Die for the Flame (14 page)

“The Flame!” they responded.

With a long look at Lillan, Clarian got to his feet and walked to a fresh horse. Rokkman remained, talking to some of the officers. As Clarian gathered the reins to mount up, Lillan appeared at his side. She turned his horse so that they were partially shielded from the other officers’ view. She reached for his hand. He whispered to her, “You must be careful.”

“I know.” She squeezed his hand and turned back to the circle of officers.

He mounted and rode back toward the battlefield.

Martan’s soldiers were desperately tired after their long, hard ride from the Minteegan cavern. They broke into small groups and dispersed into the foliage among the towering trees that enclosed the empty camp. Soldiers cut branches and set up leafy screens behind which they could launch their ambush. The horses were led away a good distance to be held until needed.

A messenger arrived from Clarian saying that all was ready. The camp secure, Martan directed the soldiers to prepare their weapons and their assigned locations. He and his officers made a walk-through inspection of the camouflaged positions, checked weapons, and gave encouragement to the troops. Martan gave the soldiers permission to eat and then to rest. He sent scouts to the edge of the forest to watch for the Maggan so they would have plenty of warning. Now all they had to do was wait.
But what if the Maggan don’t come?
wondered Martan.
What if they are delayed? Could I be trapped here in this tomb of a forest?
He fervently wished he were out of the forest and back on the plain.

Clarian climbed to the top of a low, rocky ridge, its top covered in scrub trees, from where he could see into the battlefield below. It was night, so he could see the fires and the flaming arrows and could vaguely make out masses of troops on both sides. Rokkman followed him, as he always seemed to. Storm clouds bunched in the north, and a wind drove them eastward. A break in the clouds let the moon briefly illuminate the battlefield. Clarian thought the storm headed their way might cancel out his use of fire and flaming arrows at the barricades. There were still smoldering fires in the valley below, and a layer of smoke obscured some of the battlefield, but the wind was sweeping it all clear. The battle had slowed to an exchange of arrows by archers on both flanks. The Maggan had pulled out of the ridge country and moved down the road toward the forest, into more open country broken up by copses of trees, low rock formations, hillocks, and lines of scrub trees.

Clarian could not see the fighting taking place far down the valley from which the Maggan were retreating, driven by the steady pressure of Tobran’s troops, but he could see the head of the Maggan army up against the burning barricades. “It will be dawn in a few hours. They will want to break out and make a dash for the forest before daylight. I was hoping the hot weather would hold,” Clarian said as he scanned the sky. He could smell rain in the air and could feel the temperature drop and see the black clouds building and gliding toward them, closing around the moon.

“Will the rain make much difference?” asked Rokkman.

“Well, we won’t be able to use fire, and visibility may be reduced for the archers. It may mean fighting up close.”

“I once heard that there was another Maggan tribe in the lands far to the northeast beyond Minteegan,” said Rokkman.

Clarian nodded and watched and waited. His horse nickered from below at the foot of the rocks. He was thinking of Lillan. He knew that the mission he had given her was highly dangerous. It would not be long. He hoped his anticipation of Ferman’s actions would help break the enemy’s will to continue the fight.

Lillan noticed that the moon was about to be covered by building storm clouds sweeping down from the north. Scouts reported that the enemy was massing mounted soldiers. They were in the rough open country now. Mounted Karran troops continued to race in at the flanks as before or gallop abreast of the forward lines of the black-garbed soldiers, firing arrows at the foot soldiers. Archers on foot crept up close to the flanks and from cover, shot into the ranks. But the Maggan showed discipline and charged on foot to dislodge the archers and drive them back. Enemy archers, though fewer in number, became bolder and their arrows found their mark when Karran soldiers ventured too close.

It was time to move. Lillan roused her troops, mounted, and rode out to the edge of the Forest of Darkness, splitting her column to have one on the north side of the road and the other on the south side. She positioned their troops behind stony outcroppings and scrub trees. She placed a number of dismounted archers just inside the entrance to the forest along the road, hidden in the foliage. She felt rain on her face. Would the enemy come? The wait began.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T
he storm crashed down just as Neevan finished giving her final orders to her officers. Lightning creased the sky with sharp thunder, and the rain pounded the ground, drenching everything and everyone.

Ferman stood next to Neevan as she prepared to mount. “You will probably run into the enemy on the way or once there. No one knows at this point.”

“I know,” she said.

“Your first mission is to render aid to our people. Once in Minteegan, organize a defense of the cavern. Take note of the situation. Gather additional troops, if any are left. If the Karran are still there, attack them. If they have left, return here, swiftly. Be careful.”

Neevan nodded and swung up on her horse. She was soaked and cold, but she shrugged it off. She signaled to move forward, and the troop wove its way through the ranks of foot soldiers. The rain had all but stopped the fighting at the front. The foot soldiers continued slogging through the mud without serious resistance. She thought that was their first bit of luck. She ordered several scouts to lead the way, then kicked her horse into a gallop, and she and her force burst through the front lines, pounding down the road toward the forest. She scanned the terrain but saw no Karran. It was still night, a few hours before dawn, and she was glad that was in her favor. But somewhere in the back of her mind, the thought that this was too easy prodded her.

The rain nearly blinded her. She couldn’t see the tree line yet, but the enemy had not appeared. The road had turned to mud, and big puddles were forming. A reddish bolt of lightning struck nearby, lighting up the area, and she could see the trees of her beloved forest up ahead. She turned and could see her column of horses, four abreast, stretching back into the misty darkness, following her lead.

Neevan pulled up as she reached a rise in the road from where she could see the forest just ahead and waved the columns on in. She sat her horse, taking stock of her troops as they galloped by. She smiled to herself as she observed what a bedraggled lot they were, soaked to the skin, rider and horse alike, pleased that they would soon be under the canopy of the trees.

The column snaked its way into the forest. It seemed that only a few minutes had gone by when she heard shouts coming from the forest. Then screams, and a riderless horse came bolting out of the trees. A burst of dread shot through her body as she reined her horse around and kicked it into a gallop, toward the forest. But the troops were bunching up now, and horses were rearing, and some were down, kicking. All progress into the forest had stopped.

Neevan felt rather than heard the charge from the flank into her troops. She had only moments to react as troops bore down on her column—Karran riders hunched over their saddles, bows bent, arrows arcing in deadly flight. The road was swarming with warriors in blue and warriors in black, swirling and spinning, a thousand voices screaming.

The fighting was in close quarters; bows when possible, then flashing swords and stabbing lances as warriors fell from their horses into the mud clutching grievous wounds. Neevan knew they had been ambushed. Half her column had made it into the forest, but something was wrong there. She must escape this ambush with what was left of her troops. It became a running battle. The Karran rode into the midst of the retreating Maggan horsemen, and she heard the twang of bowstrings and clash of swords amid the sounds of pounding hooves and shouts. Her mind flooded with dread.

On a promontory nearby, Clarian stood, his tired eyes trying to pierce through the rain and dim light to determine the outcome of the battle. Rokkman, cold and shivering, huddled shivering beside him.

“We’re too close to the battle, Clarian,” announced Rokkman.

“We’ve cut them in half, but they are retreating to their lines before we can wipe them out. We have to wipe them out, Rokkman! We can’t leave Ferman with a strong mounted force!”

Clarian ran for his horse and drove her down the slope, sliding and stumbling toward a reserve troop of several hundred scouts, huddling with their horses in the rain behind a line of scrub trees.

“Where are you going?” shouted Rokkman, who urged his horse after Clarian.

Racing up to a group of officers under a stretched tarp, Clarian slid the mare on her haunches in front of them.

“Who is the commander here?”

“I am.”

“Get your troops mounted and follow me. We go to engage the enemy now!” he shouted.

The officer, shouting for the troops to mount up, sprinted for the horses, who were already saddled. In moments, the scouts were milling around Clarian, the horses shaking their heads and snorting.

“Just over the hill, the enemy is trying to escape our ambush and rush back to their lines. We must stop their escape and destroy them! Follow me!” he shouted in a loud voice. “In the name of the Flame.”

“The Flame!” shouted the soldiers.

Clarian pulled his bow off his shoulder and kicked his horse into a hard gallop for the battlefield, the troops pounding behind him.

Rokkman streaked in next to Clarian, his white hair flying. “You can’t go into battle, you young fool! What if you’re killed? You’re the Chosen One!”

With his eyes gleaming as the rain slapped his face and the wind dragged back his hair, Clarian turned his head toward Rokkman, and his teeth flashed in a savage grin. “It is not written that I die today!” he yelled.

In moments, his wet violet cloak flapping behind him, Clarian darted into the enemy, bow arched, arrows snapping out one after another in rapid fire. The scouts plunged in with him among the swirling, galloping horses. In the driving rain, one had to get close to tell who was the enemy.

Soon, his quiver empty, Clarian drew his sword, the one his father had carried in the Great War. Wielding it high over his head, he rammed Ruttu into another horse, causing the enemy’s horse to stumble, and in that moment he struck with lethal force. The scouts tried to surround Clarian to give him protection, but he broke away from them, lunging into the fiercest fighting, seeking out Maggan commanders to cut down. They followed the streaming cloak as he charged into clusters of wildly flailing soldiers and rearing horses, picking out the black tunics and making desperate cuts through the air with his flashing blade.

Neevan caught a glimpse of a violet cloak as it streaked by her. She lost her concentration as she tried to comprehend what she had just seen. A violet cloak? She dodged a sword swipe with quick knee pressure on her horse. She realized that must mean Clarian was in the battle. She drove her horse hard in the direction she had seen the cloak, but the battleground was crowded.
Wait! There!
She saw the cloak. She notched an arrow and kicked her horse forward only to careen against a falling horse, her own mount almost going down. She looked up, but the cloak was lost in the gray rain.

The glancing blow of a lance caught Clarian in the chest, cutting across his ribs as he turned to avoid the thrust. He grunted with the pain as he sliced his backhand stroke across the neck of his attacker. Hunched over his horse, he drummed his heels against the mare’s sides, forcing her to gallop out of the fight. The Karran scouts, never far from Clarian during the battle, saw Clarian take the wound. Shouting, several scouts surrounded Clarian and pushed their way out to the periphery of the battle. Other soldiers clustered around Clarian, as they made haste for the nearest camp, Clarian clinging to Ruttu’s mane.

Next to Neevan, a Karran soldier, only a child, looked into her face as he slid down the side of his horse, her arrow deep in his side. She knew they had to get away quickly. They were outnumbered and outmatched. She saw a Karran rider with a lance, his eyes fixed on her as he maneuvered his horse in close. She pulled her bow off her shoulder and notched an arrow, but as she pulled back on the string, his horse went down, and he was gone. Out of the mist, another Karran appeared on her left side, intent on one of her soldiers ahead. She fired and sunk the arrow deep into him, and he flipped back off his horse, lost in the mud and chaos.

The rain made it almost impossible to see. Neevan felt her horse slip in the mud and then quickly recover. Two soldiers in front of her were slashing at each other with swords at full gallop. She wasn’t sure who was who. The blue uniforms of the Karran had turned almost black from the soaking rain.

A Karran soldier on a fast horse swept in front of her and shot down a Maggan rider and was drawing back another arrow. Neevan notched her arrow, and as the rider’s arm drew the arrow back, Neevan launched her own arrow, burying it deep under the arm. The Karran’s helmet flew off to reveal long, flowing chestnut hair. The rider twisted with the impact, her face white with pain, clutching hopelessly at the mane of her horse, sliding off and disappearing into the darkness.

The Maggan soldiers rode hard through the forest, hooves pounding, the riders urging the horses on. The leading officers at first were unaware that the column had been attacked in the rear and the column split in half, but riders caught up with them to inform them of the assault. They decided to press on and let the rear of the column handle the attack. They had their orders to get to Minteegan as quickly as possible and rescue their families.

They decided to rest the horses at the camp and assess whether Karran soldiers followed them. The forest was dark, but with their catlike night vision, they could see quite well. The tree canopy caught up the downpour from the storm above. Big drops fell and a steamy mist rose from the warm forest floor, obscuring the road ahead.

The Maggan camp suddenly appeared ahead through the misty gloom, and the leaders slowed their mounts and turned off the road into the large, open campsite. The commander was surprised to see dozens of welcoming campfires burning merrily but no one around. The columns followed, and in a few moments the entire troop was dismounting in the clearing.

At that moment, a hail of arrows met the black-clad Maggan. The arrows streaked out of the surrounding trees and foliage. Well aimed and at close range, they found their mark. Screams and shouts arose from the shocked Maggan soldiers. Wounded horses reared and bucked and fell with their riders. Karran archers, with determination and careful sighting, fired again and again into the ill-fated ranks of Maggan soldiers.

Those at the rear of the Maggan ranks spun their horses to sprint out of the camp and back onto the road, only to find the way blocked by spearmen, backed by more archers. They were driven back. Every possible escape route into and through the trees was filled with Karran soldiers. In desperation, some kicked their horses forward and tried to run over the Karran soldiers. Arrows and lances flew through the air with their whispering sound. There was no escape. Soon, the remaining Maggan were crouched down in the middle of the camp, shooting back from behind dead horses. Within minutes, the battle was over. The cries of the wounded and dying rose up from the wet, black earth. The camp was blanketed with bodies of soldiers and horses. Karran soldiers picked their way through the nightmarish sight, checking the dead and wounded. Swords rose and fell.

Martan and his other officers stood by a smoky fire, bloody swords in hand. The rain had lifted, though the heavy droplets continued to fall from the canopy. “We will move down the road out of the forest. Clarian will need us,” said Martan.

A young officer spoke, “The troops are exhausted. Shouldn’t we rest for a few hours?”

“No. The Maggan are exhausted, too. That’s why they made the mistake of not scouting out ahead of their column and by walking right into our trap. No. We can’t let the Maggan rest at all. And remember that their main force is marching this way. I don’t want to be in this forest when they get here.”

“What about the dead?” asked another officer.

“Leave the Maggan dead for the Maggan to take care of,” said Martan, leaning to one side and spitting.

“We were ambushed. They were waiting for us,” Neevan told Ferman. Standing there in the night, in the drizzle, wet and tired and defeated, she knew now that all might well be lost. How was it that the Karran were so much smarter than they were?

With a stunned look on his grizzled face, Ferman stared at Neevan and the few officers that had survived the ordeal. Ferman’s personal staff crowded in close. They were standing under an awning stretched from his wagon and supported by poles. He swallowed hard and blinked his eyes as if to clear them so he could focus.

“How many soldiers survived?” he asked hoarsely.

“Fewer than a hundred.”

“But some of your troops made it into the forest, didn’t they?”

“Yes, that’s true. But I don’t know their status,” she said.

“This Clarian has been too clever.”

“You underestimated him, Ferman,” Neevan snapped.

“Watch what you say to me!”

“Clarian anticipates our every move.”

“We must find him and kill him.”

“Don’t worry, I think he will find you,” she said, and turned and stomped away.