The sound shrieked through the air. The attack was on!
“Front rank, fire!” shouted Tagg. A hundred arrows whistled. The startled dogs jumped up and were hit by a deadly rain.
“Second rank, fire!”
As the others reloaded their bows, the archers atop the hill let loose. Again the enemy was greeted by arrows. Dozens already lay moaning upon the ground. The dogs began to panic. Running in all directions they screamed: “Men have come to the wood!” Panic began to spread.
“Now!” yelled Sean, as he led the cavalry across the water. Dogs stood with their mouths gaping as two hundred horsemen swept in low, slashing their sabres through the enemy’s broken rank. Their leader tried to form a defense; they ran for shelter toward the safety of the rocks. The foot soldiers, screaming war-cries, set upon them. Ruthlessly they slashed and cut, wounding scores as they fled.
One dog-lord led a Pack to the ravine, hoping to regroup his force. They were greeted by Dinjar and his fiercest warriors. Growls and screams pierced over all other noises, so bitter was this first contact by these sworn enemies. Half their number cut to ribbons, the remaining dogs ran back toward the camp. Fifty soldiers blocked the path. The dogs gasped in terror as the men brandished their clubs of spike. The howls were ghastly. The dogs were literally torn to shreds as the three-inch nails ripped through their flesh. Each blow crushed limbs and skulls alike, shattering them like glass. The dogs whimpered and moaned.
The sky came alive with the flutter of wings. Eyes were gouged and blinded; talons clawed along soft flesh. Many birds mounted the backs of running dogs and clung on. No matter how much the dogs maneuvered, they couldn’t shake the winged warriors loose.
Sean dismounted and wiped the dripping blood from his weapon. His sword had drunk well already, he knew — and the battle had just begun.
He heard a scream and turned about. One of his men had been brought down by a small Pack of six, trying to counterattack. Enraged, the mighty general leaped into their number. The youth crumpled to the earth, his arms torn from his torso. Sean gave a magnificent war-cry — the dogs froze at his presence. His broadsword then spoke for him, decapitating one, slashing the groin of another with the same blow. Dark blood spilled across his tunic; the head rolled clumsily on the ground.
The other dogs regained composure. Together they leaped at him. Sean didn’t wince. With a punishing blow he felled two more. The third fell dead mid-air, an arrow rammed deeply in its brain. The sixth dog was set upon by a flock of hawks that came to the rescue. Tearing at the sockets, they ripped the eyeballs from the dog’s face and ate them with relish. The wounded animal staggered at Sean’s feet, groping harmlessly in the air, writhing in torment. But Sean showed no mercy; he laughed loudly as the dog shivered.
Suddenly another dog lunged at the general, catching him off-guard. Sean stumbled, gripped his sword. But before the fangs could strike, a flat pointed axe cut him down. Sean heartily pounded the axe-wielding soldier on the back. “Well done!” he bellowed. “You have saved my life!”
Swooping down from nearby trees, Vandor personally led a flock of falcons into the frey beside the river-bank. Razor-sharp talons sunk deep and deadly. The dogs dodged and darted but to no avail. The birds slowed them down in their efforts. Many were completely unaware as swords were brought down over their heads. One falcon alone blinded three before another dog jumped high in the air and caught him between powerful jaws. His wings fluttered frantically as his body was broken in two. But those who had been blinded were unaware of this small revenge. They ran in circles, howling, and banging into trees. Foot-soldiers raced by and mercifully ended their misery.
The remaining dogs scattered, running helter-skelter into the night. Sean shook his fists. “Cowards!” he called to them. “Now you know the might of men!”
As Dinjar suspected, many sought to escape by running across the river. But there was to be no shelter that night! The wolves had a surprise of their own. Out of the very blackness the dogs sought, the hidden warriors pounced. They formed a wall of flesh through which none could pass. Terror-stricken, the dogs leaped at them, clawed, and snarled — but escape was not to be. The wall pushed them back, first to the bank, then into the water. There they were met by another hail of arrows — but this time the arrows were lit Streaks of orange and yellow lighted the sky. Dogs screamed and shrieked as their coats were set ablaze. Many lay crying in the water, immobile. Some drowned themselves right then rather than face the agony that waited above. Others merely stood belly-deep, in shock, and waited for the end. It was not long in coming.
Somewhere in the wrecked camp a dog stood his ground, and barked commands. Sean caught sight of him. “I want this one taken prisoner!” he shouted, warning others not to harm him. This one was their chieftain, he knew, or better yet, their general! He threw himself at the fearsome dog-lord, knocking him to the ground. Then, grabbing his unsheathed hatchet, he chopped off its front legs so it could not run. The dog snarled and howled, the pain was excruciating.
“Bind him!” commanded Sean to some running soldiers. The men withdrew heavy cord and tied him up, but not before they broke his jaw with a club, preventing him from biting them.
Kicking his hind legs as well as the front stumps, the half-conscious prisoner was carried away.
Those dogs still able to fight ran to a small clearing and formed a defensive circle. A dozen men were killed trying to break it. Tagg watched from the heights of the knoll. A frontal assault was too costly, he saw. He signaled the archers to light their arrows again. A hundred fire-arrows sailed down to the clearing. The dogs screamed as the blazing points pierced their flesh. Men began to cheer; the last defense was broken! The dogs were forced to scatter. Many foolishly headed for the river, hoping to douse the flames. But the wolves were waiting for them. Birds swept low and taunted them with their claws. The air stank with burned raw skin.
The last dogs gave up the fight. They could do nothing more; they were defeated. They cursed the Fates who had brought disgrace upon them, and they boldly accepted death. And, to their credit, not a single one pleaded for mercy.
The soldiers now walked among the stricken ranks and slit throats from ear to ear. The disarray was complete. A few stragglers managed to escape somehow in the dark, but no one minded. What they had seen would be a foretelling of what was yet to come, and they wanted Toland, the dog-king, to know it.
It had been a long night, but at last a gray dawn spread across the sky. The light revealed a sickening sight: charred, crushed, bloodied corpses lay scattered as far as the eye could see. The river ran foul with blood and filth. Save for the dog-lord who was captured and the few stragglers, not one of the Pack was alive to greet the morning.
But the allies, too, had suffered casualties. All told, thirty-three men, eighteen wolves, and forty-one birds lay dead. Another fifty, both men and wolves, were wounded and had to be sent back to the Valley. But despite this, it was an overwhelming victory.
All that day they rested. But it was to be a short rest. More than nine thousand dogs had yet to be found. This night was little more than a skirmish compared to what was ahead. Deeper and deeper into the forest they must march, through strange and hostile territory. To be sure, this battle was won, but Sean and Dinjar understood that the true test of strength had yet to begin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Supper was hardly touched, causing Old Reese to mumble and curse under his breath. But he was not really angry; in fact he was as curious and eager as anyone to hear what was in the diary. Nigel sat back, close to the fire, and read slowly, painstakingly. Most of the entries were brief, but gave a vivid picture of the perils Ciru and his men had undertaken fifty years before. When he was done, everyone sat silently, hanging their heads in sadness.
Des bit his lip nervously and looked up at Nigel. “Those last few entries,” he said. “Can you read them again, Nigel?”
Nigel exhaled slowly and nodded. “They disturbed me, too,” he answered gluml
y. He leaned close to the light of the fire again and opened to the final scrawls. The ink was badly faded, illegible in parts, but more than enough remained to fill in what had happened. He cleared his throat and read again.
*
“WE ARE FEW NOW. LAST NIGHT BOTH OMLI AND TASS DIED OF THE DREADED FEVER THAT HAS CONSTANTLY BEEN WITH US. AND NOW EVEN CIRU HIMSELF SHIVERS, ALTHOUGH HE TRIES TO HIDE IT. THE NIGHT IS COLD, BITTERLY COLD. WINTER WILL SOON BE UPON US. OUR TINY FIRE PROVIDES LITTLE WARMTH, BUT IT KEEPS THE DWELLERS AT A DISTANCE, AT LEAST FOR A WHILE. THE EYES OF THE ENEMY GLOW AROUND US. THEY WATCH AND SNEER. HYENAS LAUGH AND MOCK US. OUR BIRDS ARE DEAD. WE ARE TRULY ALONE AND FRIENDLESS.”
*
Nigel shook his head sorrowfully, turned the page and continued.
*
“THE FIRST SNOW FELL THIS MORNING. SICK AS HE IS, CIRU HAS BRAVELY GONE OUT ALONE TO SEEK BETTER SHELTER FOR US. HE STILL BELIEVES THAT SOMEHOW WE CAN FIND THE WAY OUT OF THIS PLACE. FOLLOW THE EVENING STAR, HE SAYS, THROUGH THE MOUNTAINS. THERE WILL THE NEW LAND BE FOUND.
“IS HE MAD? WE CAN GO NO FURTHER!”
*
The next entry was too faded to read. Nigel skipped it and read from the final page.
*
“THERE WAS A BLIZZARD THIS MORNING. I AM LOST FROM THE OTHERS. MY BODY ACHES FROM THE COLD, MY HANDS ARE TOO NUMB TO WRITE. BUT I MUST TRY — SOMEONE MUST KNOW OP WHAT WE ENDURED. I KNOW I SHALL NEVER SEE THE VALLEY OR MY HOME AGAIN. I MISS MY WIFE AND MY SON. I ONLY PRAY SOMEONE WILL LOOK AFTER THEM.
“IF THE FATES WILL, PERHAPS SOMEDAY THIS JOURNAL WILL BE FOUND. AND I BEG YOU, DEAR FINDER, TO BURY MY BONES DEEPLY IN THE EARTH SO THAT THE ENEMY WILL NO LONGER DESECRATE THEM.
ZACHARIAH.”
*
Nigel shut the diary and placed it on the ground. Lawrence got up and picked it up. He walked back to his place, sat with it held closely to his breast, and softly began to weep.
The others looked at him with surprise. Needless to say, they had all been upset by the diary, but somehow Lawrence’s grief seemed much deeper than their own.
“This was written a very long time ago,” said Des. “Tears need no longer be shed.”
Nigel shot him a sharp glance. Des did not finish his thought Nigel stood up and kneeled beside the weeping soldier, putting his arm around him. “You need not be ashamed,” he said. “It helps to cry sometimes.”
Lawrence shook his head. “You don’t understand, Nigel,” he said.
The young Lord looked into his eyes. “But you’re wrong, Lawrence. I do understand, everything. I know that Zachariah was your grandfather.”
Lawrence gaped. “How — how did you know?” he asked in a thick, pained voice.
“Do you recall the day we first met, when you volunteered to go on this mission?”
“Of course. The day that Doomsayer was killed.”
“Well, that evening, after I left you, I went to the Hall of Records. And I found the names of all the men who went with Ciru. Among them I saw the entry of Zachariah — and it said he had a young son named Paulo.”
“My father,” whispered Lawrence.
Nigel nodded darkly. “And it was written that Paulo died alongside my father during the Great Attack. It said Paulo had a son named Lawrence.”
Lawrence looked up through red eyes.
“It was easy for me to understand why you were so eager to come,” said Nigel. “You lost most of your family to the enemy, and you wanted to do something that would have made them proud; you wanted to succeed where they failed. Like me, you wanted to set the Empire free of its shackles.”
Lawrence smiled weakly. “I still do,” he said. “More than anything.”
Des came over and grasped his shoulder. “And we shall, I promise you. You’ll make them proud.”
Lawrence wiped his eyes and handed the diary back to Nigel. “Here,” he said. “You keep it. I won’t need it anymore.”
“Let me see it for a moment,” said Des. He took it and fumbled through the pages, then ran his fingers down one. “What do you make of this?” he said. “The part where Ciru says to ‘follow the evening star’?”
Nigel shrugged. “Who knows? He might have been delirious.”
“Or he might have caught onto something,” interrupted Hector.
“What do you mean?” asked Des.
The wolf sighed. “It’s possible that Ciru had discovered the right path after all. But he was too ill to go on. The winter stopped him from succeeding.”
“Or maybe he was just mad, like Zachariah said,” added Basil. “If he had fever, clearly he couldn’t think with much foresight.”
“But what if he found the way before he became ill?” said Nigel. “That would change things, wouldn’t it?”
Des shrugged. “I guess we’ll never find out.”
Nigel walked up to the top of the hill with his hands behind his back. Ten thousand stars glittered brightly above, a whole universe of light. He thought for a moment, then called down to Des, who was still holding the book. “What did he say next? What did he say after the part about the evening star?”
Des stared at the page. “Through the mountains. He said ‘Follow the evening star, through the mountains.’ ”
Nigel’s eyes lit up. “That’s it!” he cried. “That’s it!”
Des glanced at the wolf. They both stared, puzzled.
“Come up here!” shouted Nigel.
Des and Hector ran to the top. The night was ablaze with dazzling baubles. “There,” said Nigel, pointing low on the western horizon. “Do you see that?”
Des blinked. Between the peaks of two great mountains hung the brightest star of all — a jewel among jewels.
“That’s what Ciru meant,” cried Nigel. “Don’t you see? That’s the star through the mountains!”
Des stared. “It’s far, Nigel. I don’t know if we can make it.”
Nigel looked at him impatiently. “That’s the way Ciru intended to travel,” he said, “And that’s the way we must go!”
“It’s bringing us far from our planned course,” said Hector. “Indeed, if we go that way it will take us from the Northern Forest completely.”
“To where?” asked Des.
“To what you call the Western Mountains, of course. The lands will become very different from here.”
“How so?”
“They’re treacherous. Even wolves keep their distance. We’ll have to cross high peaks, travel amidst fierce winds. Days will be sweltering, nights will be brutally cold.”
“But it’s open land, isn’t that right?” said Nigel. “We could use our horses again, could make better speed.”
“Perhaps, Nigel. Perhaps. But the mountains will bring us a new set of dangers.”
“What matter if that’s where the forest ends?” said Nigel excitedly.
“But what if Ciru was wrong?” said Des. “What if he did have the fever when he planned and conceived this new route? We’ll find ourselves on a fool’s errand, chasing stars.”
Nigel frowned. “But so far we’ve already been on a fool’s errand,” he said.
“That’s true,” said Hector. “This path has shown us nothing. We could wander for months and still find ourselves in Deep-Forest.”
“I think we should change directions, Des,” said Nigel. “I really do. The way out of the forest is not through here, I’m convinced of it. And what have we to lose?”
“What do you say, Hector?” asked Des.
“You’re in command, Captain. The decision is yours. Whichever way you decide, we’ll take you. Wolves are of the forest, be it north, south, east or west. We can guide you through the lowlands to avoid the highest peaks, if that is your wish. Or we can continue through Deep-Forest, go north as we planned. You tell us. This is man’s expedition, not ours.”
Des looked about grimly. The way to the mountains was risky, yet so was here. But Nigel was right about one thing; the path they were on now seemed to be leading nowhere. He bit at his nails and gazed out
at the shining star. It did dazzle the eye, there was no question of that. A sign from the Fates? Or a trick?
But somehow, perhaps as with Ciru, that distant star seemed to call him, to beckon. “All right,” he said at last, “Tomorrow our journey begins anew. To the mountains!”
In the early hours before dawn they buried the remains of Zachariah, as he had asked, deeply so that they would never again be desecrated. And then they headed west, as Ciru would have done.
*
And endlessly they journeyed, day after day, league upon league; always their eyes fixed on the bright star far away. Deep-Forest was passed and the great gray hazy peaks of the Western Mountains loomed ahead. Hector had been right; the heat of the day was oppressive, broken only by the long frigid nights. With each step they gained in altitude, the air became thinner. And the landscape changed radically. Where once the trees became thick and overbearing, now they became narrower and taller — far taller than any they had ever seen, great monsters that grew as tall as the walls of the Haven. Massive pines replaced willows, spruce and evergreens replaced oaks and firs. The ground hardened, became coarse, and at every turn they were met with huge rocks and boulders to block the way. Streams turned icy at night only to melt and flow wildly during the hot day. There were ravines and gulleys, parched, that wound around them on the path that Hector took. But worst of all was the wind; it screamed and howled almost constantly, and at night cut to the bone.
Gone were the steamy jungles of the Northern Forest, gone were the lizards and insects that had plagued them so often before; but in their place came new and different dangers. Sleek panthers watched them from their lairs among the ridges; wild boar with horns like knives darted across their paths; hideous reptiles slithered from beneath the boulders and lashed their venomous tongues as the band passed. But the men persevered and on and on they went, winding slowly, ever upward into the clouds. The climb was rugged. It wore down the horses badly, exhausted the two remaining mules. And the men themselves were little better. Boots wore at the soles, feet became blistered, muscles cramped. It was Des who kept them going, giving encouragement constantly, belittling their woes, never once complaining of his own.
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