Short tale inspired by commissioned artwork done by thos
who goes by Leucrotta on Fur Affinity.

Further adventures of a former military human scribe traveling in the company of dog headed cynophalites.
This episode, Part 9. The scribe is redrafted into a remote outpost army of the Empire

A Call to Adventure: Exhaustion

When pacing long distances, one's thoughts turn to the Sublime. A wordless focus upon rhythmic shuffling of feet or hind paws and slow progression of the land while you move. Step, move, step, move.

On a steep path that zig zagged up the nearby mountain, we panted, enduring the climb. The desert hot air of the cursed Dead City hissing against our backsides, sweat vanishing as soon as it appeared. Only one water skin that soon became depleted. The pemmican as well.

And still we clomb.

At last, the path led to a broad pass where we finally noticed the cool, almost chilly air of a mountain afternoon and staggered into a forested pass of stone, boulders and pine trees. Exhaustion forbidding us to move. I pinched the skin on my wrist, the ripple of hide took time to sink back down. A sign that our bodies were dehydrated and in a bad way.

Shiloh, the collie cynophalite Ranger, sagged against my side, equally drained, while I scanned the nearby terrain. Hoping to spot any shaded spot or north facing rock that might host a bit of still unmelted snow. For we would gladly welcome licking up even the most befouled patch of snow.

Shiloh's ears perked on high alert. Despite being too tired to raise her head, the collie barked. I turned and spotted the intruder.

The half-orc had approached quietly, crouching near a fallen tree trunk just several cubits away, battle ax held in one hand. Fine spun clothing and chain armor made in a peculiar style.

I spoke, frosted breath puffing forth as I hoarsely declared, "Messengers from Argentium! Password is Raven!"

To our great relief, the half orc relaxed. He stood tall, a head's length taller than me despite standing on a lower patch of ground!

"I am Uhran, from Ft. Renton," he announced. "I was ordered to look for you. Come with me."

Before we set off, Uhran graciously gave us his water skin which was drained.

---

Ft. Renton lies on the flanks of the White mountains overlooking a vast arid basin and distant, low mountains. An outpost built of rock rubble and timber stockading, it guards the lone trading route leading to the distant South lands and the road from Argentium. Renton's troops came from all corners of the Empire; a small contingent of Velites numbering under two Centuria. Composed of men, half-orcs and unusual cynophalites from the South lands in equal fractions. Those dog like beings were said to come from Podenco. They were quite unlike the cynos I've encountered before. The Podencos were tall, slim, long of limb with lengthy muzzles and elongated erect ears. They had short pelts of roan and white with thin, whip like tails.

A couple of dwarfs rounded out the fort's contingent. One of whom was the chief speaker to ravens employed as messengers.

Those birds had flown back, reporting that the Witch King army was now camped at the entrance to the very valley Shiloh and myself had fled to just a few days before. Embued and inexperienced magicians guarding the flanks had thrown bolts of fire up at any wild corvid, thinking they were spies. The results being nearly every wild raven, magpie and crow were eager to tell the Dwarf's ravens what they observed.

In a crude hut of wood that served as headquarters, I gave the Centurian of Ft. Renton the message reed containing three parcels. The first by the commander of Argentium ordering the evacuation of Ft. Renton. All troops to depart in battle ready gear for a fast march over the head of the mountains to where the Witch King was encamped. Later messages flown in by raven would deliver strategy orders. No heavy gear to be taken. Light and swift. Even down to abandoning personal possessions and burying the Forts salary chest!!

The second was an order to allow the third parcel to fall into the Witch King's encampment. An old raven volunteered to be the sacrifical bird. Before rolling it up into a message tube that would be tied to his leg, I glanced down at the the writing which contained no attempt at encryption.

The large script was written in the hand of Oeru, telling of how to gain embuement of immense power from the metal tower in the Dead City?

I had no time to ponder that ruse as the entire Fort became a cacaphony of activity from preparations for abandonment and battle march.

There would be no time for me to recover from the exhausting run. Within a few hours, I would be wearing braccae, caligae, baldric and sword to march alongside Uhran. Shiloh would run with the cynophalite runners to scout ahead.

At least, Uhran insisted the cooks gave Shiloh and myself a huge portion of stew and leeks before we mustered out.