The Farrow Ridges

Back on board the Varis Lodd, I reflected on the five days since I’d set out on my mission. Thanks to Garulus Borg, the new High Professor of Flight, everything has finally come good. Not only did he pledge support for the Farrow Lake settlers, but he kept to his word and dispatched a force of forty Freeglade Lancers to help defend the Farrow Lake militia against the enemy forces.

I say forty. In fact there were thirty-nine. The fortieth was yours truly, clad in a green topcoat, armed with a lance and twin phraxpistols and seated astride a great skewbald prowlgrin by the name of Benefix. Together with the rest of the cavalry, I waited on the lower deck of the Varis Lodd, which had been set aside for the purpose of transporting us from Great Glade to Farrow Lake.

I confess I was anxious. Having fought at the Midwood Marshes, I knew the horrors of warfare. But that wasn’t all. You see, I’d never ridden a prowlgrin before and, although my fellow lancers assured me that there was nothing to it – that the prowlgrins themselves did all the work – I remained uncertain. Then again, I would not shirk my duty. I didn’t know if we would win or lose the battle, but whatever happened, I would play my part.

It was late afternoon when we got our first sighting of the Farrow Lake. From afar, it gleamed like a flawless opal in a setting of green. As we approached, however, the devastation wreaked upon my beloved home became clear for all to see. Great swathes of the Western Woods had been flattened by phraxcannon, leaving felled trunks and jagged treestumps. The landing-platform at the Needles had been destroyed; the levels were pockmarked and strewn with the bodies of the fallen.

I put my spyglass to my eye and surveyed the terrible scene. The Farrow Lake militia must have taken a terrible pounding. I saw no more than a handful of valiant souls, holed up in the trenches on the eastern lakeshore and clearly exhausted. By contrast, Felvis Yellowman’s troops – phraxmusketeers holding positions to the south, and cannoneers dug in near the phraxcannons on the far side of the lake – looked poised for the final assault.

The battle seemed all but over, yet our commander, Leb Whiteraven, a grizzled fourthling and veteran of many a successful battle, had other ideas. As the captain of the Varis Lodd steered a course round Farrow Lake and brought us down to the forest above High Farrow, the commander walked among us, issuing commands. Half of us were to advance from the north. The rest would take out the cannoneers and seize control of the phraxcannon. Then the hull of the sky tavern grazed the tops of the trees, and the order to disembark went up.

‘By Earth and Sky,’ Whiteraven shouted out across the deck, ‘and the honour of Great Glade! Troops… attack!‘

The prowlgrins kicked off on powerful back legs, leaping from the deck and down to the trees below. I watched the other lancers, thinking how effortless they made it look, when Benefix suddenly kicked off and joined the rest. My stomach lurched and I’m ashamed to say I cried out as I found myself plummeting down through the air. I needn’t have worried. Just as I’d been promised, Benefix took control, leaping from branch to branch of the forest, then boulder to boulder as we descended from High Farrow to Midridge, and down to the battlefield below. All I had to do was hold on.

We split up close to the forest floor. I was part of the force that was to take the phraxcannon. We were advancing stealthily through the trees when a loud cry went up. We’d been spotted! The next moment, the air exploded with flashing and crashing as phraxcannon and phraxmuskets were aimed at us, and fired. There were casualties. A lancer to my left was struck, knocked from his mount and fell to the forest floor below; ahead of me, a prowlgrin roared with pain as its belly was torn apart…

Yet the lancers pressed on undeterred, agile, fleet of foot, as they leaped through the forest branches. Up ahead, the phraxcannon came into view. One of them had been destroyed, but the other two were armed and ready for action. I was relieved to see that there were no more than half a dozen cloddertrog gunners operating them. We outnumbered them three to one. From far behind us, I heard bloodcurdling cries and, as the sound of phraxfire faded, I knew the well-disciplined and expertly trained troopers of the Freeglade Lancers were routing the enemy. My heart soaring, I gripped my lance in one hand and Benefix’s reins in the other as the noble creature crashed down through the branches towards the phraxcannon.

The cloddertrogs never stood a chance. One after the other, they were killed by the lancers, who sprang this way and that, picking them off with expert lunges of their lethal blackwood lances. Within minutes, the phraxcannon were ours. Benefix landed on the ground, and I was about to dismount when something caught my eye – the flash of black and silver of an enemy soldier fleeing into the trees.

I tugged the reins and Benefix and I galloped after him. He soon realized that he couldn’t outrun us, and he turned and drew a brutal looking scimitar. I looked at the scarred face of my adversary, with his broad shoulders and long yellow hair. This, I realized, was none other than Felvis Yellowmane himself.

‘Give yourself up!’ I told him.

The long-haired goblin sneered, roared and barrelled towards me, his scimitar raised. Shocked, I froze. The scimitar whistled down through the air. I was about to be sliced in two, when Benefix leaped vertically from the ground, avoiding the flashing blade, and soaring high in the air over Yellowman’s head. The long-hair turned and levelled a phraxpistol at us.

As Benefix landed, I gripped my lance with both hands and, with all my force, thrust it into Yellowman’s treacherous heart. With a throaty gurgle, the leader of the mire-pearlers sank to his knees, then toppled forward and lay still.

Felvis Yellowmane was dead! And our settlement was saved! I was about to return to my fellow lancers when I heard a soft groaning sound. I dismounted and followed the noise – and saw a dead prowlgrin, its rider lying next to it.

It was my friend, Forden Drew, the right side of his topcoat covered in blood. He must have heard me as I crouched down next to him, for he looked up, the expression on his face changing from fear to relief as he recognized me.

‘Don’t try to speak, Forden,’ I said. ‘The war is over!’ I smiled. ‘And we’ve won…’

The fires caused by the phraxcannon raged along High Farrow for most of the night until, just before dawn, a heavy rain began to fall. When it cleared, a heavy mist enveloped the Eastern Woods and lay across the Farrow Lake like a tilderdown blanket.

Fennith and his webfoot companions had taken Alcestia on board the phraxmarine the night before and transported her, along with our worst casualties, to the stalactite forest in the Water Caverns. When he returned, he tried to put on a brave face, but his crest glowed a mournful blue as he reassured me that Alcestia was receiving the best care the white trogs could provide.

‘We must force ourselves to concentrate on the fight that lies ahead,’ said the Roost Marshal when I joined him in the trench just as dawn was breaking. ‘Take what is left of Alcestia’s troop and combine it with yours, Forden,’ he instructed, ‘and then set off round the lake to the north around the enemy’s flank, and hunt down those phraxcannon of theirs.’

‘They’ll be well defended,’ I cautioned.

The Roost Marshall nodded. ‘Do what you can, Forden, lad, and I’ll try to hold the line here for as long as I can. Fog or no fog, I fear they’ll launch a full-frontal assault before midday.’

Promising to do my utmost, I left the trench and gathered the prowlgrin cavalry in the woods to the north. My troop numbered twelve, Alcestia’s a mere six, and the travails of yesterday’s fight sat heavily upon us all. But we were determined not to give up. We would sell our lives dearly for the cause of Farrow Lake freedom.

‘It’s down to us, lads,’ I announced as our ragged formation took to the trees. ‘We can’t expect any help from elsewhere.’

As I spoke, the first deadly volleys from the phraxcannon started up and, to the south of us, we could hear the phraxshells landing in our positions.

By mid morning we’d scouted round the enemy’s flank and picked off a party of fourthlings carrying supplies back to their positons. It was a brief fight, my prowlgrins leaping over the treetops and firing down into the midst of the enemy, who threw down their weapons and fled to their camp.

Unfortunately, that meant that Felvis Yellowman’s forces were now alerted to our presence and, as we regrouped and pressed on, we were suddenly confronted by a hail of phraxmusket fire coming up from the forest floor.

Five of our brave troopers and their prowlgrin fell, before we were able to find safety in a tall ironwood stand deep in the Eastern Woods, behind the enemy lines. We sheltered here until mid afternoon, licking our wounds and preparing for what we knew would be our last attack. Our ammunition was all but gone, our prowlgrins exhausted, and the enemy was alerted and waiting for us. It was then that Twill, an old treegoblin from Alcestia’s troop and a veteran of the Hive Militia, had an idea.

‘Since we’re almost out of ammunition, Captain,’ he said to me, as the thirteen of us stood beside our prowlgrins on the massive branch of an ironwood pine, ‘why don’t we avail ourselves of nature’s natural destructiveness – namely the pine-cones all around us. If we take ‘em, one between two troopers, and set ‘em alight, we can bowl them down at the enemy as we charge. What d’ya say, Captain?’

I clapped the old tree goblin on the back. It was an inspired idea. The resin in the pine-cones would burn fiercely, and who knows what damage they might cause if they landed on a fully-loaded phraxcannon?

We set to work immediately, making makeshift slings to carry the massive pine-cones between pairs of prowlgrins. The troopers each broke switches from the branches and dipped them in the pine resin that oozed from the bark of the ironwood pine, making ready-made torches. Then we set off towards the thunderous sound of the phraxcannon.

An hour later, we found them in a clearing on Midridge, their muzzles pointed down at our positions in front of Farrow Lake. It only took a glance to tell me that the Roost Marshal and our militia had taken a terrible pounding. I signalled to my troopers to light their torches and then to charge the phraxcannon.

As we surged down from the treetops and bounded across the clearing, a phalanx of enemy infantry guarding the cannon turned their phraxmuskets on us and fired. In the hail of bullets, I saw four pairs of troopers go down, the pine-cones they carried thudding uselessly to the ground. That left two pairs, and me. In the hopes of distracting the enemy, I lit the torch I carried and urged Lemquinx to leap out in front, yelling at the top of my lungs as I did so.

Behind me, the two pairs of troopers lit their pine-cones and leaped high into the air. As they released their flaming missiles, the air around me buzzed with flying bullets, and I felt an excruciating pain in my side.

Moments later I was falling to earth, as a brilliant explosion enveloped the clearing. Then I hit the ground, and everything went black…

It was with a heavy heart that I headed for the debating chamber of the Great Glade Academy the following day. My mission looked doomed to failure. Luggins, my loyal friend, was dead, murdered by a waif assassin, and I knew from Threnodesse’s edgy demeanour over breakfast that more treachery lay in store. Despite my questions, though, she was giving nothing away.

All at once she pushed back her bowl of honeybroth and jumped to her feet. ‘I have an important matter to attend to, Hedgethorn,’ she told me. ‘I will see you there.’ And with that, she was gone.

So it was that, later that morning, I approached the palatial building alone – and also unarmed, since weapons were strictly forbidden inside the chamber. I was climbing the marble steps of the academy, my head full of what I would tell the assembled council, when all at once a great paw of a hand reached out from behind a pillar, seized my arm and dragged me back into the shadows.

‘Forgive me, friend,’ came a voice, close to my ear. ‘I mean you no harm.’

I looked round to find myself confronted by a hefty-looking cloddertrog in the robes of high office. ‘What can I do for you, friend?’ I asked. ‘Only I’m in rather a hurry…’

‘Sssh!’ he hissed, glancing round anxiously. ‘I know who you are. And I know why you’re here,’ he added, his voice a low whisper. ‘Your waif companion, Threnodess, has explained everything to me. I am here to help.’

‘Threnodesse?’ I whispered back. ‘But… Who are you?’

‘My name is Garulus Borg,’ he told me. ‘I am the Deputy High Professor of Flight.’ He reached inside the folds of his voluminous gown and produced a barkscroll. ‘I thought that this might be of interest,’ he said.

I unrolled the scroll and scanned its contents. It was a business letter, but my heart quickened when I saw who it was addressed to. I looked up, intending to ask what it signified, only to find that Garulus Borg had slipped away. I was on my own again.

The High Council meeting was in session by the time I finally entered the chamber. Quove Lentis himself was at the podium, holding forth, a look of insufferable smugness on his fleshy face.

‘Sadly, details of the incursion at the Farrow Ridges are scant,’ he was saying. ‘One of their emissaries was meant to be at this meeting to explain all. It seems he has decided not to grace us with his presence, which, given the enormity of the situation, I find difficult to comprehend…’

And then he saw me. His jaw dropped and the colour drained from his face. Sweat beaded his brow. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost. Then, realizing that everyone was beginning to stare, he gathered himself and continued.

‘Of course, the smaller towns of the Edge shall grow independently. We all agree that there shall be no interference from outside. Their inhabitants shall be free. We in the Academyof Flight hold these truths to be self-evident…’

I had heard enough. ‘Then why,’ I shouted, leaping to my feet and branding the barkscroll, ‘would Commander Felvis Yellowmane of the so-called Farrow Lake Company write a letter to his boss confirming the receipt of three phraxcannon, and predicting healthy profits from dredging the Farrow Lake and annexing the Water Caverns?’

A gasp echoed round the chamber and all eyes fell on me. Quove Lentis turned a deep shade of red. ‘You… I…’ he blustered. ‘Guards, arrest this intruder!’

There was sudden uproad. Council members were shouting. Guards came running. But I was not done. I raised my hand.

‘The letter is addressed to…’ I paused and looked down at the barkscroll in my hand. A hush fell. ‘To Quove Lentis,’ I announced, ‘High Professor of Flight!’

Seeing the game was up, the professor gathered up his robes and tried to make a run for it. He didn’t get far. The guards seized him roughly as Garulus Borg strode forward and took the podium.

‘I understand your dismay,’ he told the assembled gathering, ‘but I promise you, Quove Lentis will face trial and will pay for bringing dishonour to the Great Glade Council. Guards, take him to the cells.’ As the clamour subsided, he turned to me. ‘Hedgethorn Lammergyre,’ he said, ‘on behalf of the Great Glade Council, I pledge unequivocal support for the settlers at the outpost of the Farrow Ridges.’

‘Talk is cheap,’ I said, looking at him levelly. ‘What the Farrow Lake Militia needs right now is help.’ I turned to the upturned faces of the council members all around. ‘If it isn’t already too late.’

The phraxcannon opened up at dawn, firing a deadly hail of phraxshells at the infantry of the Farrow Lake Militia in the centre of our lines. They were well dug in near the treeline that fringed the lakeshore, but even so, the carnage was terrible to behold.

I had positioned my troop of prowlgrin cavalry on the left in high copperwood trees that afforded us a fine view of the battlefield. The Roost Marshal had given me orders to defend the infantry’s flank from an attack he believed would come from the enemies’ forces to the north of the lake. But as I sat on Lemquinx, my faithful prowlgrin, and looked down at the lakeshore, I felt a sense of helplessness as the explosions threw up great clouds of steam and clods of lake mud.

By mid morning, the phraxcannon had fallen silent, and as the steam began to clear, I saw the full extent of the havoc those terrible weapons had wrought on the brave Farrow Lake Militia. The white trogs of the caverns had thrown up impressive earthworks – deep trenches and mud embankments, but these had taken a fearful pounding.

As Lemquinx shuddered and snorted with unease beneath me, I trained my spyglass on our centre. Twenty or so brave hammerhead goblins of the militia lay by the lakeshore like discarded dolls of young’uns, the pale lake mud stained vivid red with their blood. The main trench was still intact, but the embankments on either side had collapsed, laying the infantry sheltering in the earthworks open to a flank attack.

My worst fears were realized as, at around midday, with fearful cries and warlike whoops, the mass of Felvis Yellowmane’s forces emerged from the forest and charged for the ruined embankment to the left of the trenches. Despite my orders to keep my position guarding the left flank, I realized that I had to act, or the courageous Farrow Lake Infantry would be massacred in their trenches. I signalled to my troop to prepare to charge on my order, and drew my phraxpistols from their holsters.

The enemy – a screaming horde of the worst tavern brawlers, assassins and thieves Great Glade had to offer – reached the embankment and started scrambling into our trenches. Our infantry, already stunned and demoralized from the fire of the phraxcannon, began to fall back in confusion.

‘Charge!’

The order left my lips seconds before Lemquinx hurled us both forwards on those powerful legs of his, and pitched us into the seething, broiling heart of the fight. Behind me, the air filled with the battle cry of the Farrow Lake Cavalry.

‘Death or glory!’ ‘Death of glory!’ ‘Death or glory!’

As Lemquinx landed on top of the ruined embankment, I trained my phraxpistols on the backs of the attacking enemy and fired. Around me, the twenty troopers of my command did the same. Five massive cloddertrogs bedecked in glowing lamps, with evil looking scimitars clutched in their massive fists, fell at our feet as our prowlgrins leaped once again high into the steam-filled air. As we landed in the trench we fired another volley and a phalanx of begrimed fourthlings in muddy topcoats crumpled to the ground, crimson blooms erupting on their chests.

Now it was the enemies’ turn to break and run, our murderous hail of phraxbullets scything them down by the score. The Farrow Lake Infantry rallied and returned to the trenches as the enemy fled, and I was confronted by the concerned face of the Roost Marshall.

‘I fear they were just testing us out, Forden,’ he gasped, deathly pale as his eyes turned to the south. ‘It seems the main blow is to fall on our right flank.’

Already the air was filled with phraxcannon blasts, but now the shells no longer fell on our positions in the centre, but instead exploded with whistling shrieks among the treeline to the south of the Farrow Lake.

‘Alcestia,’ I breathed.

All that long afternoon, the phraxcannon kept up their deadly work, the enemy seemingly content to keep their distance, while the phraxshells pulverized our positions. As night fell over our beautiful Farrow Lake, three of the cavern entrances of the Five Falls had been battered and stoppered up with rubble, while the woods to the south crackled and flared with forest fires.

A full moon rose and I saw Alcestia’s troop creep into our positions from the burning woods. Two troopers carried dear brave Alcestia between them, cradling her poor broken body tenderly. The phraxcannon had ceased, and the sounds of jeering and hollered taunts from the cowardly enemy floated across to us. As the troopers laid Alcestia down, I sank to my knees and took her hand in mine. She had a nasty headwoound and her topcoat was covered in blood.

‘The Farrow Lake Militia took one hell of a beating, Alcestia,’ I said, my eyes misting over, ‘but we’ll whip ‘em tomorrow…’

I have never been anywhere as beautiful as the Cloud Quarter of Great Glade. It is the city’s seat of learning, and its academies and schools are beyond compare.

My private audience with Quove Lentis – the High Professor of Flight – went well. Corpulent and expensively dressed in academic robes of the finest spidersilk, his chins wobbled as he expressed shock at the news of the impending battle at the Farrow Ridges, and was mortified that someone had sent the mire-pearlers the extra phraxcannon. He suggested calling a full high council meeting, where my concerns could be raised, his voice querulous with concern and outrage.

However, I left his palatial rooms to find Luggins and Threnodesse – who had been waiting for me outside in the lobby – staring at me in absolute horror.

‘W… what’s wrong?’ I asked, my stomach knotting with misgiving.

‘The professor is not all he seems,’ said Threnodesse softly. ‘I listened in to his thoughts – and what terrible thoughts they were. Despite his apparent horror at the settlers’ plight, the news you brought filled him with glee.’

‘I… I don’t understand,’ I told her.

‘I read his mind. He is the main investor in something called the Farrow Lake Company,’ the waif explain. ‘It has been set up to take the sacred pearl of the great blueshell clam, and to annexe the caverns of the Five Falls and exploit them for profit. It was he, Quove Lentis, who ordered the extra phraxcannon to be sent to the mire-pearlers against all the rules his office is meant to uphold. The high council must be informed of this…’

My jaw dropped in surprise. ‘Why then, has he agreed to call a High Council meeting for me to raise these very issues?’ I asked.

Threnodesse reached out and took my hand. ‘He is assuming that you will not attend this meeting,’ she said darkly, but although I urged her to tell me more, she would not give any further details.

For the duration of our stay, we were given lodgings in the east wing of the School of Earth Studies, a beautiful cloistered building with walls of pearl-white Edgecliff stone. We each had a cabin, which was small but adequate to our needs, with a hammock and storage chest and a door out onto a balcony of carved blackwood that extended the length of the magnificent building. I’d slept well the first night of our stay, but with Threnodesse’s words ringing in my head, I could not get to sleep that second night. In the end, I arose and stepped onto the balcony to take the air.

With its twinkling lamps and gleaming spires, the sleeping city was a wonder to behold, and made all the more beautiful by the silvery full moon above. I heard a banderbear yodelling softly to its mate from the distant Deepwoods, and was wondering when I, too, would return to my beloved forest home, when I caught sight of a movement at the far end of the balcony.

It was a waif, and for a moment I thought it must be Threnodesse, also unable to sleep. Only when I noticed the long blowpipe glint in the moonlight as he put it to his mouth, did I realize my mistake. This was not my travel companion. This was a waif assassin – a waif assassin with murder on his mind. And I was to be his victim.

I heard a soft puff of air as the waif fired, and cried out in alarm as the dart whistled past my ear. It struck the balustrade behind me, and I turned to see it embedded in the wood, hissing and steaming. Poison! I turned back. The assassin was loading a second dart…

What happened next, happened so fast I could scarcely take it in. Before I could even throw myself to the ground, I heard a loud roar, followed by a heavy thud, and Luggins my brogtroll bodyguard was standing before me. He had jumped down from the balcony above – at the very moment the evil assassin loosed his second poison dart, which embedded itself in the back of his neck. A look of anguished pain passed over his noble features as the poison took effect, then his eyes went dim and he crashed to the balcony boards, dead.

Behind him, the waif assassin let out a wailing shriek and dropped his blowpipe. As he crumpled to the floor I saw that Threnodesse was standing behind him, a knife in her hand. It glistened in the moonlight with dark waif blood. Dropping the knife, she rushed over and knelt beside Luggins, and tenderly closed our faithful brogtroll companion’s eyes.

‘He has paid the ultimate price to protect our beloved Farrow Lake,’ her thoughts echoed in my head. ‘Tomorrow will be our test.’