Alutar: The Great Demon

by Tuttle, Richard S.

  “One of us must go to Alcea,” declared D’Wycaram “Alutar demands the tears of millions. We cannot achieve that goal without bringing misery to Alcea.”

  “That has already been tried,” scoffed D’Cavan. “A quarter million soldiers failed to produce those tears. The gods favor the Warrior King. To go to Alcea is to invite their involvement in this struggle. I do not think it is wise to awaken them.”

  “What choice is there?” asked D’Lycind. “Alutar’s wishes are clear.”

  “Twenty thousand soldiers are not going to crush Alcea,” declared D’Artim. “King Arik has managed to repel the four Claws of Alutar. A puny army is not going to fare better than them. Oh, they may sack Tagaret, but unless they kill the boy king, nothing extraordinary is going come of it. We need to find another way to produce those tears.”

  “We could turn the Federation armies against their own people,” suggested D’Cavan. “Lord Kommoron has already positioned armies in the major cities. Why not use them?”

  “That would help,” agreed D’Artim, “but that is not Lord Kommoron’s intent. He is staging those armies to quell dissent when he takes over the Federation.”

  “Lord Kommoron’s desires are of no concern to us,” argued D’Wycaram. “We do not serve him. He can easily be disposed of.”

  “True,” mused D’Artim, “but as I just said, we need more than that.”

  “You have an idea,” stated D’Cavan. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  D’Artim smiled mischievously. “The death of the boy king would bring tears to millions,” he offered.

  “Then helping the Federation army in Alcea is the proper path,” D’Wycaram said with a hint of validation in his voice.

  “No,” retorted D’Artim. “We have been through this. You may go to Alcea and warn the Federation army that their arrival is expected, but nothing more. I will not arouse the gods when we are so close to our goal, and entering Tagaret to kill Arik would certainly arouse them. The gods have made their presence known in that city. King Arik will die here in Zara where his gods are not worshipped. Go to Alcea, D’Wycaram. Tell the generals that Tagaret awaits them. Nothing more.”

  “And the other means we discussed?” asked D’Cavan. “What about those?”

  “We shall discuss those further while D’Wycaram is on his mission,” D’Artim said.

  * * * *

  Two swords swung towards Garth. One came in high towards his head while the other came in low towards his knees. The Knight of Alcea jumped backwards, his spine slamming against the wall of the room. The jump had not been as far as Garth had hoped, but it proved to be far enough for the low sword to miss. Fortunately, he had raised his own sword to parry the higher sword. He pushed hard against that opponent and used his body to knock the other swordsman to the floor. He continued to push his standing opponent backwards as his foot kicked the sword away from the fallen man. The man he was pushing tripped over a chair and crashed to the floor. Garth moved in for the kill.

  “Enough,” cried Prince Harold. “You are impossible to beat.”

  “I agree,” offered Prince Samuel as he rose from the floor. “You are like an unbeatable demon spirit.”

  Garth chuckled. “There is no demon within me, but I agree that a rest is in order. Sparring in a room does not leave much room to maneuver, and we can not continue to smash into walls without wearing out our welcome. The Bluff House Inn does not cater to caravan warriors, and I doubt they would stand for more than one complaint from our neighbors.”

  The princes picked up their wooden swords and placed them on the table. Both of them collapsed on the couch. Garth stared at them for a moment and smiled.

  “You should not feel bad about your performance against me,” he said. “I have lived most of my life with a sword in my hand. One can not help but become proficient with its use after so many years. Both of you are doing remarkably well for the amount of practice we have had. If you continue practicing, you will both be fairly good fighters.”

  “I have no desire to be a fighter,” replied Prince Harold. “If I ever do become king, I will spend my time doing more important things than fighting.”

  “I hope so,” frowned Garth, “but there are times when fighting is the only option. You should become proficient with your weapons so that your soldiers respect you. What do you mean if you ever become king? You are the only heir left for King Harowin.”

  “Do you know that for sure?” asked Prince Harold. “You know that Samuel is the heir of Spino, but I have heard no mention of my name and Ertak being tied together. My father might have specifically removed me from the line of succession.”

  Garth frowned. There was truth in the prince’s words. The Alceans had taken for granted that they knew the line of succession for Ertak, but the truth could be different from what they thought. Garth made a mental note to have Zack Nolan discover what he could.

  Prince Harold rose from the couch and walked to the window. He stared out at the sea in silence for a while until a knock sounded on the door. Garth grabbed two hooded cloaks from the table and tossed them to the princes as he drew his sword and moved towards the door. He stopped at the door and turned to make sure that the princes were unidentifiable before cracking the door open to see who was knocking. When he saw Natia’s face, he opened the door wide to admit her. As soon as she was in the room, Garth closed the door and followed Natia away from the door.

  “Word has arrived today about the losses in Alcea and the liberation of Karamin and Ertak,” Natia announced.

  “How did you find out?” asked Garth.

  “I ran into an old friend,” smiled Natia. “The officer at the elven reeducation camp recognized me on the street. We stopped and chatted for a while.”

  “Liberation?” asked Prince Samuel.

  “Karamin and Vinafor have withdrawn from the Federation,” answered Garth. “The destruction of the Federation has begun.”

  “Is this the doing of the Alceans?” asked Prince Harold.

  “We have helped both countries,” replied Garth, “but it is the Karaminians and Vinaforans who are to be congratulated. King Boric now rules Karamin, and Queen Romani has taken back her throne in Vinafor.”

  “I have never heard of Boric,” stated Price Samuel. “Is he Alcean?”

  “No,” answered Garth. “He is the cousin of King Vlador. He organized the patriots of Karamin and has been harassing the Federation soldiers for almost a year now.”

  “Garth,” Natia interrupted, “you are missing the question both princes are not asking. They want to know whether Alcea is installing these monarchs as puppets.”

  The faces of both princes reddened, and Garth frowned.

  “Of course not,” Garth replied with annoyance. “Have you two not been listening all winter? Alcea desires no claim on the lands of Zara. What we want are peaceful countries that will not try to invade Alcea a generation from now.”

  “Don’t get angry with them, Garth,” soothed Natia. “They have never known a country where there were no ulterior motives. The concept is new to them.”

  “I apologize,” offered Prince Samuel, “but there is truth in what Natia says. I have been used all of my life, and I guess I now tend to see self-centered motives even when they do not exist.”

  “I am not as skeptical as Samuel,” stated Prince Harold. “I do believe that the Alceans have stated their goals truthfully. Perhaps that is because of my relationship with Zalaharic, but my nature is to seek confirmation wherever I can find it. I am sorry if that upsets you, but I am very pleased to have you confirm my beliefs. I think it is time that I met my father.”

  Garth’s eyes widened with concern. “Meet your father?” he echoed. “Your father wants you dead. I did not bring you to Farmin to sacrifice you to the Federation.”

  “You brought me to Ertak to see the misery that my people have to endure,” retorted Prince Harold. “I have now seen that. If I am to be of any help to them, I must be in the line of succes
sion. That is something that only my father can accomplish.”

  “There is an added danger to that plan, Harold,” Natia said softly. “Some people are trying to kill your father. Think of what it would look like if you suddenly showed up in Farmin and then your father was killed. It would be particularly bad if your father was not overjoyed to see you.”

  Prince Harold bit his lower lip as he stared at Natia. He eventually nodded. “That makes it even more important for me to see him soon. If he does not have long to live, I must get him to recognize me now.”

  “You are not listening,” Garth scowled. “You took only what you wanted to hear out of Natia’s words. You are worth nothing to the people of Ertak if you are dead.”

  “I am worth nothing to them alive if someone else replaces my father,” countered Prince Harold. “I have heard your objections. I am willing to concede that your words are true. Now try to understand me, Garth. I have been worthless my entire life. I have sat around waiting to die. Death no longer scares me. Zalaharic has given me a new life, and I vowed that I would not waste this one. I will see my father, and he will acknowledge me as his heir. I will accept nothing less.”

  “What if he refuses?” asked Natia.

  “He won’t,” stated Prince Harold. “He can’t. He has no one left to call his own. I can only lose if I have been specifically removed from the line of succession, and my father refuses to reinstate me. If that is the case, my bid to lead Ertak would have failed anyway. Don’t you see, I have to meet with him. Ertak must see that I am accepted as fit to rule. They must know that the king accepts me. Otherwise, I will start my reign with the elite trying to undermine my every move.”

  “They will try that anyway if you plan to favor the poor,” Natia pointed out.

  “No doubt,” agreed Prince Harold, “but they will have no justification for their actions. They will be seen for what they truly are, and that is something the wealthy never want. They like to hide behind benevolent shields. Besides, many of them will try to court my favor, hoping that they can ride out the financial storm. It will not be easy, but it will be manageable.”

  Garth inexplicably smiled. “You are more than even I gave you credit for. The people of Ertak will flourish under your reign.” Garth walked to the window and stared out at the sea for a moment before turning back to face the prince. “You shall see your father, but we will do this my way. I will not allow you to throw your life away on the whim of a self-centered, egotistical Federation king. I will gauge your father’s acceptance of you before the meeting.”

  “I will meet him regardless of his attitude towards me,” demanded Prince Harold.

  “You shall meet him regardless of his acceptance of you,” promised the Knight of Alcea, “but the setting of your meeting may change depending on how safe I feel it will be for you. Is that acceptable to you?”

  “Other than the risk you are taking,” frowned Prince Harold. “Why should I allow you to suffer for me?”

  “Because I have a knack for getting out of tight spots,” replied Garth.

  “I can believe that,” retorted Prince Harold, “but do you have experience dealing with reluctant kings? It seems to be a bit beyond the experience one might expect from a warrior.”

  Garth smiled. “You have read the books about Alcea, Prince Harold. I am known there as Alexander Tork, and I have a history of dealing with reluctant kings.”

  “Tork?” gasped Prince Harold. “And Samuel and I were trying to best you with swords?”

  Prince Samuel looked confused, but Natia started giggling.

  “No one can best Alex Tork with a sword,” she said. “That you both weren’t black and blue is a testament to your natural abilities.”

  Garth turned serious. “I will arrange a meeting with King Harowin,” he stated as he looked at the princes. “Until then both of you must remain in Natia’s room. It is possible that the king might send someone here to check my room while I am still in the Royal Palace. I wouldn’t want you to be found if that were to happen.”

  Chapter 26

  Ill Feelings

  The workers toiled under the unusually hot afternoon sun outside the western wall of Tagaret. Colonel Borowski, the leader of the Alcean Army, watched with curiosity as the workers raised eight tall poles. The poles stretched away from the city wall in a straight line, each increasingly farther away from the ramparts. Nearby, King Arik was speaking softly to some of his advisors, and the colonel waited patiently for a chance to speak with him. While the colonel waited, he saw several Red Swords arrive with extra packs carried in their hands. He grew more curious. The Red Swords placed the packs on the ground near the king and awaited further instructions. The colonel inched closer to the king, hoping to learn the reason for his summons.

  “The attack could come as early as tomorrow,” stated General Gregor. “It depends on how much ground the Federation army travels today and tomorrow morning.”

  The king nodded and then saw Colonel Borowski drawing near. He turned to face the colonel.

  “Colonel Borowski,” the king said with an appreciative smile, “I need you to organize an archery contest today.”

  “An archery contest?” the colonel echoed in confusion. “I do not understand.”

  “We need to identify your fifty best archers,” explained the king. “That is why we are setting up the poles as we are. Each of your soldiers will take their first shots at the first pole. The target is to be located one pace above the ground. Based on the results of that contest, you will eliminate half of the soldiers from further competition. Those remaining in the competition will then target the second pole. Again, half of those will be eliminated. The competition will continue in a like manner until the eighth pole is the target. The top fifty men in that contest will be chosen for a certain task during the battle.”

  “May I ask what that task will be?” queried the colonel.

  “You may,” smiled King Arik. “Those men will be reserved for firing at any siege engines that the Federation might bring against our walls. They will be equipped with fire glue and given free rein to fire whenever they think they can successfully hit an engine.”

  Colonel Borowski frowned. “Such a contest would take days to complete,” he said. “We don’t have the time.”

  “We won’t have the time during the battle either,” retorted General Gregor. “The contest need not be formal. Have each soldier carve his initials into his arrow. The men will step to the wall in groups of a hundred, fire, and walk away. The arrows will all be collected at the end of the round and the results announced as the arrows are returned to their owners. There will be no ranking involved. The arrows will be either in the winning half or the losing half. It is as simple as that. All eight rounds should be completed before sunset as the poles will need to be moved then.”

  “The poles will be moved?” questioned the colonel. “Will they not be left in place to help the archers determine their range?”

  “No, Colonel,” the king responded with a nod towards the packs just brought by the Red Swords. “Each pole will support the head of one of the Federation generals who died during the War in Alcea. The poles will be moved to new positions that will present the greatest psychological impact on the approaching army. I want the men of that army to understand that they are in for a fierce battle. The dead generals will announce that to them.”

  “I understand,” Colonel Borowski said. “The contest will begin within the hour.”

  * * * *

  General Askor of the 37th Corps stared in horror at the city wall and the thousands of arrows streaming from it, and all of them were aimed at him. Even as his men scaled the walls towards victory, the arrows continued to come towards him. He tried to turn away from the city walls, but whenever he did, he bumped into a tall pole. Bumping into the poles was not what produced the terror in his heart. It was the heads upon the poles that fell on him each time he made contact with one of the poles. The heads all held expressions of terror o
n their faces, and it seemed as if each of the dead men was trying to tell him something. Their grotesque mouths opened as if screaming, but the words came out like wisps of the wind. He could not understand what they were trying to say, and that seemed to make them scream all the more. As terrifying as it was, the worst of it were the faces. He recognized them all. He saw Fortella, Franz, Gattas, and Kolling. Omirro, Montero, Whitman, and Ritka were also there. They were all Federation generals just like him, and they wanted him to understand something, something important.

  General Askor bolted upright and stared into the darkness of his tent. There were no city walls before him, and no arrows streaming towards him. He reached and ran a hand through his hair. His hand came away covered in sweat. He realized that he had had a bad dream and tried to shake off the feeling of terror, but his face clouded with confusion as the sounds drifted to his ears. They were the sounds of men shouting and cursing, and he was sure that it was not part of his dream. He rose to his feet and rushed to the flap of his tent. He moved the flap enough to see outside. The two sentries immediately turned to look at him.

  “What is going on?” asked the general.

  “Bugs, General,” one of the sentries answered. “Bugs are attacking the campsite.”

  “Bugs?” echoed the general, his face distorted with disbelief. “Find Colonel Hildon and have him report to me immediately.”

  General Askor did not wait for a response. He let the flap fall back in place. He made his way to the table and lit a lantern. Filling a basin with some water, he quickly rinsed his face and then got dressed. By the time he was done, Colonel Hildon had arrived.

  “Report, Colonel,” the general said tersely.

  “I don’t understand it, General,” reported the colonel, “but insects are attacking the men. More than insects, actually. It started with ants, mosquitoes, and spiders, but centipedes, snakes, and even bats are now attacking us. I’ve never seen anything like it.”