13 Day War

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “And now Alceans,” retorted the general. “You misunderstand me, Musaraf. I am proud to be a Sordoan. There are no better horsemen in all the world, but I am not so insecure as to deny the successes of others. We did not lose the wars against Targa because our fighters were inferior. We lost because our leaders were men of privilege rather than talented strategists.”

  “Well, now you lead,” Musaraf pointed out. “Why do we not attack the enemy?”

  “I will lead the battle,” General Mobami replied, “but we serve King Arik now. He is the strategist for this war, and I bow before him. You may think that is foolish, but I consider it a privilege to serve the Warrior King. We will give the enemy every opportunity to surrender. That is our duty. If they continually refuse to surrender, our duty will be to kill them all, and you will find no better leader than me when that time comes. Have patience, my friend. We will prevail.”

  “Look!” Sergeant Musaraf pointed towards the opposite hill.

  Twenty horsemen crested the distant hill, their red uniforms announcing the arrival of the enemy.

  “It is their advance scouts,” stated the general. “The vanguard will not be far behind. Take the banner and go down the slope three-hundred paces. Make sure it is clearly visible.”

  Sergeant Musaraf nodded and picked up the standard bearing a flag of truce. He held it high and rode down the slope, planting it into the ground when he had ridden the prescribed distance. The Federation squad halted. Cautiously, two riders separated from the squad and rode forward. They halted before the flag of truce. General Mobami rode down the hillside and stopped alongside Sergeant Musaraf.

  “I am General Mobami, Governor of Sordoa. I wish to speak under a flag of truce with General Omirro. Carry my words to him.”

  The Federation squad leader looked around warily. He returned his eyes to the governor and said, “Some of my men will escort you to General Omirro. Follow me.”

  “I will wait here for him,” General Mobami replied. “I understand he is on his way here anyway.”

  The squad leader raised an eyebrow at the general’s words, but he merely nodded in acknowledgement. The two Federation riders turned and headed back towards the rest of the squad.

  “You men will stay here,” ordered the squad leader. “Keep a watch on the governor and his comrade, but avoid contact with them.”

  The squad leader left his men and galloped back towards the vanguard of Team Caldar. When he did reach the vanguard, he found General Omirro and General Barbone riding side-by-side. The sergeant turned his horse and rode alongside General Omirro.

  “We have made contact with the enemy,” the squad leader reported. “Two riders appeared on the road under a flag of truce. One of the men claims to be General Mobami, Governor of Sordoa. He has requested a meeting with you.”

  “For what purpose?” asked General Omirro.

  “He would not say, General. I offered to convey him to you, but he refused. He said that he understood that you were already heading his way, and that he would just wait for you.”

  “So our column has been sighted and reported,” remarked General Barbone. “It was inevitable, but I am surprised it took the Sordoans so long.”

  “That may not be the case,” frowned the sergeant. “He asked for a meeting with General Omirro by name.”

  “By name?” echoed General Omirro. “Are you sure that you did not slip up and offer to convey him to me by name?”

  “I am certain, General. It struck me odd at the time to hear the Sordoan use your name.”

  General Omirro frowned and stared blankly ahead, his thoughts pondering the information that the Alceans appeared to have acquired. Already they seemed to have known enough to find the black-cloaks in his camp and eliminate them. Someone had also learned the locations of his caches and seen fit to empty them. They had also discovered the portals and removed them, cutting off any chance of retreat or reinforcements. And now they knew the name of the commanding general. How could they have such information?

  The Ertakan general shook his head as if to clear it and addressed the sergeant, “Ready a company of cavalry to accompany me and General Barbone. We are going to meet with the Governor of Sordoa.”

  The sergeant saluted and peeled off from the column.

  “We are both going?” asked General Barbone. “Is that wise? Shouldn’t one of us remain behind in case it is a trap?”

  “A trap?” questioned General Omirro. “The Sordoans have already had a chance to kill both of us when they invaded our encampment. If they wished our armies to be leaderless, they would have chosen our tents to attack instead of the black-cloaks. No, Barbone, they truly do wish to talk. I am curious about what they want to talk about, but I am more interested in discovering how much they know about us. They seem to know far more than they should.”

  A captain appeared alongside the generals and announced that his company was ready to escort them to the meeting place. General Omirro signaled his approval and the captain led them forward past the vanguard. Less than an hour later, they crested a hill and halted.

  “My squad is at the bottom of the hill,” stated the sergeant. “Do you have orders for them?”

  General Omirro gazed across the valley at the two small figures sitting atop their horses. His eyes then scanned the entire valley and the opposing hill before answering the sergeant.

  “No, Sergeant. General Barbone and I will proceed to the center of the valley and wait for the Governor to come to us. Your men will wait where they are, but they will remain vigilant. Captain, those orders apply to your company as well. This meeting is to be one of talk. You will respond only if the Sordoans attack.”

  Without further words, General Omirro started down the side of the hill. General Barbone hurried to catch up to him, and the two generals rode out into the valley until they had covered half the distance between the two hills. There they halted, well short of where the governor waited for them. For several minutes, nothing happened, but eventually the Sordoans understood that the meeting place had been moved. They rode forward to meet the Federation generals.

  “General Omirro,” greeted the tall, bald governor, his large mustache almost appearing as a broad smile. “I see that you decided to bring General Barbone with you. I extend greetings to both of you. I am General Mobami, Governor of Sordoa.”

  General Omirro raised an eyebrow at the mention of the Spinoan general’s name. “You seem to know a great deal about us, General Mobami. How is that possible?”

  “All things are possible,” grinned the governor. “I know that your rise to leadership began in the cavalry, unlike many of your peers. I suppose that might be why you were assigned to Force Sordoa. We are, after all, known for our horses and our nomadic way of life. You would probably enjoy your retirement here, but it will not happen under the Federation flag. I have come to ask for your surrender.”

  General Omirro was shocked, but he did not let it show. The Sordoan’s knowledge of his background surely pointed to a spy in Zara, but it was the governor’s use of the term Force Sordoa that struck General Omirro the hardest. That indicated a knowledge that was strategic in nature. Such knowledge had been confined to only those in the highest levels of the Federation until just recently. He decided to press further.

  “You have pluck,” chuckled General Omirro, “and a great spy to be sure, but if your information was as complete as you pretend, you would not be here making such a foolish offer. Let us dispense with the posturing. You know what is coming down that road behind me. The fate of Sordoa has already been decided. Nothing you can do will alter that. The speech that should be coming from your lips is a request for mercy.”

  “So, we are talking plainly?” retorted General Mobami. “Fine. I prefer things laid out for all to see. The truth is, General Omirro, you are invading my homeland, and that displeases me greatly. As a Sordoan, I would like nothing better than to destroy you and your entire column, but my allegiance is to King Arik, and he has requested
that I try to seek your surrender before committing to battle. That is why I am here today. Still, I cannot beat sense into a stone. If you wish to end up like Gattas and Montero, I will be more than happy to oblige you.”

  General Omirro’s eyes narrowed at the mention of Gattas and Montero. The governor’s words showed that the Sordoans knew of at least two of the three prongs sent against them. General Omirro could not believe that the Sordoans had defeated the 6th Corps and the 15th Corps, but if a battle did occur south of Trekum with Sordoan forces large enough to even engage Team Pontek, that meant the governor was traveling with practically no army at all. That thought provoked General Omirro into pressing his advantage.

  “You talk boldly, Governor, for a man with no army. Perhaps I could hasten the conclusion to this war by seizing you right here and now.”

  “Only a despicable Zaran would violate a flag of truce,” spat the governor as he raised his right hand to shoulder height, “but I am willing to forgive this one transgression. Hear my words carefully, though. If you ever even mention violating a flag of truce again, I will personally kill you when you do so.”

  General Omirro had watched the governor carefully to see what the man was made of. He was not surprised by the strong reaction, but his observation was interrupted when General Barbone gasped. General Omirro glanced at the Spinoan general and saw him looking up the hill. Omirro let his own eyes rise to see what had surprised Barbone. The Ertakan general, who was known for hiding his emotions, also gasped. The crest of the hill was crowded with Sordoan horsemen, thousands of Sordoan horsemen. General Omirro turned his head from one side to the other as he took in the full measure of what he was seeing. As far as he could see in either direction, the horsemen lined the crest.

  General Omirro immediately thought of his own troops across the valley. He turned to see what his one-hundred-twenty men were doing. They were all mounted and holding their weapons as if ready to dash out to save their general. He held his hand up high and signaled for them to dismount. Only when they were all dismounted did he return his attention to the governor.

  “That was well played, Governor. I offer my apology for making light of a flag of truce. I truly would not have seized you, but I did want to see your reaction to such a statement. Again, I apologize.”

  “Accepted,” General Mobami said curtly. “Will you surrender?”

  “No,” replied General Omirro. “You are correct that I am a cavalry man, but I have learned to respect the footman. Our infantry is well trained in battle against cavalry. Even with large numbers behind you, we will devastate your forces. Besides, now that you know about Gattas and Montero, you must also realize that time is against you. If I keep your army here engaged with mine, Gattas will march unopposed and take Trekum. You are caught in a vice, Governor. Save us all some bloodshed and give up.”

  “You are a fool, Omirro,” scowled General Mobami. “Gattas and Montero are already dead, along with every single man of the 6th Corps and the 15th Corps. And if you think I am unaware of Ritka and Stemple, you are an even greater fool. They will meet their demise tomorrow. Then it will be just me and you. I am beginning to look forward to that confrontation. Good day, General.”

  General Mobami and Sergeant Musaraf turned and rode away, leaving the flag of truce planted in the dirt. The Federation generals watched them disappear over the crest and then all of the Sordoan riders disappeared.

  “Can he be telling the truth?” General Barbone asked anxiously.

  “It was all utter nonsense,” General Omirro replied. “There are less fighters in all of Sordoa than in our two armies alone. The Sordoans are probably making the same pitch to Gattas and Ritka right now. They will undoubtedly be saying that you and I are already dead and our armies wiped out. No, Barbone, it was all a farce, but I will say that it was a game well played. The governor, if that is truly who he was, has played this game before. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it. He actually tricked me into saying that I might violate the truce just so he could show his army to us. It was supposed to rankle us.”

  “It certainly surprised me,” admitted General Barbone. “When our foragers are attacked each night, I keep thinking that a small group is harassing us, trying to keep us on edge, but Mobami’s army is no small group. There were thousands of men up there, and they were not pretty boys playing soldier. Those men were warriors. You could see it in how they moved and sat. We will have a fight on our hands, Omirro.”

  “Don’t get soft on me, Barbone,” scowled General Omirro. “The Sordoans have never won a war in their entire history. This is not going to be any exception to that streak. I assure you of that.”

  * * * *

  The Alcean Ranger stared at the small flock of blackbirds flying over the Boulder Mountains. He did not have to watch them for long before determining that they were not truly birds. From his perch in a cleft on the face of the vertical canyon, the Ranger glanced down at the canyon floor and the two black-cloak bodies that had died there. He looked up in the sky again and tried to determine how long it would take the seekers to discover what they were looking for. Without taking his eyes off the birds, he woke up his fairy. The fairy stretched and yawned as she stuck her tiny blue head out of the pocket.

  “Can’t the message wait?” asked Petite. “I was just having the most delicious dream.”

  “The dream will have to wait,” Steffen replied, refusing to be distracted from watching the birds. “Our prey has arrived. Warn the others that we have only a few minutes, and make sure that Kinelli is awake. The whole flock seems to have come hunting today.”

  Petite shot up to the Ranger’s shoulder and peered into the sky. She started jumping up and down excitedly and then shot out of the crevice like a fired arrow. Steffen chuckled inwardly, but the humor lasted only a second. He pulled three arrows out of his quiver by touch and then strung his bow as he counted the birds. When he only counted twelve of them, he frowned and began searching the sky again. There was one missing.

  The minutes dragged by as the birds circled around several times before flying over the steep canyon. Suddenly, the birds all gathered together, and Steffen knew that the bodies had been sighted. The birds were wary, very wary. For several long minutes the flock circled high while two birds dropped lower, inviting an attack. Nothing happened. Another pair of birds left the flock and dropped even lower, moving along the steep walls of the canyon, inspecting any ledges that might be used for archers. Steffen smiled. While there were ledges along the canyon walls that would have made excellent perches, his men were not on them. They were concealed in the narrowest and darkest crevices of the canyon walls. The hiding spots chosen would impair each Ranger’s field of vision, but birds did not hover as fairies did. They would have to keep moving, causing them to pass more than one archer. Once the flock was lured into the canyon, there would be no escape for them.

  For over ten minutes the birds proceeded cautiously, pairs of them dropping ever farther into the chasm, daring a hidden archer to take a shot at them. None did. Eventually, two of the birds landed on the floor of the canyon. That was the signal to attack because the Rangers dared not let the black-cloaks transform into human shape. Arrows flew out of crevices on both sides of the canyon, and birds started dropping to the ground. Steffen, holding the highest position of all the Rangers, only managed to kill one bird, but there were still two birds out of the twelve that had not entered the trap. Steffen saw them circling above and took aim, but the range was too great. Feeling safe from the threat of archers, the two birds continued to circle. Steffen knew what was going through their minds. A single battle mage could destroy all of the Rangers hidden in the canyon, and the black-cloaks were trying to decide how to approach the problem. They had to land somewhere to transform into their human form, but once they transformed, they had to return to the canyon to do battle. Their problem was that there was no decent landing spot close by, meaning they would have to climb around in the mountains to strike back and that wou
ld give the hidden archers time to flee. It was a difficult decision for the battle mages to make, but Steffen smiled broadly knowing that the decision would never be made.

  While the two birds were still circling, a dragon appeared in the sky. The birds did not notice the dragon at first, and that cost one of the birds its life. Kinelli grabbed one of the birds in her talons and crushed it as she gave chase to the other bird. The dragon and the bird passed out of Steffen’s view, and the Ranger called out for a count of his men and a count of the birds killed. His men were all alive and ten of the birds had been killed. Kinelli got the eleventh bird and was chasing the twelfth. That still left one black-cloak unaccounted for, and Steffen did not care for loose ends.

  High in the sky over the canyon, the thirteenth bird had watched everything. Baku had seen the Rangers destroying his men, and he had seen the dragon giving chase to the lone survivor. Wishing not to be seen by the dragon, Baku moved off in the opposite direction and landed in a wooded valley. There he spent the rest of the day until nightfall arrived. As soon as it was dark, he resumed his bird form and took to the sky. He flew all night and all day until he arrived at General Ross’s camp. Exhausted from the flight, all he really wanted to do was sleep, but he entered the large command tent to make his report. General Ross looked up in surprise.

  “You are back sooner than expected,” the general said with a sense of unease. “What is wrong?”

  “We have problems,” sighed the black-cloak. “My men stumbled into a trap yesterday. They are all dead.”

  “Are you sure?” gasped the general.

  “I watched them die,” snapped the battle mage, letting his exhaustion get the better of him. “I am sorry. I am tired, but that is no reason to be rude. I have traveled all night and all day from the Boulder Mountains to get here. Yes, they are all dead. There are humans in this land. I would estimate only about a dozen, but they are highly skilled warriors, and their purpose for being here seems to be to eliminate your battle mages. They have been killing my men by shooting them while they were in bird form. We found the bodies of the last two men who never returned.”