13 Day War

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “I want your company to get across the river and set up a defensive perimeter on the opposite shore,” commanded the colonel. “Signal me when the bank is secure.”

  The captain saluted the colonel and retreated to his men. Moments later, one hundred Federation soldiers gathered on the near bank of the river. The captain’s hushed orders were brief and the men of the company nodded in understanding. One squad immediately moved down the bank and into the river while the other four squads stood with arrows nocked. The lead squad moved quietly out into the river, expecting trouble from unseen foes, but nothing happened. The squad slowly made their way across the river and climbed up the opposite bank. The twenty men spread out, creating a semicircular zone of protection for the rest of the company. When the short perimeter was established, the squad leader signaled the captain to send over the rest of the company. Four more squads slid down the bank and into the river, their arrows secured in their quivers, and their bows strapped to their backs.

  The larger part of the company was halfway across the river when the enemy struck. All twenty of the first squad fell in the first volley of arrows. The second volley of arrows was already speeding towards the men in the river before anyone understood what was happening.

  “Archers!” shouted Colonel Ednor. “I want withering fire on the opposite shore, and I want it now!”

  The men in the river were caught midstream. Some of them tried to complete the trek across the river while others turned and tried to flee. Some even tried to nock arrows midstream and fight the unseen enemy, but all of the choices made were illusory grasps at the unobtainable. Within seconds of the opening barrage, all of the men were dead. The Federation archers in the vanguard of the column stepped up to the riverbank and fired volley after volley of arrows into the dark forest, but silence was the only victim. After a few minutes, Colonel Ednor gave the order to stop shooting, and an eerie stillness fell over the river. The colonel turned to select another company to attempt the crossing, but he frowned as he gazed at the men standing before him. Of the four captains who had gathered near the river when the column had halted, none of them were currently visible. The vanguard of the mighty 9th Corps of the Empire of Barouk had suddenly become bereft of company commanders.

  Chapter 27

  Day Nine

  As General Pryblick, commander of the 8th Corps of the Empire of Barouk and team leader for Team Danver Shores, approached the rendezvous place, he noticed the crude sign on the side of the road. He shook his head and then turned his gaze to the assembled officers waiting for him. General Mackle, commander of the 12th Corps of Ertak, was already present, but Pryblick ignored the other general and rode straight towards his own colonel.

  “What is the meaning of that, Dukirk?” General Pryblick asked as he pointed to the crude sign. “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “Not unless it is an Alcean joke, General,” replied the colonel. “None of our men would dare to do such a thing. I have sent two men on ahead to verify the condition of the bridge.”

  “Two men?” balked the general. “We are in enemy territory, Colonel. Why didn’t you send a company?”

  “A whole company of cavalry would surely be noticed,” answered Colonel Dukirk. “Two riders will not. If we are forced to take another route, it would make no sense to alert the enemy of our arrival on a path that we will not be traveling.”

  “Another route?” frowned the general. “Just because a bridge is out? We will ford the river.”

  “I am familiar with the road to Tagaret, General,” replied the colonel. “If that bridge is indeed out, it would make no sense to travel that road. The river is not fordable. In fact, the bridge crosses a rather steep canyon. I did instruct the men to search upstream and downstream for potential fords, but I am not optimistic about them finding any. Last fall I spent some time on that bridge looking in both directions. The canyon runs deep as far as the eye can see. If the bridge is no longer passable, we will need to take the other road.”

  “And what about our supplies?” asked General Pryblick.

  “We are not going to be able to reach the first cache,” answered Colonel Dukirk, “but I think we should be able to get back to the main road for the second cache.”

  “You think?” scowled the general.

  The colonel sighed. “I have not been on the secondary road, but I do remember seeing quite a few side roads north of the bridge. One of them must connect the two roads. We really have little choice, General. If we do not take the secondary road, we will not be in Tagaret when the attack begins.”

  “Maybe we can return to Camp Destiny and get supplies from Tauman,” suggested General Mackle.

  General Pryblick whirled around to find that the Ertakan general had come up behind him.

  “There were no ready supplies anywhere near my portal,” the Baroukan general said testily. “Were there any near yours?”

  “No,” General Mackle answered calmly, “but at least we would have provisions that way.”

  “At what cost?” snapped General Pryblick. “We will lose a whole day waiting for Tauman to deliver supplies to the staging areas so that we can then cart them through the portals and deliver them to our men. I will not put this team in the position of having to make up for a lost day. Do not forget, Mackle, that our journey is the shortest of all of the teams. We only have five days to make it to Tagaret, and I will not start out by losing one of those five days. We could never make it up, and I will not be late for the attack.”

  “Then we will have to forage,” shrugged the Ertakan general.

  “Then we forage,” General Pryblick replied with an air of finality. “Colonel Dukirk, get the column moving along the secondary road. If your riders return with good news, we will reverse the column and head towards whatever fords they discovered.”

  The colonel saluted and rode off to start the march towards Tagaret. General Pryblick invited General Mackle to ride alongside him in the vanguard, and the column veered off the main road and onto the secondary road.

  “This road has seen better days,” commented General Mackle, “but there has been quite a bit of wagon traffic recently. If wagons can use it to reach Tagaret, we should have no problems.”

  “Except for the supplies,” Pryblick agreed with a tone of resignation. “I just do not like surprises. That bridge must have collapsed in the last two weeks. General Tauman assured me that all of our caches had been checked before the armies started deploying to Alcea, and that was only nine days ago.”

  “Well,” mused General Mackle, “it is springtime and the annual floods do cause havoc with bridges. Let’s just hope that the bridge is the worst of our problems.”

  “I am sure that it will be,” the Baroukan general said with confidence. “Force Targa is the cream of the Federation armies. If our three teams can’t destroy Tagaret, no armies can. That is why a potential delay irritates me so. I will not let Fortella and Bledsoe get all the credit for sacking the Alcean capital. We will be on time to join in, no matter what it takes.”

  “I can’t imagine any city standing up to the force of our three teams,” agreed the Ertakan general. “This will be the shortest siege in history.”

  Less than an hour later, the vanguard of Team Danver Shores came upon two new bridges. The bridges sat side-by-side, and they crossed a wide expanse of muddy river.

  “Those bridges are new,” remarked General Mackle. “I wonder why they built two of them?”

  “Perhaps they don’t want this road closed like the main road,” shrugged General Pryblick. “Whatever their reasons, I am glad that there are two. They are narrow enough to cause us delay if there had only been one. We will use both of them. You lead the left files across one, and I will lead the right files across the other. We will join up on the other side.”

  The massive Federation army split in two for the journey across the river. As the generals met up on the far side of the bridges, Colonel Dukirk joined them.

  “The riders ret
urned,” stated the colonel. “As I suspected, there were no decent fords available within any acceptable distance from the bridge. You have made a wise choice, General.”

  “That only shows that you were observant last fall, Dukirk. Knowing the terrain can be very helpful, but your knowledge no longer helps us as you have not traveled this road before. Take some riders and scout ahead. Find us a place to make camp tonight, and make the day’s trek a bit longer than we had planned for. That way if we have more surprises in store, we will be ahead of schedule.”

  * * * *

  Alexander Tork entered his suite in the Royal Palace in Tagaret and found Jenneva getting ready to leave.

  “So, you awaken from the dead,” Alex quipped with a smile. “I was beginning to think that you would sleep all day.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” retorted Jenneva. “I feel as if I just went to sleep. What hour is it?”

  “Just after dawn,” replied Alex. “You must have worked late into the night again. Are you making any progress with the plague?”

  “Not really,” frowned Jenneva, “although we now have more help. Quite a few healers responded to the queen’s summons. Podil was among them.”

  “Podil?” frowned Alex. “She was supposed to be with Zalaharic, but I notice that you did not mention him as being among those who showed up.”

  “He stayed with Wylan and Sheri,” answered Jenneva with a curious look at her husband. “They are alive. Did you not know?”

  “Alive?” Alex echoed in a whisper, his voice quaking with hesitant hope. “Can it be true?”

  “It is true,” smiled Jenneva. “Podil said that Wylan will be as good as new after he gets some rest.”

  Alex stepped forward and hugged Jenneva. “I cannot imagine a brighter start to a day. What about Sheri?”

  “Podil is not sure about Sheri,” Jenneva replied softly. “She hangs in a state somewhere between life and death. That is why Zalaharic decided to ignore the king’s orders to return to Tagaret.”

  “As he should,” Alex stated firmly. “I am sure that Arik would have agreed if he had been there. Did Podil think that Zalaharic could save her?”

  “That is a question she would be unable to answer,” Jenneva replied as she broke the embrace. “If anyone can save her, it is Zalaharic. As for the king, Arik was awakened when Podil arrived. He was pleased that Zalaharic saw the importance of saving two Knights of Alcea. I am surprised that he did not tell you.”

  “I have not seen Arik yet this morning,” replied Alex. “He is sequestered in his study with Balamor. I think they are rehearsing the king’s message to the citizens.”

  “And not a day too soon,” commented Jenneva. “The citizens are starting to ask why they haven’t heard from the king. Some wonder if he might have been stricken with the plague, but others wonder if he still cares about them.”

  “That is just silly,” scowled Alex. “Have they no memories of the sacrifices that Arik has made for them? How could they possibly think he has forgotten them?”

  Jenneva sighed. “Do not be so harsh towards them, Alex. The people are frightened, and they have every right to be scared. While the details of the coming invasion are not well known, the citizens do know that an attack is coming. They can see that half of the soldiers are as sick as they are, and it terrifies them. It is Arik’s responsibility to inform the people about such things.”

  “Those soldiers were supposed to march out through the city gates this morning,” frowned Alex. “They are needed against Team Miram.”

  “They may be needed,” replied Jenneva, “but they will not be leaving the city. The Rangers and the Red Swords will have to manage without them.”

  “Four-thousand men against twenty-thousand?” balked Alex. “Even if they are successful against such odds, there will not be enough of our men left to form a bucket brigade. The Rangers and the Red Swords will cease to exist. Does Arik know what that will mean when Team Mya arrives at our walls?”

  “He has no choice, Alex,” retorted Jenneva. “He cannot send sick men into battle.”

  “And what about mages?” asked Alex. “There are twenty-four battle mages in Team Miram. Are our men supposed to go up against them, too?”

  Jenneva sighed again. “I don’t know, Alex. Right now we have every available mage working as healers. Even the queen spends long days in the infirmary. We just don’t have the number of mages that the Federation has.”

  Alex turned from his wife and began pacing the floor. Jenneva knew her husband well enough to understand what was going through his mind.

  “Before you go rushing off to single-handedly defeat the enemy,” she said sympathetically, “talk to Arik. See if he can’t spare some mages to accompany you.”

  Alex stopped pacing and turned to look at his wife. “I would be happy if he allowed me just one mage. Come with me, Jenneva.”

  Jenneva’s brow creased heavily, and her gaze dropped to the floor. “Defeating the enemy serves no purpose if all of the citizens die of the plague. Get your leave from Arik and go join your brothers on the battlefield. I will join you as soon as we get the populace out of danger.”

  Alex nodded sadly and embraced his wife in silence. He understood her dedication to healing the people as much as she understood his need to be on the battlefield. For several minutes, neither one of them spoke. They stood in a silent embrace as if savoring their last time together. Abruptly, Alex broke the embrace and kissed Jenneva.

  “Hurry north,” he said softly as he turned and left the room.

  The walk to the king’s study was not a long one. As Alex arrived outside the door, he met Tanya coming from the other direction. She looked as tired as Jenneva had, and he smiled weakly at her.

  “Is there any hope in sight?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Father,” the queen replied with a shake of her head. “I find that I am seeing the same patients over and over again. I treat them and they get well, but they come back again, sometimes in only a matter of hours. It is unlike any illness I have ever seen. I also question its contagiousness. Not a single helper in the infirmary has contracted the disease from the patients. It is weird.”

  “And are all of the patients irritable?” asked Alex.

  “Without exception,” nodded the queen.

  Sudden shouting from beyond the door caused both father and daughter to turn towards the door with concerned looks on their face.

  “Has the king been shouting all morning?” the queen asked one of the guards stationed at the door.

  “This is the first time that we have heard him,” answered the guard. “Should we investigate?”

  “No.” The queen shook her head. “My father and I will see what the trouble is. Open the door.”

  The guard dutifully opened the door to the king’s study and the queen promptly entered the room. Alex followed closely behind her, and the guard closed the door. King Arik stood before his desk, regally dressed as if he were making a public appearance. The red-headed illusionist from Pog stood on the other side of the room. King Arik turned towards the door when it opened, his face a mask of rage.

  “We are busy here,” snapped the king. “This is no time for social calls.”

  Queen Tanya stared at the king and then at Balamor. The gaunt mage merely shrugged. The queen turned to her left and walked until her husband was directly between her and Balamor. Alex halted just inside the door. His eyes flickered from the illusionist to the king, but he said nothing.

  “What is going on, Arik?” Queen Tanya asked in a disarming tone.

  “What is going on?” snapped the king. “What do you think is going on? I am trying to deliver a speech to the citizens, but you seem intent on disrupting it. Leave us.”

  “When did this start?” Alex asked Balamor.

  King Arik whirled towards Alex with a hateful glare. “I said leave,” he shouted. “That includes you, Alex.”

  The Knight of Alcea ignored the king. He stood staring at Balamor, waiting for a
n answer to his question.

  “Just a few moments ago,” answered the mage from Pog. “We were making great progress and then I suggested that the king dress appropriately. His mood turned black almost instantly.”

  “I will not be ignored!” shouted the king. “Guards!”

  The door started to open and then slammed shut with a force that shook the wall. Alex glanced at Tanya, and the queen nodded that she was responsible for closing the door. He turned his gaze back to the king, his eyes lingering on the king’s new boots. Suddenly, Alex’s eyebrow rose in wonder.

  “Take off your boots, Arik,” demanded the Knight of Alcea.

  The king shouted for the guards again as he tried to pull the Sword of Heavens from its sheath on his back. The sword flew out of its sheath and hovered near the ceiling. The king turned towards his wife with an angry glare. That is when the Knight of Alcea struck. Alex raced across the room and pushed the king onto the desk, pinning him with the weight of his body. Balamor rushed to the king and pulled the boots off the king’s dangling feet. Alex knew that the boots were off without having to turn and look. The king’s angry façade immediately broke, and the king looked up into Alex’s face with wonder and confusion. Alex released the king and stepped back.

  “It is the boots,” announced Alex. “Have the guards bring Prince Oscar here.”

  Tanya nodded as she gently lowered the Sword of Heavens to the floor. She walked towards the door before releasing her hold on it. The door burst open, and the queen stared at twenty Red Swords with their swords drawn.

  “Summon Prince Oscar immediately,” demanded the queen, “and admit no one else.”

  The guards peered past the queen and saw the king sitting on the edge of the desk. One of them ran off to get the prince, but the others stood unmoving, waiting for the king’s personal dismissal.

  “Close the door,” commanded the king with a dismissive wave, “and send the others back to their posts.”

  The guards sheathed their swords and hesitated only briefly before complying with the king’s orders. Tanya turned away from the door and walked to Balamor. She took one of the boots from the gaunt mage and examined it closely.