From: gdg019@cch.coventry.ac.uk (Ridley McIntyre)
Subject: STORY: RED (5)
Followup-To: rec.games.frp.misc
Organization: Pig Heaven, Coventry, UK
Date: Mon, 23 Nov 1992 18:34:41 GMT

                                   RED
                           by Ridley McIntyre

                                  - 5 -

                           28 Daethander 1222

Steiff woke up to empty silence. The stream that was the River Sow seemed
to sneak past the camp under dawn's early grey light. He wiped sleep from
his sticky eye-lids and took a quick look around. 

 The Cinder Hills were dark and depressing. They rolled for what seemed like
thousands of miles in every direction and every hill always seemed to be
taller than the hill you were on. On their journey into the hills that
previous day, they had seen very little wildlife, and even less in the way
of trees and plants. There tended to be outgrowths of bracken hedges by
the sides of the river path they followed, a path which Steiff had guessed 
was used by the goblins to travel out into the Westwood, so should lead
straight into their lair, but otherwise, the land here was as barren as the 
moon.

 And that morning silence cut through to the Yarmovman's very soul.

 Looking around at the others, he noticed how restless they slept. Catan,
the huge ogre, was twitching his snout in dreams of rich smelling food.
Landers, the Aszuanian man, was rolling in all directions, turning with
every nuance of the wind; his nightmares filled with horrors of the past
and anticipation of the future. Only Aifam, the elf-girl with the raven
hair and raven heart, seemed to sleep soundly. Her blanket was wrapped 
around her, coccooning her from the elements of the night, the way that
the Saskian elves were trained to sleep from childhood, when out on a
hunt. Steiff shook his tired head and yawned widely, realising that the
last in the party, the troll, had obviously fallen asleep on his watch.

 Feeling a sudden need to relieve his bladder, Steiff clambered out from
under his grey woolen blanket and strode over to the stream. That's
when he noticed the booted tracks, as fresh as spring water, up and down
the thin streambank, leading in and out of the water.

 He followed the heavy prints with his eyes, and they led right up to
the troll's blanket. Drawing a thick bladed knife, he edged cautiously
up to the blanket, half-expecting the irksome troll to jump out and 
scare the living daylights out of him.

 But when he tugged the blanket back, there was no pouncing, practical-
joking Keen Dirqan. Nor were there any goblins hiding behind the blanket,
waiting to cut his head off with a stolen blade. In fact, there was no 
one. Keen had gone.

 "Dragon's fire!" the Yarmovman swore under his breath, and immediately
he woke up the others to begin the search.

				* * *

"So what do we do now?" Landers sat on a wide rock at the foot of the
nearest hill, his feet swinging softly over the pathway.

 Aifam wiped some mud from her hands across the thighs of her breeches.
"Forget him. He wasn't doing us any good anyway. The goblins have
probably butchered and eaten him by now." 

 "I think we ought to look some more. I do not think he is dead." Catan
caught a black look from the elf girl and squinted his own dark eyes in
return. "We have no proof that he is dead, so we should continue to look."

 "Ogre, they've been in our camp and taken our guard. It means they know
how many of us there are, what direction we're coming in, what weapons
we're carrying..." She kicked the floor in exasperation. "Knowing that
troll, he'll have told them who we're after and why and everything. For
the first time since I met him, I wish I knew where he was."

 "Continue is exactly what I had in mind, ogre," Steiff interjected. "That
is to say, I mean to continue looking for Cainan Silthorn. After all, the
price is on *his* head, not the troll's. Any more time we spend looking
for Keen is time wasted. I say we carry on without him. Landers?"

 The Aszuanian man looked with guilt at the crestfallen ogre. "If we find
the old fort where Silthorn hides out, we may still find your friend.
Then we'll know whether he's alive or not. Come on, Catan, we won't do
any good here."

 The others were already heading on down the path. The decision had been
made for him. Grabbing his pack, to which he'd tied Keen Dirqan's rough
wool blanket, he followed them with his head on the look-out for any signs
of the poor troll's whereabouts.

				* * * 

The fort appeared out of nowhere. It was a tall tower surrounded by ruined
walls and crumbling parapets. Obscured by the hills surrounding the path
they were trailing, they were nearly in it by the time they saw the huge
building, perched on top of yet another hill. For safety, they eased 
themselves into crouched positions in the bracken and scouted the area.

 "What do you think?" Landers rested his crossbow across his knees and
began to crank back the drawstring.

 "Well, I can't see anything. But chances are, if there are any goblins
about, they'll see us before we see them anyway."

 At the foot of the hill, they could see as much as the outer bailey wall
and the tower, and that was all. There were no signs of movement around
the fort, certainly not an entire tribe's worth.

 The Yarmov outrider moved on his haunches over to them. "I don't think
they're all there. I've just spotted some more tracks leading out up
this other hill. Maybe a day or two old. Lots of them. All heading east
towards the Westwood."

 Aifam ran the situation through in her mind. The tribe definitely used
this place as their base, but whether Silthorn would still be there, or
Keen, or whether the goblins who had left would stay away or suddenly 
come back, she was still too damned unsure of. 

 "Can't take any chances," she said finally.

 Landers nodded. "So what's your plan?"

 Breaking a twig off one of the bracken hedges, she drew a small map in
the dirt.

(c) COPYRIGHT 1992 BY RIDLEY MCINTYRE
-- 
                  Ridley McIntyre - Ronin Ironpig
*On a Flowery	     gdg019@cck.coventry.ac.uk          Space Trip!*
		 ---------------------------------
   "You can't argue with the King's Singers" - Victor Lewis-Smith
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