Moving on, the five decided to remain in the forest in order to avoid contact with the enemy. For two days they travelled through the green silence of the Talus, almost forgetting the fact of the war in the pleasant warm peace of a forest in July.
At twilight on the second day, however, Mehmet looked up from a fallen tree he was climbing over - and saw a flash of purple in the distance. His heart raced - he knew what it was - and he glanced around frantically, exepecting a bear to attack any moment... but nothing happened. The peace was shattered, however, and the companions were once more hunted fugitives.
After another day, they finally emerged at the northern edge of the Talus forest, not far from the main road that led to Heldorn itself. They scouted around cautiously, and were glad they had - no more than a mile north-west of them, an army of Marmarkans was camped athwart the road. There seemed to be around three hundred of them, accounting for the remainder of what ten boats could reasonably have brought, and they showed signs of hard marching.
With infinite care, the three worked their way around the edge of the army, travelling at night and under the influence of Silence spells, the four half-Qhal helping the human Morshez to find his way in the darkness. After five miles, they felt safe enough to return to the road, and began to make better time towards Heldorn, now more than ever convinced that the King needed their warning.
Mid-morning on the 25th saw the party moving swiftly up the road, split into two groups walking at the edge. Mehmet's sharp eyes spotted two dots moving (moving very fast!) in the distance ahead, and the companions scattered to cover. Percinious cast a Farsee, and was then able to identify the objects as Marmarkan soldiers - sitting on animals of some kind! Horses, he realized, although he'd only seen one a couple of times in his life.
Swiftly, a rope was unpacked, and slung across to lie on the road. Percinious loaded his crossbow, and Mehmet cast Multimissile on it as well as his own arrow before heading a hundred yards or so down the road and taking cover. Percinious and Fellion took one end of the rope and Morashez and Skaven the other, and they crouched in the cover of some worryingly thin bushes as they waited for the horsemen to arrive.
As the horsemen thundered up, Skaven and Nutbolter snapped the rope up to knee-height. Skaven timed it right, tripping the right-hand horse and sending the rider flying to crash to the roadway flat on his back, but Percinious was a second or two too slow, and while his horse was radically slowed, the rider remained mounted. At this moment, Mehmet stood, drew his flights to his ear, and loosed.
The spelled arrow leaped from the string and shimmered into three, each of which struck the unfortunate horseman before he had a clue what was happening. Well-armoured, he suffered only small wounds, but a moment later Mehmet's second arrow smashed into a weak spot in his scale shirt, mangling his left arm beyond repair. With a cry, the rider toppled off his horse to the road, where he sat shaking his head. The horse cantered on down the road, and Mehmet tried to grab the reins as it went by. The juggling act of managing a bow, arrows, and reins was too much, and he missed it; the horse carried on past. Judging that the others could deal with the mopping-up, he turned and pelted off after it, catching it in a minute or two and bringing it to a halt.
Seeing the surviving scout seated dazed in the roadway, Percinious lifted his crossbow and let drive. Despite the magic, it was a poor shot, only one missile grazing the man. One of the others thudded into the prone body of the felled rider with a very terminal sound. On the other side, the scout Morashez flung a javelin at the poor Marmarkan, but missed so badly his target was unaware he'd even been attacked. Finally, Skaven Henbar flung a small axe that crashed into back of the rider's head and sprayed his brains all over the roadway.
As Mehmet returned, leading the horses having collected the other cowed and unresisting horse, Nutbolter checked its' rider and found that, as he'd expected, he had died in the fall. Victory assured, they searched the bodies and horses. The men had their armour and weapons, plus odds and ends and nineteen Marmarkan silver dhalvens between them. The horses' saddlebags were more interesting; apart from bedrolls, supplies, and horse feed, one contained a horn scrollcase containing several hand-drawn maps identifying the Cormaran soldiery in the vicinity of the capital.
Hiding the bodies and taking the horses, the group hurried on up the road to the capital of Cormar.
Arriving at the captial city, the soldiers noticed that, despite the invasion, no extra troops appeared to be on duty, on the walls or elsewhere. So news had not yet arrived.
At the gates, the guards were understandably dubious at the arrival of four ragged half-Qhal, including one in Marmarkan armour, leading two horses, and were unsure whether to allow them in. Mehmet hesitated, but Percinious for once rose to the occasion, and made it quite clear to the soldiers that their mission was of the utmost importance, and procured their entrance.
For maximum effect, Mehmet and Percinious rode through the city, sitting their horses most carefully to avoid their minimal ability at controlling the beasts letting them down. The effect was considerable; heads turned all the way up King's Way to the gates of the palace grounds.
The guards there were harder to convince, and Mehmet played his trump card, announcing that they were completing a mission set them by Najan of the Royal Intelligence. This name seemed to have some effect, and a messenger was sent to check up on this. On his return, they were ushered in with alacrity by the sergeant, who named himself Saxholm. The palace grounds were a real eye-opener - the first land cultivated purely for appearance that they'd ever seen. Gardens were a rarity in Mereval; arable land was disappearing too fast. Here, however, was a couple of square miles of land, planted with pretty trees, sculpted into artificial landscape; peaceful, pleasant, tamed.
At the far end, they entered the squat, solid building that was the palace citadel, and the King's home. They marched through a couple of gates and into a courtyard... where they suddenly found themselves surrounded by around a hundred guards, all levelling spears or arrows at them. "You are under arrest for treason," announced Saxholm, "the man Najan was taken three weeks ago as a Marmarkan agent, and you are condemned from your own mouths as his associate."
Mehmet protested. "We are here with a vital message for the King himself. Do you want to live? If you deny him this message, you and most people here will die. We serve under Rurik Bloodwind!" The name clearly meant a lot to Saxholm, and he hesitated. "Very well. Disarm yourself and leave your weapons in the guardroom here," he said. "I'm loyal to the King!" Mehmet exploded. "Then you won't mind." riposted Saxholm. In a less aggressive tone he added, "No one below the rank of Duke goes armed in the King's presence; you'd have to anyway." Mehmet gave way and the five piled their very impressive collection of arms in the indicated place.
"Lock the others up securely," said Saxholm to one of his men, "I'll take this one to deliver his message." Once again, the half-Qhal disagreed, holding that all the members of their group had something important to contribute to the delivery of the message. Strangely, it was the Marmarkan Skaven Henbar who managed to get the point over best, despite his very minimal Vadorn. All the prisoners were trooped off to the King's audience chamber.
Ten minutes later they were standing in the hall of the King of Cormar. Banners hung in dusty token of forgotten battles, weapons and armour hung on the walls, mighty knights and wise counsellors stood around ready to do their King's will. Calaewn Soulshield himself was a rangy man in his mid-thirties, fit and active-looking, with level, intelligent eyes. He listened to Saxholm's explanation carefully, and beckoned over the watch commander Volmus, who quietly confirmed the details of the Najan issue. Then he gestured to Mehmet to speak.
The archer explained, slanting things slightly to imply that Skaven was a planted spy among the Marmarkans rather than a turncoat, and leaving out any mention of Portalis or the Archen, but otherwise telling the truth. He turned over Bloodwind's report on the battle of Taralos as well as the maps siezed from the mounted scouts.
The King leaped into action. Summoning his captains, he snapped out orders, and the men scattered to ready the defence of the city. Once this was done, he turned back to Saxholm and commended the sergeant warmly for his judgement in bringing the five in. The expression on Saxholm's face as he bowed in response was clear indication that the companions had made a friend. On Calaewn's order, he sent men to collect and return the men's weapons. Nutbolter piped up; "Can we keep the horses too?" Soulshield laughed. "Of course!" he replied.
Mehmet indicated that they wanted to try and return to Bloodwind's company, but Soulshield was very unwilling to allow this. "You'd never make it," he pointed out. "We got here," said Mehmet. "No," decided the King, "there is work enough for you here. We'll need every man we can muster on the walls when they get here."
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