General Tauman was a large man for a Baroukan. His shoulders were broad, and his squarish face sat atop a thick neck. A long thin scar ran from just below his left ear, past his eye, and up into his short, black hair. His eyes were perpetually narrowed, and a permanent crease furrowed his brow. Even when the Federation general was in a good mood, his face appeared angry. In fact, many of the men in his command called him Dread Tauman, but never to his face. It was an honor to serve in the First Corps, and no soldier would jeopardize his position there merely for a few laughs. There were thousands of applicants waiting to take any available spot in General Tauman’s army.
General Tauman was proud of his men. He accepted only the best of the soldiers of the Federation and then he made them better. The general was sure that Grand General Kyrga had stationed him at Camp Destiny to keep him away from Despair, but Tauman did not mind. The isolated mountain valley had proved perfect for training his men. While the other armies of the Federation wasted their time with useless maneuvers, the First Corps was developing into the Federation’s most efficient army.
General Tauman observed his men as he rode around the massive, hidden valley. The practice fields were clogged with hundreds of sparring warriors, and hundreds more lined the archery ranges. Scores of soldiers were practicing their climbing skills on a near vertical face of one of the mountains, and over a thousand more were running in formation from one end of the valley to the other.
The general halted near a large, treeless expanse and gazed at the thousands of horsemen gathered. Half of the men wore red scarves around their necks, while the others wore green scarves. He watched as the two hordes of riders charged each other, wooden swords raised high in the air, and war cries echoing off the mountain walls. He grimaced slightly as the two armies clashed. He knew that even with wooden swords, there would be injuries from the practice session, but war was not a painless game to play. Hopefully the injuries would not be life-threatening, and the lessons learned would make the men stronger and more efficient. He watched the battle for half an hour and then rode onward.
One of the peculiar things about Camp Destiny was the detachment of mages assigned to it. Most Federation soldiers tended to shy away from any contact with the black-cloaks, especially officers, as the mages tended to take control whenever they wanted to, but there had not been a choice at Camp Destiny. The mages were required to maintain the secrecy of the camp, and General Tauman had accepted their presence in stride. There were times when the black-cloaks tried to assert their superiority, but the general had successfully squashed such uprisings so far. One method he used on the mages was to make them feel a part of the First Corps, and therefore part of his army.
As the general rode towards the tunnel, he veered off towards the mage quarters. Several black-cloaks noted his arrival with varying degrees of approval. Some of them looked upon the general as a friend, while others detested him. General Tauman smiled inwardly as he prepared to stop and talk with the mages. He was confident that by the time the invasion commenced, he would have all of the mages under control. He was riding towards the group of mages when every one of their heads snapped towards the tunnel. He could tell by the expressions on their faces that something was amiss.
“What is it?” he asked as he halted his horse near the group.
“Magic,” gasped one of the black-cloaks. “Very strong battle magic.”
“And not far away,” another mage added with concern. “Perhaps a league or two away from the other side of the tunnel.”
“You two get your horses,” ordered the general. “We need to investigate any disturbance this close. I will get soldiers and meet you at the tunnel. The rest of you prepare to strengthen the defense of the tunnel.”
General Tauman did not wait for any objections to his orders. He spurred his horse towards the tunnel entrance. There was a small detachment at the tunnel and the general came to a halt as the soldiers looked up expectantly. The general made eye contact with the colonel in the group.
“I am taking this squad through the tunnel with a pair of black-cloaks,” the general declared. “You will have the camp brought up to full readiness and then follow us with five squads. Make sure that your squads are ready for battle and do not dally or you will lose our trail.”
The colonel saluted smartly as the squad of soldiers raced for their horses. It took only moments for the squad of soldiers to prepare for battle, and they were mounted and ready by the time the two black-cloaks arrived. The general waved the two mages to his side and then led the way into the tunnel. The squad of soldiers followed. The general set a fast pace through the tunnel and only slowed as they emerged through the illusion and back into the daylight. The two black-cloaks standing guard outside the tunnel began talking excitedly to their brethren alongside the general.
“It felt close,” stated one of the mage guards. “Probably not much over a league to the northeast. Should we accompany you?”
“No,” General Tauman was quick to reply. “Maintain the illusion. The use of battle magic might be a lure to distract us.”
The mage guard looked questioningly at his fellow mages.
“The general is correct,” volunteered one of the mages riding with the general. “We will call for help if we need it.”
Outside the entrance to the hidden tunnel was a small army camp. It only numbered about one hundred men, but it was considered sufficient to hold the tunnel while the forces inside the valley prepared their defense. When the general suddenly appeared, all of the soldiers stopped what they were doing and watched him. General Tauman slowly turned his head towards the various groups of soldiers and all of the men went back to their duties. He smiled inwardly as he led his group along the gravel road towards the Blood Highway.
“Can you still sense the magic battle?” the general asked the mages as he led the way across the Blood Highway.
“Yes,” nodded one of the mages, “but it is getting weaker. Whoever is fighting is dying.”
“Smoke!” announced one of the soldiers. “We might be riding into a firestorm.”
The general lifted his nose and sniffed the air. He nodded subconsciously as he smelled the wood smoke, but he did not slow his pace through the forest. Moments later the smoke was thick in the air, and the sounds of battle drifted towards the small column of soldiers and the two mages. The song of a hundred bowstrings sang on the breeze, and the general frowned with concern. The general slowed the column and signaled for two soldiers to come forward.
“One right,” commanded the general, “and one left. Proceed quietly and report back swiftly.”
The two soldiers dismounted and disappeared into the trees. The general dismounted and softly called for the rest of the soldiers to assemble and prepare for battle. The smoke grew thicker, and the sounds of crackling wood overpowered the sounds of battle. The soldiers appeared nervous, but they quickly formed an arc around the general and the two mages. It was a defensive posture designed to buy time while the group waited for reinforcements.
“The battle magic has ended,” one of the black-cloaks said softly. “Where are the rest of the soldiers?”
“They will be along shortly,” General Tauman replied. “We will wait here before going further.”
“Why?” asked the black-cloak. “We must find out who the mage is.”
“Because there is a considerable army in front of us,” scowled the general, “and no Federation army is assigned to this area.”
A few minutes later General Tauman heard the approach of his reinforcements behind him. At almost the same moment, his two scouts returned, and they were disarmed and escorted by unfamiliar soldiers. General Tauman glared at the unfamiliar soldiers even though they wore the uniform of the Federation.
“What is the meaning of this?” blustered General Tauman. “Release my men.”
“Who are you?” demanded a colonel with the unfamiliar soldiers.
“Who am I?” snapped General Tauman. “Who are you to que
stion the authority of a Federation general? I am General Tauman, Commander of the First Corps, and I will see you stripped of your rank, Colonel. What are you doing in these woods?”
Colonel Magee stiffened and saluted General Tauman. “Sorry, General. I was not aware of any other army in this sector. I am Colonel Magee of the A Corps, and we just had quite a battle with rebels not far from here. One of the rebels was a mage, and I was concerned about the possibility of trickery. I do apologize.”
“A Corps?” frowned General Tauman. “The band of misfits? What are you doing this far from Despair?”
Colonel Magee affected a hurt look as he smiled inwardly. “General Forshire is commanding us, General. Perhaps I should lead you to him?”
The A Corps soldiers released their captives and returned their weapons while the colonel apologized. General Tauman glared at the misfits for a moment and then nodded his agreement to the meeting. A protective column formed around the general, and they followed the small band of A Corps soldiers through the woods. Within a minute, they walked into a clearing where a large number of Federation soldiers stood watching the dying flames of a burning cabin. General Forshire moved swiftly to meet the new comers, and Colonel Magee introduced General Tauman.
“I am pleased to meet you, General Tauman,” smiled General Forshire. “I have heard high praise about you and the First Corps, but I had no idea that you might be in this area. I trust my men have treated you cordially?”
General Tauman ignored the question as his eyes scanned the clearing and the burning cabin. “What happened here, Forshire?”
“We tracked some rebels to this cabin,” answered Clint. “One of them was a mage, and we have no mages available to us, so our attack was designed to allow for no escape from the cabin. We burned it to the ground while my archers kept everyone inside.”
General Tauman tried to hide his skepticism, but Clint knew that he would have to convince the Commander of the First Corps. “I see that you have mages in your command,” Clint continued. “Might I avail of their skills?”
“What do you need?” asked General Tauman.
“I would like to quickly cool the fire,” answered General Forshire. “There might be some material on their bodies that could lead me to more of the rebels.”
General Tauman glanced at the black-cloaks, and the mages nodded that the idea had merit. The general nodded back, and the two mages moved through the soldiers and began casting freezing spells on the cabin. In mere moments the fire was out. General Forshire moved towards the cabin, and General Tauman and the black-cloaks immediately joined him. The four men picked their way through the icy, charred debris until they came to the remains of the rebels. The two male bodies were nothing more than charred bones, but the woman amazingly had portions of her flesh and clothing still intact.
“She must have been heavily shielded,” commented one of the black-cloaks.
“What a horrible way to die,” shuddered the other black-cloak. “Imagine the fire slowly melting your shields.”
General Forshire drew his knife and slit the belt around the woman’s waist. He lifted it free and brought the pouch to his hand. General Tauman watched curiously as Clint ripped apart the weakened fabric of the pouch and slid a distorted chunk of gold into his hand. Several gold coins had been heated enough to melt into one, but the face of the top coin was still visible. Clint frowned as he turned and handed the gold to General Tauman.
“Most strange,” General Forshire said. “I have never seen coins like that before. What do you make of them?”
The top coin was clearly Alcean, and Clint noted the look of recognition in Tauman’s eyes. The Commander of First Corps said nothing as he handed the gold back to Clint.
”There is nothing of interest left in here,” declared one of the black–cloaks.
“I agree,” stated General Tauman. “Let us return to camp. Well met, Forshire. Happy hunting.”
“Camp?” inquired General Forshire. “Are you based somewhere around here? Perhaps we can have dinner tonight? I would love to get advice from the Federation’s most praised general.”
General Tauman’s lips curled almost into a sneer as he turned to gaze at General Forshire. “I am afraid that my schedule does not allow for idle time, General Forshire.”
Clint stood with a dazed look on his face as the other three men made their way out of the ruins. General Tauman and his escort immediately left the clearing and disappeared into the trees. Clint watched them depart and then made his way to Colonel Magee.
“What did you learn?” Clint asked softly.
“The name of the fortress is Camp Destiny,” answered the colonel. “They are a closed-mouth group as far as soldiers go, but I suspect that Camp Destiny holds the entire First Corps.”
“That is ten thousand men,” Clint replied with astonishment.
“Indeed.” Colonel Magee nodded. “That tunnel must lead to somewhere large enough to host a lot of men and horses.”
“We are heading back towards Despair,” Clint declared. “I will be going on ahead. You and Colonel Hardi will command the men in my absence. While you travel, I want you to see if you can find anyone who has been booted out of the First Corps. Someone has to know what is being hidden up here.”
* * * *
General Tauman dismounted at the mage camp and faced the two black-cloaks who had traveled with him.
“What did you make of the situation in the woods?” he asked.
“They will find nothing of interest in the ruins,” stated one of the mages. “The fire had burned too efficiently before we put it out.”
“That is not exactly what I was asking,” frowned the general. “Was there truly a magical battle there?”
“Absolutely.” The mage nodded. “Besides the vibrations we felt, the trees outside the cabin were scorched by magical projectiles.”
“And the woman’s body could never have survived as well as it did without magical shields,” added the other black-cloak. “Her power was probably rather impressive.”
“Not impressive enough to avoid death in an inferno,” scowled the general. “Couldn’t she have destroyed Forshire’s army?”
“Not if he kept his men shooting arrows at the doorway,” explained the mage. “There are mages capable of erecting physical shields, but they require so much concentration that it is unthinkable to use offensive magic at the same time.”
“And the mightiest mage can be felled by a simple arrow,” agreed the other mage. “Her mistake was not escaping before the fire was set.”
“Is something bothering you?” one of the black-cloaks asked the general.
“The coins found on the woman were Alcean,” frowned the general, “yet the woman who attacked the shipyards in Giza was suspected of being incredibly powerful. I just find it hard to believe that such a great power could be killed by a band of misfit soldiers.”
“I think it is possible,” stated one of the mages. “The more interesting question is what the Alceans were doing near Camp Destiny. If they know the purpose of this valley, our attack plans are in great jeopardy.”
“That is also troubling me.” General Tauman nodded. “I had my men drive the occupants of that cabin away as it was too close for comfort. I should have burned it down myself. Could this mage have gotten past your sentries at the tunnel entrance?”
“Inconceivable.” The mage shook his head. “Even if she could have made herself invisible, the sounds of her footsteps would have been heard in the tunnel. She never made it inside the camp.”
“I agree,” stated the other mage. “The secret of Camp Destiny is still secure.”
“Very well,” sighed the general. “Get a report of this incident off to Despair immediately.”
* * * *
The common room at the Spoke and Wheel Inn of Calusa was practically empty. The only occupants of the room were three men and a woman, and they occupied the corner table farthest from the entrance. The ages of the three men were var
ied enough to represent three generations of a single family, but the men appeared as dissimilar to one another as they could possibly be.
The oldest man had long, straggly wisps of pearly white hair surrounding his balding dome. His face was wrinkled and creased with age, and his eyes held a certain vacant look, as if the man’s mind was leagues away.
The youngest man had thick, straight, brown hair down to his shoulders. His face was youthful, and his eyes held the appearance of great intelligence. His skin was smooth, as if it had never required the need for scraping away the growth of hair.
The middle-aged man had fiery red hair that sat atop his head like brambles crowning a hillock, and his beard was just as unruly. His eyes continually burned with anger, and his jaw was set rigidly as he spoke, as if he were tearing each word in half before he uttered it.
The woman was tall and thin, almost too thin for a healthy woman, but her constantly distracted gaze drew attention away from her slight form. She turned her head often as she spoke, setting her long blond hair to swaying as the conversation heated up.
“I heard Smirka was a hidden walled city,” declared Kalmar. “People were reluctant to speak openly about it, but once they were alone, they spoke fearfully of evil and death. I cannot imagine what business we would have in a place like that.”
“It is said that the walls have kept out the Federation army,” offered Valera, “just as it kept out the Karamin army before it. Outsiders have never been accepted in the village of Smirka.”
“Walls don’t keep armies out,” scowled Theos. “The village is possessed with evil. I heard it has existed for centuries, but no one has ever gone there and returned. I imagine the whole village is inbred with possessed idiots. I see no reason to go within a hundred leagues of Smirka.”
Zynor, who had been staring off into space for the entire discussion, suddenly turned his head and gazed at Theos. “Inbred no doubt,” he said thoughtfully, “but not idiots I think. I seem to remember reading something a long time ago about such a village in this part of the world. While there was no mention of walls, I remember reading with interest about the four pillars of the village.”
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