13 Day War (58 page)

“That plan is far better than what we face now,” agreed General Za-hong. “Let me send a fairy to Ongchi. I will have Za-chan send every available boat towards us, no matter how small.”

* * * *

Hendy Valley was three-day’s march south of Trekum, and the place held special significance for Captain Orteka, leader of the Kadin Claws Mercenary Company. As he waited for dawn to arrive, his hand subconsciously rose to his right cheek and felt the long thin scar there. There was a similar scar on his left cheek, and both of them had been inflicted in Hendy Valley years ago. The mercenary had been assigned to spy on the approaching Lanoirian army under Emperor Hanchi, and he had been captured and beaten. He was mutilated and sent back to General Mobami with a message to flee before the might of the Lanoirian army. It had been an experience that Captain Orteka had never forgotten.

“Put it behind you,” Captain Azule said softly as he approached. “That was a different time and a different war.”

Captain Orteka turned and nodded to the leader of the Sarga Mercenary Company. “I have never been back to this valley since that night. I should have died that night instead of being set free. The gods smiled on me.” Captain Orteka gazed up at the night sky and sighed. “Do you think the gods have changed their minds and summoned me back to make things right? Why else would I once again find myself at the mouth of this very valley facing an army of overwhelming size?”

“Perhaps because one must pass through this valley to get from Gortha to Trekum,” smiled Captain Azule. “It is the path that armies march. Besides, this Federation army is only a fifth of what Emperor Hanchi had behind him.”

“It still far outnumbers us,” frowned Captain Orteka. “With the Sordoan army up north against General Omirro, it is just us to stand against Ritka and Stemple.”

“Hardly just us,” countered Captain Azule. “We have two-thousand mercenaries plus the dwarves and the elves.”

“Against twenty-thousand men,” sighed Captain Orteka. “If we do not get the Zarans to surrender, they will easily overrun us.”

“I am not used to seeing you so glum,” frowned Captain Azule. “Is it because of the scars?”

Captain Orteka did not answer right away. He examined his feelings and eventually nodded. “I guess it is,” he conceded. “It is hard to explain the feelings that I felt that night. I was sure that I was going to die, and I was at peace with that. It was my fate. Instead the Lanoirians maimed me and humiliated me. It was not a memory that inspires confidence. I guess just being here again brings it all back to mind.”

“The Lanoirians made a rather bad mistake that night,” smiled Captain Azule. “They should have killed you. You exacted your revenge over a thousand times before the Great War was over. You would be wise to keep that in mind. When I look at your scarred face, it reminds me to never underestimate my opponent. It also reminds me that I would rather have you by my side than anyone else. Put aside your memories, my friend. Dawn will soon be upon us, and we have another enemy army to conquer.”

“If you two are done flapping your lips,” Prince Darok growled in a friendly manner, “you might want to prepare a reception for the Federation’s advance scouts.”

The two mercenary captains turned towards the approaching dwarf.

“What makes you think they will be coming soon?” asked Captain Azule.

“I see them moving about,” answered the dwarven prince. “They will be coming soon.”

Captain Orteka pushed his dark thoughts aside and gazed into the valley. He saw nothing moving. “Are you sure?”

“Never question a dwarf’s eyes in the dark,” chuckled the dwarven Knight of Alcea. “They have been moving around for a couple of minutes already. I’ll let you know when they mount their horses.”

“Do you think they will surrender, Prince Darok?” asked Captain Azule.

“We must ensure that they do,” the dwarf answered solemnly. “If they don’t surrender, most of us will not be alive to regret our failure.” The dwarf cast his eyes on the ground and then he suddenly looked up, a broad smile brightening his face. “We can do this, mates,” he said cheerily. “We have discussed this at length. All we have to do is play the parts we agreed upon and the Zarans will be begging for mercy.” Returning to a more serious tone, the dwarf spoke with a sense of urgency, “Get ready. They are coming.”

Captain Orteka and Captain Azule immediately ran to their men and warned them to get ready. They returned riding their mounts and sat side-by-side waiting for the cavalry squad to appear. The dwarven prince stepped behind their mounts where he would not be visible until the time was right. Time seemed to stand still as the two mercenary captains waited for the enemy to appear. While dawn was fast approaching, it was still dark enough to startle the squad leader when he finally saw the two riders before him. He called for a halt and drew his sword at the same time.

“Easy, soldier,” Captain Azule said calmly. “We wish to talk, not fight. Sheath your sword.”

The Federation sergeant stared at the two Sordoans in confusion for a moment and then mumbled something to the riders nearest to him. Four of the riders drew their swords and rode forward. Four of them died. Arrows flew out of the darkness from both sides of the trail, but only the four riders with drawn swords were targeted. Some of the soldiers panicked and retreated, but most of them stayed close to the squad leader. He had not moved.

“I said we wished to talk,” scowled Captain Azule. “I meant it.”

“Then talk,” the sergeant said gruffly as he stared at the two men before him, trying not to let his eyes stray to the sides of the trail as he felt that would reveal his nervousness.

“We want to meet with General Ritka under a flag of truce,” stated Captain Orteka. “Kindly deliver word to him that we will meet with him here at sunrise.”

“You wear no uniforms. Why should I take you for anything other than bandits?”

“Because you are a mere sergeant,” scowled Captain Orteka. “You are not supposed to think for yourself. Carry out your duty and deliver our words to your master.”

The sergeant’s eyes flickered towards Orteka’s scarred face and he frowned heavily. The Sordoan had the look of death upon his face, and the sergeant did not care to speak to him.

“General Ritka will want to know the authority of the person seeking the meeting,” the sergeant said to Captain Azule. “Who are you?”

The Sordoans’ mounts moved apart and the dwarf walked forward. He wore an elaborate breastplate made of silver and gold and he hefted an axe with one hand that looked too heavy to lift with both hands. Several of the Federation soldiers gasped and backed away.

“I am Prince Darok,” stated the dwarf. “I am a Knight of Alcea and given authority over all but King Arik himself. Tell General Ritka that I demand his presence at sunrise. He will be protected under a flag of truce.”

“Demand?” scoffed the sergeant. “I do not think the general will take kindly to such words.”

“I care little for how the words are received,” scowled the dwarf. “He chose to enter my country unbidden. If he wishes to leave it alive, he will come. If not, his blood will stain the ground of Hendy Valley forever. Begone!”

The squad leader backed away from the Sordoans and turned his horse into the valley. With his squad close behind, he galloped back into the enemy camp.

“Wasn’t that a bit harsh?” asked Captain Azule. “What if the general’s pride causes him to refuse to parley?”

“From what I have learned of Ritka,” answered Prince Darok, “he will not be anxious to negotiate anyway, but he will come. The harshness was meant more for the sergeant’s benefit. I wanted his treatment to be offensive enough that it soon becomes the talk of the camp. In that light, I think my words were appropriate.”

“Time will tell,” stated Captain Orteka. “Do you think they will try the southern exit from the valley?”

“Without a doubt,” nodded Prince Darok. “They probably won’t bother with that until they are led to believe that we have enough men here to cause them problems, but when they do, Tedi and Natia will be ready for them.”

* * * *

“A dwarf?” shouted General Ritka. “You were turned back by a dwarf?”

“It was dark,” frowned the sergeant. “They had archers hidden on both sides of us, and we could not see them. Had I pressed ahead, none of us would have survived to carry the message to you.”

“Maybe that would have been for the best,” snarled the general. “You say that the dwarf demanded my presence? Demanded? Is that what you said?”

The sergeant fidgeted. “The dwarf’s voice was low and gravelly,” the sergeant replied cautiously. “Perhaps I misunderstood his exact words, but his intent was clear enough. He wants to talk to you. Maybe he plans to surrender.”

The tent flap was pulled aside, and Colonel Pierce hurried into the large command tent. He moved quickly to the table where the sergeant was making his report. General Ritka glanced at the colonel with annoyance.

“What is it, Pierce?”

“I heard that the enemy is demanding a meeting at sunrise,” the colonel answered. “Is it true that a dwarf was in charge?”

The general glared at the sergeant. “How dare you talk of such matters to the camp, Sergeant?” scowled the general.

“I spoke to no one,” the sergeant blurted out, “and I warned my men against spreading tales. I will go and stop the words from spreading.”

“It is far too late for that,” interjected the colonel. “The whole camp is already talking about it. We have a dangerous situation here, General. The men are truly spooked about fighting dwarves. It all goes back to those crazy rumors that were spread in Valdo.”

“Were they just rumors?” asked the sergeant. “When we heard them the first time, we were told that dwarves were extinct and we should belittle the men for listening to tall tales, but now we are actually pitted against a dwarf. What if he has more of his fellow creatures around?”

“Shut up!” shouted General Ritka. “I will not have the likes of you spreading fear throughout my camp. Colonel, take this man out and see that he is justly punished. I want him lashed publicly to set an example for the rest of the men, and I want it done immediately. When he is raw, strip him of his rank and assign his horse to someone else. From now on, he will march with the rest of the dwarf-fearing cretins.”

As the colonel prepared to execute the general’s orders regarding the punishment of the sergeant, word spread quickly through the encampment. Men began to migrate towards the large command tent where the punishment would take place, but not everyone was eager to watch the spectacle. Sergeant Turang was making his way towards the tent when Corporal Chitor intercepted him.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” panted the corporal. “Where are you going?”

“To see the latest flogging,” answered the sergeant. “Why were you looking for me?”

“To tell you about the dwarves,” the corporal said softly. “What are we going to do?”

“I would be careful saying such words out loud,” warned Sergeant Turang. “That is precisely why the flogging is being given this morning. The sergeant made the mistake of mentioning dwarves in the general’s presence.”

“What?” balked the corporal. “What are you talking about? Is the general trying to make believe that the dwarves don’t exist?”

“I suspect that is the truth of the matter,” shrugged the sergeant, “although it is obvious to all that other members of the advance squad saw the dwarf, too.”

“The dwarf?” asked the corporal “Then the general doesn’t know about the south exit yet?”

The sergeant stopped walking and turned to face the corporal. “What are you talking about?”

“The way to the south is blocked by dwarves,” Corporal Chitor reported nervously. “Some of the men panicked when they heard about the dwarf at the north exit. They tried to desert by leaving the valley to the south, but dwarves confronted them. We are trapped in this valley, Turang. Trapped!”

The sergeant frowned deeply. He turned and gazed at the ridges forming the valley, but the sky was still too dark to see if there were any paths leading up the slopes to escape the coming slaughter.

“How many dwarves?” he asked the corporal.

“Thousands!” grimaced Corporal Chitor.

Sergeant Turang knew that must be an exaggeration because none of the deserters would have stuck around long enough to see that many, but it did probably indicate far more than just a couple of dwarves. If the stories told in Valdo were even near the truth, a few hundred dwarves would be enough to slay the entire encampment. He had never put any stock in those stories while he was in Valdo, but ever since the night that he almost got cleaved in two from a dwarven throwing axe, Turang took a more leery approach to battling dwarves.

“We need to find a trail that leads up to the ridge,” the sergeant said conspiratorially. “When the fighting starts, we need to get out of this valley quickly. I will take the eastern side of the valley and you take the western side. Take note of any trails that look used enough to lead all the way to the top. We will meet back at our fire ring in an hour.”

The two soldiers started to part company when the sergeant turned and hurried after the corporal. He grabbed Chitor by the arm and brought him to a halt.

“And don’t tell anyone what you are looking for,” the sergeant warned in a whisper. “This will be our secret. Got it?”

The corporal nodded exaggeratedly and pulled his arm free. Sergeant Turang turned and ran off. The corporal watched him leave and then ran in the opposite direction. Within half an hour, Chitor had shared the secret with eight of his closest friends, and they all searched the sides of the valley looking for trails leading up to the ridge.

Colonel Pierce entered the large command tent. General Ritka looked up and waved him forward.

“The sun is rising,” stated the colonel.

“It does most days,” the general quipped with annoyance. “What do you want?”

“I thought I would accompany you to the parley, if that is acceptable.”

“Parley?” balked the general. “I have nothing to say to the Alceans. We are here to kill them not talk to them.”