Herb Quest Pt. 03: Live to Ride

Live to Ride

Authors note:

This story is set two years after the events described in the story 'Prisoner of War', it takes place at the same time as 'Hunter.Hunted'

Prologue:

The human kingdoms of the south have prevailed against the invasion from the north.

The great coalition of Giants, Dire Wolves, Orc's, and Goblins was smashed by the valiant troops of the Eastern, Western and Middle realms in a series of battles.

None of it would have happened except for the bravery and tenacity of one lone warrior. Alice, a prisoner of war, who had escaped her captors and carried a message of warning to King Tonar of the Middle Realm. In turn, he laid plans with his fellow monarchs, King Patric to the east and Queen Bea to the west.

The decimated enemy fled northwards to their villages and strongholds to the north, fleeing back to the mountains from which they had come.

That should have been an end to the war. Alice was feted and rewarded and rightly acknowledged for her bravery. However, she like many subjects of the realms, had suffered greatly at the hands of the enemy. A return to the status quo was not sufficient and could not hope to quench the fires of revenge that burned in the breasts of so many.

There were other reasons why the conflict would continue. Many who had dwelt in the borderlands and had been taken prisoner during the conflict still remained unaccounted for. Friends and relatives, mothers, wives, husbands and sons all sought word of their loved ones. Failing that, they sought an accounting with those who stole them from their lives.

Many merchants, those who dealt in lumber, stone and precious minerals were also eager for troops to continue on to the Northlands. They believed that riches were to be made from the natural resources in the mountains and perhaps beyond them too. Lands that no human had yet set foot on.

There was one more reason. Something known to just a few, those who had heard Alice's tale directly from her lips. There was an herb, seemingly one that grew only in the North. To all accounts, one known to Giant kind alone, although this was speculation. This herb allowed the person who consumed it to ignore all pain. A useful drug. However, it also increased physical pleasure and lust a hundred-fold, and this was an item worth far more than its weight in gold. The discoverer of such an herb would be wealthy beyond imagination.

Alice, though questioned thoroughly, could give no description of the herb, having always received it through food and water. Other slaves rescued in the aftermath of the battle were also ignorant of the herb. The bodies of the slain giants on the battlefields also yielded no clues.

And so, bands of men and women, some in groups as large as a hundred, some just a lone warrior or hunter, set out from the Southern Kingdoms. They sought vengeance and money, cutting a path of blood for others to follow, a slowly creeping wave of humanity as the borderlands shifted ever northward.

Chapter 1:

Margo the Terramancer, Mistress of the arcane and skilled manipulator of earth magic rubbed her aching ass cheek as the wagon rumbled over a particularly rocky stretch of ground.

The merchant guild had hired her to assess the lands to the north of the Eastern Kingdoms. While many sought the mountains for riches, these merchants had decided to bypass the mountain range using ships. The idea was for Margo's expedition to chart the land beyond the mountain, identify mineral deposits (her speciality) and to identify prime sites for settlers seeking good arable land.

The expedition, two merchant ships in total, had sailed up along the coast for over two weeks before a navigable natural harbour had been found. Once the ships had unloaded their occupants, the captains were to wait in place for a month to allow for a preliminary reconnaissance to be completed.

Margo and two of her adepts occupied one horse drawn wagon, a simple but sturdy vehicle which had been fitted with a thin wooden screen and a canopy roof to allow the occupants some privacy. Three more wagons completed the train, filled with supplies and also transporting the two cartographers who were tasked with mapping the terrain. For security, a mercenary company of cavalry had been retained. All of them were former military and the hundred strong troop had a reputation for reliability and efficiency.

The magician winced once more as the wagon lurched again. Since the expedition had set out from the ships three days ago the land had remained flat, featureless and disappointingly free of any deposits that might encourage a mining enterprise. Also, the steppe, while covered in grass, had thin soil that would tax any farmer seeking to grow crops. It seemed like, for the moment at least, the guild would be disappointed by her findings.

As Margo readjusted her cushion on the hard wooden bench of the wagon, her generous body seeking a more comfortable position, she reflected that there had only been one upside so far to the trip. She peered out through the crack between two of the wooden screens to look at the young, handsome mercenary sergeant she had taken to her bed the last two nights. The young man seemed to sense her gaze, his face splitting in a grin as he regarded the wagon rumbling along to his left.

He had proved to be skilled, energetic and gifted with stamina. The thirty-year-old blonde mage had found her rounded soft flesh being pounded vigorously from first watch until just after the third watch had begun each night. As much as she had enjoyed the sex, she decided that tonight she would forgo the pleasure and instead, avail of a proper night's sleep instead. The rampant sex and the bone crunching passage of the wagon had exhausted her.

She was sure the young man had been greeted as a hero by his comrades as he returned to their campfires after each night's debauchery. Margo knew that her pale milky white bosom, all but spilling out of her low-cut gown, had been ogled by every man travelling with her. There wasn't a person in the camp who hadn't envied the young sergeant's good fortune. Well, there was one figure who no doubt had a frown on their features as Margo's cries of passion had sounded out from her tent, the commander of the cavalry troop.

As if her thoughts had conjured up a physical presence, Margo espied a lean rider trotting down the line of screening cavalry, the muted sounds of barked orders reaching the Mage's ears faintly. The commander rode his steed with a natural grace that would have identified them to Margo even before she could make out their face. Caryll, the mercenary company's leader, was something of a living legend. At least that was the opinion of the Sergeant she'd had rutting between her thighs. He and his comrades regarded their commander with something bordering on hero worship.

Caryll was a fierce woman with decades of experience behind her. She must have been forty years old but her lean body retained the fitness of a woman half her age. When she was twelve, freshly orphaned by a sickness that had swept her village, she'd apprenticed herself as a groom with a local militia. By sixteen she had already begun making a name for herself as a light cavalry scout for the same militia. A mercenary captain, forward thinking when it came to mixed gender in his troop, had poached her for his own company. By eighteen she was a sub commander in the same company, by twenty-two she had formed her own band.

The next eighteen years Caryll and her men had fought in virtually every battle and skirmish of note in the three kingdoms. On most occasions she had been on the winning side, and for those times when she had lost, her company had emerged virtually unscathed and with the respect of allies and foes both. In short, Caryll was a brilliant unit commander with experience, skill and a well-trained and competent company around her. Margo couldn't stand her. The feeling was mutual.

That said, the beautiful magician felt far better having someone like that as her bodyguard than she would ever admit.

An hour passed and the column slowed to a halt under the noon sun. A small number of low campfires were quickly erected while the majority of troopers tended to their mounts. Margo opened the screen door at the back of her wagon and stepped outside followed by her two adepts. She winced at the ache in her muscles, she spread her arms out wide in a long stretch. The sight of her magnificent bosom arced in this way caused one trooper to burn his hand as he fed fuel into a fire, his gaze locked onto her milky white flesh. Margo gave a small feral smile of pleasure at the sound of his pained whoop as the low fire singed his hand.

Margo paced slowly around the wagon, enjoying the feeling of walking after the confinement of the rude carriage she had suffered in these last days. After a short while one her Adepts presented her with a strong mug of coffee and some hard travel bread that had been warmed into something approaching softness beside one of the fires. Grimacing at the blandness of the fare, Margo forced herself to chew daintily at the ration, washing it down with the coffee afterwards.

She had just finished handing back the empty mug when she spotted Caryll striding towards her, the tall warrior looked somehow less ferocious minus her horse, though the slight bow-legged stride still spoke of hours a day in the saddle. Behind her trotted a nervous looking cartographer. She wore leather armour, preferring it to the heavier though safer mail or plate armour. Under one arm she carried her helmet, the shoulder length black hair on her head was plastered tight to her skull from the heat of the day. Caryll was what men would refer to as a handsome woman. Her wiry body and sharp face were a shade harsh for anyone to label her as beautiful. Her prominent curved nose beneath dark eyes, almost black in colour, had helped earn her the soubriquet 'Battle Hawk'.

As always Caryll approached Margo with the bare minimum of respect due to one of her station.

"Mage." she greeted Margo with a stiff nod instead of a bow.

"Commander." Margo returned the greeting, minus the nod. If the lack of courtesy on Margo's part annoyed Caryll, she didn't show it. Instead, she launched into the reason she had approached the Terramancer.

"Higgin's here." Caryll began, jerking a thumb in the direction of the cartographer who nervously palmed a roll of maps from hand to hand, eyes fixed on his own feet.

"Higgin's wants us to strike east of our current position. There is a small group of hills reported by my scouts, the only elevated ground we've seen since landing. He wants to map them, get a better view of the surrounding terrain from their slopes. Any objections?" Caryll queried.

"None Commander, these steppes have been disappointing from a mission point of view, perhaps the hills will provide us with some hope." Margo closed her eyes and reached out with her senses. She opted first to scry for any metal deposits. Like a pebble in a flat body of water, her senses rippled out in all directions. At her level of power, she would be able to detect any significant metal, from ore to smelted steel, up to five miles away.

At first all she sensed was the steel weapons, armour and iron shod horses around her, then this passed as she looked further afield. She kept her main focus on the East but a small blip in her scrying made her concentrate on the North. Margo opened her eyes and looked at Caryll.

"Commander, I think we may have visitors approaching."

Caryll's outriders confirmed what Margo had picked up on, a fast-moving group, most likely riders, on an intercept course with their camp. The company commander didn't appear worried, if anything she seemed to perk up at the news. Caryll swung herself up into her saddle and turned to her subcommanders.

"Signal all scouts to return. Lancers to form at the centre, horse archers on each wing." Caryll glanced towards the four wagons behind her and added, "Detach ten archers to take up covering positions on the wagons."

Her men moved off immediately to relay her commands. Caryll pulled out a brass bound telescope from her saddle bag and pressed it to her eye. The chest high grass of the steppe didn't help matters but she could make out figures now, their height and speed marking them as cavalry for sure. She guessed they were riding some sort of steppe pony as she couldn't spot the steeds heads through the grass. That was something at least, her more powerful horses would have an advantage there. Closing the telescope and putting it away Caryll mused that they would need any advantage they could get. From what she could spot they were outnumbered at least three to one.

Caryll glanced again towards the wagons. She could see the 'fat mage' as she thought of Margo, now standing on the driver's seat of the wagon, two hands tracing arcane symbols in the air. There was an audible 'whump' and Caryll felt pressure on her ear drums for a moment. Then, like a giant had swept a hand across the land, the grass towards the north, two hundred metres wide and four hundred metres deep just flattened to the ground. Caryll now had a good killing ground for her men to work with. She raised a fist to her leather breastplate and thumped it in salute to Margo.

She focused again on her front, waiting on the enemy to arrive, if indeed they were hostile. This far north, after the war and every instinct she'd honed over the years, she had no doubt that the force approaching her was hostile. Caryll checked the small buckler on her left arm, making sure it was tight and then she drew her curved sabre. She heeled her mare into motion, trotting along behind her men. "Right lads, the vacation is over. Hope you all enjoyed the sights because now we earn our silver." The chuckles and grunts that came in answer settled her nerves, her men were confident and ready.

Caryll had just reached the centre of her lines when a roar from a multitude of throats made her swing her head to the killing ground. Bursting from the long grasses, the enemy sped from cover. The riders clutched a variety of weapons, knives, cudgels, bows and axes but by far the most common weapon appeared to be spears. Her earlier estimation of three to one odds seemed to be wrong, it looked closer to five to one. It wasn't the odds though that made her blanch, that made each and every made utter a curse or plea to the Gods. It was the enemy themselves; this wasn't a bunch of men riding ponies, this was a foe from fables and legend, a horde of centaurs.

"Archers, loose!" Caryll screamed.

From her perch on the wagons, Margo found herself stunned into inactivity by the sight of the centaurs rushing in a disorganised mob towards the thin line of mercenary cavalry. She heard Caryll's command and watched as the first flight of arrows plunged into the mass of flesh hurtling towards them. A second flight, then a third was launched in seconds. Centaurs fell, some dead, some wounded but all trampled by their comrades who pushed on despite the deadly rain. The Mage watched as Caryll launched her own counter change, lancers galloping towards the centaurs, Caryll herself forming the point of the spear. As the comrades charged, the horse archers switched to shooting higher, dropping their missiles into the centre of the enemy's formation so as not to hit their own men.

Margo continued to watch. She wasn't a battle mage, but she had power and used correctly she could swing this battle to victory. It was all about selecting her time. A battle mage could have picked individual targets in the middle of a melee and strike them down with no harm to their own. Margo didn't have that focus or precision, her spells would be brute force attacks and so she had to judge it right. Her vantage point allowed her to see a large group of centaurs breaking off and swinging around to one side, seeking to flank Caryll's forces.

As soon as this new group appeared from the high grass Margo let go of a spell with a grunt of effort, an Adept grabbing her leg to stop her falling from the wagon. The ground that the centaurs rode on suddenly blew apart. Lumps of earth, rock and shale tore themselves from the ground, rocketing into the air and taking at least a score of the centaurs with them.

"What goes up..." Margo said softly.

The same debris then rained back down on the panicked group of centaurs, another dozen or more finding themselves clubbed to the ground by a rain of earth and body parts.

There was a cheer from the archers on the wagons with her as they loosened their own shafts at the centaurs. Someone among the centaurs though had the intelligence to realise that the devastating attack had come from the direction of the wagons. No doubt the cheers and Margo's dramatic pose atop a wagon had helped clue them in. So now what remained of the flanking attack switched its attention from Caryll's position and instead, roaring in anger, headed directly towards Margo.

A quick cantrip and a series of tiny tornadoes were throwing up dust and dirt between the centaurs and her. That stopped the enemy firing at them but it almost prevented the archers with her from firing at the centaurs. Despite the wind and concealing dust, a few wobbling spears plunged ahead of the centaurs, all but one failing to find a target. The one that did, caught the cartographer Higgins in the throat as he cowered behind the wheel of a wagon. And then the centaurs were through the dust, many of them half blinded, pawing at the gritty film in their eyes as they charged forwards. There was a twang of bow strings and the first centaurs through dropped, arrow shafts deep in their human chests.

At this range Margo could see they were a mix of male and female, some bare chested, others wearing rough leather or skins. The weapons were crude but effective, more likely used to hunt than to make war. From the waist up they were human, despite the faces contorted in rage, pain or fear, they were clearly human. But from the waist down, it was all horse. Black, Greys, Chestnuts, Bays, Pinto's and Piebald's. There wasn't any uniformity to them, as individual as any human.

Margo pulled a boulder up from the earth and sent it flying left to right through the charging centaurs. Nine of them were flattened and killed. She brought it back again, this time right to left and seven more had the life torn from them. She was perspiring now from the effort of so much magic so quickly. She paused to blink a bead of sweat from her eyes before making a third pass with the boulder when something struck her high on the left causing to spin to one side.

An arrow had thumped into her shoulder, passing straight through her flesh before striking bone. Margo had cast a cantrip before the battle, one that allowed her to keep her mind free from external stimuli, pain included. Despite this though, the sight of an arrow sticking out of her body broke her concentration and the boulder thumped to the ground as she lost her focus.

"Mistress!", one of her adepts gave out a high-pitched scream of warning.

Too late.

A second arrow, a pause, a third arrow and then the fourth and fifth arrows simultaneously. All striking Margo. She slumped over backwards, blonde hair billowing out behind her, crude wooden arrows jutting from her once flawless breasts. A trickle of blood escaped from between her full ruby red lips and Margo the Terramancer was dead.

Chapter Two:

Caryll had wheeled her lancers back, the explosion of earth of their flank had disorientated the centaurs for a moment and she had taken advantage of that to break away and take stock.

At least twelve of her men were dead, minus the men at the wagons that left her with maybe eighty mounted troops right now. The enemies' losses had been grievous. Margo appeared to have killed near forty of them and her own men had killed another fifty at least. That still left four hundred or more centaurs facing off against them though. Caryll was weighing up her options when a roar of victory from the flank reached her. The centaurs there were cheering, spears pumping into the air. Caryll could clearly see Margo's body, pierced by arrows, lying on the driver's seat.