“I am sorry for shouting,” Jenneva said, her voice showing the strain she was under. “We have no time to waste, and cutting extra pieces for the structure must be avoided. Check the other facades and let me know if my help is needed.”
The dwarves nodded and moved into the raging snowstorm. Jenneva turned and saw Governor Fernandez standing behind her. Fernandez smiled sympathetically.
“You are driving yourself to exhaustion, Jenneva. Take a rest. The others can handle things in your absence.”
“There will be time for rest after the storm has passed,” Jenneva replied stubbornly.
“You are not very familiar with the northern areas. These storms can last for weeks. Oh, the wind might die down for a couple of hours, but it will pick right back up again. I remember during my childhood of hearing about a storm that literally covered Paso. It snowed every day for a straight month.”
“Did the people survive?”
“Cordonians are used to this type of weather. It was an extreme inconvenience for the people, but no one was hurt. The inside of their homes were protected, and they created tunnels to move about the city. We are a hardy people.”
“I wish we were using Cordonians on this project,” Jenneva sighed. “These poor Sordoans are not used to snow at all. I spend most of my time healing those who forget to cover up completely.”
“They are learning. We will get through this.”
“You are more optimistic than I am, Julio. Paso is only the first city to be built, and time is wasting. If the length of this winter is similar to other winters, we will not finish in time.”
“You think spring will come early?”
“Winter came early,” retorted the Knight of Alcea. “That does not mean it will be any longer in duration. Our calendar has changed, Julio. The definitions of our seasons are no longer valid.”
Governor Fernandez frowned heavily. He glanced around at the vast construction site that was to become a city and slowly nodded his head. His eyes landed on a group of Sordoans sheltering inside a shell of a building. One of the Sordoans pointed towards the governor, and Fernandez recognized the coming grievance.
“You may be right about the timing,” Julio said softly as he nodded towards the gathered workers, “but we have a more immediate problem. The workers are about to revolt.”
Jenneva sighed deeply and nodded as she saw the group of workers dash out from cover and race towards her. A tall man led the group with a noticeable limp, and he walked right up to Jenneva. The others cowered behind him.
“We refuse to work under such conditions,” declared the leader. “This is insane. We will go back to work when the storm is gone.”
“What is your name?” asked Jenneva.
“I am Peshar, and I speak for all of the Sordoans.”
“Are you from Gortha, Peshar?”
“Pontek.”
Jenneva nodded, her eyes gazing at the group behind Peshar. “Do you have friends and family in Trekum, Peshar?”
“Many,” replied the worker. “My wife’s family is from Trekum. What does that matter? We are complaining about the storm. We cannot work under such conditions.”
“This storm,” Jenneva said loudly as she waved her hand towards the blowing snow, “is nothing compared to the coming storm. When spring arrives, hundreds of thousands of Federation soldiers will be swarming all over Alcea. The cities of Gortha and Pontek will be destroyed, and great armies will march on Trekum. If this city is not built by spring, our armies will have to be diverted to protect Cordonia. Are you willing to sacrifice thousands of Sordoans because this storm makes your work here difficult?”
Peshar frowned, his eyes narrowing in confusion. “I do not understand. If our homes are to be attacked, why has the king sent us up here? We could be building a wall around our own cities.”
“King Arik is using you up here because you would die in Sordoa. No wall would save you because the enemy soldiers will magically appear within your city. It was my hope that if all of you were gone from the cities, the Federation would see no need to destroy your homes. That is still my hope.”
“But we are freezing,” complained one of the other workers. “You cannot expect Sordoans to work in the snow. Most of us have never seen snow.”
“Anyone who wants to return home will be allowed to.”
“But you just said that we would die,” frowned Peshar.
“Yes, I did. And if this city is not completed, thousands of Cordonians will die. Is your comfort worth more than their lives? Many Alceans will take up arms in the spring to protect our lands. Many of them will die trying to protect the rest of us. You have the opportunity to save thousands through your efforts here. I know that the weather is extreme, but I will not allow any of you to die. I cannot be any more straightforward than that.”
Peshar nodded silently and stared at the ground. After a moment, his eyes rose to look at Jenneva’s face.
“You make me ashamed of my complaints. Were I fit to fight the enemy, I would do so, but my leg would never carry me onto the battlefield. We will finish your city, but I will hold you to your promise. Keep my people well.”
“I will do that and more,” promised Jenneva. “I will try to find a way to protect you from the worst of the weather, but we cannot halt the work while I try to devise a way of doing that.”
Peshar smiled slightly and nodded. He turned and led the workers back to their jobs. General Fernandez and Jenneva watched them leave and then Jenneva woke her fairy.
“What are you up to?” asked Julio.
“I was not aware that these storms could last so long. I am sending for some magical help. If we can get some more mages up here, we may be able to erect some kind of shield to block the worst of it.”
* * * *
Adan, King of the Gypsies, stood staring at the new bridge in the swamp north of Danver Shores. He watched as the men retracted the bridge and then moved it back into position. Two Lavindan men immediately crossed the bridge and walked up to Adan. Laman wore his perpetual grin, but Kyle was frowning and shaking his head.
“It works like a charm,” Laman announced as he approached the gypsy. “Do you want to try running your wagons over it?”
“A gypsy caravan is no test for this bridge,” grumbled Kyle. “It has to withstand sixteen thousand infantry and four thousand cavalry. It needs to be stronger.”
“Nonsense,” retorted Laman. “It is strong enough for one hundred thousand ogres to trample across. Besides, if we make it any stronger, it will be harder to remove.”
“True enough,” countered Kyle, “but stronger it must be. We will have wasted our time if it collapses with half the army on each side of it.”
“And a removable bridge that cannot be removed is worthless,” stated Laman. “It will have to do as it is.”
Both of the Lavindans looked to the gypsy for his approval or disapproval. Adan shook his head and stared at the bridge again. Eventually he turned to Kyle.
“Is Laman correct that a stronger bridge might be impossible to remove?”
“It is possible,” conceded Kyle, “but it is more likely that this bridge will fail under such heavy use.”
“So?” bantered Laman. “At least half of their army will be stranded.”
“That is not acceptable,” stated Adan. “The entire army must be on the swamp side of the bridge. Anything less is unacceptable.”
“Then you have a problem with no solution,” replied Kyle. “We should have just stayed in Lavinda.”
“And miss this great weather?” balked Laman. “Lavinda is probably under three feet of snow right now.”
Adan ignored the banter as he stared at the bridge. Suddenly, he turned back to the Lavindans.
“There is a solution,” he declared. “We will build another bridge alongside this one. Any general in his right mind would make use of both of them.”
“Another bridge?” scowled Kyle.
“I already have the dimensions used on th
is bridge.” Adan nodded. “I will have my people start delivering materials tomorrow.”
“So we get off for the rest of the day?” Laman responded cheerily.
“You do,” smiled Adan. “I need to ride further into the swamp to see how my people are making out with mapping the swamp.”
* * * *
Cho-sung was a small, wiry man, but the Lanoirian engineer bellowed like a giant when he needed to. As he stood upon the tall eastern bank of the Chi River, Cho-sung saw the logs of the dam tremble.
“Stop! Clear the dam!”
The Lanoirian workers did not hesitate. They knew that when Cho-sung shouted an order, they were to obey immediately. Hundreds of men, spread out along the massive array of fallen trees, scrambled to comply with the order. Thousands of men along both shores of the river halted work and made way for the workers fleeing the dam.
“What is it?” Bin-lu asked with concern.
“There is instability,” Cho-sung said tensely.
“I saw nothing unusual,” commented Rut-ki.
“You are not an engineer,” frowned Cho-sung. “I am not blessed with the skill to determine the intent of evil men as you are, but I do know the nature of balance, and the structure is unstable. It must be corrected before proceeding further.”
“We are already behind schedule,” complained Bin-lu. “At this rate, we will not be ready by spring.”
“If this dam collapses, it will never be completed. Patience, young one.”
Bin-lu nodded and fell silent as the three Lanoirians watched the men scrambling to get off the dam. One of the last of the fleeing workers slipped in his haste to make shore. The young man’s body tumbled downward, his head smashing against one of the lower logs. Rut-ki, knowing the man would drown, immediately stripped off her heavy belt and dove off the high cliff. Her swift reaction caught even Bin-lu by surprise. He watched as his partner’s slim body soared through the air and sliced deep into the water. An eerie silence enveloped the area as men on both banks held their breath, hoping against hope that the Knight of Alcea would be in time to save the worker. For an agonizingly long moment, nothing happened. Suddenly, the worker’s head popped up out of the water, and Rut-ki’s followed closely. The Knight of Alcea wrapped one arm around the unconscious worker and moved towards the closest point of shore.
Loud cheers erupted from both banks, and men scrambled down to the shoreline to assist Rut-ki. Cho-sung exhaled a sigh of relief and immediately turned his attention back to the dam. He walked briskly towards the huge wooden structure, and Bin-lu followed. The engineer walked out onto the dam, each footstep taken with care as he stared at the logs with a critical eye. He was almost at the center of the dam when he halted and got down on his knees. He leaned his wiry body over the edge, staring down at the foundation logs.
“What do you see?” Bin-lu asked softly.
Cho-sung looked up at the Knight of Alcea. “I need to go lower.”
“Let me do it for you,” offered Bin-lu as he stripped off his special gloves and boots. “I will not fall.”
“You may not fall,” replied Cho-sung, “but you must see through my eyes if you are to find the defect.”
Bin-lu was already kneeling alongside the engineer, preparing to descend. He looked at Cho-sung and nodded in understanding.
“Hang onto my back, Cho-sung. I will take you where you need to go.” The engineer hesitated, unwilling to trust his life to the skills of the Knight of Alcea. “I will not fall,” stated Bin-lu. “Trust me as I trust your skill with building things.”
Cho-sung nodded and climbed onto Bin-lu’s back. The Knight of Alcea’s sticky hands and feet moved slowly down the face of the dam. If the engineer marveled at Bin-lu’s ability, he did not speak of it. When they reached an area three levels down, Cho-sung called for a halt. Bin-lu stared at the logs before him, but he could see nothing alarming. The engineer called for Bin-lu to take him back up, and the Knight of Alcea complied.
“What did you find?” asked Bin-lu.
“The top three levels must be removed.” Bin-lu opened his mouth to protest, but Cho-sung held up a hand to forestall the objection. “This is not negotiable. This dam will fail as soon as the water rises to that level. If you want this project completed, the three levels must be removed.”
“And will it be completed by spring if you remove the three levels? Can you guarantee me that?”
“I guarantee nothing. If you want assurances, pray.”
* * * *
Prince Darok stood atop the Pontek Ridge watching the sunset. As the last rays flickered on the horizon, the dwarven prince made his way to the cave where his workers were sleeping. He stepped past the guards and bellowed loudly.
“Get up, ye goblin-loving scoundrels! There is work to be done!”
Moans and groans filled the huge cavern as hundreds of dwarven miners stirred from their sleep. The cooking fires were lit, and the miners gathered for a morning meal. Prince Darok, satisfied that his team would soon be on the job, turned and strode out of the cave. He jogged along the top of the ridge to the next campsite. Zemo was waiting for him.
“Your group is up and ready for work?” asked the prince.
“Aye.” Zemo nodded. “You have no need to check up on us or the other groups. We each know the deadline for this project. None of us will waste any time.”
“I know,” sighed Prince Darok, “but it makes me feel as if I am doing something about our failure. We will never be ready by spring.”
“Not if we continue at the pace we have been going. Something has to change.”
“As if I didn’t already know that.” Prince Darok sighed again. “The problem is, I can’t think of a way to speed it up. We have a thousand miners working through each night, but that is not enough to complete the task on time. If we added any more workers, they would merely get in the way, and we cannot afford to be seen working during the day.”
Both dwarves turned and watched as hundreds of miners filed out of the cave and moved towards their workstations. Prince Darok glanced up at the gray sky. While the sun had already set, it was not yet dark. There was still a small chance of being seen from below, and the prince knew that he was already pushing the limits on how long a day the miners could work.
“Perhaps being seen is the keyword here,” mused Zemo. “There are other ways to hide besides darkness.”
“We already extend the work hours when the clouds hang on the sides of the mountains,” frowned Prince Darok. “Such extensions buy us little. The workers are already exhausted from a full night of working when the opportunity presents itself. We gain little from such infrequent opportunities.”
“There is room in the caves for more miners,” suggested Zemo. “House more miners here to make better use of such days.”
“That would be an excellent idea if such days were more frequent, but to take men out of the mines to sit idle up here makes no sense. Our skills are still needed to make armor and weapons.”
“So ask Garala for more cloudy days,” Zemo quipped good naturedly.
Prince Darok laughed. “Prince Arik has done many things that no one thought possible, but changing the weather is beyond his scope.”
“Is it?” asked Zemo. “Are you so quick to forget that Garala brought us the early winter?”
“The gods favored him as they have favored no other,” the prince said seriously, “but he is unlikely to return to them with minor requests. Still, you might be onto something. I have seen the mages create fog. If our mages can learn such a spell, we might be able to create a permanent cloud hanging over this ridge.”
“By the gods!” exclaimed Zemo. “I think you are on to something. I do not know how tiring such a spell would be for the mages, but it is worth investigating.”
Prince Darok’s mind whirled, calculations forming and disappearing at a furious pace. As he tried to determine the impact on his schedule, the dwarven prince began to nod.
“Even with such help, it will be
close, but I am desperate. Keep a watch on my team while I am gone. I am off to Trekum to catch a ship to Tagaret.”
* * * *
Inside a small hunter’s cabin, deep in the woods northeast of Southland, a Door opened, and an old man stepped through it. He moved aside a heavy curtain as he closed the Door. Running his hand through his thick white hair, the Claw of Alutar stood silently for several moments as if making his mind up about the course to take. With a decisive nod of his head, the demonkin opened the door to the outside world and hobbled through. With a noticeable limp, the old man turned northward and strode through the trees. Several minutes later, he arrived at the entrance to a cave. He hesitated briefly and then walked into the cave. Almost immediately he felt the probing of his mind. He whirled around with a speed belying his age and thrust a hand out before him. Hidden in the darkness of the cave, a figure dropped to his knees and cried out.
“Who are you?” gasped the unseen figure.
“Artimor,” sneered the old man. “I am a Claw of Alutar, and you will never try to enter my mind again. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” gasped the hidden demonkin. “Release me.”
Artimor tightened his fingers slightly before releasing his magical hold on the hidden demonkin. The message was not lost on K’san. The priest rose to his feet and stumbled towards the entrance to the cave where the light would illuminate him.
“I am sorry,” apologized K’san. “I was not told of your coming.”
“Nor should you have been told. I have come only as a courtesy. Your brothers are dying.”
“I have felt their deaths.”
“Then you know that your means of communications are diminishing. The K’san in Despair is dead. The Chosen One is concerned that information from your spy rings might not reach him in a timely manner. He requested that I inform you of the need to personally report to him in Despair.”
Heirs of the Enemy Page 61
