Alutar: The Great Demon

by Tuttle, Richard S.

  “The queen?” spat one of the fishermen. “Is that what Mectin is calling his victims now?”

  “He must have gone through all the women in the other parts of the city to be down here on the wharves,” sneered another. “If only that little pervert would come down here looking for himself, Tyronia would be one step closer to a decent place to live. But no, he stays holed up in the Old Keep where no one can get near him. The boy is a coward and a deviant.”

  “Keep your voice down,” warned another fisherman. “Such words will see you swinging from a rope over the walls of the Old Keep.”

  Althea came out of the kitchen carrying a tray full of ales. Instead of serving the ales to the customers and carrying the tray back into the kitchen, she lowered the tray to one of the tables. She stared at the door leading to the wharves and distractedly untied her apron. She dropped the apron on the floor and headed for the door. One of the young fishermen rose from his seat and rushed to intercept her. He grabbed her by the arm, and she spun to face her unwanted savior.

  “Let go of me,” she demanded.

  “Not if you are going where I think you are going,” retorted the young fisherman. “Surely, you do not believe that Mectin will make you a queen?”

  “I hold no such illusions,” replied Althea as she tore her arm away from the man.

  The man placed his hand on the door to stop Althea from opening it. “Then why are you going?” he asked. “It is a fate worse than death.”

  “I have no future worth living,” Althea said with tears in her eyes. “Without Karl, life holds nothing that I want. This way I can at least do something for my country.”

  “Your brother will be livid,” warned the fisherman.

  “Woe to the man who speaks to my brother about this,” Althea said threateningly. “I will come back and kill any man who tries to stop my chance to do something meaningful for Tyronia. My life will have purpose. Now, get your hand off the door.”

  The fisherman hesitated, and Althea pushed him aside. She tore open the door and stormed out of the tavern.

  * * * *

  General Askor of the Federation’s 37th Corps ordered a halt on the Southland-Tagaret Road. He reviewed the campsite chosen by his colonel and nodded in agreement. He gave the order to make camp for the night, and the vanguard of the 37th Corps began clearing trees to make room for the camp and to provide logs for the defensive barricades. The general ordered his large command tent to be set up in the center of the road and then dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to a nearby soldier. The general stretched and walked around the future campsite, letting the tension in his muscles lessen. He stopped in the middle of the road where the forward barricade would be built and stared into the distance in the direction of the unseen city of Tagaret. He knew that in two days his target would come into sight and then the fighting would begin.

  “It is getting closer every day,” a voice said softly from behind the general.

  The general did not need to turn around to recognize the speaker. Colonel Hildon was a close and trusted officer, and his voice was quite familiar to the general.

  “Two more days, Hildon,” the general said. “Does it trouble you that we have not come upon any Alceans yet? It seems that someone should be traveling this road. It appears to be a major highway.”

  “Alcea has just gone through a couple of weeks of intense warfare,” commented the colonel as he moved up alongside the general. “I do not find it odd that normal commerce has not restarted yet. Are you getting a bad feeling about it?”

  “No,” the general shook his head, “but I had expected some small skirmishes by now. I do find it odd that a nation that just defeated twenty-four full armies is letting us march on one of their major roads unmolested.”

  “They have no idea that another army is on their soil,” replied the colonel. “I heard Kyrga say that the defeat of our armies was due to a spy high up in the Federation. That is the reason that we left under such strict secrecy.”

  “I heard the same,” the general nodded, “but I do not think that a spy alone could defeat so many armies. I think the Alceans are a lot fiercer than Kyrga is letting on. I expected major resistance as we neared Tagaret, yet here we stand just two day’s march from their walls, and not an Alcean in sight.”

  The colonel did not bother to respond. The two officers stood in silence for several minutes, gazing along the empty road.

  “Have the 2nd Regiment begin foraging as soon as they arrive,” commanded the general. “I want them to be very aggressive in their hunting tonight and tomorrow night. We may not find good foraging close to the city, and I want to be prepared for that. Have them kill anything they can find that is edible.”

  “I will see to it,” promised the colonel. “Anything else?”

  The general remained silent for a few moments and then nodded. “I will have a bath tonight, but not until General Eylor arrives with the vanguard of the 38th Corps. I want to discuss our strategy for attacking Tagaret when he arrives.”

  The colonel did not respond. He retreated silently to carry out the general’s orders. The general stood in silence for over an hour before turning back towards his tent. By that time, the 2nd Regiment was already out in force. One thousand soldiers scoured the forest killing every animal in sight.

  Less than a league to the north of the huge army encampment, a short figure fell to the ground, thousands of screams ringing in her mind. She put her hands to her ears, but that could not stop the cries of pain and death. She struggled to get to her feet with the intention of running away from the cries, but she could not abandon her followers. Running one of her dark hands through her white-streaked red hair, Niki started walking towards the cries. Once her mind was made up to go to the aid of her followers, Niki started running southward towards the devastation she felt, but a part of her mind asserted itself forcefully, telling her to proceed cautiously. She smiled as she recognized the wise words of Fredrik, and she instantly obeyed.

  The Knight of Alcea moved slowly through the darkening forest, carefully stepping where her footfalls would make no noise. After a while, the cries began to subside, but Niki did not alter her course. Instead, she sent her thoughts outward to her followers to find out what awaited her at the end of her journey. She frowned when only birds returned her call. She felt no presence of deer, boar or rabbit. No turkeys or pheasants acknowledged her. With little choice in the matter, she ordered the birds to investigate. The thoughts that came back to her were confused at first. The birds only reported hunters, lots of hunters, and that made little sense to the Knight of Alcea. Hunters never killed in such massive quantities. She knew it was something more sinister.

  Eventually, she found a squirrel responding to her. She ordered the squirrel to spy on the hunters, but to keep hidden. The little creature seemed happy to oblige, and Niki pushed the birds from her mind. As the squirrel sent his thoughts to Niki, the picture became clearer. She learned that an army was camped south of her, and that the army had many, many men. The thought caused Niki to frown. Alcean armies only foraged when they needed to, and those armies were never so large that thousands of animals had to die each night. She suddenly realized that she was facing a Zaran army, an army allied with the demonkin that killed Fredrik. Niki gritted her teeth and inhaled sharply, the memory of her mate’s death flashing through her mind. With a newfound determination, the Knight of Alcea moved stealthily southward.

  When she came within sight of the newly built barricade, Niki slumped down with a tree to her back. Wanting to wait until the camp was quiet, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. When she awoke hours later, the campfires had burned out, and the enemy campsite was quiet. She reached out mentally and searched for her followers. She detected a large family of squirrels nearby, and a sounder of boars not too far off. She also sensed an owl nearby and commanded it to survey the camp. She closed her eyes as the owl flew from its perch and glided over the encampment. As the vision from the eyes of th
e owl came to her, Niki felt her hands tightening into fists. She saw thousands of men sleeping and three tents set up on the road. The road was barricaded in each direction. There were also barricades through the forest on each side of the road, but those barricades were crude and ill fitted to one another. When the owl was done with his reconnaissance, she instructed one of the squirrels to check the three tents to see if any demonkin was traveling with the army.

  She watched as the squirrel entered each of the tents. She found the two large tents to be uninteresting, but the smallest tent held eight black-cloaks, and the sight of them sent a shiver up Niki’s spine. She wondered if the battle mages could find her and attack her, but she did not dwell upon it. Her plan called for striking out at the enemy camp and then disappearing into the woods. The first step of the plan required the squirrels, and she called them to her. The little furry creatures responded with enthusiasm, and soon they were dancing about Niki’s feet. She stooped and petted the creatures, soothing them to attention. Once they had calmed down, Niki explained their mission. The squirrels were excited to help their queen, and they dashed off with ardor.

  The squirrels raced through the woods to the southern end of the encampment. They scampered over the barricade where no one would notice them and then raced towards the corral. Once among the four-thousand horses, they proceeded to chew through the tether lines. While the squirrels were preparing the corral, Niki reached out to the sounder of boars. She called them to her. The excitement level of the boars was not as intense as the squirrels, but Niki sensed a great willingness in them to act for their queen. Niki gave the boars precise instructions and sent them on their way.

  The sounder consisted of twenty good-sized boars, and when they started charging the encampment, the noise was noticeable. One huge male led the charge. He leaped onto the barricade and clambered over. The others followed, and soldiers started shouting. Men reached for their bows, but the boars went by too quickly for anyone to get a shot. Soldiers sleeping in the path of the boars were trampled, while those who saw them coming dashed out of the way. The boars raced to the very center of the camp and charged into the small tent that held the black-cloaks, their tusks ripping apart the tent material on their way in and their way out. Once free of the small tent, the boars turned and headed straight for the corral at the southern end of the camp. The horses sensed the coming threat and bolted, finding out that the tether lines no longer restrained them. The horses fled southward, leaping over the barricade with ease. The whole attack took only minutes, but it managed to awaken the entire camp.

  * * * *

  Prince Saratoma stared up at the night sky. The stars were brilliant, and without any trees to block the view, the elven prince was struck by the vastness of the sky. He loved watching the stars at night when he was younger, but there were few places in the Elfwoods without any trees. The Badlands were quite the opposite. Not a single tree flourished in the parched soil. As the elven prince lay on his back looking up at the sky, another elf moved next to him and sat on the ground.

  “The moon will be rising soon,” commented Morro. “Do you want me to go spy on the enemy again?”

  Prince Saratoma sat up and nodded. “Check to see if anything has changed,” he said. “I will assemble the men while you are gone.”

  The elven thief rose and silently slipped away from the encampment. Prince Saratoma watched him go before getting to his feet and moving to the center of the camp. He spoke softly, his words not carrying more than a few paces away. The elves in the prince’s vicinity immediately rose and passed along the prince’s words. Within minutes, three thousand elven warriors were armed and ready to move out. As the elven army waited for Morro to return, Prince Saratoma’s thoughts drifted to Prince Garong and his army at Suicide Point on the other side of the Needle. The two attacks had to be coordinated, and they had settled on the rising of the moon as the time to attack. The elven prince glanced at the eastern horizon and saw a pale glow starting to fade the blackness of the sky. The moon would peek above the horizon in mere minutes. With a wave of his hand, the prince ordered his army to start moving.

  Forming up like a flock of geese in flight, Prince Saratoma led the wedge forward from his position in the center of the line. The elves moved slowly and silently across the harsh terrain, creeping towards the Federation encampment on the Cliffs of Ranool. When they had proceeded far enough to begin seeing the outlines of the huge catapults, Morro instantly appeared in front of the prince. Saratoma held up his hand to halt the army’s advance.

  “Someday you will startle the wrong person with that maneuver,” Prince Saratoma said to the thief. “Has anything changed in the enemy’s camp?”

  “There was one small change,” smiled Morro, “but it is no longer a problem. The enemy encampment remains as I detailed it earlier.”

  Prince Saratoma nodded. “Walk beside me. I do not expect to need your gift for this battle, but it makes sense to keep you nearby just in case.”

  Morro nodded and moved alongside the Dielderal prince. The prince raised both hands high over his head. He started with his arms widespread and his hands as far back as his arms would allow. As he started walking again, he purposely moved his arms forward until his hands were pointing straight out to each side. It was the signal for the two ends of the line to move forward, presenting a solid wall of archers to the enemy. He then unstrapped his bow and nocked an arrow. He continued to lead the army at a slow and deliberate pace, constantly glancing eastward at the now rising moon. When the bottom of the moon broke over the horizon, the elven army was near the perimeter of the Federation encampment. Prince Saratoma pulled back his bowstring and sighted on his first target. The snap of his bowstring sounded loud in the still air, but the noise was instantly lost as thousands of elven arrows flew into the Federation campsite.

  Many of the enemy soldiers died in their sleep, but others screamed in pain or shouted in alarm. The only sentries on duty in the Federation camp were those along the edge of the cliffs, their task being to keep track of the sea traffic through the Needle. Most of those sentries scrambled for abandoned bows, but few of them lived even long enough to grab their weapons. Only a handful of Federation arrows ever left their bows before the battle was over. Prince Saratoma stood near one of the Federation campfires while his men ensured that there were no survivors. He stared out across the Needle and wondered how Prince Garong and his men were doing.

  “That went much better than expected,” Morro said softly as he stepped next to the prince. “What now?”

  “We verify that all of the enemy are accounted for,” answered the prince, “and then we signal Prince Garong on Suicide Point. You mentioned earlier that you rectified a change in the camp. What was different?”

  “One of the soldiers was too near the pigeon cages,” answered Morro. “I did not want to take the chance that someone might get a message off to Despair. I eliminated the problem.”

  Prince Saratoma nodded and sighed wearily. Morro looked at the prince with concern.

  “You have had a great victory tonight,” frowned Morro. “What is bothering you?”

  “In the brashness of my youth,” the prince said softly, “I fancied that it would feel great to finally strike back at my enemy and kill them all. Now that I am finally accomplishing that, I gain no solace from the act. These men never stood a chance tonight. They were so comfortable with their position that they did not even have sentries on the land side of their camp. This was not a battle, Morro, but rather a slaughter. It brings me no joy.”

  Morro nodded with understanding. “The killing is not meant to bring joy. It is meant to ensure peace. If you did not eliminate these one thousand men, they would be at your back when you eventually attack Despair. That would be a mistake that could cost you thousands of your own people. Weep not for the enemy until your victory is assured, Prince Saratoma. It will be hard enough to bring your people through this war alive without such feelings getting in the way.”

&
nbsp; “There is truth in your words,” conceded the prince, “but I do not control my heart. Help me get some burning logs into one of these catapults. I want to let Prince Garong know that we are in control of the Cliffs of Ranool.”

  Directly across the Needle, Prince Garong also stood among the bodies of Federation soldiers. The Federation encampment at Suicide Point had been smaller than the one atop the Cliffs of Ranool, but the approach had been a little trickier, and the fight had lasted a little longer. While Prince Garong’s men were still loading a fiery cargo into one of the catapults to signal Prince Saratoma, they saw the victory signal from the Cliffs of Ranool.

  “We have done it!” exclaimed one of the elven warriors. “I never thought we could actually do it.”

  “Yet here you are,” Prince Garong replied with a slight smile. “It is a testament to your courage that you came expecting less than victory. It speaks well of you and your people.”

  * * * *

  K’san exited the rear of the Imperial Palace in Despair. He strode purposefully towards the tent holding the portal. The sentries on duty at the front of the tent instinctively stepped aside to let the large priest pass into the tent. Letting the tent flap fall behind him, the demonic priest strode to the door and opened it. As K’san opened the door to Alcea, a deluge surged forth from the other side. The water caught K’san unawares, and he slipped and fell. The violent flow of water pushed his body through the tent flap and onto the lawn of the palace. The sentries were also caught unawares, and their bodies were swept away by the swiftly growing flood.

  K’san growled in anger as he managed to push himself off the ground and regain his footing. The front supports of the tent had already buckled and the material of the tent was caught in the surge, its seams tearing apart from the force of the water. The priest waded towards the tent, reaching out and ripping one of the support ropes free of the tent. He angrily tore at the tent flaps, tearing them apart as he moved towards the portal. With the length of rope in one hand, K’san raised his other hand, palm out towards the door. He mumbled under his breath, and the water streaming towards him suddenly split in two, one side passing on his right and the other on his left. He kept his outstretched arm before him as he moved slowly towards the portal. The water seemed to halt pouring through the door, and the priest moved in close enough to reach the wooden door. With a sudden burst of speed, he slammed the door shut and wrapped the rope around it. He tied the rope around the door securely and then ripped the door and its posts out of the ground. He threw the door face down and retreated from the ruined tent.