Errig Quicklance, commander of the Falcon detachment of Terath's Chargers, sat on the crest of the hill and surveyed the ruined village below. He was tall, and sat straight in the saddle despite his age. He had recently passed his thirty-fifth summer -- no small accomplishment for a people that rarely saw a half-century pass.
He wore his traveling armor: a hardened-leather tunic and greaves, decorated with abstract patterns that suggested a bird of prey in flight. His head was bare, and his gray hair was tied back in a braid reaching to the middle of his back.
He could see a handful of survivors moving around the remains of the village, doing what they could to gather the pieces of their shattered lives. Behind him he heard the jingle of harness and the rustle of two score ork cavalry waiting for his orders.
His scouts had spotted the faint smoke on the horizon at dawn, and the detachment had ridden hard to reach the battle site by mid-morning. It was the fourth village they had come across in the past week, each one telling much the same story.
Errig turned Autumn Thunder, his chestnut mare, around and rode back down the hill. Hrogar Blacktusk, his lieutenant, brought Midnight Justice, his night black stallion, forward. Hrogar wore a sleeveless tunic under a green leather cuirass and brown leather leggings. His bare arms were decorated with a series of tattoos; a tally of the opponents he had defeated in battle.
Errig looked at his lieutenant. "Hrogar, you're with me." The other ork nodded. Errig raised his voice and addressed the rest of the troops. "The rest of you, dismount and take a few minutes rest, but be ready to move again at a moment's notice."
The two orks cantered to the top of the hill and down the other side. The sound of their approach was noticed, and the villagers eyed them warily. Based on the reticence of these folk, and the condition of the village, Errig thought it may have been hit as recently as last night. The Falcons had been gaining on them.
Errig and Hrogar brought their mounts to a halt a dozen yards outside the edge of the village. Errig stood up in the stirrups and called out, speaking the dwarven trading tongue "I would speak with the one in charge here."
One of the villagers -- an elf -- dressed in a simple tunic and breeches stepped forward. Errig couldn't tell how old he was. The years didn't weigh on an elf's face the same way they did on the other Name-giver races. His mother had said it was because the elves lived without passion, distancing themselves from the truth of life. Errig wasn't sure either way -- but he couldn't deny that elves often seemed cold, distant, and without emotion.
He raised a hand, palm out, in greeting. "I am Errig Quicklance of Terath's Chargers. My detachment has been following a band of raiders for several days. It seems that we are on the right track."
The elf nodded and replied in a clear, strong voice. "Greetings, Errig Quicklance. I am Beras, Songsmith of Aspen Glen. It would seem that you are right on their heels. We were attacked last night, and many of our kin lie dead. Others were taken from us by these raiders, I fear to be sold as slaves."
Hrogar swore in orkish, and spat to the right of Midnight Justice's withers. Beras shot the ork a glance, but didn't comment.
"I am sorry for your loss," said Errig. "If you would accept our aid, we have some in our troop skilled at tending battle wounds, and strong arms and backs to help you with other tasks."
Beras smiled and bowed to Errig. "I thank you for your offer. Our healer was one of those lost to Death's embrace."
Errig turned to Hrogar. "Ride back to the troop and organize a squad of volunteers to come down and help these folk. Tell Gaya and Turbaz to come as well to help tend wounded."
Hrogar scowled. "But sir," he said, speaking in orkish. "Why are we stopping to aid these ujnort? If we ride hard, we may catch up with those jackals. Let these farmers tend their own, and let us ride to glory!"
Errig kept his cool. "Hrogar, I know your gahad burns to bring these bandits to justice. My own soul cries out for vengeance as well. But for now, we honor Garlen. Thystonius and Lochost will get their due in time."
Hrogar was silent for a few moments, the emotional struggle plain on his face.
"After you have done this, take a squad and patrol the perimeter. No doubt the raiders have left the area, but we should make sure we have no surprises while we're here."
Hrogar nodded and turned Midnight Justice around, spurring the stallion into a gallop that quickly took him out of sight beyond the crest of the hill.
Beras watched him go, and then turned his attention back to Errig. "He didn't seem very happy about that."
Errig let the statement pass without comment. Hrogar was young and eager. He had been promoted to the Falcons after demonstrating a keen grasp of tactical adaptation in another detachment. He was still a long way from being an effective commander, though, despite his desire to demonstrate otherwise.
Errig dismounted. "I would like to speak with your people about the attack. The more we know about these raiders, their numbers, and their tactics, the more effective our strike will be."
"Of course. If you will come with me, I will make arrangements for you and your men."
The Falcons spent about three hours at Aspen Glen. The raiders had headed west after the attack, towards the northern foothills of the Tylon Mountains. Based on the tracks leaving their campsite, the wagons were heavily weighed down. Errig guessed the raiders would meet their contact soon and unload their cargo. He hoped his troops would catch up to them before the captives were sold.
They had learned some useful information from the villagers. The raiders were reasonably well equipped, but the way the attack was described, it seemed they lacked discipline. They used the element of surprise and the confusion that caused to their advantage. In open battle against an experienced force -- or if they were ambushed themselves -- they would be easily defeated.
Errig gave the order for the Falcons to mount up and make ready to leave. As the orders were carried out, Beras extended his arm.
"Thank you for your aid, Commander Quicklance. When you have run these raiders down, please return as our guest and tell us the tale of your battle. It would do much to heal the emotional wounds we have suffered."
Errig grasped his forearm. "It would be an honor, Songsmith." He mounted Autumn Thunder, and addressed the gathered villagers. "I swear we will do all we can to bring your kin back to you."
Beras raised his hand in benediction. "May Floranuus grant you speed, and carry you swiftly to justice!"
Errig saluted, then turned Autumn Thunder west and spurred her into a gallop. He met up with the Falcons, and slowed his mare's pace to a trot. Hrogar rode alongside.
They had gone barely two hundred yards when a figure stepped out of the encroaching trees, directly into their path. Errig turned Autumn Thunder aside and waved the column to a halt. Hrogar was caught more unaware, and he jerked hard on the reins to keep from trampling the sudden obstacle. Midnight Justice reared and pawed the air.
The newcomer was young elf dressed in simple tunic and trousers, a little bit too large for his lean frame. His tousled hair was light brown, and his left arm was in a sling. He looked perhaps twelve or thirteen summers in age -- though given how slowly elves matured, he might be as old as fifteen or sixteen.
"Take me with you." The boy's voice was quiet, but firm.
Hrogar sighed. "We ride to battle, farm boy, not to a picnic."
"Take me with you."
Hrogar tried to walk his stallion around the boy, but he moved to bar the ork's way.
"Take me with you."
Hrogar snarled in frustration. He dismounted, and moved towards the elf. He placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, intending to move him aside. When he did so, the boy placed his right hand on Hrogar's sword hilt, his left foot on the ork's thigh, and kicked away.
The blade came ringing free, and Hrogar found himself staring down three feet of steel. He took a cautious step back, and glanced at his commander, surprise and anger waging a war on his face.
"Take me with you."
Errig took a moment to assess the boy more carefully. He had the lanky grace of a year-old colt, all limbs and angles. Despite his injury the sword stayed level, though the effort involved was obvious. There was a passion in this boy, and Errig didn't think there was anything he could do to sway him from his chosen course.
"Can you ride, boy?"
The elf looked at him, and nodded. The point of the sword dipped towards the ground.
"Then you can come," said Errig. He called back over his shoulder, "Bring up one of the spare mounts."
The boy stuck the sword into the ground and walked toward Errig. He looked the ork in the eye and said, "Thank you."
Hrogar looked like he was about to say something, but a glance from his commander stopped whatever words were on his lips. He stepped forward and pulled his sword out of the ground. He wiped the dirt off with his hand, and stalked back towards Midnight Justice. He mounted the stallion and waited for the boy's horse to be brought forward.
A few moments later one of the Falcons brought forward a dun-colored mare, saddled and bridled. He passed the reins to Errig, who handed them to the boy.
"This is Winter Cloud. She will carry you well."
The boy had some experience with horses -- he stood for a few moments, scratching Winter Cloud's nose and letting her get used to his scent. The mare bore the treatment stoically. She was one of the older horses in the detachment, and was more relaxed than most of the other mounts the Falcons rode.
After a few moments of getting acquainted, the elf moved beside the mare and mounted. He had some difficulty because of his injury -- based on the way he was moving, Errig guessed it was his shoulder that was giving him problems.
Despite his trouble, he managed to get astride Winter Cloud and settled into the saddle. Errig couldn't resist the urge to smile. The elf boy seemed smaller and frailer in the cavalry saddle, which was sized for an ork warrior.
Hrogar watched all of this with a dark expression, clearly unhappy that the boy had embarrassed him, and also unhappy that he would be riding along with the detachment. "A dalliance or two with the plow horse does not make you a rider, farm boy," he said.
"My name is Davon," the elf replied.
"You won't be with us long enough for it to matter," said Hrogar.
"That's enough, Hrogar," said Errig. He turned to Davon. "We won't slow our pace for you, so you'd better keep up."
The elf nodded in response.
"All right then," said Errig. He looked back at the Falcons behind him. "Daylight's wasting, men," he bellowed. "Let's ride!"
With a cheer, the Falcons spurred their horses to a gallop, swerving around Davon, who sat looking in the direction of Aspen Glen for a moment. Then, he turned Winter Cloud to the west and urged her to follow.
