Serial
36: Forests of fire
January
9th, 33 S.D. 23:42 Talimer Forest, Sventa
Deep within these disputed woods, a small detachment of Sventa soldiers made their rounds patrolling the area. Although Henron has staked their claim to that land, they had not moved to occupy it. As a result, building up forces in this rather remote region had not been much of a priority for Sventa. Instead, most of their able soldiers were sent off to the three divisions to wage direct battles against the enemy. Only a handful of squadrons actively secured the forest.
That night was like the dozens of others before it: quiet, inert, calm. Along the floor, fanning out, fourteen sharpshoots walked their gloomy course. Though indeed it was their duty to guard these grounds from any foe, they were relaxed with their roles. With keen, open eyes, the soldiers checked their surroundings constantly, but even so they talked to one another and shared whatever topic would garner up a decent discussion. This evening was no exception.
“It sure has been still lately,” said one of them.
“It has always been still around here,” retorted someone else.
“No, no, I mean the war in general. The Henron have made no move in over three weeks...”
“Sa,” said another, slightly wandering off for a bit. “That does not bother me at all. Hopefully all of this shrieking business is over with soon. I want to go home.”
“With the wolf on our side, maybe we will not even have to fight at all.” A general, pleasant murmur floated amongst their numbers in response.
“Not that I do not wish to smash the Henron myself,” their Field Lead said. “But what good has dying ever done any one of us? If the Wolf can beat them all, she has my thanks and utmost support. I, however, will stay out of the way whenever I can. I have a family after all...” They laughed loudly, noisily despite their given mission.
“Nevertheless,” spoke the concerned one. “Henron has yet to launch another major offensive in some time. Do you think there might be something going on?” A few groans arose as the older members shook their heads.
“Come now, quit your worries,” one of them said. “Look, it is pretty plain to see that Henron really got themselves handled in the last two battles. They really suffered a good beating. There is no way they would carry on as usual. They are scared, and for a good reason too. Losha will wipe them all out in an instant. They simply do not know what move to make, though it is not like any move they can make is going to be good at all.”
“True, or they could just be biding their time for a strong counter.” They all stopped for a moment after they came past a row of trees. One of the veterans snorted as he gaggled heartily aloud.
“Hohoho! Truly a paranoid one are you not? A counter to our own Losha Ver Holvate? A counter for that mystical art of hers? That... that...”
“Serialization,” a random one quipped.
“Sa, thank you. A counter for serialization? Shrieks, there is no defense for lightning, or ice, or any of those other powers.” With his face flush with incredulity, the veteran held out his arms at length. “Come now, what can the Henron possibly do to us now?”
As the last utterance left his mouth, however, something darted out across the night, racing through the darkness. In a moment, a thin, long object struck the veteran, impaling itself into the side of his neck. The force of the incoming thing toppled him over on his side, but by the time the wound had done its damage, he was far gone even before he hit the snow. Immobilized, the soldier could but let out a rasp, the faint rattle of a breath soon to extinguish. As soon as anyone knew what had happened, it was too late. A sickly crimson stream oozed out below his jaw as his glazed eyes twisted upwards at the forest. From the looks of it, an arrow had felled him.
“Shrieks!” a soldier cried.
“Aaah.... Aah, aaaah!” another exclaimed, breaking into panic.
“Jovi!” one of the veteran’s friends called out as they rushed to the man’s side. However, before they could every reach him, they howled in pain, all at once spinning backwards and collapsing to the ground. They looked up as they recovered themselves only to find an arrow of their own piercing their arm just above the elbow. “N-no...” they said with a hush.
Whipping across the air in unseen lines, a slew of additional arrows followed. Whistling as they flew, shot after shot rained down upon the squad. Several others shouted in agony as their bodies were pinned by these projectiles.
“Damn it!” the Field Lead roared as one soldier right beside him was hit straight in the gut. “We are under attack; retreat at once! Move, now!”
They scurried behind the nearest trees, using the trunks for protection. Moments later, another salvo bombarded them. Some whizzed harmlessly to the side; others thumped heavily upon the bark at their backs. One soldier cautiously peered around the wood, looking into the distance.
“I cannot see them,” she said, returning to the safety of the tree and not a moment too soon. The very instant she whirled her head around, an arrow slammed into the edge of her cover, poking out of the rim of the trunk. The lethal, pointed tip of the weapon extruded but centimeters from her face. Gasping, she clutched her firearm tightly to her chest.
“Hell,” the Field Lead cursed. There were several members of his team that had been downed. Only seven remained. The others may have been injured or outright killed; he couldn’t say. Though it was no easy choice, he knew they’d have to be left behind. It was simply too dangerous to go back. Furthermore, the other squads needed to be alerted.
“What are you waiting for?” he barked. “Get going! To the outpost! Run for it!” He paused until he saw the last of his members take off before he started sprinting himself. In being last, he hoped he might be one of the closest targets. The others had families too, and as their commander it was the least he could do to hold their most vulnerable position, the rear.
“Turn!” he bellowed. “Turn! Do not go in a straight line!” They dashed as fast as their panic could push them. Zigzagging to the left and right, they dove in between trees, hoping to avoid the arrows. The enemy, wherever they were, maintained a steady rate of fire, hardly ceasing for even the briefest of seconds. On their heels, at their backs, or just overhead, the soldiers came under constant siege. They encountered a number of close calls, instants of death that were only scantily avoided, but in the Sventa’s frenzy, these moments blurred into a single rush. The soldiers’ luck, however, was not infinite.
By deadly degrees, the enemy’s attacks grew ever more accurate. Even as the squadron fled at random angles, the arrows seemingly honed in, closer and closer with ease. Eventually, they hit their marks. As the Field Lead glanced on ahead of himself, he saw one of his soldiers get hit right through the spine. A moan of anguish followed as they crashed to the ground hopelessly. A wave of despair washed over the officer as he leaped past his fallen comrade. He saw their upturned face as he charged through; their eyes were already devoid of life. One-by-one, the rest of his subordinates were picked off by pointed shots. He was running by one of them at any given moment when suddenly they’d simply collapse in a heap as an arrow ripped into them. These bolts chased and killed them until at last only he and the worrisome soldier remained.
“The brush! Over there!” the Field Lead hollered. The two of them sprinted to a cluster of bushes wherein they hurled themselves with abandon. As they broke through rows of branches, they rolled along the ground before gaining their footing. “Are you alright?” the Field Lead asked, even as he dragged the soldier along.
“I-I think so.”
“We have to get to the platform. They have to know about this. Stay in front of me and keep swerving. We can do this, so push! Push!”
They assumed they had slipped from the enemy; no more arrows seemed to follow them. Their only hope now was that they’d be able maneuver through the forest far better than their foes. They’d spent the past five months stomping about the terrain; it has to account for some advantage.
“Cut through here,” the Field Lead gestured. “We can take that hill and go all the way down to base camp. That should be the fastest route.” Together the pair clamored along.
“Do not stop,” the Field Lead panted. “Our breaths may be short, but so is time.”
Previously at a separate location in the Talimer Forest, the Sventa base camp sat unaware of the situation. Though it was hardly more than a few ramparts that formed a large square, the base camp also consisted of a large tree which they’d sort of fashioned into a watch tower. There the soldiers had built a rather simple tree-house that traded a roof and two of its walls for greater visibility. The north and east ends were more or less fully exposed as the Sventa had always anticipated Henron aggressions from those vectors. Furthermore, the platform served as the command post for the Range Lead in charge of operations. Though the Range Lead disliked the constant climbing and having to sweep away bits of snow from the floorboards, it did make for a manageable office more than a tent. It’d taken some time to get used to the height, however.
“Second squad is late,” one of the watchers said, leaning over a guardrail
“It is the same story every night,” another watcher replied. “They do know that midnight is the latest they are supposed to patrol, right? After that, the reserve units are to go out.”
“Bah,” said the first watcher. “Trouncing around the woods at night? I would hate to have to go haunting like that...”
“Sa, you would prefer to stay over here where you have a good lantern handy.”
“Hey, I hate the dark, alright? And the woods are full of dark things this time of night. Besides, it is not as if keeping watch here is any easier. This tree gets awfully cold and windy. At least on the ground you move aro-”
“What is it?” the second watcher asked.
“Hey, Baiv has been terribly quiet now. Baiv! Did you fall asleep again?”
They walked around to the other side of the tree. There, on the floor, slumped against one of the walls, a third watcher sat motionless.
“Shrieks,” remarked the second watcher. “He always dozes off towards the end of shift, but he could at least try to be subtle.”
“No... wait a moment,” the first watcher said, unhinging a nearby lantern and leaning down close to the body. In the snow that finely layered the boards beneath, droplets of red lied scattered about. As the two of them looked up at their comrade, they noted a distinct lack of respiration. At this time, with a wave of the lantern, they saw the arrow jutting straight out of his side. A black, balmy substance dripped from the entry wound.
“Is that... penlock poison?” the second watcher gasped.
“Shrieks!” the first one said, standing up all at once. “This is an attack. Quickly, we must-” But before these words were ever complete, an arrow sliced into the watcher’s back. As the first fell, the second one instinctively ducked, taking what little protection the nearby wall offered.
“Gah! Ahhnng!” the injured soldier cried, writhing on the floor. “G-go! Y-you h-h-have to warn... the camp. I... do what I can.”
The second watcher nodded, and despite the gruesome shock of these events, they focused on the duty at hand. Crawling over to the tree’s trunk, coming to a small hole in the floor, the last watcher grabbed hold of a long, dangling rope that lead to the ground. As this one slid down, a loud bell rang out on the platform. Though dealt a mortal blow, the first watcher had managed to sound the alarm, but not for long.
Sailing across the air, what looked like fiery wisps fast approached the tree-house. These were, in fact, arrows that had been set ablaze, however, they were more than that. Upon impact, the metal shafts were designed to break ever so slightly, releasing a potent fuel stored therein. Each arrow was in fact a highly incendiary weapon. As the last watcher reached the ground, the platform above had already burst into sweltering flames. For a moment, they could but stare at the billowing cloud of combustion as it shot high into the air with a flash. Suddenly though, they ran away towards the rows of pitched tents.
“Attack!” they called as long and loudly as they could. “The enemy is attacking! Get up everyone!” Only the reserve squadron was up at that time making preparations for their rounds. They glanced at the watcher before gaping and pointing to the burning tree. “The enemy is attacking!” the watcher cried again.
In mere moments, the entire camp sprung to life as soldiers everywhere awoke and answered the call of action. With a rising bustle, the Sventa forces hastily assembled. Some looked up at the incinerating platform with wondrous horror. The Range Lead charged through various lots, questioning everyone he could find about the situation until at last he reached the surviving watcher.
“What happened?” he demanded as he tightly clutched the saber by his side.
“The enemy is attacking from an unknown position. Size: unknown. Origin: unknown. Armaments: bows and arrows, at least two modified types, one poisonous, the other extremely flammable,” the watcher said rapidly. Despite the tension of the situation, the watcher faithfully gave a report sparing no details. “The enemy attacked the outpost approximately three minutes ago. Baiv and Safel were casualties. They struck Baiv without our initial notice. Safel rung the bell while I made it down.”
The Range Lead stared at the tree as red, seething specks wafted down like leaves. A portion of the structure fell to the ground, trailing fire as it smashed into the earth. “Listen to me, everyone!” the officer boomed. “Quickly now, take up defensive positions. To the ramparts! I want each and every one of you to-”
“R-range Lead! What are those?” someone interrupted. A cold murmur spread amongst their ranks. Their heads turned to the skies; the hands pointed up at the space above them. A multitude of glowing points of light dotted the darkness over them. They seemed to move, dance even. Bit by bit, they grew brighter, fuller. Even the Range Lead squinted along with the others. However, it eventually became abundantly clear what they were looking at.
“Shrieks!”
“Take cover!”
“Incoming!”
Whoever the enemy was, the Range Lead saw what the vansels had done. They’d launched those flaming arrows of theirs at a steep angle, such that they would practically fall straight down on his units. Unfortunately, there weren’t simply a few dozen headed their way, but rather several hundred.
“We are almost there,” said the Field Lead. The remnants of second squad - its commander and only one other soldier - marched up a treacherous slope. Once they passed the top, they could amble their way down until they reached their camp. The run and the climb had exhausted them, and as the last bits of adrenaline left their systems, only then did they realize how little energy they still held. Nevertheless, they pushed forward knowing it was an absolute matter of survival. Soon, they reached the height of the land without issue. Even in the dimness, they managed their way around; the forest was familiar to them all the same, night or day. However, both the Field Lead and the remaining subordinate quickly noted that something was wrong. They smelled it long before they ever saw anything.
“Is... is something burning up ahead?” the soldier asked quietly.
“Damn, I do not like this at all.”
They eased their way down the incline, gingerly taking their steps. This caution, given the circumstances, was not unreasonable. Even so, despite their stealth, the pair was already under the eyes of the enemy. As the two grew closer, they saw something radiating in the distance. Creeping towards it, they were suddenly pelted by a horrid, nigh unbearable stench.
“Gah!” the Field Lead gagged.
“What is that smell?” the soldier asked.
“Flesh,” replied the officer. “Flesh on fire.”
“Shrieks...”
At last they came to the hill’s end, and the ground leveled out. To their front, black and gray smoke hung loosely in the air. They covered their faces, both to stave away the odors floating about and to protect them from the haze.
“This way,” the Field Lead motioned. Stooping low behind a line of undergrowth, they scrambled to the side for a few dozen meters or so. Once they reached the edge, they popped over the shrubs and swiftly ran to the next nearest cover, a thick tree that had fallen months ago. Crouching against the log, they were now within line-of-sight of their camp’s south side. Slowly, they peered over the wood and looked.
“No...” the Field Lead breathed. Though their base had been meager by all standards, the destruction he saw was vast and extensive. The ground was roasted black, and some patches continued to burn with small spots of fire. Nothing remained of their tents, the ramparts, or any of the other facilities they had built, save for notable heaps of ash. In tangled tendrils, embers hovered over scorched soil, shining malevolently through the night. The tree they’d used as a sort of observation deck was no more than a darkened, withered mass extending into the stars. Several charred figures littered the site, forms that the Field Lead could only assume were once his fellow clan members. Strolling across the scene casually, a league of foreign soldier occupied the camp. One of them carried a banner that faintly moved in the evening wind.
“Henron,” the Field Lead muttered, sinking down behind the log. “This is bad. Come on, we have to move. The whole forest is no longer safe. There is nothing left for it; we shall have to return to one of the divisions. Hurry!” And so began their desperate flight, one that did not go unnoticed by the enemy. One soldier raised a bow and centered its aim at the departing Sventa. However, before even one shot was let free, a hand swiped in front of the archer’s eyes.
“Leave them be.”
“Range Lead Suvla!” the shooter blurted, not knowing their commander had even been remotely close. Suvla faced the direction of the two survivors. Though it was night and her headwear practically inhibited all vision, Suvla seemingly watched them as they escaped.
“I have seen this before. Someone needs to let Sventa know we have come,” she said.
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