Turn 134

Startled by the creepers but thanking his luck Lynden slows his pursuit, taking a moment to assess the likelihood of him being entangled too. As long as he's careful, it seems unlikely. In fact he's not quite sure, looking closely, how the priest managed to get himself quite so thoroughly caught up. The priest continues to struggle, attempting to free himself from the clutches of the wood, only to sprout another couple of arrow shafts. He is clearly in dire straits.
    Meanwhile, with that job well concluded, Emmett leans over the other rail to see what's happening, takes up a javelin and weighs it thoughtfully.
    "Wind's from the east... this oughta do it...." The priest falls at last, unconscious and likely dying.
    Unsure of how close he can get to the priest before his proximity triggers an attack Lynden edges forward cautiously, ready to jump back at the first twitch in his direction. Using his quarterstaff he attempts to lever body out of the undergrowth, reluctant to leave the priest there as dead or alive he could provide much needed answers.
    He has no trouble doing so. The man lies limp and bleeding on the snow.
    "Pham, bring us in to pick up our local boy," Emmett orders. The dragonfly shape of the _Distraction_ dips low across the valley, the rope ladder dangling, almost dragging on the ground as the pilot maneuvers her around towards Lynden. "OK, let's get out of here."
    A minute or so later a truly spectacular explosion lights up half the valley. The flames silhouette the _Distraction_ as she takes off with speed, Lynden still dangling from the rope ladder for a moment before being hauled aboard.
    As the ship heads back toward town to pick up the rest of the crew, Lynden stabilizes the captive, gags him, and binds his arms and legs securely after removing the chain mail he's wearing -- something Lynden at least isn't used to seeing on anyone but a lord, given the expense -- a dagger, and two small bottles along with his pouch of spell components. He needs further attention but isn't going to die just yet. The prisoner appears to be in his early twenties. His clothes are richly made and feature elaborate embroidered borders in which red arrowhead designs figure prominently.
    Alais is already elbow-deep in the mechanical wolf, exclaiming to himself every few moments. Having done what he could for the prisoner and turned the interrogation over to those with experience in these matters, Lynden finds himself strangely drawn to the pseudo-creature, with an echo of that same electrical tingling. Without meaning to, the priest reaches out and puts a hand on the cold black metal, and if Alais had been paying any attention the wizard would have noticed a look of shock before Lynden faints.
    * * *
    Lynden perceives no gap in time between touching the metal thing and finding himself in a forest. The air has that particular luminous beauty you find on some days in late autumn; the sun is strong through the thinning leaves above him and the air crisp but not unpleasant.
    Before him is Gerik in his hybrid form, hundred-branched antlers rising above the head which is neither fully human nor animal in appearance -- though the eyes have a certain kinship with both. He stands on two legs, naked but for the sleek fur, in his right hand a silver-shafted spear; the left has a ring on every finger. Hunted and hunter, god of light and wielder of magics beyond mortal ken, he is also almost entirely transparent, his presence muted, perhaps out of consideration for the frailties of the human mind.
    "So. Priestess." It's hard to tell on that mouth, but it seems to be a smile. In the far distance, somewhere, a wolf howls. "You have well repaid my gamble these past several years. It is time for the next throw.
    "What you and these strangers have found here goes far beyond this world. The invader god is strong, and you have seen something of what awaits, but the spider* tells me this is but one battle of many. We will have new weapons here, in time, thanks to your example -- my father is stubborn as only the bear can be, but I think he will see the need. You have a part to play elsewhere, if you are willing."
    * * *
    There is still activity going on around the forge; it appears to be operational, and there are guards on all of the doors. The building does have windows, too high up in the wall for casual observers to see within. Climbing up the rough stone, ibn Fadil can see two distinct areas of effort. In one section, men are working at producing the weapons to be carried by the army Durrell clearly intends to let loose. In another, quieter part of the forge, a few men are tinkering with some sort of casting mold.
    Aware that time is slipping away, he gives up on the well-guarded forge as a target and moves on to one of the towers guarding the main gate, sending Michal to check out the other one. Climbing up a couple of levels and peeking into windows, it appears that this is where the majority of the men are housed, and in fair comfort for barracks life. Little wonder they swagger about town so.
    It looks as if Durrell has about a hundred men under arms here, maybe half of them cavalry, and stores enough already to field an army of thousands. With the forging capacity he has on hand and months yet before the snow is predicted to melt, by the time spring finally arrives on this bitter world he will be able to move in considerable force, and the artificers' spies and assassin-spiders -- and who knows what else -- should provide a tactical edge, at least while they remain largely secret.
    The assembled men are pouring out through the gate in good order; it's an easy matter for the spies to drift after them and then head into town themselves, toward the Emporium. Most of the men on horseback skirt the town to pound off toward the mountains, excepting only a few who remain behind to direct the others, who appear bent on conducting a far more thorough search than they had that afternoon -- only that afternoon? -- and as is often the case in such circumstances, "thorough" means noisy and violent, because how else can you prove you're taking this seriously?
    A guard who happened to be searching near the Emporium later reported this sequence of events: "I thought I saw the door move, like it opened, but it was shut tight when I went over to check so I figure it was a shadow or something. He's got a deuced good lock on there anyway, I hear. So I was *just* about to resume carrying out my orders as far as searching the cellars at Anvio's for spies and then this THING came swooping down over town. Looked like some kind of giant insect, or maybe a dragon, and I don't mind telling you that for a couple of seconds there everybody just kinda stared at it, 'til Sarge said to shoot it down, but the bolts just went off it like it had steel skin. They said it was a sky-ship like those other ones, but I ain't seen even a sky-ship looked anything like this thing. But I guess it was, 'cause a couple of ropes dropped over the side and some fellers came down 'em onto the roof, and then somebody opened a window and out pops *another* couple of fellers, and they have old Emil trussed up like a parcel, and then they all go the up the ropes. Somebody was shooting back at us by then, so I didn't really note which way it flew off. Been a damn strange day all around, I can say that."
    Meanwhile, on board that same sky-ship, the crew are assembled again. Emil Murphen is approaching middle age. Not a bad looking man but one who doesn't appear to be taking care of himself, he's on the tall side and skinny, with a bit of a pot belly and dark circles under his bloodshot eyes.
    "Not exactly the rescue I've been dreaming of, but I suppose it will do," he remarks, looking around at his captors. "I don't suppose there's anything to drink on this ship? And by the way, who are you lot?"
    

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