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Barton Trench, Barton

Phoebe closed her eyes, blades of grass tickling her nose, and waited for the telltale thud of a falling body. Tripwires worked better in Bass’ken, with low-growth trees and underbrush to conceal them, but she might still get lucky.

There was a spectacular crash, swearing, then a second crash. Peering through a slit in the bushes that masked her position, Phoebe could just barely see the head and shoulders of two tangled Guardsmen that had fallen victim to her trap. She sighted, took <span id="test27252825">. . .</span><br/><div id="post27252825" style="display:none; margin-right:75px;"> aim, and loosed.

A tiny 'ping' as the blunted arrow bounced off the metal protective gear Guardsmen wore under their uniforms, and one victim sat down in disgust. A second arrow—not Phoebe’s—soared over the scrub to claim the other.

“Nice work.” Tamar’s nearly soundless murmur in her ear made her jump. She hadn’t heard him approach. “Two down: one by the path to Towns, one on the north rim. I count two more live up on the cliff face.”

“Who’s up there?” Phoebe whispered.

“Lothar. Ashton’s down, and Maura’s on our flank. Watch the gate. If reinforcements come, shoot them and signal me.”

Phoebe waited until Tamar had stolen off, dark green cloak fluttering in the dim light, before turning to glance at the cliff. Bass’ken Rangers were primarily archers and knife fighters, good at taking out the enemy before they were even spotted. Guardsmen, like the two she had taken out with her tripwire, used mostly swords or pole arms—better suited for the broad open fields of Barton. Lothan carried a long knife, like the others, but unless Maura and Tamar could find an angle for a sniper in time, he didn’t stand a chance against two trained swordsmen.

There was a discouraged sigh from one of the “dead” Guardsmen, and Phoebe stifled a smile, fixing her eyes back on her target. Even if Lothan went down, the Rangers had still won the war game. Conway has some work to do with his men, she thought, fingertips moving across the polished wood of her bow in contemplation. There was something to be said for the ability to be flexible.

An earsplitting whistle from the top of the cliff caught her attention. Turning, she saw Tamar waving the sign for ‘battle won’ at her with his bow. She waved back, standing stiffly, and stepped out of the brush to offer a hand to the battered Guardsmen.

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