“I’m glad you came,” he whispered and then they were kissing in earnest. Lonogan was dimly aware of her pulling at his clothes as they kissed, but how he rid himself of them was a complete mystery. When he was finally nude they stood, pressing hard against one another then somehow…as if by magic, they made their way back to his bed and dropped as one onto it. They never broke contact and never spoke, they just kissed and explored until the heat of their passion became too much then he was on her…in her.
Three times their passion rose to a swell and was sated, before mercifully they fell asleep in each other’s arms, both gloriously happy and content. They slept for just a little over two hours before a knock, startlingly loud in the quiet of the morning, woke them.
They came instantly awake and as the memory of the previous night returned, they smiled.
“General,” a voice sounded from the far side of the door and Jess jumped to cover herself, giggling as she fought with the blanket which was knotted around their bare legs.
“One moment,” Lonogan answered, grinning in the dim morning light then he jumped naked from the bed and looked about for his pants.
Jess giggled again.
“My pants,” he whispered to her and she pointed to the far side of the room. He retrieved them quickly but had a bit of trouble sliding in to them and had to hop twice for balance. Jess laughed again, as he picked his shirt off the floor.
“Funny eh?” He asked and smoothly ripped the covers from the bed so she lay surprised and naked, scrambling once again to cover herself.
“Lonogan!” she shouted in a whisper and it was his turn to laugh. He stared at her perfect body for a moment, then tossed her the covers and tucked in his shirt. She spread it over her and pulled it up to her chin as he went to the door.
“Sergeant Hoxley,” he said in greeting, pulling the door only partly open.
“Sir, the Toranado are mustering…we leave in an hour,” Hoxley answered spotting the cloak on the floor. He moved his head slightly to see farther into the room but Lonogan slyly moved to block his view.
“Very well Sergeant. I’ll be with you momentarily,” Lonogan said and quickly closed the door.
Jess was immediately up and out of the bed moving toward the cloak, but he reached out and stopped her, holding her still as he gazed down at her pale, flawless body.
“I want to remember this,” he added, his breath quickening as his eyes darted over her body, from the long lines of her legs, to her breasts with pale pink nipples, then down to her soft belly and beyond.
“You’re absolutely stunning,” he finally managed to whisper.
“I’m absolutely freezing despite the warmth of your eyes…now let me dress,” she said briskly, though she was well pleased. She quickly slipped into the cloak, kissed him and closed her eyes and then using one hand to hold the cloak on she began weaving the other about until a bridge was formed. She kissed him again, then stepped through to her own room and was gone, leaving behind only the scent of her body and their passion.
ǂ
Gwaynn and Samantha traveled south with Prince Phillip and the Toranado heavy infantry and reached the eastern edge of the Aleria Pass four long days after leaving Manse. Lonogan Bock, who quickly grew impatient with the plodding foot soldiers, rode ahead with the Traveler Jess na Gall to join with the Massi army already positioned near the pass.
For Gwaynn, finally joining the main army was something of a relief, but did little for his peace of mind. It was a very long trip across the Plateau; they were never underway early enough in the mornings; they never moved fast enough during the day and they always stopped way too early. He could understand his general’s impatience and would have joined him but not at the risk of insulting their Toranado allies. They needed these hard, tough soldiers…every one of them.
For the past few nights just before sunset he and Zarina Monde took turns projecting over the Scar Mountains to check on the progress of the Palmerrio, who also seemed to be moving slowly. Somehow it added to Gwaynn’s feelings of unease.
“You must focus on the coming battle,” Tabernas said to Gwaynn one evening as he sat apart from the others, mired in worry. The Toranado Weapons Master had great respect for the young Massi King and was well aware of the immense amount of pressure the young man felt, but he also knew that Gwaynn could do little for the people in Lynndon or Manse or for the Massi cavalry out on the plains. Albas thought that their battle plan was a good one under the circumstances and now they would have to just be patient and wait for the outcome. Patience, however, was not something easily practiced by the young, and Gwaynn was no exception.
Gwaynn smiled at the older man, feeling a wave of affection for him, and missing his old mentor Afton Sath with a pang of regret.
“My mind is a mess right now, flying from battle to battle. If I could only figure out how to be in more than one place at a time,” Gwaynn replied.
Tabernas chuckled and sat down on a stump of a log. He checked the darkening sky with a touch of disgust. There was a good chance they would get rain before morning and the Weapons Master hated to be wet. “The man can Travel and fight like a demon…but it’s never enough is it?”
“Never,” Gwaynn answered, refraining from mentioning his abilities with time. It was one secret he kept very close, even though he trusted the Toranado Weapons Master implicitly. He glanced up to see Lonogan Bock and na Gall strolling toward him with Samantha at their side and felt another wave of panic. Bock and na Gall seemed to have grown very close since their trip to Cassinni, though whether or not they were lovers still seemed to be an open question. He hoped they were; he guessed they were; war had a way of pushing a warrior’s emotions to the very skin…fear was obviously the most common emotion and loss, but sometimes hate and anger, as well as feelings of comradeship…and apparently love.
Samantha moved quickly to Gwaynn’s side and sat down. She took his hand in hers and he felt his heart sink with worry. Bock and na Gall took up places directly across the small fire from Gwaynn. He noticed that though they sat close together, they were not actually touching. He glanced at his General who looked back but a smile did not come to his face.
“Captain Marcum believes the Deutzani will attack again come morning,” na Gall said to no one in particular and with only a cursory glance at Gwaynn. She hated to add to his list of worries. “Their preparations are almost complete.”
“Will the Massi hold?” Tabernas asked and stood as Prince Phillip approached.
“Marcum believes they will,” Bock answered and Gwaynn could tell that he was also feeling a vast amount of pressure.
“Lynndon must hold,” Gwaynn said softly. “We have to hold the Plateau and we have to drive the Palmerrio back as quickly as we can…one battle…we must defeat them in one battle.”
No one commented for a moment, but they all knew that if the fight with the Palmerrio became a protracted affair it would bode ill for them all.
ǂ
The boulder teetered on the edge for a moment and then tipped over the Scar. Dropping straight and true, it slammed into the second shield house that was making its way up narrow path which hugged the steep cliff face. The house immediately shattered into a million tiny splinters and a bright gout of blood squirted out from beneath it, like paint thrown from a bucket; the stone then pinballed its way down the Scar and into the river below, taking most of the house and the four enemy soldiers with it. The men on the Plateau cheered wildly, ignoring the dark red smear on the path below. Up to this point most of the boulders they’d rolled over the side were either too small to do significant damage, bouncing harmlessly away from the steeply pitched roofs of the shield houses, or else they missed their mark entirely and fell uselessly into the river. The destruction of one house however, did little to slow the Deutzani’s progress up the rock face.
Captain Marcum watched the Deutzani advance with foreboding, as his men began the job of moving another large rock to the very edge of the Scar. He glanced
at the nearby pile of stones; he could see maybe a dozen large enough to bring down another shield house, but a quick count showed that the Deutzani had at least a hundred more such structures moving up from what was left of Lynndon and toward the steep winding track.
The Deutzani forces had as yet only advanced about half way up the trail leading to the Plateau and to this point the shield houses were proving to be a challenge for the Massi defenders. Even from this distance, the lead house was already perforated with over a dozen flaming arrows, most of which had gone out without doing much damage, a few were still alight, but the houses were covered with thick cowhide to discourage the flames. The shield houses would have to approach much closer before Marcum would dare use his supply of oil. It was his hope that if he could oil the first few houses and then set them alight it might slow the Deutzani advance considerably.
Marcum watched as a smaller boulder, perhaps twice the size of a man’s head was pushed over the side. He followed its progress over the cliff face until it slammed into the house third from the front. The house shifted and came to a shuddering stop when the rock struck the pitched roof. The rock then bounced off the roof and into the cliff face before rebounding and striking the house again. The house stayed motionless for a long moment before getting underway up the path once again.
“Should we use the oil?” Sergeant Birdsong asked.
“Not yet,” Marcum answered, still staring at the advancing enemy below. “Chances are it’d just run down the sides of the Scar and be useless.”
“But the boulders aren’t working,” Birdsong complained, clearly panicked. The Deutzani, at around twelve thousand men, outnumbered them nearly six to one and the Sergeant feared that if they reached the summit of the Scar they would make quick work of the Massi defenders, who were mostly lightly armored archers.
“The oil can wait,” Marcum said simply as another small boulder missed its target.
Birdsong said nothing more, frowning as a few more arrows burrowed into the lead house while another skipped off the roof and into the river below. “Should we summon Kommidi?”
This time Marcum looked over at the young Sergeant. “Relax…the oil will hold them…at least for a good while. Kommidi will be well west and in a position to support the King against the Palmerrio.”
Birdsong took a deep breath as another mid-sized stone struck a house which rocked a bit then tipped alarmingly. For a moment the Sergeant watched the men beneath struggle to hold the house upright. They failed and the house pitched over the side taking one of the soldiers with it. The man screamed comically on his way down but then he plunged into the river and was lost from view. Another was quickly shot through the neck by a well aimed arrow and he staggered off the Scar to follow his countryman into the rushing water below. The two remaining soldiers tried to find cover beneath neighboring houses. One was lucky and scrambled into a house in time and was safe for the moment, the other was stopped, partially exposed and took an arrow in the right calf. The man cried out and dropped, clutching at his wound before taking another in the chest. The train of houses paused for a moment, then the dead man was dumped over the side of the Scar and the slow progression continued on its way.
Another boulder, larger this time, went over the side, but it unluckily struck the side of the Scar with a sharp clap and was deflected away from the house beneath it.
“Bring up the oil,” Marcum said a half an hour later. Four more houses succumbed to boulders but the majority of them were still moving relentlessly to the top of the Scar. The lead house was now three quarters of the way to the summit. “Go and make sure the halberdiers are ready. They must meet the attack at the very edge of the Scar. We can’t afford to give them a foothold.”
The oil, dropped in clay pots, soon covered the first dozen shield houses and flaming arrows easily setting the roofs ablaze. The men beneath, understanding the danger, began to move quickly up the trail as the fire rapidly spread. Marcum was impressed. The approaching soldiers must be tired from lugging the “A” frames up the steep path, but they found new energy and ambled up the Scar at a surprisingly quick pace; but the fire moved quickly as well and the soldiers in the lead house were forced to heave it over the cliff and away when they were still fifty feet from the top. Without hesitation they charged up the path as the next five houses were also dumped over the side. A score of men made it to within ten feet of the top before the last of them was killed by arrows but by then another score were racing up and the closest shield house was now only thirty feet from the top.
Another barrage of oil was thrown over the edge of the Scar and fire arrows had another half dozen shield houses alight by the time the first of the Deutzani soldiers reached the very top of the Scar. The brave enemy soldiers were almost immediately killed by a host of archers, but their success diverted the attention of many of the defenders and it allowed many of the men below to climb higher relatively unimpeded. In the next few minutes, more and more Deutzani scrambled to the top, a number of the enemy were also archers, who began firing arrows back at the defenders while more Deutzani moved up to engage the closest Massi soldiers. The Massi hold on the edge of the Plateau was quickly slipping away. There were perhaps fifty enemy soldiers on the top of the Scar when Marcum signaled to Sergeant Birdsong.
“Advance!” he yelled and then turned to the fifty or so heavy foot soldiers that surrounded him. “Let’s move,” he said rather softly and as one they rushed to attack the enemy that now threatened to occupy their Plateau.
Fighting as he was, Captain Marcum was completely unaware of the battle for the Scar trail. The majority of the Massi men and women on the edge of the Plateau continued to drop boulders large and small on the advancing shield houses. When the enemy was close enough they would dump more casts of oil down onto them and then set them alight with fire arrows. But as more and more Deutzani gained the summit of the Scar and engaged the defenders above, the attack on the Deutzani still climbing began to falter.
Marcum fought and killed as well as he was able. Over the years he’d lost a bit of his speed with age but retained much of his strength, which was substantial. And all the while he tried to keep track of the battle around him, trying to judge the strength of the defense. After nearly an hour the Deutzani attack seemed to slacken, until finally it fell off all together. By the time Marcum reached the edge of the Scar he could see the remainder of the Deutzani army was in quick retreat. Sporadic arrow fire rained down on them, and an occasional rock, but for the most part the defenders on the edge of the Plateau just rested and breathed thanks that they had survived.
Sergeant Birdsong took a superficial arrow wound to the right cheek, but otherwise he was unharmed when he finally reached Captain Marcum.
He was smiling as he approached his commander.
“Full retreat,” he said happily. “And they only have a dozen or so shield houses.”
“They’ll be back,” Marcum said somberly. “Tomorrow…or if we’re very unlucky…tonight. How many did we lose?”
After a bit of checking it was discovered that they lost just over a hundred men, most of them halberdiers and foot soldiers. The Deutzani dead numbered nearly three hundred and fifty on the Plateau and it was estimated another fifty or so had lost their lives during their climb. It was a victory, but a costly one. Their supply of oil was nearly depleted and they had fewer than a dozen boulders of any size remaining.
“Get the town folk to work finding more rocks,” Marcum ordered as he gazed out and down at the Deutzani camp far below. “And find Lyle…see if he knows of any other oil…or anything flammable we might use against the bastards.”
‘If they come tonight…they’ll have us. Let’s hope they wait for more shield houses,’ Marcum thought, but he knew that if the Deutzani persisted they would eventually overwhelm the defenders. He’d lost a hundred of his toughest fighting men and he was running low on heavy soldiers. The archers, though vital, would not be able to hold the Plateau by themselves. He considered
contacting General Bock, but dismissed the idea…thinking instead of Gaston…now Captain Gaston. Marcum knew the young cavalry man was ordered to harass the Temple Knights and support Manse, but Marcum needed him. If Gaston could somehow hit the Deutzani from below as they were engaged in attacking the Plateau…Marcum shook away the thought, but it returned and nagged at his brain.
‘Perhaps we’ll just see if Gaston happens to be nearby,’ he thought then turned to Birdsong.
“Find Speaker Torres,” was all he said.
VII
As it happened, Captain Gaston and the Massi cavalry were just over fifty miles to the east of Manse trying to regroup after the recent attack on the Temple Knights which quickly turned into a fiasco. Most of the Massi horsemen, Gaston included, counted themselves lucky that the entire force was not completely wiped out. The Knights were good, there was no doubt about that and they’d proved it by killing or capturing nearly ten percent of Gaston’s force…and that was during a supposedly surprise attack.
In all they lost nearly two hundred men during the engagement, with another seventy-five suffering wounds serious enough to keep them out of the fighting for a while, but more importantly they lost over two hundred and fifty horses. Neither men nor horses could be replaced easily, and Gaston was gathering his courage before contacting Gwaynn to inform him of the defeat.
In the immediate aftermath of battle, after rejoining with the main contingent of Massi cavalry, Gaston decided to keep moving east. His greatest fear was that the Temple Knights would follow and capitalize on their obvious advantage, but after nearly a day and a half of hard riding they’d encountered no more of the enemy, a fact that left Gaston feeling very thankful.
“We’ve done damage to the Knights as well,” Captain Kerr said as they sat in the command tent. Kerr, who sat near the back of the tent, remained silent for so long that Gaston forgot he was present.
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