A look of surprise spread over Harmagan’s face, but he beamed with pride. Even though the Jiadin had ceased their war with the free tribes, they still felt like outsiders.
“It would be our pleasure,” Harmagan said with a bow of his head. “I could arrange for others to ride with Scarab.”
“Scarab just rode out of camp,” smiled Wyant. “I do not think he needs any help in what he plans to do. You must be very proud of him, Harmagan.”
“I am,” Harmagan conceded worriedly. “All Jiadin are proud of him, but I worry for his safety. Let me send someone after him.”
“The night Scarab saved my life,” Wyant shook his head, “he told me that he prefers to work alone. I think I understand why now, but we must allow him to do what he does best.”
Harmagan stared into Wyant’s eyes trying to determine if he knew Scarab’s secret, but the marshal was stone-faced. Finally, the Jiadin leader nodded in acquiescence.
“It will only be for a day,” Harmagan sighed.
“It will be two days,” corrected Rejji. “We will continue to ride half days. We must allow Scarab time to assess the enemy before blindly charging forward.”
“You are right,” agreed Harmagan as the Fakarans got up to leave.
The Jiadin waited until the king and his party had left before talking among themselves.
“What happened?” asked Jaker. “I know something is going on, but I cannot tell what it is.”
“Why does the king want us to ride with him?” questioned Niger. “Why did they speak to Scarab alone?”
“And why are we riding half days?” added Jaker.
“You ask too many questions,” bellowed Harmagan, but those very questions were rolling around in his own mind.
“Are we wrong to question things?” asked Niger.
“No,” Harmagan sighed heavily. “Scarab is a convincing person. I am sure that he insisted that he could spy on the Motangans and that he could do so alone. The king obviously agreed.”
“And the king is riding with us to spy on us?” posed Jaker.
“I don’t think so,” replied Harmagan. “He has no need to spy himself. He has many under his command that could do that for him. I suspect that he wants to completely heal the rift between the tribes. Maybe this is his way of doing that.”
“Alright,” conceded Niger, “but what about the half day rides? He says that is to allow Scarab time to spy, but the free tribes have been doing half days since the Valley of Bones.”
“Now that is a true mystery,” granted Harmagan. “I want you two to filter through the camps of the free tribes and find out what you can. No Fakaran horseman rides half days when a battle is ensured at the end of the trail. There is a reason for the king’s pace, and he has not yet revealed it to us. I want to know his secret.”
“You can count on us,” grinned Niger as he and Jaker rose eagerly from the campfire.
Chapter 40
The Gathering Storm
Fisher dismounted at the western edge of the woods and set his horse free. He did not intend to ride into the enemy encampment, and the sight of a free horse roaming the plains would cause a curiosity that he preferred not to happen. It was still a long walk to Vandegar, but the sun would be setting soon. If he encountered no difficulties and kept up a decent pace, the spy could be in Vandegar when the sun rose in the morning.
Fisher stripped off his Jiadin disguise and pulled a Motangan uniform from his pack. He had last used the uniform on the Island of Darkness and it was in good shape. He rolled his Jiadin clothes up and shoved them to the bottom of the pack in case anyone wanted to give a cursory inspection of his belongings. Attired as a Motangan soldier, the spy stepped out of the forest and headed westward.
For the first several hours, Fisher’s mind wandered. He walked through the dark wondering what he would find in Vandegar, but when his musings turned to thoughts about whether or not he would survive the coming incursion, Fisher knew that he was in trouble. One lesson that the spy had learned early in his career was never to go into a situation doubting the successful conclusion of the mission. To achieve success in such a daring profession, there could be no room for doubt.
Fisher immediately forced his concentration towards the brightest image of his future, and soon a broad smile played across his lips. An image sprang into his mind that brought joy to his heart. It was the image of Elly, the daughter of Lord Chenowith. He remembered the night that they had met when he posed as a Walkan soldier. The young woman had let him into the mansion and served him tea. At the time Fisher was only interested in stealing some secret papers of the previous emperor of Khadora, but the spy soon found many excuses to return to the Walkan mansion, and a fond romance had blossomed with Lord Chenowith’s daughter.
Fisher promised himself that when this war was over, he would return and ask for Elly’s hand in marriage. And that, Fisher realized, was the heart of his problem. The Khadoran spy had never had anything to live for previously. It was that very lack of desire to live that had made him so effective. He took chances that other men would never think of taking, and his boldness paid off handsomely, but now he had a very strong reason to live, and his thoughts returned to wondering if he would survive the journey to Vandegar. Fisher cursed inwardly as fear started to build up inside him, yet his feet never faltered. He continued marching westward through the dark night towards his destiny.
The sky lightened with a predawn glow as Fisher reached the eastern edge of the Motangan encampment. The enemy sentries were few, and they were spread out over a great distance. The spy altered his course slightly and casually walked towards an early morning campfire. If any of the sentries were alert enough to have seen him, they did not raise an alarm.
Most of the camp was still asleep, but Fisher intentionally headed towards a small group of soldiers who were up early having a morning coffee. They gave him a quizzical look as he walked into their midst.
“Can you spare a cup?” asked Fisher. “There is a bit of chill this morning.”
“There is a bit of chill every morning,” quipped a burly soldier. “Who are you?”
“Aki,” smiled the spy. “What’s your name?”
“The name is Savesto,” replied the burly man with suspicion, “but I have never seen you before. When did you join us? Who do you serve under?”
“I have been here about a month,” lied Aki. “I was originally assigned to Premer Cardijja, but he sent me here with a message last month. Premer Tzargo has been using me for odd tasks ever since. I feel like a fish out of water here.”
“Where are you camped?” asked another soldier.
“That is part of the problem,” sighed Aki. “I don’t even have a tent of my own. I spend most nights curled up in a corner inside the temple, but I can’t stand it in there any more. Most of the men inside the temple do not believe in bathing and the foul stench permeates the air. I came out for an early walk just to breath some clean air.”
The Motangan soldiers laughed heartily, and Savesto slapped Aki on the back and handed him a mug of coffee.
“And we thought we had it hard out here,” laughed Savesto. “We moved our tent as far away from the rest of the camp as we dared for just the same reason.”
“Won’t Tzargo be looking for you to run errands?” asked one of the Motangan soldiers.
“Probably not,” shrugged Aki as he sipped his coffee. “He hasn’t had anything for me to do in the last week. Perhaps he has forgotten that I exist.”
“One can only hope,” smiled Savesto.
Aki downed the warm coffee and extended his arm to get a refill. He was extremely thirsty from the long dry walk and the coffee went down easily. As he waited for Savesto to pour more coffee he noticed one of the other soldiers rise with concern on his face.
“You do not bear the mark of the hellsoul,” he said accusingly to Aki.
Aki’s eyes flicked left and right and saw the small mark on each of the men’s wrists. A tremor started to race throu
gh his body, and the spy sought to suppress it. All eyes around the campfire were glaring at him.
“No, I don’t,” Aki admitted calmly.
“How can that be?” Savesto asked with suspicion. “You said that you have been here for a month, and it has not been that long since the rites were given. It was required of everyone.”
“I must have been on one of Tzargo’s errands,” Aki shrugged. “In any event, no one has ordered me to submit to it, and I am not about to volunteer. Would any of you have participated if it was not required?”
Savesto’s stern face softened, and he smiled once again.
“You are one lucky man, Aki,” Savesto said. “I know that we are supposed to be thrilled to rise from the dead to once again serve the Emperor, but I personally find it distasteful. If I am struck down in battle, I would just as soon die.”
“That’s the truth of it,” nodded one of the other soldiers. “I wonder if there is any way to get rid of it?”
“If there is,” interjected another soldier, “we won’t find it in the next two days, and by then it will be too late. I heard that the Khadorans will be here within two days. This waiting to fight is almost over for us.”
“We will probably never even see any action,” retorted Savesto. “The Khadorans have to get through the army of the dead before they reach us, and there can’t be that many of them left after Shamal’s invasion.”
“And even if they manage to get through the army of the dead,” offered another soldier, “we are the easternmost part of the camp. The Khadorans will come from the west, and all would have to be lost before we end up fighting.”
Fisher desperately wanted to know what the army of the dead was, but asking it directly would surely raise more suspicions.
“Do you think enough Khadorans could have survived to outnumber the army of the dead?” Aki asked.
“Inconceivable,” Savesto shook his head. “I don’t think there were a half million Khadorans to begin with.”
“Well I hope the Khadorans kill a good portion of them,” one of the other soldiers said softly. “I don’t mind saying that I feel ill having those dead skeletons around me.”
“You may not mind saying it,” warned Savesto, “but you will lose your tongue if you say it anywhere away from this campfire. Keep your thoughts to yourself lad.”
“He’s right, though,” added another soldier. “Why do you think Tzargo ordered them back into the city of Vandegar? All of our men were getting jittery with them around. No doubt he was worried about desertions.”
“That’s enough,” bellowed Savesto as he glanced at Aki to gauge his reaction to the comments.”
“I agree with them,” Aki said softly to Savesto. “Their words will not pass my lips if that is what you are worried about.”
Savesto grinned and nodded as he poured more coffee into Aki’s mug.
“You are alright, Aki,” he declared. “You are welcome to join our group out here if you wish. It is about the safest place in the encampment.”
“I would like that,” smiled Aki. “I will have to return to the temple occasionally just to make sure that Tzargo is not looking for me, but the rest of the time I would be pleased to spend here with men like you.”
* * *
Thousands of Khadorans in blue and green uniforms snaked through the forest below the Fortung Mountains. The soldiers of the Aritor clan were impressive upon their war steeds, but they were only the vanguard of the Khadoran army. The column that wound back through the forest, up the mountainside, and through the pass, was a rainbow of colors. Every clan in Khadora was represented by their finest fighters, and the column stretched over many leagues.
Lord Faliman, leader of the Aritor clan and member of the Lords’ Council, led the procession. On his left rode Lord Marshal Stanton of the Aritor clan, and on his right rode a solitary figure in the orange and yellow of the Balomar clan. The plumes upon his helm denoted that he was the marshal of the Balomar clan. That man was Marshal Berman, and he had been chosen to lead the Khadorans into battle.
“The forest will end soon,” Marshal Berman declared. “I want the Aritor troops to set up a perimeter for the rest of the army.”
“You intend to halt the advance early in the day?” questioned Lord Marshal Stanton.
“I do,” nodded Marshal Berman. “When we exit this forest, our forces will spread out in a wide line. We cannot afford to have troops leagues behind us. We also cannot afford for the enemy to flank us. We will make camp here until all of the clans have congregated.”
“The Lords’ Council assured me that the Aritor clan would lead the charge,” asserted Lord Faliman. “Are you suggesting that my troops will merely be part of the line?”
“I think that is best,” sighed Marshal Berman, “but I serve at the pleasure of the Emperor and the Lords’ Council. If the Lords’ Council has promised you the vanguard, I will yield to their decision, but the rest of the clans will line up as I command. Lord Marshal, if you would direct the clans as they arrive so that our camps stretch out evenly to the left and right of our current position, I would be most grateful.”
“As you command, Marshal Berman,” saluted the Lord Marshal.
“I am going to take a short ride in each direction to view the lay of the land,” declared Marshal Berman.
The Balomar marshal turned and rode out of the forest.
“Uppity for a marshal, isn’t he?” remarked Lord Faliman.
“He is,” agreed Lord Marshal Stanton, “but I hear he has good reason to be. His leadership in the prior battles has been admirable.”
“And he has been a favorite of Emperor Marak’s since the battle at the Balomar estate before all of this invasion nonsense started,” replied Lord Faliman, “but I still think you would have been a far better choice to lead this invasion.”
“I am pleased by your words, Lord Faliman,” smiled Stanton, “and I must admit that it grates at me to take orders from a simple marshal, but I can find no fault with Berman’s reasoning nor his orders so far.”
“Then you think this delay is necessary?” asked Lord Faliman.
“I do,” nodded Stanton. “I merely posed the question to Berman to hear his justification. If I may be so bold as to speak frankly?”
“Of course,” nodded the Aritor lord.
“I also think it is unwise for the Aritor clan to be out in front of the line,” Stanton declared. “If the whole line is attacked, our forward position will cause chaos and confusion as we try to retreat into the line. I believe that Marshal Berman was wise to question your request.”
“I doubt that fifty thousand Motangans are going to come out of that ancient temple to attack us,” retorted Lord Faliman. “We are almost as numerous as they are, and we are mounted. More likely they will drop their weapons and run for their lives, and our biggest worry will be tracking them all down.”
“Our prior engagements with the Motangans have not shown any propensity towards cowardice,” countered Lord Marshal Stanton. “I think the Motangans will not only stand and fight, but to win they must use a superior strategy. It is only my opinion.”
“And I value your opinion,” sighed Lord Faliman, “but there are other consideration at play here.”
“Such as?” asked the lord marshal.
“I am the newest member of the Lords’ Council,” replied Lord Faliman. “All of the others were present when Lord Marak was made Emperor of Khadora. As such, they have a much closer bond with our Emperor. I must have some victory of my own to gain the prestige that the other lords have. That is why I requested the vanguard. To abandon it now that the council has acceded to my wishes would be unacceptable.”
“It would smack of cowardice,” agreed Lord Marshal Stanton. “I understand completely. We will make you proud in the coming battle, Lord Faliman. You can depend on us.”
“I know that I can,” smiled the Aritor lord. “Tomorrow will be a glorious day for the Aritor clan.”
Not far away, hidde
n in the trees of the forest, a black-hooded man smiled inwardly as he stealthily moved away from the congregating armies of Khadora. He ran quietly though the trees for over an hour before coming to a small camp. Sitting around the small camp were twelve other black-hooded men, and they all looked up in anticipation as the runner entered the clearing.
“The attack will be tomorrow,” the spy stated. “Their forces will be arrayed in a long line with only the Aritor clan out in front. Some of them are not expecting much of a fight.”
“Then they will be greatly surprised,” smiled Pakar.
“Have you discovered anything about the Chula and the elves?” the spy asked.
“Indeed,” nodded Pakar. “Look up in the sky to our south.”
The spy moved to get a clear view of the southern sky and saw a dragon circling the summit of the mountains. Although it was at a great distance, he could also detect a man riding atop the dragon.
“That would be the Torak,” Pakar answered the unspoken question, “and he is not circling the pass because he is alone. He is surveying the other half of his army.”
“Are we sure it is the Chula and the elves?” asked the spy.
“It can be nothing else,” declared Pakar. “Both the elves and the Chula are well versed in magic, so none of us are foolish enough to get any closer. You may if you wish, but I am convinced.”
“As am I,” the spy quickly nodded. “I will gladly meet their mages on the field of battle, but I am not foolish enough to attack them single-handedly. Will the dragon see us returning to Vandegar?”
“We will use illusions to hide ourselves,” Pakar shook his head. “The sun is already rising high in the sky, and the heat that bakes the plain will cause shimmering anyway. We will not be detected.”
* * *
The black-clad Sakovan rode his large warbird back along the forest trail until he saw the Sakovan column coming towards him. He halted his choka and silently raised his arm, his hand moving in the air to form a large circle. Without comment, the large column of Sakovans began to spread out and set up camp. HawkShadow sat on his choka and watched silently until Lyra, StarWind, and Temiker reached him.
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