safe area for them to graze enough. We're going to have to dip into the oats."

"How much oats do we have?" Ulath asked.

"Two days," Sparhawk answered. "That's all we could really carry without carts, and the terrain in Lamorkand is..." he trailed off.

"The terrain here is only slightly better than runny crap," Kalten finished for him, eliciting a glare of annoyance from Bevier and a chuckle from Tynian and Ulath. "The dirt this far north is too loose even to securely hold a fraise stake for more than a few hours before it'd start to sag, so it wouldn't be worth the effort of digging them in. I suppose we saved ourselves some hassle there."

"How's that knoll holding itself up, then?" Ulath wondered, eyeing the mound on which they'd set up camp.

"Legend has it Lamorkand and Pelosia weren't always the miserable, poor lands they are now," Kalten replied. "Sometimes when you listen to the old folks by the fireside in an inn, they tell tales of how before the Zemoch war, the land was hard but fair. Rains were steady and frequent but the soil was good, if somewhat rocky. But when the Zemoch invasion swept through Lamorkand, the combination of all the fires and slain monsters destroyed most of the greenery, and dried the soil enough that the autumnal storms swept away the good soil. Mounds like these are where a lot of it collected and settled."

Tynian scratched his chin. "The war was centuries ago, and rain wears rivers out of streams over time. You'd think after five hundred years, it'd have washed away by now."

"It's the roots," Kurik interjected as he walked down the shallow slope of the knoll towards them. "Weeds or crops, their roots hold the dirt together and keep it from blowing away. A lot of good soil probably blew in here from the burned out battlefield, and the plants overgrew it."

Near the top of the knoll, Talen was laying down and stretched out, looking resentful and tired. Sephrenia was walking slowly down the mound with several clay pots in a sling. "Well?" she asked mildly as she got within earshot. "Have you gentlemen finished with your planning? Or do I yet have time to brew myself a cup of tea?"

Sparhawk smiled faintly. "I believe we're ready, little mother."

"Then it's just as well that I've mostly finished; I simply need to do the final mixing well away from any flames. The vapors are quite volatile. Kalten, would you be so kind as to fetch the barrel of pitch from the supplies?"

Kalten looked up the knoll with a frown. "Why did we take it up there anyway if we were going to need to bring it right back down again?"

"It was still tied to the horse, dear one." Sephrenia arched an eyebrow expectantly. "The pitch, Kalten."

Kalten sighed heavily. "Right, I'll just go and fetch it; wouldn't want it to get all lonely up there by itself. I'll be back before it decides to roll itself down here for us." He spit off to the side in annoyance, as he muttered something about 'Styric logic' while marching back up the knoll. His portrayed weariness was exaggerated and mostly for show - Sparhawk almost pointed out that if anyone should be complaining about having brought the barrel of pitch up the knoll needlessly, it would be the pack horse, but decided against it.

Sparhawk frowned at the open ground around them. Visibility was good - but it was a double-edged sword, here, as anyone that could be seen by them, could just as easily see them in return. "So how do we set it off when the Seeker gets there?"

Ulath squinted, looking off toward the knoll. "I'm not much of a bowman," he confessed gruffly.

"Berit can use a bow," Sparhawk replied. "If we spread oil soaked rags around the barrel, that'll improve the odds it gets set off."

"Not quickly enough," Sephrenia said, shaking her head. "It will ride away at the first sign of the killing mixture's smoke."

Tynian hummed, rubbing his chin. "What if we dug a pit trap at the top of the mound? We could leave the barrel under it, and when the Seeker fell in, we wouldn't NEED to hurry."

"Might work," Ulath said. "Better than won't work, any day."

Tynian grinned, clapping Ulath on the shoulder, who gave the Alcione knight a slightly annoyed grunt in response. Undeterred, Tynian proclaimed, "Ha! The most bravely dug privy hole, and boldly filled thereafter! They'll sing its saga for years to come." Tynian looked like he might have added more, but startled as Kalten unceremoniously dropped the barrel of pitch to the ground with a dull thud.

Sephrenia recoiled, a pained expression on her face. "A privy hole? Really, Tynian?"

Kalten dusted off his hands with a grin of his own. "Why not? We'll need to fill it in after the stuff has done its job on the bug man, and at that point, no sense in digging a second privy."

Sephrenia aimed an unfriendly look at Kalten while Bevier, kind soul that he was, set the barrel upright and pried the lid open for her without being asked. Sephrenia favored the Cyrinic knight with a smile. "Thank you, Bevier."

"While Sephrenia works on the mixture, let's get the field ready for her," Sparhawk announced. "Someone wake up Talen and fetch Berit- I want them both looking out for anyone showing up while we work. I don't want us caught off guard while we're digging the trench and the pit trap."

Talen grumbled a little about being woken by Kalten, but stood up and started keeping lookout on the side of the knoll top opposite Berit. The work proceeded apace from there; Tynian directed the magical excavation and construction of the earthworks around the encampment knoll while Kalten marked out and dug a shallow hole atop the second knoll with a shovel procured from Kurik.

By the time Sephrenia had finished her concoction, the knights had finished the shallow trench and berm around the base of the knoll, with a packed down path for the horses to come through for grazing outside the fortified area. It was as they were finishing the berm that Kalten returned with a troubled look on his face. "So, remember that thing Kurik was saying about plants holding the dirt together or something like that?"

Sparhawk nodded, turning from his section of earthwork and wiping the sweat from his forehead with one bare arm. Having the stamina to cast a spell was one thing, but maintaining it while it did a constant work was quite something else entirely. "What about it?"

"That mound over there apparently used to be a stand of trees and shrubs before it got covered in all that topsoil. I seem to have dug through the dirt on top and damn near fell in."

Sparhawk blinked at him, nonplused. "That... could complicate things."

Kalten nodded, scowling at his palm. "Also, I seem to have picked up a blister."

Together with Kurik, Talen (who seemed irritated that he was being removed from overlook to what might possibly entail physical labor), and Sparhawk, Kalten led them carefully up the second knoll, pointing out where his digging had seemingly had the added effect of making the knoll top feel slightly spongy. The hole Kalten had been digging was glaringly obvious, an excavation just over eight feet wide, and crumbling in at the edges with the erosion of the soil underneath. Kalten stayed well away from the edge; everyone else followed suit.

Talen sniffed. "Don't think that hole is quite large enough for a horse," he pointed out.

Kalten glared at him. "The hole I dug was mostly for placement. We're going to widen it with magic once everyone's done down there," he countered, jerking a thumb in the direction of the earthworks. He paused, then added glumly, "Or we were. I don't think this knoll is going to hold well enough to stay together if we widen the hole any further."

Sparhawk looked over the hole from a short distance. The sides weren't well packed and the loam was definitely sagging a little. He crouched down, probing the loam they were standing on with his fingertips; it didn't feel as compacted as that which topped the larger knoll where they'd set up camp. He stood from his crouch and looked to his squire. "Kurik, what do you think?"

Kurik walked what he judged to be a safe perimeter of the hole, which coincided rather neatly with Kalten's caution. After thinking a moment, he beckoned Talen over. "I need your eyes. Mine aren't that good in all the shadow of that hole. How thick is the soil layer?"

Talen looked at the hole, before dropping to all fours and crawling carefully forward, keeping his weight distributed evenly. He worked his way to the edge, testing hand and toe holds in the loam before putting any real weight down, until he was looking directly into the interior of the hole. Then, after about five seconds, he made his way backwards with even more caution. "Uh, I think we should all very gently but immediately get off this mound. The dirt underlayer is still actively crumbling."

Little more was needed to be said; all of them immediately began backing away. It was none too soon; a man-sized section of the loam to one side of the hole suddenly crumbled inward, and the vacancy showed the rotted remnants of what looked like a tree branch clinging to a few clods of dirt. By the time they'd all made it safely to the ground, the top of the knoll had mostly disintegrated and fallen inward.

Sparhawk aimed an uneasy look at their own encampment atop the other knoll.

The other knights gathered to look at the slowly imploding hillock. "Kurik," Sparhawk said, "I want an inspection of our campsite. And I want ALL the horses down here at ground level first."

Kurik nodded, a gesture from the squire freezing Talen in place as the boy moved to follow him. Kurik marched hastily up the packed dirt ramp to the mound.

"Pray thanks to God for none of us injured," Bevier murmured.

Sparhawk turned back to his comrades with a wry expression. "Doesn't look like our plan is going to work out," he observed drily.

Kalten looked disconsolate. "The barrel... the digging... all for nothing," he mourned.

Tynian put a comforting hand on Kalten's shoulder. "Fear not, my friend! There will be other heroic privy holes to be dug, despite this one's ignoble demise."

Kalten glared at his hand again. "And I still have a blister."

Sephrenia eyed the barrel mixture critically. "I wish this had happened before I started work on the pitch," she commented with a frown. "All of the ingredients so mixed together have a limited viability before the most important vapors dissipate. More than two days from now, it won't be much more use than ordinary tar."

"Cannot be helped," Ulath said with a shrug. "Unless the Seeker offers to jump in the dirt pile for us out of pity."