Original Submissions
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The Warriors of Faith: Part I: "Chasing Ghosts" by Ghost
Added on Dec 25, 2007A templar of Allanak leads an army to eliminate gith raiders threatening the forts. But nothing goes as planned.
Prologue
The warrior’s one good eye opened as a spear poked his ribs. A bull by the gith standards, he had killed many soldiers in the battle of the morning and even now, without weapons and tied in knots of rope, the soldiers kept their distance from him. All around the field were a mass of bodies, his former friends, tribemates, followers... now sprawled and painted crimson in the afternoon sun. The smell of blood and open bowels hung heavy in the air. The chief warriors of his tribe were impaled and their bodies sagged loosely, held upright by spikes as tall as a man.
It was a bleak day to see it all end.
His eyes drifted to the hills where the last group of his warriors had fled. There was no sign of them now, save for those who fell in their final flight. Broken bodies scattered like cornerstones of an ancient road.
At least they are free, he thought. They do not take shame in my defeat.
Where was the God of War now? Where was the claiming of the Tablelands? His mind wandered back over the months, tasting again the joys of the uprise. The pride, as strong gith came to him from all other tribes, united against the invading armies of the human city. Stinking humans, were they even worthy of fighting? Everything was so perfect in the beginning. His army were the best warriors of the best race. He was so confident that they could crush the world under their feet. They would stand against the armies of the city humans, make a show of force to other tribes and gather them under their names. Then they would drive all humans and elves from the Tablelands, their rightful home. It had all seemed possible for a while, but now there were only ashes in the mouth. Now, he was the only one left of the gith warchiefs that had dared to throw off the invasion of the humans.
Horns were blown and a unit of cavalry riding beasts galloped across a clear path to where the captured gith warlord waited on his haunches. He lifted his bruised head, the mess of hair falling over his face. The soldiers nearby stood attendance in silence, and then the gith warrior knew who was coming. His vision was blurry from weariness and the wounds, but he could see as a lone figure climbed down from his armored beast and pass the reins to another. The spotless blue robe seemed incongruous in the field of death, untouched by the blood and the taint of the battlefield, almost like an illusion in the red painted afternoon.
Slaves spread dry sand over the blood-soaked ground, making a clear path to the tied gith warrior as the blue robed figure walked slowly toward the captive. All the soldiers had their weapons bared, as if looking for an excuse to kill.
No. The gith warrior straightened.
He would not be broken in the face of the enemy, he promised himself silently. He lifted his one good eye to the approaching enemy, causing a nervous shift in the circle of soldiers.
“It is alright, soldiers,” spoke the figure as he walked. “This is the general of an army who fought valiantly. A little respect is due.”
The gith warchief could understand the common tongue of humans, but he showed no sign of it. The men eased in their stance then, offering a respectful bow as the figure passed into the circle of his soldiers.
He stood a few feet away from the kneeling prisoner, his gaze remaining locked on the gith warrior.
“Warchief Untturi.” He tasted the words through his mind. A second later, the gith’s mind was connected to his, as well.
“You have caused me quite a bit of trouble,” spoke the templar.
“I did my best to.” The gith smiled as he sent his thoughts forth.
The templar nodded silently as he responded.
“It is all ended now. Your army is broken.”
Untturi shrugged carelessly. What good was there stating the obvious?
“Here is my sword, swear to me you will never rise against me, and I will leave you alive.”
Untturi blinked back in confusion. One eye was stuck with blood; his other eye searched the templar’s face for a sign of mockery. But he could see none of it.
“Why?” he replied.
“You fought valiantly, and there has been enough death today. One more or one less will make no difference.”
Untturi’s confusion was overwhelming. He was ready to die. A warrior would always prepare for death before the battle. But here was a man, offering him a new life; time to spend with his sons, time to live with his tribe.
“I swear,” he replied, lifting his hands to cup the warrior’s sword. Then aloud, in his native language, “I swear.”
The templar nodded lightly as he bent forward to cut the captive’s bonds. “You have family... your sons, your tribe, what about them?”
Untturi squinted. Surely his sons would want to revenge those who have fallen today. “I cannot speak for them,” the warrior replied.
The templar dipped his head again:
“If they rise against me, I will return. I will bring the wrath of my city on your people on a scale of misery that they have not seen before.”
The gith warrior nodded bitterly, then cast his gaze to the ground. He felt the templar slipping out of his thoughts and heard him walk back to his mount amidst the confused glances of soldiers. Every Allanakki soldier in sight moved off with him. Within seconds, commanders snapped orders to each unit and the army broke camp, moving east along the Shield wall. Untruri was left cold and puzzled, surrounded by the dead.
They rode for several leagues in silence, and finally one of the commanders rode closer to the templar in blue robe.
“Lord Sulach?”
Sulach stopped his mount, turning around to face the source of the voice.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“My Lord,” the man bowed quickly, “don’t you think he will gather the tribes again and bring war upon us?”
Sulach stared off into the distance, seeming to consider. The soldiers riding with him came closer, wanting to hear his reply.
“Perhaps. He is broken... he has seen the defeat and he will live with the shame of it. If he considers rising against us, he will remember that shame.” Sulach held his reins tightly, then shrugged. “But still, perhaps he will. It makes no difference. I beat him once, I can beat him again. He is still the leader of his tribe. If he dies, the new warchief will seek revenge, and we have not fought him yet. He can surprise us.”
He turned his mount and paused. “We defeated the enemy soldiers. The war is over. It is time to return home.”
With that, he grew silent again, and all nearby soldiers nodded at once, riding after him.
Chapter 1
"- So I'm sittin' there with the Chosen Lady, gabbin' it up, pretendin' t'be a prude kiss-ass. What a fawkin' time t'pop a hard-on, eh?"
- Khortoc Salarr
The wind raged across the closely pitched tents, picking up dust and sand over the dunes and sending them up towards the skies. All the campfires were put out for fear the storm could pick them up and hurl them across the camp. The stars and moons were blocked by the dustclouds, the sands covering what the pitch black night left.
The lone figure amidst the tents shivered uncomfortably as the blue robe ranking his command in the Highlord’s service struggled weakly in the blowing wind. The wind blew cold at night, in contrast to the burning heat of the day, but such was the trials of the desert. It would test your courage and determination on all ends to come.
Two years had passed since he’d endured the trials of the desert: Two years, since his last campaign in these desolate lands, his decisive victory against the gathered gith tribes. He had hoped he would not have to ride out again after that battle, but fate was fickle. The gith raids had started again too close to the completion of the forts, and more importantly, too close to his marriage with Ka’Tryn Borsail.
The image of the woman flashed momentarily across his eyes. The first time he’d seen her was in the Arboretum. Among the gathered nobles, she was resting comfortably on a pillow across the fountain. Smooth, creamy flesh, fair and preserved from the ravaging rays of Suk-Krath, as fine as the silks and jewelry that covered it. Her curves were clear and smoothly defined; something she clearly knew, and took advantage of. But it was her eyes that stole all his attention back then. With those eyes he became enthralled, watching exquisitely formed fingers, five digits of perfection, rise to pull a strand of hair like a silky curtain. As she pushed a strand from her face, jewel eyes, dark and ebon were revealed, and then there was no escaping the danger of her. A man might get lost in the dark depths of her eyes, or he might glance away -- only to look back again.
He was mesmerized by her that day, and the day after… and after… He started to see her more often. Day after day, they grew closer. Politics or city affairs, in everything they were together. By marrying her, he would have Borsail’s support. With her at his side, everything seemed possible. Everything was complete.
Ka’Tryn. Ahh, Ka’Tryn…
The wind sent a cold shiver running down his spine and brought him back from his dreams.
So jealous was the desert, it would never let you dream about anything else. He turned around, and pulled the tent flap open. The night was long, and the day would bring the news of the raiders.
One thousand soldiers would march at his command, and there would be fighting. The worries of now and the trials of desert would have to wait. Even Ka’Tryn would have to wait…
Ahh, beautiful Ka’Tryn.
* * * * * * * * * *
Unseen tumblers turned and the stone doors groaned open. The Jihaen templar in his formal red robes entered the room without hesitation; the soldiers flanking him did not need to be ordered to stand guard at the entrance.
Armored boots clacked over the stone tiles, reflecting the beauty of the Tuluki art as the Jihaen crossed the domed room. He approached the single table at the center, two female Lirathans clad in traditional white robes watching him in silence.
“Evening, Faithful Brother Samil. I apologize for interrupting your meditation.”
The Jihaen simply stared at her calmly as he stood in silence. He made no move to sit, and after a long moment, the Lirathan started again.
“Sister Neodyn and I have the news.” She turned to look at the frail form of the other woman across the table.
“He took the bait. He is out in the desert right now,” Neodyn cut in shortly.
The Jihaen nodded briefly at those words. “I will march at daybreak.”
“May the light of His Radiance be your guide, and illuminate your path, Faithful Brother,” finished the Lirathan.
Samil offered a faint dip of his head before turning on his heels. Fast strides carried him to the open doors. The soldiers at the sides quickly pulled the doors shut with a loud clank that echoed from the walls. In a moment, the room was silent once more.
* * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 2
“- Do you know the two most powerful weapons in the Known World?
- Love and Forgiveness?
- No, Boredom and Frustration.”
- Gin of the alleys, and Shattered, the last of the Silt Winds”
Lord Templar Sulach Tor ran his hand over his face. Two days passed since he had calculated where they would start marching, and none of the returning scouts could get a report about gith groups in the previously reported positions.
He looked at the maps lying on the table once more. He had checked all the previous reports indicating the location of the gith numbers. Since then, nearly every location to where they possibly could have moved had been checked. Still nothing. Nothing.
“My Lord,” came a female voice from behind.
“Yes, Sergeant?” Sulach replied without looking back.
“Scout Yeno returned.” Sulach wheeled back sharply, his earring slapping to his cheek at his sudden turn.
“What news?”
“A score of gith were laying in ambush, my Lord!” A tiny figure sprang from beneath the tent flap, carrying the dust and the smell of desert over his attire. The sergeant’s face went red with anger at the scout’s unannounced entrance.
“Here, let me show on the ma-“
The tiny man’s voice ended with a muffled curse as he was pulled by his neck and tripped down to the ground, the dust on his cloak rising in a cloud as he fell on his back. Before he could make a protest, the sergeant’s knee was on his throat, her face twisted in anger:
“Where the FUCK do you think you are going?”
“I was goin-“ he struggled to reply.
“Did you hear being called, soldier?” The sergeant was not in the mood to let that slide.
“Ahh!” yelped Yeno, his tiny frame struggling in vain.
“I said, did you –hear- being called, soldier?”
Yeno shut his eyes tight, holding his breath as if steadying himself for a blow. His small frame seemed to grow even smaller.
“Enough!” Sulach’s voice boomed. The sergeant waited for a second to force herself calm.
“Sergeant Itina, bring that man here.”
The jade-clad woman pulled the little scout up and shoved him roughly to the table. The man trembled for a moment in fear, his hand rubbing his throat where her knee had been pressed. After staring at the woman, trembling, for a few seconds, he finally remembered he was in presence of a templar, and quickly turned to the map, pressing his finger wildly at a point:
“They were here, my Lord!”
Sulach looked down at where he pressed his finger and frowned.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, my Lord. I have seen them.”
It was a bit more to the north of where they were spotted last time. It made no sense. A raid group gathered to launch an onslaught on the forts would not follow such a route. But taking chances on such measures could prove deadly.
“Go back there, stay for two nights. If you see a movement, follow it and find out where the base camp is. Then report immediately. If they do not move in two days, come back here.”
The small man stared at the templar with wide eyes.
Sulach tilted his head as he stared back. “Dismissed, soldier.”
As if waking up from a daydream, the man bowed quickly, then darted for the exit, avoiding his sergeant’s rage-filled gaze.
Sulach stared at the closed tent flap for a moment. Why were the gith moving north now? Were they aware of him? Is this their strategy after their defeat two years ago? What are they tring to do?
“Orders, sir?”
Sulach collapsed tiredly on the chair, fingers pressed to his brows. The sergeant took a step forward, then stopped abruptly.
“Do you need anything, my Lord?” her voice was much softer than it had been moments ago. Only rarely would she speak so, rarely indeed.
Sulach only shook his head without looking up. He did not see the woman gazing at him with admiration, nor did he see her bow respectfully and slip outside, leaving him alone in the stale air of the tent.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Lord Cadra Borsail sat comfortably in his chair, reading through his notes. He was quite pleased with his spy’s latest report. The nauseating Sulach had been led on by the gith, and he was following the simple thread to the source.
Let him ride to his glory. Let him stay out of the picture as I take things into my hands.
A smile crept over his meaty face as he leaned back. With Ka’Tryn around, he could never get his own attention. And with him around, Ka’Tryn would never need Sulach. Separate them, and I have the stage to run my show, Cadra smiled. Perhaps if he could keep Sulach busy chasing ghosts for long enough, he could even marry Ka’Tryn. It would take time, but it was not impossible.
Time will tell, he thought. Yes, time would tell. He called for the slaves for refreshments. Pleasant news and pleasant thoughts deserved celebration. He slouched back even further, his substantial body filling the armchair, and focused on his next move.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 3
“If you do not trust me, then kill me quickly. I do not want to live, knowing that I lost you.”
- Gin of the alleys
Two more days passed without a further confirmation on the location of the gith raiders. The time and energy was being wasted with no results, and Sulach did not have control over it.
The very moment he had decided he’d lost the scout, he heard back from him.
“They are heading north,” came the words into his mind. “I will let you know as soon as I know more.” And then the telepathic connection was cut off.
Moving north still made no sense to Sulach. It would further draw the gith apart from their objective and bring too much complication to their raiding parties.
Unless they are planning something different than engaging me this time, Sulach thought. It could be a retreat, or a trap. The gith realized two years ago that they were no match for Sulach’s disciplined army. Perhaps the lesson was learned and they were fleeing north. Or they were hoping to lure him into a trap.
He finally found Untturi’s mind in desperation.
“I thought you were a man of your word,” Sulach sent his thoughts forward.
The gith’s response came shortly. “And that I am, I have not broken a word that I swore to keep.”
“Then who is leading the raids this time?” Sulach asked.
“No one that I know of. There is no warband gathered against you.”
“My men say otherwise,” Sulach went on.
“Then perhaps you should judge your men’s worth again,” replied the gith warchief. “Did you save my life just to insult my honor?” he added, his thoughts edging on the colors of anger.
Sulach released the psionic contact then. Either someone moved without Untturi’s notice, or he was lying. In either case, he could not keep the army in the same spot forever. The soldiers were growing restless with no battle. He had to close in on the enemy or he had to return.
And it was too early to go back home.
Taking such a huge force and returning without seeing the battlefield would remain as a shame on him. He had to follow whatever plan the enemy lay down for him, and then he had to engage, and break them. That was the only outcome his Tor blood would allow him. And that was the only course he would follow.
The army broke camp at the first lights of Suk-Krath, and set course towards the north.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“He is doing exactly as we predicted,” the mental image of the female Lirathan spoke in Samil’s thoughts.
“Where is he right now?” Samil’s thoughts were calm and carefully calculated.
“He is following north along the Shield Wall. In two day’s march he will be a few leagues east of the mesa.”
“Then his scouts may find my tracks. I will have to move fast and circle him,” said Samil.
And perhaps leave a hunter group to take down any scouts coming close enough to find my tracks, he thought to himself.
“You know what would be the best course of action, Faithful Brother,” Neodyn replied shortly, “His Radiance guide you.”
With that, Samil was left alone in his thoughts. He would order the march before the first lights of the day, and he would send a group of hunters to eliminate any scouts close enough to discover his tracks. He did not want his opponent to know of his plans until he had him cornered.
He opened the flap of the tent and peered outside. Pale Lirathu was low in the sky, and there was still more than an hour until morning. He walked back to his bed and kneeled to the ground.
“Muk Utep” he whispered, pushing all other thoughts from his mind, “Guide me with Your light, give me your strength, open my mind…” He prayed on in silent meditation until the day dawned to a red horizon, and the army started to wake up.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 4
“- Your mind, will bend to my will.”
- The invisible voice
Yeno lay flat on the dune and peered across the sandy ground. He had given his last report a day and a half ago, and he had to send another soon. He watched the terrain closely, and tried to calculate his position. Finding your way in the desert was no easy feat: memorizing the safe spots, watching the angles of any stable points, keeping track of the time, checking the wind, and on top of it all, being prepared for a sandstorm at any time.
His position was good enough, he decided, and now he could send a report. As he thought about what he should say and how to word it, his mind wandered over his last report and what he had been told by Lord Cadra.
“Lead him on, make him chase ghosts,” was his final order. “I will give you further instructions when the situation requires so. For now, just lead him on.”
And that was what Yeno had been doing for the last week. He knew his reports had to make sense, or his cover would be blown and he would be arrested and executed. Tortured first, perhaps, to get what secrets he had kept and who he worked for. Yeno shivered at the thought. It was way too early to die yet, and he had plenty of years in front of him to serve his Lord and city. For greater goods, sometimes sacrifices had to be made.
For this one, Lord Sulach was the sacrifice.
He thought of his report as he kept his gaze on terrain ahead. He would give another report of movement to north, and then he would think of the next one. In a moment, he was connected to Sulach’s mind.
Hundreds of leagues away, in the silence of a huge domed room Faithful Lady Neodyn Winrothol sat back in her chair, her features relaxing as the strain of the psionic drain slowly eased back. Once more she directed Yeno’s thoughts and made him report another movement to north. This would drag Sulach further into the tablelands and provide time for Samil to choose the battleground.
What she did not calculate into her plans was Cadra Borsail’s ambitions. Such a fine surprise it was, it made her job so much easier to follow his instructions to Yeno. All she had to do was direct Yeno in a way that fit with her own plans without bringing suspicion to her work.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on finding Samil’s mind. She had more news to pass to her Faithful Brother.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“- He is weak against the pleasures of the flesh.”
- Serilla Uaptal, Lirathan Templar.
Sulach slammed his fist on the table in frustration, startling his commanders. The single candle on the table, casting more shadows than light, trembled at Sulach’s anger, sending ghosts of shadows scurrying at the interior walls of the command tent. The tension was visible. Days of marching and still the enemy evaded them. Even if it was an ambush, they should have come down on them by now, chasing them forever could not bring any good to the gith.
According to the last report, the gith bands were still moving north.
“Orders, sir?” Lieutenant Strian asked after a moment, but Sulach did not seem to hear him.
Sulach doubted the gith’s intentions now. This could not be a raiding party moving away from their objectives, nor could they be laying a trap. They would have sprung it already. Sulach even gave them a chance to trap him, and still nothing came out of it. No, it makes no sense at all.
“My Lord?”
Sulach lifted his gaze from the map and looked directly at the lieutenant.
“Orders?” Strian asked again.
Sulach gave a sigh, leaning on the table on his fists. “Have the men ready for leaving, we will be marching north.”
The lieutenant nodded sharply, the other officers following his gesture.
“You may return to your units and get some rest before we start marching again.”
They all bowed their respects and began to walk out of the tent.
Sulach called behind them, “Sergeant Itina, could you stay for a moment?” She nodded once, and stepped aside. The rest of the commanders offered only a brief salute to her as they stepped out. Sulach spoke again only after they were alone.
“Bring me Private Eoni.”
Sulach retreated into his thoughts as soon as the sergeant left. He looked down at his maps; there really was not much option he had there. For the first time since he started this campaign he considered returning back. It would be a shame on his end, but then, chasing an enemy like this could only keep on so long. Soon he would have to consider the supply limits, and the soldiers were growing restless without battle. Armies gathered for fight needed to see blood every now and then.
Perhaps the scout was incompetent in judging the enemy. He could send a mage to scout ahead, but mages generally proved useless in scouting missions. They lacked “a soldier’s eye” and would often overlook details that could turn the scales. Sulach did try to train a few mages during the campaigns against the gith, but they quickly learned gith shamans had wards against spying magicks that brought hazardous casualities. During the gith campaign, two of Sulach’s trained mages went insane due to such wards, proving how dangerous a truly crazed mage could be. Using trained soldiers for scouting missions was a lesson hard learned.
Regardless, sending a few more scouts at the same target could not hurt. Surely Yeno would take it as an insult to his work, but more was at stake than a single scout’s feelings now.
“You called for me, my Lord?” Private Eoni and the sergeant were back in the tent.
Sulach lifted his weary eyes to them, looking from one woman to the other. So many questions were racing in his mind, so many decisions. The campaign started with great promises and so many opportunities for his career. But now, it was bad enough that he was prepared to return empty handed.
“I need to feel good, soldiers,” Sulach whispered in the stale air of the tent. “Can you make me feel good?”
No reply was needed. Itina closed the tent flap and secured it as Eoni took off her armor. Sulach watched them both with distant eyes, his thoughts still troubled between returning or going forward. There was only one candle on the table, and even that was too much now.
Soon, the two women took away all his worries.
Lirathan Templar Neodyn felt a tang of disgust as she saw the naked women sound asleep lying beside Sulach. Noble blood sleeping with commons... such was the barbaric nature of southrons. Her mind wandered inside the darkness of the tent, looking at the maps over the table. The eye of the mind, though it did not need light to see as the mortal eyes do, was unfortunately weak to grasp objective details. She could not gather anything from his notes no matter how hard she tried. Moments later her mind returned to her body, exhausted. She was comforted that Sulach had come this far. Samil would catch him within a few days now.
Closing her eyes, she prayed her thanks to the Sun King. There was still time until dawn, and she could rest for an hour. In her chair in the stone-domed room, she rested her head back and in a moment, she was asleep.
* * * * * * * * * *
“-Where is that flower now?
… It...has withered...and died…”
- Ankha
Private Somir sat at the skirts of the Shield Wall, his back to the flat face of a massive, wind-scoured boulder. Despite the protection of the sandcloth, the heat of high sun brought little spots dancing in his vision. He was beginning to feel dizzy, and he would become Krath-struck if he did not take shelter in the little shade of the rock. The sun burned off the sands, turning the desert into a field of gold. Looking ahead too much would bring shifting shadows to the vision, illusions, chasing each other in the endlessness.
Somir placed his waterskin at his feet, using all his willpower to tear his gaze away from it. He had ignored his thirst for quite a while but now, the need for water was starting to dominate all his senses. It was a contest of wills; the desert would whisper the taste of water, the comfort of a good shadow, the call for a peaceful sleep. All those were tests of the desert, to eliminate the weaker minds from the stronger. Somir wanted to believe he was the latter.
He surveyed the sands stretching up to north, a gloved hand shielding his eyes against the scorching sunlight. Although it has been over a day since he turned this way to track down the main gith raiding group, he had yet to see a single gith... let alone a thousand of them.
He reached to the ground and picked the waterskin up gently, almost afraid to hurt the precious contents. He saw a movement of a shadow then, or perhaps he thought he did. He lifted his gaze, water leaving his thoughts only momentarily. It could be from looking about in the high sun for too long, he thought. Perhaps the desert was testing him.
Or perhaps not.
Something whistled, followed by a *thud*. Somir felt the agony of his breath being kicked from his lungs. His gaze dropped to his chest reflexively, and he stared at the protruding arrow with unbelieving eyes. Two more whistling sounds, and Somir was knocked on his back, feeling the hot sands through his protective sandcloth. He tried to get up, but the arrows tore at his insides with the movement and he fell back in pain, facing the skies that he tried so hard to avoid. Direct sunlight burned his eyes; his vision blurred first, twisted next. Everything turned to gold, then orange, then red… He forced his eyes shut, a bright orange curtain pulling over his vision.
He lay there on the sands on the verge of consciousness, burning under the scorching sun. For how long, he did not know. A shadow fell over his face, and he slowly opened his eyes to face his attacker. His executioner was dark against the sunlight as he lifted his sword.
What was it? Figure of the sun? What was a Tuluki doing here so far away from his home?
Then everything went dark.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 5
“Da point of dis comin’ here be to show da good will. We’s can say you’s can trust us an’ all dat shit, but you’s gotta believe a fucker trustworthy when dey’s show up in you’s face an’ you’s ain’t dead.”
- Quick
Days passed with no improvement.
The scouts he sent kept disappearing one by one. One of them managed to send a telepathic message that it was several raiders who ambushed him before the link was severed. No matter what, the message was clear. The enemy was to the north, and they were not letting any information leak.
Sulach was determined not to go any further. No matter what, the enemy was not a threat to the forts, and it was a matter of a mere month until they would be complete. This raiding group was no threat.
Still, Sulach could not bear returning empty-handed. The red robes of the War Ministry had given him command of one thousand soldiers, a great honor for a blue robe. To take all these soldiers back without seeing a battlefield would remain as a scar on him that would not be forgotten. He set the camps. He would not move a league more, but he could wait until the forts are completed. Then, regardless of spilling enemy blood, he would still have completed his objective. So he waited. For three days, nothing happened.
On the third day, as he sat on his pallet in the command tent, Lieutenant Strian asked for permission to enter.
“My Lord, scouts brought someone that has information.”
To that, Sulach merely nodded. The desire for battle was burnt out in him, the first excitement of leading into the field with his soldiers was gone, the eagerness replaced by a bitter aftertaste.
Strian pulled the flap aside, and a huge figure stepped in, ducking so low at the entrance that his body seemed to double over. Towering two heads over him, it was perhaps the tallest elf Sulach ever seen. His lean muscled structure was entirely covered with loose sandcloth garments. The elf stared down at Sulach for a moment, his face incongruous behind the fabric of the sandcloth veil. Sulach hated to be forced to look up, but his expression gave no sign of it.
“What news do you bring me, elf?”
As elf spoke, his breath blowing the sandcloth veil slightly. “Kah, I saw the White Pit men.” His Sirihish was fluent.
“Tuluki?” Sulach was surprised, but still he hid his interest well enough.
The elf seized Sulach in his gaze at that then nodded. “Kah.”
“Where, and how many?”
The elf continued to stare at Sulach with his veiled gaze. “Two hours of Soh run, south of here. Kah, I have not seen them all, but I saw maybe a hundred tents.”
Sulach could not believe what he was hearing. Such a huge Tuluki force was so close to his camp? How was it ever possible he was hearing it from an elf he met for the first time? He tried not to show his anger in front of the longear.
“Is that all?”
The elf seemed to straighten up slightly, then nodded again. “Kah.”
Sulach threw a coin pouch to the elf’s chest. As the elf caught the pouch deftly in his hand, Sulach spoke again. “I hope you are telling the truth. If not, you will see me again.”
The elf smirked behind the sandcloth veil, causing a nervous shift among the officers in the tent.
As Lieutenant Strian led the elf outside, the rest of the military officers stood in silence attendance, waiting for their orders. Sulach did not seem to notice them for a few moments, his gaze lost over the maps. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy, as if shattered under the weight of his troubled thoughts:
“Go to your units. Have field training, and wait for further orders.”
Every officer bowed their respects and left the command tent silently, except for Sergeant Itina. It took a while for Sulach to notice she was still inside the tent, watching him silently.
“Do you wish for a distraction, my Lord?”
Sulach did not answer, but sergeant required none. He needed it. Highlord knows he needed it now, more than anything.
Bowing deeply, she said, “I will be back with Eoni, my Lord.”
The light was the deep red of sunset at the flap of the command tent when Sulach rose from his bed. The two women were still asleep in naked splendor. He did not call the dressing slaves; he did not want to make a sound. The night had pulled its thin veil over the camp when he left the tent.
“My horse,” he called to the nearest soldier, who bowed quickly and strode away, returning with a cloven-hoofed animal behind him. Sulach took the reins from the soldier, running his hand over the muscled neck of the powerful beast. A very rare mount it was, stolen by a gypsy from a Northern Templar a month ago. The cheerful memory of the young gypsy brought a smile to Sulach’s lips.
“Should I call a unit of cavalry to accompany you, Lord Templar?”
Sulach’s merely shook his head as he mounted the powerful stallion. “No soldier. Return to your post. Dismissed.”
The soldier bowed deeply then strode away.
He rode across the desert for hours, alone in the darkness, pale Lirathu his only guide. It gave him a childish joy to feel the breeze on his face, to be alone even for a short period. His mount was not tired yet and he could probably ride for a few hours more. But the distant glow on the dark horizons signaled that he arrived at his destination. He pulled the reins and his horse came to an abrupt stop. From now on it would be dangerous going, but he shrugged it off. He did not ride this far to be scared away.
He spotted a sharp rock, jutting towards the skies. It had a steep slope, but it would give the perfect survey of the land. He rode silently, thankful to the night for cloaking him under the thick sheet of darkness.
He tied the cloven-hoofed stallion to the base of the rock and stripped off the chitin parts of his armor one by one. The climb would be a hard one. When he was done, he only had a short knife at his belt and a thin loose outfit to cover him against the chill of the desert night. His fingers touched the cold face of the stone. Yes, the climb would be a hard one.
He went steadily and carefully. All his thoughts and worries were gone, save for the growing fear of falling off the rock. The cold night was sending shivers with each breeze, and reminding him of his mortality as he ascended. He kept his focus ahead, rising slowly, each step using more effort than the other.
A powerful hand grabbed him by the wrist when he finally found the top and pulled him up. It was a strong grip, could perhaps snap his bones by simply squeezing. It lifted his entire weight off the face of the rock effortlessly, and dropped him at the flat top, face first. The hand then reached down to pat Sulach, stopping briefly to pick up his knife from his belt.
“Looks like it is going to be a long night, neh?” It was a guttural voice that spoke, as if it was coming all the way from the stomach of the person.
Sulach lifted his head to stare at the speaker. It was a hulking figure, dark against the pale light of the Lirathu. Sulach tried to rise to his haunches slowly, getting a better look at his opponent.
“Don’t be smart, neh. The best you can do, we both fall down the rock. Not the best kind of death for either of us,” the man spoke again. This time, Sulach recognized the voice.
“Untturi,” he whispered.
The gith warlord nodded, his thin smile hidden in the night.
“You speak the human tongue… pretty well.” Sulach did not disguise his surprise.
The gith let out a loud chuckle at that, though Sulach was not sure if he was laughing or coughing. Untturi stared down at Sulach’s form without speaking for a long moment. Sulach only returned his gaze.
Two warriors,sat over the top of the rock studying each other, speechless.
Untturi was the first to break eye contact as he stretched out a massive arm, using the dagger he took from Sulach’s belt to point toward the distant camp. Following the gesture, Sulach looked down, thankful again to the darkness that hid his despair. Even from this far away, Sulach could see the campfires and how wide they spread. The enemy numbers were as many as his, if not more.
Sulach’s heart sank at the idea of a disciplined enemy remaining within a day’s march to his camp without his knowledge. Anger overwhelmed his thoughts suddenly, as his thoughts weighed on how incompetent his own scouts were.
“Pretty tight they look, neh?” Untturi broke the silence.
Sulach did not seem to hear him. It did not matter for Untturi, he spoke again after a moment. “Do you remember the day we fought?”
Sulach slowly turned his head to Untturi now, studying him sidelong.
Untturi continued, without looking at him.
“It was a field like this. All fields are similar in the desert, neh?” He surveyed the sands sprawling under the darkness. “You put your archers there, and there. Your half giants, you kept them out until the main armies clashed, they stayed out. Then when the melee was engaged, you brought them along with the cavalry to break through my flankers. It was a good strategy, their speed and weight gave them advantage to sweep away and open the flanks.
“There, the main armies clashed.” He pointed with the dagger tip. “What a fascinating battle it was.” Untturi’s voice carried his amazement the memory. He turned to Sulach, staring at him for a few silent seconds.
“Your warriors, I counted at least four different formations that day. Such a good training, discipline, and coordination they had.”
Untturi’s head bobbed a few times as he grew silent. When he began again, his joy was gone. The heavy weight of defeat and the loss of his tribemates hung in his tone. “It was a good fight. The God of War smiled upon you that day.”
Sulach was silent, his eyes on the enemy camp. The gith warlord followed his gaze. The rugged, guttural voice spoke again.
“Your enemy, seems to be well prepared. Their army disciplined, trained, equipped well. It is a fight the God of War will watch.”
Sulach tore his gaze from the camp, at Untturi’s words. “Is there a gith warband to the north?” he asked.
Untturi only shook his head.
Sulach’s world crumbled around him. Weeks of planning, days of march, he came to the desert for nothing, and now he was facing an enemy that he was not ready to fight. When he spoke his thoughts, his voice was as broken as his heart. “What happens now?”
The gith warlord shifted slightly, facing Sulach fully. He regarded Sulach in his gaze for a few moments, before speaking: “You bound me to you with an oath, neh? That I am not going to rise against you.”
Sulach only stared in reply.
Still Untturi nodded at his own words, and continued. “This is how it happens: I am free of that oath if you release it, or if you are dead.”
Sulach considered the warchief’s words. The message was clear: Either undo the oath, or die tonight. He had seen the strength of the gith warrior. Those hands could snap Sulach’s bones like they were twigs. Even if Sulach wanted to fight, the small space on top of the rock gave little comfort. If the gith warrior did not kill him, they both would surely fall to their death, and the gith seemed to have very little problem with dying.
“So you want me to release you from your oath, so you can one day raise an army against me?”
The gith warlord simply nodded.
“Why do you want to fight me?” he asked.
Dirty yellowed teeth revealed a dirty yellowed smirk as Untturi replied, “Because, you fight well.”
Sulach did not understand the meaning:
“But why will you fight? To what purpose?”
The grizzled gith’s respone rang in Sulach’s mind for a long time:
“The battle does not need a purpose; the battle has its own purpose. You don’t ask why a plague spreads or a field burns. Don’t ask why I fight.”
The morning was still more than an hour away when Sulach climbed down the rock face. He felt the cold of the night as he donned his heavy armor at the base of the rock cliff, and rode into the darkness on his warm beast, leaving Untturi alone.
He did not care how he rode or where. Only when he was greeted by bowing soldiers of his camp, did he realize he returned. Dawn had broken over the ruddy stones as he dismounted before the command tent, passing the reins to the soldier on guard. He strode in without a word and threw his helmet and sword down with a clatter, seating himself at the map table. Both women had gone, leaving no trace of their warmth in the bed. Sulach rested his head in his hands and considered the events of the night. He felt desperate when he saw the Tuluki camp spreading in the distance, unable to understand what went wrong. How could an army greater in numbers than his own creep so close without his knowledge?
Approaching steps made him straighten in his seat and he took a deep breath as the first commanding officers stepped in. They bowed their respects and stood silently before the table. Sulach took as much of his time as he could, before giving words to his despair:
“A Tuluki camp, vaster even than our own, circled around us and they are within a day’s march from where we stand.” he spoke softly. Officers looked at each other in grim silence, as he started again. “Who can tell me why the first person to report this was an elf I had never seen before?”
The officers kept their heads bowed until Lieutenant Tild stepped forth.
“My Lord, I ask to be relieved of command,” he spoke, his head still bowed low. When Sulach only stared at him in response, he continued. “The scouts responsible from that area are under my command, sir.”
“I do not need those scouts anymore!” Sulach spoke sharply. An uneasy shift rippled through the assembled officers. “Sergeant Itina, I hereby promote you to the rank of Lieutenant, and put Tild’s former unit under your command. Congratulations Lieutenant Itina.”
Itina only lifted her chin and nodded once.
The tension in the command tent lessened then. The commanding officers took their orders briefly. The sun began its journey at the eastern horizon when the incompetent scouts were executed. Shortly after that, the army broke camp and began its march.
Prologue
The warrior’s one good eye
opened as a spear poked his ribs. A bull
by the gith standards, he had killed many soldiers in the battle of the morning
and even now, without weapons and tied in knots of rope, the soldiers kept
their distance from him. All around the
field...
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