After a few more strides, he came upon two other members of the company. Burtis was sitting, his back against the bole of a tree, a nasty gash in his thigh. Filana, one of the handful of women who served in the Crescents, was kneeling down as though she had been tending to the wound. Both of them had their crossbows leveled at Vambran as he approached, but when they realized who it was, the relief on their faces was clear.
Vambran gave a signal for continued silence then motioned that he would circle their position and watch for any others approaching. Both of his soldiers nodded, and Filana returned her attention to the gash. The lieutenant set out again, making wide circles around the central position where Filana and Burtis were, and it did not take him long to spot and signal other members of the group to join him.
After only a few moments, Vambran had half a dozen mercenaries gathered at the tree. In addition to the pair he had already found, Vambran managed to round up Horial and Adyan, the two sergeants from his own platoon, as well as the gold dwarf Grolo Firefist, who was a sergeant for the other platoon in his company. The last mercenary who had made it into the woods was a young man named Elebrio, who had just joined the Crescents earlier that summer.
Together, the seven of them huddled together next to the tree, waiting and watching Vambran for some sign of what they should do next. The lieutenant stared back at each of them, feeling numb. From forty men that morning, his command had been reduced to six. Each face reflected that same sense of loss he was feeling. Each person, standing shoulder to shoulder with what was left of their company, seemed shaken and defeated. Vambran felt anguish, as though he had somehow let them all down. He had led them into the disasters of the ship attacks and the ambush on the beach.
No! He silently insisted, realizing that letting those doubts fester would only further damage the chances they had at survival. Lead them now; accept responsibility for your failures later. If they'll let you lead them, he added dismally.
"Lieutenant?" Horial queried, giving his superior an expectant look.
Understanding that his sergeant was trying to give him an opening to assert himself, Vambran nodded. "Scout back along our trail," he said at last, looking at Horial, beginning to think about strategy rather than his own wretched sense of gloom. "They haven't entered the woods in force, yet, but they will as soon as they can clear out their own magical traps." The sergeant nodded and crept off. Vambran turned back to the rest of his group. "Be ready to move out at a moment's notice," he said.
"Sir?" Adyan said, a nervous look in his eye. When Vambran motioned for the sergeant to speak, he drawled, "You're not planning to cross these woods, are you?"
Vambran sighed heavily. "Not if I can help it," he answered at last. "But there's an army between us and freedom, and we may not have a choice."
"That means leaving the rest behind," Grolo said flatly.
Vambran raised an eyebrow at the dwarf. "Yes, it does," he said. "What's your point?"
"No point, sir," Grolo answered. "I just wondered what your intentions are regarding the rest of them."
"We're seven to a hundred, not good odds. But my intentions are to rescue them," Vambran said.
Not a one of the mercenaries spoke, but Vambran could tell from the determined looks on each of the five soldiers' faces that they still believed in him, were ready to follow him into battle. Especially to save companions. That, if nothing else, gave him hope.
At that moment, Horial slipped back into view. "They're mustering a large sweeping force and entering the tree line," he reported. "It looks like they're coming after us."
"Then the rescue has to wait," Vambran said. "On your feet. We're going deeper into the woods."
With one look back, Vambran set out. He hoped he wasn't taking his remaining command into more trouble.
CHAPTER 7
The first sensation Kovrim Lazelle became aware of was a steady, painful throbbing in his head, centered on a spot on the back side of his skull. After that, the priest became conscious of numerous other aches throughout his body, as though he had been beaten and battered by a gang of club-wielding thugs. He groaned and began to move his arms gingerly, feeling gritty, wet sand beneath the palms of his hands. The sounds of the surf crashing against a nearby shore brought the man to full awareness, and he began to remember bits and pieces of his plight.
Images of great tentacles and a shattering ship flashed in his mind's eye, and Kovrim remembered trying desperately to scramble to the deck, stumbling as part of the flooring beneath his feet cracked in two. As the planking all around him began to snap and split, the priest saw sunlight and seawater rushing at him, and… nothing more. Somehow, he had drifted or was dragged to shore.
Kovrim opened his eyes and blinked at the bright, glaring sun shining in his face; then he rolled over, away from the intense light, and tried to sit up. The motion nearly made him retch, and he sank back down, closing his eyes again and panting. His head felt swollen and filled with cotton, and the pain radiated down to his gut, making him queasy. He just wanted to find a quiet, shady place where he could drift back off to sleep, but he knew the risks of remaining exposed too long to the heat of the sun. Taking a deep, calming breath in the hopes that the fresh air would settle his stomach, the priest tried again to sit up, reaching back with one hand to feel gingerly at the painful lump at the base of his skull. Something had walloped him pretty hard, he decided.
Squinting, Kovrim began to peer around and discovered that he was on a beach, right at the edge of the tide line. The waves that tumbled to shore rolled up to a point just a pace or two from his feet, and he could see twin drag lines from there in the drier sand. Someone had brought him to that point. With one hand shading his eyes, the priest began to examine the beach more closely, noting the rough, rocky ground just above the sandy stretch, and beyond that, he could see the tops of a line of trees that stretched as far in either direction as he could look.
There seemed to be no one else around.
Kovrim attempted to rise to his feet and almost regretted the move, as he swayed unsteadily, feeling the pounding increase in his head. He stood very still for several seconds, letting the queasiness subside, and he reached down to his belt and checked a pouch. Thankfully, the potion he had stored there when the Crescents had begun their journey aboard Lady's Favor was still safely tucked inside. He drew forth the small vial, pulled the stopper free, tipped his aching head back, and downed the contents. The familiar fiery flavors of pepper oil and burnt meat cascaded down his throat, but he ignored the taste and waited for the effects. A moment later, as he felt the concoction settle in his belly, Kovrim also felt the pain in his skull and joints ease away. Though the potion did not assuage every little stab of hurt, it was enough to relieve the pounding in his head, and he sighed in profound relief and recapped the vial, then tucked it away again.
Once he felt better, Kovrim began to make his way up the beach, toward the line of trees. If nothing else, the blessed coolness of shade was going to be a welcome change. The priest had taken perhaps a dozen steps or so when movement from ahead of him caught his eye. He stopped and peered toward the tree line, trying to get a better view, and he half smiled in relief as he noted a man dressed in the white and blue of the Crescents moving there, crouched over and studying the ground.