Damn it to the nine hells, Kovrim thought, yanking the door open. This may get dicey.
"Hurry!" he said. "Before the reinforcements catch us!"
The prisoners inside the barn began filing out, turning and making a beeline for the trees. Before even half of the Crescents were out of the prison, though, shouts rose up from nearby. Kovrim spun in time to see a trio of mounted soldiers bearing down on him and the men escaping with him.
"Run!" he shouted, urging the soldiers to fade into the woods. As the rest of the Crescents fled, Kovrim turned back toward the mounted soldiers, planning a distraction to slow them down and give the men time to escape. Slipping a hand inside his shirt, the priest removed a bit of parchment he had stored in a secret pocket. He gave it a quick kiss then began muttering a prayer as he crumpled the scrap and made a circular motion with it around his body.
The parchment crumbled to dust in Kovrim's hand while at the same time, a glowing field of protective energy sprang up, surrounding his body. He ran toward the cavalrymen, hoping his magical barrier would be enough to protect him from a stray attack or two. In the back of his mind, he began to formulate the words of a final spell, one that he could use to whisk himself away from the fighting.
When the time comes, he told himself. Not too soon, though. Must give them time to get deep into the woods.
The first of the cavalrymen began to twirl a light mace menacingly, and Kovrim darted in the opposite direction, hoping to lure the soldier along with him. The priest huffed and puffed as he zigzagged through the camp, trying to draw attention to himself while at the same time avoiding being cornered. The woodland folk had gone into a full retreat, it seemed, for there were only the dead among them still within the confines of the camp. It became apparent that he was alone in his frantic plan, and more and more mounted soldiers closed in about him, trying to contain him. He felt a bit foolish, like a lone chicken in a fenced yard, running willy-nilly all about, trying to keep himself off the chopping block.
When a mounted soldier approached him with a halfspear leveled at his chest, Kovrim stopped and raised his arms out to his sides as a show of surrender. He began to speak the words of that last spell, ready to send himself instantly over many miles of terrain in an instant, all the way back to Arrabar, where he would regroup and bring reinforcements to aid the stranded Crescents.
Before he could complete the triggering phrases, though, something struck him hard from behind, on the back of the head, and he sank to his knees, stunned. The words of the spell vanished from his mind, and blackness replaced them.
Kovrim slowly came awake with a throbbing pain at the base of his skull. He discovered, to his dismay, that he had a large, leather-wrapped bar of steel rammed into his mouth like the bit of a bridle. The bulging thing pressed back against the corners of his mouth, keeping his teeth pried open and depressing his tongue. It was firmly anchored with leather straps that ran over and around his head, as well as beneath his chin. The entire thing buckled in back somewhere. Furthermore, his arms were stoutly manacled in front of himself, each fist tightly encased in a hinged metal ball that prevented him from even flexing his fingers. Kovrim was helpless to even try to unbuckle the harness. The mercenaries who had recaptured him were apparently used to dealing with enemy mages and priests. All in all, it was a rather effective way to keep the priest from talking. Or casting any more spells.
Kovrim realized to his further dismay that he was back inside the barn, along with most of the Crescents. The men had not made it far into the woods, it appeared, before they had been rounded up and returned to the makeshift prison, and the glum faces made it clear to the grizzled priest that their failed escape attempt had cost more than a spell. They were without much hope.
The larger surprise came a few moments later, though, when Kovrim realized there were more Crescents in the prison than before they had tried to escape. He winced as he counted them, for several were wounded, two seriously enough that they were lying on makeshift stretchers, brought to the camp that way by other members of the company. In all, there were fourteen new members there, nearly a third of the total company. Coupled with the twelve that had originally accompanied Kovrim, that meant well over half of the soldiers had been taken since Lady's Favor had gone down and the mercenaries had floundered to shore. With the four he knew to be dead at sea, that meant that at most, Vambran had nearly a dozen men with him. Kovrim strongly suspected there were fewer than that, for the uncertainties of war always left a few more dead scattered on the battlefield than anyone expected.
Less than ten, he surmised. Vambran would never have tried to assault this camp with that few. Perhaps it's good that we did not manage to flee, he told himself, realizing that, had the escape attempt proven successful, it would have meant that the other Crescents would have been left behind. No, the priest decided, it was better to consolidate the troops. Strangely, he felt relief at that.
In addition to the members of the Sapphire Crescent, two of the woodland folk had been captured alive. They both looked sullen and angry, as best Kovrim could tell, for they, too, sported the harsh bit-gag head harnesses and hand-restraining manacles he himself wore. All the old priest could really see of their expressions were their eyes. Both were younger men, dressed in crude animal-skin clothing. Their weapons, of course, had been taken away during the night.
Kovrim sat up and peered about, peeking through one of the cracks in the barn's wall, and he saw that the sky to the east was just beginning to get a little pink. The rest of the reinforcements who had arrived to turn the tide of the fight were assembled in the clearing. Kovrim reckoned that the group that had taken him and the other Crescents prisoner the day before were only perhaps a fifth of the total force of the army bearing the silver raven that was gathered there.
One of the new arrivals, Tholis, who had served in Vambran's platoon for several years, saw that Kovrim was awake.
"Well met," he said, greeting the old priest. "We tried to find a way to get that out of your mouth, but they locked it on too well." Kovrim nodded, hoping the younger man understood that he appreciated the effort.
"Tell him your tale," Hort said, coming up to stand beside Tholis. "He might not be able to speak, but he needs to know your side of things."
"We made it to shore with Lieutenant Matrell after Lady's Favor went down," Tholis began, looking forlorn at what he was having to say. "There were twenty-three of us. We parceled out supplies and were just about to get on the move when we were attacked by that bunch out there. Lieutenant Matrell ordered us to charge through their skirmish line and make for the woods, but those bastards put the magic to us but good, and everyone you see here went down. We lost two," the man added, bowing his head, "and seven escaped, or so we hope, including Lieutenant Matrell." Then Tholis sighed. "They spent most of the day beating the brush, trying to flush the seven out, with no luck. By evening, they were sending trackers into the woods to hunt them down, and we marched all night. Now here we are."
Kovrim nodded.
"Well, soldier," Hort said, "you'll be happy to know that Lieutenant Matrell and his remaining companions made it here, too. The lieutenant spoke to me just before the commotion. Said they were going to try to break us out, but that attack must have altered their plans. Let's hope they're still out there, thinking of something clever to do."