BOOK II OF III: The Reign of the Sultan (32 page)

Only seconds after the assistants had
finished and departed, Thorn entered the command tent, saluted, and
then reported, “My Sultan, a special surprise dinner will be here
momentarily.”

With a smile, Bator said, “Thank you, General
Thorn—perfect timing, as always!”

“Thank you, my Sultan…”

“Where is General Petrol?”

“He said he’ll be here in about ten minutes,
or so, as he had a few important things to take care of with the
troops, my Sultan.”

“No problem,” Baltor said as he took his seat
at the table, which had been set for three. Thorn sat down on the
other side.

Not even five seconds later, three male
soldiers entered the tent, carrying a tray of steaming food.
Following behind them was a female soldier carrying two
pitchers—one filled with water and the other with wine.

Right away was the food and drinks set neatly
onto the table, before these four soldiers saluted and departed the
command tent.

After the lids were removed and steam had
cleared, a few seconds later, what became revealed were spicy-red
potatoes that had an equally spiced strip of salmon to its
side.

Only seconds later did Baltor become very
pleased with the taste of the fresh salmon he ate, instead of the
heated-up porridge or dried jerky that they typically ate.

Several bites later, Thorn revealed, “About
two hours ago, we discovered a large river not too far away from
here, so while most of us set up camp, I had several thousand of
our troops go fishing. The salmon you are eating now came from the
river, and is quite delicious, yes, my Sultan?”

“Wonderful!”

“Thank you, but I did not cook this. It just
was my idea.”

“Outstanding idea, General.”

“Thank you, my Sultan!”

“You’re welcome!”

Upon completion of dinner that even included
a couple glasses of red wine, a just-promoted general entered the
command tent, snapped his salute, and reported, “My Sultan, the
troops are outside ready in formation, and ready to train under
your command.”

Baltor replied, “Excellent work, General
Loken”

“Thank you, sir!”

A moment later, Loken asked with quite a bit
of curiosity to his voice, “By the way, what is it that we will all
get to learn today? Blind fighting? Some additional martial arts
techniques? Weapons training? What?”

After having swallowed the portion of salmon
in his mouth, Baltor replied, “Actually, I haven’t decided
that—I’ll know once we commence with the next lesson, as I always
let my intuition guide me.”

“As you wish, my Sultan,” Loken said.

He snapped a sharp salute, before he departed
out the command tent with his two colonels—only seconds later,
Petrol entered the tent, bowed to his leader, and said,
“Finally…time to e—”

Petrol did not get to finish his word of
“eat,” for what interrupted him was the cry of one word resounding
outside the command tent—“gnomes!”

Not even a second later, Baltor and his
generals were all running out the tent with swords drawn and
ready—they saw that every soldier was now frozen in place with
weapons and/or shield in hand, as Baltor had earlier instructed
them to do! After all, they had undergone many training sessions in
learning how to fight blindly—they were ready for the darkness to
enshroud the land.

Ten million gnomes magically appeared around
the entire encampment in the blink of an eye! Strangely enough,
there were no magic black clouds anywhere … they clearly wanted to
be seen.

Only a handful of seconds later, Baltor’s
ears were the first to detect the sound of flapping wings from
somewhere far off to the east—instantly Thorn, who had just caught
up, asked with a little fear in his voice, “Is—is that the
dragon?”

Still scanning the skies, especially to the
east, Baltor replied with a cool calmness, “My intuition tells me
that it is the dragon, this army’s leader, who has come to have our
pre-war discussion—yes.”

“What is your command, my Sultan?” Petrol
asked with apprehension in his voice.

“Commanding-General, calm yourself down and
order the men to form ranks—I shall personally deal with this
dragon myself!” Baltor ordered. “Perhaps, just like before, this
war can be averted and millions of lives saved, if the dragon and I
fight one on one combat to the death?”

Before Petrol could order the troops, Baltor
interrupted him as he smacked his left fist into his right open
palm, declaring aloud, “Yes, this is the exact route in making
their army disorganized! This is how we will ultimately win this
war today, so that we can go back homes to our wives and
families.”

“Yes, my Sultan! Forces, form ranks!”

Thirty seconds later, the source of the
sounds could be seen by everyone—a dark shadow flying in the skies
toward them!

Only Baltor’s eyes were able to zoom in and
clearly see every single detail about this gargantuan black dragon
that nonchalantly flew back and forth through the skies. This
creature was as big as a house!

Baltor’s super-intelligent mind had already
tabulated that this dragon was nearly a hundred feet in length, and
eighty feet in width if you counted the sixty-foot wingspan—it also
had at least fifty tons of flesh that was protected by natural
black-plated body armor!

Only once in every ten seconds or so did
those massive wings flap, though for the rest of the time they
remained evenly spread out. Its flight pattern resembled a
hawk’s.

It took another half minute before the dragon
arrived by landing on the ground right next to the command tent.
Right near Baltor and all his officers.

The fear in the soldiers’ eyes was clearly
evident, and the dragon appeared to be thoroughly reveling in that
fear, as it gazed all around with its emerald green eyes squinting
menacingly, coupled with its very sinister and snaky smile!

A few moments later, the dragon looked over
at Baltor, and hissed, “Greetingsss, Baltor. Now isss the time that
we finally meet for the first time face to face in the flesh on the
battlefield…and perhapsss for the last! Will you join usss?”

“Never,” Baltor calmly replied.

The dragon replied, “I’ll tell you what,
Baltor. Ssssurrender all your forcesss to me, asss well your life
and sssoul, and I will spare the livesss of everyone on this
stinking world! If you do not surrender, however, my army of
darklingsss and I will kill every single one of you—asss you can
see, you and your army are completely surrounded, and outmatched.
You will lossssssse…”

Baltor answered with a question of his own,
“How about a one on one between me and you—nameless one?”

“How rude of me…let me introduce myself—my
name isss Dreeak!”

“Well how about it, Dreeak? How about it? One
on one? You versus me? Man versus dragon? Come on, Dreeak the
Freak—bring it on!”

Instead of answering any of Baltor’s
questions and attitudes, Dreeak replied with a question of her own,
“Why don’t you just honorably sssacrifice yourself for the world,
and prepare for your death that isss inevitable?”

In exasperation, Baltor flung both his hands
and head high up into the heavens, and while gazing all around in
those skies, cried out, “My God, why have you given me such a
cowardly and stupid dragon who speaks of honor and sacrifice as if
it knew all about these divine qualities, yet knows nothing at
all?”

Instead of waiting for a response from God or
the dragon—Baltor’s hands instantly grasped the handles of his
swords, unsheathed them, and threw them like darts straight for the
dragon’s eyes!

Even though each sword simultaneously
punctured through an eyeball of the dragon, the illusion completely
disappeared in “a puff of smoke,” as did all the images of the
darkling gnomes!

Baltor’s dropped-open mouth asked the
question, “What the—?”

The very second he had begun to voice this
question, his two swords landed and stuck themselves into the
ground, fortunately without hurting anyone in the process.

Just as Baltor had begun over to walk to
retrieve his swords, the sounds of flapping wings, as well a deep
booming laughter, could be heard far away to the southeast; soon
after, those sounds dissipated into the night…

After he had sheathed his swords, only a
couple moments later, he declared through his megaphone,
“Forces—what we obviously just experienced was a magical illusion
of epic proportions!

“So, from here on out, whether you can see
and hear a darkling gnome and/or dragon does not mean they are
actually there. Thus, trust only in your sense of intuition, in
order to win against the actual foes wherever they lie. Do you
understand?”

“Yes, my Sultan!” they all boomed.

“Unset camp and eat dinner…in one hour, we
assume battle formations and move southeast. Dismissed.”

They did.

Precisely one hour later, and the report was
given that all was said and done, Baltor replied, “Excellent!
Major-General Thorn, order the forces to move.”

Only a second earlier, Thorn had arrived
riding on one horse while bearing the reins of Baltor’s horse.
While handing those reins over, he answered, “Yes, my Sultan!”

After Baltor had grabbed the reins, Thorn
called out, “Forward march—half right, march.”

Baltor climbed into the saddle of Grasha and
the army began to once again march southeast. By sunrise the
following morning and without any encounters, they made camp with
triple the normal guards. That night, before camp could be unset,
Baltor issued the order that the army was to keep the camp set for
the night as they would be staying one more night—the following
morning was when they would move on.

That night, alone in his command tent with
the strict order not to be disturbed for any reason other than if
they were being attacked, Baltor continued to make what he called
“acid bombs.”

In order to produce one such bomb, which he
had learned long ago how to create in his chemistry class, there
were three necessary ingredients—the first ingredient was a glass
beaker that had all these qualities: one-gallon sized,
ovular-shaped and acid-proof.

The next two ingredients were very different,
yet equally powerful acidic solutions that could eat through flesh,
rock, and even steel … all but this special glass.

As Baltor had almost-fatally discovered,
years ago, during the time of the “Great Earthquake,” as well his
classmates and teacher, the first type of acid reacts very
violently when shaken up and intermixing with sudden large doses of
oxygen—it literally explodes like a bomb!

So, here were the very-very-very careful
steps Baltor used in order to make each and every acid bomb—first,
he set the opened-at-the-top beaker into a beaker holder sitting on
his table.

He next filled the beaker nearly halfway with
the first solution, and then he ever so slowly heated the glass in
the middle until it got soft and manageable. Once so, he ever so
gently pinched the glass in the middle with pliers until thoroughly
sealed. After the glass was cool and stiff, he inspected the beaker
to make sure it was sealed, washed out the top half, dried it, and
filled it three-quarters of the way to the top with the second
solution. Finally yet importantly, he heated the glass back up and
thoroughly sealed it at the very top.

Baltor could only imagine the “devastatingly
brutal effects” that would occur when the glass finally got
shattered and the two acids intermixed—after all, he had never seen
this weapon yet explode!

For this very reason, the reason of caution,
he ensured that the “completed acid bombs” were carefully wrapped
in blankets, placed in a wood box, and stored in the back of the
supply wagons. By the end of this night, since having left Pavelus,
he had managed to create yet another bomb to add to his collection
of sixty-four.

The following morning, while the army
marched, Baltor slept in the back of one of the bunk wagons—nearly
a dozen small-to-medium battles against dark gnomes occurred
throughout this day, but nothing major occurred—only a dozen
friendly casualties there were in total, while hundreds of gnomes
died. That night, while the army camped and treated their wounded,
he made yet another bomb—sixty-five.

In the Kingdom of Thorium—the very next
morning…

Chelsea arrived at the docks of Politesse on
her ship. As soon as she had identified herself to the port
authorities, both rank and name, a small procession of guards
escorted her beyond the city walls, through the beautiful capital
city, and up to the stunning stone castle that lay near the center.
Thousands of city folk walked here and there, mindful of their own
business.

This massive/ten-story building had not just
been built for looks, yet more-so to be a formidable
fortress—complete with a moat that surrounded her and an attached
drawbridge that was currently down.

Once inside, the guards forthwith escorted
Chelsea to the throne room, where she saw a gorgeous young woman
sitting in her red-velvet throne. She had short-cropped, blonde and
wavy hair, wore a golden crown, and of course, a classy golden
dress.

The royal announcer declared in the language
of Thorium, “Queen Calitta… Ambassador Chelsea of the Sharia Empire
has arrived, and wishes to speak with you.”

Calitta politely greeted in Pavelian,
“Welcome to Politesse, Ambassador Chelsea.”

With another low bow, Chelsea replied, “Thank
you, Queen Calitta.”

“So, what brings you to my kingdom?”

“Most likely you have heard the news that the
Sharia Empire has recently taken over the Vaspan Empire?” Chelsea
answered with a question of her own.

With a pleased smile upon her face, Calitta
answered, “Yes, I have, which is a very, very, very good thing!
Emperor Vaspan has been a royal pain to us for many decades now,
stealing our lands and killing not only our soldiers, yet marauding
and pillaging our villagers—men, women, and children.”