Metamor Keep -- A Long Patrol
By Christian O'kane

Part 4

There were thirty of them guarding the spring. The leader was a large ugly ogre. In his hands was a broad sword, six feet long and still encrusted with the blood of it's last victim. Hanging from his belt were a dozen severed heads. Most were lutin but Misha recognized several human ones. He wondered who those grizzly trophies had been in life. A friend perhaps? No way of telling, the heads were pretty rotted. The powerful stench of decay filled the air.

The rest of the party consisted of lutins, all wearing armor. The richest wore chain mail, others were in ring mail or leather. The poorest were dressed in a polyglot mixture of various bits and pieces. Probably scavenged from the dead of a dozen battles. All of the sentries were heavily armed. Though in typical lutin fashion no two carried the same weapon. Every type of weapon seemed to be present, including wicked-looking flails, heavy iron maces, spears, swords of every type, war axes and even clubs.

For Misha and Caroline the sound of the burbling spring was a torment. After two days without water all he could think of was sticking his whole head into that cool wetness. There was barely thirty feet of open space between Misha and the water. It might as well have been thirty miles.

The two of them had no chance of getting to that water. Not with that well armed war party standing guard. The Bloody Fangs were unsubtle, but unlike other lutin tribes they were very through.

"Now what?" Caroline signed.

"There's a cache about a five miles west. We'll try for that," he answered.

Slowly they edged away from the spring and it's guards. The two scouts got barely a hundred yards before they heard a patrol coming. Both of them stopped and lay flat on the ground. Now came the hard part of dodging a patrol. They had to try and guess where the patrol was, and how close it would come to their hiding place. He couldn't see them, but he could hear and smell the lutins. He lay there listening and sniffing, trying to guess where they were. The footsteps slowly got closer and closer and still the two scouts didn't move. Finally he pointed to the left and rubbed his hand on the ground. Still lying flat on their stomachs they crawled, head down, through the brush. The tramping sounds got louder and louder. Misha had to resist the urge to move faster. After several minutes they stopped and lay motionless. The lutins were very close now. He could pick out the squeak of leather, and the clink of metal above the noise of shuffling feet. Holding his breath Misha waited as the group marched past behind him. He couldn't even risk swiveling his ears to hear better. Slowly, very slowly, the sounds of the soldiers moved away. After ten minutes it disappeared completely. Ten more minutes passed before either of them dared to move.

Stepping carefully, they started moving west again. The two of them got less than a quarter of a mile before they ran into another patrol. Twenty minutes were wasted avoiding it. No sooner did they get done dodging that patrol then they ran into another, and then another, and another. Finally in disgust, Misha called a halt.

"What's going on? The last time we came through here we only ran into three patrols the whole time. We've already dodged fifteen and it's at least a day's walk to the border," Caroline motioned.

"They knew we were coming," was her partner's answer.

"How?" she asked.

Misha shrugged, "They know we're from Metamor and guessed our route back to the keep. Did you leave anything behind back at Starven that could identify us?"

"No, I even took the garbage," the otter answered.

"Something told them who we were." The faint sounds of yet another patrol interrupted the conversation. Both scouts lay still and listened as it passed by about a quarter of a mile away.

When they were gone Caroline shook her head, "How long will they keep this up?"

"Too long for us to wait them out," came the answer.

"Can we still get the supplies. How long will it take?" she asked.

Misha shrugged, "Uncovering the supplies will take at least an hour."

"How's it hidden?" he was asked.

"Under a pile of rubble in some ruins."

"Moving rocks means making lots of noise," Caroline silently commented.

He nodded yes, "We can try for the other stash, but that area is probably just as heavily patrolled as this one. The next one is two days south of here, in Neck Snapper territory. Can you stand going without for that long?" Misha asked.

"I can hold out as long as you can," she replied with short, sharp hand gestures.

Anger bubbled up in him. "We're surrounded by two thousand lutins, and your playing stupid tit for tat games," he signed angrily, "I need to know, can you hold out without any water for two more days?"

His partner just stared at him without responding. The anger in him disappeared. He hadn't meant to insult her. Three days of dodging patrols with little food or water left them both tired and edgy. "I'm sorry Carol. It wasn't supposed to be this rough. I had it planned as an easy reconnaissance. Just a long walk, a little look around, and then back home. Easy! If only it hadn't been Furlin, then Nasoj wouldn't have given the battle a second thought."

Carol took his hand and squeezed it. "I'm a grown woman. I understood how dangerous it was when I joined. Besides we killed the Butcher of Willow Hill! Do you realize how many deaths we've avenged? It's worth a little risk, my love."

The sound of tramping feet came to their ears. It was a large patrol coming from the west. Caroline pointed south and made a question mark in the air with her hand. Misha nodded yes. Stepping quietly the two of them moved south.

Continue to Part 5
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