Adventure of Betram Steelstream 1

Betram stands at the tower’s foot with spear ready as the last riders vanish into the ashwood. His fresh mount stamps nearby, scattering sparks from the stony ground.

The abandoned tower’s doorway gapes above him. Within, a recently lit brazier throws restless orange light across dust, broken stairs, and a route scratched toward a settlement farther east.

Fresh bootprints cross the threshold and continue beyond the rear wall, their edges still crisp. A discarded order lies beside the brazier, its seal broken and its ink barely dry.

The marked route points toward a settlement hidden beyond the eastern ridge, while a second line of tracks bends south around the tower. Smoke from the brazier curls toward the open sky.

Behind Betram, the ashwood has swallowed Jorren and his dispersed riders. No Sanbreque dragoons remain with him; Captain Elric Vane carries the proof toward Oriflamme.

The tower settles with a dry groan. Beyond its walls, the eastern road waits beneath the reddening sky, offering two fresh trails and no certainty which one leads to the next threatened village.

Betram growls in frustration, then plants one boot against the tower wall and springs upward. He catches the broken stonework, vaults the parapet, and lands on the rooftop as loose grit skitters into the brazier-lit doorway below.

From the roof, the eastern ridge opens beneath the reddening sky. Betram searches the road, ashwood edge, and southern bend for movement, disturbed brush, smoke, or any mark the fleeing parties left behind.

He finds the second party’s signs at last: six horses turned east toward the hidden settlement, their riders avoiding the main road. A snapped blackthorn branch bears a fresh smear of green dye from their bridles.

The discovery reveals their direction, but not their exact distance. Studying the faint trail costs Betram precious minutes, and the lowering light makes every farther print harder to distinguish.

Below, the fresh mount stamps beside the tower door. Betram has the route he needs: the second party is heading east through the ravine, while Jorren’s group has already vanished southward into the ashwood.

Betram drops from the rooftop, clearing the tower wall with a long, controlled leap. He lands in the waiting saddle, but the impact drives his knee hard against the pommel and tears his right glove across the knuckles.

The fresh mount surges east at his command, hooves striking sparks from the stony ground. Betram leans low, following the blackthorn’s green-stained trail into the ravine without losing the party’s direction.

The ravine narrows around him, its walls striped with evening shadow. Ahead, six sets of hoofprints remain crisp in damp earth, and a distant horse call answers from beyond the next bend.

Betram presses the mount onward, accepting the bruising jolt in his knee as the cost of speed. The eastern party is still ahead, and his pursuit carries him into the ravine before darkness settles.

Behind him, the tower’s brazier dwindles to a red spark. Before him, the hidden settlement lies somewhere beyond the ravine, while Jorren’s raiders flee along the southern ashwood trail.

The fresh mount’s breathing grows harsh beneath Betram’s legs, but its pace holds. Green dye marks another snapped branch ahead, confirming the eastern party’s route through the deepening dusk.

Betram lowers his spear and drives the fresh mount through the ravine. The mount surges over a wash of loose stone, closing the distance as six riders, all young adult men with lean builds, dust-streaked faces, dark hair, and mismatched brown-and-gray riding clothes, one marked by a red scarf appear beyond the bend.

The raiders glance back too late. Their green-dyed bridles flash in the dusk, and their horses bunch together where the ravine constricts, leaving no room to scatter.

Betram rises in the stirrups and gathers his legs beneath him. The fresh mount slams through another rut, and the jolt wrenches Betram’s left shoulder while his grip holds firm.

With spear leveled, Betram launches from the saddle and clears the narrowing ground in a long dragoon leap. He lands before the riders, boots skidding, weapon barring their path.

The six raiders haul their reins hard. Horses rear and snort behind him, while the fresh mount circles back through the dust. The party is stopped, alive, and directly under Betram’s spear.

Betram twirls his spear once, the steel catching the last red light, then settles into a ready stance between the raiders and the eastern road. His calm threat leaves no room for doubt.

The six mounted raiders exchange alarmed looks. Their horses stamp and toss their bridles, but the ravine’s narrow walls and Betram’s leveled spear deny them any safe direction.

One by one, the raiders lower their weapons and swing down from the saddles. Steel and bridles clatter onto the stones as their horses settle beneath the deepening dusk.

The red-scarfed rider raises both empty hands while the others form a subdued line. The eastern route lies open beyond them, and no village burns tonight.