Lady Mystic slid off the horse and walked around the clearing, imagining where the wagons would rest for the night and where the solders would sleep. When Xavo returned, she was sitting on a log staring at the fire ring.
“What are you dreaming up?” Xavo asked.
“Nothing fancy,” smiled Lady Mystic. “Oh, I did let my imagination run wild for a time, but I think simplicity will accomplish the goal easier. We will each take a different side of the campground. I will draw their attention to the fire ring and then we strike them down. If I am correct in my assumptions, we can spare the horses. They should be well enough away from the soldiers.”
“I will take the western side of the camp,” nodded Xavo. “I want to watch them approach.”
Lady Mystic nodded and Xavo disappeared along the trail leading to the ridge. He found a safe hiding spot and watched the trail leading up the slope. A little over an hour later, the caravan came into view. He counted two dozen wagons. After the caravan passed below his hiding spot, Xavo remained hidden but kept his ears cocked to hear the sounds of the camp being set up. Two hours later he heard the call whispered in his ear.
“It is show time,” Lady Mystic said softly. “Work your way towards the camp.”
Xavo moved silently along the trail and waited behind a tree where he had a good view of the Motangan camp. The fire ring was indeed the center of the camp, but soldiers were also fairly far away from it. He wondered what his lover had in mind.
Unexpectedly, a large cloud of smoke rose from the campfire. Several soldiers shouted in alarm. When everyone’s attention was focused on the fire ring, an image suddenly appeared. It was an image of Emperor Vand and his daughter, flames leaping up from their feet.
“Emperor Vand commands your attention,” the image of Lady Mystic announced loudly. “Gather around and hear his words.”
Xavo stood poised to strike as the Motangans began to gather around the fire ring. None of them appeared eager to get too close, but Lady Mystic spoke again and ordered them to crowd around the fire. Over a hundred Motangans crammed together as ordered by the emperor’s daughter, the heat of the fire causing the soldiers to sweat. Vand appeared to be waiting silently for each and every soldier to be prepared to listen.
“Kneel,” commanded Lady Mystic.
The soldiers immediately knelt, their perspiring faces upturned in anticipation. Light blades suddenly flew from the east side of the camp. Xavo immediately joined the slaughter with light blades of his own. The light blades sliced through the ranks of kneeling soldiers, sending body parts flying into the flames. Wave after wave of light blades soared into the kneeling soldiers as both mages cast their spells as quickly as they could. In seconds it was over, and the image winked out of existence. The mages walked out of their concealment and met in the clearing.
“The illusion was a nice diversion,” complimented Xavo.
“The illusion was the only fun part of the task,” frowned Lady Mystic. “It was too easy. Seeing my father’s men behave as they did, like obedient slaves, makes me realize how foolish I have been with my life. Not long ago I might have behaved just as they did, never questioning, never wondering. If nothing else,” she vowed, “I shall never behave like a slave again.”
“You were never a slave,” Xavo responded. “You were the emperor’s daughter.”
“All of Vand’s people were slaves,” retorted Lady Mystic. “The only difference is that some of them realized it, while the others thought that they had free will. We were all slaves in the end.”
Chapter 29
Defense of Khadora
The dawn broke to a beautifully clear sky. The mages atop the peaks of the Bear Mountains in Khadora sent in their reports on the location of the Motangan army on the other side of the river. Inside the cavernous ore mines at Deep Bend, the armies of the southern frontier clans sharpened their blades and readied their mounts in anticipation of a day of deadly battle. Over thirty clans were represented, but the armies were all following the lead of Lord Marshal Yenga of the Torak clan. The lords of the various clans gathered near the main entrance to the mine.
“You would never suspect that the morning had arrived,” remarked Lord Shamino of the Sorgan clan. “It is always nighttime in the bowels of this mountain. How do the miners survive in such gloominess?”
Lord Sevrin glanced briefly at the dim torch-lit cavern and tunnels and ignored the remark. “What are the reports from above?” he asked Yenga.
“Our time has arrived,” Yenga told the assembled lords. “Motanga scouts have just left the riverbank across from us. I am sure that they will report no activity to alarm Premer Shamal. It is time for us to cross the river.”
“Won’t the Motangans see us crossing?” worried Lord Burdine of the Litari clan. “Our losses would be grave indeed.”
“They will not see us cross,” promised Lord Marshal Yenga. “The trail northward swings far away from the riverbank at this point. I was not even sure that Shamal would send scouts to check it out, but now that he has, he will not repeat the exercise. I am sure he was only checking to make sure that no straggling Khadorans were hiding there. Our attack on his left flank will be totally unexpected.”
“You haven’t said how we are going to cross the river,” frowned Lord Shamino. “The bridges have all been destroyed, and there is not a ford within a hundred leagues.”
“That is why the attack will be such a surprise,” grinned Yenga. “Come outside with me and see how we will cross the river.”
The gathered lords followed Lord Marshal Yenga out of the mouth of the mine. They gazed down the slope at the river, which made a dramatic turn to the north. At the foot of the mountain was a large harbor filled with barges. The barges used to haul ore downstream were not the normal Khadoran clan barges. They were huge barges that dwarfed all other river vessels. As the lords watched, a group of Khadoran miners operated a monstrous winch at the upstream limit of the harbor. Slowly a long, encrusted chain began to appear from the murky depths of the river.
“What in blazes is that?” asked Lord Sydar.
“It is a safety chain that stretches to the opposite bank of the river,” grinned Yenga. “There are times when the mine must close the river to navigation. The mine barges are so large that they present quite a danger to river traffic, especially with the sharp bend in the river at this point. Vessels coming downstream cannot see when the mine barges are being launched. If only one or two mine barges are entering the river, the chain is not used, but occasionally, the mine needs to send a dozen barges at once. When that happens, they close the river with the chain. The chain halts vessels coming downstream. It does not happen often, but it is preferable to the deadly collisions that occurred before its use.”
“So we are closing the river,” frowned Lord Sevrin. “Why? There is not likely to be any traffic this day. Everything upstream has already been destroyed to deny the enemy food. There is no reason for any barges to be coming along.”
“Quite true,” nodded Yenga as the chain to the opposite shore fully emerged. “We are not using the chain to close the river today. We are using it to cross the river. Watch.”
As the lords watched with curiosity, one of the huge barges was attached to the chain with large metal hooks. The crew of the barge pulled on the chain to move the barge across the river. Before the barge was even clear of the harbor, the next barge was attached to the chain and followed the first.
“They are crossing the river using the chain,” frowned Lord Sydar, “but why not take troops with them? I do not understand.”
“They are not just crossing the river,” grinned Lord Shamino as the third barge attached to the chain. “They are creating a bridge for our men to ride across.”
“Exactly,” nodded Lord Marshal Yenga. “When the last of the barges is attached to the chain, we will have a bridge of barges stretching from one shore to the other. Sheets of metal will bridge the gaps between the barges. All of our men will then cross over and pr
epare for a flanking attack on the Motangans.”
“Clever,” Lord Sevrin remarked with approval. “How long has this plan been in place?”
“It was discussed months ago,” answered Lord Marshal Yenga, “but we didn’t know that we would use it until last week. A lot depended on what the Motangans did during the invasion. Emperor Marak has alternative plans for each route the Motangans might take.”
* * *
High on the peaks of the Three Sisters, Emperor Marak sat with the tribal leaders of the Chula. He gazed across the valley of the Khadoran River and nodded in satisfaction.
“The frontier tribes are crossing the river,” declared the Torak. “It is time for the Chula to descend out of the mountains and take their place in the forests on the Motangan’s eastern flank.”
Tmundo, the leader of the Kywara tribe, nodded and rose to issue the orders. He walked over the peak and disappeared. Within minutes he returned and sat alongside the Torak. He gazed up at the clear morning sky.
“This signal that we are to await,” he asked the Torak, “is there any chance that we might confuse it with something else?”
“It will be unmistakable,” smiled Marak. “Everyone between Sintula and Chantise will know that the battle is to begin.”
“Including the Motangans?” asked Axor.
“Including them,” nodded Marak. “While they may not know the forces arrayed against them, they will know that they are expected to begin fighting.”
“Will we know when to break off the attack as well?” asked Ukaro.
“There will be no retreat from this battle,” stated the emperor. “This is the final battle for Khadora. At the end of this day, only one side will remain alive.”
“Isn’t that a dangerous statement to make?” frowned Tmundo. “If things do not go well, it would be foolish to continue making a stand here when we can regroup and try again.”
“It is dangerous,” agreed the Torak, “but it is also a confident statement. The Motangans will be surrounded and attacked without mercy. They must not be allowed to survive and endanger yet more of Khadora. We cannot afford to burn more fields to deny them food for we will have no food for ourselves. This is where Premer Shamal must fall.”
The Chula did not respond, and the Torak rose and stretched. He smiled confidently at the leaders and then walked over the peak. Myka was waiting anxiously when he arrived.
“To battle?” asked the dragon.
“Soon, winged warrior,” replied the Torak as he climbed the dragon’s back and sat down. “First we must visit the armies of the Imperial Valley. Fly hidden, for I am not ready for the Motangans to see you.”
The dragon leaped into the air and glided down the eastern slopes of the Three Sisters. She soared just over the tops of the trees until the Charl River came into view. Banking sharply, the dragon turned westward to skirt around the Three Sisters and approach the large defensive works from the north.
Marak smiled subconsciously as he saw the thousands of Khadorans assembled north of the giant berm. There were shouts and waves from the armies of the Imperial Valley as the dragon skimmed over their heads. At the base of the berm, a large clearing opened up as soldiers were instructed to create a place for the dragon to land.
“I could have created my own clearing,” quipped the dragon.
“You will have your fill of humans before this day is out,” the Torak replied seriously. “Conserve your energy. The battle will begin soon enough.”
Myka realized that the time for humor had not yet come. She remained silent as she landed in the improvised clearing. The soldiers surrounding the clearing looked on in a combination of fear and admiration as the Torak slid to the ground and walked towards the berm. Myka could not resist winking at the soldiers and then letting out a fiery belch. She laughed when the soldiers scurried backwards to put more distance between the dragon and themselves. Marak climbed the earthworks to one of the viewing places where the members of the Lords’ Council were assembled. He nodded appreciatively at the rows of archers manning the crude wall.
“Welcome,” Lord Chenowith called out as the emperor approached. “Has the time arrived?”
“Soon,” nodded Marak as he walked into the circle of lords. “The vanguard of the Motangan force will arrive shortly. Is everything ready for them?”
“We are ready,” assured Lord Patel. “Mages will erect a magical defense while the archers skewer the vanguard.”
“We have constructed catapults to turn the forest into a furnace,” added Lord Quilo.
“Do not use fire at the outset,” warned Emperor Marak. “This fortification was designed to be held for a long time. Let the enemy come to us and die before this bulwark. A forest fire could well endanger our own forces, but we will use it if we have to.”
“The area before this berm is well cleared,” frowned Lord Faliman. “The fire could not spread to our men.”
“We are not the only army attacking the Motangans on this day,” explained the Torak. “The clans of the southern frontier, the Chula, and the elves are with us. The Motangans will be surrounded.”
“Mercy!” exclaimed Lord Kiamesh. “You had not mentioned all of this before.”
“I was not assured that all of the pieces would come together,” shrugged the Torak. “Now I am. The southern tribes have crossed the river at Deep Bend, and the elves crossed at Sintula. The Chula are right now descending out of the Three Sisters. There will be many of our brothers in the forests before you. We will not use fire unless our position is about to be lost.”
“Here they come!” shouted a lookout.
Marak and the lords gazed over the top of the berm and saw the vanguard of the Motangan army exiting the forest trail. The Motangans halted when they saw the huge earthworks. After a short pause, a Motangan officer ordered his men to spread out across the cleared area. They made no attempt to approach the berm, although they were already within bow range. Marak grinned as he tried to imagine what must have been going through the officer’s mind.
“Let them spread out a bit,” Marak said softly. “We don’t want only the archers in the center of the berm to have targets.”
The berm and the clearing before it spread for over a league from the foot of the Three Sisters to the Khadora River. For many minutes the Motangans filed out of the woods and spread to the left and the right as they hugged the wall of trees before the clearing. Before long, thousands of Motangan soldiers stood staring at the earthen wall, waiting for the signal to attack.
“Now,” Marak said softly to the air mages behind the lords.
Dozens of voices spoke into air tunnels, and the air immediately sizzled with Khadoran arrows. Screams rippled through the Motangan ranks as red-clad soldiers fell to the ground. Some of the Motangans charged towards the mammoth berm while others retreated into the forest. Those who charged the Khadorans were quickly cut down, but other Motangans were still filing into the cleared area.
A Motangan black-cloak exited the forest and glanced at the massacre for only a moment before raising his arm and sending a fireball streaming towards the Khadorans. The fireball hit a magical shield and dissipated. His arm rose again and pointed at a different area of the berm, but an arrow pierced his chest before he could get the spell off.
“Did you see that?” Lord Jamarat asked excitedly. “Their magic is worthless.”
“Do not believe that,” retorted the Torak. “The magical shields can only do so much. None of the Motangan magical projectiles will strike our people, but there are other spells that the enemy can use. I fully expect them to cause the ground to tremble with earthquakes. Our shields will not save us against that kind of magic.”
“What will save us from such spells?” asked Lord Quilo.
“Killing the remaining black cloaks,” answered the emperor. “Our mages destroyed most of the Motangan mages at the third trench, but we must ensure that the rest of them die before they can summon up such magic. They are the highest priority target
s for our archers and mages alike.”
“I will see to it,” offered Lord Kiamesh as he waved an air mage towards him.
“When the Motangans stop coming out of the woods,” Marak continued, “our cavalries must pursue them. That will be the deadliest time for our forces.”
“You expect them to halt the attack?” asked Lord Chenowith.
“Eventually,” nodded Marak. “I don’t suspect that Premer Shamal is in the vanguard. When he hears what is happening here, he will order the attack to halt. He will seek a way around the berm.”
“But there is no way around the berm,” frowned Lord Patel.
“He will not be aware of that,” replied the Torak. “It is at that moment that our other forces must attack. Be prepared for it. You will see my signal to our other forces. If the Motangans are still attacking here, there should be no change in your defense at that time, but if the Motangans have halted their attack, that will be the time to pursue them with vigor.”
“You are leaving then?” frowned Lord Faliman.
“I am,” Marak nodded. “I am taking Myka aloft to observe the battle from the sky. As long as I am visible, your mages will be able to contact me.”
The Torak turned and left the group of lords. He hurried down the embankment and climbed aboard the dragon.
“Fly high, winged warrior,” instructed the Torak. “Let’s see what the enemy is up to.”
“About time,” quipped Myka as she leaped into the air. “Waiting on the ground while the enemy attacks is not what I am interested in.”
Marak merely smiled as the dragon’s wings began to beat powerfully. In moments the berm had faded to a small line stretching between the mountains and the river. The Torak gazed down at the road through the forest. His eyes scanned the stream of red uniforms in search of the Motangan premer.
The Motangans had very few horses among their troops. Most of the horses were used to haul the supply wagons at the rear of the column, but officers also utilized horses to avoid walking with their men. Emperor Marak had little trouble finding the premer. With about one third of the Motangan army before him, Premer Shamal rode in a knot of other officers. Marak smiled and instructed the dragon to circle while he wove an air tunnel towards the premer. For several minutes there was no conversation to listen to, only the sounds of an army marching to war. Suddenly someone noticed the dragon high overhead. A few black-cloaks tried to send magical projectiles skyward to strike the dragon, but Myka was flying too high. She belched long flames in defiance, but the Motangan mages soon gave up.
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