Hot Pursuit (Open)

[Faith]

The wind blew cold and stiff through the Ilian night, the strong breeze bending the boughs of the trees slightly and sending rustles through the underbrush. The road, snaking along through the mountain pass, was dark and quiet, and the deer in the woods continued to sleep peacefully, their light slumber undisturbed by the faint sound of hoofbeats as a rider galloped down the dark road, urging his steed onward with quiet but urgent exhortations. His garb was dark, a heavy cloak with a hood that helped him blend into the night, though at his side a cutlass and trident occasionally glinted in the faint moonlight.

Far above, and behind him a ways, though closing fast, were six Pegasi, arranged in a 'V' formation as they swept over the land, following the contour of the road in a tight unit. The group of winged horses was fairly cohesive, banking and changing altitude together, and all of the riders were outfitted in armor, dark bluish black and well polished. Held at the ready were six lances, strong snakewood hafts with sharp iron points at the tip. These lances were military issue, with a fine point for stabbing that widened to make the wound more severe when the lance was extracted. All of the riders also wore helmets, their faces partially obscured by the protective armor. There were no distinctive features that could allow an observer distinguish an individual from the pack, armored and mounted as they were.

Soon, there was a signal from the point flier, a raise of her lance, and the whole group split, each side of the 'V' curving off. The right-hand trio banked sharply, coming down to cut off the night rider's path, while the left-hand three swooped down to assume a position behind the horse rider. In tandem, six Pegasi alighted, and the night rider came to an abrupt halt, drawing the trident from his side and leveling it into an offensive position as he slowly backed his horse into the center of the blockade.

"Stop there, fugitive! We, the Seventh Unit, have been tasked with bringing you back to the city for questioning. Do not resist! Lay down your weapons and step from your horse."

The young woman who had spoken pointed her lance at the man, and her two comrades, flanking her, did the same. Behind the man, Faith too raised her lance, using both of her hands to steady it into the position she had been taught. The two other fliers on either side of her acted likewise, and six lances pointed at the man, who sighed long and hard.

"Step away from me, all of you. I don't wish to hurt any of you girls, but you are in my way. I will not be detained."

"Drop your weapon."

Faith's voice was cold and firm, and the man turned his hooded head to gaze at her over his shoulder.

"I suppose I should be honored that they sent six Pegasus Knights after me... a whole unit. Am I that much of a threat?"

The tension hung in the air, heavy and taut like a cord ready to snap under the weight of many hooks. No one moved, and six lances remained leveled at the man even as his gaze slowly passed over each of the Riders in front of him.

[Faith]

The aforementioned tension, which had been steadily building up, pulling as tight as a rope tying a wild stallion to a post, suddenly snapped, shattering as if each individual fiber of the rope had suddenly sheared apart, wrenching from each other and absolutely destroying the peace of the night.

A sharp battle yell rang out through the pass, and a heavy javelin whirred through the air, narrowly missing one of the six Pegasus Knights, who, despite her training and composure, gave a quiet yelp of surprise and flinched significantly. In that second of weakness, the horseman capitalized, charging towards her with his trident pulled back by his ear, ready to thrust. From behind the three rear-guard Pegasus Knights, hoofbeats sounded, and a second rider appeared, a large zweihander propped on his shoulder and a quiver of javelins at his side.

“Halt.”

Perhaps it was the sheer audacity of the command, or the oversized tone that rang out from the young Pegasus Knight’s small frame, but whatever the reason, all parties froze briefly as Faith continued.

“Informant Radcliffe and Etrurian agent Sprague, we of the Seventh Pegasus Knight Unit have been tasked with returning you to our base of operations. Whether you live or die is not our concern. Our orders have been given, and we will stand by them. If you wish to live… Surrender. If not, you will face our fury.”

The Squire showed no fear as she reaffirmed her grip on her lance, tightening it in to her body and giving a hand signal.

The two others beside her turned their lances to focus on the newcomer, and the three across from them releveled their lances at the first rider once more. Again, a palpable tension descended upon the group, until the trident-wielding horseman spat in frustration and charged at the three Squires confronting him.

The group burst forth into battle, six Pegasi rising as one and swooping in two triangular formations towards their opponents. Feathers beat the wind as the Seventh Unit struck at the two foes, banking and feinting to disorient and dazzle their enemies.

Faith and her two comrades charged forth, their lance points flashing briefly in the moonlight as they struck out at the horseman. He moved with surprising agility, raising the sword with both hands, and then his eyes narrowed as he defended himself, deflecting the strokes while slowly backing his horse, circling until he and his comrade were back to back. They were now encircled by the Pegasus Knights of the Seventh Unit, and the first night rider threw his trident in a feeble attempt to impale one of the riders, scoffing as it missed and drawing forth his cutlass.

“This is your last chance. Surrender.”

The two men charged, spurring their horses in opposite directions and swinging their swords with the frenzy of cornered men.

[Faith]

There was a clash of iron as the six Pegasus Knights in training attacked as one, viciously using their spears and the flailing hooves of their mounts to entrap and bunch the two blackguards together and then jabbing furiously at them in an attempt to subdue or terminally inconvenience the men. The tactic, while unrefined and certainly lacking in style, was effective, and the horses were impaled quite easily, sending the riders sprawling. The Etrurian spy, Sprague, was unfortunately also caught by a stray thrust, and his cerebral matter quickly splashed upon the dirt as Faith gave a carefully-aimed stab to the informant’s leg, crippling him.

“Informant Radcliffe, you have been defeated. Your Etrurian ally is dead, and now you shall face the unassuageable wrath of the Ilian High Command.“

Faith took the prisoner upon her horse, and another of her companions loaded the carcass of Sprague, and with no further pomp or circumstance, they took off for the barracks. At first the flight was quiet, Faith in the rear of their “V” formation to allow her mount to ride the current of the unencumbered others. And then a voice whispered in her ear and a knife pressed itself upon her throat.

“Bank away and land. Now. Or I will slit your throat and then proceed to kill all of your Unit.”

Silently, Faith banked and landed in a clearing amid the trees, and her prisoner pressed her up against a tree, a sadistic, inhuman smile upon his lips as he chuckled in the manner of a man deranged and bestial. With his free hand, he chucked her chin, and, his laughter growing, allowed his fingers to wander further, slowly making their way downward over her armored cuirass towards her abdomen and beyond.

“Now who is in control? Don’t you see, girl, that you are no match for me? Well, I will certainly teach you a lesson. You’ll be a fine example for the others after I crush both your dignity and your maiden’s flower. You will wish you had never – urgh!”

His speech was cut short, for Faith had brought her knee up to slam into his gonads, causing him to gasp and crumple downward before regaining his composure with remarkable speed and smashing his fist into her face, his knuckles impacting her eye and sending her careening onto her back.

“Stupid girl,” the deserter snarled, climbing atop of her and brandishing the knife once more as he readied it to slash. “I’ll make sure you scream every second I’m violating you, and then I’ll leave your mutilated corpse for the carrion!”

He did not, however, have a chance to make good upon that promise. The indomitable Squire had used her own head as a battering ram, slamming her skull into his nose with a sickening crack. As the man reeled sideways, Faith wrenched the knife out of his slack hand and began to stab him, using both hands and plunging the blade repeatedly into his torso, even as he began to scream for mercy, forgiveness, and his mother, who was long since deceased.

The rest of the Seventh Unit, having noticed their missing member, had doubled back, and were approaching to make a landing when they heard the screams. By the time the other five were all dismounted, Informant Radcliffe lay in a bloody and unrecognizable heap upon the earth, and Faith, beaten, bruised, blackened, but with her honor very much intact, lay next to him, her breath coming in shallow gasps and the knife still clenched in her two fists.

“Damn it, Faith, are you all right? What the hell happened here?”

[Faith]

The Squire rolled, forcing herself into a position on all fours, and then crawled to the nearest tree, where she dry heaved for a minute that seemed to last forever. Finally she slumped backwards onto her haunches, still breathing heavily, and then struggled to pull herself upright, using the tree to stand. Her face was scraped and her eye was beginning to darken from the fierce punch, but still a smile of grim satisfaction hung, etched across her features.

“I’m all right. Informant Radcliffe attempted to dishonor me, and I was forced to use lethal force to defend myself.”

The other girls nodded, and they took the body of Radcliffe up, loading it as they had the dead Sprague. With the two corpses in tow, the unit took off once more, silently flying through the night. The flight back seemed to take ages, and Faith held tightly onto her mount as they soared, her arms still trembling. Finally, they landed, the six Riders disembarking and standing at attention, saluting as their Unit leader came forth from the barracks and inspected them. After a brief, cursory glance, she dismissed them, and they moved to the designated area to debrief. A uniformed man met them there, ushering them into seats, and then beginning to speak, his tone severe but not harsh as he began the conversation.

“Seventh Unit. You have brought back the bodies of Radcliffe and Sprague; please describe the circumstances that lead to their capture. Begin with the initial confrontation.”

“Seventh Unit. You state that Informant Radcliffe was alive when he was taken prisoner for return; please describe the circumstances that lead to his death.”

“Seventh Unit. You claim that one of your members was attacked and injured in a one-on-one confrontation with Informant Radcliffe; please describe the circumstances that lead to this attack and the resolution. Omit nothing.”

The conversation was a blur to Faith, who was still in shock, barely able to speak as she shivered on the chair. It seemed that as soon as it had begun, it was over, though her friends later told her it had lasted nearly two hours. All she remembered was being dismissed, and the words the officer had used when dismissing them.

“Seventh Unit Experimental Tactics Squadron, you are dismissed. I commend you on the completion of your duty, of the manner in which you handled this mission, and on the bravery and indomitable spirit of your Unit’s members. You are hereby awarded an extra ration at the next meal, and are exempt from barracks duties for a period of three days. Stand by for your transfer to Arphen.”

And then the aside, as he disappeared through the doors:

“Good job, girls. I expect great things.”

Faith did not remember any more after that, though the rest of her unit described how they had to physically drag her to the infirmary, as she kept protesting that it was unnecessary and a waste of valuable healing resources.

[Faith]

Faith awoke in a bed in the infirmary, bandages and a cold compress wrapped over her bruised face, her armor removed and sitting on a rack next to her bed. The Squire rolled and rose from bed, standing on the cold stone floor and looking around. The room was quiet, dark, and, besides her, empty. Nothing moved, nothing stirred, and the air seemed to hang, the chill almost tangible.

The Squire shivered slightly and then walked over to the rack, taking up her lance. Its snakewood haft was smooth and cold in her grasp. Everything was cold, it seemed. She threw the weapon upon the bed and donned her armor, the familiar weight soothing her and the icy metal prickling her senses. Once geared up, she took up her lance and left, walking out into the snow. Her boots crunched upon through the packed snow, and each time she breathed out her breath seeped like a small cloud from her nose.

Once in the clearing outside of the infirmary, Faith raised her lance into a ready position and began to practice. Silently, her lance cut through the night air, her thrusts, slashes, and blocks crisp and full of conviction. The cold slowly slipped away, and warmth returned to her, an ember beginning to smolder within her core and then blooming, billowing, roaring into a blaze, and inferno that consumed her, filling her with fire and rage.

The sharp clash of metal upon metal rang out through the night, and Faith stepped back, regaining her stance and staring in confusion at the foe who stood in front of her. It was a young woman, it seemed, dark skinned, but sickly skin, almost a rotten, purplish tinge to the flesh. She wore armor of dark blue and held a lance firmly in her right hand, but perhaps the most unusual aspect of this fighter was her eyes. Red and moody, they seemed almost to sputter with the hints of flame.

Faith wasted no words, merely raising her lance and attacking. The other did likewise, and they battled, their lances crossing and each dodging, feinting, thrusting, with crispness, power, and conviction. The battle itself was nothing extraordinary; in fact, Faith noted that the woman had little, if any, more skill than she. But the interesting aspect was the conclusion of the fight – Faith took a risk, slipping under a thrust, and slammed her lance forward, piercing the foe’s armor and impaling the young woman on her thrust. The red eyes widened slightly, as if in surprise, and then the body vanished, leaving nothing but those twin eyes, staring at her briefly before fading away as well.

All was silent and still. Faith shook her head, looking around. Had the fight really happened? Was it all a dream? What on earth could it mean?

[End Thread]