Alutar: The Great Demon (31 page)

The sounder consisted of twenty good-sized boars, and when they started charging the encampment, the noise was noticeable. One huge male led the charge. He leaped onto the barricade and clambered over. The others followed, and soldiers started shouting. Men reached for their bows, but the boars went by too quickly for anyone to get a shot. Soldiers sleeping in the path of the boars were trampled, while those who saw them coming dashed out of the way. The boars raced to the very center of the camp and charged into the small tent that held the black-cloaks, their tusks ripping apart the tent material on their way in and their way out. Once free of the small tent, the boars turned and headed straight for the corral at the southern end of the camp. The horses sensed the coming threat and bolted, finding out that the tether lines no longer restrained them. The horses fled southward, leaping over the barricade with ease. The whole attack took only minutes, but it managed to awaken the entire camp.

* * * *

Prince Saratoma stared up at the night sky. The stars were brilliant, and without any trees to block the view, the elven prince was struck by the vastness of the sky. He loved watching the stars at night when he was younger, but there were few places in the Elfwoods without any trees. The Badlands were quite the opposite. Not a single tree flourished in the parched soil. As the elven prince lay on his back looking up at the sky, another elf moved next to him and sat on the ground.

“The moon will be rising soon,” commented Morro. “Do you want me to go spy on the enemy again?”

Prince Saratoma sat up and nodded. “Check to see if anything has changed,” he said. “I will assemble the men while you are gone.”

The elven thief rose and silently slipped away from the encampment. Prince Saratoma watched him go before getting to his feet and moving to the center of the camp. He spoke softly, his words not carrying more than a few paces away. The elves in the prince’s vicinity immediately rose and passed along the prince’s words. Within minutes, three thousand elven warriors were armed and ready to move out. As the elven army waited for Morro to return, Prince Saratoma’s thoughts drifted to Prince Garong and his army at Suicide Point on the other side of the Needle. The two attacks had to be coordinated, and they had settled on the rising of the moon as the time to attack. The elven prince glanced at the eastern horizon and saw a pale glow starting to fade the blackness of the sky. The moon would peek above the horizon in mere minutes. With a wave of his hand, the prince ordered his army to start moving.

Forming up like a flock of geese in flight, Prince Saratoma led the wedge forward from his position in the center of the line. The elves moved slowly and silently across the harsh terrain, creeping towards the Federation encampment on the Cliffs of Ranool. When they had proceeded far enough to begin seeing the outlines of the huge catapults, Morro instantly appeared in front of the prince. Saratoma held up his hand to halt the army’s advance.

“Someday you will startle the wrong person with that maneuver,” Prince Saratoma said to the thief. “Has anything changed in the enemy’s camp?”

“There was one small change,” smiled Morro, “but it is no longer a problem. The enemy encampment remains as I detailed it earlier.”

Prince Saratoma nodded. “Walk beside me. I do not expect to need your gift for this battle, but it makes sense to keep you nearby just in case.”

Morro nodded and moved alongside the Dielderal prince. The prince raised both hands high over his head. He started with his arms widespread and his hands as far back as his arms would allow. As he started walking again, he purposely moved his arms forward until his hands were pointing straight out to each side. It was the signal for the two ends of the line to move forward, presenting a solid wall of archers to the enemy. He then unstrapped his bow and nocked an arrow. He continued to lead the army at a slow and deliberate pace, constantly glancing eastward at the now rising moon. When the bottom of the moon broke over the horizon, the elven army was near the perimeter of the Federation encampment. Prince Saratoma pulled back his bowstring and sighted on his first target. The snap of his bowstring sounded loud in the still air, but the noise was instantly lost as thousands of elven arrows flew into the Federation campsite.

Many of the enemy soldiers died in their sleep, but others screamed in pain or shouted in alarm. The only sentries on duty in the Federation camp were those along the edge of the cliffs, their task being to keep track of the sea traffic through the Needle. Most of those sentries scrambled for abandoned bows, but few of them lived even long enough to grab their weapons. Only a handful of Federation arrows ever left their bows before the battle was over. Prince Saratoma stood near one of the Federation campfires while his men ensured that there were no survivors. He stared out across the Needle and wondered how Prince Garong and his men were doing.

“That went much better than expected,” Morro said softly as he stepped next to the prince. “What now?”

“We verify that all of the enemy are accounted for,” answered the prince, “and then we signal Prince Garong on Suicide Point. You mentioned earlier that you rectified a change in the camp. What was different?”

“One of the soldiers was too near the pigeon cages,” answered Morro. “I did not want to take the chance that someone might get a message off to Despair. I eliminated the problem.”

Prince Saratoma nodded and sighed wearily. Morro looked at the prince with concern.

“You have had a great victory tonight,” frowned Morro. “What is bothering you?”

“In the brashness of my youth,” the prince said softly, “I fancied that it would feel great to finally strike back at my enemy and kill them all. Now that I am finally accomplishing that, I gain no solace from the act. These men never stood a chance tonight. They were so comfortable with their position that they did not even have sentries on the land side of their camp. This was not a battle, Morro, but rather a slaughter. It brings me no joy.”

Morro nodded with understanding. “The killing is not meant to bring joy. It is meant to ensure peace. If you did not eliminate these one thousand men, they would be at your back when you eventually attack Despair. That would be a mistake that could cost you thousands of your own people. Weep not for the enemy until your victory is assured, Prince Saratoma. It will be hard enough to bring your people through this war alive without such feelings getting in the way.”

“There is truth in your words,” conceded the prince, “but I do not control my heart. Help me get some burning logs into one of these catapults. I want to let Prince Garong know that we are in control of the Cliffs of Ranool.”

Directly across the Needle, Prince Garong also stood among the bodies of Federation soldiers. The Federation encampment at Suicide Point had been smaller than the one atop the Cliffs of Ranool, but the approach had been a little trickier, and the fight had lasted a little longer. While Prince Garong’s men were still loading a fiery cargo into one of the catapults to signal Prince Saratoma, they saw the victory signal from the Cliffs of Ranool.

“We have done it!” exclaimed one of the elven warriors. “I never thought we could actually do it.”

“Yet here you are,” Prince Garong replied with a slight smile. “It is a testament to your courage that you came expecting less than victory. It speaks well of you and your people.”

* * * *

K’san exited the rear of the Imperial Palace in Despair. He strode purposefully towards the tent holding the portal. The sentries on duty at the front of the tent instinctively stepped aside to let the large priest pass into the tent. Letting the tent flap fall behind him, the demonic priest strode to the door and opened it. As K’san opened the door to Alcea, a deluge surged forth from the other side. The water caught K’san unawares, and he slipped and fell. The violent flow of water pushed his body through the tent flap and onto the lawn of the palace. The sentries were also caught unawares, and their bodies were swept away by the swiftly growing flood.

K’san growled in anger as he managed to push himself off the ground and regain his footing. The front supports of the tent had already buckled and the material of the tent was caught in the surge, its seams tearing apart from the force of the water. The priest waded towards the tent, reaching out and ripping one of the support ropes free of the tent. He angrily tore at the tent flaps, tearing them apart as he moved towards the portal. With the length of rope in one hand, K’san raised his other hand, palm out towards the door. He mumbled under his breath, and the water streaming towards him suddenly split in two, one side passing on his right and the other on his left. He kept his outstretched arm before him as he moved slowly towards the portal. The water seemed to halt pouring through the door, and the priest moved in close enough to reach the wooden door. With a sudden burst of speed, he slammed the door shut and wrapped the rope around it. He tied the rope around the door securely and then ripped the door and its posts out of the ground. He threw the door face down and retreated from the ruined tent.

The water in the area of the tent was already waist deep, but it was receding quickly the water started flowing towards the harbor, following the natural slope of the land. The soaked priest stormed into the palace and made his way to the office of Grand General Kyrga. Kyrga looked up with annoyance as he sensed someone entering his office unbidden, but his annoyance immediately turned to curiosity as he viewed the drenched priest.

“Did you step off the dock?” quipped the Grand General.

“Your humor is not appreciated,” scowled the priest. “Our last portal has been compromised. It is buried underwater like the others. I need to see the Master.”

Kyrga frowned deeply. Lord Kommoron had already left the palace, and Kyrga had instructions not to contact him in the Sanctum.

“Tomorrow will be soon enough,” Kyrga replied. “There is little we can do about the loss of the portal now.”

“It is more than the mere loss of a portal,” snarled the demonkin. “It means that the Alceans know about our latest attack force.”

“I understand that,” retorted Kyrga, “but we can do nothing about that, either. Our spare portals do not seem to work. The spells on them were faulty. We have no way to reach the attack force in Alcea to warn them.”

“There is one way left,” insisted K’san.

“What way is that?” questioned Kyrga.

“It is not something that you need to be made aware of,” replied the demonkin. “The Master will know what I mean. That is all that you need to know. Summon him now.”

“It is not within my power to summon Lord Kommoron,” stated Grand General Kyrga.

K’san growled and moved menacingly towards Kyrga, one arm outstretched towards the general’s throat. The Grand General knew that one touch from K’san could end his life. He also knew that his guards in the hallway would probably flee before getting in between K’san and him. He backed away as his mind whirled for a solution to the problem.

“Emperor Jaar,” Kyrga said quickly. “He has the power to summon a lord to the palace. Ask Jaar to send a man.”

The priest halted and let his arm drop to his side. K’san turned and left the office, heading for the office of Emperor Jaar.

K’san barged past the emperor’s guards and entered Jaar’s office. The emperor looked up with curiosity as the large demonkin entered with the guards on his heels. Both guards pulled their swords, and one of them even managed to swing his sword and strike K’san’s neck, but the demonkin was not injured. He turned and grabbed the offending guard by his tunic and raised him off the floor.

“Stop!” shouted the emperor.

The three figures froze.

“K’san, put down my guard,” commanded the emperor. “Their job is to protect me, and they are following their orders faithfully. I will not have them manhandled.” Turning his gaze to the guards, the emperor lowered his voice and said, “The priest is welcome here. Go and maintain a vigil outside the door.”

K’san lowered the guard to the floor, and both guards hurried to follow the emperor’s orders. They retreated from the room and closed the door. Emperor Jaar looked up at the demonkin and shook his head.

“Such displays in the Imperial Palace are not helpful,” the emperor said disapprovingly. “You would have gotten to talk to me easier by merely knocking. I would not refuse you entry. What urgent crisis causes you to act so brashly?”

“I need to speak to the Master,” K’san replied. “Grand General Kyrga would not send a messenger to summon him.”

“With good reason,” frowned the emperor. “Our Master does not wish to be seen as anyone special in the Imperial Palace. Such a summoning would defy his wishes.” The emperor’s brow creased as he gazed at the demonkin. “You have already spoken to the Master this evening. Why did you not speak of what is troubling you then?”

“I did not know the truth then,” replied K’san. “When I tried to return to Alcea, I discovered that the Alceans had flooded the portal, just like all the others. That means that the Alceans know about our new attack force.”

“Perhaps,” mused the emperor. “It certainly shows that they have discovered the portal, but nothing more. Had they flooded the portal days ago when our army entered Alcea, I would draw the same conclusion that you are drawing now, but much time has passed. In any event, the Master can wait until morning to learn of this latest setback. There is no need to endanger him with such alarm. It is not as if he can do anything about the portals.”

“He can,” declared the demonkin. “There is another way to warn our army. The Master knows of this.”

Emperor Jaar raised an eyebrow at the demonkin’s words. He could not imagine a way to reach the army in Alcea, but he did not think that K’san would assert himself frivolously.

“Go to the Temple of Balmak in this city,” instructed the emperor. “I will send a message to the Master to meet you there.”

* * * *

Lord Kommoron’s carriage halted a block away from the temple. The noble pulled his hood forward to conceal his face and then stepped out of the carriage. He made his way towards the temple, depending on his carriage guards to watch for anyone taking particular notice of their master. Lord Kommoron reached the rear door of the temple and let his wristband be seen by the sentries. One of the sentries knocked on the door, and it opened immediately. The noble stepped inside, ignoring the black-cloak who stood guard on the other side. He pushed past the mage and headed for K’san’s office. When he arrived, the demonkin was waiting for him.