The Narrow Path To War

by D L Frizzell

  "How do you know this?" Daigre asked. He looked below and saw no movement. The haze had not dissipated appreciably since their arrival, and the visibility was still less than a kilometer.

  "My birds told me," Rannuk replied. "I sent them to scout the boulders while you rested. I apologize if this was presumptuous."

  "No apology is necessary," Daigre replied. "You did well."

  He was bothered, however. The Jug had assessed the situation and taken independent action. That was out of character, even for an overseer. "Are they heading towards the Sentinel Bridge?"

  “Yes, Master Daigre,” Rannuk answered. “They are inventive. They stick to the rocks like salamanders.”

  Daigre did not know what a salamander was, but he understood the context. “We need to prepare for their arrival,” he told Rannuk.

  "Shall we put the campfires out, Master?"

  Daigre thought for a moment. "No," he told Rannuk. "Set up additional campfires near the edge of the plateau. I want them to find us now."

  "Yes, Master." Rannuk bowed and left.

  Daigre did not like the agreeable tone in the overseer’s voice. Neither did he like the initiative he displayed. He considered this as he readied himself for action. It occurred to him it would be as easy for Rannuk to spy on the Jovian Nation as it was to watch the Plainsmen. The thought made him uneasy.

  Daigre stood and shouldered his bow, then reached for his walking stick. It was covered by grass from the bed he had made, sitting where the ledge and cliff face came together. He brushed it off and tied it to his hip, comforted by its weight. Once he was ready, he worked his way around the ledge so he could see the plateau clearly.

  The Jugs milled around tents they had erected on the grassy plateau. Their camp stretched several hundred meters before it ended at a jagged cliff that reached straight up at the far end. The cliff framed the plateau on three sides, making an alcove that was protected from the cold winds at this higher elevation. Spherical boulders sloped down to the farthest reaches of his sight. Above the cliff surrounding the plateau, however, only a few dozen were scattered on the mountainside. Behind them, the Plutonic Ridge rose into the sky like a wall into space.

  Daigre felt small in comparison to the Crumbles, and it made him uneasy. Even the Sentinel Bridge was beyond the scale of his imagination. Not technically a bridge, it did have a slight arch to it as a bridge might. Its length curved gently down the slope of the Crumbles until he could barely see the far end. The bridge was the perfect roadway for The Guile’s army, abutting the plateau at the far end. Whether the Founders themselves laid the monolith there, or fate had allowed a section of the ridge to split away and push the boulders gently out of its path, Daigre did not know. There were some things, however, that were to be accepted as gifts of fate. This Sentinel Bridge would guarantee their victory, and soon.

  He allowed himself a moment to recall how The Guile had promoted him through the ranks of the garden keepers. It was a hard life, filled with secrecy and isolation. He was not even allowed to travel with other garden keepers, for they could have been spies themselves. We are always on the lookout for those we cannot trust, Daigre had been told, and was trained to believe no one but The Guile himself. He initially had doubts about the veracity of those claims, thinking that they were merely a tool to keep their own spies under control. Yet, when Norio himself abandoned his vow as a garden keeper, Daigre learned all too well that treachery could happen, even under The Guile’s rule.

  "These Plainsmen are as cursed as their land," Daigre reminded himself of The Guile's own words. The glorious leader personally showed Daigre a village the Plainsmen had destroyed eight years earlier. "They have taken what is precious to us. They have stolen our lives and property. How can we let this abomination stand, and how can we let their kind live?"

  Daigre vividly remembered the burned bodies. The Plainsmen had not tested their energy weapons on animals or trees, or even done such horrible acts in their own land - they had crossed the Narrow to destroy a defenseless Jovian village. He remembered the tears of rage flowing down The Guile's face as he relayed what happened. Daigre vowed on that day that he would set things right for his master. Even when The Guile had assigned him to aide Benac, a soulless man, Daigre took his assignment without question. The leader of the Jovian Nation had determined, after all, that it was appropriate to respond against the Plainsmen in the same manner they had attacked The Guile’s subjects. With cruelty.

  Benac, despite his faults, had been dedicated to the same goal. He had been instrumental in turning back the Plainsmen during their first invasion and had gotten his lip torn in half during the battle. Daigre wondered if he were destined to become like Benac in the end, a man without conscience. It repulsed him at first, but he supposed it was necessary to bring justice to the aggressors.

  Daigre watched several jugs standing around a drinking trough in a nearby corral. They would have done better to drink water directly from the runoff that flowed down the cliff above them, as the handlebar goats they used to carry sap up the boulders were filthy creatures. Then he decided he didn't care if they got sick from drinking the wrong water and said nothing.

  A single cherry tree grew next to the corral, having found enough purchase for its roots in the cracks where the plateau met the cliff face. It seemed peaceful, and it reminded Daigre of home. He longed to return and see his family again. Perhaps The Guile would release him from his vow of servitude once the retaliation was concluded. Then he could speak to his father about tending the trees again.

  He watched Rannuk approach the Jugs who were congregated beyond the corral. Some were eating. Others were sharpening their parlo knives. Still others were sleeping. He roused them all at once by barking something, to which they stood and cheered in unison. Daigre could not hear what it was but wondered how Rannuk could possibly rally such a group of thugs so quickly.

  Daigre pushed home from his mind and returned his thoughts to war. He now had the advantage of easily-defendable high ground and three hundred eager killers to do his bidding.

  The Sentinel Bridge was not the only slab of stone to split away from the Plutonic Ridge. There were other sections of the plateau that had settled onto the boulders over the millennia. Shelf fragments, most less than a dozen meters across, were strewn atop the field of boulders below the exposed mountainside. Some were large, cracked, and brittle crags without a single reliable handhold. The Sentinel Bridge stood in contrast to all of them. Pointing downward on the boulders, it was the largest unbroken segment of rock in the Crumbles. Over a kilometer long and nearly twenty meters wide, it was a perfect road. Beyond it, Daigre saw the scorched, barren mountainside where a massive boulderlanche had occurred once. Though he did not know the details, he knew the site had been the place where the first Plainsman invasion was cut short. It would see the end of the second one as well.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  After spending a day climbing the boulders toward the Narrow, the pursuit team got their first glimpse of the Sentinel Bridge. The formation stood in contrast to the Crumbles; its sheer size made the boulders seem like pebbles in comparison. The kilometer-long stone slab was noticeably darker than the boulders surrounding it, and its angular rock facets made it look even more out of place. It was as if a great knife carved it from the Plutonic Ridge and laid it eastward down the Crumbles like a centerpiece to an enormous rock garden. The boulders along the southern length were nearly flush with the top of the bridge, but only rose halfway up the opposite side. Alex wondered why they were so lopsided, and then figured it was another academic question that no one cared to answer. The bridge was strangely smooth along each side, except for the end, where it was chipped and broken into a massive overhang that angled over a small clearing.

  Alex supposed the clearing was created during the bridge’s fall from the ridge millennia earlier. The boulders were piled much higher in ancient times and would have eased the bridge down from a vertical position when it first broke loose
from the ridge. He imagined the wave of boulders cascading down the Crumbles when it began to lean, forcing them out of the way until the lowest boulders had nowhere to go. Those boulders wouldn’t have been able to roll out of the bridge’s path, and so were crushed beneath it. Runoff from the plateau brought fertile soil from the underlying layers of sediment, which accumulate at the lower end of the bridge. Free from Kithara's withering light, an oasis formed. Ferns grew from the soil, while grass surrounded a small pond created by the runoff. Vines clung to tiny cracks in the rock overhang and sagged down to create a canopy of leaves that surrounded the team in colorful plant life. It reminded Alex of Norio’s garden.

  Beyond the Sentinel Bridge was the Plutonic Ridge. Only the bottom part was visible, with the rest rising into the sky until it disappeared in the haze. It was just as angular as the bridge, with a hint of snow at the limit of his visibility. Alex wondered how such a place could exist for thousands of years without eroding more noticeably.

  The pursuit team looked up at the overhang nervously. The thirty-meter-high granite slab would take no time at all to fall over on them if the slightest fissure in the rock were to appear. Kate wasn’t bothered by it, though, and walked up to the pond to get a drink. Seeing how comfortable she was there, they shrugged off their misgivings and joined her. They piled their gear off to one side and filled up their canteens from the pond.

  “This is the strangest place I’ve ever seen,” Traore remarked, “and I’ve seen a lot of places.”

  “I like it,” Brady said. “Hell, I might build myself a cabin here and retire someday.”

  “I don’t think you’d like the neighbors much, Sarge,” Sturm joked.

  “Maybe not,” Brady replied, “but they won’t bother us much longer, eh?”

  “Good job, everyone,” Seneca told them. “Take a break while I scout around upstairs. Spot, join me please." Together, he and Wyler made their way up a stairway of boulder fragments that led to the southern tip of the bridge.

  “Damn if that little lady’s glue didn’t work,” Gurnig said. “That stuff sticks to rock like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

  “That, and everything else,” Sturm complained. He held his canteen in front of him and let go. It didn’t fall. A few of the others laughed.

  "Just a suggestion," Alex said. "Don't wash your gloves in the pond."

  “I wish I hadn't forgotten my gloves,” Leeds moaned. This stuff is gonna take forever to wear off.”

  "Water doesn't help anyway," Gurnig said, watching as droplets from his canteen rolled off his gloves without effect.

  “Soap might clean it,” Alex said.

  “You haven't been with us long enough to know better,” Leeds told Alex. “We don’t normally carry soap in the field.”

  “You know, Leeds,” Brady laughed. “I don’t think I’ve seen you take soap anywhere.”

  Leeds sniffed his hands and made a sour face. “Next time,” he muttered, “soap is definitely on the list.”

  “Just be careful you don’t touch any of your hairy parts before you wash,” Traore said.

  Everyone lifted their canteens in agreement, knocking them together before taking a drink. Alex glanced over at Kate, who had hidden her face in her hood. He leaned in to see if she was okay. She let out a snort of laughter.

  "I guess she's got a sense of humor, after all," Brady grinned. "You're alright, Kate."

  Colonel Seneca climbed over the last boulder onto the Sentinel Bridge. He ran his hands along the top of the bridge and examined it. It was smooth all the way to the plateau, but it wasn’t so bad that traction would be a problem. A cool breeze ensured that no dirt built on the surface, and he was grateful that there was minimal risk of slipping. He shuddered, briefly imagining what would happen to a person who fell off the lower edge of the bridge. He looked through his binoculars at the plateau above.

  "What do you think, Spot?" he asked.

  Wyler was scanning the plateau with his own binoculars. "Half a dozen fires," he said. "A few handlebar goats in a corral. I don’t see any people, though."

  "Did they leave already?"

  "No, sir. It looks like the camp is still in use."

  "They want us to see those fires," Seneca said. "They know we're here."

  "Most likely, sir," Wyler said. "They're just waiting for us to make a move."

  "What's your appraisal of the situation?" Seneca asked.

  Wyler examined the plateau from the southern edge where a cliff rose a dozen meters above the boulders, then to the north end where the Sentinel Bridge lay flush with the grass at the edge of the plateau. "The southern approach is a no-go," Wyler said. "We'd have to scale the cliff and work our way around a few ledges. If the Jovian plays it half as smart as he has been, he'll have someone watching that spot, and we'd be easy targets.

  "The exposed edge of the plateau is a little better," he continued. "The boulders are clean, and about the same difficulty as what we've seen up to this point. There's a nice outcropping in the boulders that offers some protection from incoming fire. Trouble is, it's really only good as a defensive position, and that's not why we're here."

  "Right," Seneca said. "So that leaves the bridge as our best way up."

  "Yes, sir," Wyler said. "The Jugs would come to the same conclusion."

  "Dammit," Seneca muttered. An uphill assault on the bridge would be difficult enough with an entire garrison. His team of nine was hopelessly outmatched. "What about their weapons?"

  "The only ranged weapon a Jug would use is a bow and arrow," Wyler replied. "They are deadly accurate. Their disadvantage is in their limited range. On level ground, they’re no match for our rifles."

  "How does that change since they have the high ground?”

  "More or less even," Wyler said. "We’ll be more accurate with our Longarms, but if they have a large force up there, they could easily overwhelm us with a volley of arrows."

  "Can we create any kind of shielding?" Seneca asked.

  "There's nothing around here to use," Wyler shrugged, "unless you want to try rolling one of these boulders up the bridge for cover."

  Seneca didn't respond.

  "Sorry, sir," Wyler said. "I don't see any obvious way to the top."

  "It's all right, Corporal," Seneca said. "I see it the same way you do. Will you go ask Deputy Vonn to come up here?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Here," Wyler handed his binoculars to Alex at the camp a minute later. "The colonel would like to see you."

  "Right," Alex said. He scaled the boulders around the edge of the bridge to see the colonel rubbing his eyes wearily.

  “I want to get your opinion, Alex,” Seneca said.

  "Okay."

  "Here's the situation - The Jugs know we're here. They’re at the top of the bridge, but we don’t know how many there are.” He pointed to the fires along the plateau. "They're hiding right now, but we suspect they outnumber us by a sizable margin. Tell me how you would get to the plateau and engage them."

  "The first question that comes to mind," Alex said, "would be to ask why you want to know what I think."

  Seneca looked up to see a pair of scavenger birds circling overhead. "I have my reasons."

  "This would be a great time to share them," Alex replied.

  "I'm not prepared to do that," Seneca said flatly.

  "Then I’m not prepared to help you," Alex shrugged.

  "What?" Seneca asked.

  "You don't share information," Alex stated. "You hand out just enough to get what you want, so you're the only one who knows what's really going on. That’s not good enough for me."

  "Alex, this isn't the best time to argue," Seneca said.

  Alex stared back at him.

  "I don’t know," Seneca said, reconsidering his last words. "With the situation we have now, maybe there won’t be a better time.” He walked across the bridge's twenty-meter width to the northern edge. He gestured for Alex to join him.

  Alex wondered why Seneca made no eff
ort to conceal their presence on the bridge. Perhaps Seneca had given up on the notion of secrecy, considering the mission a lost cause. It unnerved Alex to see a man who was known for discretion to walk openly where an enemy could see him, even if they were well out of range of their arrows. He walked across the bridge to join the colonel.

  The colonel looked at the boulders strewn across the exposed mountainside along the northern length of the Sentinel Bridge. The bedrock was exposed a full half a kilometer past the bridge’s edge, showing layers of sediment that had been crushed under the weight of boulders for millennia. Judging by the deep hollow leading down the Crumbles from there, Alex figured this was the site of a massive boulderlanche. It almost had the look of a crater, as if a meteor had fallen from space to clear out a wide swath of the boulders in a single blow. There were even scorch marks in places.

  Seneca stared at the burned areas. "This is where your father died," he said.

  Alex caught his breath.

  "This area didn’t look like this ten years ago," Seneca continued. "It was covered by boulders as far as the eye could see. Even the Sentinel Bridge wasn’t visible at the time. Although, that might have been when it got exposed."

  "You were here when it happened?" Alex asked, forgetting his irritation at Seneca as he looked over the devastation.

  "No, I wasn't," Seneca replied. "I spoke to the survivors and thought I had a pretty good idea what it looked like. This," he spoke somberly, "is worse than I imagined.”

  Alex couldn't help asking the next question. “What happened?”

  "Your father brought most of the garrison up the Crumbles to face the Jugs when he learned of their plan to take over our territory," he said. "Richard hoped he could occupy the Narrow and turn them back, but they got here first."

  Alex remembered Governor Forsyth - he was the lieutenant governor at the time - coming to his elementary school to personally remove him from class. Forsyth reported Richard Vonn’s death to young Alex but wouldn’t tell him how it happened. Alex hadn’t cried at the time. He didn’t cry now, either. "How did he die?"