Recoiling from the remnants of power emanating from the fortress, he had ordered a full withdrawal immediately, not even attempting to counter the attack. His allies asked him why, but he refused to give them an answer, knowing they wouldn’t understand.
Elyse brought the scepter with her. And the fool of a woman actually gave it to someone.
Hezen had mentioned underestimating Krytien, the Hell Patrol’s mage yet again. He pointed to the five thousand men who had died as evidence of the mage’s power.
Nareash didn’t believe it.
No one has that kind of power.
And that was the crux of the problem. He had to know Krytien’s capabilities.
Why doesn’t he just take control? Does he not realize what he has? What are his goals? Why hasn’t he succumbed to the temptation of the power the scepter offers?
Nareash shook his head at the last thought. No one, not himself, not even Sacrynon, had been able to resist the scepter’s allure.
The first attack against us had to be dumb luck. He must be less skilled than Hezen thinks.
Nareash wanted to believe that, but past mistakes would not allow him to be so dismissive. He had to be certain. High Mage Amcaro had bested him because of his overconfidence.
Never again.
He would continue testing Krytien.
It’s time to start putting more pressure on the mage. And once I know the true extent of his skill, I will destroy him.
* * *
Guwan’s eyes darted around the command tent, moving to each of the officers allowed inside for the planning session. He noticed the disgusted faces of his Kifzo captains.
Strategy or not, anything other than victory is a failure.
His gaze rested on Hezen. A smug grin formed on the man’s face. Guwan looked away, pretending indifference as he folded his arms. He had avoided the man since their discussion the night before, but that didn’t mean that their conversation hadn’t weighed on his thoughts.
I know he wants to play me against Nareash. He views us as the two people standing in the way of his own goals. He thinks he can manipulate me.
Guwan decided he would not be a tool for anyone any longer.
The small conversations in the tent ended as Nareash strode inside. His red robes hung loosely from his thin frame, and the fabric shimmered from the light of the braziers.
As usual, Colan trailed the High Mage. The shorter shaman took a spot in the man’s shadows.
Nareash took his position next to a model of the High Pass. He looked up to Guwan. “Are the men rested?”
He nodded. “They’re ready.”
“Good. Tomorrow’s attack will be the largest since our initial assault.”
Finally.
Nareash pointed to the left of their camp. “We’re bringing up half of the siege equipment.”
“Why not all of it?”
“Because I said so.”
Guwan clenched his jaw, but said nothing.
“Now,” Nareash continued. “You’ll attack on the left and center only. Colan will be bringing in a cabal of mages to assault the right.”
“Why don’t we spread both the mages and towers out? We’ll never take the wall like this.”
Nareash stood taller. He stared across the table. “Remember our last conversation, Guwan. This is the plan for tomorrow.”
“But—”
Heat crawled along the Kifzo’s insides. Sweat poured out from his skin. He struggled to breath. The room spun for a moment until the heat dissipated. He managed to gather his bearings as Nareash reached across the table, handing him a cup of water. Guwan drained the contents.
“Were you saying something?” asked the High Mage. He wore a knowing smile.
Guwan shook his head. “No.”
“Good.”
Nareash went back to the model. Everyone closed in around it. Guwan noticed Hezen staring at him while wearing a frown. The man shrugged.
Guwan knew what that look meant.
* * *
Crouched behind a large boulder, Guwan looked to the sky. It would be dawn in a few hours, and he had yet to sleep. He squeezed the bridge of his nose while blinking away his tiredness. Three young Kifzo sat across from him. They slept in silence.
Guwan took a deep breath, hoping the fresh air would offset his weariness.
A small scraping sound came from below, barely perceptible to the untrained ear. Guwan peered over the top of the boulder where a fourth Kifzo approached. The newcomer joined the others behind the rock formation, careful not to draw attention from the camp’s sentries.
The other three opened their eyes as he sat beside them.
“We have some time before the guard’s next pass,” said Itken. The veteran eyed the other three Kifzo while shifting the weight of the pack on his shoulders. “Is this another of Nareash’s poor ideas?”
Guwan grimaced. “No. Nareash doesn’t know about this.”
Itken grunted in what seemed like approval.
“You know as well as I do that he’s making a mistake. I have reason to believe that Nareash may not make it through this siege.” Eyes widened at the news. “Yet, that doesn’t mean that we must suffer defeat,” said Guwan.
Guwan pulled out a crude map he had constructed on a piece of leather. He traced a finger through the mountains. “Itken, there is a small goat trail here. You will lead this group through it. It dead-ends near the fortress. The area is guarded so you won’t be able to follow it the entire way. Travel should be manageable with only the four of you. Try not to kill anyone. I don’t want you to raise any alarms.”
“You want us to infiltrate the fortress?”
He nodded. Something I wanted to do sooner, but Nareash denied me. “It should be possible if you go around to the back and enter through one of the drainage chutes at the base.”
“Who is the target?”
“Kaz.”
Itken tensed.
“Is that a problem?”
“No. No problem.”
Guwan studied the Kifzo briefly. “Good.”
“Although Kaz is the priority, also see to their other captains. I hear there is a woman among them who commands a great deal of respect from the soldiers. Focus on her and the ones working their siege equipment.”
Itken nodded. “Their mages?”
Guwan thought about what Hezen said about Krytien’s skill.
Let Nareash and Krytien kill each other.
“The mages are unimportant for now. Kaz and the rest of their leadership is what’s holding them together.”
Chapter 5
Mawkuk shielded his eyes from the red glow of the setting sun as he scanned the expansive plain before him. The flat land of the Yellow Plain stretched out farther than he could see. He longed for the murky swamps of his home, but knew it would be some time before he could return to them.
He spat to the side of his mount, hoping to rid himself of the odd taste in his mouth brought on by breathing the air of the plain. His shoulders bunched as cicadas took up another annoying song.
Revenge is better suited for the young. It should be my children avenging me. Not the other way around.
Many in his position would have been angry at their children for having done the things his had done to him. Soyjid made him appear incompetent in order to take his place as ruler of the Gray Marsh Clan. And Odala, his sweet daughter, had taken Tobin as a lover.
He shuddered.
At the time, he felt betrayed by his children. Then he learned that each had died while conspiring to manipulate Tobin and take down the Blue Island Clan.
How can I be mad at them for doing what I lacked the nerve for? They sought to raise our clan up. He squeezed the reins in his hand. I will not let their deaths be for naught.
Since leaving the Gray Marsh and combining his forces with the Yellow Plain Clan, they had marched at a brutal pace. He knew timing would be everything if his plans were to succeed.
He turned in his saddle, eyeing
the thousands traveling in his wake, trampling a path through the high grasses swaying in the warm breeze.
Even with Durahn, will we have enough?
Mawkuk had not seen Juanoq in years, but his scouts had given him detailed reports of its formidable defenses. He had some thoughts on how best to penetrate them, but doubt lingered.
It comes down to Durahn. If Soyjid’s reports were true, Durahn would have built some of those structures as part of his training. If he doesn’t know how to take down his own home, then who will?
He scanned his army again. A speck off in the distance sped along the outside of their columns, without slowing its pace.
He called for a halt, his stomach clenching.
Let this be good.
The rider reined in, out of breath. His horse seemed on the verge of collapse. The rider dismounted, bowed, and held out his hand. “I have a letter from Captain Turil.”
“Stand up and tell me. I’m sure you have the news memorized.”
The rider obeyed. “Your plan was a success. The Blue Island Clan’s fleet stationed in the Gulf of Eurinol is destroyed.”
Mawkuk’s heart raced. “Completely?”
“I watched the last ship burn and sink into the water myself. We gave no quarter.”
“Excellent.” He reached out a hand for the letter, which the rider gave to him. “Get yourself some food and rest. I’ll have a message for you to take back after nightfall. Keep this news to yourself for now.”
The rider bowed again and left.
Mawkuk turned to an aide waiting. “Give the order to make camp for tonight. Call for a meeting in my tent in half an hour.”
The aide rode off.
Mawkuk unraveled the letter and read. He allowed himself a smile.
* * *
Mawkuk read the contents of the message once more for show before he shared the news with those he had called to the meeting. “The Blue Island Clan’s fleet has been destroyed.”
A roar of cheers sounded from his captains as well as the Yellow Plain Clan leaders crammed inside his tent. Only one man failed to participate in the celebration.
“What were our losses?” asked Larnak. The lithe Yellow Clan leader had been nervous about Mawkuk’s plan.
“Minimal. Less than fifty men,” said Mawkuk. “Those left behind to guard the ships had apparently not been part of the army, only sailors.”
Larnak nodded. “Congratulations. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
Mawkuk waved the man off. “We achieved an important victory. But it is also a small one.” He paused. Larnak had not been the only one to doubt his plan, just the most vocal. Most of the Yellow Clan captains had not yet warmed to taking orders from him. “Let’s hold off on congratulations until Juanoq is ours and Tobin’s head is mounted on the city’s gates.”
Larnak showed the hints of a smile. “What’s our next step?”
“We continue along our current path.” Mawkuk pointed to the open map in front of him. “We’re still weeks away from meeting with Durahn and the forces he’s managed to assimilate among the remaining Orange Desert Clan.”
“And what about the men you bade stay behind in order to destroy the Blue Clan’s ships? Are they to rejoin the main host?” asked Larnak.
“No. They have orders to fall back into the marshes. Once Walor hears of what happened to the fleet, I’m sure he’ll expect the worst and immediately pull out of the Red Mountains. He’ll have to return home by land. His only path is through the Gray Marsh.”
“We didn’t leave behind enough men to hold off an army the size Walor commands.”
Already the doubt comes back.
Mawkuk kept calm. “Not indefinitely. However, a bigger force will be less effective in this case. The smaller army will be able to better use the marsh to their advantage. Walor won’t be held off forever, but when he finally emerges, his army will be much the worse for it.”
Larnak huffed. “It appears that you have everything under control.”
Mawkuk shook his head. “Nothing is ever completely under control.”
“What do you need from our clan then?”
“For now, nothing. Just make sure your men enjoy the small victory. After the last couple of years, both of our people have had little opportunity to celebrate.”
Larnak nodded. “Then by your leave.”
Mawkuk gave a slight bow. Larnak and the Yellow Plain captains filed out of the command tent.
Mawkuk addressed one of his men. “Captain.”
“Yes.”
“See that our men enjoy their own celebration. Just make sure that they understand it will be the last time we celebrate anything until we’re dancing on the ashes of Juanoq.”
The officer bowed. “Will you join us as well? It would mean a lot to the men.”
“Perhaps. There is still much that I have to do.”
“Very well,” said the captain before he led the others from the tent.
Mawkuk leaned over the map. He used a finger to trace the rest of their route through the Yellow Plain where his army would join forces with Durahn at the Panan Canal.
And then we’ll be outside the gates of Juanoq within a matter of days.
* * *
Durahn rubbed his massive hands, cursing the bite of the cold desert night seeping into his bones. Ducking, he walked to a small brazier burning in the opposite corner of his tent. With the foul smelling dung nearly choking him, he stepped away from the worst of the smoke and settled into warming his hands.
Sweltering in the day. Freezing at night. Is there anything worse?
Tobin had sent him to Nubinya well over a year before, and he had been miserable every day since. He still could not shake the frustration of being passed over as warleader again. Though he had hated Kaz, his selection as warleader at least made sense. Kaz had won the Testing, and though Durahn hated to admit it, had done well leading the Kifzo after his appointment.
Even if he never had the guts to face me. But Tobin? A cripple with no backbone.
Durahn shook his bullish head, recalling the reports of what Tobin had accomplished in the last campaign against the Red Mountain and Green Forest clans, including the methods he had used. He didn’t believe a word of it.
Stories that Nachun probably made up to bolster Tobin’s reputation. Just like Tobin killing his father. Ufer likely did it for him. I don’t care if Tobin’s ankle is healed. Once a pathetic coward, always one. And now that the shaman stabbed him in the back and left, his real power is gone.
Durahn had his fill of the sand and blackened rock dominating the Burnt Sands Desert. He couldn’t wait to return to the tropical climate of the Blue Islands.
And take what should have been mine years ago.
The tent flap burst open and a Kifzo walked in—one that had accompanied him to Nubinya to squash the pathetic attempt at rebellion long ago. The warrior had been one of the first he had won over to his side.
“The watch has been set for the night. All is in order, Warleader.”
“Warleader?”
“A title you deserve.” The warrior paused, tilting his head to the side. “Am I overstepping myself?”
Durahn grinned. “Not at all.”
Chapter 6
Seven opponents of various sizes entered the ring. Each held a practice sword and wore light armor. They encircled Tobin. He met each of their stares while quickly assessing the way they carried themselves, noting the slightest signs of weakness.
“Begin!” came a shout.
He sprinted toward a man to his right that favored his left leg. Tobin feinted twice to chest and head, before sweeping the man’s leg. He touched the man’s neck and quickly pivoted to deflect a strike.
A quick shout of “dead” confirmed that only six opponents remained.
They attacked him with vigor.
Tobin lost himself in the fight as he had done every day since returning to Juanoq several months before. He allowed the anger that weighed him down to come out wi
th each strike of the practice blades. The anger flowed unabashed as he sought his revenge on the images that most often haunted his dreams.
Kaz screamed in agony as Tobin stomped on his brother’s instep. The bone cracked, and Tobin raked his weapon over Kaz’s chest as he crumpled.
I’d kill you again if I could brother.
Bazraki came at him next. Tobin thrust upward while slipping under his father’s attack. He pulled his father close to finish him. He imagined watching the life drain away from his father’s face once more.
And like the first time, I feel nothing.
Someone announced two more deaths. Tobin knew that he fought in a training circle, yet it did not change the appearance of his foes.
Tobin slashed at Soyjid’s head. The boy brought his sword up in time, but the force of Tobin’s blow carried his attack through until it cracked against Soyjid’s jaw. He fell.
His next opponent had become Odala. Tobin hesitated. Odala’s fist struck him in the chin, staggering him. Anger wiped away any residual sorrow. He recovered quickly, killing the woman he had once loved.
Again.
Nachun faced Tobin next. He ducked under the shaman’s strike before countering with a downward cut on the man’s collarbone. The man Tobin had once considered his best friend, howled in pain.
Nothing like the pain your lies caused me, friend.
Lost in thought, the last opponent took Tobin off guard. Lucia knocked his practice sword out of his hand with a quick swipe. Reacting on instinct, Tobin managed to sidestep the follow-up strike. He targeted the temple of his opponent with a closed fist as his body swung around. But Lucia looked at him with sad eyes, and his nerve faltered.
As much as Lucia had hurt him, as angry as it made him that she had turned him down after accepting him for one night, Tobin could not strike her. He opened his fist, latched onto Lucia’s shoulder, and spun her around while bringing up his other hand to her wrist. He disarmed her and pushed her to the ground. She stared at the sword Tobin held, waiting for him to kill her.
He dropped the weapon.
“Match over!” came a shout.
Tobin blinked and the haunts of his past disappeared. Six Kifzo lay groaning or unconscious in the practice circle. The only one who remained unharmed was the one he fought last.
Trial And Glory (Book 3) Page 5
