by Inmon, Shawn
Still, when the first few warriors saw the trap ahead and tried to slow, the men behind them did not, pushing those unfortunate few into the waiting grasp of the hammer-wielding Winten-ah, who dispatched them quickly.
The remaining Lasta-ah gathered at the edge of the forest and saw what was ahead. One of the warriors shouted and the remaining soldiers formed up into a line.
Pausing and forming up instead of hurtling headlong into the darkness was a good plan, but it also made them an unmoving target. Three of Senta-eh’s archers stepped out of the trees forty yards away and unleashed their arrows. Before the first arrows landed, they had fired a second volley, followed immediately by a third.
They were too far away to have perfect accuracy, but spitting nine arrows at a group of men who were not moving was not a difficult shot. Six of the arrows hit home, though three of them found a home in one unfortunate man. Still, four more fell and before the Lasta-ah had a chance to know where the next threat was coming from, the Winten-ah in the woods launched themselves forward, letting loose a full-throated battle cry.
The remaining Lasta-ah put up as much of a defense as they could, but were soon overwhelmed.
In the end, only one of the Lasta-ah was unbloodied, and he raised his hands in surrender. In Lasta-ah, they did not believe in fighting to the last man.
The Winten-ah turned, bracing for the rest of the Lasta-ah, but the trail down the mountain remained empty.
“It is as Manta-ak said,” one of the warriors observed. “They did not all come after us. Let’s start up the hill.”
ALEX HAWK LAID FACE-down, flat on his stomach on the other side of the peak of Prata-ah. He did not want to raise his head and risk giving their position away. Instead, he closed his eyes and listened to what was transpiring below him.
Monda-ak was also on his stomach beside him, waiting for the command.
Next to Monda-ak, Harta-ak sat motionless and listened carefully as well. Alex knew that Harta-ak understood what was being said, but they did not want to risk even a whisper between them. Still, Alex could tell by the tone of the voices that whoever was giving the orders was growing increasingly angry.
Harta-ak listened for a long moment, then rolled on his side and flashed five fingers three times at Alex, then gestured down the hill.
Fifteen of them followed our rabbit, then. With any luck, the guards and those fifteen are disabled. Whoever is commanding this group is smart. He did not send all his men at once.
Alex waited patiently to see if the commander would send more men down, but he did not seem inclined to do so.
Finally, Alex couldn’t take the suspense any longer. He slowly raised his head and peered over the side. He took a mental image of what he saw, and slipped unnoticed back behind the hill.
He closed his eyes and silently counted the number of men he had seen. Seventeen men left. He turned to Harta-ak with a smile.
Quietly, he crept back down the hill a few yards, then flashed a signal to Senta-eh. She did the same to her archers.
Alex stood, took a cleansing breath, then flashed a hand sign at Monda-ak. They both sprinted for the top of the hill and leapt off—Alex with a primal war cry and Monda-ak with a harsh, growling bark that loosened men’s bowels. Alex jumped with his two-bladed axe in one hand and his primitive rock hammer in the other. As he fell the ten feet to the ground below, he chose his landing spot, which was in the middle of three extremely surprised Lasta-ah.
ALEX DID NOT WAIT FOR the rest of his army to join him, but turned into a whirling dervish of destruction. He spun completely around, swinging both the axe and the hammer. The axe sliced easily through the bicep of the first man, who dropped the spear he had been holding and gaped at his arm, which spurted blood and dangled uselessly.
Alex’s hammer slammed home against the side of one man’s head, completely disabling him, then bounced off the chest of the third man, knocking him to the ground.
Monda-ak wreaked even more havoc. He landed on the back of one man who was staring down the hill for the attack and drove his face into the rock-hard ground. He used that man as a launching pad and threw himself at another warrior who, seeing the massive dog coming at him forgot he was even holding a weapon. He unleashed a soprano cry and held his hands up in front of him. Monda-ak barreled over him, biting off a long strip of the man’s cheek as he did.
Senta-eh and her archers popped up from behind and fired down, shooting fish in a barrel. Harta-ak and the rest of the warriors made a somewhat more-cautious jump off the top of the hill, but by the time they reached the camp, everyone was either wounded—writhing on the ground with arrows sticking out of them, or disabled by Alex—or had surrendered.
The man who held his hands out in front of him said something loudly. Alex asked him to repeat what he said in the universal language.
“We surrender.”
Alex’s blood was up and adrenaline surged through him. He couldn’t drive the image of the badly burned bodies of his work crew from his mind. He walked toward the man, gripping his axe so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“Are you the leader of these men?”
“Yes.” The man had just seen his entire unit subdued in less than a minute, but it was obvious he thought that since it was through trickery, it meant very little.
Alex took the man in. Tall, powerfully built. Wearing more armor than any of his warriors. He held the same type of two-bladed weapon Draka-ak had used when Alex had faced him. Where the Winten-ah had kind faces that split easily into smiles, this man looked as though he had never known a happy day.
Alex’s eyes flitted to a shorter, thicker man beside him. Same armor, different weapon. He held a large battle axe that to Alex’s eye looked impressive but unwieldy.
Alex stepped toward the taller man until the difference in their heights was noticeable. The top of Alex’s head fell below the shoulder of the taller man, who smirked when Alex drew near.
“Are you the man who gave the order to burn my friends?”
A man with any sense might have heard the pure malice in Alex’s voice. This man did not.
“I didn’t just give the order, I carried it out. No one else seemed to have the stomach for it.” He glanced disdainfully at his other men. He sneered at Alex. “Your people did not die well.”
Alex backed up and turned to his warriors. He looked grimly up at Senta-eh, who stood above, her arrow still nocked and ready, aimed at the big man in front of Alex.
“I need all of you to step back. Give us room.” His eyes searched the crowd. “Wenta-eh. They have a fire going already. Make it bigger.”
“How big?”
Alex cast his eyes from the top of the Lasta-ah commander’s head to his toes.
“Big.”
Wenta-eh grabbed two warriors near her and took all the firewood stacked beside the fire and threw it on.
Alex stood ten paces from the armed men, who now stood in an empty space in the middle of Winten-ah warriors.
“I am going to let you fight for your lives.”
The commander looked incredulous. “What?” He recovered. “Which of us first?”
Alex stretched his neck and shoulder muscles. “Both at once.”
A smile appeared on both men’s faces. It was most unpleasant.
The two men took only a moment to gather themselves, then rushed at Alex together. A bull rush, full of rage. It was much ado about nothing, as far as Alex was concerned. They were big and heavily muscled but not nimble.
Both swung their weapons in a killing arc, but years of fighting bigger opponents betrayed them.
As they rushed Alex, he dropped to one knee and ducked. The momentum of their swings took them past him. Without looking, Alex swung his axe and knife. The axe hit the back of the knee of the biggest man, severing both ligaments in his knee. Had he survived, he would have never walked again.
Alex aimed lower with his knife, slashing the thicker man across the Achilles tendon of his right leg.
Alex held a hand up and yelled, “Sword!” A Winten-ah soldier threw him a sword still dripping with the viscera of battle. Alex caught it nimbly and whirled it in an arc.
Like King Arthur in reverse, Alex lifted the sword high above his head and slammed it into the chest of the commander of the Winten-ah. The armor looked impressive, but the blade of the sword plunged through it and pierced his heart, killing him instantly.
Alex put his foot on the man’s chest and withdrew the sword. He turned to the second-in-command.
The heavier man’s eyes grew wide and he scooted away pitifully, using his elbows and one good leg.
Alex made a single slice across the man’s throat, then stood back from the gushing arc of blood.
Alex pulled a tuft of long grass, wiped the blade, and handed it back to the warrior who had given it to him.
Alex turned to the remaining Lasta-ah warriors. “What do you do with your dead?”
For a long, heavy moment, none of them spoke. Then, from the back, a man said, “We bury our dead.”
“Good.” Alex turned to his own men. “Throw them on the fire, then leave them for the animals. They deserve nothing more.”
Two Winten-ah warriors ran to the bodies and dragged them onto the fire.
Just then, the warriors from below emerged onto the scene, ready to fight. When they saw they had missed the remainder of the battle, they whooped their victory. Then they saw the two bodies on the fire and grew quiet.
Alex released a deep breath, then loosed his grip on his axe.
“It is not good to be an enemy of the Winten-ah.”
“Or an enemy of Manta-ak,” one of his warriors cried from behind him, to cheers from all the other Winten-ah.
Alex cast his eyes around the group of Lasta-ah. Most were wounded. Ten were dead or soon would be. Alex’s eye fell on the man who had spoken earlier. He had been slashed across the bicep in the battle.
“What is your name?”
“Klipta-ak.”
“You are in command of your men now.”
Klipta-ak moved his eyes from Alex to the two charred bodies on the roaring fire.
“Did you take part in killing my friends?”
Klipta-ak took a cautious step back, but knew he was pinned in.
“No. We thought we were capturing them as leverage. They were unarmed when we took them. There was no honor in what we did.”
Alex turned his back on Klipta-ak and approached one of his runners who had approached from below.
“How did the battle in the forest go?”
“Just as you said it would. They chased Ronda-ak into the forest twice.” The young man grinned as if at a joke. “He made a very good rabbit. He even looked scared like a bunny.”
“Since they might have drawn a bow and shot him in the back as he ran, he was brave like a hero. We all get scared, but heroes do the right thing anyway.”
The smile faded from the young warrior’s face. “You’re right Manta-ak, you’re right.”
“Did we kill any of them?”
“We tried to only wound them, as you ordered, but it was a fight...” he trailed off.
Alex laid a hand on his shoulder. “Of course. I wanted to keep them alive if possible, but not at the expense of our own lives. We escaped unscathed, but there are a number of their wounded we are obligated to take care of now.”
In the universal language, Alex asked, “Do you have a healer that can start tending to the wounded?”
“We did,” Klipta-ak said, pointing to a man sprawled open-eyed but dead, with an arrow through his throat.
Alex looked around and spotted Wenta-ak standing over the Lasta-ah prisoners.
“Wenta-ak, are you fast like your brother?”
“My brother was fast like me,” she corrected him.
Alex couldn’t help but smile at the echoes of the boy he had come to love. “I need you to run back to Winten-ah, as fast as you can. Bring Niten-eh, her apprentice, and all the medicine and bandages she will need. Bring all the horses back so we can transport the wounded to Winten-ah.”
Alex half-expected her to claim she could outrun the horses, but she only spun and started off down the hill at a full run.
“What are you going to do with the wounded?” Harta-ak asked.
“We will heal them as best we can.”
“After what they did to you?” Harta-ak looked surprised. “If the roles were reversed, they would have already run your men through and spit on you while you died.”
“I dealt with the men who killed our people. If I kill all these men as well, they will only send another wave of men and another and another. This has to end sometime. I want that time to be now.”
Alex turned to his remaining army. He pointed to another warrior. “Run down to the forest and tell them to keep the Lasta-ah warriors as comfortable as possible. Give them water and try to keep them alive. Tell them they will be safe, and we will care for their wounds unless they continue to fight on. If they do that, kill them.”
That young warrior also disappeared down the hill.
Alex looked at the carnage spread out before him. More than half of the Lasta-ah warriors were dead.
“Find a place to dig a grave, then give them a decent burial.” He looked around at his charges. “Are any of you wounded?”
Not a hand went up. The battle of Prata-ah had resulted in zero casualties for Alex’s Army.
Sekun-ak, who had not managed to land so much as a blow in the conflict, laid his hand on Alex’s shoulder.
“You are getting very good at this,” Sekun-ak said with his deadpan understatement.
“I will be happier when I can fight no more forever,” Alex said, looking at the pools of blood, the dead, and the dying.
Chapter Seventeen
Klipta-ak
It was long past dark when Alex, Sekun-ak, and Senta-eh led the odd caravan back to the cliffside of Winten-ah.
Niten-eh and her young apprentice had brought additional help to triage and field dress the many wounds of the Lasta-ah.
Sekun-ak had organized the victorious Winten-ah into different tasks. One group dug the mass grave and buried the dead. Another built stretchers to carry the wounded Lasta-ah back to the cliffside, either drug by horses, or hauled by men. A third and final group was assigned to watch the Lasta-ah who had surrendered but were not seriously wounded.
Klipta-ak requested an audience with Alex, but was pointed instead to Sekun-ak. The men were about the same age, with deep wrinkles at the corner of their eyes and the beginning streaks of gray shot through their hair.
“What do you intend to do with us?” Klipta-ak inquired.
The unasked question hung in the air—Why did you not kill us all?
“Manta-ak has a plan in mind. I am the chief of the tribe, but I defer to him in these decisions. He is very wise. He has asked me to spare your lives. For now.”
Those final, ominous words drove Klipta-ak back to his men, not knowing any more than he had before, which was how Sekun-ak intended it to be.
Several more of the Lasta-ah warriors died before Niten-eh could save them, and they were added to the mass grave dug at the foot of Prata-ah. In the end, fourteen of the Lasta-ah died, six more were gravely wounded and might or might not survive. A dozen more had serious, but not life-threatening injuries. Five more were uninjured.
Sekun-ak sent one runner ahead to have a small, crude hospital set up at the foot of the cliffs. He had gone along with sparing the Lasta-ah’s lives, but he would not bring them into the cave system. If Manta-ak persuaded him to let these warriors return home, he did not want them to know any more about the caves than they had to.
Senta-eh led the caravan because everyone agreed that she had the sharpest eyes, especially at nig
ht. Alex and Sekun-ak brought up the rear in case the ronit-ta—the dire wolves—or rutan-ta—the massive mountain lion—chose that time to hunt humans.
They navigated the last miles to Winten-ah in the hours between the beginning of the new day and dawn. The moon and a million stars lit their way home.
When they finally turned off the forest path, they saw dozens of torches lit, welcoming them home, and a combination stockade and hospital set up at the base of the cliff.
The Winten-ah warriors had been up for more than a full day and were exhausted, but still helped those who had stayed behind to bed down and secure their unusual guests. Then Niten-eh shooed Alex and Sekun-ak away. They were in her dominion now.
Alex stood outside the makeshift hospital and looked up at the beginnings of his new cabin. He had managed to lay half a dozen hand-hewed logs in the days before the attack from the Lasta-ah. In his logical mind, he knew that if his workers hadn’t been the ones killed, it would have just been some other group who ventured beyond the protection of the cliffs.
Alex, as with everyone else ever born, did not always let the logical side of his mind dictate how he felt. At that moment, he felt only guilt that people who were doing something good for him were now dead. It was a hard feeling to shake, and he wondered if it would color how he felt about his new dwelling forever.
Even though it was already starting to show pink over the eastern horizon when Alex and Senta-eh stretched out together in one of the communal sleeping rooms, he did not sleep the day away.
Long before the midday meal was served, he awoke, slipped off the pallet on the cave floor and climbed down to where the prisoners were being held. He was not surprised to find Sekun-ak already there, giving orders as to how the walls of the jail were to be reinforced.
When Sekun-ak saw Alex, he glanced up at the sun in surprise, then back at Alex, as though he couldn’t believe Alex had slept so late. Niten-eh emerged from the area, back bent, carrying a wooden basin with bloody rags in it.
As she passed, she muttered, “If you’re going to nearly kill them, why don’t you go ahead and finish the job? But oh no, Manta-ak has to do things his own way...” the rest of the sentence was lost as she walked away.
