13 Day War (51 page)

Moments later, the black-cloak appeared on the bank of the channel. Mandel wasted no time. He brought the reed to his lips and blew the quill into the mage’s stomach. The mage’s body stiffened and fell forward, loudly splashing into the water, directly onto the giant reptile that had moved away from the gypsy. The creature immediately attacked the mage’s body, thrashing violently as its massive jaws clamped down on the black-cloak’s leg. The beast shook the body noisily and then dragged it under the water, but not before some soldiers had taken notice of the event. Mandel smiled as he put the reed to his lips and slid under the water before the running soldiers arrived to gawk at the black-cloak’s demise.

Hours later, Mandel and his men met up with Hortice below the tree where Moth was perched. The eight gypsies were waterlogged and tired.

“We have failed,” sighed Hortice.

“Seven out of eight is not exactly a failure,” replied Mandel, “but neither is it a success. Perhaps the last black-cloak will come out of his tent early in the morning.”

“Why don’t we go in the tent and finish this?” asked Hortice.

“Because we have been forbidden to do so,” answered Mandel. “Were it up to me, that is exactly what I would do, but Adan has made it clear that the gypsies will not enter the mage’s tents.”

“One battle mage can kill hundreds of our people,” protested Hortice. “They must all die for this trap to work.”

“You will get no argument from me,” Mandel agreed, “but we will follow our orders. If the last mage does not give us the opportunity we need by dawn, you will take the rest of the men back to dry ground.”

“And you will do what?” frowned Hortice. “You will attack him in broad daylight on the trail tomorrow? That is suicide.”

“I am not happy about our choices,” frowned Mandel, “but I understand what must be done. The last black-cloak will die before he gets back to where the bridges were. I will not allow him to kill our people.”

“I am not forbidden from entering the tent,” chirped Moth.

The gypsies glanced up at the chubby fairy.

“We need to do more than just put him asleep,” stated Hortice.

“And you cannot levitate him out of the tent without getting caught,” added Mandel.

“I will stab him with a quill,” Moth said with determination.

One of the gypsies laughed and Mandel shot the man a glare. The laugh died instantly.

“You carrying a quill would be like one of us holding a tree out before us,” said Hortice. “Even if you could carry it, a fairy would never have enough force to stab it into the mage’s body.”

“I can do it,” declared the fairy. “Will you sacrifice your people because you do not believe me?”

“You do not have to do this to impress us, Moth,” Mandel said softly. “We are already impressed with the fairy people.”

“You said earlier that we always have choices, Mandel,” retorted the fairy. “I am making this choice because I believe that I will be successful where others cannot be, not to impress you. Will you deny me my chance to strike out at evil?”

Mandel stared at the little man, and he liked what he saw. He smiled and nodded. “I will give you whatever chance you want, Moth, but I expect you to act with clear thought and without emotion. Can you promise me that?”

“I can and I do,” the fairy said with confidence. “Ready me a quill. I will be right back.”

Moth took a running leap off the branch. His body dropped towards the ground, but his wings soon provided the lift he needed. He soared skyward and headed for the Federation encampment. The mage tent was not hard to find, and he flew right into it. For a moment, he hovered in the dark staring at the empty bunks. When he found the bunk that was occupied, he noted its location and retreated outside. He flew up and landed on the roof of the tent and visualized where the occupied bunk was below. He then found the nearest seam and pulled his knife. It took him several minutes to cut through the stitching with his knife, but when he was done, the section of the roof over the sleeping black-cloak hung down into the tent. Moth sheathed his knife and threw himself off the roof. Minutes later he landed on the tree branch above the gypsies.

“Hand me a quill,” ordered the fairy.

Mandel extracted a quill and held it out for the fairy to grasp. Moth grabbed it with both hands and held it above his head. His little face frowned as he tried to figure out how to launch himself.

“Would you like a boost?” asked Mandel.

“Yes,” the fairy nodded enthusiastically.

Mandel held out his palm and let Moth walk onto it. When the fairy signaled that he was ready, Mandel tossed the fairy high into the air. Moth’s wings beat frantically, but the boost had worked well. Before Moth reached the apex of the toss, his wings were already carrying him higher. He continued high into the sky before turning and heading towards the camp. When he was over the opening in the mage tent, he tilted the quill and let its weight pull him into a dive. Moth dove with a speed he had never achieved before, the extra weight propelling him downward at a frantic pace. He soared through the hole in the roof and the quill slammed into the mage. The force of the collision tossed the fairy roughly to the floor, but Moth stood up and dusted himself off, a wide grin spreading across his face.

The soldiers of the advance scouting squad of Fortella’s 2
^nd
Corps of the Empire of Barouk were up early as they usually were. Dawn would not arrive for an hour, but their task required an early departure. The twenty men lit a small cooking fire, although there was precious little to cook. The caches had all been found empty so far, and the unseen Alceans continued to snipe at the foragers each night. The men brewed a pot of tea and checked their weapons, a daily routine that was more habit than thoughtful.

“Foggy,” one of the men remarked.

“Comes with camping beside the river,” replied another man. “It will lift when the dawn arrives.”

The squad leader stood and stretched, tossing the rest of his tea into the fire. “We won’t be here to see it lift,” he quipped. “Finish up and get mounted. It is time to check the road ahead.”

“Just to find another empty cache,” one of the soldiers said softly as the sergeant strode away from the group. “I wish General Fortella would authorize an attack on these unseen Alceans. Then we could get some decent foraging done. There can’t be more than a hundred of them out there.”

“Why don’t you go to the general’s tent and wake him?” taunted one of the other soldiers. “I am sure that he will be interested in your suggestion.”

The men all laughed as they doused the fire and headed towards the corral. Within minutes they were mounted and riding out of the camp. The sergeant took the point as he led his men downstream to the bridge that crossed the Boulder River. The bridge was an old wooden-planked structure with stone pillars supporting its long spans across the wide, swiftly flowing Boulder River. The horses’ hooves tromped loudly in the stillness of the early morning, and the fog gave the sounds an eerie, almost spooky, quality. The fog persisted all the way across the river and well into the forest beyond, but the advance squad eventually emerged out of it. As dawn lightened the sky, the horsemen found their spirits lifted.

The Mya-Tagaret Road was well traveled and well maintained. It was broad and level for the most part, but there were no other travelers this day, nor did the squad expect any. It was clear from the empty caches that the Alceans knew that the armies were advancing towards Tagaret, but there had been no attacks, other than sniping at the foragers. The typical Federation soldier thought that the Alceans seemed content to try to starve the Federation soldiers into retreating. Such a retreat was a laughable premise to anyone who had ever served under General Fortella. The Baroukan general did not know the meaning of retreat, and he was not about to learn it.

The sun was already well into the sky when the men began suggesting a halt for the midday meal, which would actually be little more than a rest and stretch break. The sergeant put the men off, hoping to cover another league before stopping. As they rounded a bend in the road, the squad leader suddenly halted and held his hand up to bring the rest of the riders to a stop. Huge trees blocked the road ahead, but the trees were not merely felled across the road, which would be bad enough to slow down the column for a few hours. The trees were felled in such a way as to present a multitude of branches pointing directly towards the Federation column. The sergeant sighed deeply as he imagined how long it would take to clear the road. All of the branches would have to be hacked off before men could even approach the trunk, and if the position was defended by the Alceans… He did not want to think about it.

“Abatis,” scowled the sergeant. “I want the forests on both sides of the road searched for an alternate path around this obstacle. Proceed cautiously, and remember that we are in hostile territory.”

The sergeant pointed to individual riders and then pointed in the direction they should search. Five men were dispatched to his right and five more were sent into the woods to his left. The remaining ten men moved away from the barricade and dismounted.

“This is different,” commented one of them who had remained with the sergeant. “Do you think they plan to attack the column here?”

“It may just be to slow down the column,” answered the sergeant, “but I would be foolish to assume that. Our task is to find a way around it and then report back to the column. If we do not find an alternate route close by, we will backtrack to find an alternate road to Tagaret. Cleaning up this obstacle might take the better part of a day, and General Fortella will not stand for that.”

The sounds of snapped bowstrings sang out from both sides of the road. The sergeant turned and leaped onto his horse before the first of the screams reached his ears.

“Mount up!” shouted the sergeant.

“Fight or flee?” one of the men asked as he mounted his horse.

“We need to carry word to the general,” answered the sergeant. “Retreat!”

The sergeant recognized the ambush for what it was. He knew that staying and fighting would only serve the enemy’s purpose, otherwise the Alceans would not have attacked. He kicked his horse into a gallop and called out for his men to follow him. Only moments later he heard more cries from his men, but the cries were close behind him. He turned and looked back to see his men falling off their horses as unseen archers alongside the road let their arrows fly. The sergeant put his head down and coaxed as much speed out of his horse as he could. After a minute of galloping along the road, he breathed a slow sigh of relief. He sat up and gazed back towards the ambush site, but he could see no pursuit. Thankful that he had been spared the fate of his men, the sergeant turned around to see two men standing in the road before him. His heart skipped a beat as he wondered whether to halt and seek safety in the forest or try to race through them. He drew his sword and shouted a war cry, but the men were unshaken. They each nocked an arrow and aimed at the charging rider. The sergeant stared at them and blinked.

“Elves?” he gasped. “We are fighting elves?”

Both arrows found homes in the sergeant’s chest and his dead body tumbled off the horse.

* * * *

General Fortella rose earlier than normal. He wanted to reread the reports about the attacks on the foragers to see if there was a pattern to the timings or a flaw in the enemy’s method that could be exploited. He had been hesitant to send units into the forest to engage the unseen enemy until he fully understood the risks involved. That philosophy had been fine for the first few days, but the meager supply of food was beginning to take its toll on the men, both physically and in terms of morale. Something had to be done to change the situation, and Fortella was determined that today was to be the day he reacted strongly. He got out of bed and lit a lantern, but noises from outside the tent caught his attention. He walked to the tent flap and peered out.

Dawn had not yet arrived, and fog had enshrouded the camp. He peered through the mist and saw a squad of cavalry riding towards the perimeter. He recognized it as the advance squad. He let the flap close and returned to the table. Gathering the reports, he spread them out on the table before him and began reading them one more time, making notes when he saw something that might be important. An hour went by before he realized it, and Colonel Tamora entered the tent with mugs of tea and plates of food. The colonel looked at the cluttered table, and failing to find a safe place to set down the food, waited for the general to notice him. The general sensed the colonel and looked up.

“Anywhere, Tamora,” the general said with distraction. “Whitman is not even up yet. Wake him before you leave.”

“I will, General,” replied the colonel as he set the plates and mugs on top of the reports. “It is dawn, General. Shall I start the column moving?”

“Yes.” The general nodded. “Same formation as yesterday. Alert me when the 2
^nd
Corps cavalry has completely left the camp.”

“As you wish,” the colonel replied before leaving the table.

General Fortella picked up a mug and sipped some tea, turning his attention back to the reports. Some time later, General Whitman pulled out a chair and sat down on the opposite side of the table. General Fortella ignored the Aertan general and continued perusing the reports.

“It’s quite foggy out this morning,” commented General Whitman. “Perhaps it would be better to hold off the column for a couple of hours.”

General Fortella seethed at the cowardly words. Whitman and his men were afraid of everything. The man should never have been made a general. Matching him up with Whitman had probably been Kyrga’s idea of a joke, but Fortella was not laughing. He once again vowed silently to take out his wrath on the Grand General when he returned to Despair.

Despite his inner rage, General Fortella’s voice was calm when he spoke, “I have seen the fog. I watched the advance scouts leave the camp this morning. As for your request, be thankful that your army follows mine. By the time your 24
^th
Corps leaves the camp, the sun will be high in the sky and the fog will have burned off. As for my 2
^nd
Corps, the cavalry has already begun their departure. Now, if you will allow me a period of silence, I would like to finish analyzing these reports.”