“He is,” nodded one of the soldiers. “I would love to take some of it from him, but I don’t have a stake to get in the game. Perhaps you could lend me some gold?”
The guard laughed loudly and took off running towards Savesto’s campsite.
“I guess that was a no,” chuckled the soldier.
Several more guards raced by, and by the time the small group reached the corrals, there were only two guards left.
“Well,” greeted one of the guards, “if it isn’t Savesto’s boys. I knew the rumor of him losing his gold was too good to be true. You boys wouldn’t be away from your campsite if there was gold to be had.”
“Actually,” admitted one of the soldiers, “Savesto has cleaned us out. He is now sitting on all of our gold as well as his own.”
“I have never known Savesto to be lucky,” the guard replied suspiciously.
“Me neither,” shrugged the soldier, “but it’s the truth. He cleaned us all out.”
“He must be cheating,” declared the soldier.
“No doubt about it,” nodded one of the soldiers, “but we couldn’t catch him at it.”
The two guards looked at each other and grinned.
“Well he can’t cheat us,” declared one of the guards. “I can spot a cheat every time. How would you boys like to earn some of your gold back?”
“”Sure!” exclaimed one of Savesto’s soldiers. “What do we have to do?”
“Just guard the corrals while we go clean out Savesto’s little nest egg,” grinned the guard. “We’ll let you have some of your gold back when we return.”
“And we better hurry before the others get it all,” interjected the other guard.
“Go,” one of the soldiers said. “Just make sure you get some of our gold back.”
The two guards ran towards Savesto’s campsite, and the soldiers left behind laughed out loud.
“Take your pick, Aki,” chuckled one of the soldiers, “but be quick about it. Savesto’s luck truly is lousy, and it won’t take long for them to clean him out.”
Aki did not hesitate. He leaped over the rail of the corral while the soldiers untied the gate and prepared to open it. Within minutes Aki had a horse saddled and raced out of the corral. The sentries along the eastern perimeter paid no attention to the racing messenger, and Fisher was soon out of sight of the camp.
Chapter 42
The Ancient Battlefield
Marshal Berman gazed to his left and observed the long line of Khadoran horsemen. A rainbow of uniforms extended far beyond the limitations of his eyesight. He nodded with pride and swiveled his head to the right. A mirror image presented itself; only the clan colors were different. Next he glanced over his shoulder at the horde of the Aritor clan, which was slightly in front of the rest of the line. The morning sun was just breaking the horizon, and the Vandegar Temple was visible far in the distance. As the first rays of the sun swept over the vast plain, the ground sparkled with a thousand pinpricks of reflected light.
“What the devil is that?” asked Lord Faliman. “Something is reflecting the light.”
Lord Marshal Stanton rose up in his stirrups and gazed over the wasteland. For several moments his eyes tried to decipher what lay before him. Finally he nodded to himself and sat down with a sigh of relief.
“It is an old battlefield,” he announced. “Thousands must have died here ages ago.”
“Ages ago?” questioned the Aritor lord. “What do you see?”
“Nothing but a bunch of fallen skeletons on the ground,” answered Lord Marshal Stanton. “The sun is reflecting off of their old swords.”
“I do not recall hearing about any old battles here,” frowned Lord Faliman.
“This used to be the home of the Jiadin warriors,” explained Lord Marshal Stanton. “The temple at Vandegar was the center of their war of destruction. One can assume that many battles took place in this wasteland.”
The vanguard had reached the edge of the ancient battlefield, and the Aritor clan rode onward, the hooves of the horses making a loud racket as they trampled the long deceased warriors and bones snapped beneath the weight.
“Why are the swords still shiny?” Marshal Berman muttered aloud.
“Not much rusts in the desert,” shrugged Lord Marshal Stanton, “but the glare is blinding.”
Marshal Berman grew increasingly nervous as the Aritor clan moved further into the old battlefield. He rose up and turned to look behind him. The entire group of Aritor horsemen was riding over the skeletons, and the main line of the other Khadora clans was about to begin crunching bones as well. As he turned forward once again, his brow began sweating profusely, although the heat of the day had not yet begun.
“Something is not right here,” Marshal Berman declared. “The Jiadin were horsemen as were all Fakaran warriors. Where are the horse skeletons? All we are seeing are the remains of men.”
“You are right,” frowned Lord Faliman. “Is it not also curious that each warrior died with his weapon in hand? Usually warriors lose their weapons in death, but not a one of these fallen soldiers is without his.”
Marshal Berman held up his hand to halt the column.
“We are turning back,” he stated.
“Because of this cemetery?” balked Lord Marshal Stanton.
“Because this is not natural,” snapped Marshal Berman. “We will take the time to learn the true significance of this battlefield before we continue. Turn the men around Lord Marshal.”
Lord Marshal Stanton hesitated a moment and then finally shouted the order to retreat. A horn blared the retreat, and the Aritor horsemen began to turn around. Unexpectedly, the field of skeletons rose as one and began slashing at the Khadorans.
“We are under attack!” shouted Marshal Berman as a dozen skeleton warriors surged towards his point position. “Keep sounding the retreat so that the other clans will hear it,” he yelled to the hornsman.
Marshal Berman drew his sword and slashed at the skeletons trying to encircle him, but there was nothing to sink his blade into. There were no screams from the victims of his swings, and his steel neither sank into flesh, nor caused blood to flow onto the barren soil.
The Balomar marshal’s eyes flicked in every direction as he parried blows from the swords of the dead. He saw thousands of skeletons racing towards the still advancing line of Khadorans, and he caught sight of Lord Marshal Stanton trying his best to keep Lord Faliman safe so that he could retreat. Berman cursed as he realized that all was lost for the vanguard. He wheeled his horse and raced towards the hornsman.
“Stanton,” shouted Marshal Berman, “leave Faliman and rally to the hornsman. We must stop the Khadoran advance.”
“I cannot leave my lord,” refused the lord marshal.
“Your lord is dead,” snapped Berman as he raced past. “We are all dead. Make our lives worth something. We must protect the hornsman as long as we can.”
Marshal Berman reached the retreating hornsman and took up his right flank. Ahead of him he saw the army of skeletons closing off the path of retreat.
“Blow, son,” encouraged the Balomar marshal. “Blow as long and as hard as you can. Give your countrymen a chance to live.”
Lord Marshal Stanton pulled up on the hornsman’s left flank and began slicing into the skeletons. Berman saw Lord Faliman race by, but the path was already blocked. All around the hornsman, Aritor soldiers cried out in pain as they toppled from their horses. Berman swung his blade hard, and his victims’ bones cracked in response, but the dead warriors did not fall. The skeletons continued attacking, switching the hands that wielded their weapons if they needed to.
“I got one to fall,” Stanton shouted in triumph.
“How?” yelled Berman as the hornsman continued to blare the retreat.
“Break their necks,” shouted Stanton.
Marshal Berman nodded in understanding and extended his reach on the next swing. His sword slammed into a skeleton’s neck and its head lopped off. The skeleton collapsed in a pile of bones, but the swing cost Berman dearly. Two swords sliced into his leg, and he yelped in pain as blood gushed out of his wounds. Marshal Berman gritted his teeth and struck out again. He scored another blow to the neck of a skeleton and watched the bones fall to the ground, but his joy was short-lived. He watched in amazement as his hand and sword fell to the ground. For a moment he felt no pain from his severed hand, as if it was all a dream, but reality returned all too soon. Blood spewed from the stump of his arm, and he closed his eyes for a final prayer to Kaltara. Seconds later the marshal’s body was struck in several places at once. He tumbled from his horse, and his world grew black.