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.