(Flashback) The Fall of the Trouble Hunters

[Krauss]

13th Day of Winter 509 AV - Two hours after sunset In the mountains near Zeltiva, the palisades were burning. The hellish light played over the remains of the Trouble Hunters' camp, throwing flickering red-tinged shadows across the field of corpses at the mouth of the canyon. Fifty-six mercenaries had fallen in the first wave of bandits and outlaws who had come for revenge, a full quarter of the Trouble Hunters. Their polished armor gleamed in the firelight, making it easy to see how many of their attackers they had taken with them. For every dead man in shining armor, there were three in the mismatched garb of the raiders. The remaining mercenaries stood in ranks, shields held ready. The formation bristled with heavy spears, stained with the blood of their enemies, glittering like rubies in the dying light. Krauss Muhe-Jager stood in the center of the second rank. Anger set his blood racing, his heartbeat hammering in his ears as he waited in silence for the next attack. He did not have to wait long. General Krieger must have had better eyes than Krauss, because he barked out an order before Krauss even heard the whistling arrows. "ARROWS!" With speed earned through countless drills, the front rank locked their shields together as those behind raised their own to form a roof of steel a heartbeat before the arrows fell. The arrows sounded like hailstones as they bounced off the polished shield, many of them shattering with a splintery crash. The howls and shouts of the bandit army rang out before they reached the edge of the firelight, charging in an undisciplined mass, swords and axes raised. "HOLD!" The front rank dug their heels into the rocky soil beneath them, shields raised, bracing to receive the charge. With the crashing of steel on steel, the bandits smashed into the shield wall, pushing the Trouble Hunters half a step back with sheer momentum. In perfect unison, the second rank struck. Fifty spears thrust in one motion, reaching over the shoulders of the front rank to deliver death and pain to their enemies. The screams of the dying and wounded echoed across the mountains, and the front rank surged foreward, throwing the bloodied bandits back into their own allies. The battle dissolved into a mass of blood and carnage. The Trouble Hunters, clad in their identical expressionless masks, fought in complete silence as the bandits howled in rage. The mercenaries were better armed and better trained, but the bandits had sheer numbers, and whoever was leading them had driven them into such a rage that they seemed willing to drown the Trouble Hunters in blood if they had to. Krauss saw the man in front of him fall as two bandits grabbed his shield and dragged him out of formation, hacking at the joints in his armor. Stepping forward, Krauss slammed his spear into a bandit's gut, below the rusted iron plate strapped across the man's chest. He desperately wanted to grab his comrade in arms and pull him close enough for the second rank to drag him to safety, but doing so would have left him open, and spell certain death for the men beside him. First law of the Trouble Hunters. Protect the man beside you, even if it leave you open for an attack. Trust the man beside you to keep you alive. It felt like days of fighting, but was probably only a few minutes before a horn rang out from the darkness. The bandits tried to fall back, but did so sloppily, letting the Trouble Hunters lash out again and cut down more of them. Krauss' arms burned. The cloth tied around his spear to keep the gore from running down the weapon was soaked through, dripping with blood. Looking around him, his own blood ran cold as he realized how few of the mercenaries were left. It couldn't have been more than seventy. More than half of us fell in one day. General Krieger stepped forward from his place in the first rank so that his men could see him. His armor was splattered with blood. "Third rank, rotate forward. Scouts, keep watch. First and second ranks, get some water and bring back enough for third rank and the scouts." Exhausted, Krauss raised his helmet's visor and followed the rest of the men towards the well, shielding his face from the waves of heat coming off the smouldering remains of the palisade wall. At the well, Centurion Ulus was hauling up buckets as fast as he could. Ulus' eyes burned with a need to join the ranks, but after he lost his leg in last winter's campaign against the Mad Dog bandits, all he could do was hobble around with the aid of his crutches and help around the camp. A shame, because he'd been one of the best warriors Krauss had ever seen. When Krauss got to the front of the line, he handed Ulus his crossbow. "Hold on to that for me. If you get a shot, kill a few bandits for me." Ulus smiled a grim, bloodthirsty grin. "Thanks, Krauss. You're a good kid, but you never could hit anything with this thing." They shared a tired laugh, and Krauss stepped away from the well with a full canteen. As he drank, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself facing the scarred visage of General Krieger. Reflexively, he snapped off a salute. Krieger returned the gesture. "That was a good thing you did. Being out of the fight is killing Ulus." "Well sir, I figured the odds of me getting a chance to use my crossbow were pretty slim tonight, and the odds of me actually hitting anything were even worse." The general didn't smile at the half-hearted joke. Instead he handed Krauss a piece of black cloth, rolled tightly. "We're not going to survive this, Muhe-Jager. I want you to take the banner and fall back." Krauss stared in stunned silence. General Krieger kept talking in his gravelly voice. "Someone needs to remember the dead. Every man here was recruited, but you were born a Trouble Hunter, and by Wysar, if anyone is going to remember us when we're gone, it's going to be you. We're going to charge. I want you to hold back, outside of the formation. When we meet the enemy, make the best time you can for Zeltiva. Tell them what happened." With slow deliberate motions, Krieger pulled the cloth-of-gold wrap from his neck, his badge of office, and tucked it under Krauss' breastplate. "Keep that safe. By morning, you'll have earned it." "Sir...." Krieger grabbed hold of Krauss' shoulder. "I'm making this an order. Go to Zeltiva, and tell them we fell. I'll spare a prayer to Kelwyn for you, Muhe-Jager, but gods help me, I will kick your ass up between your ears if I have to." Krauss reached up and snapped his visor down, covering his face. "I won't be the last Trouble Hunter, sir. An army will march under this banner again." General Krieger smiled. "Good lad. Your father would be proud." With that, he turned and went to rejoin the mercenaries, his strides long and proud. "SPEARPOINT FORMATION!" As the ranks shifted to form a wedge, General Krieger placed himself alone at the forward tip of the formation. "Men, it's been an honor fighting alongside you. Now let's show them how a hero dies! FORWARD!" Their footfalls crashing like thunder, the Trouble Hunters marched into the darkness to meet their end.