Forlorn Hope Manuscript (book)

Forlorn Hope Manuscript

by Anonymous

We're all asleep now, except for the ones who keep the fires burning at the cave mouth. Strange how fear tires one -- you'd have thought they'd never sleep again, if they expected to meet in their dreams what they saw in daylight today.

But nevertheless, there they lie, the last of my friends, my comrades-in-arms, while I sit here scratching these words. Tomorrow morning, we try to make our escape, draw straws for the ones to charge and fight -- our own Forlorn Hope -- while the rest take to the forest.

Ternel and I have made a pact...we will not be together tomorrow. If I draw a short straw, he takes to the woods. If he charges those -- things, I try to escape. After all these years and all these battles at his side, it will seem strange.

But I need to explain, to leave some words behind, at least.

I never heard of this place before signing on for this job. Yet here I am, and maybe it's my bane, and I've never heard of it. Not that I'd want to. I heard enough in the forest.

We had it prepared so well -- knew they were coming, their direction and numbers, and we laid an ambush for them, put our archers in the trees and behind rocks. They'd have to fight on our terms.

So through the woods they came, in two and threes. We sprang the trap, our arrows filled the air, but none of them stopped. We drew swords, fell on them from all sides, and still they came. Don't misunderstand me, I don't mean other soldiers kept coming -- I mean the ones that had been hewn and hacked did not go down.

I saw it, disbelieving. Ternel had to shake me from my trance as I stood there staring at a headless horror walking in circles, striking blindly left and right.

And when our soldiers started to fall, the bodies of our own stood and picked up weapons, and turned on us.

When we saw that, then Ternel and I looked at each other with the same thought in mind -- We must be apart from that time on. Should he fall and make that unholy rising, would I able to strike at him? He at me?

On they came, and we ran, ran down the slopes, following the easy path of the stream, herded like sheep down and down. When I saw the cliff, I thought it was all over -- Here we die -- Then someone saw this cave. We ran in here like a babe to his mother's arms, piled brush at the mouth and set it ablaze. That kept them off, and it will until we have no more to burn. Which won't be long. So we're out of the lion's claws and into its mouth, as they say.

If we had time and luck, we might find another way out, but there is no time -- even now the fire is dying down -- and we left our luck in the forest.

So here we are, sleeping the sleep of exhaustion and terror. A few wakers, thinkers like me maybe, lightening their gear, giving themselves what they hope will be a chance.

And in the corner there our scout pretends to clean his knife, his hands shaking so he can hardly hold a rag. If he were spared, I wonder if he'd ever go outside again. I imagine he's lived most of his life in the woods, as familiar to him as a hole to a Halfling. Then in a heartbeat, it becomes a place you've never known. I wonder.

The captains are studying their maps now. Pointless really. All their maps are blank to the west of the road. Still, if some of us can hold them back long enough for the rest to get down the other side of this forsaken rock, they might have a chance of escaping, maybe to the north.

Time to draw the straws now. Sell your sword for hire, and you know it'll come to this -- in your heart of hearts you know. Too late for regrets over that -- but I gave fair value for my pay If I can ask any favor for that, Eluned, Meraud, Kertigen, whoever hears, I ask only one thing -- if I die tomorrow, let me stay dead.

The manuscript ends here.


In Another Part of the Cavern:

Smudged charcoal lettering covers this part of the wall. The words are difficult to read, but some parts are still legible:

They say "If only walls could talk!" to express wanting to know what happened when all the witnesses are gone. I am not gone. Not yet. And I am bored. My journal is concealed above in the Lion's Mouth, along with a cache of our weapons. Saar'adu Ju'ludan sealed the room, but not with our native tongue. "Arise Warrior!"

It is safe here. The things have not followed us. Perhaps they don't like water. Perhaps they don't know where we went. Perhaps they know and are waiting. We will stay here for now.

We have been here a long time. It is impossible to tell how long, but it feels like seasons. Sshukath found the way to this place. Those of us that were left, nearly a dozen, all made it. We emptied our waterskins, and used them for air bladders. There is plenty of fresh water, and we have fish to eat. The moss burns long and hot, but soon we will have exhausted the supply of what we can reach.

They are haunting us. Shh'oi was the first to see the visions and fainted from fright. Rasha drew her knife and tried to cut her arm off to be free of what she saw. My own, I keep to myself. This terror that cannot be described, it has to be felt to be truly understood. We must leave now it is unthinkable to stay.

Mehath has scouted a way out. If the gods are with us, we will find our way home, back to our families, back to our lives. The others have made plans for what they will do. I will become a farmer or perhaps a merchant. What is certain is that I will never sell my sword again. We never knew what place this was, but Shar'nath has given it a name: Island of the Damned.