“What’s the situation?” asked Clarian, dropping into a chair. “I need something to drink.” Rokkman stepped to the doorway and called for drink and food.
“I believed we had achieved peace,” whined the Flamekeeper.
“What’s the status, Rokkman?” snapped a weary Clarian.
“Two Maggan armies are converging on us. One from the northeast and the other from the Forest of Darkness. It’s a two-pronged attack.”
“Who leads our army?”
“Martan. But he can’t stop them. They are fighting us on two fronts. The Maggan have covered their flanks this time. Ferman has taken the ridges above the road. They were all the way to Halfway before we discovered their intentions. The other Maggan army is following the old trading routes that you scouted out earlier. It’s rough going, but both armies are transporting their soldiers by wagon. Your old trick. They can move faster and not tire out the soldiers. They learned from us. And they have strong rear guard units. They also have mounted archers in force.”
Clarian slumped in his chair as a tray was brought in by an assistant and placed on a small table by his elbow. He drank deeply and ripped off a piece of bread from a loaf, chewing angrily. “How many of the enemy?”
“We don’t know, but more than we faced last time,” answered Rokkman, who found a chair.
The Flamekeeper waved his hand at Clarian. “Clarian, you are the Chosen One! You must…”
“Stop it! I don’t have time for that! You provoked their Flamekeeper by refusing to let him into the presence of the Flame. They hate you for that. You brought this on!”
“You may not speak to me that way!” shrieked the old man, pulling at his priestly robes.
Clarian ignored the outburst. “Has the army been formed up, and are the troops in position?”
“We’re fighting with a smaller army and the Citadel guards. We’re recalling all our soldiers that we sent home after the last war. They are streaming in, but it takes time to form them up. We’re putting them in the line without training.”
Trying to think, Clarian could feel the glare from the Flamekeeper. He glanced over, his eyes unkind in his assessment of the old man. “I advised you not to disband the army, and you wouldn’t listen.”
The Flamekeeper hissed and tried to speak, fear showing in his face, but no words came out.
“I have to have a few hours’ sleep. I haven’t slept in days. I came as fast as I could. At sunup, I will ride out to the battle lines. You will come with me, Rokkman. We may need a miracle this time.” He paused. “I need to see Neevan. We may have to send her back to the Maggan lines. Maybe she can talk some sense into Ferman.”
Rokkman shook his head. “It’s already done. I ordered an escort to take her to the Maggan lines as soon as she arrived. She’s gone.”
“Without speaking to me first?” barked Clarian.
“She was a spy!” howled the Flamekeeper. “She distracted you from your duty. Now we are all in peril because you were stupid!”
Clarian jumped out of his chair, bared his teeth to the Flamekeeper, and stomped out of the room, heading for his apartment. Rokkman scrambled after him into the corridor, grabbing his arm.
“There was talk the Citadel guards were going to kill her. I had to get her out. Even now she rides wearing a Citadel uniform so as not to draw attention.”
Clarian’s mind spun, the fatigue of riding nonstop for days bearing down, and he nodded and staggered to his rooms.
The advance of the night people was moving according to plan, thought Ferman, sitting in his tent and studying a map spread across a camp table. The Drumaggan under Sulan were advancing briskly through the rough terrain on his right flank and would approach the Citadel from the north within days. Ferman’s army marched the direct road to the castle, straight for the Flame. He allowed himself a moment of glee. This time, he sent out troops to secure the ridges and the flanks. No more ambushes by that clever Clarian. A large force protected the entrance to the forest, and defensive walls had been erected around the caverns at Minteegan. His supply train was well guarded by a reinforced troop. Use of wagons was his best idea yet to bring the battle to the Karran quickly, he thought, conveniently forgetting that it had been Sulan’s idea. Even after a week on the march, his soldiers were fresh and ready to engage the enemy. There had been some grumbling by the old soldiers about going to war before they were truly ready, but he had prevailed, after making some threats.
He chuckled to himself, pleased with his work. It was true that he had taken many youths into the army, and the training had been brief, but there were plenty of veterans in the ranks to shore them up. Besides, there would be no great battles this time, except perhaps the final assault on the castle.
The tent curtain parted, and Neevan stepped in, her face drained of color, exhaustion showing in her slumped posture.
Ferman smiled graciously and motioned for her to come in and sit. “Neevan, it’s good to have you back, and just in time to witness the obliteration of the Karran dogs.”
“I was an emissary of peace. You sent me to the Karran to achieve peace.”
“There can be no lasting peace with the Karran. Yes, you were the emissary and a grand job you did, drawing Clarian out to the far reaches of their land, keeping him occupied. That gave us the opportunity to take advantage of their vulnerability. You should be rejoicing. Why the angry face? The Flame is within our grasp at last.”
“You used me!”
“Yes. For the good of our people.”
“Clarian will believe I betrayed him.”
“And you did betray him. Oh, yes, my dear. You did betray him. In your heart you knew what you were doing. Don’t pretend to be so naive. How you could befriend our greatest enemy, I don’t know, but he trusted you. And so did I. Well, done, Neevan. Now get into a Maggan uniform and report to Naguran. We have need of you in the battle lines. Your name will go down as a heroine in our history.”
The tent was pitched behind a wooded hill southeast of the front lines. There was a large map draped over a makeshift table, and the tent, its sides rolled up, was filled with Karran commanders. No wind stirred, and the heat of the day was intense. All around the tent were troop units, lined up in orderly fashion, along with tents, wagons, horses, and supplies. Clarian noted the good discipline and was pleased. But he also noticed the meager number of troops encamped there.
Standing by him, Martan, Amran, Rokkman, and Clarian’s Kobani cousin, Jolsani, crowded around the table, each assessing the grim situation. Earlier Clarian and Jolsani had greeted each other warmly and exchanged words in Kobani, with Jolsani alerting Clarian to the untenable situation.
Martan began the briefing. “There are two armies, the Drumaggan driving toward us from the north under the command of Sulan, and Ferman coming down the road as before from the east. They transport most of their troops by wagon and move more quickly than on foot. Their flanks are protected by patrols. We are falling back on all fronts because we haven’t sufficient troops to stop their advance. Our army is too small to hold them. Our former soldiers from the farms and villages are rushing here, but it takes time we don’t have to form them up. Most have not yet arrived. The fact is, Clarian, we can’t stop the Maggan advance.”
Calling for a stool, Clarian slumped over the table, looking like he had aged ten years. Lines were drawn on the map showing the positions of the armies and their movements. The tent grew quiet except for scuffling of boots and an occasional cough.
“Martan,” said Clarian, “You are engaging the Drumaggan, and Amran is taking on Ferman, is that correct?”
“Yes. We’ve had to split our forces. We could have some success stopping one of the armies, but we are unable to stop two.”
“Where is Tobran?” Clarian asked, his eyes searching for familiar commanders among the faces present.
Martan shook his head, hi
s face without expression. There was an uncomfortable, sad silence until Clarian picked up the conversation again. “The Maggan were very clever this time. That was their plan from the start, to box us in with two armies. Very clever, indeed. We don’t know anything about the Drumaggan. They have come from far away to help their little brothers.”
His remark drew a few smiles and snickers.
“So, what’s your plan?” asked Rokkman impatiently.
“Could you give me a few more moments, Rokkman?” said Clarian, sharply, glaring at him. Looking up at Martan, he said, “The Drumaggan have no supply line. They are carrying everything they feel they need with them. They are counting on a short war. Ferman has a supply line, but it will also be stretched thin. Both armies are counting on a quick fight and a quick victory.
Martan pointed to the Forest of Darkness on the map. “They’ve placed a large force at the forest’s edge to block us from attacking Minteegan again.”
Speaking in Kobani, Clarian asked Jolsani’s advice. Jolsani’s grasp of the Karran language had improved, and he could follow conversations, but Clarian wanted to be sure he understood clearly whether Jolsani had any suggestions, and he did. Clarian translated for the other commanders.
“Jolsani?” Clarian gestured for him to speak.
“Kill all the Maggan horses. The wagons are of no use without horses. Make the Maggan walk. This will slow them. Draw out the Maggan horse soldiers and ambush them. Then they will have no scouts, and they will not be able to pursue our horse warriors.”
There were nodding heads. Martan pressed his forehead with his hand, a worried look on his face. “We tried setting the grass on fire, but the summer has been too wet. Another thing. They aren’t stopping to rest during the day. They keep moving. They will be at the gates of the Citadel in a week or less.”
“Selu? There is something else I should tell you,” offered Jolsani in Kobani. “You can’t defeat this enemy here in this place.”
“I know,” answered Clarian in Kobani.
Grim-faced, Clarian acknowledged that the situation was grim. “Use the long Karran bows to shoot their horses. Shoot fire arrows from a distance and set fire to their wagons. There is no point in engaging the larger forces hand-to-hand at this time. We work to delay them and make them pay dearly for the territory they gain. Make them use up their supplies. Their armies can’t fight if they can’t eat. Let’s attack their supply lines. Meanwhile, we will send out a call for help to the Madasharan people, our cousins in the west, and to the Kobani people of the south plains. May the Flame protect us!”
“The Flame!” chorused the officers.
Neevan climbed into a supply wagon and told the driver not to wake her; she slept for sixteen hours straight. She would have slept longer, but the screaming horses awakened her. Throwing back the cover she had drawn over her, she struggled to sit upright, still groggy, in time to see flaming arrows arcing out of the sky and into her column, striking wagons and horses. Soldiers ran by holding shields over their heads, stumbling over fallen comrades. Not again, she thought. Her heart was heavy with worry for Clarian and sad because she was sure he would believe she betrayed him. She was torn now, her loyalty to Clarian on one hand and on the other, her allegiance to her own kind and their right to reclaim the Flame. She mounted and kicked her horse into a gallop toward the right flank where Naguran’s command was gathering. The air was thick with dust and smoke and the smell of blood. Naguran greeted her and told her casualties had been light, and the Karran were being pushed back. They should be celebrating in the Citadel in a few days, he bragged.
Jolsani, carrying a letter in Kobani from Clarian, dashed off with Citadel guards to protect him in Karran country and through the Great Grasslands, to alert the Kobani and ask for help. Jolsani’s experience with the Karran and the might of the Maggan assault, Clarian hoped, would convince the Kobani to come to the aid of the Karran. Clarian knew, though, that even if the Kobani chose to send warriors, it would take many days, which he did not have, for the Kobani force just to reach the Grasslands. He did not think they would venture all the way to the Citadel to take the fight to the Maggan. He believed they would fight only if they thought the Maggan would invade their lands.
A second group of riders, including a young priest, carrying letters from Clarian and the Flamekeeper, thundered through Karran and down the long road through the Grasslands to the ferry, there to journey in haste to Madasharan to see their Flamekeeper and convince the Madasharan to send troops to the aid of the Karran.
Clarian, thinking through the distance problems and the logistics, realized it would take many days for the Madasharan to assemble their army, march across the desert, cross the great river, and march to the Citadel in time to turn back the Maggan hordes. And crossing the river with horses and troops using just one ferryboat would be excruciatingly slow. The second ferry was almost finished, and he would send word to Rostan to get help to finish the construction and get it into the water. Too far, too long, he thought. Supplies would be a problem, too. But the biggest problem was time. There just was not enough time. How could he hold back the enemy long enough for the Madasharan and Kobani to arrive in time to save them and the Flame? And would they come with enough soldiers?
And Neevan? Where was she? Was she back in the ranks of the enemy? Had she betrayed him, as the Flamekeeper said? Was the woman who kissed him so passionately and told him she loved him capable of such a grand betrayal? Had he been a fool? Yes, probably. He was tired. He needed sleep desperately. He could not think clearly anymore. Martan, recognizing Clarian’s exhaustion, took him to his tent and posted a guard in front with instructions that he was not to be disturbed.
Clarian fell onto the cot and was asleep before he even pulled off his boots. Sometime during the night, he dreamed of Neevan swimming in the spring pool, her skin so white, her eyes gleaming, smiling at him as she slipped through the crystal-clear water. Then, suddenly, she began to sink into the dark depths of the spring, and she cried out to him, her hands extended, reaching out for him. He awoke with a jerk.
The tent was dark. It was night. He lay for a moment listening to the sounds of the camp—boots clomping by outside, jangling bridles, and a wagon rolling by. Someone shouted another’s name. He had kicked off the blanket covering him. He swung his legs off the cot and sat up, his thoughts sluggish. He rose and stalked woodenly out of the tent, surprising a young soldier sitting on a stool outside. With orders for food and drink, the young soldier hurried off as Clarian plunged his head into a basin of water to try to clear his head. Glancing at the sky, he saw the faint light of dawn breaking. Had he slept all night?
Several units of mounted archers nearby were preparing to move out and engage the enemy. He watched the young faces mixed with gray-haired veterans, checking weapons and horses. Next to them, wagons full of Karran archers rumbled by, drivers yelling at the horses, getting the wagons into line.
A dispatch rider galloped past, pulling up his horse sharply as he slid off and rushed into a tent a few feet away. The guard appeared at Clarian’s tent, carrying a pot in one hand and food wrapped in a cloth in the other. Clarian knew he had some decisions to make soon. Taking the food from the guard, he called for his horse to be saddled and brought up.
Under another tent, Ferman, Naguran, and Sulan met to review the progress of the attack. Seated on camp chairs, the three of them leaned over a map and studied the battle lines. Their advances, going so well up to that point, had slowed with Clarian’s return. Fire arrows had wreaked havoc and caused considerable damage, none of which could easily be repaired at this time. Wagons had burned with their supplies in the beds, and soldiers had been struck down. The biggest problem had been attacks to kill or wound the horses. This tactic had been so successful that the advance of the two armies was back to slogging it out on foot.
Naguran thought it was clear that the Karran could not engage the Maggan armies dir
ectly with sword and lance. The numbers of the Maggan were too overwhelming. Ferman agreed. The biggest problem, aside from the fire arrows, was the systematic destruction of their mounted soldiers and scouts. Ambushes and surprise attacks had Ferman pulling back his horse soldiers to preserve them for later when he might need them more. Sulan had the same problem and conceded they were no match for the Karran mounted archers. All had been going so well.
“Clarian has returned,” said Naguran.
“Clarian cannot stop us this time. He is too weak, and we caught the Karran unprepared,” Ferman said. “Within a day or so, we will be in sight of the Citadel towers.”
“We are taking heavy losses, but the Karran are weak, I agree. How will they defend the castle?” asked Sulan.
“I don’t know. I’ve wondered about that. We may have to lay siege to the castle and tear it down stone by stone. The Flame is kept in the castle, so we want to be careful.”
“We’d better surround the castle and seal it off, so they can’t take the Flame and run.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
The dispatches came almost at the same time. Clarian opened them, sitting at a table in his tent, a candle spilling light across the letters. The first was from Jolsani. The Kobani would come to Clarian’s rescue but only if the Maggan ventured into the Great Grasslands. They would not march into the main farmlands of the Karran. Also, they wanted assurances that if they came into the Grasslands, the Grasslanders would not attack them.
The second dispatch contained a letter from the Madasharan Flamekeeper and another from the Madasharan army commander, Rogeman. By the time Clarian received the letters, the Madasharan would have already mustered their army and would be on the march to the ferry, wrote Rogeman.
Clarian needed time to think. The Kobani would not march to the Citadel. They were coming but would only fight in the Grasslands. He would send a letter to Mendan, commander of the Grasslanders, to gather up his warriors for the coming fight, and to let him know that the Kobani would be joining them to fight the Maggan. Wouldn’t he be surprised?
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