“Fortunately,” snorted the dragon as it landed in a clearing in the Sakova, “I am not a horse. Arrange your bodies as you want them. Let me know when to start this final run.”
Marak unwrapped his arms, and Lyra slid past him. She turned around and sat facing the dragon’s tail.
“You will feel me falling,” frowned Lyra, “won’t you?”
“You have never had a safer seat,” chuckled the dragon. “Are you ready?”
Lyra said that she was ready and the dragon leaped into the air. Lyra instinctively placed her hands on the dragon’s scales and heard Myka laugh. The dragon banked slowly in a long low flight far to the south of Duran. When she reached the Wall of Mermidion, she turned to the north and skimmed the surface of the cliff.
“Here it comes,” announced the dragon. “I will go slightly higher and bank to one side so that you can use both hands. If I am going too fast, shout quickly.”
The dragon suddenly shot up a hundred paces and banked steeply to one side. Marak saw the fissure coming and readied himself for the attack. He started throwing force bolts as quickly as he could. Lyra could only see the crevice after they had passed over it. She directed her force bolts deep into the yawning fissure.
“Faster!” Lyra shouted as she saw the vertical rock layer begin to sway.
Lightning bolts flashed in the sky again, and the Motangans in Duran began to shout hysterically. Thousands of men raced to the waterfront as the Wall of Mermidion began to waver. Unfortunately for the Motangans, there were no ships in port to swim out to.
Myka suddenly leveled out of her bank and soared upward, her tail coming forward to secure Lyra. Lightning crackled throughout the sky as the Motangan mages attempted to extract revenge for their coming defeat, but they could not anticipate the dragon’s moves as Myka zigzagged across the sky. Myka leveled out at a high altitude as the lightning ceased. Marak looked back at Duran and wondered if they had failed. The Wall of Mermidion still stood over the city of Duran, although the Motangans continued to run around hysterically.
Then it happened. The Wall wobbled like a man unsteady from too much drink. As Marak watched, one end of the Wall leaned slowly outward to hang precariously over the city. The rest of the Wall followed, and suddenly the entire layer of rock fell outward as if pushed by a mighty hand. Millions of tons of rock slammed down on the city of Duran, and well into the sea beyond it. The air thundered in a tremendous reverberating clap as the ground shook for hundreds of leagues around. A huge cloud of brown dust rose skyward, blotting out the sun and casting the ancient city into a veil of darkness.
The dragon moved deftly to avoid the brown column of dust as she dropped altitude and circled back towards the city. Marak peered through the dimness to gaze upon the results of the mission.
“You would never believe that a city had once existed there,” Lyra said softly. “I feel sad that it has come to destroying our own cities to protect our people.”
“There is only one person alive who is from Duran,” replied Marak, “and I do not think he would disapprove. At least his kinsmen are now properly buried.”
“Along with thousands of Motangans,” added the dragon. “I must get out of this foul air.”
“Take us home,” Lyra said to the dragon, “but land somewhere first so I will not be forced to view your tail for the entire journey.”
* * *
The Motangan soldier saw the officer approaching the campfire. He grabbed a spare mug and poured some hot coffee into it. He walked a few paces towards the approaching officer and handed him the mug.
“This wasteland chills you at night,” smiled the soldier.
“No one said Fakara would be a paradise,” chuckled the officer. “Are you on sentry duty?”
“No,” the soldier shook his head. “I took my turn hours ago. I just couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“Well, there will be no time for you to catch up on your sleep now,” the officer said as he sipped the coffee and gazed up at the sky. “Dawn will be here soon.”
“I prefer the daylight,” shrugged the soldier. “We never had such dark nights on Motanga.”
“That’s because there isn’t a living sole for leagues around us,” replied the officer. “The nearest torch is probably back in Meliban. The campfires give off enough light to navigate the campsite.”
“I have no problem finding my way around the camp,” offered the soldier. “It is beyond our camp that I want to see.”
The officer turned and frowned at the soldier. “I do not tolerate cowards in my command,” snapped the officer. “You had better adjust your attitude.”
“I am not a coward,” balked the soldier. “I will fight anyone at any time, but I would still like to see my enemy when he strikes. What are we doing out here in the middle of nowhere? There is nothing here for us to guard.”
“We are following orders,” the officer retorted harshly. “That is all that you need to know.”
The soldier shook his head with disgust and sat back down next to the campfire. The officer turned away with scorn and stared into the dark of the night. After a while he calmed down and considered the soldier’s question. He knew the lad was a fearless fighter, but he could not stand the thought of cowardice in any of his men. Finally, he turned and looked at the soldier again.
“We were meant to create a corridor for the Emperor to pass through,” the officer said softly. “Now that that is over with, I suspect that we will be returning to Meliban.”
“Aren’t we going to track down the Fakarans?” asked the soldier.
“We will,” nodded the officer, “but we will regroup in Meliban first. If it is any consolation, Premer Doralin was against our being out here, too. He felt we would leave ourselves too exposed, but I guess he worries too much. All that matters is that we have accomplished our goal. Our next outing will be to battle with the cowardly Fakarans.”
“I look forward to that,” smiled the soldier. “I just feel like I am a sitting target out here.”
“Do not spread that feeling to others,” warned the officer. “For those who do not know you, it smells of cowardice.”
The soldier nodded silently and stared into his mug of coffee, ashamed that he had presented such an image to his officer. His eyebrows rose curiously as he watched the coffee in the mug vibrate. At first he thought his hands might be shaking so he placed the mug on the ground and continued to stare at it. The light from the campfire was not strong, so he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He leaned forward and continued staring into the mug.
“Do they have earthquakes here in Fakara?” asked the officer.
The soldier’s head snapped up, and he stared at the officer. “Why do you ask?” he questioned.
“Can’t you feel it?” inquired the officer. “The ground is rumbling as if it wants to break free of itself. I have only felt that feeling once before, and it was a minor earthquake at the south end of the island.”
“That explains the coffee,” nodded the soldier. “I thought I was going crazy.”
The officer ignored the soldier’s remarks as he stared into the darkness. The rumbling grew even greater, and the officer became clearly agitated.
“Sound the alarm!” shouted the officer.
“What is it?” the soldier yelled as he abandoned his mug and leaped to his feet.
“Just sound the alarm,” snapped the officer.
The soldier raced to the central campfire and began ringing the bell that hung from a post. Soldiers all over the campsite shouted and began crawling out of their tents. The soldier raced back to the officer’s side.
“Do you think we will be swallowed up in an earthquake?” asked the soldier.
“I do not know what it is,” replied the officer as the ground began to vibrate beneath his feet, “but it is not something to sleep through. It almost sounds like…”
The officer stopped talking and shook his head in disbelief.
“Sounds like what?” pr
ompted the soldier.
“It sounds like horses pounding the plains,” the officer said softly, “but it couldn’t possibly be.”
“Why not?” frowned the soldier. “The Fakarans ride horses. Maybe they are charging towards us.”
“It is too many horses,” the officer shook his head as the dawn began to lighten the sky somewhat. “It sounds like a full mounted army would sound as they galloped past the reviewing stand, but that is because of your closeness to them. I still see nothing out there. It must be something else.”
“It’s not something else,” shouted the soldier as he pointed frantically. “Fakarans!” he yelled to warn the others.
The officer stood frozen for a moment as he stared in disbelief. The charging horses were still quite distant, but they spread from left to right as far as the officer could see.
“Ready archers on the eastern front!” shouted the officer. “We are under attack!”
Shouts tore through the encampment as Motangan soldiers scattered, grabbing their bows and quivers and taking up positions along the eastern perimeter of the camp.
“Ready archers on the western front!” came a distant shout.
“Find that fool and silence him,” the officer snarled to the soldier beside him. “The last thing we need right now is confusion. I will not tolerate a man in my service that doesn’t know east from west.”
The soldier turned and raced towards the voice that was still calling for archers to guard the western front. He zeroed in on another officer and raced towards him.
“The enemy is coming from the east,” panted the soldier as he slid to a halt next to the officer. “You are confusing the men.”
The officer turned and glared at the soldier. Unexpectedly, the officer’s hand came up swiftly and slapped the soldier’s face. The soldier stumbled backwards and tripped over the corner of a tent. He fell to the ground and rolled painfully over the tent stake. The officer continued to rally troops to the western front and the soldier shook his head in disbelief. As he struggled to his feet, wondering what to do, he saw the Fakarans charging. Fear gripped the soldier as he realized that they were going to be attacked from both fronts simultaneously.
The soldier picked up his bow and moved away from the officer who had hit him. He nocked an arrow as the other archers were firing. He saw several horses tumble to the ground and other riders fall from their mounts, but there was no victory cry from the Motangan soldiers. A hail of arrows flew into the Motangan ranks as the horsemen continued to advance. The soldier stood with his arrow nocked, frozen by his fear. The huge warhorses charged with frightening speed as their riders sent arrow after arrow into the Motangan ranks. The Motangan archers killed entire lines of horsemen, but others immediately took their places, leaping over their fallen brothers. The charge continued unabated.
The soldier watched as the vanguard of the Fakarans dropped their bows and drew their swords, the bows swinging wildly from the leashes that attached them to the horses. The horsemen shouted as they met the Motangan line, cold steel slicing into soldiers as they charged through the encampment. The soldier turned as a horseman rode past him. He let his arrow fly, but it missed its target. He fumbled in his quiver for another arrow as his eyes followed the horseman through the encampment. His eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped as he saw the Fakarans charging through the camp from the other side. He dropped his bow and ran, knowing that none of the Motangans would survive to see the rising sun.
The soldier ran south as fast as his legs would carry him. Fakaran horsemen crisscrossed the encampment, slaying the Motangans with every pass. Horses were everywhere, trampling tents and bodies as they swept through the camp. The war shouts rang loudly from every direction and soon all of the Motangans were fleeing for their lives. The soldier zigzagged southward, dodging the attackers. He never even thought about grabbing for his sword. His only thought was to leave the area of the attack, but the charge of the Fakarans was endless.
The soldier felt the blade slice into his shoulder, throwing him off his stride. He tripped and stumbled to the ground, the searing pain threatening his consciousness. He rolled on the ground in agony, and that is when he saw his fate. Fear closed his throat as he saw the Fakaran horse charging towards him. There was no time to roll out of the way of the horse or get to his feet. There was only time to close his eyes and await death.
* * *
Harmagan reined in his horse next to the Kheri tribe leader. He sheathed his sword and grinned broadly.
“It feels great to back on the plains,” Harmagan laughed loudly. “These Motangans die like villagers.”
“They did this time,” Yojji agreed, “but do not expect it to remain that way. The Motangans are well trained. We were fortunate to catch them sleeping. The next battle will not be as easy now that they have been bloodied.”
“I will keep that in mind,” grinned the Jiadin leader. “What do we do next? Do we attack some more?”
“Not today,” Yojji shook his head. “Your men may resume wearing their red scarves now. Return to the west and await a message. The free tribes will return to the east.”
“Why not continue attacking?” asked Harmagan. “We have over a hundred thousand warriors together. We can kill them all.”
“I seriously doubt it,” Yojji shook his head. “On these plains they can see forever. Their archers will exact too great a toll on our forces. The only reason we succeeded as well as we did was because of the darkness and the element of surprise. We have lost both of those for the rest of today. Return to your camp and make sure you post watchers. The Motangans will be looking for our encampments.”
Chapter 16
Warrior Women
The jaguar raced through the Motangan jungle, leaping fallen trees and swerving around pits of quicksand. The sleek cat reached the edge of the jungle and stared at the dusk sky while it caught its breath. After a short rest, the jaguar followed the edge of the jungle, padding silently through the fine sand of the beach. As the large cat approached its destination, it moved stealthily back into the cover of the dense foliage. A few hundred paces later, the jaguar sat and stared out of the jungle at the lonesome building sitting on the beach on the eastern coast of the Island of Darkness.
The jaguar sat erect for hours, its ears tuned to the sounds of the night, as it observed the nightly routine of the four occupants. It paid careful attention to the flickering lights emanating from the windows. When the last light was extinguished, the large cat purred with satisfaction. If anyone had been watching the jaguar, they would have been puzzled by its sudden disappearance. Even more curious, they would have been baffled by the sudden appearance of the Chula shaman.
Calitora moved silently out of the jungle. He moved swiftly to the side of the building that he had been observing every night for the past week. The shaman eased his way around to the front of the building and slowly opened the front door and slipped inside. He silently closed the door and made his way to the staircase leading upstairs. With carefully placed steps, the shaman slowly climbed the staircase.
As the shaman listened to the snoring of the occupants, he moved into the quieter of the two bedrooms. Two men slept in a large bed, and Calitora moved to the headboard. He drew two knives from his belt. He leaned over the bed and drove the knives into the two sleeping men. One of the Motangan soldiers died quietly, while the other kicked out, hitting the wall with his foot before succumbing to a permanent sleep. Calitora withdrew the knives and crouched next to the bed, waiting to see if the disturbance had been enough to awaken the two men in the neighboring room.
After a few moments of continued snoring from the other room, Calitora rose and padded out of the room. He waited a few minutes to be sure that his victims had not awakened. Feeling confident, the shaman stepped into the second bedroom. As he moved to the headboard, one of the Motangan’s eyes popped open. The man frowned as he stared up at the Chula shaman. Calitora did not hesitate. He immediately shoved a knife through the man’s e
ye. Moving swiftly, the shaman leaned over the bed and cut the second man’s throat.
Wiping the blades of his knives on the bed, Calitora left the room, grabbing a lantern as he went by. He climbed the stairs to the third level and threw open the shutters facing the sea. He lit the lantern and leaned out of the window, swinging the light widely from side to side. He kept up his signaling for several minutes before a soft voice addressed him.
“What is your name?” the unseen voice asked.
“I am called Calitora,” the shaman answered softly.
“And your message for us is?” questioned the voice.
“The coast is clear,” replied Calitora.
“Hang the lantern out the window,” instructed the voice. “You are to stand on the beach beneath it. You must remain visible at all times. Do you understand?”
“I understand,” replied the Chula shaman.
The shaman felt the air tunnel drop. Calitora removed a knife from his belt and leaned out of the window. He drove the knife into the side of the building and hung the lantern on it. When he was satisfied that the lantern would remain, he descended the stairs and exited the building. He stood under the lantern and waited. Within an hour the Chula shaman saw the outline of a sailboat against the star-studded sky. He waited anxiously as he watched the ship come closer and eventually beach itself. Several men immediately leaped out of the ship and raced towards Calitora, their swords drawn.
“Welcome to the Island of Darkness,” the shaman said loudly as he gazed at the men with a discerning eye. “I am Calitora.”
“Tayo, Calitora,” smiled the leader. “I am Tamar. Are there Motangans in the area?”
“Not this area of the coast,” smiled Calitora. “That is why I chose it for your invasion.”
Tamar’s elven face grinned broadly as he turned and signaled the other passengers on the ship. He turned back to the Chula shaman.
“What of the watchers in the house?” he asked.
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