“You will, will you?” snarled Doralin. “And just how will you do that?”
The black cloak frowned in frustration as he glared at the premer.
“Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you, Zatho,” the premer continued menacingly. “I have never cared much for mages, and I have loathed you in particular. That you were the one mage to survive the battle of the ridge is a cruel irony. You are a pompous, arrogant, little weasel of a man.”
Zatho’s face bulged with rage. His arms quivered, and one of them began to rise. General Valatosa swiftly drew his sword and held it to the mage’s throat. Premer Doralin nodded in appreciation.
“If your finger so much as twitches in my presence again,” Doralin warned venomously, “you will die a slow and painful death. You need to be reminded that your fellow mages are dead and will not come to your aid. You stand alone in the midst of eighty thousand Motangan soldiers, who like myself, detest your kind. You will remove yourself from this tent and work on your air tunnel. When you succeed in getting it to work, you will return here before transmitting any message. I no longer trust you to communicate with others outside of my command without being overseen by someone loyal to me. Get out of my sight.”
Zatho was shaking with rage as he retreated from the tent. General Valatosa sheathed his sword and shook his head at the premer.
“You would have been better served to have ordered me to kill him,” the general advised softly. “A mage is not the type of enemy to turn your back on. Zatho will now seek to undermine you in any way that he can.”
“Zatho’s kind are all the same,” countered Doralin. “He would knife me in the back for lesser reasons than the ones I just gave him. I would have let you kill him if I was not in such dire need of a mage who knows the air tunnel spell. Once I get a message out of this infernal forest, I will let you kill him.”
“If he doesn’t get a message off to Vand first,” sighed Valatosa.
“I hope he succeeds,” shrugged the premer. “No one will come to relieve me of this command without bringing food with him. If our situation does not improve by this evening, I am ordering a fallback to Alamar in the morning.”
“Are you serious?” asked the general. “Vand will not like that.”
“I am past the point of caring what Vand likes or dislikes,” shrugged the premer. “Our men are starving, general. If we do not get food, we will lose the entire army. I prefer to retreat and take my punishment rather than watch men under my command starve to death.”
“Take your punishment?” echoed the general. “You do realize what you are saying? The only punishment you will receive is death. You must know that?”
“I know,” nodded Premer Doralin, “but it must be done. If we can retreat quickly to Alamar and get the men fed, we can then return here to chase the Sakovans. By the time anyone thinks of punishing me, we will have been victorious.”
“Ah,” the general smiled and nodded. “Now I understand. It will not be a retreat at all. We will merely be attacking to the east to make sure no Sakovans got behind us.”
“Exactly,” chuckled Doralin. “Zatho will have to die before we get back to Alamar. I will leave that in your hands.”
The tent flap flew open and a soldier ran in. He halted before the Premer and saluted.
“There are three Sakovans at the perimeter,” the soldier reported. “There are the two from yesterday and another one who claims to be the Star of Sakova.”
“What does she look like?” asked the premer.
“She is quite young,” reported the soldier, “clearly younger than the other two.”
“Younger than the other two?” echoed Valatosa. “StarWind and the other one were not very old. If this Star of Sakova is that young, perhaps we can make this a very short meeting. She can’t have much experience in negotiations.”
“Perhaps,” shrugged the premer. “Valatosa, you will go and verify this woman’s identity. If she is indeed the Star of Sakova, bring her here for a meeting. Make sure that she arrives here safely. I have given my word. I expect it to be obeyed.”
General Valatosa nodded and left the tent. The soldier was about to leave when the premer halted him.
“You are to carry word through the entire encampment,” instructed the premer. “The Sakovans who are coming here are my guests. They are not to be disturbed for any reason unless they attack first. Anyone violating this order will be handed over to the Sakovans to do with as they wish. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly,” saluted the soldier.
The soldier hurried out of the tent, and the premer hesitated only slightly before leaving the tent himself. Once outside, he began issuing orders to the soldiers and officers nearby.
“I want a bountiful meal served when I call for it,” the premer said to one officer. “Scavenge the food supplies and find the best that we have left. I want it to look like we have an overabundance of supplies. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” nodded the officer.
The premer turned and ordered a human corridor to form along the pathway to the perimeter. He wanted the Sakovans to be impressed with the number of soldiers facing them. When he was done issuing orders, the premer turned and gazed towards the perimeter in the direction that the Sakovans would be coming from. He wanted an early view of the Star of Sakova so his reactions would not be readable when she was introduced.
Premer Doralin did not have long to wait. He saw General Valatosa leading the Sakovans through the human corridor. The premer’s eyes focused on Lyra. She was indeed young, but she did not appear to be nervous. Her eyes moved casually over the assembled soldiers without intimidation. StarWind and the tall blond Sakovan were a different matter. Their eyes scanned the crowd as if constantly expecting an attack. Their bodies were poised to act on a moment’s notice, like some carnivorous beasts ready to pounce upon some unsuspecting prey.
Premer Doralin glanced around and saw a tremendous crowd had gathered opposite his tent. It was obvious that everyone wanted to see what the Sakovan leader looked like. He dismissed the soldiers from his mind and returned his attention to the approaching Sakovans. As they approached the tent, chaos erupted.
Premer Doralin saw a flash of light out of the corner of his eye, and then everything happened at once. StarWind dove at the Star of Sakova, colliding with her and causing the two females to fall towards the ground. The tall male Sakovan pivoted to one side, his arm rising fluidly and something shiny flying from his hand. A ball of fire flew past the Sakovans, streaking through the group where the Star of Sakova should have been standing, had she not been knocked over by StarWind. The fireball struck General Valatosa in the chest, his body flying backwards to land hard on the ground.
The male Sakovan drew a long two-handed sword as StarWind leaped to her feet and did likewise. The Star of Sakova rose to her feet, and a strange blue cylinder shot skyward around her. StarWind and the male Sakovan placed their backs close to the blue cylinder and held their swords out in front of them, each guarding a different side of their leader. From somewhere in the crowd of soldiers an arrow flew at the Star of Sakova. Doralin cringed as he helplessly watched it approach, but the arrow disappeared without explanation. The whole episode took only a second or two, but the images would stay in Doralin’s mind forever. He raised his hands high and shouted loudly.
“Stop!” he demanded. “These people are guests. Disperse all of you. Go back to your tents.”
The Sakovans remained alert, obviously expecting more treachery to come towards them, but the crowd of soldiers started backing away. In the space the soldiers had just occupied was a body. Doralin stared at the black-cloaked form and saw a nasty metal star imbedded in the mage’s forehead. Zatho’s dead eyes stared skyward.
“What treachery is this?” spat StarWind as the premer came nearer. “You gave your word.”
“And I meant it,” Doralin replied as he gazed at General Valatosa whose chest was smoldering. “Go in the tent where you
will be safe. I must see if General Valatosa is still alive.”
Doralin walked over to the general’s body and knelt beside it. The general groaned painfully, but he was still alive.
“I need a healer,” Doralin shouted to his men. “Quickly.”
Valatosa was more than a favored general to the premer. He was also Doralin’s only friend. He ignored the Sakovans as he ripped the smoldering uniform from the general’s chest. Unexpectedly, Doralin looked up to see the Star of Sakova kneeling opposite him. Her strange blue cylinder was gone.
“I am a mage,” Lyra said softly as HawkShadow and StarWind moved to surround their leader. “I can ease his pain.”
“Please do so,” said Doralin. “Your male friend just killed our last mage.”
“He deserved to die,” scowled HawkShadow.
“Indeed he did,” Doralin nodded. “I do not fault your actions. Indeed, I am impressed with your skill. What is your name?”
“I am called HawkShadow,” the assassin replied.
“HawkShadow,” Doralin said as he rose to a standing position, “I gave my pledge of safety, and I meant it. My orders were that anyone who attacked you would be turned over to your people to do with as you wish. I intend to keep my word. While the archer may have missed, I will have him found and delivered to you.”
“He didn’t miss,” interjected StarWind. “His aim was true, but Kaltara protects the Star of Sakova. The arrow was not allowed to hurt her.”
Premer Doralin looked at StarWind as if she were crazy. He turned and walked away. He called for an officer and demanded that the archer be found. Then he walked to where Lyra had been attacked. He searched the ground for the arrow, but he could not find it. He shook his head in confusion.
“You will not find it,” a general said quietly.
“The arrow?” asked Doralin as he turned to face the general. “It has already been picked up?
“No,” explained the general. “It never landed. It simply disappeared as it passed through that blue cylinder. I have never seen anything like it.”
“Are you sure?” questioned the premer.
“I would not speak if I were unsure,” nodded the general. “I saw it with my own eyes. The shot was good, but it never struck. It simply disappeared. We are no match for such magic.”
Premer Doralin turned and left the general without replying. He saw HawkShadow sheath his sword long enough to help General Valatosa to his feet. The Star of Sakova stepped back and the blue cylinder reappeared. HawkShadow drew his sword once more and stood ready to protect his leader. Doralin walked over and gazed at Valatosa’s naked chest. It was red, but appeared unburned.
“Let us go into the tent and discuss whatever has brought you here,” Doralin suggested to Lyra.
“I cannot enter your tent,” Lyra shook her head. “My spell would destroy it.”
Doralin gazed upward at the blue cylinder that stretched skyward as far as he could see. He looked again at Valatosa’s chest and nodded. He shouted orders to bring chairs for his guests.
“Thank you for saving General Valatosa,” the premer said softly. “I will see that you are treated well when you surrender.”
“When we surrender?” echoed Lyra. “You must be joking?”
“Joking?” scowled Doralin. “That is the purpose of this meeting. What game are you playing?”
“I do not play games, Premer Doralin,” replied Lyra. “Let me explain the facts to you. You have eighty thousand men in the middle of a strange and dangerous forest. You are far from home, and your men are starving. You have no ships to leave this land, and you cannot walk across the water. We are prepared to engage you at our whim until all of you Motangans are dead. Or you could surrender now and be treated far better than I think you would treat us if we surrendered. That is the situation that you are in. You have a choice to make. What is your decision?”
“You overstate your hand,” smiled Doralin. “We outnumber you greatly, and you are mistaken about my ships. My army can come and go as we please. If you are especially good at hiding your armies, I will merely bring in more soldiers to hunt for you. It is you who must surrender.”
“And where will you bring these new soldiers from?” smiled Lyra. “Are you talking about the ten thousand soldiers in Alamar who are dead? Or perhaps the ten thousand in Duran, who are also dead?”
“You are brazen in your lies,” chuckled Premer Doralin. “Do not try to scare me into surrendering little girl. I have played this game much longer than you have been alive.”
“Perhaps you want to try to call for the three thousand men in Teramar?” Lyra continued unfazed by the premer’s remarks, “but they are as dead as the three thousand in Sudamar and the three thousand in Eldamar. And do not even think of the thirty thousand men stationed in Vandamar. They have been annihilated.”
“Preposterous,” scowled Premer Doralin. “You expect me to believe that the Sakovans are off conquering the world while my army chases you through the forest?”
“Not at all,” replied Lyra. “The elves have taken over the Island of Darkness. They needed no help from Sakovans. The Chula took Alamar. The Khadorans took your fleet of ships, and you don’t even want to hear about Duran. That city no longer exists. Ten thousand Motangans are buried under the Wall of Mermidion.”
Premer Doralin stared at Lyra in disbelief.
“Surely you must have suspected something when you could no longer contact any of those cities?” smiled Lyra. “For an army that knows how to use air tunnels, you appear to be rather ignorant of how poorly the Motangan forces are faring. Vand’s days of glory are at an end. You have only two choices available to you now. You can surrender, or die.”
Doralin’s mouth opened to speak, but General Valatosa’s hand tapped his shoulder. “We need to discuss this in private,” the general said softly. “Will you excuse us?”
“Certainly,” nodded Lyra, “but do not delay. I am ill at ease standing alone in your camp.”
Premer Doralin and General Valatosa turned and walked into the tent. The general led the premer away from the door flap.
“I think she is telling the truth,” stated the general.
“And I think that fireball damaged your senses,” retorted the premer. “Her story is wholly fabricated. The elves have no part in this war, and the Chula live far to the north. We must be getting close to annihilating them for her to demand our surrender.”
“If her story is fabricated,” countered the general, “how is it that she happens to know the correct number of soldiers in each of those locations?”
“The Sakovans must have good spies,” shrugged Doralin. “That StarWind is certainly a capable woman. A few like her could easily supply such information.”
“Why is it that our mages were not capable of contacting any one of those cities?” pressed Valatosa.
“The Sakovans must have found a way to block the spell,” suggested Doralin. “Maybe there is something in these forests that makes the air tunnel ineffective?”
“And why have we had no food shipments from our men in Alamar?” sighed General Valatosa. “Face it, Doralin. There is a small chance that she is bluffing, but I don’t think so. What if we say no to her and march our men eastward to Alamar and find it full of Chula?”
“If we find out that her words are true,” conceded Doralin, “we will surrender at Alamar, but I cannot bring myself to believe her. Her statements are too outlandish.”
“Do you think the Sakovans are just going to let us turn around and march to Alamar?” asked the general. “We will have to fight our way back to the coast, and we will have to do so with starving men.”
“I have never known you to be so pessimistic, Valatosa,” frowned the premer. “I think that fireball has scared you. It made you realize your own mortality.”
“Perhaps,” shrugged the general, “but I have never seen a warrior move as fast as HawkShadow. He actually killed Zatho before I could get out of the way of the fireball. Think a
bout that. These Sakovans are not running scared from us. They far outclass our army. Oh, we have more men than they do, but that has not helped us so far. They took us by surprise in the open ocean sinking scores of ships. They got our men drunk in Alamar. They poisoned our food supplies, and burned thousands of men in a forest fire. On any given night they can raid our encampment and kill three thousand men before we can counterattack. Maybe I have recognized my own mortality, but if that is what is causing me to think seriously about surrender, then I think it is a good thing. Perhaps you should consider your own mortality.”
Premer Doralin stared at his old friend in silence. He started pacing the tent. General Valatosa said nothing as he watched his friend. He knew that Doralin was a logical man. He would take in the facts he could prove and evaluate them, and then he would dwell upon the rumors and apply them carefully. Valatosa was confident that the premer would come to the same conclusion that he had.
“We have too few actual facts,” Premer Doralin said as he stopped pacing. “I agree that your thoughts are logical, but you give too much weight to suppositions. I cannot surrender without some proof of these wild claims. Come with me.”
General Valatosa followed the premer out of the tent. Doralin returned to the Sakovans who had ignored the chairs brought to them. They still stood where the general had fallen.
“Can you prove your claims?” Doralin asked the Star of Sakova. “Can you prove that Duran no longer exists, or that Alamar is inhabited by Chula?”
“I can speak to the Chula in Alamar,” frowned Lyra, “but that will prove nothing to you. You will claim that my air tunnel could be going somewhere else.”
“Quite true,” nodded the premer. “The only solution is for my army to return to Alamar and see for ourselves. If Alamar is truly in Chula hands and my ships are gone, I will surrender to you there.”
“I am afraid that I cannot allow that to happen,” Lyra shook her head.
“You will have to,” countered Premer Doralin. “You have offered no proof to demand my surrender.”
“I don’t have to do anything, Premer Doralin,” Lyra said sternly. “If you do not accept my terms for your surrender, we will crush your army. We will attack you every day, and we will raid you every night. You may have eighty thousand men right now, but I promise you that by the time you reach Alamar, you will only need a very small boat to return to Motanga.”
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