“When we retrieve the Flame from you Karran monsters who stole it from us, we will restore it to this holy place.”
“Shut up!” shouted Martan. “The flame has always been ours, you cave-dwelling rodent!”
The Flamekeeper’s face sagged in defeat. He pointed a thin, crooked finger first at Martan and then at Clarian. “Ferman will soon cut all you Karran down and restore the Flame to us. I don’t know how you got here, but you will not survive this evil act.”
“The evil act was to break the peace and attack us, Flamekeeper,” said Clarian. “Did you instigate the attack on the Karran with your lies?”
The Flamekeeper licked his lips but said nothing, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.
Clarian turned and walked to the door. “Bring him.”
“I’ll not leave, you Karran dogs!”
“Fine. Leave him,” said Clarian. As they exited the room, Clarian turned to Martan. “Burn the building!”
“What about their Flamekeeper?”
“He can stay if he wishes.”
Astride their horses at the foot of the temple steps, Martan and Clarian watched as the fires leaped from the windows of the temple. Great crashes thundered within as the floor beams, consumed in flames, weakened and collapsed. Someone screamed in agony from inside. Heavy smoke poured out of the building. A few priests who had been hiding now raced out of the building and down the steps, some with their violet robes smoking.
The road that ran past the temple was choked with frightened and cowed Maggan; men, women, and children crowded the road, staggering out of the burning part of the city that lay at the back of the cavern. Flames towered high, lighting the underground city in harsh, yellow, dancing light. The refugees surged down the road past Clarian and Martan toward the front of the cavern. Wails of terror and grief rose up and echoed off the walls of the cavern. The heat in the cave was intense.
Karran soldiers appeared riding their horses, herding the population along. There was no fighting. It was a strange sight, the multitude of Maggan, with their long, dark hair; white skin; and large, gleaming eyes, struggling down the road. The smell of the burning buildings was sharp, and the smoke collecting on the roof of the cavern now hung down low, stinging the eyes.
It took hours to drive the Maggan out of the cavern and up onto the surface. What greeted Clarian and Martan on the surface as they brought up the rear guard with the last of the people was a staggering sight. The adjacent fields and open areas were blanketed in every direction with Maggan, sitting or lying prostrate on the ground, huddled in small groups, families clustered, children crying, bewildered, exhausted. There was wailing around prone figures on the ground, those who had succumbed to the stress or died of wounds or burns. The afternoon sun was hot and bright and blazed down hard on the refugees. The cavern belched black and gray smoke out of its mouth, and the air had the sharp smell of fire and of burning things and burning flesh.
The Karran soldiers gathered near the entrance to the cavern, feeding and watering their horses. A few stood attentive, facing outward toward the frightened multitude, their bows fitted with ready arrows, alert to any resistance. The faces of the soldiers were grit-streaked and drawn with fatigue. There was no resistance from the beaten populace. The battle was over. Off to one side, Clarian stood with his officers. Before him was a gray-haired older Maggan man, his face and beard blackened with dirt and sweat, his clothes torn and caked with soot.
“Are you a leader here?” asked Clarian.
“I am on the council of elders,” he answered. He didn’t appear fearful, but his hands twitched slightly as he looked apprehensively at Clarian.
Clarian pointed his finger at the man. “Ferman and his army attacked us. He broke the peace. Now we have to fight to keep you Maggan from destroying our homeland. So we have brought the fight to you. Do you understand?”
“No Karran has ever come into the forest before,” answered the man, his voice quivering. “Are you going to kill us?”
“I say yes,” answered Martan. “We should kill them all. Why leave any alive? We’ll just have to fight them again.”
Clarian didn’t answer but looked out over the thousands of Maggan scattered before him. He hadn’t expected so much devastation and misery. But then he thought of his own family at risk from the treachery of the Maggan.
“We heard you Karran eat children,” the man asked tentatively.
The officers laughed and looked at one another with mirth in their eyes. Clarian smiled. “We heard you Maggan eat children. Is that true?”
“No, I was a soldier in the last war, and I never saw such a thing.”
“But you killed your prisoners, didn’t you?” asked Clarian.
The man didn’t answer. A bleak look dropped down over his face. He looked back at the cavern that was still billowing out great clouds of smoke.
A young officer with a bandage around his head spoke out. “We should kill them, Clarian.”
Other officers nodded.
“When Ferman’s army left the Forest of Darkness and crossed over into Karran land, they killed every Karran farmer and herder they caught, Clarian,” said Martan. “Let’s end it all now.” He drew his sword, his face twisted in hate.
A small girl child, face black with soot, clothes torn, stumbled up to Clarian, crying, and grabbed his trousers. Clarian picked the child up.
“What are you doing with that Maggan?” growled Martan.
Clarian, his face strained, his eyes tired, glanced from face to face. He knew they had hardened their hearts to the Maggan. “Do not kill those who do not raise a weapon against us.” He turned his face to the Maggan child. “You and your people will live today. But let this be a warning to you. Do not make us come back.”
Clarian walked with the sobbing child and handed her over to a young woman, who shrank from Clarian.
Clarian ordered his army to burn the granaries that dotted the fields nearby—to burn all the fields that could be set on fire, gather up the herds of cattle and horses and driving the animals before them, and trample all the vegetable fields.
The sun was setting as the work was at last completed, and the army began the ride back down the road through the forest to the land of Karran. The soldiers separated the horses from the cattle and drove the cattle off into the forest, for they would never be able to keep up with the forced march of the soldiers. The hundreds of horses were strung out in a very long column, the scouts and a large troop leading and the rest of the army bringing up the rear. Martan sent a strong guard to watch the rear, but no enemy force appeared. As they rode away, he looked back at the misery and devastation.
When Martan had been given the assignment by Clarian to attack Minteegan, he had been frightened of the Forest of Darkness and of attacking the Maggan in their lair deep underground. He had almost shivered with fear when he heard the order. After traveling through the forest, he had gained confidence. Then came the plunge down into the cavern. Having seen the suffering of the night people, he wondered in the deepest part of his heart about the death and havoc he had caused. He could clearly see the ravaged faces of the crushed people, with their strange eyes that wept, just like Karran eyes.
Clarian had given orders to let through a Maggan rider after the attack on Minteegan had already taken place, and the Karran troops were on their way back. It was part of his plan to alert Ferman that Minteegan was under siege, since he would be frantic to try to help his city and would then be most vulnerable to costly mistakes.
The orange flames of the burning Maggan farm fields flared against the deepening black of the falling night. Crowds of traumatized Maggan moved away from the fires to escape the flames that raged as far as the eye could see in every direction. Trees exploded into towering flames, drowning out the collective crying of the people.
The Karran scouts at the edge of the forest spotted a Maggan rid
er bursting out of the trees, his horse almost dead from exhaustion. A Karran commander gave the order to let the rider through unopposed. It was early in the morning, the sun just gliding up over the ridgeline, but already hot and promising an even hotter day.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ferman, his upper arm bandaged, his face fierce with frustration, listened to his officers as they sat beneath several wagons pulled up next to one another to protect from Karran arrows.
“The Karran are trying to slow our retreat back to the forest,” offered Neevan. “But they can only slow us. They can’t stop us.”
Ferman growled, “They’re still attacking us at every opportunity. We’re out of supplies. Our water supplies are low. The stream is fouled.”
“They are slowly pressing us from the south, Ferman,” said a young officer. “But not charging into our ranks. They keep their distance. And now that most of our army is out from under those ridges, our losses are fewer. They don’t want to engage us at close quarters. They know we are stronger.”
“Do we look stronger?” snapped a young officer.
“They want us to run to the forest,” said Ferman. “But not until they’ve inflicted grievous wounds. We’ve been heavily battered. I never expected them to mount such a defense. Who’s commanding their army?”
“Clarian. A young warrior from the Great Grasslands to the west. They say he is the ‘Chosen One,’” said Neevan.
“Chosen One? What nonsense is that?” exclaimed Ferman.
“He wears the violet cloak of the Flamekeeper. He has been seen on the battle field, Ferman,” said Neevan. “He’s a tall young soldier with blue eyes.”
“How would you know what color his eyes are, Neevan?” asked Ferman.
“I saw him up close,” she said, shrugging.
“I want him killed. You hear me! I want him killed!” shouted Ferman, his head swiveling around to look at each officer, scowling.
An officer hurried up. “A rider from Minteegan, Ferman.” The rider, escorted by several mounted Maggan soldiers, reined to a stop outside Ferman’s wagon. He slid off his horse and limped over. Guided by an officer, he quickly spotted Ferman.
“Yes, what is it? We’re busy here,” said Ferman.
“The Karran attacked Minteegan!” he said.
“What!” exclaimed Ferman. The others gasped audibly, and everyone began to talk loudly.
“Be silent!” shouted Ferman. “Go on,” he urged the messenger.
“They rode down into the cavern and burned the entire city and drove everyone out,” stated the soldier firmly.
Everyone in the tent was aghast. A buzz of whispers started, and then shouts burst forth. Ferman held up his hand for quiet, his eyes grim. “When?” he asked.
“Three days ago.”
“They never go into the forest,” offered an officer.
“They did this time,” said the rider.
“The city?” asked Neevan.
“Gone up in flames. The temple, too. They burned the Flamekeeper alive.”
The officers were distraught with the fear that their families had suffered at the hands of the Karran. Ferman slumped in his chair, sighing heavily.
“What about our people? Did they kill them?” Ferman asked.
“Many are dead from the house fires. But, no, there was no slaughter. The Karran burned the granaries and the grain fields. And ran off the horses and cattle. I watched from the forest for as long as I could, then rode here to report.”
Neevan stepped up to rider. “How did you get through the battle lines?”
“No one opposed me. I saw riders off in the distance, but the road was open, and no one tried to stop me.”
“They deliberately let him through,” Neevan said.
Others nodded in agreement.
She continued. “They wanted us to know that they were in the forest attacking our people and our homes.”
They all looked to Ferman, who appeared fatigued. “Even in the Great War, the Karran never entered the forest. They were afraid of it. And they were afraid of the darkness and of us,” he said.
“What’s different now?” asked a white-haired senior officer.
“Clarian, their Karran commander,” said Neevan. “He’s from the Great Grasslands. He’s a horse warrior and archer. He fought the Kobani people, and I am told they are a fierce and daring tribe.”
The rider’s knees gave out, and officers on either side grabbed him as he collapsed, holding him up.
“Take him out and get him some food and let him rest,” ordered Ferman. The officers called to soldiers outside the tent to take care of him. As the messenger was being led away, Ferman was already thinking about what he must do. He couldn’t let the Karran continue to roam and pillage in the forest. He had to push home and respond as quickly as possible.
“They want us to leave, and I believe the attack on Minteegan was to get us to withdraw from their land and return home,” said Ferman. “Very clever strategy. Nevertheless, that is what we must do. We must hurry back to Minteegan and help our people and drive the Karran out of the forest.”
“Could Clarian plan a trick in this, Ferman? Are we underestimating him?” asked Neevan.
“I don’t know. But give the orders to march as fast as we can to the forest. Don’t stop to engage the enemy if you can help it. We must fight our way out quickly,” Ferman ordered.
From the cover of trees Lillan watched the march of the Maggan troops toward the barriers of brush and logs they had constructed across Ferman’s path. The clash of fighting, the shouts of officers, and the cries of the wounded hung over the battlefield. The moon lit the terrain, but layers of smoke and dust made it difficult to see. The Maggan began to bunch up as they approached the brush barriers, wary of some trick by the Karran.
Lillan gave an arm signal, and at once riders dragging pitch-soaked clumps of burning grass behind them set fire to the barricades, lighting up the battlefield and illuminating the Maggan, who had come to a halt before the barricades.
Lillan mounted her horse and rejoined the mounted archers behind a line of scrub trees. She led the way, galloping in single file, bursting out into the open and charging on the far side of the blazing barrier. Drawing their bows back, they shot through the flames into the packed ranks of the now immobile and bunched-up Maggan. She thundered forward with her troops, who fired arrow after arrow into the confused ranks of the enemy. When Lillan’s troops had completed their pass, a second column turned around and rode back again, repeating the deadly maneuver.
The Maggan front line tried to fall back but troops surging up from behind them, on orders from Ferman to push ahead as fast as they could, crowded them. The burning barriers’ crackling and billowing smoke created a bottleneck. The arrows from the Karran sliced in and found their mark. There was little cover or safety.
Neevan galloped her troops through the marching army but had to slow to a fast walk as the army bunched up. She could see the flames ahead and the Karran riding on the far side of the barriers shooting into the ranks of the confused troops. She forced her horse through packs of soldiers to get closer to the action.
An arrow snapped past. She jerked her horse up. She watched, looking for an opportunity to disrupt the attack. Then she signaled to a subordinate officer, saying, “We have to engage them, or they’ll render us helpless.”
“They won’t stand and fight,” said the officer.
Neevan thought she saw her chance. The fire had consumed part of the barricade near her and collapsed into hot, yellow embers.
“We will jump our horses over the barricade there,” she said, pointing. Her officers crowded their horses around her. “After we go over the barricade, we will ride into the ranks of the Karran and intercept them. We’re going to break this up right now! Follow me!”
With a wave of her arm to the troops
behind her, Neevan kicked her horse into a charge straight at the weak point in the barricade where the burning logs had collapsed. Her horse tried to shy away from the flames, but she strong-armed him, and he cleared the hot embers in a burst of speed. Following Neevan, the mounted troops forced their horses over the breach in the barricade. With her bow in hand, she fitted an arrow, and suddenly she was alongside a surprised young Karran soldier. Neevan’s arrow buried deep into the soldier’s ribs, and he fell back over the rear of his horse. She drew another arrow and fired at the back of a Karran in front of her but missed.
That alerted the Karran to the presence of the enemy in their ranks. Karran and Maggan rode side by side, shooting at one another. When arrows were exhausted, swords flashed, and lances jabbed back and forth.
Neevan spotted a rider up ahead giving commands. She knew she had a chance now to take down a commander. With one arrow left, she outmaneuvered a lance attack from a mounted Karran who raced past, closed the few yards that remained, drew back the bowstring, and within a moment was within a few yards of her intended target.
Lillan felt and heard the pounding hooves of Neevan’s horse upon her and spun her horse around to face the charge, her long hair streaming out behind her. The two warriors made momentary eye contact with each other. If either of them thought anything about their both being women, it was fleeting and lost in the heat of battle. The arrow buried itself high in the neck of Lillan’s horse. At the same time, Lillan released an arrow at Neevan, but Neevan swung low on the far side of her horse, and the arrow sped past, narrowly missing her. Both riders sped past each other, sprinting by others.
Lillan’s horse faltered and then collapsed, throwing her hard to the ground. As she got to her knees, another Karran rider slowed, reached down with a hand and pulled her up behind him and then galloped off toward the safety of a low hill held by Karran archers. Lillan signaled for the Karran to retire. They raced off the field as the Maggan cheered. The Maggan foot soldiers broke through the breach and poured out onto the open plain, their officers yelling and reforming the lines.
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