Adventure of Boffo Hardbottle 1

The ward-ring flares white, then settles into a hard southward beam. Across the heather, the drums stop all at once.

Heavy marching answers in their place, steady and brutal. On the ridge, a war-band rises into the light, spears and helms black against the glow.

Stone dust shifts at the cracked base, and the old notch gleams like a hidden keyhole. Below the ridge, the first orcs break into a run.

Boffo stands between the monolith and the village, with the beacon drawing the raiders onward and Greenfields waiting in the dark beyond them.

Boffo steps into the beam, white light washing his cap and bow. The ridge answers with a stir of helmets and spears, all turned toward him.

His arrow snaps through the glare and strikes true among the foremost raiders. The war-band recoils, then swings its front rank toward the hill, newly fixated on him.

The cracked notch at the monolith’s base catches the beam and glints like a lock waiting for the right hand. Behind the first line of orcs, more shapes are already moving down from the ridge.

Boffo Hardbottle draws again, breath steady in the glare. His second shaft leaps out and vanishes into the front rank, and the nearest orcs jerk aside with a shout.

The war-band turns hard after the flash, spears angling toward the hill instead of the road to Greenfields. Behind them, more helmets bob and close in under the ridge.

The bowstring bites his fingers raw as he looses, and a warm sting opens on his thumb. A thread of blood spots the grip.

The cracked notch at the monolith base flares brighter under the beam, as if the stone is waiting for a strike or a hand. Orc shouts roll down the moor in answer.

Boffo stands in the beam like a marker stone, feet planted, bow high. The orcs answer the challenge at once, surging uphill toward the glare instead of Greenfields.

He looses again, and the shot snaps into the packed front, making the line bunch and stumble on the slope.

The Stranger drives his blade into the cracked notch at the monolith base. White light spits along the fracture, then the stone gives with a sharp, dry crack.

A slab at the notch loosens and drops free, exposing a dark seam and ancient cut marks beneath the beam. The southward light wavers for the first time.

Boffo snaps his bow back into line and lets the next arrow fly from the glow-slick slope. The shaft bites into the front rank, and the war-band flinches as one body.

The line breaks its climb, bunching hard on the hillside, every eye pulled to the bright ruin above them instead of the road below.

At the monolith, the Stranger wrenches harder at the cracked seam. The fallen slab lies open, and the beam shudders thinner through the split.

Below, the orcs hesitate on the slope, pinned between Boffo's aim and the failing light. The southward glare still points to the village, but it wavers, asking for the final blow.

Boffo Hardbottle snaps another arrow to the string and looses into the wavering beam. The shaft drives into the crowded front, and the orc line jerks back as if a single tether has been cut.

The slope loosens under their feet. One raider stumbles over another, and the whole war-band checks itself, turning its snarling faces from the road to the bright crack in the hill.

At the monolith base, stone grinds against stone. The Stranger hauls at the split seam, and the glowing notch spits dust as the beam thins to a trembling thread.

Below the ridge, the orcs surge a step, then hesitate again, split between the wounded light and the unseen road south. The crack in the monolith shines brighter, as if something inside it is trying to break free.

Boffo Hardbottle draws and looses again. The arrow snaps into the packed front of the war-band, and the nearest orc goes down hard, dragging two others off balance.

The slope answers with a scuffle of boots and shouted curses. The raiders bunch tighter on the hillside, all of them fixed on Boffo and the bright wound in the hill behind him.

At the cracked monolith, stone splits with a dry crack. The Stranger yanks once more, and the beam gutters, then goes out in a spray of dust.

The orcs below lose the line at once. Some turn south toward Greenfields, while others glance back at the hill, suddenly unsure which prize to take first.