Hannah and Tara were no longer at each other's throats, but they wouldn't consider each other friends. They kept their distance as they trekked away from the camp, leaving the bodies where they lay. They stopped at midday, at a river, partly to wash, and partly to rest.
Richard had blushed when Tara had stripped off the rags she had been wearing, stained with blood and dirt. She now, after a bath in the river, wore looted Saderna clothing. It was better than going naked, as much as seeing Richard's reactions were funny, but she found the clothing too loose for her liking. A belt tied around her waist helped.
Hannah had done the same but kept herself on the opposite bank. Richard had been third, stripping off all his armour had taken a while, and he had needed Tara's help to put it back on in a timely manner. The clothing he wore underneath was strange, stained as it was with sweat. Some strange emblem on it, a human with a strange sword, holding it above his head, while a female leaned against him. A golden man behind them to the left, with some strange blue and white object. Behind them, a black mask was in the starry sky. There was some strange grey circle or sphere in the corner, and many strange objects seemed to be moving toward it. There was writing, similar to the Saderan's, but the language was too different for her to even make an attempt at reading.
The elves had been last, while they kept watch.
Tara found the noises they kept making to be very distracting, apparently, they were lovers.
To distract herself, she tried to continue teaching Richard.
"Through."
She drew arrows and shapes, naming them, the movements. He taught her his words for the same. Some were obvious in their similarity, such as triangle, others, she suspected, were words from another language, that had merged over time, making things difficult.
"How… you deal with…" Richard struggled to find or remember the word. After a moment, he drew a picture in the dirt.
"How do I deal with the killing?" Tara spoke slowly and clearly. "Honestly, I… its not fun. I don't enjoy it. But… it has to be done."
She shrugged.
Richard nodded. He had his helmet off, and it took her a moment to realise he was crying.
She didn't say anything, and just started doing her best to comfort him with a hug. They stayed like that for several minutes, Tara remembering her own night terrors, waking form nightmares where she had been the one on the receiving end of the blow, and being comforted by her mother. She felt her throat and eyes burn, remembering finding her mother dead, another tribe's knife buried in her skull.
Any further emotional moments were cut short when Hannah bound across the river.
"Small group of soldiers, eight by my count, with twelve prisoners. Escaped slaves and deserters, I think. Headed this way." She said in a rushed tone. Elmorna and Kenwen hauled themselves from the water and began dressing quickly. "We have some time, should we run?"
"Soldiers? Slaves?" There was a dark look in Richard's eyes.
"Yes, soldiers and slaves." Hannah repeated.
Richard stepped away from Tara, and picked up his helmet, securing it in place. He fastened the sword to his back and tested the edge.
"Fight."
"These aren't wounded and demoralised solders, they are…" Hannah started.
"Tired from a march, and from watching more prisoners than they can easily handle. We jump them, take out two or three, and the numbers are much more even, especially with the looted weapons and armour we took." Tara interrupted.
"Well, at least you have some fight in you, when it's a fight we should avoid." Hannah snarked. "What about you two?"
The elves paused in their efforts to buckle the armour into place and shared a look.
"We probably have better odds of reaching the gate as a group, since we will probably need to fight the guard." Kenwen began.
"Besides, they will probably notice all the footprints in the river. I can handle the grass and dirt, but that is beyond me." Elmorna finished. "We fight."
Hannah shrugged.
"Fine." She shook her head. "Been too long since I spilt blood in an actual battle anyway."
Captain, acting-Major, Johnson gave a muffled yawn. The briefing had so far been a waste of time. They already knew the US-Canada wargames had been cancelled, what, with the faux-Roman invasion. The science types had been talking on and on about things either above his head or stating the obvious. There were obviously humans on the other side, and who cared of current science said the wyverns couldn't fly, they clearly could.
"In short, small arms are deflected at long range by the scales. Short range rifle rounds should penetrate, and the wings membrane is not as heavily protected." The Lt. assisting the scientist summarised. "If you see one on the ground that is injured, do not approach. We would prefer as many live samples as possible, but it you need to kill it to avoid unnecessary risk, do so."
With that, the second to last scientist left. The Lt. shuffled his notes.
The last scientist had been the leader, some local professor that had volunteered right at the start, and thus made her the senior expert on the invaders.
"I'll keep it brief. Languages are hard, especially ones that are unfamiliar. It has only been a few days, so our initial efforts are still ongoing. The invader's language does appear to be Latin based, so we have a much better starting point than we would have otherwise had. A basic phrasebook is, I believe being worked on…" She glanced at the Lt. who nodded. "However, I don't know when it will be distributed. I'll leave that to your logistics officers."
Johnson blinked. Apparently, that would be a short brief. The general stood up and took the podium.
"Its been four days, and we have confirmed reports of our people being taken to the other side. We will be going in after them. We will bring them home." He said. "One last thing. There are reports of 'mages' among the enemy. We have no confirmed sightings, but we have evidence of them having some form of weapon, deployable by a single person, that can damage armoured vehicles. If you see anything like it, either in mopping up the forces that had tried to go to ground, or in the coming assault, report it, and try to capture them, if possible. This is a complete unknown, and we need more intel, but do not throw lives away."
"Any questions?"
"There were concerns of gravitational differences affecting our artillery, any news when we will get updated formulas and intel on that?" An officer from one of the artillery units asked.
"Nothing confirmed yet, as gravity appears to be very close to Earth's, on the other side." The general said. "Any other questions?"
Count Arruns found himself fuming again, as he stood over the remains of the camp he had left behind.
"Crafty bastard." His friend muttered.
With their much lower numbers, they had decided to link up with the force they left behind and pool their recourses. They had marched through the day and night, arriving midday of the next day, only to find the camp in ruins, all but one-man dead. Most slain in their sleep.
The lone survivor had a shallow gash along his throat and had been able to hold it tight enough to keep from bleeding out too quickly, hoping that help arrived. He would be dead by nightfall.
But his words had told them what had happened, if not in detail.
Traps had been used to wound and bleed them. And as they slept, as a greatly depleted force, they had been slaughtered in the dawn. He had seen two Warrior Bunnies, two elves, one probably a druid, and the Knight.
"Centurion. I want their trail found. We move through the night."
Amullius winced.
"Sire… I'm not sure that is a good idea. The men are already tired, and if we attack them, or stumble across more traps…" He trailed off.
The Count shook his head.
"The sooner we find him, the sooner we can get our people out of the Senator's hellhole." He sighed. "But I am no fool, my friend. You are right. We won't engage, and we will move slow enough to check for traps."
He glanced at the slowly dying soldier. The Count kneeled next to him.
"Emroy's realm, or will you accompany us in your final moments?"
The soldier tried to grab the Count's sword.
He unsheathed it for his dying comrade, and put it in the soldier's fist, laying both on the dying man's breast.
"You family will be looked after." The Count swore. "You… lost your wife, some years ago. But you children still live. I will adopt them."
The soldier nodded and released his hand from his neck.
The Count and his men stood in silence for several minutes.
"We bury the bodies, and then we move." He ordered.