The First Vow - copyright (c) 2003 by Steven Sharpe
That night she had lost her virginity.
That morning she lost her father.
She would never forget those few days, for they changed her life forever. Lying in warm sleep next to Danno, her love, to be awakened by a loud knocking at her door. Danno slept on, oblivious, but she, always a light sleeper, was up and creeping across the plank floor towards the door in a second. As she neared it, the knocking repeated itself, this time accompanied by a low male voice, calling her name.
"Private Leslie. Wake up!"
She knew the voice to be that of her sergeant. Relaxing slightly, she grabbed a long robe from a peg by the door, slipped it on, unbarred the door and pulled it open.
Sergeant Walt stood before her, holding a candle lantern. Blinking in the light, Leslie could see his features, etched with concern...and something else, as well.
"It's your father," he said briefly.
Leslie caught her breath, and waited for him to continue.
"His patrol encountered a large band of orcs in the east mountain sector, and they were captured. One of his corporals got away. The rest were either taken or killed."
She closed her eyes. It had to happen...sooner or later.
"Lord Morg is dispatching the 2nd Battalion, and we are the assigned trackers. We move out in an hour."
With that, he turned and strode away.
Leslie stood in the hall a moment longer, then turned and went back into her room.
Leslie was a private in the force known as Lord Morg's Imperial Rangers. Their task was to patrol the mountainous northern border of the Duchy of Strabath, part of the Kingdom of Nlad. The Mountains of Nlad were wild and untamable; and home to many creatures who were the enemies of Man. It was the Ranger's job to keep them at bay.
Leslie's father was a Captain of the Rangers, and her younger sister Odessa was a cadet. They were all aware of the chances and the risks such a career involved. He was probably dead already, the young woman thought, as she put on her padded undergarments and reached for her chain shirt. If not, then he would be tortured and probably eaten at the next feast. She almost wished for his sake that he had died in the battle. The east mountain sector was a two day ride from Strabath, where she was stationed. They would probably be too late.
Danno stirred at the sound of her buckling her riding boots.
"Going somewhere?" he asked in a sleepy voice.
"Patrol," she replied, hoping that the shake in her voice was not detectable.
He sat up on one elbow and looked at her in the dim predawn light which filtered through the shuttered window. Like her, he was a ranger, but in a different platoon.
"Something come up?" he said. In the distance the faint sound of the alarm gong could be heard. Walt had come to her first, before alerting the rest of the platoon.
In a distant, near emotionless voice, she told him.
When she was done Danno gripped her arm, but with a strength near equal to his she pulled away. Buckling on her bastard sword and taking her shield, Leslie headed for the door.
There she paused, and turned to her lover.
"Good luck," he said from the bed.
She left.
With long strides she covered the distance from her quarters to the courtyard outside of the stables. She wore a coat of fine chain mail under a heavy fur lined riding cloak. Atop her head, her long brown hair was curled up into a helm. Her shield bore the coat of arms of the Duchy. Sheathed at her side was her bastard sword.
The courtyard was a hive of activity. Stable boys and lackeys ran about under the watchful eyes of the sergeants and corporals, saddling the horses and loading them with their supplies and equipment. Rangers travelled light: no pack horses or supply trains were accompanying them. All that they needed they carried on their own backs or upon those of their mounts: food for a week, shelter, clothing, weapons. If what they brought proved to be insufficient then they were trained to improvise with what was available, and live off the land.
Leslie was the first of her platoon to arrive, apart from Sergeant Walt and the three corporals. Then she waited until they were to depart, and tried to keep the numbness out of her mind.
At last everything was set, they mounted, and rode out of the barracks compound only slightly behind schedule. It was 0600 and the city of Strabath was beginning to awaken. It was a cloudy, raw February morning. The temperature was above freezing in the city but back in the mountains it would be much colder. Leslie pulled her wool scarf up over her nose.
Strabath lay at the foot of the only major pass through the Mountains of Nlad, at an altitude of some 6,000 feet. It was a strategic location, one that had been contested for many times in the past. To the south lay the fertile heartland of the Kingdom; to the north, over the Mountains and beyond the small Halfling realm of Milkland, was wilderness.
The platoon rode up the Southern Road, through the North gate and into the pass. The Road climbed quickly, zig-zagging back and forth across the narrowing valley. They passed beneath the eaves of Lord Morg's Keep and approached the high wall which spanned the pass from side to the other, being the northern border of the Kingdom.
Through the well guarded gates they rode. Technically they were now in Milkland but in reality it was a no-man's land. The Halflings shunned the Mountains, arguably with some justification. Ahead, the Road descended into a narrow, twisting valley to the north but before they had travelled out of sight of the wall the platoon turned off of it, bearing now east. They were on a faint trail, heading back into the heart of the mountains themselves.
Within minutes, the wall and the well travelled Southern Road were out of sight. Leslie found it hard to believe that four hours earlier she had been asleep in her bed in the middle of one of the largest cities in Nlad. All about her was wilderness. She shivered. As expected, it was much colder up here, and the wind blew more strongly.
So passed their first day. The trail led generally east, first through a narrow valley separating two mountain peaks, and then down into a more open area. The forest they travelled through was relatively open at this time of year, being composed equally of deciduous and coniferous trees. Late in the day they began detecting signs of their quarry: burnt trees and large, crudely built fire pits filled with charred bones, none of them human...yet. The forest itself was silent. All life seemed to have deserted it. Something was going to happen, and for once Leslie was glad that there was a larger force of troops only a few miles behind them.
That night they camped on the edge of a frozen lake nestled at the base of a snow covered mountain. A small brook flowed into the west end of it, and they set up beside it. After a meal of dried meats and fruits watches were set and bedrolls unfurled.
Leslie slept alone that night. All day she had been silent, and her companions in arms had not tried to talk to her. She had not noticed.
The night did not pass without incident, however, Sometime after midnight was aroused by a silent shake on the arm by one of the men on watch. Looking about her, she saw others being awakened. Reaching for her sword first, she quickly climbed out of her bedroll, alert. The air was still, the temperature well below freezing, and yet she could ice cracking, as if thawing.
Cautiously she advanced to the lake's edge, where several others knelt, weapons ready. One of them was Walt. They were straining their eyes to see what it was.
"There is something out there, walking across the ice," the sergeant whispered to her when she got near, and now Leslie noted that the crackling sound did resemble the noise someone would make while hurrying across thin ice.
"It must be big, then," a nearby soldier whispered. "That ice must be four inches thick."
"A moose?" Leslie asked.
"Listen to it," Walt replied, "It's on two legs."
Leslie peered out into the darkness, but with the heavy overcast there was very little light to see by.
"Whatever it is, it's not coming any closer."
He was right. The noise was receding. Whatever it was out there, it had either not noticed them or had and decided to leave them alone.
Leslie relaxed, but it was a good hour before the all clear was given and she was allowed to return to her bedroll.
The next morning they awoke, packed and ate another meal of dried rations. By the time a feeble grey illumination filtered down through the heavy cloud cover they were underway, following the north shoreline of the frozen lake. It was another cold, raw day. A half a mile along the shore they encountered the tracks of the creature which they had heard that night. They led out of the woods to their left, across the snow covered beach and out onto the lake ice.
Leslie was in the second rank of the platoon, behind Walt and a corporal. Walt turned to her and motioned her forward. Dismounting, leslie walked forward, knelt down over the tracks and scrutinized them. After a moment she looked up.
"Ogre?"
From atop his mount, Walt nodded his agreement and signalled her to return to her horse. Even at a time such as this, her training continued.
The platoon continued on its way.
Under normal circumstances the platoon would have given chase for the ogre, but right now he would have to wait.
An hour later they encountered fresh orc tracks. They were beside a small stream which flowed down from the mountain to the north to empty into the lake. Once a fresh, pure flow, it had been befouled by excrement, offal and slag. The tracks led north along the stream and into the forest.
At this point the platoon split up. Walt, the corporal and an experienced private dismounted and set off into the woods to follow the trail and reconnoitre. Four men under another corporal were dispatched back along the way they had come, to alert the following battalion that their prey lay ahead. The rest of the group, including Leslie, led their mounts into the nearby trees, hitched them, and set up a watch.
Two hours passed. The party by the lake sat in the snow and shivered. Then, they heard the sounds of breaking underbrush and running feet coming down the mountainside. They were ready in a second. Then, Walt and his two men burst into view. They were winded and the corporal had a black feathered arrow embedded in his shield.
"Form up!" Walt ordered, when they reached them. "We've scared up a real hornet's nest. There must be a hundred warriors up there and most of them will be here within five minutes. Here's the plan..."
Thirty seconds later he had explained it, and the platoon was executing it. A glimmer of hope awakened in Leslie. The main party was to flee on horseback back to the main force, keeping the orcs pursuing them. Meanwhile, a smaller group led by Walt was to separate, circle back up the mountainside and raid the main encampment. Hopefully only the females, young and perhaps a few soldiers would be there to defend it. With a bit of luck they would be able to rescue their people while most of the defenders were away.
Leslie was to be a part of this latter group.
They did not wish their comrades farewell for they were too busy making their own departure. For a short distance they went to great pains to cover their tracks so that the enemy would not realize that the entire party had not fled before them. After a bit, though, they hurried up the slope. The snow on the ground at this point was patchy and it was easy for the rangers to avoid leaving tracks.
The loud clanking of many metal shod feet gave them just enough warning. Leaping under the wide low hanging boughs of an enormous fir tree, the five rangers were just barely concealed before a score of orcs came running down the mountainside and passed them, evidently planning to flank the platoon below. Leslie looked to Walt, and both of them understood the enemy plan. She hoped that their party was prepared.
After waiting for silence to return, they continued their ascent.
After another fifteen minutes of climbing the forest started to thin, though the underbrush remained thick enough to provide them with ample cover. Here and there were crudely hacked stumps. The smell of burning wood hung in the air. Walt edged them northwestward.
Soon after they heard voices, off to their right. They reached the base of a bare cliff, some thirty feet high. Keeping in the bushes, they moved towards the voices. After a few moments they were able to see who was speaking.
They were looking into an encampment. At the base of the cliff was a cluster of teepees, grouped before an opening in the face of the rock. Evidently these orcs were staying here only temporarily, for the camp was not fortified and the teepees were clearly not permanent. Most likely they had moved down here from the north for the winter, and intended to return to their permanent stronghold in the spring.
About twenty yards away was a group of perhaps a dozen orcs. All but three were women. The rest were males: warriors, but obviously wounded and unable to accompany the main party in the pursuit of the rangers. The orcs were arguing with each other, and paying no attention to anything else.
Leslie's eyes scanned the clearing. Looking for signs of human captives. She saw none. Her gaze fell upon the dark cave entrance. There was a thin stream of smoke issuing from within. She nudged Walt, and pointed to it silently. He nodded, and whispered to the others. They unslung their shortbows and moved away. Meanwhile. Leslie and Walt moved closer to the cave entrance.
The orcs continued to argue. While she could not understand their foul tongue, it became clear to the young ranger that they were arguing about how to dismantle the camp.
Suddenly the voices stopped, as one of the warriors fell forwards, an arrow through his left eye. A second later the second fell, this time with one in his abdomen.
All hell broke loose. The females, not trained as fighters, scattered, while the last male went to ground, only too late. An arrow pierced his shoulder, and he let out a blood curdling curse.
As soon as the arrows started to fly, Walt and Leslie broke cover and ran for the cave entrance, ten yards away, swords out. No one paid them any heed, as the arrows continued to fly. The three archers were doing a superb job, but their arrows would not last long.
Compared to the outdoors, the cave was dark, though lit with torches farther in. They ran up a narrow passage, clearly of natural origin, though worked and expanded by the current occupants, Walt leading the way. Suddenly they broke into an open area, a cave, lit with more smoking torches. Walt let out a cry and stopped, as the chamber was flooded with brilliant white light, seemingly coming from his eyes. Before them was a temple area. Standing before a bloodstained altar of slag was a large orc.
Walt was blinded. The orc spotted Leslie, made a guttural noise and pointed a filthy hand at her. She dove to one side and rolled, as a blazing sphere of light exploded where she had been a second earlier. It hung in the air, adding a ruddy illumination to the place.
Springing to her feet, Leslie leapt at the shaman, using her sword two handed. Her first blow swung wide, and she chided herself silently for her rashness. Her foe faced her, now holding a wickedly curved scimitar. He eyed her hungrily, and licked his cracked lips. Then, he leapt.
Leslie fell back, and his swing missed by a wide margin, leaving his flank wide open. This time using her large sword one handed, she thrust forward and felt it connect. The orc shrieked, and backed up as she pulled out a now bloodied blade. Pressing home her advantage, she brought her weapon down hard upon his skull, cleaving it open.
He crumpled.
Leslie stood over the orc shaman, gasping. The battle had taken but a few seconds. Her eyes focused on him. The shaman had been clad in a bloodstained robe. About his waist was tied a rope. Hanging from it was a leather pouch and a horribly mutilated human head, minus one eye.
It was her father.
Leslie stared at it. In the distance she could hear the sounds of a battle. Closer by, Walt had stopped moaning and was now cursing to himself.
Inside her, Leslie felt a terrible anger well up.
After what seemed like an eternity, but which was actually only a minute, she looked away. Her eyes fell on the altar. She walked over to it. It was covered with dried blood. Her father's blood.
Leslie laid her gloved fist upon the stone, and sucked in her breath.
"Hear me now, One Eyed One," she whispered. "I will make you pay for this. I will make you pay."
For a moment the world went silent. Then, a wisp of smoke, or perhaps steam, rose from under her fist.
He had indeed heard.