Advance to the Rear (standard:fantasy, 1955 words)
Author: Abner Doon	Added: Nov 01 2003	Views/Reads: 3513/2263	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Short story set in the Myth: TFL game world.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

"If you ask me," Curran said. "If the Nine were trying as hard to the
win the war as they are trying to find some lost book, we'd have 
whipped Shiver and The Deceiver and all the rest of them back to 
Rhi'annon by now." 

"Yeah," Cathal said sarcastically. "Almost makes you feel like they
don't think we have a chance without their magic thingummybob." 

"All right," Aethelwulf cut in. He glanced down at the fires. "We have a
good estimate of their strength. Let's get the hell out of here." 

At this the grumbling stopped and the party stood. The hills had
provided adequate cover, but by now the roaming Ghol patrols were sure 
to have ranged this far ahead of the main force. Everyone was anxious 
to put as much distance between them as possible. 

As they loped down the hills, heading toward the Southern Highway,
Aethelwulf said to ny'Marro: 

"If a pack catches us, kill the white one first." 

"Why, Sergeant?" ny'Marro asked. 

Curran sniggered, and Cathal looked to the sky as if to say, What are
they teaching kids these days? 

"Because," Owen said. "Ghols with white pelts are bred from birth to be
quicker and faster than the others. They act as messengers, so if the 
fight turns sour, the white one will be the first to head out and raise 
the alarm." 

Aethelwulf sighed inwardly. He was hardly a grizzled veteran, having
just seen his thirtieth summer, but already he felt ancient beside 
youths like ny'Marro. 

They had reached the last of the low hills and now came upon a field of
tall grass, waving lazily in the wind. The smells of the burning city 
still pursued them. Without hesitation, Aethelwulf plunged forward into 
the grass, drew his sword, and began hacking a path for them. The 
others followed in his wake, Curran bringing up the rear. Five minutes 
later, more than halfway through the field, Curran called for a halt. 
Aethelwulf negotiated his way to the back of the line and conferred 
with him. 

"What is it, Curran?" 

The big soldier looked uneasy. "I'm not sure, Sergeant. I thought I saw
some movement back around the hills just now. It might have been 
nothing." 

Curran's words were heard by the entire party, and five sets of eyes
were trained on the hills when the movement reappeared. It was close to 
sunset, but enough light remained for there to be no question that 
something was back there. 

"I see it," said Cathal. The others agreed. There was a universal
tightening of armor, hefting of shields, and gripping of swords. 

"What is that, Sergeant?" ny'Marro asked. The young fir'Bolg looked
nervous. The movement had become more pronounced, and they could almost 
make out familiar shapes against the background of the hills. 

Aethelwulf stared at the hills for another second, his face grim. He
began moving to the front of the line. 

"Sergeant?" ny'Marro asked again. 

Aethelwulf paused and looked back at him. "Ghols, ny'Marro. They see our
trail." To the rest of the party: "Let's move." 

The party set off moving much faster. The sun was almost on the horizon
now, directly in front of them, servant of the Dark, a giant red ball 
that served only to outline them and obscure their hunters. The next 
few minutes were spent swearing, tripping over rocks hidden by grass, 
and running as fast as metal armor would allow. There was no question 
of pursuit, now; all could clearly hear the howls, grunts, and snapping 
jaws of a pack of Ghols making their way through the field. 

Suddenly the grass disappeared, and they were out in the open. The
Southern Highway lay about a mile to their right. Owen tapped 
Aethelwulf on the shoulder and pointed at a steep hill fifty feet away. 


"That one looks right enough, Sergeant." 

Aethelwulf studied it for a moment, scanned the horizon, then nodded
curtly. "We'll make our stand at that hill." 

They ascended the hill and prepared their defense. Ny'Marro unlimbered
his bow, took six arrows out of his quiver, and stuck them headfirst 
into the earth. Owen unslung his leather satchel and threw it into the 
distance behind them. Cathal loosened his scabbard and drew his sword. 
Aethelwulf and Curran stood at the edge of the hill, swords drawn, eyes 
on the path leading out of the grass. 

The sounds of pursuit grew louder until, finally, the shadows moving in
the grass reached the end of the path and appeared in the dim light. 
The first Ghol lurched toward them, its howl of glee cut short as an 
arrow sprouted in its neck. It fell to the ground and died with choking 
gasps. The other Ghols bayed in anger, then rushed toward the hill, 
snarling. Another Ghol fell to an arrow. The remaining six were twenty 
feet from the hill when the third arrow missed. Ny'Marro swore, dropped 
his bow, and pulled his knife. 

The Ghol in front of the pack leaped up the hill and snapped at
Aethelwulf. Two of the others circled around to the side. In one fluid 
motion Aethelwulf drove his knee into the Ghol's chest and brought his 
sword down on its neck with all his strength. Blood spurted, and the 
Ghol tumbled down the hill, lifeless. 

Curran blocked snapping jaws with his shield, then kicked out with his
foot, catching his Ghol in the face. It fell back, stunned. He quickly 
stabbed it in the chest, eliciting a moan. The Ghol lay down as if to 
sleep. 

Aethelwulf turned. Cathal seemed to be wrestling with a Ghol on the
ground. It was chewing on his mail-covered forearm, while he was 
slamming it repeatedly in the face with his gauntleted fist. His 
strategy appeared to be working. Ny'Marro was not as successful. One of 
the Ghols that had circled around to the side now lunged at him. It 
took all of the fir'Bolg's reflexes to remove his bare arm from the 
path of those slavering jaws, and his knife didn't appear to have any 
effect deterring the beast. Only when Aethelwulf ran over and took a 
swing at it did the creature back off. 

Owen was locked in a stalemate with his Ghol, trading blows but neither
inflicting much damage. Another lunge of snapping jaws forced him back 
one step, then two. The third step back and his heel caught on a hidden 
obstruction, landing him on his back with no breath in his lungs. Out 
of the corner of his eye, Owen saw a glint of steel, then the Ghol was 
pulled bodily off his shield and thrown. It tumbled down the hill, 
wailing in pain. 

Aethelwulf's sword severed the fifth Ghol's neck. As he stepped back, it
appeared most of the fighting was over with. Curran was helping Owen to 
his feet. Cathal sat nursing a wounded arm. 

"Everybody in one piece?" said Aethelwulf. 

There were nods and grunts of assent. 

Aethelwulf was about to open his mouth when a Ghol broke cover from
where it had been hiding at the base of the hill. The white Ghol moved 
startlingly fast, making a beeline straight for the field of grass. 

"Ny'Marro!" Aethelwulf snapped. 

The fir'Bolg lunged for his bow, pulled one of the arrows out of the
ground, and sighted along the clothyard shaft. A second later and the 
arrow was gone, arcing down toward the fleeing Ghol, slamming into its 
hindquarters. The Ghol fell to the ground. 

The company breathed a collective sigh of relief, until when, a moment
later, the Ghol crawled to its feet and began limping away. It reached 
the grass just as ny'Marro's second shot fell short. 

Cathal broke the silence after the escape: "Terrific. Hope it dies of
blood loss before it gets back to its masters." 

"Not likely," said Owen. He went over to retrieve his satchel. 

Aethelwulf glanced up at the black smoke barely visible in the fading
sunset. "Let's get moving. He'll be back with friends, and Tyr is 50 
miles from here." 

They began walking.


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