When a mounted soldier approached him with a halfspear leveled at his chest, Kovrim stopped and raised his arms out to his sides as a show of surrender. He began to speak the words of that last spell, ready to send himself instantly over many miles of terrain in an instant, all the way back to Arrabar, where he would regroup and bring reinforcements to aid the stranded Crescents.
Before he could complete the triggering phrases, though, something struck him hard from behind, on the back of the head, and he sank to his knees, stunned. The words of the spell vanished from his mind, and blackness replaced them.
Kovrim slowly came awake with a throbbing pain at the base of his skull. He discovered, to his dismay, that he had a large, leather-wrapped bar of steel rammed into his mouth like the bit of a bridle. The bulging thing pressed back against the corners of his mouth, keeping his teeth pried open and depressing his tongue. It was firmly anchored with leather straps that ran over and around his head, as well as beneath his chin. The entire thing buckled in back somewhere. Furthermore, his arms were stoutly manacled in front of himself, each fist tightly encased in a hinged metal ball that prevented him from even flexing his fingers. Kovrim was helpless to even try to unbuckle the harness. The mercenaries who had recaptured him were apparently used to dealing with enemy mages and priests. All in all, it was a rather effective way to keep the priest from talking. Or casting any more spells.
Kovrim realized to his further dismay that he was back inside the barn, along with most of the Crescents. The men had not made it far into the woods, it appeared, before they had been rounded up and returned to the makeshift prison, and the glum faces made it clear to the grizzled priest that their failed escape attempt had cost more than a spell. They were without much hope.
The larger surprise came a few moments later, though, when Kovrim realized there were more Crescents in the prison than before they had tried to escape. He winced as he counted them, for several were wounded, two seriously enough that they were lying on makeshift stretchers, brought to the camp that way by other members of the company. In all, there were fourteen new members there, nearly a third of the total company. Coupled with the twelve that had originally accompanied Kovrim, that meant well over half of the soldiers had been taken since Lady's Favor had gone down and the mercenaries had floundered to shore. With the four he knew to be dead at sea, that meant that at most, Vambran had nearly a dozen men with him. Kovrim strongly suspected there were fewer than that, for the uncertainties of war always left a few more dead scattered on the battlefield than anyone expected.
Less than ten, he surmised. Vambran would never have tried to assault this camp with that few. Perhaps it's good that we did not manage to flee, he told himself, realizing that, had the escape attempt proven successful, it would have meant that the other Crescents would have been left behind. No, the priest decided, it was better to consolidate the troops. Strangely, he felt relief at that.
In addition to the members of the Sapphire Crescent, two of the woodland folk had been captured alive. They both looked sullen and angry, as best Kovrim could tell, for they, too, sported the harsh bit-gag head harnesses and hand-restraining manacles he himself wore. All the old priest could really see of their expressions were their eyes. Both were younger men, dressed in crude animal-skin clothing. Their weapons, of course, had been taken away during the night.
Kovrim sat up and peered about, peeking through one of the cracks in the barn's wall, and he saw that the sky to the east was just beginning to get a little pink. The rest of the reinforcements who had arrived to turn the tide of the fight were assembled in the clearing. Kovrim reckoned that the group that had taken him and the other Crescents prisoner the day before were only perhaps a fifth of the total force of the army bearing the silver raven that was gathered there.
One of the new arrivals, Tholis, who had served in Vambran's platoon for several years, saw that Kovrim was awake.
"Well met," he said, greeting the old priest. "We tried to find a way to get that out of your mouth, but they locked it on too well." Kovrim nodded, hoping the younger man understood that he appreciated the effort.
"Tell him your tale," Hort said, coming up to stand beside Tholis. "He might not be able to speak, but he needs to know your side of things."
"We made it to shore with Lieutenant Matrell after Lady's Favor went down," Tholis began, looking forlorn at what he was having to say. "There were twenty-three of us. We parceled out supplies and were just about to get on the move when we were attacked by that bunch out there. Lieutenant Matrell ordered us to charge through their skirmish line and make for the woods, but those bastards put the magic to us but good, and everyone you see here went down. We lost two," the man added, bowing his head, "and seven escaped, or so we hope, including Lieutenant Matrell." Then Tholis sighed. "They spent most of the day beating the brush, trying to flush the seven out, with no luck. By evening, they were sending trackers into the woods to hunt them down, and we marched all night. Now here we are."
Kovrim nodded.
"Well, soldier," Hort said, "you'll be happy to know that Lieutenant Matrell and his remaining companions made it here, too. The lieutenant spoke to me just before the commotion. Said they were going to try to break us out, but that attack must have altered their plans. Let's hope they're still out there, thinking of something clever to do."
"So, what's going to happen now?" Tholis asked, sagging down to the ground. "Have they told us why we're prisoners?"
Kovrim shook his head as Hort snorted. "They haven't bothered to tell us anything, soldier," the grizzled old veteran complained, "but we might find out soon. It looks like they're having a serious discussion right now."
Indeed, Kovrim could see what looked to be the leaders of the mercenary army standing in a group near the center of the camp, talking and gesticulating animatedly at the trees, the barn, and various other points. The priest wondered if his identity had finally been ferreted out, and if he had further endangered the soldiers in his charge by not departing when he had had the opportunity.
The priest wished for a moment that he could cast a spell to eavesdrop on the conversation in the distance. Of course, if that were the case, he thought, I could do a lot more than eavesdrop.
After a moment, officers began to shout orders, and soon enough, a contingent of mercenaries approached the barn. The guards jumped to obey as orders were given to open the door leading into the makeshift prison. As the portal was unbarred and swung wide, the commanding officer strode into the middle of the group of Crescents. Several other soldiers followed him inside.
"My name is Captain Beltrim Havalla. I have orders to get you to Reth, so that's exactly what we're going to do. As soon as you've been served breakfast, we'll be setting out."
Several of the prisoners groaned, particularly the newer ones who had just arrived.
Captain Havalla eyed Kovrim appreciatively. "Sergeant," he said in a commanding voice, at which point one of the other soldiers by his side leaped forward, at the ready. "This man gets no breakfast, for we can't afford for him to be speaking. In fact, go ahead and load him into a wagon now. I don't want to torment him with the smell of any food."