Flume Cave

Not far from the Plains of Abraham, there is a patch of land broken by the eruptions of long-extinct volanoes. This land is called the Galese Blackland. Nothing grows here except sagebrush and Galese milkweed, for the soil is rocky, and the dark basalt absorbs great amounts of heat in the summer. The traveller who ventures into this land quickly wears his shoes out on the sharp, crunchy rock, and the resulting blisters and cuts discourage all but the most desparate from going farther.

After the Battle of the Plains of Abraham there were many desparate men. An unprovoked attack across the Culbertson Pass caught the Kingdom of Gala unaware. The local militia, loyal to the chiefs of the major Houses, fought bravely, but futilely. The herdsmen and the hardscrabble farmers on the Plains of Abraham never had a chance. The Ganite army was disciplined, and routed the forces of the local chiefs. Many who survived retreated to the Bolton Forest and the forces of the King, hoping for protection. Others fled to their flocks and farms to protect their families and livelihood. Still others fled into the Blacklands.

If one travels a league or two into the Blacklands, one will find old lava tubes hollowed out by centuries of erosion by wind and water. These shallow caves provide shelter from the sun and water in the summer. In the past, the caves were the bane of travellers, providing hideouts for robbers preying on the travellers on the road to Gana. One of the great accomplishments of the four good kings was the suppression of these robbers. After the battle the caves came to the service of Gala, providing a refuge for remnents of the defeated militia.

One of these caves was Flume Cave. A man wearing a red tunic with the insignia of a white spoked wheel, the emblem of his village, clambered down the cave's mouth, which was choked with boulders and cobbles. The man was dressed in plain herdsman's clothing, and was armed with nothing but a small dagger. The mouth of the little cave was wider than it appeared from the surface; several men could climb down into it at once, although the loose cobbles would ensure that it would not be done quickly. The task of keeping his footing on the cobbles distracted the man's mind from the terrible events of that day. After five minutes, he noticed that he was now in the shadows of the cave, and that the air was cooler. There was a musty smell. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he noticed that the walls were smooth, and there was a stagnet pool of water. He drank from the pool and quenched his thirst. He then edged further into the cave, wishing to be farther away from the world outside. The cavern had roughly the form of a small dome, peaking to the height of four men. The cavern went back, but not very far; the floor was unencumbered by large rocks, except near the walls. The only difficulty in navigation was the diminishing light. The man stayed towards the center, slowly working his way to the back wall.

When he had reached this back wall, he noticed that he would be invisible to any intruders. If anyone had chased him, he would kill them. He was angry that so many of his fellows had died, when they had done nothing to offend the Ganties. He was also ashamed, for he was looked to as a leader in his little hamlet. He wanted to take kill just one of the arrogant invaders, and it was not fair that the odds were tilted so far against him.

After some period of time, he heard something clambering on the rocks. It was not likely to be an animal, although he supposed that this was possible. Could someone have tracked him, even to here? The man drew his knife, and stayed still. The cavern muffled the background noise from outside. He could hear his rapid pulse beating in his ears, and his slow, tired breathing. Just let the intruder get close - even if it took hours, he would kill him.

As a figure clambered down the rocks, the could tell that it was that of someone experienced in environments like this. "Probably a Ganite scout," the man thought. The figure barely made a sound, and moved cautiously, almost as if it suspected that the man was there. The man crouched. There was no way that he could be seen, could he?

He could see it going to the pool of water. Slowly, with each footfall measured, he advanced toward the figure. He was now within striking distance. A running start, a plunge into the back, and then redemption would be his.

The Galese peasant never reached his intended victim. He could not even gasp as suddenly a gaunt but powerful hand covered his nose and mouth. His knees buckled after being struck from the back. Had someone else hidden in the cave? That was impossible; it just was not that large. The man knew he was in trouble. His assailant's feet pinned his calves to the ground, and the point of a dagger pressed against his temple. A voice from the pool of water cut through the silence.

"No games, my friend. We are on the same side, if the white wheel means what I think it means. It would not help your cause to kill the messenger to the king."

The man's shoulders drooped, and he threw his dagger to the ground. The hand that covered his mouth moved down. An arm was now lightly pressing against his neck. They were going to let him speak, but were prepared to fight.

"You may as well put me out of my misery. I could not hold my men against the Ganites, and fled from the battle. And my family and lands are helpless."

"Do not despair, my friend. Your suicide will not help anyone. The army of the Queen cannot be everywhere at once, so your family is probably safe, for the time being. The battle has been lost, but not the war. I am George of Perusia, a tracker in service of the king. The man holding the dagger at your temple is one of your countrymen, Stefano of the House of Balta, another tracker. He is still learning, but he shows much promise, as I think that you will agree."

"Yes. Could he put the dagger down?"

George nodded, and the man could no longer feel the point of the dagger. The arm of Stefano left his neck.

"I am sorry," continued the man. "I do not know how I can help. I am Philo of Grayfield. My trade is not that of a warrior. I breed and raise oxen and grow melons for my livings. I am one of the petty chieftains of Grayfield village. We organized as well as we could, thinking that this was some raid by a group of robbers. I didn't think ..."

"Nobody did, Philo. Stefano will race on horseback to the King with the news of today's battle. It is important that he receive it quickly. It is my understanding that there have been plans against this sort of attack, so do not give up yet. I will follow him in a few days, reporting on the progress of the war."

"What can we do against them? The slaughtered us like we were cattle. Even the King's Calvary Sqaudrons do not stand a chance against them!"

"It always looks that way on the first day," replied the tracker. "The fact that a number of you escaped to here is important. An immediate counter-attack is out of the question, but in a way, this is the best place for you and your fellows to be. There are many means of carrying out a war."

"I am not sure how. If there were only some hope, I would fight the treacherous Ganites."

"Gana is not your enemy, Philo. I am Ganite by birth, and I hate what the Queen stands for. Gala's fighting for us, too. She is drunk with visions of glory on the battlefield, and has forgotten what made Gana great. Her mind has become warped by the strangers. She has become a damned fine soldier and a piss-poor ruler. And that, I hope, will be her downfall. I do not know the details, but I am aware of plans to resist something like this. But for them to have a chance of working, we have to resist her army for as long as possible! Every day that we delay them will allow the Royal Squadrons to fortify the the main defense line at the Chugwater River, or perhaps even stand and fight at a forward line in the Bolton Forest. And I have heard that there are other plans, that involve unconventional war...."

"Magic?"

"I do not know." George was not quite telling the truth. He had heard some hints - some involving magic, some involving outside powers, and some involving some very simple but wickedly effective strategems of the king, but it would be unprofessional to speculate before this man. "I do know that you are not the only one in the Blacklands. The trackers from the White Hand in service of the king are helping round up stragglers such as yourself, at the request of Captain Starkweather."

"Starkweather survived!"

"He not only survived, but he wants to get back into the fight. He does not have enough men to counterattack, but has been working on robber suppression in these parts for years. He knows their tactics and their hideouts. It is a bit ironic, but he may be using the tactics of the robbers in the service of Gala."

Philo rose. "Thank you, George. I know him as a practical man, and if he thinks that there is still hope, then I cannot give up. Where is he?"

Stephano spoke up. "He is at Silver Bowl Cave, coordinating a foraging party. Do you want us to take you there?"

1. Philo accompanies George to Silver Bowl Cave.
2. Philo accompanies Stefano on his way to the king.

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