Chapter 16

Talibor rushed down to the fallen form, following behind his soldiers. Anxious to see who the victim was, he pressed past the group of soldiers to the lifeless battered form. “From the looks of it, it was an assassin,” his officer reported. Talibor found the blowgun in the firm clutches of the dead Masok and located the dart pinned through a belt the assassin wore.

“I suppose he died from the fall?” Talibor asked, looking up to the command post looming above them.

“No sir,” replied the officer. “He was stabbed.” Talibor scrunched an eyebrow.

“How is that possible? No one could climb this wall with a knife wound.” Talibor wondered.

“Aye, sir. I think he was stabbed on the wall,” the officer stated.

“How?” Talibor still wondered. He looked back up to the neck and back down to the lifeless body. He bent closer and looked carefully at the intruder. It was clad in differing shades of gray leather with numerous weapons. The dark eyes gazed ever-upward, glazed over by the departure of the spirit. The mouth was slightly ajar, showing the fine pointed teeth of the Masok and its fingers were torn and bloody from the climb. At last Talibor stood. “Search him and then we shall send him back to his own kind.” The soldiers obeyed and circled around the body, as Talibor went back to the command post. The sun dipped beneath the horizon, sending a flare of color through the clouds, and the wind died down. As Talibor reached the command post, the light began to quickly fade, and torches were lit. The fortress was soon bathed in the flickering firelight and Talibor related the riddle of the assassin to Valimor and Boltor.

“Interesting…a warning had been growing in my mind, a shadow of some sort had gripped me, but I ignored it. Now I understand. But, that is most curious—stabbed, you say?” Valimor wondered aloud.

“I would say no human could be capable of climbing the wall; therefore my guess would linger with either Balii or Jumai. Remember, they were the captains of this army. If any of their soldiers could do it, I would bet that they could,” Boltor claimed, crossing his arms to ward off the cold. Then, without warning a white flake floated past him. He glanced upward and a barrage of dark specks littered the sky. Soon a veil of snowflakes enveloped them.

“Hmmm. Good observation, Boltor. That may be so. A heroic action like that would have to be rewarded. But how could he have known…that is the deeper question. I can’t imagine that it was set up, but it is possible,” Talibor noted. Boltor shook his head.

“No, I believe he just happened to see the intruder, or perhaps he felt the same warning in his mind and acted on it. At any rate, my lord, you are safe and the intruder is dead. Surely that deserves reward,” Boltor stated. Talibor nodded taking a deep breath and folding his arms.

“We will talk with them later, if such an opportunity arises,” Talibor stated emphatically. “However, we have a battle to prepare for.”

-¤-

“And what happened next?” Fiora wondered. Falcor jolted, as if awakened from a dream. He shivered and looked at his sister and smiled slyly. “We almost made it through the defenses of the temporary headquarters. But Spanky here thought it a good idea to only wound his guard, instead of killing him like I told him…”

“Now hang on a minute; it’s all explainable,” Emain interrupted.

“Oh? Have I heard this one?” Falcor mocked, but Emain just rolled his eyes and continued.

“It was like this: he scoped it out beforehand and told me he was going to take the left side—the more guarded side—while I slipped through the right side to take out two sentries. Of course this might have worked if he had gone first, but because of some phobia of his, he sent me first…”

“That’s not what I told you to do; I said we were to go at the same time. I told you it was ‘one, two, three, go’ but this guy jumps on three! What was I supposed to do?”

“You didn’t explain anything! You just started counting, and naturally I went on three like any other sane person in the world.”

“No, I specifically stated ‘after three’ not ‘on three.’”

“I don’t think so. It’s just like you ‘stated’ that weapons were in the armory.”

“Hey, it was just as good a guess as any! Besides I didn’t here any brilliant suggestions coming from yourself.”

“That’s ‘cause it was a big camp! They could have been anywhere!”

Fiora watched in a mix of amazement and frustration as the two bickered like sibling rivals. When she could no longer stand the argument, she jumped in and stopped the conversation. “Enough!” she exclaimed. The two fell silent and an awkward stillness filled the room. “So how did you escape anyway?” she asked. Falcor grinned widely and Emain laughed.

“Well, I dispatched his guards, too, but only after they had sounded the alarm; so we had to take cover in a supply hut nearby. We surprised a few after we both decided to head towards the armory to search for the weapons,” Falcor began, but Emain interrupted again.

“Except, neither of us had any idea where it was.”

“It had to be near the middle, with smoke rising from the forge, and YES an armory would have a forge,” Falcor countered.

“And you know it’s very likely that on a cold rainy night like that the armory would be the ONLY building with a fire inside,” Emain noted with a sarcastic eyebrow raise.

“Hey, I found it didn’t I?” Falcor answered.

“On our fourth try!”

“Well you weren’t helping very much cowering in the shadows.”

“I didn’t think they were in the armory in the first place!”

“And where did you think they were?”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“A logical guess would do!”

Fiora shook her head and decided to let the answers come at their own pace.

“Anyway,” Falcor continued, noticing his sister’s mounting frustration, “we snuck into the armory and took care of the smiths with little difficulty.”

“But, of course, the weapons weren’t there. So he suggests an even better place to look for them: the headquarters.”

“I bet that’s where they were, too!” Falcor defended.

“And the insignificant three divisions of elite guards…”

“It was only two,” Falcor claimed with sideways glance to Fiora.

“Three. And we might have cleared the place if we had set fire to their food storage like I suggested earlier and…”

“And if I had listened to you, the both of us wouldn’t be here right now. Remember the scouting group that returned? They would have surrounded us the moment you lit your flame.”

“Whatever. At any rate, the elite guards’ ranks were completely impenetrable,” Emain declared.

“That’s not the right word for it. If you had followed my lead on the other side of the entrance and tripped up the first two…” Falcor started.

“You mean, the first five…”

“No, two. The other three were on my side.”

“But they would have come at me, ‘cause they wouldn’t have seen you from their angle.”

“That’s why we were supposed to go together.”

“And how was I supposed to know that?”

“Hand motions,” Falcor stated, charading the motions he had given. An index finger pointed at his chest, the middle finger at Emain, and then the two fingers swiveling and moving away from his body. “Me, you, through the door, same time. It’s not that hard to grasp.”

“For you…”

“Well, he didn’t go when I went and instead, he turned and fled—right into the returning scouting party. I realized this only after I had killed three of those ‘elite’ guards and so I had to retreat, grab him, and flee before the whole encampment came down on us.”

“The whole camp did come down on us,” Emain corrected but Falcor ignored him.

“Fortunately the gloom of the evening abetted us. The elites’ bloodthirstiness must have led them to confuse the first of the weary incoming scouts with us. So we ducked into a small cooking hut with the few minutes the distraction provided. I dispatched the single warrior within, but we doubted we had much time before the entire encampment came alive like a stomped agnat hill.”

“Which it did.”

“We re-costumed ourselves as best we could with mud and grass before we made our break for the walls. It was simple really. We crawled in the shadows as far as we possibly could, then…”

“He actually listened to me, which is the only reason we escaped,” Emain announced. Falcor sighed and nodded.

“We lit a fire within one of their storage buildings, though it was tough to find one with combustible material within it. They love stone more than the emperor does.”

“Oh,” Fiora chimed in. “That reminds me. Falcor, the old Emperor is dead. Talibor has received the position now.” Falcor squinted and pressed his lips together.

“A conspiracy?”

“No,” she answered. “Talibor wanted to bring the Imperial Army here to Harken to drive off the invaders. The Emperor tried to stop him personally and Talibor slew him, though everyone says it was in self-defense.” Falcor drank in her words carefully, sipping at them as if it were his hot cup of tea. Gradually, the implications washed over him.

“So he’s here then, Talibor is?” he asked. She nodded. “I hope he’s not the boy I remember…” he began, but his sister interrupted him.

“He’s not,” she replied firmly with a fierce gaze. Then her expression softened. “But tell me, how did you receive your injuries?”

“Oh, those,” he stated, with sideways glance to Emain, who shrunk back into his chair. “They are nothing, really. Just the result of a miscommunication I should have expected. If not for his bravery and stupidity afterward, though, I just might be hanging in some torture chamber right now.”

“What happened?” Fiora gasped.

“Let’s just say he heard ‘wait!’ when I said ‘break!’”

-¤-

Ever-closer the sun dropped to the horizon as Talibor watched. Time ticked away, as various dialogues and questions came his way. Soon the sky was ablaze, and soldiers began to assume their positions. A messenger came, reporting that lord Daril and his cavalry were hidden and ready to ride at the predetermined signal. With every inch of sky the sun passed on its journey to the horizon, Valimor handled issues when they sprang up, worrying about nothing and anticipating everything. At last, as the sun disappeared, Talibor and Boltor joined him at the command post. A chill crept into the air and tickled their noses. A soft breeze blew dark shadows past the rising moon. Patches of black consumed the stars, until not a single speck of light shone through. The faint glow of the moon was finally cut off by the building clouds. Torches along the walls, towers and soldiers lit the city in a slight, flickering light. Bathed in a dim orange, the fortress stood out like a lighthouse in a stormy sea. The air became quiet as soldiers stood at their positions. Silence embraced the fortress-city—only a few random whispers were exchanged between soldiers. Soon the once crisp atmosphere began to blur. Valimor wondered if it were only his eyes and rubbed them. He turned to Talibor and saw the first snowflake of the winter float past. He looked back to the wall and found only a faint dim hue, obliterated by the descending blanket of snow.

-¤-

Talibor gazed through the darkening twilight and the descending snow. The other three turned and looked past the orange-lit flakes falling past them, and found the line of light appear in the dark. A river of lights slowly proceeded towards them, and the city fell silent as the soldiers heard of the army and the pounding beat of their marching became clearer. Boltor nodded to the other two.

“I think I will go to my post. My lords…” Talibor and Valimor nodded, and Boltor turned to leave. He descended the stairs and slipped through the gate of the inner walls. His pace quickened as adrenaline began to rush through his veins. At last he ascended the short staircase to the outer walls. He found his command post and ordered his soldiers into position. Balii and Jumai moved behind him. After issuing his orders he spun and smiled. “It will be an honor, my friends,” he said, placing his hands on their outside shoulders.

“We shall fight long and hard, not for your empire, or even your emperor, but for you and lord Valimor. We shall defend your men and his city…and if by that we defend your empire, it is done.”

“I know Talibor is skeptical of you and you are at odds with him, but I thank you for your respect of lord Valimor and me. I will look for you during the battle,” Boltor said and turned to see the approaching blaze of lights, obscured by the falling snow. “Soon we shall face the true test of our skill and brotherhood.” The marching footsteps grew and echoed through the city as the river of torches poured into the foothills below the city, moving steadily upward to the towering gates. Dull reflections of armor and flashes of weapons speckled the night. Through the haze of snow, the soldiers on the walls of Harken watched in silence. Not so much as a whisper drifted through the city. The mountains had disappeared and the fortress had faded into the thickening snowfall. Boltor found himself straining to see even the far northern end of the wall. The lights drew closer and clearer. At last he found he could see one Masok warrior, clad as Balii or Jumai marching on the ground. Then a horn blew clearly into the night and the army of lights stopped.

“Archers, ready your bows,” he commanded. Moving silhouettes filled the wall with shadows. Balii and Jumai removed their bows and stepped closer to the wall, fingering the arrows in their quiver. Boltor watched the soldier intently, but found that lights still moved behind the front lines; they were assuming battle formation. “Draw your bows,” Boltor ordered. Jumai and Balii smoothly pulled an arrow from their quiver and drew the string back. All across the walls, the simple action was repeated. Each stood as a statue in the descending snow. Another horn blow erupted from the sea of lights before them. The warriors let out a fierce battle cry, but did not move.

“Stand with me,” Boltor cried, “and send these warriors fleeing into the darkness. Men of Ashton, I bid you to fight; fight until the sun rises!” The men on the wall erupted in a war call. After a moment, Boltor yelled again. The men answered. He bellowed a final time, and the soldiers joined him in the battle cry. The horn from the oblivion sounded again and the soldiers rushed the walls.

“Release arrows!” Boltor cried and the first wave of soldiers fell. Each archer expertly pulled another arrow and drew the bowstring back again, firing into the second line. “Fire at will!” Boltor commanded and drew his sword. The snap of bowstrings filled the air, and the dull strikes of pierced armor and thuds of fallen warriors accompanied them. Soon ladders began to rise through the haze of snow and the foot-soldiers defending the wall slid their swords from their sheathes and waited for the ladders. Boltor’s hands quivered as his thoughts drifted to his wife. He pictured her quiet eyes and loving gaze. He could almost feel her smooth, dark hair in his hands. He heard his sons’ laughter echoing through his mind. He saw their dark wonder-filled eyes watching him. His right eye closed halfway. His fingers clutched his sword. This would be his vengeance—his time to release the pain he held.

A ladder rose in front of him and, shortly after it hit the wall, a Masok soldier leapt off it. Boltor thrust his sword up, impaling the invader. He pulled the weapon back, sliding the enemy off his blade. He saw Jumai shoot an incredulous soldier in the eye with a well-aimed arrow. He turned and kicked the ladder down and made his way north towards the gate. A larger ladder had cleared a space for the enemy to defend themselves on the wall. Boltor ran towards them and a soldier beside him fell from and arrow. He bellowed a war cry and lunged into the enemy, bringing his blade around in a powerful swipe. Two Masoks fell and he spun into the rest. His weapon slashed back around and knocked three more to the ground.

Boltor brought the sword back around in an overhead slash, knocking a sixth soldier to the ground and slicing neatly through his armor and chest. An arrow whizzed past him, striking a soldier leaping from the ladder in mid-air. He spun from his crouched position and kicked a soldier to the ground as another warrior rushed him, sword swinging. Boltor parried and thrust his sword through him. With the dead warrior sliding from his sword, Boltor swung the blade back around and sliced another enemy across the belly. A howl from behind him turned him around in time to block an overhead chop. He swung the enemy’s weapon down and jabbed his blade through him backwards, turning to face the ladder once more.

Several more arrows felled the Masoks climbing the ladders. Another enemy rushed him, and Boltor snapped his fists, clutching the hilt of his sword, upwards and knocked the soldier on his back. He easily plunged the weapon into the fallen soldier and rose in an arching swing, swiping the head off a second charging warrior. He searched around him to find other soldiers involved in smaller one-on-one battles.

To the south Balii expertly wielded both his sword and the new knife, knocking enemies to the floor without opening himself to attack. Jumai wielded his bow wonderfully, moving slowly southward to aid the fight, plucking his arrows from the fallen. A shout from a fellow soldier brought his attention to three rushing attackers. He side-stepped the first swing, parried the second, and knocked the third away. He ducked the second’s next strike and impaled him with a quick thrust. The first tried to hew the unbalanced Boltor in half, but Boltor reached out and stopped his arm, throwing him to the ground. Using his momentum, he spun and parried the thirds new attack. With a few expert sword-strokes, he flung the weapon from the Masoks hand and skewered him. He pulled his weapon from the sinking from and parried the first’s attack. He kicked him back and sliced him across the chest, spinning him to the ground. He stabbed the figure in the back with his sword. Rising he found himself apart from any conflict.

He searched momentarily and found Balii holding off a storm of attackers coming from two ladders on either side of him. He leapt forward and sliced a warrior before he could draw an arrow and spun again into the attackers with a wicked swing of his blade. He knocked two more down, opening their backs up like a scythe through fresh grain. Balii parried a fresh attack and plunged his knife into the soldier’s throat, and spun, thrusting his weapon deep into the abdomen of another. He knocked a sword from a third warrior’s hands and sliced him across the chest with his sword and across the neck with his knife.

Balii parried another’s attack and lunged past him, driving the knife into his back. He met two new attackers and brought both blades around, each smashing into a different warrior. They both stumbled back and Balii easily sliced them both in the belly and worked towards Boltor, who had pummeled three different warriors with a blistering overhead swipe. He ducked another attack and lunged into the attacker’s legs, flipping the warrior over himself and plunging his sword down into him.

The chill in the air did nothing to douse the flame that had arisen in Boltor. His sword flashed in the orange glow and a pile of the dead grew about him. At last he kicked a ladder down and cleared Balii’s back. He turned to see a group of archers drop a charging group of Masoks. He ran towards the gate, for it appeared to be suffering the most. He sprinted past the archers, but felt their arrows zing past his head. Each struck another target with wonderful precision. He began to tear into the Masoks jumping from the ladders. He thrust forward and pinned two together, slid his sword out, and spun it in a high arc to parry a leaping attack from a warrior. As he struck the finishing blow, a bright flash caught his eyes.

Through the haze of falling snow, a glistening blue flare streaked upwards into the sky. Every eye in the city drifted to the glowing bolt. Boltor remembered what Balii had said and knew that this was the signal. He tore his eyes from the sight and met Balii’s gaze. Balii nodded. A surge of adrenaline rushed through Boltor. They didn’t know of the power! He glanced over his shoulder and jumped back, avoiding a side slash. He charged back into battle as a hope for victory now rose in his heart, and he decided he needed to instill this hope in the souls of the others. He let out a war cry and attacked.

Chapter 15

Sipping steaming cups of a berry and rose tea, Falcor and Emain relaxed in the medical tent and might have slept had not Fiora joined them the minute they had become presentable. The first question she thought to ask them answered itself. Of course they hadn’t retrieved the weapons. They had barely retrieved themselves. So the next question to break the surface was the logical one to follow: “Okay, what happened to you?” she demanded of her brother. Falcor’s eyes slowly rolled up to meet hers and a sly smile crossed his face. He shook his head and laughed. Emain joined him. After it was clear that Fiora didn’t—couldn’t—understand, he sipped his tea again, the silly smirk plastered to his face. His eyes shifted to Emain, who matched his gaze with a broad smile. Falcor felt his throat tighten and he licked his lips; she would not laugh at the truth, he knew, but to him—ahh, but to the both of them—the irony was complete. It would take a million words, a thousand days, to explain that which he and Emain had exchanged in a glance. She could not understand. But he knew his brotherly duty and began to recite his tale.

“I will start with this: we should have had the weapons.” Emain chuckled, but Falcor raised a hand. “Now, there is a reason, albeit a strange one, why we don’t. Ironically, it is the same reason we breathe right now.” He took a deep breath. “After we left Talorn, it rained again and kept raining…” as Falcor related those few previous days, his mind returned to the moment, while his mouth kept speaking. It stood out so clearly—he closed his eyes to see it better. When he opened them again, he was back in the soggy Plains of Raida.

~¤~

Between the flashes of lightning and the rolling blasts of thunder, the constant drizzle dampened both their cloaks and their spirits. Falcor trudged in front, while Emain trod behind him through the fog and rain. Neither spoke, for the rain told them all they needed to know: this task was impossible. Yet Falcor knew he must try—he must redeem himself. He had not journeyed only to return empty-handed—the thought violated some rule in his conscience. Yet, the downpour whispered on, “Turn back; it’s hopeless.”

Sometime on the second day, after a miserable, wet night that had offered little rest or sleep, Emain broke the lingering murmurs of the rain with a single phrase. “At least we’re clean.” Falcor stopped. Aggravation raced through his veins; how was this a time to joke? As he turned to reprimand his companion, a thought snuck into his mind. And, in that moment, the anger slipped from his grasp. He smiled at first, and then burst into laughter. Raising his face to the threatening, overcast sky and spreading his arms, he sighed.

“Yes,” he gurgled as the raindrops splattered in his open mouth. “At least we are clean. Emain laughed and imitated him. “You know what this means, though,” Falcor clarified. “We will always be cleaned again.” Emain raised an eyebrow. “For instance, mud will wash off.” He glanced at an embankment, slick with running water. Emain smiled. “After you.”

A pair of stormy days passed over the prairie. On the dawn of the third, Falcor noted the Nolkric mountains to the west, rising crisply against the morning sun. Still they traveled ahead, until those peaks merged north and joined the Kailan Range which stood in the distance to their right. There, at the head of the valley, they would find what they sought: the thieves and the ancient weapons—and an army of an unknown size. Falcor adjusted his pack and glanced at Emain. “We’re less than a day away,” he encouraged and increased his pace. Emain smiled wistfully and trotted behind him, resorting to counting strides to keep his mind from wandering. Still, ravines slit the chapped landscape—still, the wind burnished their left cheeks. The grass that had caressed their legs at first now gnawed at them, biting and clawing through the leggings the travelers wore. The sunlight that had warmed their backs slipped again behind rough clouds; fine streaks of gray mist descended to the plains. Soon bolts of lightning burst through the haze while thunder blasted the two men. Weathering the newly-come storm, they shrugged off the battering elements, stepping resiliently northward.

In the middle of the storm, they crested a small hill and the edge of the valley loomed in front of them—along with the entire encampment of the invasion force. Falcor dropped to his belly in the soaking grass with Emain following his lead. While lifting a hand to stay Emain, he crept forward to the summit of the hill and grabbed a looking glass from his pack. He scanned the enemy ranks and embankments—they had constructed palisade walls around the exterior of the camp, with greater stone walls rising behind those. A massive stone gate already stood completed, along with the foundations of a fortress in the center of the encampment—a city, it seemed more to him. A mixture of tents and sloped buildings inhabited the interior, with thousands of soldiers scrambling like ants over the place, working despite the heavy oppression of the rain.

Falcor pressed the scope to his eye; but had to brace the lens against the quivering of his freezing hands. The soldiers moved queerly, he thought. He looked to the wall; a worker scrambled up the face of the wall. Falcor blinked and refocused the glass. “Emain…the old man knew something…they aren’t human,” he stated without lowering the glass.

“Well what are they then?” came Emain’s curious and overzealous reply.

Falcor’s eye squinted as he brought it away from the scope. “Lizards?” he guessed with an exasperated sigh and shrugging his shoulders as if to say, “I don’t think I’m awake.” His answer didn’t have the same effect on Emain, who, rather, perked and brightened with the suggestion. This was obviously a rare side of the generally reserved and introverted boy he had seen while in his sister’s presence, Falcor decided. Perhaps the notion of adventure invigorated the boy. No matter. His enthusiasm had caught Falcor off-guard and had instilled a sense of excitement within him. While he struggled to believe what he had seen, something deep inside him began to churn—a daring, impossible plan to infiltrate the city. A sly gleam crept into his eyes and he glanced at Emain. “I have an idea.”

~¤~

After they had eaten, Jumai and Balii parted with Boltor, for he had to report to Talibor and Valimor for planning and to give voice to the advice of Balii. Jumai strolled beside Balii as the sun sank lower in the sky. They wandered back to the courtyard and found Strati curled in a ball in the shade, napping. Balii turned to Jumai, “Do you think he has the right idea?” Jumai shook his head.

“I couldn’t nap now…not before a battle. Perhaps afterwards I could, and I probably will. But not now,” Jumai answered.

“Well then, my friend, wake me before the battle starts, for I will join Strati.” At that Balii collapsed next to the sleeping beast and snuggled up against its furry belly. Jumai left Balii and his atypical behavior behind and strolled along the walls. He strode up the northern staircase and crossed back southward over the gate. Rising up in front of him were the cliffs of the Atep Mountains. He traveled to the point where wall and mountain met and walked up a westward path cut into the cliffs. He then strode back north over the bridge leading to the inner walls. The daylight seemed to thin above him. Small misty clouds spread over the sky and a slight breeze seeped through his skin, chilling his blood. He shivered a bit and kept walking. He circled the fortress, gazing at its wondrous spires and towers. He crossed his arms, and stared eastward. His shoulders tightened and he shrunk his neck into them, burying his chin in his chest armor. The air became cold and silent. Winter approached the city.

He circled back around and looked westward. Noise greeted him as he past the fortress walls. Soldiers scurried about, carrying out various chores and running random errands. The city itself seemed to brace for the approaching storm, both natural and political. As he came around the circular inner walls, he found lords Valimor, Talibor and Boltor gathered around the command post, a jutting piece of rock extending from the fortress over the inner walls, with a clear view of the battlefield. Stretched out like a neck, it seemed to break the wind like a knife’s edge. He continued on around until he wound back at the bridge back across to the cliffs. Instead, he chose to take the staircase down to the bottom of the inner walls, where a smaller gate stood. It protected the inner walls themselves and lent itself to an easy defense. Jumai strode past the guards stationed there and lost himself among the side streets of the city. He walked around pillars and porticos, courtyards and gardens, retaining walls and balconies. He descended staircases and explored alleyways.

At last he found himself walking down a simple walkway between houses and he saw the flash of shadow. His instincts drew his gut into a knot and his eyes sharpened. He stepped into the shadow of a wall and peeked around it. The figure, clothed in light gray leather and without armor, scrambled up and over the retaining wall opposite himself, and stayed in the shadows…obviously making for the fortress. Jumai saw the figure heading for a main street and duck into the shadow of a small balcony. He turned and sprinted back the way he had come, leaping over a garden to his right and scrambling up a rock wall to railing. He leapt onto the road and ran towards the balcony by which he had seen the figure wait.

Instead, he saw only flowers and rocks. He looked around and saw the shadow creep behind a house and scramble up the inner walls. Jumai flew up the road and climbed silently up the cliffs next to the house that met the walls above him. He saw the figure scaling the wall stealthily in the shadows. Jumai narrowed his eyes and moved quietly out of view and skillfully made his way to the bridge from the southern cliffs and the inner wall. He managed to climb up the intersection with considerable speed compared to the figure’s slow going up the vertical face.

When Jumai reached the top, he hopped onto the wall and made for the place where the figure would appear, keeping low and scurrying forward silently on all four legs. He waited, but no sign of the figure appeared.

Deciding he must act quickly, he peered over the edge of the wall—only to find no trace of the intruder. He scanned the wall, but discovered nothing. Then, he realized the crenellations of the wall overhung the face of the wall, and he carefully climbed over the edge and looked underneath the joint. Sure enough, the visitor clung to the underside of the overhang, inching its way towards the neck of the inner walls, a jutting protrusion of the wall in line with the courtyard below, on top of which sat the command post. Jumai knew the intruder could only be a Masok assassin, sent to kill one of the lords, if not all of them.

Perfect, he thought, It takes one to know one…Jumai climbed back onto the wall, surprising a patrolling soldier. He quieted him with a wave of his hand and sprinted down the wall. At last he rounded the wall to see the creature working his way around the neck. It stuck to the shadows as much as possible, but Jumai knew it would have to move to the northern side to attack. Any soldier would spot him easily climbing over the top in the broad sunlight. It would seek the fortress’s shadow which covered that side of the neck. There it would creep up and, with one fell move, peek over, shooting a poisonous dart into the victim’s neck. Jumai stopped and crouched behind the crenellation of the wall. He dared not alert the lords to the assassin, or he would alert the intruder to the failure of his concealment and force him to rash action.

He slipped silently past the opening to the command platform, and climbed over the edge. Gazing down at rocky cliffs and the roofs of houses below, he hoped his fingers would hold. Edging beneath the crenellation and into shadow, he saw the assassin climb around the western edge of the command post. Jumai froze and squinted his eyelids, as clung upside down to the rock face and tried not to draw any attention to himself. He watched intently as the assassin climbed up into the crack and made his move, crawling silently towards the intruder who had made the dangerous climb back onto the overhanging crenellations. Jumai moved expertly and quickly closing on the assassin. He stopped in the joint of the neck and the inner walls, which was his last point to see the assassin and its progress. It had climbed onto the outer crenellation, hanging dangerously by toes and fingers over a certain death plummet. Jumai snuck towards the intruder, more intent on silence than on speed. He heard lord Talibor talking.

“I think we ought to reserve the troops for a rearguard,” he stated. “We cannot afford to jeopardize our troops. If they overwhelm us, we should not stand and fight, but pick as many off as we can while we retreat. We do not want to be trapped in the keep.” Boltor then spoke.

“I agree, my lord, but we must try to stop them here, as Balii said,” countered Boltor. Jumai crawled ever-closer to the dangling tail, but listened intently.

“I do not believe in these sacred weapons and their so-called ‘power’ that they might wield. But, I can still see the city being overrun at the wall or the gate being breached by conventional methods. And we do not have the numbers to drive off such a force,” Talibor retorted. Jumai stretched a hand out to find a suitable hold on the crenellation and pulled his face up next to the assassin’s foot. He slid his knife out from its sheath while he watched the free hand of the assassin drop to his blowgun. He waited while the hand fingered the blowgun and raised it to its lips. The assassin lunged upward and found lord Talibor with its dark eyes. At the same moment Jumai stretched up and buried the knife in the assassin’s back. The creature jolted and the stroke of the knife puffed the dart lazily from the blowgun, and it dropped harmlessly to the floor. Jumai let the assassin fall, allowing the knife to slip from his hand, with which he quickly found a handhold. Talibor heard the commotion and rushed to the edge to see the assassin plummet to ground. He ordered soldiers to retrieve the body, and hurried down behind them.

Jumai withdrew from the crack and climbed down the joint of the neck and the inner walls, arriving much sooner than the soldiers and pulled his knife from the dead assassin’s back. He wiped it off on his leather bracer, and scurried around the neck’s base, hopping down from a retaining wall onto a side street. He stood and strolled away from the rising commotion behind him. The afternoon sun dropped lower in the western sky, and a fresh breeze reminded him of the thickening clouds and the biting cold they brought. His fingers were numb, and, when he glanced at them, he noticed they were bleeding. He licked them, trying to revive their warmth and made his way back around to the northern edge of the city to the Courtyard of Ara-Min and Balii. He looked back into the graying sky. Snow would fall tonight. There was little doubt in his mind about that, but he still questioned about the ideals of Talibor. Would he truly turn and flee if the walls were breached? The fate of so many hung on the assumptions he made. He decided he would talk to Balii about it in the hours before nightfall.

~¤~

“And then we could burn the whole encampment to cinders!” Emain added gleefully. Falcor’s smile disappeared and he massaged his left cheek with the palm of his hand. “It’s freezing! I could use a good fire…couldn’t you?” Falcor shook his head.

“If we even make it within the walls, we’ll have enough problems remaining unnoticed as it is. You don’t think burning the city will alert them to our presence?” he added sarcastically. “No, once we go, it’s in and out, as quickly as possible.”

Emain pursed his lips together and nodded. “But couldn’t we at least light their food supply or something on our way out?” he asked, as a child might for another sweet snuck from the cupboard by an older brother.

Falcor closed his eyelids and shook his head again. “Do you truly love death so dearly?” Emain’s shoulders went rigid, defying the incitement that he would die, but shivers gently shook him in the downpour. Falcor ignored him and crept back down into the gully. “Come help me,” he commanded and began smothering himself with mud created by the drenching rain. The sandy soil of the alluvial earth made for a poor disguise, but he managed to apply a fairly thick base layer of concealing earth to both himself and Emain.

After this they scurried around the encampment to the forested hills on the western side, where the final remnants of light faded to black. They added a fresh layer of mud to themselves, combined with patches of prairie grass. It stuck this time, due to the relative shelter of the trees from the rain and the clever use of some pine sap. With their disguises complete, they waited for any noticeable break in the rainfall. Falcor found himself reciting the plan to Emain relentlessly, taking care he remembered every point.

When the rain broke and a heavy fog settled across the valley, the two ran at first towards the enemy camp, heading towards an incomplete section they had spied in the new walls. But before they could make out any figures patrolling the walls, they dropped into a low crouch and approached the target slowly. For the last twenty yards, they dropped to their stomachs and crawled towards the break in the walls. Several guards patrolled the section, two inside and a single outside. Falcor analyzed the patrol pattern of the near guard and dispensed of him silently.

“Can you use a bow?” he whispered to Emain.

“Yeah…why? We don’t have one.”

Falcor tossed him the sentinel’s bow and quiver. “I’ll take one; you must kill the other,” he said. Emain nodded resolutely and stuck out his lower lip. With a sudden rush and quite before the prairie boy had readied the bow, Falcor rushed to the incomplete wall, hurdled onto it and impaled the sentry through the back, covering his mouth with his hand. As the creature fell, Falcor snapped its neck to be sure of his secrecy. When he turned and found the other guard’s bow drawn and aimed at him, Falcor dove from the wall as the arrow sailed wide of its mark. Scrambling to his feet and withdrawing his dagger, he flung it at the sentry. The agile creature ducked the missile and readied another arrow. Where was Emain? Falcor wondered to himself as he dove for cover behind a pile of rocks. The arrow glanced off the block next to him and flipped away into the fog.

When a squeal pierced the darkness, Falcor rose to find the guard with Emain’s short sword protruding from its chest armor. Emain pulled it free as the guard fell and finished him off. Falcor shook his head. “Where were you?” he asked incredulously as Emain dropped to the ground.

“Well, you went so fast; I wasn’t ready…”

“He was standing up there like a blind Sanyx for the better part of two minutes!” Falcor declared.

“Just ‘cause I can use a bow, doesn’t mean I’m a crack shot! And it was only thirty or forty…” Emain began to retort.

“You missed?” Falcor exclaimed, open mouthed, his left eyebrow raised.

“Well…yeah.”

Falcor shook his head in bewilderment. “I could have died! And all you can do is leisurely take a pot shot at him? Come on!” Emain held up his hands.

“Okay, so I’m not crazy as you with this military stuff…”

“Don’t you understand? Our lives are at stake here! We mess up—we’re dead. Done. Gone. Next time, you can go first; I’ll watch your back,” Falcor whispered ferociously.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Emain began, but Falcor interrupted him.

“And why not? Because it’s your life on the line?”

“No, because I can’t hold off any one of them in single combat. I saw their capabilities,” Emain replied.

“Then consider this your training. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To find the weapons…where else?”

“Well, where are the weapons?”

“Probably in the middle of the camp—the armory maybe; that’s where I’d stash them anyway.”

“Are you mad?”

“Perhaps. Come on!”

Chapter 14

The weary figures that stumbled through the gates hardly resembled human beings. Covered in muck, grime, and dried blood, their clothes ripped to shreds, the two limped past staring soldiers. The smaller one had a nasty limp and hung an arm around the larger one, who used a muddy, dented broadsword as a walking staff. Their hair long and matted and expressions hidden behind a daze and several layers of dirt and dust, they stopped in the courtyard and watched the city prepare for battle. At some point, the soldiers had remembered their various duties and scrambled about the walls, carrying satchels of arrows and reinforcing the crenellations with wooden defenses.

The smaller had loosed his hold on the other, placing his weight gingerly on his injured leg. They seemed to be waiting for something, for someone, perhaps, to offer them assistance, but the soldiers shied away from the filthy newcomers. The larger shook his head and nodded at a soldier who had tried to avert his gaze at the last instant. A hoarse whisper drew him back. “Do you know where we can find some water? Short of drawing it from the water supply ourselves, that is.” The soldier tarried a bit, weighing his answer carefully. After a moment’s hesitation he replied.

“In the southern district, just past the manors—a water boy went that way.” He hurried off, anxious to distance himself from the strangers. The larger coughed twice and grimaced. The two set off at a snails pace towards the manor district, one limping, the other coughing.

~¤~

Fiora finally summoned the willpower to dismiss herself from the strange, wonderful waters she sailed. Talibor courteously nodded and bid her farewell, declaring that he had work to do as well. As she descended the inner walls, she glanced towards the manor district and her gaze fell on the two strangers in rags. Where did they come from? she wondered and then thought that she might be able to help them. Her pace quickened as she reached the bottom of the staircase. Striding across the cobbled street to where they stood, Fiora questioned, “Can I help you? Are you looking for somebody?”

When the larger figure turned to see who was talking to them, Fiora gasped. Her hand rose to her mouth and her eyes widened in shock. “Falcor?” she wondered. “Is that you Falcor?” He smiled, revealing his white teeth behind the dirt and grime darkening his face. “And Emain?” Then she noticed their wounds. “What happened? Are you hurt badly? Come to the infirmary now! We must get you cleaned and bandaged this instant,” she demanded. The two laughed, but Falcor broke into a fit of coughing and whispered something, but she didn’t hear. He tried again. “What is it, Falcor? What do you need?”

His ragged voiced tried to say, “water,” but it failed him. He made the motion of drinking a glass of water, and then she understood.

“Come with me, brother…SOLDIER!” she commanded a passing infantryman. “Help Emain here, we’re going to the medical tent.” The soldier obeyed and wrapped an arm around the hobbling Emain. With Fiora glued to her brother, the four made for the medical center.

~¤~

“Halmor, I need every soldier at their posts, ready for battle, in six hours. Until then, escort the women and children out of the city and arrange a caravan. They shall head for Padras. Nilor, I need our defenses ready to engage the enemy and functional as soon as possible. Saenor, we will heavily arm the wall; coordinate the arrangement for a heavy emphasis on rams and ladders—bring me the results.

“Calsor, prepare the inner-gates and fortress for possible breach scenarios. I want every table and piece of furniture that could brace a door in place. Iador, arrange the eastern gate for a rear guard if we must abandon the city. I want it open and ready to be locked from the outside. And Iador, send a messenger south to the port warning that possible refugees may need transport from the mouth of the Slaac River back to the state of Ashton. Tell them to ready vessels and to wait for further instruction.”

At that, all the officers disappeared, leaving Valimor alone on the balcony of the fortress just above the inner walls and the courtyard of Ara-min. He watched soldiers scramble like busy ants over the city. He saw lord Daril and his men ride out the western gate, to hide in the eastern edges of the Basalk forest. Even after lord Daril had disappeared into the foothills, his men still streamed out of the city. All around the city, tents were packed and set outside the eastern gate. Soldiers knocked on doors and told the women and children to abandon the city. They began to accumulate in the streets, rushing for the eastern gate.

Below him, the six great catapults that waited behind the outer walls were under close inspection and great chunks of rock that had been hewn out of the cliffs to the north and the south surrounded the great weapons. In turn, each was tested once. Valimor watched in awe as each catapult groaned to life and flung the giant boulders over the walls where they smashed and rolled along the fields. After each had been tested, horses and sledges were sent to recover the boulders for future use in the battle. Shouts of encouragement and orders to adjust settings filled the air. Valimor breathed deeply, waiting for the approaching storm. The noonday sun had slipped behind thin misty clouds. It still shone brightly on the land, but its intensity dropped dramatically. Valimor shivered. Thoughts raced through his mind, but he found it impossible to focus on a single idea, as his heart beat furiously inside his chest. He turned to find Saenor stepping lightly up the staircase to his position.

“My lord,” he said, bowing. “I believe it would be best for Talibor’s archer divisions to spread evenly across the walls, with a thousand more soldiers to hold against ladders. We should have our archer division near the back of the courtyard for volleys and gate-breaches, so our infantry may escape to the inner walls quickly in the case of a breach. Five thousand foot soldiers should protect the courtyard. It is there and the walls in which the battle will be decided—it’s risky, for it will be difficult to retreat. But it is the best place to stand if we lose the walls or the gates. Another two thousand men should defend the inner walls, with the remaining two thousand spread around the keep at key choke and defensive points and the eastern courtyard to provide a rear guard for fleeing survivors if we must retreat.” Valimor folded his arms across his chest and stared at the floor.

“Good, Saenor. That will do. Tell Emperor Talibor and lord Boltor; they will need to position their troops accordingly.” The officer rushed off, leaving Valimor to his thoughts—the whole swarm of them. One by one the officers returned and reported, to which Valimor was quite satisfied. His officers had done well. The logistics seemed to be solving themselves, for which he was grateful.

~¤~

Jumai and Balii returned to their quarters after the meeting, or rather, they were escorted back. When they entered the room, the doors shut behind them. A glint from the table top caught Balii’s eye. He wandered over to find their weapons piled there. Like a small child just presented with a gift, he tore through them, tossing Jumai’s equipment to him. As he strapped his sword to his side, strapped his quiver to his back, and flipped his bow over his shoulder, Balii found a small note beneath the pile of weapons. He picked it up and read it.

Balii and Jumai,

I was wrong to doubt you…you have proven yourselves worthy of trust. This will not thoroughly quench my skepticism, however, and you may be guaranteed that I will be watching carefully. But, if you intend to fight alongside me and my men, you must be prepared. Please accept my apologies. When you have prepared yourselves for the upcoming battle, please choose wherever you please to fight. I would be particularly glad if you decided to join the outer walls and protect them. It would also give you a particularly good view of the approaching army and your signal, if revenge is what you seek. Proud to fight alongside you,

Emperor Talibor

P.S. I hope you find the knife a worthy replacement of the one you lost on the scouting journey.

Balii glanced at the table and a shining new knife, sheathed in a light leather holster, lay on the table. He picked it up and slid it from its sheath. The glimmering blade rested firmly in his grip. This is a good knife, Balii thought. He strapped it on and looked to Jumai. “Are you ready, my friend? When they see us, we will appear traitors. We will find betrayal in their eyes when we kill them. We must not falter,” the former captain explained, verbalizing the tension apparent in his companion. Jumai nodded slowly, his body stiff and still. “But, we must remember why we will kill them. It is not for vengeance that we will slaughter them; it is for this purpose: the freedom of our nation. But,” he clarified, “if we may bear the honor of slaying the Magisters, bear it well and make them suffer!” Jumai looked up and met Balii’s fierce gaze. They clasped their right hands and pulled themselves neck to neck. Balii spoke.

“As brother to brother…”

“Shall we fight…” continued Jumai.

“And protect one another…”

“Through the night!”

They pulled apart and nodded to each other. Finding the doors unlocked, they strode out of their room and made their way through the keep to the inner walls. They descended the staircase and walked to the Courtyard of Ara-Min. Off in the edge of the courtyard a muffled whine caught their attention. Balii turned to find his Masckarl curled in the corner, frightened and scared. He gave a soft whistle and watched the round ears prick at the sound. It leapt to its feet and scrambled to its master. It began to lick his face uncontrollably and wrapped its slinky body around Balii. Jumai stepped over and scratched its ear, to which it immediately cocked it head in pleasure, still lapping Balii’s face. Finally Balii managed to calm it with a mix of whispers and commands. The giant weasel-like creature he called Strati quivered uncontrollably as it lowered itself for its master. Balii mounted his steed and rode towards the walls. Jumai strode beside the reunited pair.

They reached the walls and Jumai started up the stairs, but a burst of shadow and a blur on the stairs in front of him startled Jumai. He looked up and found Balii and Strati on top of the wall. In two long bounds the Masckarl had jumped to the wall’s surface. Never before had Jumai seen such a feat, for the wall stood at least the height of ten men. Anybody would be hard-pressed to jump off the wall. He scurried up the wall and found equally surprised looks on the faces of the men. “I had no idea…” Balii just smiled and patted his amazing steed.

“None other than Strati could make that jump, though,” Balii confessed. Strati sensed his master’s pride and straightened up, its eyes blazing with confidence. Suddenly, they found lord Boltor in front of them.

“That was impressive Captain Balii,” he stated, staring in wonder at the creature before him. “Will you grace us with your presence on the walls?”

“That is our intention, yes,” he answered.

“It will be a pleasure to fight beside you. I look forward to it, though I do not know how this…steed…will help you up here. Could you explain, for I am curious?” he asked. Balii dismounted from his steed and patted it head.

“I will be frank with you, my lord, I just wanted to see if he could do it,” Balii answered. Boltor began to laugh and scratched the beast’s ear. The Masckarl drew back and glanced at Balii desperately. Balii spoke a few words and reassured it of the strange man’s intentions. Reluctantly, the creature allowed Boltor’s hand to stroke its ear. “Count yourself as the first human to touch a Masckarl—not even the Magisters will let their skin be ‘defiled’ by these beasts.” Boltor withdrew his hand quickly. A light sparked in Balii’s eyes. “Do not worry, my friend. There is nothing to worry about, unless of course you have angered or frightened it.” Boltor smiled and stroked the soft fur. He even thought he caught a glimpse of amusement in the reptilian lips that hid all emotion.

“It is quite an animal, I must say. So strong and loving…are they natives of your land?” Boltor asked.

“Yes. They are extraordinary beasts and quite loyal, once you earn their trust. But, wild and free, they are dangerous. Perfect animals to ride into battle—one taste of blood sends it into a fury and the rider’s sword is no longer of use—he must use both hands to direct the wrath of the beast and stay atop the steed, lest he suffer the fate of his enemies. Strati is lord of the Masckarls, and his rage ought to be feared outright.” Balii spoke a word and the beast placed a giant paw in his hands. He pulled back the furry skin, exposing the claws of the beast—wicked weapons, each as long as the new knife he had received. He set the paw down and pulled apart the whiskered lips revealing fangs that could easily impale a human. Boltor stared in perfect shock.

But then, to Boltor’s utter astonishment, Balii patted the creature’s neck, turned, and jumped off the wall. Boltor cried out. A blur of fur blew past him and off the wall. He rushed to the edge in time to see the creature land on the courtyard below, skidding to a stop. It turned and dropped Balii from its mouth. Balii stood, patted the creature again, and shouted up to Boltor, “And yet its jaws can be perfectly harmless at other times.” With a word he sent the creature to the corner and climbed the stairs. Boltor stood wide-eyed and sweating, while Jumai flashed that almost-imperceptible gleam of amusement in his eyes. “It really is an amazing creature.” Balii noticed that all the soldiers had stopped their work and had gathered into a large circle. Boltor saw them and shook his head.

“Carry on, men!” he ordered, and the soldiers, somewhat embarrassed, went back to work. “Well, shall I tell you what we will be working with and you can give me your input. Come with me.” Boltor explained to them the layout of the defenses, down to the last detail. He told them of the troop arrangements that captain Saenor and he had worked out. Balii stopped him and wondered why only a thousand men had been assigned to the walls. “Do you think we need more?” Boltor asked.

“Well,” Balii stalled, deep in thought, “I think they would focus on the use of ladders. This being the case, I would have another five hundred to a thousand men ready to assist them. It would not do to have the walls too crowded, but I think a thousand men is still too few.”

“Hmmm. Well, I shall tell lord Valimor your thoughts, but I doubt he will send another thousand down…perhaps as few as three hundred. I don’t think he plans to hold the fortress at all costs,” answered Boltor.

“But he must!” Balii exclaimed. “Otherwise the Magisters…”

“I know, but he will not risk an unnecessary massacre. If we cannot win, he will not spend unnecessary lives trying to deplete their numbers. Instead, he would rather re-group and meet them head on with greater numbers and reinforcements on the western edge of the Dalan River.” Balii nodded, but remained in disapproval of the idea of withdrawal from the fortress. As they examined the other aspects of the battle—from volleys and archer positioning to possible weapons and a move by move fight simulation between Boltor and Balii. As they danced back and forth trying to find the best ways to attack the enemy soldiers, a huge boulder soared over their heads and slammed into the fields outside the walls. Balii jumped and turned to see the next catapult fire; he ducked instinctively, but it soared south of their postion on the western wall. Jumai watched in awe as the catapults fired, one by one.

“That will help clear some soldiers,” Balii commented as another boulder smashed in the ground and bounced three more times, finally rolling to a stop. He blinked in wonder as the last boulder flew over the wall. “Impressive, my lord.”

“Yes, very,” replied Boltor. Perhaps that will show them their error in attacking the city, ehh?” Balii snorted at his statement.

“Of course it won’t. It may dampen their spirits, but they will still attack with every last bit of strength left in them. Sadly, we are a stubborn people, seduced only by great power or dire circumstances. Logic has little meaning to us, which is unfortunate.”

“Does this mean you will not retreat if we sound the call?” Boltor probed.

“It could…” he replied. “But I was exiled for being much too logical, if you remember. It is with Jumai here that you will have a problem.” Boltor laughed, realizing that this seemingly emotionless creature had just made a joke. “He will not leave the scene of battle unless he is drug away.”

Jumai bowed his head. “My inclinations are at your service, my lord.” Boltor laughed again. Then, he took them down to the gate, asking them if they had anything capable of punching through it. Balii grimaced when he remembered the great supply beasts.

“Well, if they decided to bring the Gneras, we could be in for some trouble,” Balii noted.

“What are Naeras?” Boltor asked, his eyes meeting Balii’s.

“Hmm…do you know the badger?” Balii asked.

“Yes,” came Boltor’s reply.

“They are like giant badgers, except with thick, bony skulls. They are slow-moving and susceptible to continuous fire, but they will break anything less than a stone wall in front of them, if they so desire. But with two archer divisions and the sacred weapons, they would be hard-pressed to win if they decided to try ramming the gate with a Gnera. What you must fear are the enchanted weapons,” he concluded. Boltor nodded, trying to picture the beast in his mind. At last Boltor’s stomach reminded him that noon had come and past.

“Shall we find some food before the excitement begins, my friends?” he asked. Balii and Jumai nodded and they headed off to one of the cook tents set up for the soldiers. “It may not be room service, but it isn’t bad. We have some good cooks here. They stepped into a line of hungry soldiers and waited to head through the line. A soldier in line behind Balii noticed him as the rider of the strange steed and asked Balii about his mount and what it was. Small conversation broke out between the two, leaving Jumai and Boltor silent in the line. “So, Jumai, tell me about your homeland and your journey,” Boltor asked.

“There isn’t much to tell, really. Our homeland is mostly frozen tundra with a few pine forests and even less green grass. The mountains loom only to the south and permanent snow and ice glaciers exist in the north. It is a cold place. We journeyed south on the word of the Magisters and the ancient prophets. I was Captain of the Csii Royal Guards at quite a young age and was commissioned to assist Balii, my childhood playmate, in the invasion. The Magisters did little while we crossed the mountains. Balii and I headed the armed forces of Csii-Hiil and led them through the mountains. When Balii was exiled, I knew there had to be some evil at work, for there wasn’t a better Masok warrior than he.

“I decided to follow him, instead of the Magisters. Now I know I made the right decision, but I still hate to fight my former people. Yet, I have made new friends—such as yourself. You have been kinder to me than any other I have met, Masok or Man. I don’t know why, but I feel privileged to fight alongside you, my brother. But, enough of me…how did you get here to this battlefront?”

Boltor thought for a bit, then answered. “I was born of aristocratic blood…therefore I was raised well, trained to be a warrior as my father and his father were. My life was the military—training and training, longing to serve the emperor. Because of my ‘aptitude’ and ‘genius’ I was appointed Captain of the Captial Forces, under lord Talibor, the emperor’s nephew. The emperor never had any children, and so it was assumed that lord Talibor would become the new emperor when the old emperor passed away.

“I then, would be in line to become Captain of the Imperial Army—a title that might have passed to my son…if…” Boltor choked, the bitterness of his loss struck him again. Tears formed in his eyes, but he blinked them back and swallowed the rising sobs.

“Lord Talibor heard that an invasion force had come from the northern mountains and had asked the emperor for permission to go to war. The emperor refused and had Talibor imprisoned, commissioning me to keep a strict eye on him. I had bought into the emperor’s lies, for he imprisoned my wife and two sons on the promise of release if Talibor didn’t leave the cell. I had little choice…but Talibor...Talibor devised a plan of escape with me and a rescue mission to free my family and to ride to war. He commanded the loyalty of the army and only needed to be freed. I could not say no. I went to check on my family on the premise of rescuing them with Talibor. Instead, I found them…hanging…from the northern tower…of the Citadel.” Boltor could no longer hold back the tears and Jumai wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“I understand…I do not think I shall see my mate and offspring again, but I cannot imagine watching them die…” Jumai said. They moved forward in the line. At last Boltor wiped his eyes and continued.

“It was then I decided I had nothing to lose. So I freed Talibor and we rode here with the army. But the emperor would not just let us walk away with the army, and Talibor confronted him. In the end, he slew the emperor and was proclaimed the new leader of Ashton. In turn, I was proclaimed Captain of the Imperial Army. So here I am, feeling unfit for my position, but willing to serve my emperor, lord Talibor.” Jumai nodded and gazed ahead with his unblinking eyes.

“And yet you fight alongside your soldiers? Shouldn’t you be commanding from afar?” Jumai wondered. “I would not dare fight in the front lines if…”

“There is a time for valor and a time for wisdom. Rarely do the two mix. Lord Valimor is a tactician and therefore he should command the defense of his keep. I am a soldier—a warrior at heart—and the time for valor is now, when I am capable. If I may inspire my men by fighting beside them, and, perhaps, dying as one of them, then I will gladly do so. Fighting beside you and Balii will be an added inspiration to me; you also give our men courage.” Boltor said.

“Do you want your food, or don’t you?” a gruff voice to his left questioned. Boltor spun and took his plate, thanking the cook. Jumai did the same and they went to the wall to relax and eat.

~¤~

Altam screeched with joy when he realized the filthy strangers’ identities. Of course, he had been skeptical at first, saying a medical tent must be clean and tidy and the dirt on the two would only contaminate the area. He nearly hugged them both, but remembered the importance of his own cleanliness and instead ordered them stripped and bathed by his attendants. Clear, warm water was brought immediately and the two ushered into a back partition of the tent.

“See, see?” Altam asserted, “They made it back alive. Just like I told you they would. HA!” Fiora smiled and nodded. “And looking much better than I would have expected…” he trailed off and laughed. Fiora did not catch his sarcasm at first and flashed him a questioning glance. “It was a…nevermind. At least they’re safe, right?” Fiora nodded again and folded her arms together. A crisp breeze infiltrated the city—a chill that seemed to descend from the gathering clouds above.

“Those clouds, Altam, they seem to know what’s coming,” stated Fiora.

“They anticipate battle, my dear.” He lifted his gaze skyward. “Those are snow clouds.” He pondered them for a second longer before clearing his throat. “Well, I’m sure that means our patients will need extra towels, eh?”

Chapter 13

Jumai woke to the sound of whisperings. He opened blurry eyes to find light streaming in through the windows. The air was fresh and crisp and a soft breeze rippled through the room. He rose from his bed, searching for the source of the voice hovering lightly in the air. At the table, Balii sat, bent over some project. Jumai yawned and stretched, drawing Balii’s attention.

“Did you sleep well?” Balii asked him.

“Yes, I did. How long have you been up?” he wondered. Balii glanced back down at the table.

“Only a few hours,” Balli replied, his focus drifting back to his project. “Just talk to the guard outside when you are ready for breakfast. They’ll bring it to you.”

“What’s going on Balii?” Jumai asked. Those same burning eyes drifted to meet his own.

“I’m writing a letter,” he replied and diverted his attention back to his pen. Jumai decided to ask no more, for he would receive no answers. Instead, he walked to the door and tried to open it. He twisted the handle and rattled the door, but they wouldn’t budge. “It’s locked…” Balii stated without turning his focus to Jumai. “Just ask for breakfast. They’ll bring it.” So Jumai did, and within a few minutes the doors opened. Jumai resisted the urge to lunge through those door and escape, as he watched the servant place a tray on the table beside Balii. The servant exited the room and the doors were shut, locking them in. Jumai slumped in the chair opposite Balii, expression void in his face. He spun his fork idly and pulled the meal to himself.

“What are you writing?” he questioned Balii. After a long silence Balii answered.

“A letter to the Magisters,” he replied.

“And what does it say?” Jumai wondered.

“It’s just a little something to help dethrone them.” Balii stated.

“Oh?” came Jumai’s curious response, an attempt to elicit more information from Balii, but his friend only grunted and scratched at the surface of the paper.

Jumai turned to his breakfast and ate, but as he cosumed the meal, he often heard Balii whispering to himself, perfecting each phrase and selecting each word with care. Jumai finished his breakfast and migrated to the window. He gazed at the eastern plains—they fascinated him. Outside, they stretched before him, disappearing into the blur of the horizon. This was the land the prophets had promised. Despair gripped him, for he realized he now strove against his own people and the prophecies of old. How could this be, that I should war against my own people now he wondered. Then the answer came to him.

Honor required him to fight—to dethrone the Magisters and expose their intentions to his true brothers. The battle would come soon, and they would fight to display the truth to their brethren. He hung his head at the thought of slaying his friends, but, if by their sacrifice, he would have a chance to strike down the Magisters; then, it would be worth it. How he longed to see the last breaths flee from the Magisters’ lips! Yes, the anticipation now coursed through his veins as a living substance. The view of the plains gave him the thought of settling down on a farm after the war. He wouldn’t return to Csii and the frozen tundra. No, he would live out the rest of his days in peace among the humans. Perhaps he and Balii could find a nice place in the east or perhaps in the south. He breathed the fresh crisp air floating in the open window and let his mind wander into a dreamland. When Balii spoke to him, some time later, he jumped, his dream vanishing in a flash.

“Come, Jumai, we have work to do!” As Jumai turned, he found the lord that had extended his graciousness to them waiting in the door. Balii had risen from his chair and had passed out of the door by the time Jumai had begun to move his feet. As he reached the door, the guard motioned for him to turn right and follow Balii down the hallway and shut the door behind him. Jumai quickened his pace to catch Balii and the lord. Once in earshot distance, he heard the man tell Balii that the army was on the move and expected to reach the fortress this evening. He jumped quickly to Balii’s side.

“I need you two to come with me on a scouting trip,” Valimor said. “If the army is indeed underway, we must find their power and their weakness. Would you be so kind as to accompany me?” Balii nodded as the threesome exited the fortress and descended to the city. They wound through the bright stone streets to a stable which procured five horses for the expedition—one for Valimor, one for Balii and Jumai, and three for the other soldiers accompanying them. Balii received a large black steed and, after a demonstration by lord Valimor, the two Masoks climbed upon the horse. The other soldiers quickly mounted their steeds, and the scouting party left the fortress quickly behind, departing the gates of Harken and entering the Plains of Raida.

~¤~

The horses galloped at full speed near the edge of the forested mountains. Only by the natural balance given the Masoks did they manage to stay upon the horse. Jumai found it quite different from the Masckarls of their cavalry. They bounced much more on this horse—the Masckarls bounded smoothly and somewhat heaved the rider forward rather than jolting him along. But they covered a great distance fairly rapidly, so he could not complain. To his right rose the jagged peaks of the Kailan Range and he could easily see why Harken was such an important city to this invasion. The cliffs and peaks rose at such incredible angles that any attempt to cross them was unfathomable. A few trees dotted the short foothills of the mountains and they stayed as close to these as possible. But what worried him were the building clouds—low and thick, piling against the northern peaks. He knew them from winters in the mountains west of Hiil—they meant snow.

After an hour of hard riding, they slowed their pace to save their steeds for a quick getaway if necessary. The slow trot bounced Jumai even more so than the gallop and Valimor noticed his discomfort.

“I see your kind don’t take too well to riding horses,” he said with a smile. “Keep your heels down in the stirrup; that will take the edge off the bounce.” Jumai glanced at him and held on tighter to Balii who had been strangely quiet the whole time. They summitted a foothill and quickly stopped. Before them a river of black marched down the plains.

Valimor turned quickly around, and the others followed his lead. He rode to a patch of trees behind the hill and dismounted. The other soldiers quickly did the same, but Jumai practically fell off to the left, tucking and rolling as he hit the ground. Balii, in turn climbed to his feet on top of the horse and jumped lightly off. Valimor laughed as he tied his horse to the tree and one of the other soldiers grabbed their horse and tied it off to the tree. Jumai rose next to Balii and stared blankly at the amused Valimor. “You are interesting fellows, my friends…now let us get closer to our enemy,” he said, marching to the summit of the hill. The Masoks followed him, with the rest of the company falling in behind them. After a brief trek, they looked down upon the approaching flood of soldiers.

Valimor pulled a looking glass from his pouch and squinted through it. There appeared to be three distinct divisions in the front lines, with two channels flowing down the middle. Behind these, the river flowed on behind them until it disappeared over another hill in the distance. In each division, the front line was made up of twenty soldiers. The depth of each division seemed nearly twice as deep. At least ten more divisions followed behind the lead divisions, and that only led to the hill. Valimor quickly did his math: nearly eight hundred in each division, giving twenty-four hundred in the front lines with ten more lines behind them—nearly twenty-five thousand soldiers, with more streaming over the distant hillside. “My guess is thirty thousand soldiers…how many are there?” he asked the two defectors.

“Forty-thousand, with supporting archer and cavalry divisions—fifty-thousand total,” answered Balii. Jumai nodded his head in agreement. “But,” Jumai stated, “They have no siege engines, which is a bonus. All they can bring could be a few hand-powered battering rams and perhaps some ladders.” Valimor looked at them both and then raised the scope to his eye again.

“This is a wonder to behold…fifty thousand…I don’t know how we can counter this? But we shall not meet them in open battle, that much is certain. Talibor brought the largest force—nearly eight thousand strong—and the two thousand spears of Lord Daril, plus the three thousand of my own forces…that brings us only to thirteen thousand men. No, we shall hold them at the keep. Unless you tell me something critical that I do not know yet,” Valimor deduced. Balii shook his head and gazed down at the army.

“Their numbers shall not help them…the Magisters might, however,” Balii said. Valimor and Jumai looked at him in confusion.

“Balii, the Magisters are old…” Jumai began, but Balii interrupted him.

“They are old, Jumai, but they are not weak. They fool many with their appearance. In truth they are stronger than any of us, for they carry the sacred weapons. If they are not stopped here, their strength and knowledge shall only increase. Lord Valimor, if we do not stop the Magisters here and now, they will take every city by storm—regardless of the men they have. They are a dormant giant that will begin to awaken on the first battle,” Balii stated, eyes closed.

“I was unsure of their power. I wanted siege weapons. I desired to rely on our own strength…so they exiled me. I see it now, they know that the weapons shall aid them—they shall keep the Masoks under their fist for centuries. But I do not believe they realize the true power of the weapons—a power greater than any army they might summon,” Balii paused and looked Valimor in the eye.

“I do not know where they keep the weapons, but I would guess that they will be in the Magister’s hands. If your man, Falcor, does not return with the weapons, it will be imperative to reclaim them, else the city will fall. As for this, I have a plan. If you would have it, Lord Valimor, allow me fight alongside your troops on the walls. It will be from there that my companion and I might retrieve your beloved lord Harken’s weapons and turn the tide of the battle.”

Valimor gazed into those burning eyes. He searched deep into them to detect any hint of dishonesty. At last he nodded. “If your wish is to retrieve the weapons and destroy the Magisters…so be it. If it will help you to have my permission to fight with our troops, then you have it. But, when you step onto that wall, your brothers become those you fight alongside. If you have a chance to save one of mine by sacrificing one of your own, please do. It is all that I ask.”

“As I said before, you now have my undying loyalty,” stated Balii, “and I will do so. Henceforth, Jumai is my only Masok brother—though I would see our former people freed. Perhaps after the war, we may be able soothe relations between our peoples, but as for now, I shall show them no mercy.” Balii then quieted, and after a moment of obvious thought, he said, “Let me prove myself to you.” Valimor raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “In fact, it may aid my plan. Yes, watch and listen.”

Balii crept to the top of the hill and let out a long, shrill whistle. The sharp note defied the wind and echoed across the plains. Valimor put the looking glass to his eyes again and saw some sort of commotion in the front lines. A strange sort of beast—something akin to a giant ferret—bounded towards them at an incredible pace. Valimor squinted, finding it difficult to follow the creature. He could see a form off to its side, bouncing along the ground, and, only after it came closer, could he tell that it was the rider. Valimor lowered his scope and watched the beast barrel ever closer. Just as it seemed that it had no intention of slowing down, it skidded to halt in front of Balii. It eagerly licked his face and Balii calmed it down. It finally lay still in the grass long enough for Balii to unhook the rider’s foot from the stirrup. A moan escaped the battered captain as Balii stood over him. When the soldier opened his eyes, Balii spoke. “You shall be my messenger to the Magisters...” he stated and pulled the letter out of his pocket. The soldier reached for it, but Balii pulled it back to himself and a fiery glare came into his eyes and a shadow passed over his face. “You don’t understand, do you?” he questioned and pulled an old, long knife from his belt. Piercing the letter, he held above the soldier’s chest. “You are simply my message board.” At that he thrust the blade into the rider’s heart and stood. “Jumai, this is more convenient than you know. Now, we may have a chance to reclaim the weapons after all,” he encouraged.

“What did it say?” Jumai asked.

“It is a little encouragement for the Magisters—the lure that will draw them out, reveal their location on the battle field to us,” he answered, to Jumai’s dissatisfaction. But Balii closed the subject, “On the other hand, it looks like you’ll have the horse for yourself,” he said, patting his trusty steed’s neck. He climbed onto the saddle and followed the others back to the horses. Only after repeated discouragement and punishment, did Balii’s Masckarl finally decide that the horses were not an afternoon snack and to bound smoothly beside them. They rode quickly back to Harken, to prepare for the assault that threatened to crash down upon the city like a mighty wave and destroy it.

~¤~

Standing on the inner walls and in the glimmering morning sunlight, Fiora watched the soldiers rise at Talibor’s command, hurrying about like busy ants repairing a damaged anthill. But that man intrigued her—and angered her. Somehow, even his new attitude and reputation as king somehow failed to gloss over that argument at the market. But why was she even thinking about that? It happened once. Could she judge him by that? Something stirred in her, however; something she felt she needed to explain through frustration. It bubbled up from deep inside her—not a mere reaction, only. The longer she dwelt upon it, the more it puzzled her. Instead, she focused on the horizon, where small, wispy clouds hung. A gentle breeze pulled lightly at her hair and chilled her bare forearms. She folded her arms unconsciously and beheld the spectacle before her.

“Are you cold, my lady Fiora?” a firm voice came from behind, startling her. She spun to find Talibor standing there. “I didn’t alarm you, did I?” he wondered.

“No, I’m fine,” she said, turning once more to the commotion below her. “How will you defend the keep?” she asked, steering the conversation away from herself, but Talibor jumped at the opportunity.

“It all depends. If their numbers are too great, we’ll hold our infantry behind the wall and hope our archers can hold them off. But, if we have a chance, I would rather meet them on the field of battle, head on. Then, it would be a contest of tactics—tactics perfected by our ancestors and handed down in all our military schools. Valimor is scouting as we speak, however, and so that limits any deciding factor.” He glanced up at the mountain peaks. “As will weather.” Clouds had already formed to north, settling on the Kailan Range. These were not the thunder heads of the summer rains, but a grim, low-lying blanket that pressed the mountains into the plains.

Still, the sun shone overhead, bestowing hope on the soldiers. Talibor inhaled the crisp air. “But enough talk of war, there will be enough of that in the future.” He swallowed. She was obviously not in the mood to talk. Still, he sensed something needed to be said, to clear things between them—to level with each other. “Listen,” he began, “I want to start over…I didn’t mean to embarrass you, or hurt you. I’m sorry. I just thought…”

“Is that what this is all about?” she questioned with a half smile. “Because if it is, don’t worry about it. I wasn’t myself, either, my lord.” The words caught him off guard. He had expected a ranting of sorts, but not this. Not from her. He struggled for words for a moment, then smiled and gazed out over the plains. Something inside him quelled and the gentle wind brought a peace to his heart. He felt as if he could stand there, next to her, forever.

Fiora watched him with soft eyes. Her own words had confused her, yet somehow the pressure inside her had dissipated. She felt comfortable and safe standing there next to him—something that had eluded her for so long, since her parents’ death. She soaked in the feeling and turned back to the prairie. She closed her eyes and smiled.

~¤~

When they arrived at the fortress-city, the place was in an uproar, preparing for battle. Lord Talibor had obviously been stirring up the place, as with a stick in a hornet’s nest. As they rode through the gates, Balii’s gleaming white steed turned all heads. Talibor, Boltor, and Daril greeted them, all gazing in wonder at the creature beneath Balii. The soldiers dismounted and several stable hands came to tend to their steeds. Jumai exited the saddle in his original fashion and Balii hopped from his mount. Visibly quivering, the last servant stepped forward to take the reigns from Balii. Instead Balii waved him off and led the mount to a secluded part of the stable himself. When he tied it off, he whispered something in its ear. The beast lowered itself to the ground and watched Balii exit with wide, somber eyes. When he rejoined the others, they ascended to the fortress to discuss the findings of the scouting mission.

Once inside, they turned to a small room with comfortable chairs and sat in a circle. Talibor was the first to speak. “How many are there?” he asked.

Valimor looked at the other two and ventured to answer first, “From what I could tell, there were near twenty-four thousand visible, but more behind a second hill. I guessed thirty thousand, but…” he glanced at Balii.

“There are forty thousand foot soldiers with accompanying cavalry and archer divisions. Fifty thousand soldiers in total.” Talibor’s eyes dropped to the floor and his mouth hung agape.

“Fifty thousand?” he asked nobody but himself. Boltor remained silent. Daril stared at his hands.

“However,” Jumai chimed in, “they have no siege units, save the easily constructed hand ram and ladders.” Nods of approval and stares of deep thought in the other three were duly noted.

“That is the good news. But, more bad news may be yet to come,” Balii said, drawing the men’s attention. “The Magisters, though they appear old, are the primary force of this army. Their numbers are inconsequential compared the weapons the Magisters bear. As I have told Valimor, if we do not stop them here, before they learn the true power of their weapons and how to wield it, they alone will destroy every city in their path. This battle will involve the death of my people, yes. But it must be centered on the death of the Magisters.”

Lord Daril was the first to speak after a long silence. “What are these weapons the Magisters carry?” he wondered.

“The Blade of Anduir-Siil and the Longbow of Druin-Kiil,” he said. As he spoke, darkness seemed to seep into the room, chilling the air. Boltor shivered and closed his eyes.

“The lost weapons that Harken spoke of in his journal,” Valimor added. “The very same that Falcor now attempts to recover.”

“If he fails, we shall have to fall back on a plan I have set in motion,” Balii stated. When three questioning glances turned his way, he continued. “When I redeemed my steed, I left a message with the dead rider for the Magisters.”

“And what exactly was in the message you left, Balii?” Talibor asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Balii’s sharp eyes locked with his gaze. “Mostly it consisted of a deep explanation of the personal hatred I have for them, but I did mention that I planned to arrange the fall of the walls if a certain signal was given.” Talibor’s stare became deathly cold.

“And what signal is this?” he questioned as the tension grew.

“A shot from the Longbow of Druin-Kiil,” came the melancholy answer.

“And what, in fact will you do?” Talibor interrogated further.

“Nothing. The shot will give us three advantages: it convinces us of their ignorance of the power of the weapons. Secondly, if they fire the signal, they will be looking for outside help—when, in reality, they need none. Thirdly, it will help us to locate the Magisters in the swarms of Masok. If our archers will watch for it, they may keep their eyes open for a chance to bring them down, or Jumai and I may have a chance to reclaim the weapons. But, if the shot does not come, we should be ready for anything—even the breaching of the walls.” Sighs of held breaths were released at Balii’s explanation.

“I have one question,” lord Daril stated. “How will we know the signal?” Balii glanced at him with his fiery eyes.

“You will know.”

“We have other matters to discuss now,” Valimor interrupted. “It should be obvious that we cannot meet them in the open field of battle—they are much too powerful. Instead, we shall have to defend the fortress. This brings up two questions and a third that has been partially solved. First, what shall we do with the women and children? Should we send them to the nearest city only to reclaim them if the battle is won? Or do we risk all of our lives and keep them here in the city, assuming the walls will hold. Secondly, what are we to do with Daril’s cavalry? They cannot fight well within the walls of the city and are not well-trained in hand-to-hand combat. Lastly, which Jumai has already mentioned, how will we defend our walls if there is only a small chance of a breach? Should we lightly arm the walls and heavily defend the gate? And what power do these sacred weapons yield? Should we expect the wall to be breached and prepare for the long haul in the city?” he finished and raised his hands for answers. Immediate discussion broke out between Talibor and Daril over the use of cavalry and debate between Balii and Jumai on the subject of the weapons’ true powers erupted, leaving Valimor silent, listening to both conversations.

After a few minutes of trying to understand everyone’s view, he asked for silence, using his hands to split the various debates. “My friends, let us approach this in a more civilized manner! Lord Daril, tell your concerns on each issue.” The skinney, dark-eyed man sat forward and clasped his hands together. He told of how it would be effective to hide his cavalry in the Basalk Forest to the south, and ambush them, attacking their flanks if the walls were breached. He also thought that the women ought to leave and take no chance with their lives.

Talibor then spoke of his agreement with the fate of the women and children, but he claimed that Daril’s men ought to leave their horses on the far side of the city, in case the city fell, to provide transportation to the nearest city. If the city was overwhelmed and Daril’s men were caught on the far side of the city, they would have little chance of survival.

Valimor then quieted them and asked for Balii and Jumai’s opinions on the matter. Both agreed with Daril’s thoughts on the matter, though it remained the riskier option. Valimor agreed and told Daril to move his men out as soon as possible with an additional two thousand spears from his own and Talibor’s cavalry. Then they decided that a flaming arrow would be the signal to ride to battle and that the women and children should leave, but take nothing with them. They would migrate to the nearest city and remain there until word of the battle came.

At that, Valimor dismissed the other lords to their various tasks, and appointed a few to the Masoks. Then he closed the meeting and left to assume his duty of preparing the city for battle.