Alter sat motionless on the stationary Tarikell’s back, his eyes gazed blankly down at the disheveled form of the rider lying motionless on the ground in front of them. He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but in the rush of the moment he had concluded that the fall was perfectly survivable. Now though, it seemed that perhaps this was not the case. The sound of cantering hooves caused him to tear his eyes away from the body to see Boozehound approaching along the road. He waved an arm to signal where he was needed and the medic turned his mount to enter the field. Boozehound stared hard at the rider’s crumpled form as he pulled up alongside the sorry scene.

  “Well, was this what you wanted to happen?” He asked, his tone marking it as a genuine question rather than a sarcastic jab.

  “He ignored my demands to slow down, and was about to elude me. I had to take a more drastic action than I’d liked.” Alter admitted.

  “I suppose you haven’t examined him to see if he’s still alive.”

  “Not yet, could you?”

  Boozehound gave a sharp exhale as he slid off his horse’s back and crouched over the man. With a whispered apology, his hands reached into and lifted his cloak for a better view of his injuries, starting at the head and working his way downward. His expression started as one of grim acceptance but as he placed a hand under his chin and paused, his eyebrows raised in surprise signalling that the man was not as dead as Alter had first believed. The medic resumed his progress down the body, beginning to vocalise his findings as he worked.

  “He has an incredibly weak heartbeat, but,” Suddenly, Boozehound recoiled and scrabbled away, his face contorting in discomfort. “Oh, merde. Spines are not supposed to do that.”

  The corners of Alter’s mouth tightened and for a moment he squeezed his eyes tight shut. His abdominal muscles rippled and convulsed as that part of his mind which was terrified of pain yet couldn’t help but imagine it granted him chilling visions of what it could feel like. Thank God the poor sod had been granted the mercy of unconsciousness.

  “How bad?” He murmured as he forced his eyelids to crack open again.

  “His back is broken. Hell, it almost erupted out between his shoulder blades. I may not be a medical authority, but I realise full well that people don’t just walk away from events such as this. I don’t even think he could wake up unassisted.”

  “Would it be worth giving him a jolt?” Alter asked quietly.

  “No,” Boozehound shook his head emphatically as he turned to look at him. “I categorically refuse. To force him awake in his state would be worse than torture for him. I will have no part in any such attempt, neither will my equipment.”

  Alter didn’t respond immediately, his eyes instead dragging themselves back to the man and settling on the deathly pale face with heavily lidded, glassy eyes that stared back at him. Not with accusation, but with a cold, trickling fear.

  “Does he even have a chance to survive?”

  “Realistically? No. Even if we were in the real world, with modern medicine, his chances would be slim to none. Besides, if he did make it then at best he’d be a prisoner in his own body, stuck in hospital beds for however much time he had left. But here, in this other place?” Boozehound sighed heavily and shrugged. “I think, if I was him, I wouldn’t want to make the attempt.”

  “Nothing we can do, then.”

  “Not really, it just depends on whether you want to put him out of his misery now, or wait for shock to finish the job.”

  Alter gave a shallow nod and redrew his sidearm. He told himself that this was a mercy, aimed, disengaged the safety, and launched a solitary round through the rider’s skull. Without further comment he turned away from the body and stowed his pistol away once more. Tarikell was thankfully calm, and seemed to deal with the noise of close gunfire without alarm. Something in the animal’s dark eyes gave Alter a strange sense that he understood why he had to do it, an idea that gave him a strange comfort as he pulled himself back into the saddle.

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  “All teams, report.” Alter growled into the radio once he had remounted.

  “Team Two here. The riders we were pursuing got tangled up in the bodies at Three’s ambush site, they’ve since been dealt with. We’ve taken over the position, no further contacts to report as of yet.” Riptide answered.

  “Team Three is in overwatch over the farm. Engaged and eliminated one target, a member of the undercover workers. We also spotted two more afterwards, but they retreated back into the southwest orchard before we could react. Team Four are currently in pursuit.” Pavejack continued.

  “Way to spoil the surprise, Five.” Whim complained a split second later. “Team Four is still hunting and we have a hot trail, they won’t get far.”

  “One acknowledges all. Two, we’re on our way back to link up with you now, hold position until we arrive. Five, keep doing what you're doing. Seven, stay sharp and don’t get overconfident, understood?”

  “Understood, we’ll be careful.” Whim responded with a hint of dismissiveness.

  “Ironic that the two who’ve suffered injuries are the only ones being made to engage the enemy in close quarters.” Boozehound remarked as they made it back onto the road and accelerated back up to an easy gallop.

  Alter made no immediate response beyond a faint grumble which never stood a chance against the clattering of the horses. Soon they were once again entering the outskirts of Marsdale, slowing down as the villagers who had not yet recovered from their previous fly-through looked at them with nervous anticipation as they approached. There was some commotion as they arrived in the centre, a riderless horse charged around a small square, its wide eyes a petrified mess of instinct and panic. Several villagers shadowed its movements, attempting to calm the beast before it could cause any damage. A somewhat older man who had been watching from the sidelines spotted them and hurried in their direction.

  “What in the Four’s name is happening? Why do you keep charging through here without a thought?” He spluttered in a harsh whisper, his furious eyes demanding an answer.

  Alter eyed the spooked horse as his mental gears turned in the hunt for an excuse. It didn’t bear the injuries of the one that had slammed into the hedge, it must’ve belonged to one of the riders Riptide and Boats had caught up too.

  “Undercover bandits had taken over the farm of Yellowood, we are here to expel them, the situation is under control.” He lied as he brought out the Masserlind insignia which gave him the authority needed to keep the situation in his hands.

  “You call this ‘under control’?” The villager laughed incredulously.

  “Are you the leader of this village?” Boozehound asked, changing the subject.

  The man nodded awkwardly. “Not exactly, but I’m the best there is right now. Who are you?”

  “Soldiers in the service of Lord Masserlind, I can assure you that we mean you no harm but for now that’s all you need to know. The roads in the direction of Yellowood are not safe right now, and there are still some bandits out there who may try something desperate. Can you make sure your people don’t wander in that direction?”

  “I mean, I can tell whoever I see, but a good number of folks have already left for the day.” The man seemed displeased by their vague identities but put up no further argument.

  “Then please, do what you can to keep everyone safe. We’ll be sure to inform you once these bandits are no longer a threat.” Alter gave him an encouraging smile as Tarikell began to trot forwards.

  Fortunately, the villagers managed to corner the frightened horse and begin the delicate process of calming it down as they left the square. Alter had to admit that he was quite relieved to leave Marsdale’s borders again, the sensation of their distrusting eyes boring into the back of his head was a profoundly uncomfortable sensation. Shortly afterwards they made it to the ambush site where the small pile of bodies continued to grow. Two more cloaked figures coated in mud and dust lay face down in the road, with the body of one more horse a short distance further away. Riptide and Boats had followed Boozehound’s lead in setting themselves up behind the logpile, and they waved to them as they arrived.

  “All quiet since last check in, I guess everyone else has either gone to ground or fled into the countryside.

  “Not that there are many of them left at this point.” Boats added. “We heard some gunfire in the direction of the farm not too long ago, it sounded like Five’s machine gun.”

  “Hmm,” Alter hummed and reached for the radio. “Team Three, contact report?”

  “Another one of the fake workers was spotted in a window of the smaller house.” Walross explained. “We have reason to believe the leader of the riders is also inside. What you heard was a suppression burst to keep them locked down until reinforcements become available.”

  Alter frowned at the report. “I understand your logic, Six, and we’ll be with you soon. However, you do not have permission for blind or indiscriminate fire, we don’t know who else could be in that building.”

  “Team Three understands, holding fire.” Walross sounded rather relieved at the order, a fact that made a nice change.

  “Alright, everybody mount up and fall in, let’s go smoke out some trapped rats.” Alter ordered, and the newly reunited four-man team set off in the direction of Yellowood Farm.