Summer, 1331

Logan's party slowly worked their way through war-torn Anisa, paralleling the now-dry canal, clambering over the rubble of ruined buildings, hiding in the shadows, avoiding enemy large patrols and silently and ruthlessly eliminating stray Tassurian and auxiliary guards, runners and stragglers. Sufjan and Liza led the way scouting, with Karlen and Lord De Trobliand clearing up tougher groups, Logan and Glib guarding the flanks and rear against surprises and Dr. Moller awaiting any injuries. After clearing out a street for the length of a few blocks, Logan would signal Mera on with a magpie cry, and the dragon would slink his way under the channels and culverts to join the rest of the party. Block by block the group methodically advanced. It was slow going, and it was not until several hours later that Logan’s party managed to weave their way over to the city reservoir.

A mixed Tassurian and goblin force about two dozen strong was bivouacked around the stagnant pool, a pair of sentries guarding the position. Silently, Sufjan made several gestures to Liza, who nodded and broke off to disappear into the ruins. After a few minutes, the Sabine smoothly notched an arrow to her bow, drew, aimed and fired. The arrow suddenly embedded itself in the throat of the leftmost sentry, who gurgled, grasped his wound and collapsed. Before the second guard could react, a gladius blade jammed through his neck as well. As both sentries crumpled, Liza nodded back at Sufjan and began pulling the bodies away.

***

The bloodied company of Captain Fawkwa had been rotated into the reserve after several days of hard fighting along the river bank, and was resting and recuperating near the reservoir gatehouse. Everyone was bedding down for sleep when a strange whistling was heard.

‘What was that?’ A voice called out in the darkness.

‘Sabin-?’

The whistling was heard again, and suddenly Fawkwa’s company realized that several of their members had been cut down, including Fawkwa herself, leaning blankly on the wall of the reservoir with an arrow sticking out of her throat. Before anyone among the company could react to that fact, the rain of arrows were joined by a massive storm of bolts, mowing down soldiers as they desperately attempted to respond to the ambush. A few that managed to get to their feet were swiftly cut down by assailants appearing out of the darkness wielding awlpike, kama, gladius, sickle and hammer.

In the midst of the slaughter, the goblin Dewke managed to break away from the massacre. Desperately looking for shelter, the diminutive archer saw the old city water canal, ran over to it and jumped the eight feet down into the channel, landing on his butt, knocking the air out of him, but allowing the death-dealing tempest of missiles to pass harmlessly above. Quickly Dewke recovered and ran, using the sheltered depression as a hidden passageway.

Where did these enemies come from? The goblin thought as he scampered away. The company had been resting in a safe area. This must be a dangerous attack from a powerful special forces unit. Someone needed to report up the chain of command. Dewke wasn’t running because of cowardice-he was just making sure whatever was going on could be stopped by-

A massive shadow suddenly moved, and faster than he could cry out, the last thing the goblin saw was the maw of a dragon close in around him.

***

Logan’s party checked the corpses carpeted around them. It had only been a few minutes of horrific, gruesome work, but it was over. Logan went over to peer down into the canal lock, and the dragon suddenly looked out with blood on its snout.

“Any survivors?” Logan whispered.

The dragon quickly scanned the area and then wordlessly shook his head, before wiping his snout clean.

Logan turned back to see Lord De Trobliand and the others looking at him and nodded. The Normad calmly gave a thumbs up, then went to recover his bolts from the bodies. Logan’s party soon continued onwards, picking their way around the reservoir.

The water system of Anisa had been destroyed in the battle months ago, and the reservoir sat abandoned, a forlorn, stagnant, green pool amidst crumbling bricks and a half closed wooden water gate that looked burnt and jammed. Beyond the gate the brick-lined channel began a slow winding ascent up the hillside.

Liza pointed at that small ribbon. “There it is. Our path through the Tassurian lines.”

With that, the Guester jumped into a dry section of the pool then began clambering up the dry feed channel. Liza gestured to Sufjan to follow, but the Sabine looked upon the confined and claustrophobic trenchway in horror, shook her head, and continued zipping forward atop the brickwork with a low crouch. Liza shrugged and continued on from below, and the others quickly leapt down and followed the Guester. Mera, just a bit too big to be completely covered by the trench, did his best to maneuver up the passage as close to the ground as possible, methodically taking one step ahead of the next like he was crossing a creek on rocks.

In this formation Logan’s party slowly worked its way, following the channel as it tediously zig-zagged its way up the high hill. Occasionally they would reach a junction where other channels would combine with this one, requiring open maps and scouting and backtracking to determine the correct route; other times the party would need to gingerly cross log flumes set up where the channel crossed small ravines. Mera especially kept his distance from the humanoids and also kept an eye on the stability of the supports taken by them-the dragon had no interest in a loud dramatic collapse. As the stars turned the group finally crested the hill to come upon a half-dried creek bed, and beyond that a deeper, but still shallow canyon with a larger river running alongside it.

---

Jonny Greenwood - Eat Him by His Own Light

From  Chickenzaur!