13 Day War (65 page)

The plan had been for Alex to wait for a period of time when the magical assault on the camp would stop completely, giving him a safe window of opportunity to move through the target zone before the assault started anew, but the early discovery of General Fortella’s body demanded swifter action. He halted at the edge of the target zone and glanced around. The ground ahead was a land of total devastation. Nothing moved in the area except the smoke drifting up from the charred ground. Every couple of seconds, another fireball flew through the sky and impacted in a dazzling display of fire. The spells were no longer threatening the Federation army as everyone in the target zone was already dead, but no one seemed to be questioning why the mages were not changing the trajectories of their spells.

Anxiously waiting for the numbers to fall into place, Alex kept to the shadows at the edge of the target zone, but his time for waiting soon ended. Soldiers raced into the area looking for a bloody colonel, and Alex knew that he could not afford to wait for the lull in spells. He broke from the shadows and raced into the devastated area just as someone pointed to him and shouted to the others. As the Knight of Alcea ran across the blighted area, he caught sight of a quickly growing brilliance out of the corner of his eye. He dove forward, curling his body into a ball as the ground exploded behind him. As he rose to his feet and began running again, Federation arrows stabbed the ground on both sides of him. He sacrificed a bit of speed as he began to waver his path of escape. Another ball of fire slammed into the ground behind him, and he heard screams of pain as the fire consumed some of his pursuers. As Alex neared the relative safety of green forest, he felt an arrow whiz past his face. The arrow had come from in front of him, and he heard a gurgle of death behind him. He dove for the bushes before him.

“Hurry,” the female voice urged him, “but be silent. There are patrols out here searching for the mages.”

Alex rose to his feet and saw Princess Rhula let another arrow fly. He turned to see the last of his pursuers fall to the ground.

“I am indebted,” Alex said to the elven princess.

“So you are,” grinned Princess Rhula. “Send your fairy to the mages. There is no point in them risking capture now that you are no longer in the camp. Garong will aid their retreat.”

The Coastal Highway north of Trekum was a well-traveled road that passed through stands of forest and patches of grassland. Its broad expanse rolled over gentle hills and crossed valleys both broad and narrow. Along its wide surface, the 10
^th
Corps cavalry rode three abreast followed by six files of infantry. Behind the 10
^th
Corps of Ertak, the 22
^nd
Corps of Spino waited in camp for their turn to head south. When fully assembled, Team Caldar would stretch for over two leagues in length, and that was an inviting target for the nomadic horsemen of Sordoa.

As the sun rose over the Sordoan Sea on the twelfth day of the Zaran invasion, sunlight glinted off the swords and shields of Sordoan horsemen who occupied the western end of a broad grassy valley which was bordered by forests on both sides. Shouts of alarm rippled through the ranks of the 10
^th
Corps, and the infantry section that was crossing the valley immediately halted and pivoted towards the enemy. The first rank dropped to one knee and raised their shields. The second rank stood and raised their shields, while the other four ranks prepared their bows. The shield bearers drew their swords and waited for the attack. They did not have long to wait.

One-thousand Sordoan horsemen charged from the far western end of the valley, their war cries loud and reverberating. The sunlight danced off their shields sending blinding rays of sunlight into the faces of the Zarans, but the archers were unmoved. They glanced down to avoid the light and waited for the enemy to come within range. The sound of the galloping horses thundered and the ground rumbled increasingly as the horses drew closer. Zaran arrows were nocked as men in the first rank called out the distance of the approaching horde. Bows were raised high for an early strike, and squad leaders started counting down to zero.

Unexpectedly, the Sordoans turned in a well-practiced maneuver. Zaran arrows flew through the sky, but the Sordoans were no longer charging. With long crisscrossing sweeps from side-to-side, the Sordoan horsemen reversed course and began galloping away, yet the thunder and pounding did not diminish. The Zaran archers nocked arrows again, ready for another reversal that would bring the Sordoans back into range. It never happened.

Even as the Sordoans galloped away from the column, the thunder and rumbling increased. Eventually, one of the Federation soldiers turned around and saw the real threat. Charging out of the sun from the eastern end of the valley were thousands of Sordoan horsemen, the noise of their advance covered up by the charge from the west. They were already too close for the Zarans to reform their defensive line. Some of the closest Zarans dropped to one knee and tried to raise their shields as they had been taught, but others fired their arrows into the sun, hoping to score a blind hit. The Sordoans used their horse bows for three shots each before releasing their bows to hang on saddle tethers. They drew their swords as they surged into the Federation line and cut their way through to the other side.

The battle was over almost as soon as it began. The Sordoan horsemen continued heading westward after they rode through the Federation column, leaving thousands of Federation bodies in their wake.

The Federation column remained unmoving long after the Sordoans were gone. Soldiers filed into the valley searching for men that were wounded and trying to patch them up as best they could. An eerie quiet pervaded the battlefield, the soldiers speaking in hushed tones as if raising a voice would anger the gods.

Eventually, General Omirro arrived on the battlefield. He surveyed the carnage and immediately summoned runners to him. He issued orders for cavalry units to maintain a presence in all open fields until the infantry had safely passed back into the woods and then he ordered the column to start moving again. The soldiers grumbled about leaving their dead and wounded behind, but not loud enough for the general to hear. Everyone knew that he was in a foul mood, and no one wanted to risk his ire.

A couple of hours later, the vanguard of the 22
^nd
Corps of Spino reached the battlefield. General Barbone and Colonel Pineta moved out of the vanguard and halted to survey the damage. For several minutes, neither of them spoke as their eyes scanned the bodies. Piles of the dead had been dragged off the road to avoid obstructing the column, and the piles resembled berms lining the road. General Barbone grimaced at the sight.

“I heard the report the same as you did,” the general said solemnly, “but I cannot imagine what took place here today. Omirro keeps treating these Sordoans as if they were docile Dielderal, but I think he is wrong.”

“I do not see many Sordoans among the dead,” commented the colonel.

General Barbone rose up in his saddle and gazed left and right. He sat back down and sighed. “Nor do I, Colonel. The famed impenetrable line of the 10
^th
Corps did not hold too well against the Sordoans.”

“The sight of this carnage will be upsetting to the men, General. It is already hard to maintain morale without decent food.”

“I agree,” replied the general. “Call a halt to the column and have the vanguard take care of the bodies. I will not have my army march through this.”

“General Omirro will be livid if we halt the column,” warned the colonel.

“Blast Omirro,” snapped the general. “Carry out my orders.”

The colonel saluted silently and rode off to issue the orders. General Barbone rode further into the valley, gazing upon the dead and avoiding the hateful glares of the wounded who were being left behind to fend for themselves. As he rode around the valley, he saw a lone horseman in the distance. He squinted towards the western end of the valley and recognized the bald governor. His first thought was about the audacity of the Sordoan sitting there gloating over his handiwork, but something tugged on the general’s mind. The Sordoan’s face held no grin. Curious, the general rode towards the Sordoan, and the governor rode towards him. When they reached a distance of one-hundred paces, the Spinoan general halted.

“Come to gloat?” he shouted.

The Sordoan continued approaching until he was within talking distance.

“What is there to gloat over?” asked Governor Mobami. “Good men died on both sides today. Should I gloat because more of the dead were yours? I asked for your surrender to avoid scenes such as this, but if blood must stain Sordoan soil, I prefer it to be Federation blood.”

The general nodded, feeling awkward talking to the enemy without a flag of truce. “You will not be able to repeat such a feat,” stated the general. “You realize that, don’t you?”

“There are many ways to defeat an enemy,” shrugged Governor Mobami. “This is my land and I know it well. I need not rely on any single tactic. I know that you think my words are boastful, but you will learn the truth eventually. I only hope that you see the truth before all of your men are dead.”

“Like the men of Gattas and Ritka?” retorted the general.

“Ritka’s men are not dead,” replied the governor. “Only he is. General Stemple surrendered all of Team Gortha after Ritka died. As for Gattas and Montero, the truth has already been told to you. I cannot force you to believe it.”

General Barbone gazed into the Sordoan’s eyes as if trying to gauge the amount of truth in the words spoken. He sighed anxiously and looked away.

“What would you do if we did surrender?” asked the general.

“We already have camps set up for your men,” answered the governor. “They will be fed and cared for until the end of hostilities. When the war is over, they will be sent back to their homes.”

“That is just unbelievable,” frowned the general. “No one treats a conquered enemy that way. More likely, you will enslave my men. I give you credit for making such statements with a believable tone, but your words are absurd.”

“You truly do not know your enemy, General,” the governor said without malice. “I am a Sordoan, subjugated by the Alcean king. Do I look enslaved to you? In my early days as a soldier, words such as mine would have been unbelievable to my ears as well, so I know what you are thinking, but you do not understand King Arik. He has made loyal subjects out of all of his enemies.”

“I cannot imagine such a thing,” the general said with a shake of his head. “It is outlandish.”

“I know,” smiled the general, “but he is an outlandish king. I remember the day I first met him. I was defending Trekum against an army of one-hundred-thousand Lanoirians. They had us in a siege and there was no escape from it. King Arik rode into the city to speak to me. I laughed when he told me who he was, because the story was so outlandish, but he proved it to me. I have never doubted his word since.”

“I know of no king whose word can be trusted,” retorted General Barbone. “I only believe in what I can see and feel. When you can prove your words, we will talk again.”

“If proof is what you need,” shrugged the governor, “then proof you shall have. Will it make a difference if you learn the true fate of the other teams? Will you surrender then?”

“General Omirro is team leader,” replied General Barbone. “It is his decision to surrender or fight.”

“Do the lives of the men of the 22
^nd
Corps not matter to you? Do you consign their fate to the whims of an Ertakan?”

“That is harsh,” scowled the general. “My men matter a great deal to me, but I am only a participant in a team effort. It is Omirro who leads this team.”

“You are a general of an army,” countered the governor, “and you are responsible for the welfare of your men. That is not a responsibility that you can consign to others, whether it be a team leader or even a king. If you are not prepared to stand for them, you should resign and let them be led by one who will stand for them.”

The governor turned his horse and rode away. General Barbone watched him leave, a frown clouding the Spinoan’s face. He felt as if his father had just given him a stern lecture, yet the Sordoan was no older than the general was. He shook his head and turned his horse to return to his troops.

* * * *

Four arrows streaked out of the trees alongside the Barouk-Ongchi Road, and four Federation soldiers of the 25
^th
Corps of Aerta fell to the ground. Howls of outrage sounded throughout the column, and a Federation captain disobeyed his orders.

“Kill them!” shouted the captain as he raised his sword and charged into the woods.

The entire company followed their captain, although many of the men were weary and afraid. One-hundred soldiers ran into the forest, shouts of revenge ripping from their throats. The shouted war cries only helped to cover the sounds of snapping bowstrings as the Lanoirians fired without mercy. Within seconds the shouting died, replaced with the moans of the wounded.

Colonel Potter of the 25
^th
Corps raced along the road and halted in the gap in the column created by the absence of an entire company. He gazed into the forest and shook his head in disgust. The captain of the next company in the column halted when he reached the colonel. The colonel turned and glared at him.

“How many times must I tell you not to leave the road?” he bellowed.

“My company is still here,” retorted the captain, “but just barely. The men will not stand for being used as targets, Colonel. If they are going to die, they want to at least engage the enemy.”

“And die like them?” the colonel shouted as he pointed towards the woods. “The Lanoirians are trying to get us to do exactly what that fool did. The next captain that defies my orders will die by my own sword.”

The captain opened his mouth to retort, but the colonel’s rage made him think better of speaking his mind.

“And close up the gap in the column,” shouted the colonel.