- Influence
- 3,722.00
Tultow paced in the camp, obsessively checking the fortifications, the traps out front, the weapons racks. He pulled aside one of his marines, advising him quietly, "Have a flare ready. I told the cannoneers that, if we light a flare, they are to bombard the shores beyond us. It's a desperate move, but it should save us from a full counterattack."
He made another obsessive circuit of the camp, checking in at the medical tent. Finn, Barrett, Piper, and the kit were all asleep in there, Piper slumped on the ground against a crate. He considered waking her, but decided to let her have her rest. He would need her in peak condition when the fighting began. They would all have to be ready.
The shadows shifted across the bay. He shivered, hating this place. Settling on the north side of the island, in an inlet sheltered by large cliffs from the worst of the southern storm winds, made sense for the shrews, but it made the shadows grow longer far quicker, and daylight was fast running out. He glanced up at the sock hanging on a stick above the medical tent. So far no wind, which was good; the only winds thus far had been westerly, chilling but not dangerous. If the wind shifted -
He felt it. It was chill, damp wind blowing up from the south. He turned slowly, looking up at the cliffs above. A thick fog, condensed clouds brought low by a change in air pressure and hugging the high flats above, were now spilling down the cliffs like a curtain, pouring into the bay, propelled by the winds behind them. Tultow watched in horror as the fog started to creep its way across the bay. No. "ALL BEASTS RETREAT TO CAMP!" he hollered, running to grab the unit drummer and shake him out of a moment of frozen fear. "BATTLE STATIONS! PREPARE FOR ATTACK! SOMEONE LIGHT TORCHES, PUT THEM OUT BEYOND THE RING!"
The drum began sounding an urgent, warning beat as a few of the marines and crew quickly lit torches dipped in a barrel of pitch and, carrying them out past the ring of traps, drove them to stand upright or, failing that, laid them to smolder on the ground. The fog was coming in close upon them, and when it was on them, those torches would be the only light by which they would see any attackers coming.
As the fog washed over the camp, the thick moisture in the air seeping into everything, a hush settled over the camp as well. Beasts clutched weapons, crouched behind the barricades, looking out to where the torchlight formed halos in the fog, barely illuminating more than a few feet. Tultow clutched his own crossbow, loaded and safety off, scanning the darkness. His ears prickled as he heard a strange trilling sound - no, a ululation echoing off the cliffs around them, directionless and omnipresent. It picked up voices, dozens, maybe hundreds of them, who could tell with that blasted echo? It was everywhere and nowhere, omnipresent in the fog. Tultow stood in the midst of the camp, peering out at the fog, the village lost in the deepening dark -
Something whistled out of the fog and struck him in the shoulder. Tultow yelped and swore, an arrow protruding from the spot, reflexively squeezing his finger and sending a crossbow bolt to embed harmlessly in the ground as his hold on the weapon faltered. "READY FIRE!" he yelled to the crew, reaching up and, with gritted teeth, snapping the shaft of the arrow, tossing it aside and leaving the arrowhead in his flesh. 'Gates, this was a bad place to be. The fog gave them near nonexistent visibility, and with the beach obscured, the cannoneers on the Hide wouldn't know what they were firing at if signaled. They might just as easily blow up the camp as take out the enemy. Tultow tried to swallow his fear as, still ululating their war cry, the first wave of shrews entered the edge of the torchlight.
He made another obsessive circuit of the camp, checking in at the medical tent. Finn, Barrett, Piper, and the kit were all asleep in there, Piper slumped on the ground against a crate. He considered waking her, but decided to let her have her rest. He would need her in peak condition when the fighting began. They would all have to be ready.
The shadows shifted across the bay. He shivered, hating this place. Settling on the north side of the island, in an inlet sheltered by large cliffs from the worst of the southern storm winds, made sense for the shrews, but it made the shadows grow longer far quicker, and daylight was fast running out. He glanced up at the sock hanging on a stick above the medical tent. So far no wind, which was good; the only winds thus far had been westerly, chilling but not dangerous. If the wind shifted -
He felt it. It was chill, damp wind blowing up from the south. He turned slowly, looking up at the cliffs above. A thick fog, condensed clouds brought low by a change in air pressure and hugging the high flats above, were now spilling down the cliffs like a curtain, pouring into the bay, propelled by the winds behind them. Tultow watched in horror as the fog started to creep its way across the bay. No. "ALL BEASTS RETREAT TO CAMP!" he hollered, running to grab the unit drummer and shake him out of a moment of frozen fear. "BATTLE STATIONS! PREPARE FOR ATTACK! SOMEONE LIGHT TORCHES, PUT THEM OUT BEYOND THE RING!"
The drum began sounding an urgent, warning beat as a few of the marines and crew quickly lit torches dipped in a barrel of pitch and, carrying them out past the ring of traps, drove them to stand upright or, failing that, laid them to smolder on the ground. The fog was coming in close upon them, and when it was on them, those torches would be the only light by which they would see any attackers coming.
As the fog washed over the camp, the thick moisture in the air seeping into everything, a hush settled over the camp as well. Beasts clutched weapons, crouched behind the barricades, looking out to where the torchlight formed halos in the fog, barely illuminating more than a few feet. Tultow clutched his own crossbow, loaded and safety off, scanning the darkness. His ears prickled as he heard a strange trilling sound - no, a ululation echoing off the cliffs around them, directionless and omnipresent. It picked up voices, dozens, maybe hundreds of them, who could tell with that blasted echo? It was everywhere and nowhere, omnipresent in the fog. Tultow stood in the midst of the camp, peering out at the fog, the village lost in the deepening dark -
Something whistled out of the fog and struck him in the shoulder. Tultow yelped and swore, an arrow protruding from the spot, reflexively squeezing his finger and sending a crossbow bolt to embed harmlessly in the ground as his hold on the weapon faltered. "READY FIRE!" he yelled to the crew, reaching up and, with gritted teeth, snapping the shaft of the arrow, tossing it aside and leaving the arrowhead in his flesh. 'Gates, this was a bad place to be. The fog gave them near nonexistent visibility, and with the beach obscured, the cannoneers on the Hide wouldn't know what they were firing at if signaled. They might just as easily blow up the camp as take out the enemy. Tultow tried to swallow his fear as, still ululating their war cry, the first wave of shrews entered the edge of the torchlight.
