Foreword:
This is a tale set in a fantasy sword and sorcery universe of my own creation. All characters are original. It's going to be an open ended series of adventures as a counterpoint to Solar Wind. This one is a bit closer to home for me, being born of both real life experience and gaming every other weekend between paydays during my time in the service. As with my other tales, sex is present, but doesn't play a central role. I hope you enjoy. :)
I.D.
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Episode 1: Faces to the Fire
'Recognizing that I volunteered as a Ranger, fully knowing the hazards of my chosen
profession, I will always endeavor to uphold the prestige, honor, and high esprit de corps
of the Rangers.'
I volunteered. That's on me. I knew going into this war that I might not come out alive.
I remembered the story that had made me volunteer for service. It had been passed down for one hundred years by the bards and in books. There were originally two hundred soldiers of the Imperial Army trained by The Battlemaster himself. He said his rank was Sergeant Major, and his name was Jack Parker. He had been drawn to our world by the Emperor's Mage, and once he had been informed of our situation, had trained those he deemed worthy in the Way of the Ranger.
He drilled them constantly until they met his exacting standards in both ranged and melee combat as well as survival skills. He was harsh, yet fair in all of his judgments. He led by example, and they were hard pressed to keep up with him.
He instilled in our ancestors The Tactics, The Creed and The Standing Orders. He decreed Elves should be allowed the same consideration as Humans for selection for Ranger training. He made certain that all of his rules and regulations were written down and followed when the time of his death finally came. He refused to die in bed, and instead stood before the Ogres with bow in hand one final time.
He had arisen from what would have been his death bed and dressed in his combat uniform, which he called his BDUs. He grabbed his bow and quiver, and rode out with twenty of his Rangers to the battlefield outside our Capital at Arathias. He had dismounted, seemingly healthy and fully in control of himself. He had rallied on his last day, and had refused the potion that would have eased his passing. From the recorded history, his last words to the Physician resonated across time. "Fuck you, Doc. If I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die like a Ranger should. Hooah?"
He had crouched with his Rangers, waiting in ambush, and as the Ogres approached, he stood and let fly his arrows one after the other along with his fellow Rangers. When he fell, his quiver was empty and his daggers were stained with the blood of the Ogres who had fallen around him. He had been the only Ranger to fall during that battle. He had been brought back to the Keep of Zhalek and given a Hero's Burial. His children and grandchildren attended, and a statue was raised in his honor. His teachings were passed down through the years, and the tide of the war finally turned in our favor to become a slow but steady push of the Giant Kin from our lands.
Now we stand at the end of this century long war. Until our Battlemaster showed us the way, and led through his example, we had been losing to the overwhelming might of the Ogres and Frost Giants. Now we stood ready to end their threat to Arethor once and for all.
There were twelve of us. One squad of Rangers flanked on our left by twenty Paladins of Harsk, and on our right by eight Battlemages of the Guild.
My name is Jonathan Hawke, and I'm an Imperial Ranger.
I looked across the large expanse of Stone's Throw Bridge at where the enemy would be in a matter of moments. When they reached the middle of the bridge itself, we would strike where their numbers wouldn't count for much. We would shoot into their number, and then we would charge in with the Paladins and Battlemages. Our arrows were nocked already, and we were prepared to kill and die for our freedom, and the chance to end this long war that had claimed so many of us.
"What will you do after the war is over, Jon?" Hanelor asked me.
"Long term? Not sure yet, sweety. Short term, I plan to grab the biggest mug of beer I can find and get plastered. How about you?" I grinned. Sure, she was a Paladin of Harsk, and chaste, but that didn't mean I couldn't flirt with her. We had served together as part of the same joint strike team for five years. Under the dulled steel plate of her armor, she was a beautiful woman.
"If we survive, I think I might join you in getting drunk. Gods know it's been too long." She laughed back. We looked at each other and shared a smile. We had saved each other's lives countless times in countless battles. I had made a pass at her once, but she had rebuffed me in favor of her vows. I respected her even more after that, and had apologized. It had been a heated moment after the Battle of Farsight Ridge, and she had embraced me in relief that the battle was over. We had kissed passionately for a moment before she broke the kiss and pushed me back. She apologized as I did, and we had laughed it off.
"You bought the last round after Sullen Gully, Hanelor. This one's on me." I nodded to her.
"Gods' sakes, Jon. Stop flirting with my Sister." Jalin spoke up with a laugh.
"Don't worry, First Marshal. I promise not to deflower her... unless she wants me to." I laughed at my other old friend in the Paladins of Harsk. Jalin was a grizzled old veteran of a hundred campaigns who had joined the Paladins after his wife had died. His children were grown, and he knew nothing but combat. He figured he would die with a sword in his hand, facing the fire of battle. I liked and respected him.
"Blasted Rangers." Jalin laughed. Our people were talking amongst themselves in low voices while we waited. All of us sharing quick glances but keeping the majority of our attention on the pass over the far side of the bridge.
We chose the bridge for our killzone instead of the pass because the bridge was narrower. Fewer Ogres or Frost Giants would be able to cross at a time.
"I can handle him, Brother Jalin. I am not so easily tempted." But even as Hanelor said it, she threw me a wink and a smirk. I raised my eyebrow at her, and she grinned at me.
"Hawke, if I have to tell you one more time to stop flirting with the Paladin, I will bring you up on charges." Denna said, and I winced. Our Commanding Officer, Captain Denna la Cyr, noblewoman and a damn good Ranger was also very jealous of her 'boys', as she called us. Everyone knew that she was with our Second, Lieutenant Halas Wolfbane. It didn't take a seer to figure that out.
"You jealous, Denna?" I turned and blew her a kiss in full view of her lover, who glowered at me. I looked at him and chuckled. "Gods, Halas. I was joking. You take everything way too seriously."
Halas was a good Ranger, and under his very strict code, there was a good Elf. They wouldn't make it after the war, unless they both left Arethor. She would return to court and probably be married off to any nobleman who would have her, and Halas would return to his Elven kingdom to the south. Probably to take a wife there. But that was only if we survived this battle.
One of the reasons I joined the Rangers is that the Rangers don't care what Race we are. My Half-Elven heritage was plain to see in my emerald green eyes and pointed ears, while my black hair was from my Human father. Another giveaway was the stubble on my face. All full Elves, male and female are blonde, and can't grow facial hair, whereas all full Humans have dark brown, red, or black hair. All blonde Humans on Harthis have at least some Elven blood in them.
I was accepted in spite of my mixed heritage. I stand 6 feet even, and I weigh a solid 170 pounds of wirey muscle. My form fitted green, black, and brown leather armor was done in the camouflage pattern taken from The Battlemaster's combat uniform from centuries before. It helped hide us in the forests in which we fought so we could ambush the enemy. I ran my hand back through my short cropped hair.
"Here they come!" Ranger Calvin Crane shouted. He pointed, and we saw them coming down from the pass towards the bridge itself.
"I guess they'll call this one 'The Battle of Stone's Throw'," said Hanelor.
"Then let's make it the last battle of this fucking war." I cursed, and I didn't care. This was fight and win, or lose and die. Vel'shorek, the last surviving Frost Giant Commander, had rallied his Frost Giants and Ogres for one final charge toward the Capital. The only way from their staging area to Arethias Castle was through us.
"Hold, Rangers! Wait for optimal range!" Denna shouted. She had an arrow nocked, just like the rest of us.
"By Harsk, they're armored!" Jalin swore as they came into full view. He was right. From head to toe, the 10 foot tall Ogres and Frost Giants were encased in steel plate.
"Rangers! Aim for their eyes!" I shouted and raised my aim to where I knew it would penetrate the eyeslits in their helms. All my brother and sister Rangers adjusted their aim to compensate.
They advanced when they saw us, picking up their pace to cross the bridge. I did a head count as they came into view. "Two hundred enemies approaching." I thought about us twelve Rangers, twenty Paladins of Harsk, and the eight Battlemages set to unleash their own brand of hell on the enemy. Forty against two hundred. The odds were nearly even, but still stacked in our favor. I smiled.
As they entered range, Denna shouted "RANGERS!" We shot our arrows as fast as we could draw, nock, pull, and shoot. One per second. Our first volley took down the lead ranks of Ogres as they started running across the bridge. Our second volley took down several more ranks. By the time our quivers were empty, we had taken down seventy of the enemy force. Their bodies littered the bridge, but the remaining Ogres and Giants just kept charging.
