Chapter 7 Manifestation

[frenzied67]

7/30/24

Ch7
Manifestation

Gilserand felt as though he was set between two worlds. Behind him fires flickered and guards laughed and played games with dice and cards, the living sounds of Humanity. Before him, as he stalked between the line of horses and the sharpened stakes angled at the night, tree frogs and crickets sang among strange trees wearing robes of moss. A world with the continuous whir of night music that could drown out all other sounds if he let it. After a month in the field he had learned that it payed dividends to pay attention to the horses, they could detect unusual things in the night that he could not see or hear himself. Even under these moss laden trees, tied to the picket line by their halters, they were better sentries than he could ever be.

This night the camp was on a high point of land in the forest, twenty five feet below a somewhat steep slope was the nameless jungles that were farther south than the lands controlled by Bolloren. After reaching the end of his meander before the horse lines, Gil turned about and began the fifty yard march to the northern stretch of the picket. There was one forty five degree bend in his line where he paced, where the horse lines not only had a gap, but they bent to accommodate the contour of the high ground. A blood bay horse snorted and stomped just ahead of Gilserand. When the horse did not pull on the line and continue snorting he realized the animal had awakened from the scent or sound of a person it knew; it was not shying away from a foreign stimulus.

Funny all the things I've learned this past month, mostly from observation. Sure enough a figure appeared where the horses pickets split at the bend. Just a slender silhouette, the person peered left and right. The way they tilted their body, one leg raised for balance, to peer up the northern bend informed Gilserand who his visitor was. She obviously had not seen Gil when looking his way to the west, the young lady was definitely night blinded from the copious firelight she had just quit.

"Gil?", Private Astrude queried the night, her voice low and vaguely tremulous.

Clearing his throat first as Gilserand continued to pace closer to the scout, he could not help but smile for what he intended.

"I ssspit you for the glory of the Sssauri nasshion," he declared in a quiet voice, extending his sibilants to mimic what he thought a Sauri would sound like. Alerted by the gravelly throat noise he had made first, his fellow guard turned his way with a laugh.

"It would be my luck to be speared by the ugliest Sauri ever hatched from an egg." His smile broadened as he came to a halt before Scout Astrude.

"Wait a minute, I'm a prince among my kind. By what knowledge do you judge my looks?" With both hands Astrude pushed a bowl into his chest, steam carrying a savory stew like scent to his nose.

With her usual quick wit, the scout had a counter to his joking challenge, as if she knew before hand what he would be saying.

"My urge to retch in your presence is all the criteria I need." In the light Astrude was a pretty brunette with long brown hair. Her dark eyebrows were thicker over her dark brown eyes and really thin at the edge of her orbital sockets. Wide cheek bones fit nicely with her oval face, deep smile lines framed nose and mouth. She had a short sloped button like nose with seemingly wide but delicate nostrils, the top of her smile lines followed the contours of those nostrils then angled out to the outer edges of her lips. Those lips were thin on top but somewhat thick with the lower swell; her teeth seemed to shine in the dark when she smiled, vestigial dimples formed just outside her smile lines when her grin manifested.

Gilserand was also very aware of her long smooth neck, which he imagined more than saw in the twilight margins between the Human world and the natural one. The private was a very desirable young woman, and she seemed to like Gil for some strange reason. Yet, though he loved spending time with her, the fire of desire never quite seemed to flare for him. For Astrude's part, she never quite provided tender for a flame to take root; though she flirted mercilessly when she thought an officer was nowhere in the vicinity. She seemed to have found him a safe vehicle to test her wiles upon; though there were many who did find her attractive, Astrude was not as confident in herself as someone with her looks usually was.

When he tried to take the bowl her hands remained under his for a few moments longer than a hand off required. Trust not lust. After the fiasco three weeks back where three scouts and two rangers had been murdered by the Sauri, the Bolloren rangers and Alren scout units had adopted Gilserand and even championed his cause with the senior officers. No more were the horse jocks allowed to haze him or abuse him.

"What mystery stew do we have here, and how many casualties did we take from the cooks tonight?" Gilserand asked as Astrude slowly withdrew her hands from under his. Chuckling at his characterization of the fare they were fed, the guard woman gave a surprising answer.

Taking his dueling spear from him, Astrude stepped back a half step.

"Tonight it's actually good. They didn't mix a bunch of food packs together for once. We scouts and rangers finally got permission to take game if we're not on the line. There's rabbit, squirrel, partridge, and I think one of those new tiny jungle deer in this stew. If only we had fresh vegetables to go with, then we would be living like kings and queens." Gil wasn't sure if she could see his widened eyes or amazed expression.

"You mean this meat wasn't stored away when our grandparents were young?" Her laugh came out as clear as water flowing in a rocky stream bed.

Firelight made her toothy grin seem to glow as she was pivoting to face north, Astrude began to walk along the parameter line so he could eat.

"Only the potato, carrot, and onions saw the passing of the last Faelora emperor. Eat up, I'm missing out on a killer card game for your stupid ass." She began to pace in earnest after he saluted her with the bowl. Squatting with his back against the tree where the picket line was anchored for the western horse line, Gilserand whispered a reassurance to the nearest horse who had snorted at the stew's smell.

Astrude had not lied to him, the fresh meat in the stew made a world of difference. Even the old vegetables seemed softer and more flavorful due to the addition of the various game meats. I wonder if we'll get the extra dried meat and jerky in our lunch rations now that we're getting fresh game for our other meals? Lunches were usually just meal packs that the cooks opened for the soldiers. I wonder how much trouble Major Liethor will actually be in when this expedition is over. They say the colonel was not very happy when he found out how the cavalry was treating me. If there's a courts martial I'll have to testify. It won't actually go that far will it? Unable to find an answer then and there, Gilserand just ate his stew and teased Astrude when she passed by walking his parameter.



Her refuge, the black she had retreated to while being beaten, was shaken by an odd slithering warmth across her back that wriggled then vanished. Was a serpent crawling across her body? Or was this her own warm blood still spilling out from the beating she was taking? The sensation returned, it slithered across the small of her back, oddly warm but cool at the same moment. Once again the sensation was transitory, there, then gone. A male voice droned indistinct sounds, and was answered with a woman's voice; a single uttered sound that did not register as a word. The raging pain in her body seemed to be fading away. They always said agony vanished before death came, still she thought it was better to die in the void....



"Hmm," a strange male voice intoned before Leachelle heard porcelain tap wood. "She obviously likes dolphins and horses, an odd combination of creatures."

"They have no bearing here. I just want the girl to wake up before we have to release those other kids, we need to know who was torturing her, and why," another male voice, not as deep as the first, responded. The word torture triggered her last waking memory, and Leachelle's eyes flew open; heart hammering. Above her was the familiar canopy of her own bed, the smell of lavender on her pillow also helped her orient her whereabouts. She was home; she was safe. How?

Before she could turn or lift her head to look at who was in her room, the last speaker realized she was stirring. "Gunther, she's awake!" Once again fear suffused her system when she saw two strange but well dressed men in her room. The man on her left was short and dark, having the stamp of a people who lived along the south western coast of the southern sea. Brown eyes and black hair with curls so tight they looked like batches of tiny springs adorned his head, this man had a flat nose with wide nostrils. The Bolloren magister's pin he used to hold his cloak told Leachelle who this visitor was; Sir Odemphi Sulhu, the only magister to have been knighted in Bolloren's history. Chief investigator in charge of the guard protectors.

It was the other taller man who addressed her though.

"Be at ease, Leachelle Gueardan, I am Lord Gunther Kriegle, truth finder for his Majesty, King Uldarnan. This is Chief Investigator Sir Odemphi Sulhu. Do you remember what happened to you last evening?" Lord Kriegle was a very tall man, possibly close to seven foot in height. He had wavy golden hair, styled to perfection. Dark eyebrows hinted that his hair or brows may have been colored. His blue eyes had an intensity that alarmed Leachelle, like those of a raptor about to dive on a fish; she felt like the finned creature he was currently fixated upon. He had a long thin nose, almost aristocratic, but failing that by having a slight bump at the bridge. His lips were thin and seemed permanently set in serious lines. Like Leachelle the lord had long ears, which was probably why he wore his hair longish and had the waves trained to cover all but his earlobes.

Sitting up made her back muscles pull uncomfortably, all around her ribs and belly the tissue felt stiff and sore making her adjustment more of a chore than usual.

"I... I was beaten with relic magic," she admitted, raising her hand to feel her cheek where she had been lashed. Thank the Lords of Light and Life, I must have been healed. Though her muscles twinged, she did not feel any of the lacerations she had sustained during the skirmish, and her face felt smooth and unscarred. She had been put in her peach night shirt, a bit of clothing she had not worn for over a year, her hands and wrists showed old yellowing bruising.

"His Majesty saw to it that you were sent to the healers, you were beaten most severely, Miss Gueardan," Sir Sulhu informed her. "Can you tell us who exactly it was that assaulted you?"

When Leachelle had been younger, she had her huge bed chamber set up with curtains to divide the space into a dozen sections, each with their own purpose. Those fifteen feet tall curtains ranged from lavender at the top of the dividers to dark purple at their base. To her right was a silver and white night stand with a lantern seemingly balanced upon a white porcelain horse. Beyond that was her matching vanity, which was basically a desk with many drawers, and a large mirror. Make up products were still scattered haphazardly across it's surface. That is where the marble wall was bisected by a curtain that curved in a semi circle around her canopy bed.

Rectangular tables sat end corner to end corner, next to and following the drapery's crescent, all were painted white with silver trim; dolls and stuffed animals in the thousands faced her canopy bed from those platforms. Nearer, five round tables with the dual argent motif were set in a crescent between the outer barrier of tables and her bed. Four of those tables were dedicated to porcelain figurines, while the one on the far left was for her breakfast; the only table with chairs. Lord Kriegle was just in front of the middlemost of those five tables. To Leachelles left, along the marble wall, was two large wardrobes dedicated to her sleeping garments, then nearer at hand was her other nightstand and matching horse lamp. Sir Odemphi was between her eating table, and her wardrobe, just before the gap in her drapery leading to her alcove of fashion which held racks and dressers dedicated to her clothing.

By the Lords of Light and Life, this is an official investigation. These men are Bolloren's top investigators, not mere guards. Leachelle had a guilt laden vision of herself suspending Taleen upside down in the class she had lead last winter, and she knew this deed would become a point to the two men before her. Wincing at both her physical discomfort and the trouble she was about to land in, Leachelle briefly thought about what to hide and who to protect.

"I was beaten by Taleen Houghton and Phinder Tugg, but there are other people involved." The knight raised an eyebrow, his thick lips pursed, but it was Lord Kriegle who fired off the obvious query.

"Who were these other people, and what was their involvement in this situation?"

Licking her lips, Leachelle worried about informing on Mishiel. Then she realized the girl had never been her friend. I thought she liked me, I thought we were becoming close. It was all a lie. Mishiel planted herself on me, and helped plan the attack!

"Mishiel Orngutter helped set up the ambush for Taleen, Lieutenant Echart Dunn bribed the doorman for the use of the cellar. There were two dark haired young men who acted as Taleen and Phinder's lantern bearers, I don't know who they were. Buchanin Hansil was my date, but he didn't come to help me through the attack. I doubt if he was involved, but at this point I don't really know. Who came to my rescue? Who broke up the attack on me?"

At her question both men tilted their heads like dogs trying to hear familiar sounds from their Human's diatribe. Mound like furrows formed on Sir Odemphi's brow.

"You did, Miss Gueardan. You shielded yourself with your relic then knocked the club's cellar door off it's hinges. We've been told that those are both rare feats for a magister in training." Leachelle tried to pull her head back as her own forehead wrinkled with troubled thoughts, her headboard checked her bemused reaction.

"No. What? How?" Unable to fathom that information, her statement and questions came out sounding like she was near babbling.

Like the tag team duo they were presenting themselves as, it was the king's truth finder who spoke next.

"We have been told that you have manifested a rare genetic talent that few Human magisters have, a talent some ancient Faelora manifest. You were able to forge a connection with your relic without physical contact. Are you telling us that Buchanin Hansil and Echart Dunn had involvement in this issue? We were assuming those two were just bystanders injured by the flying door. That is how they characterized themselves." How they characterized themselves? she asked herself, trying to fathom what had been happening with the two men while she was being tortured. Buchanin should have said he had been my date, that he was there with me....

Not liking the sums she was coming up with as far as her blind date was concerned, Leachelle tried to establish the picture as she had seen it.

"Mishiel and Echart set me up on a blind date with Buchanin. Buchanin and I didn't quite hit it off, but there shouldn't be animosity between us. Not on my part. Mishiel and Echart are...paramours, or that is how they acted all night. What have they been telling you?" Both men paused long enough to show eyes without sympathy, as though they were wondering what lies she had told them thus far.

"I'm sorry, Miss Gueardan, we have found we get a better picture of events if we ask the questions and don't answer them. We would not want to color the responses you give us with information that might... change how you might craft your narrative," Sir Odemphi stated.

The knight moved over to her breakfast table and pulled out a chair. Instead of sitting, the man set a foot on the seat and rested an elbow on the raised knee. "If those two soldiers were indeed involved why were they not down in the cellar with Miss Orngutter, Miss Haughton, Mister Tugg, and the two whom you claim not to know?" Emotional pain struck hard, as Leachelle briefly contemplated that question. The cold calculation it had taken Mishiel to spend those few weeks acting as her friend defied her sense of right and wrong. Who would go that far to get revenge on behalf of someone else?

"Mishiel claimed that she wanted to talk to me alone, implying the boys would join us after we were done speaking."

Eyes shifting to where the marble walls joined the wood paneled ceiling, the truth finder seemed like he was trying to picture the events with the white and silver trim.

"What was the purpose for all of you to be going into the cellar anyway?" Leachelle winced knowing how her answer would paint her. The High Magister is going to hear about this, she realized. The urge to lie reared up in her, she just did not have a possible cover story that would not leak like a sieve.

"I, uh- I was convinced to give a magical demonstration with my relic; which I know I am not supposed to do."

"What was it that Miss Orngutter wished to speak to you about?" the knight fired off, not commenting on how her face had twisted before her admission.
This isn't going to make me look much better, she thought. Again the urge to concoct a lie reared up in her heart. I'm going to look no better than Taleen and Mishiel before this is through. Knowing her grimace had given her worries away, she still answered.

"Mishiel wanted to offer Buchanin and myself the use of the little back room for- uh, amorous activities, instead of for me to entertain them with magic. I speculate this was verisimilitude to keep me following her to the back spaces of the cellar." Neither investigator commented on her theory, but Sir Odemphi did look to the Kings truth seeker as though passing the baton of questioning to the man.

"What happened next?"

I was disarmed then beaten! she railed in her head. Making me relive that is cruel! Leachelle did not give voice to her reticence, did not act on the fear and horror rearing up at the memories surfacing. Deep down she knew the negative presentation of herself was coloring her reaction to being questioned. She was having a defensive reaction from telling on herself.

"The light coming from the little back room flickered then went out. I was pulling out my wand to use if for a light source when Mishiel... Miss Orngutter, requested that I do that exact thing. When I did produce light, that was when she ripped the wand out of my hands and tossed it on top of the eastern most wine rack. We were plunged back into darkness again." I will not use her name again, she doesn't deserve that kind of recognition from me, she vowed in her head feeling the hurt turning to something dark. During her recitation both men glanced at each other a few times, using significant glances to communicate silently.

As Leachelle paused to gather her resolve, it looked like Lord Kriegle was about to demand more from her before he realized she was just collecting herself. "Miss Orngutter retreated from me taunting me with the knowledge that she and Taleen were friends, and she had been pretending to be my friend these last few weeks." We worked together, we had fun talking and comparing fashion; talking about young men. She had me so fooled so easily! "Phinder Tugg's light bearer lit his lantern first, and I saw Mister Tugg's getting an energy lash ready from his arm bracer; they were closest to the stairs out of the cellar. Then Taleen Haughton appeared from the back of the cellar with her light source. Her lash cut, while his hit like a clenched fist."

Shrugging caused tight muscles to pull, yet that was how she let the investigators know that was the end of her tale. Nodding slowly, the knight considered for a few moments. His companion continued to watch Leachelle as if he wanted to find a misstated fact.

"Why would Taleen Haughten and Phinder Tugg have such animosity towards you? People who are familiar with a person usually have a reason to attack them," Sir Odemphi asked with a raised eyebrow. Sighing because she had to yet again relive an uncomfortable past, Leachelle started her answer.

"Taleen used to live here in the palace, she had collected a large number of followers among many of the other kids who live here-" she started before interrupted.

Clearing his throat, the Kings truth seeker bulled in on her story.

"Were you jealous of her popularity?"

"No. Not at all. The people who flocked around her were not the sort of people I could relate to. Unfortunately, they would not let me live in peace. For some reason Taleen and her friends liked to bully me, call me names, and torment me in the halls here-" Again she was cut off by the dogged lord.

"Are you trying to say that this assault is a case of bullying that went too far? A mean prank that got out of hand?" Now she hesitated. This was the point where her admission would land her in trouble.

Both men came to attention with Leachelle's grimace, like hunting dogs actually glimpsing their prey after following a scent on an overly long trail.

"No, I'm not saying that at all. I made the mistake of fighting back and humiliating Taleen one time. Just one time. And she concocted this scheme to get back at me." She grimaced again, realizing that she was getting angry.

"You fought back? In what way did you fight back?" the knight asked, removing his foot from the chair and coming upright. Here we go.

"This winter I headed a beginner relic crafting class as part of my own education. Taleen and Phinder were my students. The first day of class they disrupted my lesson plan, taunted me, and humiliated me in front of my other students...."

Trailing off, because this was the crux of her confession, she made yet another face. "The second day of class I, uh- I used my relic to haul her out of her seat and held her upside down, bound by magic. I, uh... I made her helpless and humiliated her, then gave her the option of telling on me and getting kicked out of the program or letting me teach her. I ended up teaching her, but I guess she wanted revenge for my revenge." Both men considered her for a prolonged moment, then they met each other's eyes for brief nonverbal communion.

"Why would you resort to violence when you could have consulted with the magister's overseeing your training?" That is what I should have done, she admitted to herself after Lord Kriegle's inquery.

Inclining her head at the truth seeker indicated she agreed with him.

"My evaluation was for how well I taught my class, how many of my students came out able to shape and fashion a magic node into a talisman level relic. I believed that running to my teachers with this problem would have reflected badly on me. My solution was a bad solution, I admit that, I was greedy for good marks on the assignment."

"You must agree that your confession here makes you complicit in the events of the other evening, Miss Gueardan. The judge assigned to this case will have to take that into account." Sir Odemphi stated, looking pointedly at her.

Moving over to the dark skinned knight, the king's truth seeker had his own words.

"His majesty was very distressed to hear you were attacked, Miss Gueardan. He will be even more distressed to hear how convoluted this mess has become. He will not like that you brought this on yourself. Is there anything you would like to add to your statement at this time?" At first Leachelle blinked at the two men. Why are they acting like I was the bigger villain in this mess? Is this a tactic on their part?

"Tell me, will the judge or King Uldarnan consider my part in this worthy of attempted murder?"



"Come on horse, give me the oat bag!" Gil demanded as the dun mare turned away, tossing her head up and down as if teasing him. "The oat bag is empty, why do you wanna keep wearing it, you oaf? You can't wear it all night." The horse swung her head to Gilserands left fast enough to evade his hands, again nodding like she thought this was a great game of keep away to play. "You won't be able to graze with that thing on, did you think about that?" As if the horse understood it stopped stepping away and wagging its head, looking at him with equine side eye. As if convinced to cooperate the bay faced him directly and let Gil slip the feed bag off her head.

Chuckling at the interplay that had just occurred, Gilserand scratched the horses muzzle. All around, the soldiers of the expedition were setting up the evening camp, their main effort was angling man tall sharpened stakes to face the jungle. He was stuck with feeding the cavalry horses, as usual. All fifty cavalry mounts had already devastated the five bales of hay he had laid out, now the horses were taking turns munching a bucket of oats with the ten feed bags the expedition had brought. The last horse with the tenth feed bag stood still and allowed him to divest it of the head gear; it must have heard his spiel about grazing. His next task was to toss a bucket of oats in the bags to give to the next ten horses on the picket line. Of course the feed wagons were parked near the middle of the camp, no where near any of the animals working with the army; a fair hike in a camp with close to seven hundred people.

Draping some of the filled bags on his shoulders, Gilserand balanced the rest on the haft of his dueling spear; which he propped angled on one shoulder, the bags sliding down against his back. Carrying the spear crosswise would have distributed the weight better, but the three foot blade would have threatened his fellow guards as they worked. He had to walk somewhat stooped, ten full feed bags had close to a hundred pounds of weight altogether.

"There goes Gilserand with a whole batch of horse scrotums on his back, as usual," Astrude called out from the left. Scouts and other infantry setting up tents nearby laughed, looking up from their work to view the spectacle of his labored hunched walk; eager to see how this accusation of bestiality would play out.

Half turning in his stooped gait, Gil fired back.

"That's why I'm winning all the popularity contests with the animals and you're not." Even the lovely scout guffawed at the quick and unexpected rejoinder, the levity sparking chuckles among everyone nearby. Only Major Liethor frowned. The cavalry officer was stalking along the lines of workers like an overseer denied the use of a whip; her hawkish glare watched Gilserand almost all the way to the growing encampments margins. To the north east of the picket line a pair of cavalry privates were carting over a portable trough and some buckets of water. Their tool would only service a pair of tethered horses at a time; their job would take much longer than Gilserand's.

Pricking their ears forward, the animals came to attention and did not fight him slipping the food bags over their heads.

"Funny how you guys don't give me grief at this part," he said patting a pair of necks. I guess I'll help those guys now that I have a few minutes to wait. Normally this was a point where Gil would take a few moments to himself while letting the horses eat their allotment of oats, but the watering detail usually arrived after all the feeding chores had been attended to. A wagon paused nearby so that a trio of soldiers could unload a barrel of water between mounts; they were stationing the water for the guys with the portable trough. Each of those guards filled a pair of buckets which they then ran over to spill into the trough, even as the horses were lapping it up. Several pairs of extra buckets were stacked near the end most barrel and Gil aimed himself for those.

After five weeks of observation, Gilserand had learned that each barrel only supplied water for ten horses; five barrels a night just for Gil's equine charges.

"Corporal, could you help me move this trough instead of grabbing buckets?" one of the horse jocks asked. Obliging the young man he took one end of the contrived trough. A metal drum had been cut in half, then fused end to end; after that the fabricator had welded bar stock handles at each end, then X frame legs with plate feet had been added on both ends and middle so the trough would stand tall enough for the horses. Even though the pair of horses had almost drained the container of water, the trough was very heavy. With the weight distributed between the two of them, they still had to lift with two hands to move it five feet east.

Casting an eye back at his charges, Gilserand noticed they were almost finished with their feed. The horses were eating their oats almost as fast as others were guzzling water. After his second to last haul of oats, Gil helped move the trough again and run a pair of buckets once. After serving the last ten horses their oats, Gilserand was conscripted by an officer of the Alren Rangers to glean fire wood. The lady officer reviewed her mixed unit detail on how to tell dry seasoned wood from green or wet specimen, then let them fan out and begin shagging out branches and dead trees into large piles. Every thirty or so minutes a work horse or oxen drawn travois would show up, and then the detail would load those stacks of gleaned wood for removal.

Moving west a dozen yards after their third load, the troop scattered out to begin shagging another pile into existence. Gil plucked a nice branch from some grass when he noticed a downed tree behind a screen of bushes.

"Got a three man job here," he called out as he moved towards his find. After determining which part of the thick end of the fallen trunk he would lift from, Gilserand looked around waiting for his help to arrive, keeping an eye out for the enemy. Nearby, a wound on the trunk of a maple drew his eye. The bark was freshly scraped away in a symbol he recognized. Fear adrenaline spiked in his system immediately, only by focusing on unlimbering his dueling spear was Gil able to keep from shaking. "Eyes out!" he shouted, scanning the brush for hidden Sauri.

The jagged outline of a trident head had been inscribed on the tree's bark, the wound on the maple fresh and stark; four tines faced down, the second prong on the left a bit longer than the other hooked spikes. The same symbol he had seen months ago on the loincloth of the big Sauri he had faced just outside of Alren. Backing away with his weapon facing outward, Gilserand soon found himself the point of a chevron of condensed soldiery.

"What is it corporal," a woman's voice asked from behind him, the Alren Ranger in charge of this motley detail.

"Ma'am, I found a Sauri symbol freshly carved on that big maple tree behind those saplings" For a second there was silence all about.

"Really?" The lieutenant's voice was charged with supreme skepticism. "You know Sauri symbols?"

For a few moments Gilserand wanted to bristle at the junior officer's sarcasm. All the other soldiers began to become restless, relaxing and beginning to grumble because they thought Gil was a high strung alarmist making up stories.

"I've seen this symbol before, on the loincloth of a Sauri that was almost as big as an Orag. The same night they raided those farms in west Alren. An inverted four tine trident head with the middle left tine longer than the others; each tine having a single barb."

"Really?" This time there was no hint of ridicule in the woman's voice. He used the dueling spear to point at the tree as his answer this time.

Sensing that the officer had tipped towards a believing opinion, the grumbling stopped and tension radiated into the uncaring wilderness.

"Dammit," the woman muttered, her voice low. "Okay, box formation shields to the front, spears second, archers third, slow advance when I give the word!"

Her commands were sharp and unambiguous. The fact that this group was pulled from several different units made the formation shift a bumbling cluster for a few moments. All Gilserand had to do was lift his spear point and take a step back, but three different people stepped into him. Yet, the confusion did not last long and the lieutenant had her square formation manifest out of collision and chaos. "Slow advance, go!"

While formation changes were different for sword troopers, archers, and spear, the one thing they all had in common was the cadence of the march. In less than ten yards the scrap mark on the tree became visible, though the details were still occluded from distance and underbrush. Their formation was a good one for an open field, but brush and uneven ground was about to force disunity into their defensive stance. "Corporal, cover me while I check your mark out." The officer's hand fell on his shoulder blade, pressing steel links into his gambeson with slight pressure. In turn Gilserand tapped the two soldiers before him on their shoulders, one sword and shield and one conventional stabbing spear and shield.

Those two took a step forward, then one step to either side creating an opening which Gil flowed through. Armed with a bow, the lieutenant's training kept her at his back instead of coming up along side; it was he who had to make way for her to step up when he reached the tree. If this actually was the season where deer rubbed their antlers, I could see someone doubting this was carved. Up close though, you can't help but see the knife marks where they used the tip to make this engraving.

"Ma'am, I know I'm not a tracker like you, but these cuts look really fresh to me. The Sauri are close."