The Fellowship of the Fourth Age (Part 1): A New Beginning RPG

[Durelin]

Khamir

It was like no rush Khamir had ever felt, as the trembling in his limbs matched the rumbling of hooves. He caught only glimpses of the riders before they were completely swallowed by the dust, squinting through a small gap in the cloth that protected his face. Blind, the fighters charged in, though he had to scream at Hadith to get the man’s legs working. He was not angry at the boy, nor did he think less of him. But he had to get him moving somehow. Hadith simply obeyed it like a command, and Khamir was grateful. Adnan remained at his right, and would guard the man’s armless side, if all went well. And the one-armed man would not let Adnan out of his sight, if not for that reason.

There were screams, human and not: for moments those were their only targets. But soon some came into view, in and around the collapsed tunnel were men and beasts sprawled out, still or struggling, trying to reorient themselves or simply try to stay alive. Khamir broke off to one side with the rest of those in the rear, to meet what lay in wait in the cloud of dirt. The sand stung his skin, little pinpricks of fire all over his body. He could almost feel it lashing against the arm that was not there, like an itch that would not go away. It had been years since he felt something like that...it renewed his anger. His long hunting knife was drawn, and his smaller throwing knives were at the ready.

Suddenly, as they reached the trenches, Adnan disappeared from his side. Khamir whipped around. The boy had been grabbed by the leg and pulled down. The slaver had let go of him in order to get up, but in a heartbeat Khamir was on him. He tackled the man, regardless of the pain it caused his mostly unprotected body on the armour, and struggled with him, using his legs to try and pin him just long enough... There was a flash of silver that came dangerously close to Khamir’s stomach, but it dropped with a clank as Adnan suddenly drove his knife into the Easterling’s arm that held it. With an angry growl, the slaver allowed his head to fall back as he tried to heave Khamir off, and the Southron saw his opening, sliding his blade across the man’s unprotected neck. Immediately rising to leave the body, Khamir found Adnan already on his feet again, staring down at the dead Easterling. The one-armed man thought he saw a smile in the younger man’s eyes, but he would not believe much of anything he saw in this wind.

But even in the low visibility, what he could see of the slavers and the trenches made him feel uneasy. They did not all fall to the trap. But there was no one on horseback in his line of sight. The count had been at least two-dozen. Where were they? A sudden, dreadful thought fell over him. These slavers, though proud, were not stupid. They had proved cunning enough the first night they attacked, whether or not the slaves had been an easy target. Their leader had to know that though they were technically outnumbered, they actually out-manned the slaves. And, if he had expected any sort of defense, he had to know they did not have enough to spread their forces. But he did...

“Fall back with me!” he called to those on this end of the trench and tunnel, but only three out of the six in the rear came to him, everyone’s eyes darting from left to right and back, watching each other’s backs. Khamir’s eyes darted around, but the thought of his own life or the lives of any present was quite out of his head. Now where had that boy gotten to? Something turned sour in his stomach, and his voice had lost its feeling of command. “Where is Adnan? Has anybody seen Adnan?”

“I think Tareef is gone, as well,” someone said, but Khamir did not really hear.

“I fear we have hardly won the battle. I think something is amiss, and I fear for the lives of the women and children.”

“You mean…” one of the men, Nasim, asked in a rush of air, “from behind?” Khamir nodded. “Come on!” Nasim shouted, and took off toward where he knew those who could not fight lay unprotected. The others followed him. Khamir’s heart was split in two. He trusted the other men, but he knew every man they could spare should return to the women and children. But he also did not know where Adnan was. After a moment of hesitation, he wound his way toward the tunnel, checking the ground and checking the bodies. His hopes were raised each time he saw one that was not Adnan.

Finally he found the boy, kneeling at the edge of the collapsed tunnel, near its end. He was digging. Immediately Khamir rushed towards him to grab him. The man was prepared to berate him when he noticed several gashes, one on his cheek, one on his chest, another on his wrist… When Adnan stopped digging for a moment to look at the older man, Khamir caught a glimpse of the boy’s hands, and he saw that blood mixed with the dirt on the left one. Two of his fingers were missing. The body of an Easterling behind the boy was explanation enough. Khamir could only stare, and he tore his eyes away from the boy only to find them glued to the dead body. Its throat, arms, hands, and face were all bloodied almost beyond recognition. The Southron man knew it had not been the struggle that had caused that.

Turning back to Adnan, his face grave, he found the young man digging again, and with another blink he was cognizant enough to see that he was digging up a body. A glimpse of red hair, and Khamir’s hands plunged into the dirt, as well. Vrór! What had he done? When the Dwarf was at least partially uncovered, Khamir and Adnan each grabbed one of his arms and pulled with all their might. Slowly he loosened from the earth, and from there they took their time dragging him out further.

Vrór was obviously unconscious, and once they had him almost completely out of the trench, Khamir began to fear the worst. He made sure the cloth covered the Dwarf’s face well, and tied it around his head to protect a wound to his head from even more sand and dust. Then, tearing off pieces from the ragged shirt that protected his torso from the elements, he proceeded to quickly wrap Adnan’s hand, and then roughly cover the worst of his other cuts. It was obvious the boy was in real pain, though he did not show it: he did not argue in the least as Khamir took care of him.