Unkarra Gate (1st draft)

Chapter 11.2

"They are just ahead now. They are cornering themselves, taking to these heights. We will have them before tonight." The smile that crossed Ronclay's face was enough to make Tomgrel look away. He noted that several of the other men had done so as well, to avoid meeting their commander's gaze. They were, to a man, as frightened as he was.

They had been journeying further up into the wild hills in pursuit of the group of kids. No one really knew who the man was leading the group. Tomgrel was able to give the man a name, but this identified truly little about him.

The description of Bogrel cutting down the guards at the fort did much more to fuel the imaginations of the men about the night's fireside. As well as knowing that this man Bogrel had faced Ronclay and survived; none of the men were very keen on having to face him themselves. Around the fire, his reputation had grown quite large.

Their route had started as an easy incline, with a wide berth for them to walk. As the day wore on and they climbed the mountain, it had become a ledge upon the mountainside. To their right was a growing dropoff. It was a rocky landscape with little growing below. Tomgrel was morbidly drawn to the edge, which he repeatedly peered over.

Ronclay sniffed at the air noticeably as he made excited noises at the front of the group. "They are just ahead, draw your weapons," he ordered.

Tomgrel lifted the axe he had been given to carry as the other men drew forth their blades or readied their spears. They moved forward as a group, and Tomgrel angled to push himself to the front.

He kept his eyes on Ronclay, who seemed to have lost all interest in his soldiers about him. All his efforts were strained on looking ahead, towards where even Tomgrel could hear the noises of the children.

But all of Tomgrel's focus was on Ronclay. And Ronclay was now close to the edge of the rocky cliff. Tomgrel must have been breathing strange; something made Ronclay look at Tomgrel at the moment that he was approaching.

Ronclay looked at him with furrowed, suspicious and condescending eyes. Rage sparked in Tomgrel's eyes, and in that moment he rushed Ronclay. The impact was sudden and square; the two met with a thud, and fell off the side of the cliff with little more than a few grunts.

The rest of the men stopped, left alone in silence on the ledge which they stood. They approached and looked over cautiously, trying to make out the bodies below. They were there, but difficult to make out.

"What do we do now?" One of the younger men asked.

"Who cares about these peasants," interjected another soldier. "Let's get out of these cursed hills!" There was much agreement about this statement, and they turned away from the edge.

"You know he'll come back. He had his leg chopped right off, and he got better from that. We have to continue, or he'll kill us for deserters."

The men looked at each other, and finally one of the older men spoke up. "We have to give it a shot, then." He turned his back on the gaggle and continued on in pursuit.