The soldier nodded gravely. “Even now, as we speak, they prepare to attack.”
“Then they’ve found the cave!”
“Yes — Mustapha found it.” Carlo smiled wickedly. Nigel breathed a sigh of relief. The murderers would not go unpunished after all.
*
The men lay concealed at the foot of the hill. They watched patiently as bats slowly returned from their night’s hunt in the wood. Dawn would break soon, they knew, and the cave would be filled.
Unlit torches rested at their side; doused in oil, they would burn like the sun itself, once lit.
“I’ll go first,” whispered Des, preparing to begin the long climb.
Sinjon crept close to him. “Lawrence was my cousin,” he said grimly. “I ask that I be the first to enter.”
The captain nodded. Tradition demanded that a member of a slain man’s family be the first to seek revenge. As Desmond had been Lawrence’s commander, in a sense he was a member of his family. But Sinjon shared the same blood. It was a request he could not refuse. “All right,” he said, “but be careful! And not a sound, understand?”
The soldier agreed eagerly.
The first light of day began to spread thinly over the eastern sky. Des picked up his torch; he unsheathed his sword. “Let’s go!”
It took them about half an hour to inch their way up the hill. The sun pushed back the night and sent rays of light streaming through the trees. Mustapha waited for them in the trees beside the cave. He would seek revenge on behalf of all birds.
The men drew their weapons. Sinjon tied his torch firmly to his belt and grasped his dagger. Des nodded at him and he crawled into the tunnel. The passage was barely wide enough for him to crawl When he’d come a few paces inside, all light disappeared. The place was foul-smelling and evil. He felt his stomach churn. After a few meters more the tunnel ended abruptly and opened into the mouth of the cave. It was huge. Filth caked the walls and the floor. Sinjon let his eyes adjust to the dark. Then he froze. There were hundreds of them! They hung upside down from the ceiling, clinging onto long reeds and vines. Soft dung lay scattered below. He smiled thinly. It would ignite better than firewood!
He took a deep breath and lowered himself to the floor. He landed ankle-deep into the slime of their foul droppings. He stood motionless for a moment, making sure that none had been awakened. Then he drew his pouch and took out his flint.
One by one, Desmond and the others came to his side. The stench nauseated them. The sooner it was done, the better!
Mustapha came last. He waited on the side.
“Now,” Des said. The flints were struck and the torches lit. The bats screamed. The men hurled the torches everywhere. Huge orange flames danced toward the ceiling. The cave became an inferno. Great fires raged and billows of thick smoke began to choke them. The bats flew about, shrieking horribly. Wings ablaze, lungs poisoned with smoke, they banged into the walls and into each other. Many fell to the floor, and as they did they were met by whistling swords. Crafty old Rolf flailed his club of spike and squashed them like flies. Mustapha flew close to the ceiling and chortled. His talons wreaked revenge for Antonius. The Night-Birds were as helpless as chickens in a coop! He ripped at their wings, rendered them helpless, then he flung them down, into the flames.
The men scrambled to the tunnel. Ghastly shrieks and cries filled their ears and made them shiver. Soon the flames engulfed everything in sight. They crept out into the light and clean air. Their faces were blackened, their tunics smeared with bat-filth. Once again, Mustapha came last. They dashed down the hill as fast as they could, but even at the bottom the hideous wailing filled their ears.
Inside the cave the carnage was terrible. Charred corpses lay in great heaps, smoldering, burned beyond recognition.
They bathed themselves in a nearby stream. There was no joy, no merriment. This was their first encounter with Night-Birds and they prayed it would be the last. They were not proud of what had been done; rather, they felt pity for the bats, a sad, disgusting species who were forever condemned to live as they did, with no hope of redemption, even for their souls.
And slowly, without talk, they returned to camp.
*
Hector stood waiting as the men glumly filed past.
“We didn’t expect you back for days yet,” said Des, surprised. “Has something gone wrong? Has the path ahead been blocked?”
Nigel stood up. “We have news!”
The captain stared. When he had left, the night before, Nigel was still wracked with fever. Now he was up and about! What sort of magic was this?
“It was good news that brought me up and about,” he said happily. “While you were gone, Hector returned.”
The soldier felt his heart race. “Well,” he said tersely. “What’s the news?”
Hector looked into his eyes and spoke without emotion. “We have found the New Lands.”
The soldiers sat down, dumbstruck. Had they heard right? they wondered.
“How? Where?”
The wolf stood tall and proud as he spoke. “After we left you we followed a path that strayed between deep grasslands to the East. We thought we were lost when Sesto, traveling ahead, shouted excitedly for us to come. It took a few moments for us to reach the summit and when we did we were astounded. Below lay a beautiful valley of green fields and gentle sloping hills. The forest seemed to end forever, so vast was the valley. Far larger than your own.”
Desmond stood still for a while, then broke out into joyous laughter.
Soon the whole camp was alive in celebration. He took out the bottle of wine he had been hiding in his pack and poured a cupful for everyone.
“How long will it take to reach?” asked Nigel, eager to start out.
Hector smiled inwardly at the young Lord. “Not long — two, perhaps three days.”
“Then let’s start at once!”
Carlo shook his head. “Not quite yet, Lord Nigel,” he said with a laugh. “You’re still too weak to travel, but by tomorrow, if you rest, we’ll be ready.”
“Then tomorrow it is!” he called, gleefully. He raised his cup high and proposed a toast. “To the best companions a man could have,” he said sincerely. “And the best soldiers in the Empire!”
“Well, no one could refuse to drink to that!” The wine was drained and everyone sat beside the fire and told tales of great feats in combat. And no one seemed to mind if the stories were not quite the truth.
They were a happy group that night, and they had good reason. They had gone where no other had dared; they had faced, and overcome, dangers that should have made them turn back in fear a dozen times.
That night they slept more peacefully than in all the weeks since they left. It was now easy to forget the dangers behind. And how could they possibly know of the events that stirred in the Southern Forest, many hundreds of miles away?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Tagg led his troops along the gully that winded beside the gravel bank. Off to his right he could see the high peaks and bluffs looming in the distance. It was a short distance as a bird flies, but it was a long treacherous route by land, through the Marsh. It had been hard going all day and they were badly behind schedule. The dogs had picked their site well, he realized, as he watched his column becoming hopelessly bogged down in the mire. There were countless crevasses, deep and wide, gaping folds in the terrain; places where horses and mules couldn’t help but stumble.
His only supply wagon had to be abandoned; creaking slowly through the mud, its axle had broken against a sharp jutting rock. The men were drained, bone-weary. The wolves were restless. By morning Sean’s forces would arrive from the wood and prepare to attack from the rear. They were counting on him to be there first, to lead the false assault, but the way things were going —
Corin flew down from the treetops, seeking Tagg. He found the commander dismounted, urging his men on through the tricky path. With a swoop Corin dived and landed softly beside him. Tagg looked down, grim
and dirty; he forced a weak smile.
“How much further?” he asked, wiping his sweaty brow with his arm.
Corin frowned. “The path around the Marsh will take far longer than we anticipated. I don’t see how we can make it before tomorrow afternoon, at the earliest.”
Tagg swatted a fly and grimaced. “That’s too late,” he groaned. “We’ve got to be there before first light of dawn. Sean expects us, needs us. We can’t let him down.”
A horse came sloshing through the mud, back from the front. Tagg’s aide, Dunbar, dismounted quickly, caught his breath. “Another problem ahead, Captain,” he panted. “The mud’s beginning to swell, overflowing the bank. I’ve had to lighten the mules again.”
More supplies discarded, Tagg thought. “Damn it, man!” he barked. “Can’t anything go right on this blasted mission?”
Dunbar lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry, sir. But I had no choice. There’s no way they can make it through.”
“Dunbar is not to be blamed,” muttered Corin. “We’re marching too close to the Marsh as it is. Unless you’re willing to trek right through it, there’s just no way we can be there by dawn. The horses are dropping from exhaustion, your men are too. Even the wolves are having trouble.”
“We can’t stop to rest,” Tagg said through clenched teeth. “If we must, we’ll march all night.”
Dunbar looked at him with shock. “But we can’t do that! We’re in no condition to fight like this. If we march all night our men won’t even have the strength to hold their weapons.”
“Who’s in command here?” boomed Tagg. “The orders stand! By dawn we’ll be ready to attack, tired or not!”
Corin shook his head sadly. “I fear Dinjar was right,” he whispered. “It was a mistake to split our forces.”
Tagg sighed and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “That may be so,” he said, “but it’s too late to change things now. Look, if we’re not there at daybreak, it could mean the death-bell for Sean. Surely you can all see that! If there were another way, any other way, I’d gladly chance it.”
Marco stepped up from behind. His fur was grimy, caked with mud, his tail drooping with fatigue. “I’ve been listening to your argument,” he said, “and I think I have the answer.”
“Well, don’t just stand there,” cried Tagg, eyes widening. “Tell us!”
“I think we should stop trying to skirt the Swamp and march right through it. Lighten all our loads, let the men carry nothing but their weapons, leave the pack-mules behind. We can travel fast and be there in time.”
“But what about our supplies?” said Dunbar. “Our food, water, blankets?”
Marco scoffed. “After tomorrow we can come back for them, if we’re successful. And if we lose the fight we won’t need them anyway.”
Tagg, deep in thought, scratched the stubble on his chin.
“Cutting across the Marsh will be not much more difficult than it is now,” continued the wolf, “and it will save us hours. We might even have time to rest. In the meantime, if you like, Corin can fly to Sean and tell him of our predicament. If worse came to worst, he might have to put off his attack for a day.”
“That would be risky,” said Dunbar. “The enemy is ready to march at any time.”
Marco glared at him and snarled. “All things in the forest are risky,” he answered curtly. “If the dangers upset you, you should never have come.”
Tagg looked angrily at both of them. “We have no time to squabble among ourselves,” he said. “Too much is at stake.” He looked to Dunbar and sighed. “But I fear Marco is right. To go on like this is futile. We might as well chance it.”
“I am against this hasty change in plan,” Dunbar said harshly. “The way through the Swamp is too treacherous. Better to have the birds ask Sean to hold his attack until we arrive.”
“But it might already be too late for that,” growled Marco. “Our Hunters are probably too close to the camp to be called back. Our Seekers will already be hidden along the camp perimeter. If even a single one Is caught by Scouts it will alert the enemy that our attack is imminent.
“And you can’t expect Sean and Dinjar to stand still and wait for us,” said Tagg, his decision made. He looked to Corin. “What say you?”
The falcon ruffled his feathers and glanced toward Dunbar. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I must vote with Marco. The battle cannot be put off. I will do as he suggests, fly to Sean and let him know what’s happened. At least that way he’ll have time to plan an alternative strategy if we get completely bogged down in the Swamp.”
“Then it’s settled,” said Tagg, gesturing that the discussion was over. “Fly at once! Tell him we’re cutting straight through, and with the Fates at our side we’ll be there in time!”
*
Sean peered out from his vantage point atop the knoll. He could see the dog-camp clearly, scattered along the length and breadth of the valley. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he shaded the sun. “See how confident they are,” he whispered to Vandor, who stood coolly at his side. Sean grinned. “They’ve even brought along cubs and females. By Heaven, we’ll catch them this time!”
His face grew stern and hard, his eyes became steely. “Rest while you may, Master,” he muttered wryly. “Tomorrow you’ll sing a different song.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Elon stood looking out from the battlement, white knuckles grasping at the wall. The Plain stood before him, lonely and desolate under a hazy half-moon. He took a few deep breaths, shook his head sadly and turned to leave. Save for a few archers atop the high tower, the wall was empty. With slow deliberate steps he walked to the end, made his way down, and entered the arched stairwell that led directly to the Great Hall.
The chamber was deserted, bathed in shadows. Alone in the dark he groped his way to his chair and slumped into it. He felt old, truly old, and tired. The die had been cast, he mused, perhaps irrevocably. Now all he could do was pick up the pieces as best he could. He put his head in his hands and wept softly. Not for himself — no, he was past that — but for his people, his flock who had put all their faith and trust in his wisdom. To have let them down was more than he could take, more than any man should have to live with.
The doors to the chamber opened slowly and he turned his face away from the bright light of the antechamber. Two men peered inside and hesitantly walked toward him.
Assan and Bela glanced warily at each other, then stopped.
“Come in, come in,” wheezed Elon, beckoning to them, gesturing for them to come closer.
“Are you ill, Lord?” asked Bela.
Elon shook his head. “Only a sickness of the soul,” he replied weakly. “Please, take chairs. There’s something you have to hear.”
Feeling overpowering gloom, they both slipped silently into seats at the table. Then they sat breathlessly, waiting to hear.
“Forgive me if I seem so distraught,” said Elon after a while. “But my heart is heavy.”
“Has something happened, brother?” asked Assan.
Elon laughed bitterly. “Corin,” he called, “are you near? Come, good bird, and repeat if you will what you told me. I cannot bear to say the words.”
From the shadows came the young falcon, feathers tattered, wings bloodied. His eyes looked pained; he held his beak low. He glided to the tabletop and bowed his head at the stunned visitors.
“I have come back from the Southern Forest,” he said, “where we have fought the Master and his hordes.”
“Pray tell them all,” said Elon, his voice cracking. “And leave nothing unsaid. I want them to know everything before it becomes common knowledge.”
Corin nodded. “Sean is dead,” he said, “Dinjar is dead. Even as I speak Vandor lies dying of his wounds. Our army has been smashed.”
The words cut like a dagger. Bela sat mute, literally unable to speak. Assan tried, but found he could not either. Finally he was able to whisper: “How did it happen?”
Corin raised his beak and look
ed evenly into Assan’s eyes. He cleared his throat and spoke the answer in a clear, crisp voice.
“Our forces were divided into two,” he began, “Tagg with a small column to lead a false attack, Sean and Dinjar with the main body of our army. I was with Commander Tagg’s force. But we had encountered great difficulties in reaching our destination so I flew back to tell Sean of our problems. The enemy camp lay spread before us, almost unguarded, seemingly ready for our taking. Sean, although greatly grieved to hear that Tagg’s column could not reach him at the appointed time, decided to commence the attack anyway. He felt the Master could still be taken by surprise, that our forces were more than enough. And by the Fates above, so it seemed! The dogs were without strong defense, females with cubs were allowed to mingle amidst Warriors. The camp looked disorganized, without proper leadership. It was no wonder that Sean was confident.
“Before the light of dawn we crossed silently into their valley and broke through the Scout’s perimeter. The enemy scattered before us and ran with their tails between their legs. It was too easy to believe. Mighty Sean led the cavalry right through their midsts, shouting war cries and leading us on, onward to victory.
“But how soon we were to see the folly of our deed! It was true we had slain scores with hardly a fight, but how could any of us have known what we had really done? This valley, nestled between bluffs and ridges on the edge of the Marsh, was in truth a false camp. It was a trap, and we had fallen into their clutches. Sean gave the order to retreat when he saw what had happened, but by then it was too late. We were a sitting prey in a canyon of Hell! The bluffs at our sides imprisoned us, held us in, exactly as we had hoped to pin the enemy, and from these bluffs leaped a thousand fierce Warriors. Oh, the mournful cries of our men as they were set upon. The horses screamed and bolted as the dogs tore at them from every side. Our valiant cavalry had been rendered useless.
“Shoulder to shoulder our army stood as we tried to make some sort of orderly withdrawal back into the forest. But it was impossible! At best all we could do was keep these vicious attackers at bay. And for a while we actually believed we could extricate ourselves from this place and regroup, for although we had already lost many of our own, we had also slain many of them.
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