Forest Ambush
It was a rare thing for the forest to be so quiet, Warren thought to himself as he marched beside the rest of his battle group. The trees were empty save for the occasional bird, and they watched more than they sang. The fading light of the setting sun barely made its way through the branches to the group below, and shadows fell long and thick from the trees, making the ground itself difficult to see in the failing light. It made him nervous; no matter what time of day, there should have been a little more noise around, something to remind them that they were inside a place full of wild animals. But there was nothing.
The rest of the battle group shared his unrest, their eyes flicking from one side of the dirt path to the other. Scaled hands grasped the hilts of swords, and taloned fingers pulled on the strings of bows. In the silence, their footsteps along the dirt road seemed too loud, an endless thumping trumpeting their march through the woods. If Warren had the time, he would have stopped and done something about that, put something around his feet to muffle the footsteps, but their leader didn't consider silence to be worth the time. Their leader...
Warren looked away from the shadows to the dragon at the front of their group. His blue-white scales shimmered in the light of the setting sun, sending little sparkles flying along the trunks of the trees and into some of the shadows. He was far from worried; even when Warren had walked up to him earlier in the day and warned him of reports of fox scouts in the woods, he had been shushed, hushed, and brushed off.
“Let them see us,” the leader had said. “Savages like them are no match for our people. If they bother to come out of their little holes, we'll cut them down where they stand. We keep marching.”
And despite himself, Warren admitted that it was the only choice that could be made. Not the right reasons for it, but the right choice. The only safe place for dragons while in the forest was at the fort down the path, and they needed to make it there by nightfall if they didn't want to spend the night out in the wilder lands. Savages the inhabitants of the forest might have been, but they were still numerous, and the darkness was their ally, not the dragons. If they were attacked out in the forest, Warren wasn't sure that they would make it out of the battle unscathed, maybe not even victoriously.
He looked over the rest of the group. It wasn't a huge one. Bigger than the standard ten person patrol but smaller than the fifty man strike force, the battle group was sufficient to deal with small threats. Considering that he'd heard of night raids that had more than a hundred foxes in their ranks, Warren didn't think that it would be enough, particularly if they were surprised.
And he was sure that they would be. Whether or not the foxes truly were the savages that the commander believed them to be, they knew how to use the forest to their advantage. As the sun sank further down on the horizon, the shadows were only going to get deeper, and anything in them would be harder to see.
The steady clinking of their armor got louder as one of his comrades jogged over to him, the metal plates clattering against one another at the sudden movement. “Warren.” The other dragon fell into step beside him. He looked at the shadows at the side of the paths before speaking again. “Some of the men in the rear think they're seeing things. What do you think?”
“What do I think?” Warren shrugged his shoulders. “I think we keep moving.”
“But - “
“Orders, Url, orders,” Warren reminded him. “We follow our orders, and then we complain when the guys in charge aren't listening.” He nodded back to the rear. “Keep an eye on them. Make sure that nobody bolts or does anything stupid.” Hell, he should be reminding himself of that; right now, it was all that he was tempted to do.
He wasn't even sure why he was so afraid. After all, while their unit was not the biggest one and not quite able to match the foxes at night, particularly at their opposing numbers, they still had a few advantages. Their armor, for one; each of them wore a thick set of armor, though it was a little weak around the groin and hips. Still, the torso and arms were well protected by segmented metal. Their weapons were also good, a mix of bows and blades, sharpened to the point of being able to rip right through the leather armor that the foxes sometimes used like it was butter. Such equipment would be more than good enough unless they were outnumbered more than two to one, even in the dark.
That's what he tried to tell himself. Like the men in the rear, Warren's eyes kept flicking from the path to the shadows at their sides, getting deeper, darker by the moment. Their marching kept him from getting a good look, but he didn't think that the men were seeing things. There was too much out there for it to be this quiet and there not to be anything to see.
Unconsciously gripping his sword, Warren considered approaching their commander. But he had already said the whole problem with the situation. They had orders, orders to make it to the fort, and orders were not something to be ignored or thrown aside just because of a feeling. Even if he had solid evidence that they would be in danger, he doubted that the orders would have been rescinded. The people in charge of the fort and the people in charge at home wanted things done the way they wanted them done, when they wanted them done, and if there wasn't overwhelming evidence as to why it shouldn't be done, they ignored any disagreement in the ranks.
He had to admit, it usually worked out well. Officers were chosen well and they had the loyalty of the troops. Blind loyalty, for the most part, and it served them well on the battlefield when the difficult calls were made. However, in the case when a soldier or official more arrogant than usual was placed in charge of a battle group...well, the potential for problems began to emerge.
Well, at least the sun was still out, he thought as he looked to the horizon. If an ambush was in their future, then it would come when the sun was down. They still had time.
#
The passage of time had done nothing for the nerves of the troop. In fact, with the fort nowhere in sight, the battle group had grown more nervous than they had been at any other part of the day. Nearly everyone's eyes flicked off of the trail to the trees around them, searching the almost unending shadows that covered the ground. Nothing could be seen, but everyone could swear that they heard things, that there were things out there that made little creaks, little branches cracking from footsteps. But not matter hard they searched the trees, nothing was to be seen. Even the most hardened of the soldiers started to show cracks in their composure, and Warren was no exception, his hand tight on the grip of his sword and his eyes twitching from side to side.
Of them all, the only one not nervous was their commander, who continued to lead them down the path. He didn't look back, nor to the side; he only had eyes for the path and their eventual destination, plodding forward like a horse after a carrot. Any mutters from the soldiers either didn't reach his ears or he ignored them, determinedly moving forward.
With the sun only barely peaking over the horizon and the trees, gracing them with its last bit of light, Warren could take it no more. He broke ranks and moved past the two rows of soldiers ahead of him. Moving beside the officer, he snapped a salute. “Sir.” He dropped the salute. “We should make some sort of fortifications. There's no way that we're going to reach the fort tonight, and the men would be better off with them than without - “
“Silence, soldier.” The officer pointed down the road. “We keep marching. If the fortress isn't in view now, it will be soon, according to the map.” He tapped a case at his waist. “I checked it this morning. We should be within marching distance. I am not going to have us stop when we could get there just a little after sundown.”
“But sir - “
“I am not going to be late to the fort, soldier. Now get back in ranks. We stay in formation at all times on the road, remember?”
Reluctantly Warren nodded, falling back into line. The other soldiers looked at the commander with daggers in their eyes, but they continued to march in step as well. Warren glanced back towards the rear, meeting Url's eyes. The older dragon looked at him with an expression that was nothing less than a 'told you so', but still looked worried. He couldn't blame him; with the sun down, he didn't know how much time that they had left before they were set upon.
In the dark, lined up the way that they were, they were sitting ducks as the expression went. Anything that came at them from the front would be easily dealt with, same with from the rear, but from the flanks...they had less armor at the sides, and he felt like there were arrows and knives just begging to dig into his sides. Every step built the anticipation of an attack, and he felt sweat drops sliding down his forehead. He was a dragon, and almost never sweated, so it drove home just how nervous he was feeling. The rank scent of it filled his nose as the rest of the battle group started to sweat nervously too; he didn't know how much longer it would be before they broke.
The jangling of their armor and the thump, thump, thump of their footsteps was all he could hear. The sounds of the forest were gone, silenced, neither the hoot of the owl or the howl of the wolf to be heard. Warren's pulse climbed higher, his heartbeat thudding in his ears, drowning out everything else.
A sweat drop slipped into his eye, and he reached up to wipe his eye. Just as he touched his finger to his eye, an arrow bounced off of his gauntlet, falling to the dirt floor a moment later. If his hand hadn't been there, it would have ripped right into his snout, at the very least.
As he stared at the fallen arrow, more feathered shafts shot out of the forest to his left, planting themselves in the heads of many soldiers, including the officer at the front. Those hit fell, either dead or screaming from the pain; the officer was one of the former. Those still standing unsheathed their weapons and turned to the left to meet their attackers, their nervousness slipping away and replaced by a sharp focus.
However, as they turned they were struck from behind as well. Arrows feathered another five in the legs and necks, sending them falling to the ground. Warren watched with wide eyes as Url hobbled forward, struck but not down. “Orders, huh, Warren?” he muttered under his breath.
“They were bad orders.” Warren shook his head. He looked at the commander again. That one looked like he'd never actually seen the arrows coming, taken down by the shaft before he could have even see the source of it. “He found that out.” Reaching out an arm, he pulled Url to his feet, and then stood back to back with him. The other soldiers gathered together as well, standing back to back to keep from being shot in the back. They all faced the woods, swords held in steady hands as they waited for the enemy to show themselves.
They only had to wait for a few seconds before the enemy walked out of the trees. Leather clad foxes walked out, most of them hanging back at the tree line with their bows out, and a third of them standing at the front with blades of their own pointed at the remaining dragons. None of them bothered to speak, only advancing in silence with the intent of murder in their eyes. Warren suppressed a tremble in his arm, stomped down on the little quiver of terror in his heart. “Any on that side, Url?” he whispered.
“Some. Just swordsmen, though.” The older dragon chuckled. “Looks like all the archers are on your side. You want a hand?”
“Would be nice. Sure you can handle it?”
“Are you?”
Warren shrugged. “Nothing to do but try.”
The two lines of soldiers united into one, turning their backs on the side without archers to face the side that did. The foxes paused at the iron wall of dragons, and they used the surprise to launch their own attack. Roaring at the tops of their lungs, they lunged forward in a solid line of metal and scales.
They crashed into the disorganized line of mammals with a ringing clash, their blades cutting through fur and flesh when they didn't get parried by their ambushers. In the first charge four foxes died, two were engaged, and the rest stared in shock.
Warren's mind was flying through a dozen different scenarios as he fought, just like he knew the others in his unit were doing. However, unlike them, he wasn't trying to figure out a way to win; he was trying to figure out a way for them to get out of this without losing everyone else. Url was already flagging in his fight, favoring the leg with the arrow in it, and it wouldn't be long until the blood loss dragged him to the ground. The others were uninjured, but he didn't know how long that would last with the massive numbers of enemies ahead.
At least their charge had done as much good as ill for their situation. They might be surrounded by armed enemies and outnumbered, but the mammals couldn't use their ranged weaponry in this case without hitting their own forces. They didn't have to worry about being sniped by a lucky archer, and that made things a little more even. As long as they had shields, at least; when the foxes with swords either pulled back or were wiped out, they would be just as exposed as before.
However, it wasn't long before their line started to break. Warren expected that; they were only six against thirty, after all, and superior weapons and armor or not, they were still going to be outnumbered by the swordsmen alone, let alone the entire group they faced. It had been a guarantee that they were going to be pushed away from one another, broken off from the group. Warren hated it, but it was inevitable.
They fell, one by one as they were pulled apart from the group. Old Regnar, pulled to the side and stabbed in the back before he could pull his blade out of one adversary; one-eyed Yalmor, surrounded and hacked to pieces from all sides; even their newest member, blue scaled Vannon was pulled away from their group and pushed out of the safety of the pack. Arrows filled him from the all sides, all at once, and he fell like a living – well, now dead – pincushion.
Before long only Url and Warren stood against the foxes, and they were surrounded on both sides. Url had his back against Warren's again, and Warren pressed his back against Url's. They swung their blades around quickly, just short of frantically, fending off blows heading to the weaker points of their armor and taking the blows that their armor could withstand. Even with that protection Warren still felt the hits, but he was able to keep fighting without having to worry about blood loss.
The same could not be said for Url at his back. He could feel the blood running down the older dragon's legs, spilling onto the back of his own. He risked a look behind him, and grimaced. The arrow had been broken off, yanked out, and the wound was bleeding badly. Url's swordwork was slower than he remembered, too, and the other dragon's arms had signs of wounds that shouldn't have been there.
He paid for taking his eyes off of the fight, almost taking a cut to the neck that he avoided at the last minute. The blade hit his helmet instead, setting his head ringing. Dizzy, he lashed out as randomly as he could, buying himself time to recover. The foxes, however, were as quick as they were numerous, and one ducked under his guard. He could just see the blurry shape of the vulpine charging at him, and he knew he was about to die.
At the last second, something pressed the back of his legs and he fell backwards, sliding over Url's back and landing on the other side. He felt one of the foxes fall under him, cushioning his fall. Shaking his head and clearing his vision, he pushed himself to his feet, fending off two more swords with rapid parries. He swung his sword in a wide circle, and turned back to Url to thank him for the rescue -
-and gasped at what he saw.
His comrade was on his belly with two blades in his back, shoved through the chinks in the armor, and his face was cut up badly. Url looked up at him weakly, and mouthed one word. “Run.” It was so quiet that it was almost impossible to hear, but Warren heard it. It was like time slowed around him. The other foxes were pulling back from him and the dying dragon, opening them up to the arrow fire from the trees. He heard the sounds of the bowstrings slowly being pulled back, saw the glint of moonlight off the arrowheads. Despite the danger, all he could think of were the dead. The dying. His comrades. His battle group. Gone.
“Run,” Url said, just a little louder. He stretched out his hand, straining for his blade. “Run.” He almost had it. “Just...run!”
Just as Url's hand clasped around the hilt of his sword, arrows sprouted like weeds from his back, one, two, four, eight, sixteen, more than thirty arrows in the back of the dragon. Url stiffened, then slumped, his eyes closing as his blood pooled around him.
Time sped up again, and Warren took Url's words to heart. Orders. His orders. Orders were to run. Run as fast as he could.
He jumped away from his friend's body, cutting down one fox. Blood. Blood on his chest and cheek. Another slash, cut down another fox, head falls. He had to run. Another cut, clang, sword fight. Slash, slash. Clang. Swoosh. The sword catches on his armor; he stabs the fox under the arm. Run away, tell what happened.
The foxes were falling away from him, most with fearful looks on their eyes. Archers were loosing their arrows, arrows that hit his breastplate and fell. Bows weren't strong enough to get through, bows weren't strong enough to get him from the front. He kept his front to them. Had to keep his front to them, he thought. Otherwise he'd die, just like Url. Couldn't die. Had to run. Had to tell people what happened.
They tried to surround him, swarming around him in all the numbers they could muster. He didn't care. He just needed one break. One way to get out. Had to keep his front to the archers, though. Couldn't let them get behind him, couldn't let them get him.
Cut, cut, slash. The sword catches. It tugs on leather. He punches the fox wearing it, brings the sword up again. It clangs, clangs. Clatters out of his hand, goes flying into shadows. The fox got him on the wrist. Grabs it. He kicks the fox, backpedals fast as he can, looks into the shadows. Sword's gone, can't find it, won't find it. Have to run. Have to run. Have to run.
He runs.
#
He ran for a long time before he started thinking normally again. Panting hard, he slowly made himself slowly, reining himself in until he came to a complete halt, and leaned against a nearby tree. Sucking in air, he slowly turned his head, fearing he'd see something still there, something chasing him after all this time.
There was not. He was alone, and he heaved a sigh of relief as he collapsed to his knees at the base of the tree. His whole body just wanted to fall here and rest, to just try and sleep and forget what he was running from. It was so tempting that his arms shook and legs trembled, and from more than just exhaustion. It would be so good to just fall into the darkness of sleep and forget about the slaughter.
But he couldn't. Warren trembled, his claws digging into the forest earth as he remembered all that had happened. Forced himself to remember all of it, from the first arrow on his gauntlet, to more than two thirds of the whole battle group falling in the first ten seconds, to Url telling him to run as he lay dying. He forced every memory through his head, committing them to memory again. He stamped them down onto his memory as he slowly pulled himself off of the forest floor. “I will not...forget...” he muttered to himself.
As he pulled himself to his feet, he cocked his head to the side. Footsteps. Weapons. Shouts. Coming from behind. He whipped his head around, and saw the slightest hint of a moonlight glint off of metal. They were still chasing him after all. He had to keep running. Run until he lost them.
He took off, picking a random direction. He would run. He would live. He would come back and get revenge for his people.
Somehow.
