by Winfred Wong
“Cretone!” Nuada quipped. “Cretone!” And he shook his head rapidly. “Cretone! Haddon, Cretone! Did you hear that?”
“Yes, yes,” Haddon nodded. “I heard that.”
“What are you talking about? You two have been to Cretone before?” said Rogen.
“We were there, Rogen!” Nuada explained. “We were there too! Haddon, Levi, Lee and I! The four of us!”
“You were there, Haddon?” Rogen inquired.
“Yes,” Haddon drawled. “The four of us have always been together ever since we first marched into battle.”
“So when was your first battle?” Rogen continued, but his voice was deadened as Levi bellowed out.
“We shall await the resistance here,” Levi commanded, rummaged the saddlebag for two red flags and gave them to Calssen. “Calssen, you will be the lookout man for the swimmers tonight. Stay on your horse. When the resistance comes into sight, just take off.”
“Of course,” Calssen replied.
They then dismounted, hitched their horses on a wooden pole behind them carried by Nuada and sat down at where they were silhouetted by the candle flames that engulfed the brilliant-looking castle, marking the start of their unremitting waiting in the tranquil darkness, and, as time flew slowly, very slowly, especially when involved in a dull lull like this in a war, there was nothing they can count on except patience.
So, in order to kill time, Rogen crept up to Chavdar, who was sitting by the edge of the moat alone, and said, crouching next to him, “Hey, Chavdar.”
But Chavdar, musing on the water, gave no response.
“Hey!” Rogen tried again with a raised voice.
“Yes?” Chavdar replied, in a startled tone, like someone had just interrupted his sweet dream, and looked at him blankly.
“Are you all right?” Rogen said and sat down on the spongy grass. “Nervous?”
“Yeah, a bit,” Chavdar admitted, in a sad tone. “And also thinking about my brother and sister.”
“I’m Rogen. No offence, but you don’t look like a soldier to me. What brings you here, my friend?”
“Well, many things happened,” Chavdar said, scratching his head, venting out a sigh. “Many things.”
“So what’s your story?” asked Rogen.
“Story?”
“Yeah,” Rogen explained. “Everyone has a story, and I am interested in yours.”
“Well, where to start,” Chavdar said, his eyes fell. “Few days ago, I was still an ignorant village man, living in a small cottage with a backyard, with my family. But things changed abruptly after a strange man come to our village, and an army of bandits reduced my homeland to ashes. Luckily, I was saved by Morph, and he took me here, hoping to revenge my friends against those who killed them.”
“Your village was wiped out!?” Rogen asked, as he just couldn’t believe the words lingering in his head.
“Literally,” Chavdar returned.
“I’m sorry to hear that, but it might not be a bad idea for you to take a walk away from that horrible event,” Rogen said, as he saw the pendant on Chavdar’s neck that guttered brightly in the candle light, “It’s beautiful.”
“Beautiful?”
“Your pendant. Must have cost you some gold coins.”
“Oh, it isn’t mine,” Chavdar looked at it and clarified. “It belongs to a man called Rolan in Herin.”
“Port city Herin!?” said Rogen. “It’s very close to where I used to live. I have been there once. The taste of the whole steamed fish served wrapped in a lotus leaf there, with a slice of lemon and a side of spring vegetables, is just beyond compare.”
“For real?” Chavdar asked, feeling relieved. “I have to return this pendant to him, but I don’t know the way to Herin. Perhaps you can tell me?”
“It’s located on the south side of the country, on the shoreline,” Rogen said. “It’s the only port in this country. I believe it won’t be a place too difficult to find. Just head south and ride along the seashore.”
“Thanks a lot!” Chavdar thanked, as Rogen suddenly stared at him strangely, pondering.
“Your accent is familiar,” Rogen said, brows drawing down, “but I just can’t figure out where I’ve heard it.”
“I’m from Ayrith. A tiny village, almost due north of the flatlands of Dangelion.”
“Never heard of it.”
“What about you?” Chavdar beamed, imagining what kind of story he had. “Now that I have told you mine. It’s your turn to tell me your story now.”
As Rogen parted his lips, Levi suddenly said, projecting his voice to ensure everyone heard him, “Everyone get down on the ground now!”
And everyone obeyed, got down immediately, dragging their bodies close to the ground, and made absolutely no sound.
“Scouts!” Levi added, looking strenuously at two riders coming from the north, from where the resistance camp was, hoping they would swerve, as Chavdar gulped reflexively. “Stay in the shadow and stick close to the edge of the moat! Do not engage unless they spot us!” However, undesirably, the two scouts went squarely toward where they were hiding.
“What do we do now?” Morph bent down his horse legs as if crouching next to Levi and questioned. “We can’t let them go if they see us.”
“Unlucky men,” said Levi when the two men pressed on through some bushes and got to the flat grass field between the moat and their camp. “But if they don’t go back, it will definitely arouse their suspicion. We should only engage when they discover us, I don’t think they will get too close to the walls though. They won’t want to alert the soldiers on the ramparts. They’ll probably leave soon.”
It was a reasonable prediction, yet the two men never veered off course until one of them leaned leftward agilely like a monkey attempting to grab a banana grown on a tree and stabbed the other man with a concealable knife hidden under his sleeve, cold-bloodedly and dexterously, and the corpse fell off the horse as that man plucked out his weapon smoothly.
Witnessing what happened, Levi was baffled – shocked and bewildered. Then, oddly, the rider resumed heading toward them dubiously without even looking about.
Boldly, Levi rose, revealing himself from the shadow of the walls, ventured into that rider’s sight and inquired loudly, his voice distorting the calmness of the sky like a booming firework. “Friendly?”
Slightly startled by the sudden voice, the rider’s horse neighed, jolted and halted, and the man asked, “Centurion Levi?”
“Identify yourself, soldier,” Levi demanded, as the others rose, staring alertly at him.
“I’m Andon, the spy,” that man responded. “I believe Consul Pancho has mentioned me before.”
Then Morph approached and queried, “A spy? A spy on our side or – ?”
“Your side, Consul Morph,” Andon answered. “Consul Pancho has assigned me as a spy on the first day he arrived.”
“So, Andon, you know that we’re here?” Morph asked, in a threateningly interrogating tone.
“I know, Consul Morph. I know everything about the plan to ambush the resistance tonight, but unfortunately, before they set off, they wanted to send ahead two scouts, and I volunteered. They sent me and another man out ahead of the main force to gather information about our movements,” Andon explained, imperturbably and slowly, not displaying an ounce of fear, looking up straight at Morph’s piercing eyes. “At first, I didn’t want to kill that man, knowing it would be the best if we report back safely, but somehow he insisted to go this way, claiming that he heard someone talking. I had no choice. He left me no choice.”
“Well done, Andon. I can see why Consul Pancho chose you,” said Levi, as he treaded toward the man killed by Andon and looked at his face. “Now we only have to send a man to go back with you. Rogen! Come.”
And Rogen rushed to him when Andon happened to set eyes on Chavdar, who looked exactly the same as Althalos.
“Rogen, I need you to disguise yourself as this man, report back with Andon, and then find a
way to get out,” Levi ordered. “Can you do it?”
Before Rogen can reply, “You!” Andon squeaked, glaring at Chavdar, striding toward him furiously.
Shocked, “What!?” returned Chavdar. “What do you want?”
“Think you can deceive me, spy?” Andon thundered abruptly, swung out his sword from a sheath on his back and held it tightly, and, impulsively taking a step backward, Chavdar almost tripped over his own feet and flailed erratically as he sought to maintain his balance.
“Die!” Andon struck at him with a quick downward slash, and, spontaneously and instinctively, Chavdar visioned to interchange his senses, gaining an ability to detect the slightest movements of the people around, and he leapt backward even quicker to dodge it, his body reacted before he could restore balance and understand what was going on.
“What are you doing!?” Chavdar shouted, as Andon kept unleashing slash after slash, yet each time he thought he had him, Chavdar was always one step ahead of him, bending right, ducking down, and sidestepping, as if he could foresee.
“Hey! Stop!” Morph snarled and dashed toward them ferociously. “Andon!”
But, as his pride as a warrior prompted, and, being convinced that Chavdar was a spy, judging by his appearance, Andon decided not to obey as he thought everyone was deluded, he kept lunging forward and swiping his blade, downward, hammering, and pounding, determinedly and powerfully, and, as he was about to use his concealed weapon once again, Morph caught his wrist with a superhuman force, compelling him to stop.
“One more move, and you are dead,” Morph growled and leaned forward, grinding his white teeth, twisting his weak wrist, forcing him to drop his blade.
“You have got to trust me, Consul Morph,” Andon groaned.
“How can I? You attacked my man, soldier!” Morph almost broke his wrist.
“I can explain,” Andon said persuasively, as Chavdar patted on Morph’s arm, signalling him to release him.
Let go of his wrist, Morph scowled at him hostilely and trampled on his sword with his hoof of his brown-maned front foot, making a light clink, and he was ready to thump him to death at once if he can’t justify his actions.
“I saw him in the resistance’s camp. He came with a mind-wielder called Dulais, and a horse last night,” Andon said slowly and frowned when he saw Chavdar. “They stayed in Barnett’s yurt for all night long! I’m certain that he is a spy.”
“Absurd!” Morph sneered brusquely. “He was in the castle keep all night long! You have to fabricate a more convincing story in order to fool me, Andon.”
“No! I swear!” Andon insisted, bitterly and anxiously, scanning Chavdar’s face, and his gaze remained resolute. “He was there! I saw him!”
“Stop lying! Double-crosser!” Morph snorted and drew out his ruby thin curved blade, making a dreadful metal sliding sound.
“Wait,” Chavdar suddenly interjected, in a wavering tone, walked up to Andon and grabbed both of his arms. “Look at me. Are you sure the man you saw was me?”
“Y...yes,” Andon stammered, his voice quavered with rage, and windmilled his arms to push him off. “It was you. I’m certain.”
“You saw me or you saw a man who looked exactly like me?” Chavdar questioned. “I have a twin brother.”
And all of them skewed their eyes to Chavdar, and Andon replied, scrutinizing his face, “I’m not sure, but – how can I know?”
“What’s his name? The man you saw?” Chavdar asked.
Paused for a moment to recall, Andon murmured, “Althalos.”
And Morph smirked as the truth of why Chavdar didn’t recognize him at first finally dawned on him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
* * *
At the moment he heard his brother’s name, his heart thudded, filled with merriment and exhilaration, and he flopped down on the ground like he had finally accomplished something unparalleled after a decade of assiduous work, with tears moistening his red cheeks, coursing down his face that he creased up, sniffled and laughed sobbingly, and he finally understood why leaving Ayrith was a good decision.
“Andon! Time to go!” Rogen, who had already changed his armor and covered part of his face with the helmet like an assassin, said.
“Wait,” Chavdar swung himself up and carolled earnestly, elation lurking beneath his beady eyes, as Andon was about to get on his horse. “Please tell my brother I’m here, and I will find him.”
“Sure,” Andon nodded and mounted.
And Levi went to Rogen and said, “Be careful. Come back right away after they begin marching forward.”
Then the two of them set off, spurring their horses into a fast trot, then a canter, then a gallop, toward their destination, the camp on the rising ground.
∫∫
On approaching the camp between the slope and the castle, “Rogen, I’ll do the talking when we arrive,” Andon suggested. “Don’t speak unless you have to. Just pretend you are not feeling well.”
“Great!” Rogen replied. “But what’s his name? The man I am pretending to be?”
“They call him Han,” replied Andon.
After some time, they finally made it to the camp, where some thousands of warriors were mustered, not lining up in an orderly fashion in columns like what a disciplined army should be like, but a scatter of lackadaisical-looking soldiers, all had a round, thick shield on their back, leaning against trees or resting on some big rocks, in front of a clear, calm lake that mirrored the sky, with special squads that were responsible for the battering rams and bombards in front of the lake.
As they proceeded by some trees, Ernald, clutching his long bow, suddenly sprang down from one of the branches, catching them off guard, blocked their way and said, in a friendly tone corresponding to his childish face, “Is everything all right?”
“I need to talk to Barnett now,” answered Andon urgently.
“Sure, this way,” Ernald said and naturally flashed a glance at Rogen. “Barnett has been waiting.”
Dismounted and scurried toward the biggest yurt, they flung aside the entrance flap and entered.
“What take you so long?” Barnett rushed to them immediately. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m so sorry, but I have to make sure the guards on the ramparts can’t see us,” Andon answered. “And there is a small group of enemy patrol blocking the longer route, but I don’t think it’s a threat to us. It’s beyond doubt that, with the power of our mind-wielder, we can destroy them without alerting anyone, smoothly and secretly.”
Standing in the shadow of Andon to avoid exposing himself too much, Rogen glimpsed around furtively by restraining his eye movements to only rotating his eyeballs, lively and shining, minimizing the attention drawn to him, and he happened to see Althalos and Dulais, who killed Lee, slouching leisurely on the stools next to a weapon crate to his right, unearthing the sense of indignation and powerlessness that he had already buried. The relentless urge to kill him right away was then expanding ceaselessly within his blazing heart, turning him into a pasty-faced, deranged lunatic. For less than a second, he was sorely tempted to dart forward and throttle him with his bare hands, to slake his desire, he even had his hand on the grip of his sword, but a voice calling his name dragged him back to the rational world.
“Han?” Barnett asked, staring at his strange face, “Han!?” when Andon was streaming with sweat of dismay and conceiving a feasible plan to escape in case things went south fretfully. “Han?”
“Yes,” Rogen finally responded equivocally.
“Are you all right? You don’t look too well,” said Barnett.
Hesitated for a moment, “I’m fine,” Rogen mumbled.
“So what is your suggestion, Han? Do you think we can pull it off? Do you think we can really eliminate that small group of patrol without alerting anyone? I am very concerned about it.”
Then, as a quick-witted response, Rogen suddenly hunkered down, felt to his knees, his poleyn hitting the ground, hunched his shoulders, coughed sev
eral times, clamped a hand over his mouth, and the other hand waved to Barnett, as if a wave of nausea inundated him, before an awkward silence that would certainly mess up the entire ambush enfolded them, and Barnett and Andon simultaneously crouched down next to him hurriedly, and each of them grabbed one of his arms, trying to get him up.
“Andon,” Barnett commanded urgently. “Get him to his yurt. He needs to take a rest.”
Ernald came to take Barnett’s place to get Rogen up.
“As you wish,” Andon agreed, lifted him up arduously, encircled him with a clasp and put his arm on his shoulder. “Ernald, I can handle this,” he added and carried him out of the yurt immediately.
After they left the yurt, Rogen, who had been shielding his face with his hand, whispered in Andon’s ear, “Just put me down somewhere no one can see us.”
Almost snickering, Andon said, “No problem.”
Then Andon scuttled to the stable in front of the lake stirred by a stiff breeze, where all horses had already been dragged out by their masters, except Ausber, leaving only hay on the ground, and, as they flung open the flap of the stable and entered, Ausber neighed.
“You can stop acting now,” Andon said, as Rogen jumped to the ground and hunched over. “No one can see us in here.”
“That was too close! They almost got me,” Rogen said and blew out a hard breath. “But why did you tell them about the Knights? What were you thinking?”
Smirking in triumph, “Did I?” Andon said spitefully, pulled out his sword and thrusted it at Rogen’s chest eagerly.
Rogen leapt backward, and its razor-sharp pointed tip pierced the flesh of his right elbow, which was unprotected, and blood splashed out all over the hay on the ground.
“Whoa!” Rogen wailed, got up, stepped backward, pressed the wound with one hand, drew out his sword with another and glowered at him morosely. “Consul Morph’s right. You dirty double-crosser.”
“Double-crosser? Me?” laughed Andon. “You’re wrong. He’s wrong. I’ve never betrayed anyone.”
