The Haven

by Graham Diamond

  “Look at that!”

  Lotho turned and looked at Klee. His companion was gesturing wildly over the wall beyond the Plain. Lotho shaded his eyes and wearily walked beside him. “What are you jumping about?” he asked curtly.

  Klee bobbed his head up and down and swallowed hard. “The hills, man!” he rasped. “There’re thousands of them!”

  Lotho grimaced, shaded his eyes and peered. Klee was right! A mass of dark fur was moving down from the Westland and heading to the Plain. They came in bunches, red ones, black ones, silver ones. “Are they dogs?” he gasped.

  “They must be!” cried Klee. “Give the signal! The whole Valley is under attack!”

  Lotho pressed the horn to his lips. A high screeching wail sent a hundred archers clambering along the wall. In the streets below women and children were already dashing for the shelter of their homes.

  Sean, adorned in his battle armor, raced to the tower. Lotho stood aside, holding his breath.

  “We must evacuate the settlements, prepare for siege!” said Klee frantically.

  Sean furrowed bushy brows. A half-scowl, half-smile was written over his face. “That won’t be necessary,” he said dryly.

  “But the dogs are attacking!”

  Sean shook his head. “Look again. They’re not dogs.”

  Confusion showed on the archers’ faces.

  “But you can give the welcome signal. Everyone must be told that Dinjar and his wolves have finally come.”

  *

  The Packs moved slowly, an endless stretch of them trampling onto the flat brown earth of the Plain. Dinjar, surrounded by an entourage of Lords and nobles, led the way. Behind him came a regiment of fierce Hunters, their eyes blazing. And behind them came the Packs of the forests. Females kept a watchful eye on restless cubs; elderly and infirm wolves were escorted by younger ones. The King kept his gaze firmly fixed on the huge walls in front. He had heard tales of the Haven, but had not expected anything like this. At least six feet thick of solid stone, the walls stretched for half a mile on either side of the gate. And the towers, each taller than the other, loomed almost as high as the clouds. A fortress of solid rock! No wonder the dogs had never taken it!

  He stood in awe, humbled at the sight.

  A hundred meters from the Great Gate he stopped. Iron creaked and moaned as the gate swung open, a dozen blue-tunic clad men ran out and bowed. Dinjar signaled for his Packs to stay. Eyes staring straight ahead, he came closer. Just then dozens of children raced past the astonished soldiers and ran among his Hunters. Mothers screamed, cried, carried on. The soldiers ran to catch them to haul them back. But the children were not to be stopped. They had never seen wolves before, and like children everywhere, curiosity overcame fear.

  The Elder, dressed in his tan ceremonial tunic, rode past the gate on his horse; he called for the soldiers to stand as they were.

  “But they could be hurt, my Lord!” cried an anxious guard.

  “Our children will be fine,” replied Elon without looking at the man.

  Some of the wolf-cubs began to break from their own mothers and started to frolic with the children of the Haven. The Hunters looked at Dinjar.

  “Let them be,” said the King, much to the consternation of their parents.

  And there it was, the first contact between the races.

  Elon was elated. Who would have believed it? He dismounted and walked to the red wolf. “I am Elon, Elder of the Haven,” he said with a sweeping bow. “Welcome to the Valley.”

  Dinjar studied his face for a moment. The eyes were warm, the smile sincere. “On behalf of all wolves, I thank you,” he said with a bow of his own. “May this day be recorded in our minds forever.”

  *

  All that day was spent in joy and merriment. The wolves set their camps along the Plain, while a few of the more adventurous among them entered the Haven and mingled with the crowds of onlookers. Fears on both sides were quickly put aside.

  That night a great banquet was held on the Plain. Sean set up his tents and when the meal was done he and his aides met quietly with Dinjar and his Lords. Despite the gaiety of the evening, the plans for war lay heavily on their minds.

  Vandor of the hawks entered late; he found the meeting well in progress.

  “Ho, friend!” said Sean rising to greet him. “We’ve been waiting for you. Lord Dinjar has a fine plan for your consideration.”

  The sly hawk eagerly took his place at the council.

  Dinjar lay with his paws stretched out, gnawing on a bone. “What I propose is really quite simple,” he said, putting the bone aside. “Word has reached me that the dogs’ army still gathers at its meeting place, awaiting additional warriors from Deep-Forest. It will still be some time before they are ready to march.”

  Vandor nodded. “My spies have reported much the same,” he agreed.

  “Then why should we sit idly by and wait?” asked the King. “My plan is to locate their camp — and strike.”

  Vandor looked at him curiously. “Are you proposing that men fight in the forest?”

  The red wolf nodded, wagging his tail gleefully. “Why not? It will be the perfect ploy! The Master will never expect such a bold move. He thinks we’ll all stay here and prepare for him to come to us. Why not turn the tables?”

  “It’s a daring plan,” said the hawk, “but risky. Men are not adept at fighting in the wood.”

  “All the more reason they won’t expect us!” glowered Sean. “At the least it will shake their confidence. They’ll be totally on the defensive.”

  Vandor, deep in thought, closed his eyes; he swayed his body ever so slightly. “Have you located the main camp?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” answered Dinjar. “But with your birds of prey and my Seekers and Trackers, we should have no trouble.”

  “The Southern Forest is vast,” cautioned the hawk.

  “All the better for us to march unseen,” said Sean happily. “And men in the wood will show all Dwellers that we, not the dogs, are most to be feared. What say you, friend?”

  “What of their allies? Antonius tells me that the dogs have allied with the Night-Birds.”

  “When Night-Birds see the Master’s army smashed, they’ll have little taste for war. They’ll run back to their caves and cower in shadows. The alliance between them will fall apart.”

  It all made sense, thought Vandor. “But we must act quickly,” he said. “Once dog and Night-Bird are joined, it will be too late to stop them.”

  “And we will!” said Sean. “Preparations are already under way.”

  “Good,” said Vandor, eager to get on with it “Maybe, just maybe, this time we’ll rid the world of this terror once and for all.”

  *

  And so it was that the Valley made ready for war. New defense lines were set across the Plain, contingency plans drawn for evacuation of the settlements in case of siege. Food and supplies were stocked in warehouses; granaries were filled. Smiths toiled day and night forging new weapons, while hundreds of youths trained for battle in the forest. The Valley became an armed camp, armed to the teeth. Archers and fighting birds scoured the skies for Night-Birds come to spy.

  Thus were the sides drawn; men, wolves and birds pitted against the wild dogs and bats. A war to end all wars. Win or lose, both sides knew that by summer’s end the world would never be the same again.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Within a week’s time the Allied Forces were ready to march. It was a fine bright morning with a warm sun and deep blue sky. At the crack of dawn the throngs of people crowded along the parapets and towers, massed outside the walls by the thousands, and waited patiently for the procession to begin.

  And then from the Great Gate strode the drummers. The deep rolls of the bass drums contrasted sharply with the brisk snappy rolls of the snares. Two dozen soldiers carrying blazing banners followed close behind. The flags fluttered in gold and crimson, some striped, others with silver falcons and dragons embroidered at the centers
. The crowds oohed and ahhed as the color guard marched smartly past.

  At that moment a mighty roar went up. Mounted on his fine black charger came Sean. He was dressed in the deep blue of the Guard and on his collars golden eagles were fastened. He rode with his eyes fixed straight ahead, never once glancing at the multitudes of well-wishers. A long broadsword dangled at his side, fastened tightly onto his red sash. His boots were spit-polished, reflecting the sunlight like a mirror.

  And behind him came the cavalry; two hundred strong, made up entirely of Guardsmen, they, too, sat with darkened eyes and determined faces. One hand kept a firm grip on the reins of their steeds; the other was at the hilt of their swords. They rode as tall and as proud as any had ever ridden, and they seemed almost invincible. As they passed, the crowd began to quiet. The riders formed into ranks three abreast and waited while Sean rode up and down along the line.

  After they had all come through the gate the Regulars marched out at double time. This was the infantry; with a proud and noble tradition they strode smartly to the beat of the drums. Many were veterans, others valiant young men, recently trained. But they all shared a common purpose, a common goal. Gladly they would give their lives so that the Valley might be saved. And then after them came two hundred archers, also Regulars, each man a sharpshooter and expert with longbow and crossbow both.

  At the rear were about fifty more mounted soldiers and with them were the wagons and supply mules. Sean waited patiently until everyone had come through the gates. He looked over his army, nodded at his officers, then cast a sad glance at the Guardsmen staring down from the high wall. It had been a bitter decision to split up the Guard, to leave so many of them behind when all were badly needed. But the Haven could not remain without protection, and so fully half of his best troops would stay at home.

  At length he began to address them all. “This is both a sad and joyous day,” he began. “We who march today represent the glory of the Empire — its strength, its traditions. We are leaving for strange and unknown territory, a hostile world. But we are not alone. For the first time our army is combined together with the armies of friendly Dwellers. We are a single unit determined to defeat the conquering hordes of the Master.

  “But let no one be fooled. We face a highly trained, highly skilled and disciplined force. They will fight us to the bitter end, with no quarter given. They are not to be mistaken with the occasional pack of wild, inefficient warriors that we’re accustomed to. Like us, this army is a fighting team, made up of generals and strategists as well as common troops. We must be at our best, and then some.

  “But be not discouraged! We set out today because we know we can win. We know we can smash the Master’s army before it’s even ready. And we must keep that thought with us at all times, no matter whatever else occurs. Our victory will ensure peace and prosperity to the Valley for generations to come.”

  Both the soldiers and the crowds listened in silence as Sean gave his speech. And then he glanced to the high tower and saluted to the tiny figure of the Elder who stood watching from above.

  “For the Haven!” Sean cried. “For the Empire!”

  And the crowds took up the chant, loudly, proudly. “For the Haven! For the Empire!”

  Sean turned to his officers. “Prepare to march! Color Guard, hold your banners high; drummers, give us the cadence!”

  Slowly the drums began to roll again. The army swung wide from the new road and headed on a southerly course. Again the crowds began to cheer. From the foothills at the edge of the Plain came King Dinjar and his Hunters, seven hundred strong. The wolves marched at the flanks of the cavalry, Dinjar in the lead. A hundred Trackers and Seekers moved on in front of them all, keeping watchful eyes ahead.

  And then from the skies swooped down more than five hundred predators — hawks and falcons — claws outstretched. The crowds watched in awe as the birds performed daring acrobatics in the sky. And what a sight it was! Indeed, the finest army the world had ever seen. Grown men cried as sons and brothers marched from sight. The bards and poets would sing of it for a thousand years to come: the day that men, led by mighty Sean, went into the forest to do battle with the deadliest enemy ever known.

  It was late morning before the last of the army passed from sight. Elon and Bela stood at the tower watching even long after that. The crowds had all gone, the Plain was empty. The Elder pressed his hands firmly against the wail and stared out into the distance. A shadow from the spire hid his face in darkness. “They must not fail,” he whispered.

  “If the Master can be defeated,” said Bela darkly, “Sean will be the one to do it.”

  Elon looked at the Counsel sharply. “And if he fails? What then? Is this the end?”

  Bela shook his head sadly and sighed. He glanced toward the north, far from where Sean was marching, but to where his own heart carried him. “Somewhere there is our best hope,” he said.

  The Elder looked at him curiously.

  “The Northern Forest, Lord. Somewhere there are Nigel and Des, on their quest for new lands. And it’s with them that the real answers to our problems will be found.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Bright sunlight filtered between the branches and leaves as the riders led their horses up, winding along the slope. The great elms and oaks left only the narrowest of paths. Dust and gravel swirled about them; jagged rocks grinded their feet. A dulled tide of anxiety, taunting, nagging, swept over them, carrying them through time and place and circumstance. Almost a helpless feeling, as if control of movement were not theirs, but imposed upon them.

  Muscles cramped, energy drained. Yet on and on they went, step by step, mile by mile, day by day. The mules balked; the horses limped. This was the highest hill by far. They had begun the climb at dawn, and now, close to dusk, they were finally close to the top.

  The trees suddenly cleared; a blazing red sun hung low before them, like a crimson ball, motionless against a purple sky. Nigel was aware of his breath, heavy and rasping. It was hot. He rolled his tongue over parched lips and prayed for rain. One by one they reached the top and dismounted, removed sweat-drenched shirts and stumbled for shade under the shadows of the trees. Too exhausted to even speak, they sprawled out on the grass.

  Hector stood at the summit and gazed intently. A broken twig, a soft track in the dirt, told him that Dane and Sesto had passed this way hours before.

  Nigel picked himself up and painfully made his way to the wolfs side.

  “Do you know where we are?” he asked.

  The wolf nodded slowly. “Look in back of you,” he grunted.

  Nigel turned feebly and squinted his eyes. The expanse of forest was overwhelming. He felt dizzy and struggled to hold his balance.

  “Can you see that break near the horizon?”

  Nigel looked long and hard, finally nodded he could. It was far, seemingly forever, but it was there — a place where the wood stopped.

  “That’s how far we’ve come,” growled Hector. “That’s where your Valley begins.”

  The young Lord took a deep breath of the clammy air and let it out slowly.

  “Now look north.”

  Nigel shaded his eyes and wiped his mouth with the backs of his hands. They were callused, rough, not at all like the soft hands of a noble.

  Ahead, the forest was even thicker. So thick the trees seemed joined. He winced. The change was startling, almost as if a fine line had been drawn, marking it apart from the part of the wood in which he stood.

  “Deep-Forest,” he muttered.

  Hector nodded darkly, staring into his eyes. “We’ll cross the line tomorrow. From here on you’ll have to continue on foot.”

  Nigel felt the ache in his already blistered feet and wanted to scream. They had come so far, and the true test of the journey had yet to begin.

  With the onset of night a cool wind whined about them. They began to set up camp. A cold supper of dried biscuits and salted beef was passed among them. Basil once again took his mandolin and
strummed softly. It was a sad tune he played, one that left them somber and grim. From now on the dangers would be increased tenfold, and at that moment no one believed he would ever see home again.

  *

  Thunderclouds rolled across the sky. Nigel got the rain he had hoped for. But it was a vicious rain, one that made every step all the more perilous. Ankle-deep in mud they crossed the line and entered Deep-Forest. Des, Rolf and Lawrence held their hatchets and cut a trail while the others pulled at the stumbling mules. There would never again be a day as long as this one. Or as miserable. Thousands of flies and bees buzzed over their heads, swarming in front of their eyes. Lizards darted between the trees, hissing with flashing tongues and menacing eyes. The horses bolted. They were frightened beyond belief. Nigel and Sinjon tugged at the reins, shouted, cajoled, did as much as they could. No sooner would one horse calm than another panicked. And the rain fell, soaking them, forcing them to stumble, even fall into the mud.

  Jackals howled with laughter, never seen, but always close. Nerves ran raw, emotions high. There was no way they could continue like this. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the rain stopped. Pinpoints of sunlight peered through minute spaces between the leaves.

  Des made his way back and sighed. “We’d better rest for a while. The way ahead is too dangerous to continue like this.” His boots sloshed as he signaled for everyone to stop. He looked at Nigel and shrugged. “We’re bogged down. What else can I do?”

  Nigel didn’t argue. To try and make any progress now was foolish.

  With sighs of relief the men spread blankets and tried to find some dry wood for a fire. As the others rested Nigel took out his journal and jotted a few notes.

  “Day nine of our journey. Entered Deep-Forest. Were unable to gain even a mile. Expedition on the verge of collapse. I think Captain Desmond is ready to abort the mission. Men too weary to go on.”

  Nigel closed his notebook and threw his blanket over his shoulders. Images of Gwenn raced through his mind. His burning need for this expedition had cost him her love, and now he wondered if it was worth it.