“You think they will enter our lands?” Uln asked.
“I do. They are venturing farther north every day. Eventually they will find you. Do you really want the Saricons burning your homes, their swords red with Varga blood?”
Brant was glad that Kivalla had caught on so quickly. He had wanted to see his friend, there was no lie in that, but when he had heard that Uln was chief, his plan had changed. The intelligent scholar had understood this quickly, and joined in as if he were part of the plan to begin with. “We need your help, my friend,” Brant said. “Will you help us?”
Uln didn’t say anything as he stared into the fire. “I owe you life. You gave me family back. You think Saricons invade Varga home really?”
“I don’t know. But their history suggests they will,” Brant replied.
“You will be fighting with this King Jarak?”
“I will.”
“Why? What you owe these people?” Uln asked.
“My people. I am Dy’ainian,” Brant countered. “Before I met you I had no guidance. I had no path. I do now. And I have the skills to help make things right. I will try to do this, with or without you.”
“You ask me to leave family, people, once more. Maybe die in foreign lands.”
Brant sat back in his chair. Perhaps he was asking too much of him. Rubbing his hands through his hair he sighed. “You may be right. I am asking too much. It is just that I have people in Dy’ain that I would die protecting. It is they I think of when asking this of you. Also, I worry we cannot defeat this foe, and if we don’t they will scour and conquer the lands until only the name of Heln will be whispered in the prayers of all.” During their long conversation Kivalla had explained to Uln who the Saricons were and the fanatical importance with which their god, Heln, was held.
“Heln is not word my people will say,” Uln said adamantly. “Our gods good to us, we no need new god.” Based on their conversation Brant had concluded that the Varga worshipped several gods, but they did not have time to delve much into their beliefs.
“If not, then they will kill you, as they have done to all who refused to worship their god,” Kivalla said.
Uln set his cup down on the surface of one of the big stones around the fire. “I will fight with you.”
Kivalla was caught by surprise. He couldn’t believe that Uln would agree so quickly. Brant’s expression was serious, knowing the weight of the burden he had just laid upon his friend’s shoulders. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Your words ring truth. I trust you, Brant. I owe you. I will help you protect your people. My people hide here long enough. It time the Varga fight. We will join you.”
“How many?”
“I cannot leave village unprotected.” Uln thought for a moment. “I bring two thousand Rykeesa with us.”
***
Over ten thousand warriors were marching east, their tall spears sparkling in the afternoon sun. The air was brisk and a light coating of snow still covered the ground. And though the sky was clear and sunny, the temperature was barely above freezing. They had traveled hard, pushing the pace, and had recently passed the fork of the Pelm River, veering more east into Dy’ain. Jarak and his companions continued to lead the long column. They had had many nights since they left Elwyn to consider and plan their next step. After much discussion they agreed that they would take over one of the mines along the mountain's edge, and from there they would send messengers to their second army wintering at the ruins. Soon, within three months, they would join forces, and after that, they would descend upon Cythera.
The sound of a horse's hooves interrupted Jarak's thoughts as he gazed at the tall peaks of the Devlin Range. He had always seen the jagged peaks as beautiful. And even now, surrounded by violence and war, they remained just as majestic, looking down on the turmoil of mortals, aloof and distant.
A Marastian scout riding a white mare slowed next to him. King Elwyn and Queen Tearial rode just behind the Dy’ainian king and the scout addressed the royal couple. “My King, there is something approaching us from the rear that I think you should see.” The scout was red skinned with short cropped black hair. His black eyes pivoted to his king and Jarak, as if he were excited to tell them both.
“What is it?” King Elwyn asked.
“Sir, it’s the Varga.”
King Elwyn looked concerned as he glanced at King Jarak. He looked back at the scout. “You are saying there are Varga behind us?”
“Yes sir.”
“How many?” This time it was Tearial who spoke, sounding genuinely curious.
“Looks to be several thousand.”
“Well that is curious,” King Elwyn replied.
“Lead the way,” Jarak said, needing no further encouragement.
Cat, who was riding next to Jarak, had heard the conversation and together all four followed the scout down the long line of Marastian soldiers. They galloped by several thousand warriors, then the long column of supply carts and wagons, followed by more warriors, before they finally reached the rear of the army.
Over a thousand paces away, and moving quickly, was a line of large bodies, their green skin in stark contrast to the white snow surrounding them. As they neared, they could clearly see two horses with riders leading a small army of Varga, their large green forms running effortlessly behind them. As they got closer Jarak could see that the two riders were in fact Brant and Kivalla.
“This should be interesting,” Tearial said, her hand resting on her sword.
“They are no threat,” Jarak cautioned.
Tearial smiled. “The Varga are always a threat.”
Brant and Kivalla pulled on the reins, stopping twenty paces away. The Varga behind them stopped as well, standing tall and appearing to be barely winded. A Varga with red stripes painted across his arms and cheeks walked up next to Brant’s horse, and together they advanced. The lead Varga wore a jerkin of animal hide, its soft fur lining fluffing out from the edges of the sleeveless vest. His bare arms were corded with muscle and covered with scars, some jagged and puckered, others straight and smooth. He wore leather leggings over his massive legs and boots made from the same material. Strapped to his back was a gigantic sword alongside a quiver filled with arrows so large that they looked like spears. In one hand he carried a longbow taller than Brant's horse. The thousands of Varga behind them were similarly outfitted and they stood unmoving, tall and straight like the giant trees of their forest home.
Jarak nudged his horse between Brant’s and Kivalla’s and he shook hands with them both in the warrior's grip, hand to wrist. “It is good to see you both, my friends,” he said. “I take it you found your friend,” he added as he looked over at Uln.
Brant smiled. “I did. King Jarak, this is Tufrak Uln.”
Uln stepped closer to the King and greeted him in the Varga way, arms up, bent at the elbow, and forearms together. He nodded his head respectively and said in Newain, “It honor.”
“He does not speak Newain well,” Brant added. “But he does speak some Schulg and is fairly fluent in Marastian.”
“Tell him it is an honor to meet him as well,” Jarak said. Kivalla translated in Marastian and Uln nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Is Tufrak his name?”
“No,” Brant answered. “Tufrak is his title. He is the chief of the Varga. You may call him Uln.”
“Chief? Did you know this?”
“I did not,” Brant added. “He is here to fight with us.”
Jarak looked back at the huge warriors behind them. “You’re kidding.”
“I am not,” Brant said.
While they talked Uln had noticed King Elwyn and Queen Tearial and walked towards them. They greeted one another formally and spoke together in Marastian. It was obvious they knew one another, although their tone was very formal.
“You are quite surprising young Ull Therm,” King Elwyn said to Brant, smiling from ear to ear. “I did not know you had the ear of the leader of the Varga.”
“Nor
did I,” Brant replied.
Jarak pivoted his horse and looked at Uln seriously. He was greatly moved by Uln’s presence and he wanted to express his gratitude to the war leader. He glanced at King Elwyn. “Will you translate for me?” The king nodded as Jarak addressed Uln. “Tufrak Uln, I would like to thank you for joining us. This fight is not your own, and your commitment to fight alongside us gives us great hope. With your help, I believe we can defeat the Saricons. I am humbled, and I cannot begin to thank you and your men for your sacrifice.”
After King Elwyn had finished translating, Uln smiled, exposing his sharp teeth. He stepped close to Jarak, whose horse pranced nervously next to the big warrior, and placed his massive hand on Jarak’s armored shoulder. “Brant save me,” he said in stilted Newain. “I honor him. You friend of Brant. I honor you. Saricon are enemy to all. If we not win, they take Varga home.” Then he patted Jarak’s shoulder like an old time friend. “We kill Saricons.”
Jarak couldn’t help but smile, and the others joined in. For once he felt like they might actually have a chance against the foreign invaders.
***
Jarak stood near the edge of the cliff looking down at the carnage below. Cat stood beside him as they watched their soldiers drag the last remaining bodies to the edge and pitch them over. Over a hundred Saricon bodies lay bloody and broken amongst the rocks and boulders below. It had taken the army three weeks to get back into Dy’ain, and once there they had secured two of the mining camps, killing several hundred Saricons in the process. There were already hundreds of bilts laid out like a village and the Marastian soldiers all had their own tents. They had created a small town.
“So much death,” Jarak whispered.
Cat gripped his hand and leaned into him. It was near dusk and the breeze was cold. It would have been a beautiful evening except for the crimson stains streaking the brilliant white snow, like paths of red disappearing over the chasms edge.
“It’s not your fault. They invaded our lands. We have no choice but to defend it.”
“I know, but it’s so senseless.”
Cat squeezed his hand and looked up at him. “When have you ever known men to act with any sense?”
Jarak chuckled, partly agreeing with her. “What should I do now?”
Word had spread quickly throughout the northern regions of Dy’ain that King Jarak was alive, and that he had an army with him. Already several hundred refugees, mostly Legionaries who had survived the initial attack on Cythera, or retired soldiers, had trickled into their camp, asking to fight with their king. Jarak had given twenty of them the task of spreading the word that he was forming an army, and that all volunteers would be paid, sheltered, and fed. He had also sent out scouts in all directions to bring back as much information about Saricon movement as possible. There was so much to think about. What towns were occupied, and with how many men? What roads did they control? What were their numbers? On top of all that Jarak had to find a way to feed and arm the new recruits. Now he knew why his father had him study so much. He thought the classes on tactics, finance , etc., were a waste of his time. Now he knew they were vital to maintaining an army and winning a war. He had a few ideas, but nothing firm yet. Luckily he had capable people to advise him.
“We need to find out where the Saricons are stationed,” Cat said. “Until our scouts return, I think we need to solve our supplies and weapons problem. Speaking of which, are we not meeting with the commanders soon?”
“We are,” Jarak said. “Let’s go.”
They made their way back to the rows of hundreds of bilts, lined up neatly to create narrow roads between them. The Dy’ainian refugees, as well as Jarak’s immediate group, occupied about half of the bilts, leaving many of the tent-like structures still empty, but ready for more warriors to join them. Hundreds of fires marked the paths. Beyond the bilts, occupying several rolling hills before the mountain's base, were thousands of Marastian tents and their own fires. The Varga had also set up camp there, and along with their two thousand warriors, they had also brought more than forty carts filled with provisions and supplies, each cart connected to a harness pulled by a Varga warrior. Each Rykeesa would pull for several hours before being replaced by another. The strength and endurance of the Rykeesa was prodigal, and each warrior had been trained to do their part. Not one of them had complained the entire time.
Cat and Jarak headed toward the mess hall, which was basically a very large bilt held up by long wood poles which had become their council tent. It was here where Jarak and Kivalla met to discuss their plans and make the daily decisions. Luckily, King Elwyn and Uln were quite adept at maintaining their own forces. So as of now the group’s main issue was planning their campaign.
They entered the mess tent and greeted Kivalla, King Elwyn, Queen Tearial, Serix, Endler, and Brant, who were all seated around a table drinking warm mulled wine. Four braziers had been placed nearby, providing some warmth to the room and supplementing the light from the lanterns that had been lit and set upon the table. Kivalla had several maps spread out and they were all talking quietly amongst themselves. The talking ceased when Jarak and Cat approached the table.
“Thank you all for coming,” Jarak said. “I was hoping to address several issues this evening.” Jarak nodded at Kivalla to take over. They had talked extensively about the issues and Kivalla was more prepared to the lead the discussion.
“Our immediate concern is feeding and arming the refugees as they join us. We have only been here for a week and already we have over two hundred new fighters. I’m guessing that in the next few weeks those numbers will increase to several thousand. Once word spreads that King Jarak is alive and leading an army, they will come flocking to us to fight, or to seek protection, either way we will need to feed them.”
“We will need to obtain food from the towns and villages that are not yet occupied by the Saricons,” Serix suggested.
“I do not want to take food from our own people during the winter,” Jarak replied.
“My King, requisitioning food from the populace is a common wartime practice,” Serix continued. “Besides, if we cannot feed our army then the populace will be eventually overrun by the Saricons. Surely that will be much worse than having to ration their food for the winter.”
“He is right, My King,” Endler said. “We are at war. There is no easy way to get the supplies we need.”
“Maybe you should ask them,” Brant interrupted, his tone sharp as a sword, “instead of taking it. Make them feel like they are part of the solution.”
Tearial smiled, enjoying Brant’s bluntness. He always seemed to have a wellspring of anger buried just under the surface, ready to boil over at the least provocation.
“Of course we would ask first,” Serix replied, a little annoyed at Brant’s tone. “But if it comes to it we may have to flex our muscles some.”
“Another option, King Jarak, is to advance towards Cythera as soon as possible,” Queen Tearial offered. “That way we can occupy the towns and villages along the way, recruiting anyone who can fight, along with acquiring weapons and supplies from the townsfolk. We may have to kill some livestock along the way, but as Serix said, the death of a few hundred head of livestock is a fair trade for ridding your lands of the Saricon horde.”
“That would also give us the opportunity to kill as many Saricons as we can, for surely they are occupying some of these towns,” Endler added.
“We will know more in a week or so when our scouts return,” Kivalla said.
“Is there a chance that the Saricons will send an army from Cythera to meet us?” Brant asked.
“There is that,” Jarak reasoned. “I would very much like to have an idea of their numbers. When they attacked us my father thought they had near twenty thousand warriors.”
“But those numbers did not include their force that attacked us from the north. Somehow they had positioned their army around us, although I still don’t know how,” Kivalla added.
“Despit
e our loss that night,” Serix said. “We must have killed near to ten thousand.”
“If Aldgar is correct,” Brant added, “Master Rand and his thirty killed nearly four hundred by themselves.”
“That would leave their numbers somewhere between ten and twenty thousand, depending on how large the army was that attacked from the north,” Kivalla said, adding up the numbers. “We need more accurate data.”
“But some of those men are surely stationed at various towns and villages throughout Dy’ain, as well as at some of the other mines,” Cat said. “And, they likely sent an army north to take Tanwen and Kreb.”
“They won’t find much there,” Serix said, now seeing the wisdom in Jarak’s plan to destroy the two cities.
“So then the question is did they keep an army there or bring it back to Cythera, abandoning the north?” Cat asked.
“We need more information. We need our scouts to return,” Kivalla said, a little frustrated.
“Either way, they have a sizable force to hold a city like Cythera,” Endler said. “It will be a difficult task to overrun it.”
“That is what we thought when the Saricons attacked us,” Jarak added, his tone firm and determined. “We will take it back. Have no doubt.” Everyone was silent as they felt his resolve, gaining strength from it. “Let’s get some sleep. Before we make any further decisions, we need information. We will wait for our scouts to return.”
***
“Where is he now?” Tongra Taruk asked, his voice low as he fought to control his impending anger.
General Sigmar stood next to Daricon as they looked down onto a table, a huge map of Corvell spread out across it. “Scouts report that his army is camped at one of the mining camps at the base of the mountains. They killed our men there,” General Sigmar said, trying to sound confident before the rising anger of Kahn Taruk. General Sigmar had returned from his campaign in the north nearly three weeks ago. Taking the coastal road, he had destroyed several of the towns and villages along the way, killing the inhabitants and burning their homes. Needless to say the Tongra was furious when he heard the general’s news from the north.
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