He bit back his instinctive cry of alarm- if the goblins heard they were both dead. The stream was only a few feet wide but it ran strong and fast. It was two to three feet deep in most places and Engvyr desperately tried to stop himself. He clutched at the rocks the current smashed him into or scrabbled at the edge of the channel when he could reach it.
Finally after an eternity of impacts and tumbling through the icy darkness he was able to claw his way onto the bank. He was shivering violently and his teeth chattered so hard he thought they would break. His body was numb and he was distantly aware that he was hurt. He pulled himself from the water but could manage no more and simply lay there with shivers wracking his body.
He hadn't been there long when rough hands grabbed him and pulled him to his feet. He had only made it partway upright when his back spasmed and he had to stand, bent over with his hands on his knees. It was a few moments before he could straighten up enough to stumble forward.
“C'mon Engvyr,” Taarven muttered, “Move or die time!”
The journey back to their ponies was a pain-wracked nightmare for Engvyr. Fever was setting in so he was alternately sweating and shivering so hard his back would spasm again. His head felt like it had been split with an axe and his body ached to the limits that he could bear but somehow they made it. Unfortunately they weren't finished. Taarven boosted him into the saddle and he nearly went straight over the other side. Taarven swore and bound his wrists to the pommel of his saddle and his thighs to the stirrup leathers and led them west, away from the road. Over the next few hours Engvyr learned a new definition of misery. He was in and out of delirium and every time he nearly fell over his back would spasm again. Finally they stopped and Taarven cut him loose. He more than half-fell from his pony into Taarven's arms. Mercifully he passed out at that point.
He woke when Taarven lifted his head to pour hot willow-bark tea into his mouth. His first reflex was to spit the bitter brew out but Taarven was persistent. This was repeated several times before he woke, lucid and soaked in sweat. He was lying so close to their tiny fire that it was a wonder that he hadn't rolled into it in the grip of the fever.
“Easy now,” Taarven said when he tried to sit up. His partner helped him, leaning him back against the boulder that had been reflecting the heat of the fire. His back stabbed a couple of times in the process but didn't spasm. Be grateful for small favors, he told himself. Taarven gave him some coffee and let him sip it enough to clear his throat.
“How are you feeling?”
Engvyr considered it a moment before replying, “Like my pony dragged me across a few leagues of rough country.”
“Well, at least your fever seems to have broken,” Taarven said.
“How long?” Engvyr asked, checking the position of the sun, which was about to drop behind the peaks.
“All day yesterday and today,” Taarven told him, “Let's get some food and coffee into you.”
“Since we seem to have gone as far as we can we should check in with the army,” Engvyr said, “Maybe someone else has had better luck.”
“Engvyr, you need your rest! That fever could come back as quick as it went.”
“Well,” Engvyr said, “In case you hadn't noticed there's a war on. I'll bundle up good, and if need be I'll sleep in the saddle. But we need to report in.”
“We'll argue about it while you eat,” Taarven said as he began heating up a pan of beef and beans. They did argue too, but Engvyr was inflexible and after eating they saddled up and got moving. Engvyr was weak but he could sit in a saddle well enough. After all, he thought, the pony is doing the hard part…
They avoided the trail as much as possible and sometime after midnight Taarven called a halt. By that point Engvyr was done-in and willing to admit that he needed the break. They made a cold camp and he wrapped up in his bedroll and slept like a stone until dawn. They broke their fast with biscuits and some dry sausages before setting out again.
They had no difficulty locating the regiments. By midday it was obvious where they were; ten thousand dwarves cannot camp inconspicuously. They worked their way towards the columns of smoke rising from the camp.
Engvyr was exhausted by the time they were challenged by the army's sentries. They were passed through the lines and directed to the field headquarters of the Mountain Guard contingent. They made their way through the vast camp past row upon row of tents and secondary defensive works. Engvyr was not too beat-up to appreciate the intelligence of the arrangements. It looked to him as if they could probably fend off five times their number of Baasgarta.
Headquarters was set up in a converted mess-tent borrowed from one of the regiments. Engvyr was surprised to find Captain Gauer inside, obviously in charge. He was poring over a hand-drawn map with another pair of rangers and a cartographer when they arrived. They were filling in details based on the report he was receiving. He looked up and greeted them with a nod, exchanged a word with the map-maker and moved to meet them.
“Taarven, Engvyr,” he said, giving Engvyr a sharp, assessing glance, “Sit down, Ranger. Looks like you've had a rough time of it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Engvyr said gratefully, hooking a stool over with one foot and half-collapsing onto it. He set the long-rifle aside and gingerly unslung his satchel, water bottle and other gear with a sigh of relief.
Taarven looked at the captain as he was setting his own gear down and asked, “Not that it isn't good to see you, sir, but where's Berryc?”
“Oh, he's fine- I sent him back to take command at Ghost Creek when I came forward,” He told them, “The King has signed the council's Declaration of War against the Baasgarta. Command sent me to take charge.”
Unasked one of the staff brought them bowls of stew and mugs of coffee while they made their report. After they ate they joined the Captain at the map, filling in more details from memory. This was merely a rough campaign map; detailed maps would be made as the armies advanced, which Engvyr gathered they would be doing shortly.
“We don't want to be fighting a winter campaign if we can avoid it,” Captain Gauer said, “Others have reported fortifications similar to the gate that you found, so I imagine that the first stage of the offensive will be to take those for our own.”
The captain indicated a spot on the map to their northeast and said, “There is a garrison here. Our group, the 3rd Rifles, the 1st Mounted Infantry and the 4th Heavy Infantry, will take and man the gates and lesser forts, then join up with the 2nd Rifles and the 3rd Heavy Infantry to take the garrison. Fortunately it is only lightly fortified; I doubt the Baasgarta ever expected they would face a full-on assault. Worse come to, we can besiege them over the winter, but the Army boys think that we can take them down easily enough given our advantage in numbers. It looks like we will be able to secure our own supply-lines pretty well, as the territory south of the target is completely uninhabited.”
Taarven frowned thoughtfully and asked, “What will our part of this be?”
“Initially you two will guide a company of skirmishers to take the gate that you found. We'll have you coordinate with them on methods,” he said, then frowned at Engvyr, “After you've seen a healer and had a good night's rest. You look like ten leagues of bad road, Ranger.”
“I wish I felt that well, sir!” Engvyr told him with a weak grin.
He felt better after he let the healers fuss over him. He dutifully took his medicine then bathed, changed into a clean clothes and racked out on one of the cots behind a canvas curtain at the back of the headquarters.
It took the army regiments a couple of days to prepare for the offensive and Engvyr needed every moment of them to recover. He was still bruised and stiff but he was at least past the need to worry about the fever coming back.