If wishes were horses ...
A tale freshly told of the Dunlending
Brev and Gidon put into action a plan to acquire riding animals. Fate (aka the dice) is not entirely kind
It is a cold winter\'s morn. Soft flakes of snow drop soundlessly, steadily from a dove-grey sky, mazing the eye and adding to the blanket that cloaks the ground beneath. They are gentle now, but from the darkening of the sky they are like to thicken soon.
Brev has brought his companions far south, almost to the foothills of the Mountains, his demeanour as he chooses their path suggesting he has taken this route before, if not often - sometimes there is a brief hesitancy before he settles on a direction. He has led them here, to where open grasslands give way to a scattering of fields and strip-holdings that spill out around a bleak tower of grey stone.
Brev has not approached that. Rather he has lingered at a distance, he and his travelling-companions using what cover they may to watch, listen ... Currently he and Gidon are crouched behind the concealing branches of a thicket of thorn-brush, the snow turning their garb to the same white as the fields. Upwind of them, half a dozen shapes are strung out, snorting and stamping as they seek out the dried grass beneath the snow-blanket. Two are pregnant mares, round with foal, the rest likely young beasts not yet trained for patrol. The fodder is poor, and they have not ventured far from the settlement. Watching them are two men cloaked in green, each leaning on a long spear. One has a hunter\'s bow slung at his back, the other a horn dangling at his side.
Brev gazes, amber eyes calculating, then moves his mouth close to Gidon\'s ear to murmur a thread of speech. \"Well? Think you could catch one of yon beasts? Reckon I could work my way along the wall there to their sentries. And Saraid will do what she does best.\" The words are spoken as casually as if he\'d just suggested a picnic in Staddle.
Gidon doesn\'t seem to have realized, or paid attention, or something, to what Brev is suggesting. He looks a little nervous, but says, \"Could try. But... they ain\'t ours!\" He glances at the watching men, then takes a deep breath. It is as if he has only just noticed - these horses Brev suggested they find already have other owners...
Brev\'s mouth quirks at Gidon\'s question, and one brow arches. \"So?\" He does not look round, nor cease his vigil - he, if not Gidon, is ever wary of his folk\'s welcome to strangers - but there is a certain amusement in his tone. \"If we can handle them, they will be. Need something to speed our journey if we\'re heading back up north.\"
The boy hesitates, then jerks a bit of a nod, though his face looks rather tense. \"Which - which ones you want?\" he asks, and repeats, \"I\'ll try - ain\'t sure... \"
Brev\'s gaze slips sideways briefly at that jerk, and his lips twist, but he says naught of it. Instead he scrutinizes the beasts within view. \"Kiern, how should I know? You\'re the expert on horseflesh,\" he answers helpfully. Then, as one shoulder lifts in a shrug, \"Not the ones about to drop foal, that\'s for sure. Want to speed our path, not slow it. Something sure-footed, that we\'ve half a chance of staying on.\" The animals currently foraging range from a poor imitation of the Rohirric horse to one beast that is nearer a pony, shorter-legged and shaggy-coated.
Snow slides from a tree-branch some way off, and several equine heads lift, ears pricked. What Brev seeks will not be easy.
Expert. Gidon\'s expression twists too, wryly. But he watches the horses, edging a little ways sideways to see them the better. His eyes linger on the pony, then flick to the others as their heads jerk up. He slides back to his place beside the Dunlending, and his voice is doubtful. \"Could we get \'em running and pick \'em up later? They\'re awful skittish-looking. Like deer.\"
Brev watches the horses too, frowning slightly. Gentling a pony and actually sitting on one of those broad backs are two different things. Then his gaze slides sideways, and he gives Gidon an approving nod. \"My thoughts exactly. Need something to scatter them, under screen of the snow, then we can pick them up, calm them down. Wulf would be tracking too, of course, but ... we can arrange a head start.\" His focus shifts to the pair of sentries, and his mouth sets in a thin line.
After a pause he murmurs quietly, doubtfully, his expression carefully blank, \"Think a few sling-stones behind would be enough to set them off? Where\'s one of your bloody great dragon-birds when they\'re needed, eh?\" His lips curve in poor attempt at a smile.
\"Can try,\" Gidon says slowly. He reaches for his rock-pouch, darting a worried look at the guards. Hopefully the lumps of hillocks and brush between them will keep his movements from being seen. How they will catch the horses after they flee how they will ride them sans saddle or bridle... none of these things have apparently occurred to him. Probably the boy is too obsessed with the thought of his descent into thievery, necessary as it seems to be, to think of much else. He does manage to smile back at Brev despite a shiver at his words. \"Don\' want one of them,\" he says, \"Would eat \'em more like!\"
Brev has answers to perhaps half of those questions ... the rest he\'s determinedly trying not to think about. His own smile twists in response to Gidon. \"Doubt a bird yon size would make good eating. All that muscle, too stringy. Rather have a nice fat partridge myself.\" Will the lad realize he\'s teasing?
After a pause, and a few squints up at the sky to gauge the weather, which shows no sign of improving - rather, the snow is thickening, a prerequisite if the would-be thieves are to conceal their tracks - he murmurs to the youth at his side, \"Give me time to work my way round there first, eh?\" With his gaze he indicates a low wall that meanders toward the settlement and passes near to where the two sentries currently huddle, exchanging terse snatches of conversation and stamping their feet every now and then to keep the cold at bay. \"Any sign of trouble - leave. Quick and quiet, don\'t wait around for a fight. If we\'re separated, head for that rock overhang we passed a couple of days back - Saraid knows that too. Got it?\" One brow lifts in question as he shifts his balance slightly in preparation for moving.
[Nob(#16122)] Gidon waits, nervously looking around him. The snow is getting thicker and, while this should make it easier to pass unseen, it also makes it harder for him to see, which makes the boy still twitchier. He tries to watch Brev, but the man is soon gone, veiled by a curtain of white. After what surely is several hours, he swallows hard, looks around one last time, and starts to creep towards the horses. They have drawn together for companionship and warmth.
While Gidon hasn\'t got the degree of expertise with horses that Brev claims for him, he is quiet and used to animals... he manages to move among the small herd without startling them unduly, coming first up beside the smallest, the pony. They move a bit restlessly, blowing and watching him from dark eyes, but don\'t run.
Brev eases his way across the ground, keeping to a crouch and relying on his snow-covered cloak to hide him. It is a long, tense while before he reaches the wall and then, still unseen, begins to creep along it. Once the pair of guards glance his way and he freezes, just another hummock of white in the landscape. Has he been seen? But no, the men are talking now \"
He has his spear at the ready, but as he nears the guards he frowns and reaches instead for his sling, the spear set down beside him. He squints through the whirling whiteness toward Gidon, but sees nothing.
[Nob(#16122)] Gidon is among the horses, trying to see what Brev is doing, but the thick white snow is as good as a blindfold. All he can make out are some dim shapes that must be the guards. With a shrug, he reaches out to pat the pony-sized animal, who snorts at him and dances back a step. Gidon croons to it softly, under his breath, and edges towards it.
Brev is, in fact, waiting. His own job is to ensure that the guards cannot sound an alarm, if or when the horses are set running. As the snow swirls about him, he frowns and shifts his stance, aiming to crawl a little closer.
A mistake, that. A single pebble rolls from the wall. The two on sentry duty look round, and after a moment one of them moves toward the wall, his own spear at the ready to prod. In this much only is Brev favoured - it is the man with the horn.
Horse-heads turn toward Gidon, but these beasts are used to Man. One lone youth is not seen as Threat.
[Nob(#16122)] The boy comes up beside the small horse, which twitches at his presence, but clearly decides not to flee. Instead, it turns its nose towards him, nostrils flaring - sometimes Men have good things to eat. Gidon takes advantage of this, and under cover of petting the animal\'s neck, he slips a rope around its neck, and makes a clumsy hasty slipknot. Looking up and towards Brev, still unable to see much of anything save that it looks like the dark blobs may have moved some, he looks around for another beast. He has a few to choose from: curiously, the other horses are crowding around him, nudging him, snuffling at his pockets, whiffling his hair.
Brev is still now, still as stone. The spear prods into dried bracken beside him and he does not move. If nothing else, the man has nerve.
The sling will not serve, and he lets his fingers slip round the haft of his spear instead. Carefully, he jerks it, just a little. The faint rustling, no more than a mouse might make, comes from its tip and not where his body lies. A diversion to buy time for a single well-aimed stroke ...
[Nob(#16122)] The first horse doesn\'t seem to object, or even notice, the rope around its neck but Gidon - alarmed a little by the sudden press of Very Large Horses all around him, moves unwisely. The others stamp and wheel. But they don\'t go far - just enough to draw the attention of the guards, likely before stopping and standing, staring towards the boy, ears pricked.
Brev\'s manouevre with the spear fails. Rather than bending down and making himself vulnerable, the guard turns at the sound of hoofbeats. \"
Seeing that, Brev wastes no more time in subterfuge. Spear-haft firmly in hand, he rises from his crouched position and sends the spear-tip toward that helmeted head. A stunning blow, if he\'s really lucky. An attention-grabber, if he\'s not.
[Nob(#16122)] Gidon looks warily towards the guards - he still can\'t see what they are doing, but they haven\'t started towards him. Cautiously, holding the rope with his good hand, he holds the other out as far as he can towards the group. But they, after a bit more snorting and staring, trot towards the guardsmen, stopping not far from them and beginning to feed again.
The breeboy eyes them uncertainly they are much too near the men to try and sneak off with now. He glances at the horse he is holding, and the uncertainty increases. If he tosses a rock here and scatters the horses, it may give Brev a chance to get away unseen. But his one prize might object to the notion and bolt - and he isn\'t strong enough to hold it. Finally, he decides. Cautiously, he edges away from the herd, tugging on the rope. Hopefully they haven\'t been able to see that one is missing yet...
Alas for planning. That helmeted head moves just as Brev does, and the spear-tip meets naught but thin air a fingersbreadth away. It is, at least, enough to stop the sentry\'s fingers from curling round his horn. It is not enough to stop him from shouting to his companion, \"
The horses, alarmed by the shout, are on the move again - at this moment, how could any one count them?
[Nob(#16122)] The captured horse doesn\'t want to leave his herd, and he tugs at the rope, tossing his head and pulling backwards. Thankfully, the sentries are distracted by the other horses, all together and milling around. They look about to run.
Brev, seeing the spear come swinging toward him, starts to jump nimbly aside, much as he has done many times when sparring with Saraid. Here, though, there are rocks, and his booted foot catches on one, slowing him enough that the spear-haft catches him a glancing blow on the shins. Not a single word escapes his lips - nor does he even look round for Gidon. Hasn\'t the lad been told to flee? But his own spear is sent forward again, striking high as the other has struck low, aiming to catch shoulder or neck or ear ...
[Nob(#16122)] The fighting frightens the small herd and they leap into a run. Gidon is not having much luck himself, struggling with his horse who has caught the fear of the others. One handed, the slight lad hangs onto the rope, trying to pull the horse\'s head down, trying to hold on. But even a small horse is stronger than the boy, and with a mighty jerk, the pony pulls away and flees after his fellows, trailing the rope. At least he will be easier to catch next time - if there is a next time. Gidon picks himself up out of the snow, and ruefully limps away, looking over his shoulder towards where the guards are.
Fortune favours Brev in some things, at least. The flat of the spear-blade catches his opponent behind the ear, and the man drops like a stone, out cold. There is some blood on the spear - but only a trickle. Likely he is not dead.
In other things, Brev is less fortunate. Even as he steps back into the whirling snow, another dark form looms out of it - the second sentry. Who, when faced with the choice between chasing horses and capturing an enemy, has chosen the latter. As Gidon\'s limping form fades into the distance, Brev must fight for his life ...
Caught as he is, with leg back and arm raised high, Brev takes the sentry\'s initial spear-thrust in the thigh, and thereafter his movements, usually cat-swift, are slowed somewhat. And there is a third player in this battle: the snow starts to fall thick and fast now, so that neither man has clear sight of his opponent. Spears slide past each other in the whirling whiteness as the two close, spring apart and close again, in an age-old dance.
It is as the sentry\'s spear strikes again, this time no more than scoring the leather at Brev\'s back as he turns, that he takes his chance and dodges beneath the snow-curtain, teeth gritted against the pain lancing through his leg as he kicks up a spray of snow behind him.
The wind gusts, sending a flurry of flakes into the sentry\'s face, and by the time the man has cleared his eyes of it Brev is gone, vanished into the emptiness of the plains ... or lost to the rising blizzard.