The Mare River ran rougher here in the canyon.  The white water chopped
over rocks and fallen trees that had been smoothed over by the rapid water.
 The river narrowed to only a quarter mile across and small streams ran
down the gray cliffs that rose over it funneling it down the canyon.  The
small streams, mostly seasonal, fell in small waterfalls that looked like
frayed white strings running into the tapestry below it weaving the white
water river.  

The mist of the river caught the wind and would gently hit C'aranth as he
rode.  The wetness was nice with the hot sun raining down the canyon.  His
horse had been pack for a day and a half; the fish in the river had
provided the nights meal.  The Warren was getting too crowded for his
liking.  He didn't much care for sitting around either; the Warren hadn't
given him any duties to perform, so nothing for him to do.  

He loaded up his horse and started riding.  His ride north had revealed no
place to cross the river, in fact the river seemed to get more violent the
further up he went.  The cliff faces steeper and smoother.  The path he
rode now was only four feet in width as it was and if it got any narrower
he would have to turn around.  If the horse fell in it wouldn't get out and
the rocks would end it quickly.  C'aranth doubted he could survive it, even
with swimming the current would take you down.  The water was clean though,
and cool.  Wasn't anything like it was down river where the river slowed
and expanded its' banks.  The muddy Mare lower down was opaque brown water
that gurgled and churned on a smooth muddy bottom.

As he rounded a rock that jutted up out of the ground with large fissures
the threatened to break the large rock to pieces and drop it into the
river, he noticed a path.  The path was cutting up the cliff and twisted
into the mountainside.  C'aranth lead his horse up the dusty path the
rivers roar falling silent behind him.  As the roar died he found he could
hear the birds singing.  The path topped the cliff and lead into a forest. 
The tree cover was thick, and the underbrush sparse.  He led his horse into
the foliage; the trees grew far apart with a large spread of limbs.
The trail wandered down a steep side and the horse slipped slightly on lose
rocks and dirt the game trail left bare.  He kept to the trail holding a
tight reign on his horse so he could move it quickly if it started to
slide.  The last thing he needed was to roll down the hillside on his
horse.  The path was suited for the high mountain deer, not the large
hooves of the horse with a rider on its' back.  

He reached the bottom of the trail and the sun had risen to full noon and
beat down hard.  And the trail lead up the hillside in front of him.  The
trees had gotten thicker and under them the sky could barely be seen.  The
next hill was a gentler slope with a firmer trail.  The horse wandered
easily in and out of the trees that had grown thick with age.  

He stopped halfway up the hill.  He turned his horse and listened.  The
woods were silent, the birds no longer sang.  He held still looking.  He
stepped his horse to a clearing in the woods and watched, then he saw it. 
A dark shape circle once, blacking out the sun, then land on the other side
of the hill.  A dragon, with a rider, landed on the opposite side of the
hill to the east. C'aranth darted under the trees.  With the rouges about
he wasn't sure who had landed over there.  

He dismounted the horse and walked the rest of the way up the hill and he
looked into the valley below.  The area was covered with trees except for
one area with a patch just big enough to land in.  From the hill he could
see the dragons resting in the trees, anyone flying over wouldn't know.
 
C'aranth crawled atop a rock and started counting.  From what he could see
about a dozen people and dragons.  From the uniforms they were from
Flaglands.  "Rouges."  C'aranth let the word hiss out.  He had no love for
these people, anyone who would let a dragon leave the confines of the
Warren to hurt others.  He couldn't stand it.

He calmed himself and started looking.  He couldn't see all the riders. 
The dragons were there, but not enough people.  He counted again.  Nope,
some were missing.  

He felt the coolness of a shadow on his cheek and rolled quickly.  The
sword hit the rock next to him.  A woman stood over him, she pulled the
broadsword back for another thrust, and obviously upset he had moved.  He
rolled again and fell off the rock hitting the ground with a sharp thud. 
He rose winded and holding his aching side. She jumped down and C'aranth
drew his sword as she did.

"You're the one who attacked at the Nomad raid."  She stood from the crouch
she had landed in lifting her sword.  "I am going to kill you." She yelled
then rushed at him.

C'aranth's sword flicked and her blade brushed to the side.  C'aranth's
blade came back around from the parry and slashed at her.  She tumbled back
the blade missing her as she did.  C'aranth performed 'the falling
mountain' and she darted to the side as the blade came down hard.  C'aranth
moved to 'the rising smoke' and his blade darted back and forth as it
lifted off the ground.  She had regained her footing but was losing ground.

It was true that dragonriders weren't the best sword fighters, more adept
to mounted combat several hundred feet above the ground with lances and
other pole arms.  C'aranth used this and closed the space, holding to her
making her push back for ground.  He movements were wide and long, use to
open space, C'aranth closed it off.  Pushed her back and kept the slashing
at her head, a form called 'keeping down the pillow'.  

She darted back and forth trying to widen the distance between them.  She
was good and fending off the blows and dodging his but he worked her. 
Looking for the opening, and found it.  She would open her left side on his
head attacks.  C'aranth feinted the head blow and struck.  The blade
pierced her left arm clean through.  His blade struck two more time while
she was in shock and she fell to the ground.  The blood ran thick down her
leg and arm and shoulder, the wounds bled like an open faucet.

"Please don't kill me."  She looked up.  

C'aranth hesitated, then saw the smile slowly form.  The rush of wind and
the soft beat of a dragon's wing rose behind him.  The dragon's claw ripped
the branches and the snapping of the limbs of the trees roared in the
forest.  C'aranth rose, falling just short of the dragon's attack.  

He scurried to his horse and mounted quickly.  He needed to ride hard and
fast.  The forest would give him enough cover if he stayed in it.  He
hopped they wouldn't use fire as the smoke would report them to the warren.

 Rouges camped only a day north on a horse from the Warren.  The patrols
hadn't seen them because of the trees.  An attack at night, that would have
the Warren over a barrel.  The trees blurred in front of him as he rode.
The beat of the wings of dragons followed him.  They were close to the
ground, and following fast.  The forest cleared about a hundred feet in
front of him.  A dragon landed at the clearing.  C'aranth lifted the loaded
balista and took aim.  C'aranth gripped the horse with his legs and braced
as best he could on a horse and fired.  The bolt struck the dragon in the
hindquarters, C'aranth let the balista fall into its holster, then grabbed
the lance.

He charged the dragon, it reared and lifted its' claws.  The lance struck
into the chest, it sunk until it hit the stop.  The lance buckled and
bowed, then snapped.  C'aranth was thrown from the horse.  The dragon's
claws landed in the horse.  It wailed then fell.  

C'aranth's head spun and his chest hurt.  The staff had broke right under
his arm slamming the oak pole into his back and chest.  He heard the flap
of more wings landing and closed his eyes.  He couldn't fight them all.  He
was having a hard time focusing; a cut in his head was blurring one eye
with blood.  And his legs didn't agree on the idea of standing.  

His leather shrouded hand gripped a dagger on his chest and waited.  He
heard footsteps approaching.  A hand lay on his shoulder and turned him
over.  As he was rolled the knife came free of the scabbard and landed in
the chest of the man turning him over.  The surprised man fell back with
the knife in his chest.  

That is when he recognized the Cleft uniform. 

C'aranth fell back relived.  The thought that he had just stabbed his
rescuers didn't occur, just relived he didn't have to get up.

There was some shouting, and then he closed his eyes.  It wasn't quite
passing out, more of falling asleep very quickly.  When he woke he was in
the hospital.  The room was empty and his head and chest were wrapped in
bandages.  He chuckled wondering if there were stitches.  He sat up and saw
his right arm.  It was bare; the scares from the burn smoothed it out
making it shine.  He swallowed hard looking at the arm.  Then rose and
looked for his clothes.  His head pounded as he stood but he couldn't stop.
 He needed to have it covered.  It couldn't be seen. 
 
Frantic he opened the wardrobe in the room and began tearing out the
bandages and wrappings.  He grabbed one of the wrappings and started to
wrap the hand and arm.  He didn't stop until the bandage was up to his
shoulder.  He was sitting on the floor when he finished the job.  He tied
his hair back and straitened his hospital gown.  He smiled and sat back. 
The wardrobe was a mess; he would clean it as soon as he could stand.


Darren Hunter
Roland Brock
korzad@lgcy.com