by Inmon, Shawn
“Archers! Move behind squad four. Keep a steady rhythm of fire. Don’t all fire at once, but keep arrows in the air at all times.”
Alex tilted his head back and shouted, “Senta-eh! Break your archers into four groups. Have one after another fire over the wall. When the last is finished, have the first fire again. Make it dangerous to walk in there!”
As he gave commands, Alex forgot to keep his head on a swivel. He forgot about his shield. His own safety.
A crossbow bolt zipped through the air, knocking Alex to the ground.
Chapter Forty
The Battle of Denta-ah II
Sekun-ak, wincing in pain with every step, ran to Alex, who was face down on the ground and not moving. He ordered the fourth squad to form a shield wall around Alex. Two warriors grabbed him and pulled him away.
As soon as they were out of crossbow range, Alex tried to stand, but Sekun-ak held him down with a hand in his back.
“Stay still. This will hurt.” Sekun-ak gripped the shaft of the arrow and pulled. It made a greasy, suctioning sound as it pulled lose.
Alex let out a low, guttural “Uhhhnnnnn”
“Bandages!” Sekun-ak called.
How do I say, ‘Your bedside manner could use a little work’ in Winten-ah? Never mind. There’s no way to express that concept.
Alex stopped struggling and let his face fall back into the bloody dirt.
Janta-ak ran with a bag stuffed full of thin material. Sekun-ak ripped off a small piece, put it on the end of his finger and stuffed it into the hole in Alex’s shoulder.
Alex screamed.
“Good. That means you are still alive,” Sekun-ak said, wrapping more of the material around and around Alex’s arm and shoulder. “We will fix you better when we have run them out of Denta-ah. Look there.” Sekun-ak pointed toward the wall.
Tinta-ak and his men had succeeded in building a fire at the base of the wall. Overhead, another group of men hoisted a trough. Before they could tip it over, they were hit with dozens of arrows. They fell backward, taking the boiling liquid with them. Screams of agony could be heard on the other side of the wall.
Meanwhile, smoke began to curl at the base of the gate.
“Help me up,” Alex said to Janta-ak.
Tinta-ak’s squadron kept their shields up and the smoke thickened.
“Start another spot” Alex yelled. “Archers, protect them!”
Tinta-ak and his crew moved several poles to their right and started the process again. Soon, smoke was curling up from a second spot, then a third.
“Tinta-ak! Pull back! That’s enough!”
All squads pulled back out of crossbow range and watched the fires build and spread. Men appeared at the top with another trough, this time undoubtedly filled with water to put the fire out, but they were again taken out by a volley from the longbows.
For the longest time, there was silence, except for the growing crackling of the fire, spreading upward and sideways.
Then, a head appeared. It was Doug-ak, barely able to see over the wall. Smoke curled around him and he waved it away to get a better view.
Longbow archers notched an arrow but held, waiting for Senta-eh or Manta-ak to give the order.
Sunlight glinted off something in Doug-ak’s hands and Alex tried to shout a warning. There was no word for ‘rifle’ in any Kragdon-ah language, though, and for a moment Alex’s brain vapor locked.
A sharp crack came from atop the wall and Janta-ak flew backward.
“Longbows, fire!” Alex shouted.
Arrows streaked over the wall where Doug-ak had stood a moment before, but he was gone.
Alex kneeled and saw what he had feared. Janta-ak was shot. A small bullet hole in the forehead and a massive exit wound in the back of his head. He never saw what killed him.
There’s no strategic value in killing one of our warriors. He was aiming at me. I should have thought this through. Of course he didn’t destroy his weapons like I did. He may have used them to kill the leader of the Denta-ah and put Dunta-ak in his place and keep him there.
Alex looked at the men who surrounded him. Their expressions were blank with shock. They had never seen death dealt so suddenly from so far.
“That is stama,” Alex said. “He was trying to kill me and missed. Now we will go kill him.”
There was still a wall between him and Douglas Winterborne, but it was already smoldering.
The archers stood ready to unleash arrows at anyone who popped their head above the wall, but no one did.
While they waited for the barrier to be consumed by fire, Alex sent a small contingency back to the outer gate to burn that as well. Before he left Denta-ah, he intended to burn it to the ground like an avenging angel.
His friend Janta-ak was dead, another dozens and maybe hundreds of warriors were already dead on the battlefield, and his very best friends, Monda-ak and Sekun-ak were both badly wounded. If he stopped to think about it, he saw only red. As the commander of the army, he couldn’t allow himself the twin luxuries of hatred and anger, so he did his best to swallow them down.
The inner gate was fully involved in flames, but still stood. Behind him, where the team was able to build a fire without people firing down on them, dark smoke was already in evidence.
Alex gathered his troops to speak to them. Two healthy warriors lifted Alex up onto the roof of a storage area so he could see over them.
He did his best to stand straight and forget about the throbbing pain in his shoulder.
“We’ve chased them into their hole and set fire to their gate. Now we will hunt them down and kill every last Denta-ah. By moonrise tonight, Denta-ah will be no more.”
“Kunta” the assembled warriors cried. In case they hadn’t been heard on the other side of the wall, they raised their voices louder and cried it again and again: kunta, kunta, kunta. Their cries echoed and reverberated on the other side of the wall.
Alex raised his right arm. The assembly quieted.
“This is what we trained for. Remember, your greatest weapon is the warrior to your left and the warrior to your right. Together, we are unbreakable. Leaders, gather your squads. Shield walls first, armed fighters second, longbow archers, stay in the rear. Fire three volleys while there is separation between us, then when we close, join the fray.”
That was the moment that the inner gate collapsed forward, slamming to the ground in a spray of embers and ashes.
Hundreds of Denta-ah warriors leaped over, around and through the fire.
They did not come in squads. They came like madmen.
The area where Alex’s army stood was wide enough that he had been able to put two squads abreast. The front row of those two squads knew they would absorb the bulk of the initial onslaught.
As the Denta-ah warriors ran, they screamed their battle cries, which had changed very little in many thousands of years. It was rage, primal and pure.
Senta-eh gave the command and her two dozen longbow archers released three shots in fast succession. While she followed the arc of the arrows, she instinctively realized that there was time for more before they reached her army.
“Two more,” she shouted, as she pulled her own string back to her ear and released twice.
Denta-ah warriors were not heavily shielded. They relied on strength, mobility, and savagery. Of the one-hundred and twenty arrows released, most flew over the heads of the Denta-ah. A smaller percentage hit home, piercing arms, thighs, and skulls.
A few dozen Denta-ah fell, but the horde did not notice they had been diminished. When they reached the shielded warriors, the first runners did not smash into it, but instead used the shields as a launching pad to jump over and into the squads behind.
Two hundred, three hundred, four hundred, five hundred Denta-ah warriors poured out of the fiery gate and ran at the assembled force of Alex’s army.
A shield wall is most effective when it can repel a force from the front. The Denta-ah warriors streamed around and over
the shield wall, hacking with axes, probing with spears, slamming with heavy hammers.
The shield wall collapsed, and the battle broke down into small skirmishes.
The army of Manta-ak was better trained and fought with better technique.
The army of Denta-ah tried to overcome that technique with sheer force—in numbers and in attitude.
Alex leaped into the midst of the battles. Adrenaline blocked out the pain of his injury and he knew how to fight without exposing his injured side.
What he couldn’t do was hold his shield with his injured arm, so he left it in the dirt and threw himself into the fray holding only his stone axe.
Alex Hawk, who had been born in a small town in Oregon in 1991, was indistinguishable from the men and women of Kragdon-ah.
He dispatched a Denta-ah warrior with a single swing of his hammer and was already ducking an ax blow before the first warrior fell. He feinted left and swung his hammer viciously, connecting with the second man’s left arm, shattering it. That warrior fell to his knees and Alex finished him quickly by crushing his skull.
Another Denta-ah a few yards away lifted a heavy spear to throw at Alex’s midsection. Before he could let it fly, a three-hundred-pound dog catapulted into the air and knocked him down.
“Monda-ak,” Alex cried, exhilarated at the sight of his friend and worried for his safety. Alex ran to Monda-ak and stood beside him, waiting for the battle to come to him.
And he realized there was very little battle left.
Bodies littered the ground, which was slick with the blood and viscera of battle.
The Denta-ah fought hard and bravely. Even when there were only ten of them against hundreds of remaining enemies, they circled together, back to back. When you are the only thing standing between your enemy and your home, you fight until you die.
The archers fired at them. They fell and died.
The army of Manta-ak looked for more enemies to kill, but there were none.
Fifty yards away, Alex saw the diminutive, pudgy figure of Douglas Winterborne, rifle in hand, standing behind the burned-out gate.
He cannot kill all of us, even with that rifle.
Winterborne seemed to come to the same conclusion at the same moment.
He turned and fled.
“Sekun-ak. Stay and help the wounded. Direct the care for them. Make those who are dying comfortable. Tinta-ak? Where are you?”
Tinta-ak emerged from the crowd of warriors. He was covered in blood and gristle. There was a deep slash down his right arm and evidence of an ax blow on his leg that would have devastated a lesser warrior.
He was smiling broadly.
“Yes, Manta-ak?”
“Pick twelve of your best to come with us. Send the rest of your squad into the village. Give the elderly, the women and children the choice to live or die.”
Tinta-ak counted off a dozen men and women, all less injured than he was. “You, come with Manta-ak. The rest, do as he says.”
Alex, Tinta-ak, and a dozen warriors set off after Douglas Winterborne.
Chapter Forty-One
To Catch a Fugitive
Alex led Tinta-ak and his men across the burning gate and into the inner realm of Denta-ah. There were signs of progress and growth everywhere—pulley systems carrying wooden buckets and other containers from place to place, stacks and stacks of weapons that would never be used, and an aqueduct system that came over the outer wall and filled a deep pool. For the moment, Denta-ah was the most technologically advanced village in Kragdon-ah.
Very soon it would cease to exist except in memory and legend.
Parts of the village looked no different than any other village Alex had seen. Lean-tos and other simple buildings dominated. In the far back corner, though, was something that seemed completely out of place—a log cabin straight out of the American west. It had a pitched roof, shutters over open windows, and a heavy front door. It was placed strategically in the far back corner of the village.
Alex pointed at it. “He’ll be in there.”
Tinta-ak and the dozen warriors didn’t question whether Alex was right or not. They set off at a run toward it.
When they reached the door, Alex knew without trying that it would be locked.
“Tinta-ak. Can you knock that door down?”
Tinta-ak pushed Alex aside, saying, “Of course I can.”
The huge man gave it a kick, then another. The door didn’t budge. He backed up a few steps and threw his shoulder into it, but again it stood strong.
While Tinta-ak literally beat his head against the door, Alex looked around the village. He spied a stack of logs ready for a project.
He directed the men to pick up the log and use it as a battering ram to knock the door over. Before they could, Alex had to move Tinta-ak away. He was still sure the door was going down any second.
A dozen men ran at the door and slammed the log into the center of it. The log bounced back and the men fell down, but this time the door creaked and rocked in its frame.
“Again!” Alex shouted, helping the men up. They picked the log up, moved back ten paces and attacked the door again.
This time the door splintered inward with a crash, leaving only one small piece standing.
Tinta-ak stepped forward, kicked that piece down and folded his arms across his chest, satisfied that he had done what he said he would.
Alex gathered the men to him. “He is trapped in there. He will have the stick that killed Janta-ak, so we must be careful.”
All thirteen men—even Tinta-ak—tapped two fingers against their head. They had all seen Janta-ak fall and felt a superstitious dread that the same fate might befall them.
Alex led the group into the small cabin. It was comprised of one open room, with a fire pit and chimney in the middle. A bed sat in one corner and a workbench—with numerous projects underway—stood in the other.
Douglas Winterborne was nowhere in sight.
Alex and his men spread out and searched everywhere, which took only a few seconds.
“He is somewhere else,” Tinta-ak said.
“No. He built this as his last refuge. He wouldn’t go anywhere else.”
Alex looked desperately around the room, feeling the seconds melt away. His eyes fell on a woven rug in front of the bed. He strode across the room and tried to kick it away. The rug was attached to something.
Alex kneeled and tried to lift it. Finally, he found a wooden handle recessed beneath the rug. He pulled on the handle and the rug and a cutout piece of the floor came up. A damp smell filled the cabin.
There was a tunnel beneath the house. An escape tunnel.
Alex looked at Tinta-ak, then looked at the tunnel. It was too narrow for anyone other than him to fit into it.
“Stay here,” he ordered Tinta-ak. Prepare the village for kunta.”
Alex perched on the edge of the tunnel, wished he had a torch, then crawled headfirst into the darkness.
The tunnel was tight. Designed, Alex guessed, to keep people larger than Douglas Winterborne out. Soon though, it widened, and Alex found he could first crawl on all fours, then walk stooped over, then walk upright. He wondered how many manpower hours it had taken to dig.
The darkness was overwhelming. Alex could not waste time waiting for his eyes to adjust, but it didn’t matter. There was no source of light. He moved cautiously ahead, using his right hand in front of him as his eyes.
His mind played tricks on him, making him believe that he heard rushing water, which never appeared, then seeing explosions of color that were not there. He remembered the darkness when he had stepped through the door in his basement and how he had passed out then.
He ignored all these thoughts and sensations and moved on.
After what seemed like hours, but was only a few minutes, Alex saw an unfocused light ahead. The tunnel sloped upward toward the light, which soon revealed itself to be an opening.
Alex approached the opening as quietly as he could, think
ing that it was possible that Winterborne would be there, waiting for him to appear, rifle in hand.
Alex listened for any sound, but heard only the slight rustling of the grass moving in the breeze. Slowly, he lifted his head out of the hole, shading his eyes with his good arm and squinting. He had come up in a small clearing. There was no sign of life anywhere.
He climbed out of the hole and grabbed his hammer. It wasn’t much against whatever kind of rifle Winterborne might have brought to Kragdon-ah with him, but it was all he had.
Alex looked for any sign of Winterborne and found it easily. It appeared Winterborne was more in a hurry than he was concerned with being tracked.
But where is he going? He can’t survive outside by himself, even with his rifle. Not for long, anyway.
An image popped into Alex’s head and he knew it was right. It was the image of a dark, shimmering door, standing all alone.
He’s trying to go home. He can escape, or reload, resupply himself and try again. Can’t let that happen.
Alex followed the tracks, which slowed him down, but soon enough, they ended at a small game trail. He assumed Winterborne had followed the path, which allowed him to increase his pace.
Alex thought of Winterborne—short, pale and pudgy—and tried to imagine him hurrying along the trail, sweating and out of breath. This image helped Alex block out the burning pain in his left shoulder that grew worse with every stride he took.
Every hundred yards, Alex stopped and listened. Listened to see if Winterborne was bumbling through the forest or if he had left the trail and moved in a different direction.
The path petered out, narrowing until it was barely visible. A few yards beyond that, the forest opened onto a wide clearing with tall grass that reminded Alex of the open plain beside Winten-ah.
At the far side of the clearing was a hill that rose up sharply.
Set against the gray of the hill was a black door. Around the exterior of the door, electricity crackled and popped.
Douglas Winterborne was halfway across the clearing, less than fifty yards from the door, but he had come to a stop. His rifle was raised to his shoulder and he was turning left, right, left, in rapid succession.