“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.”