One notable thing about Ecith? The size.
Major Alua's map was sized the same as those on offer throughout Karnor, but the scale was deceptive. The area she'd indicated between the river and the Imperial March took up the width of a pinky finger on the paper, but Flopsy and Læbirius' spectral steed seemed to spend hours traversing a fraction of that fraction.
The outskirts of the March were gentle terrain, but that was relative to a land of vast forests and vaster mountains. The ghost horse was advantaged by its spiritual nature, allowing it to effortlessly traverse mud and outcropping with little diversion; Flopsy, on the other hand, simply barreled through brush, rocks, ponds and small trees alike, leaving destruction in its wake. Somehow, the big bewinged hippo did this with a surprisingly modicum of grace and quiet, too. It was uncanny.
Beyond the two uncanny steeds, little marked this day as different from the rest. The four scouts rode hard and steady, Hop calling only two midday stops- once to eat, and once to get their bearings. By the time gloaming fell over the land, they were far enough away from the flood hippos that none of the fires of the the caravan were visible to them.
The darkness of the wilderness of Ecith was different in kind from the darkness of more civilized lands. Although the stars and three moons rose as brightly over the lands as anywhere else, the great canopies of the jungle blocked out the argent nimbus entirely, leaving the shadow so thick on the ground that it felt like one could drown in it. Even the small campfire which Hop kindled (hidden in part beneath a carefully-laid canopy of wet leaves and sticks) seemed only to put out a puddle of light.
"Good time today!" the big ork said, enthusiastic, "The March proper is just over that ridge, we should be able to get a good look at it all tomorrow. Tonight, we'll get a good sleep and be quite prepared for anything!"
~~~
It was less than an hour after Hop had gone to sleep, leaving his other three scouts to decide who took first watch, and something was very wrong.
It began with light. It didn't pierce the deep darkness, but seemed to grow on the periphery of the ridge they had hunkered next to. It was colorless, and illuminated nothing, like the witchlights of the fens of Zaichaer, or the ball lightnings which sometimes met ships on the misty seas. At first, one could have mistaken it for hallucination, but it continued to build in strength until it was unmistakable. Eventually, it formed a halo over the ridge, like the aurora come to earth.
Next, there was sound. Clanking iron and creaking wood met the distant sounds of hoofbeats, and the restrained whinnying of trained horses. Like the false light, these sounds grew louder, but no less distant, as though they were being heard from another room.
Finally, an explosion. The distant sounds of battalions on the move were joined by the unmistakable pitch and tenor of cannonfire, echoing over the forest. A projectile whistled in the distance, ending its arc with a sickening thud.
At this point, the snoozing scout was awake again, eyes bright with concern. He listened to the eruption of cannons, craning his head to try to follow the arc described by their shots.
"That's what the train was hearing for sure." he whispered, his voice somewhat softer than the cannons- but only just, "Sounds like they're shooting to the south, towards Kythera. Could be ghosts, for sure..." he sounded less certain of that. No surprise; since when did ghosts have artillery?
"Truth fend us. What should we do? Get up on the ridge for a look...?"
The Ork's voice was not enthusiastic, and it wasn't hard to guess why- that would put them right in the line of fire for the unseen cannoneer. Still, they'd get nowhere simply lying there. What was to be done?
