“Isn’t that a dangerous statement to make?” frowned Tmundo. “If things do not go well, it would be foolish to continue making a stand here when we can regroup and try again.”
“It is dangerous,” agreed the Torak, “but it is also a confident statement. The Motangans will be surrounded and attacked without mercy. They must not be allowed to survive and endanger yet more of Khadora. We cannot afford to burn more fields to deny them food for we will have no food for ourselves. This is where Premer Shamal must fall.”
The Chula did not respond, and the Torak rose and stretched. He smiled confidently at the leaders and then walked over the peak. Myka was waiting anxiously when he arrived.
“To battle?” asked the dragon.
“Soon, winged warrior,” replied the Torak as he climbed the dragon’s back and sat down. “First we must visit the armies of the Imperial Valley. Fly hidden, for I am not ready for the Motangans to see you.”
The dragon leaped into the air and glided down the eastern slopes of the Three Sisters. She soared just over the tops of the trees until the Charl River came into view. Banking sharply, the dragon turned westward to skirt around the Three Sisters and approach the large defensive works from the north.
Marak smiled subconsciously as he saw the thousands of Khadorans assembled north of the giant berm. There were shouts and waves from the armies of the Imperial Valley as the dragon skimmed over their heads. At the base of the berm, a large clearing opened up as soldiers were instructed to create a place for the dragon to land.
“I could have created my own clearing,” quipped the dragon.
“You will have your fill of humans before this day is out,” the Torak replied seriously. “Conserve your energy. The battle will begin soon enough.”
Myka realized that the time for humor had not yet come. She remained silent as she landed in the improvised clearing. The soldiers surrounding the clearing looked on in a combination of fear and admiration as the Torak slid to the ground and walked towards the berm. Myka could not resist winking at the soldiers and then letting out a fiery belch. She laughed when the soldiers scurried backwards to put more distance between the dragon and themselves. Marak climbed the earthworks to one of the viewing places where the members of the Lords’ Council were assembled. He nodded appreciatively at the rows of archers manning the crude wall.
“Welcome,” Lord Chenowith called out as the emperor approached. “Has the time arrived?”
“Soon,” nodded Marak as he walked into the circle of lords. “The vanguard of the Motangan force will arrive shortly. Is everything ready for them?”
“We are ready,” assured Lord Patel. “Mages will erect a magical defense while the archers skewer the vanguard.”
“We have constructed catapults to turn the forest into a furnace,” added Lord Quilo.
“Do not use fire at the outset,” warned Emperor Marak. “This fortification was designed to be held for a long time. Let the enemy come to us and die before this bulwark. A forest fire could well endanger our own forces, but we will use it if we have to.”
“The area before this berm is well cleared,” frowned Lord Faliman. “The fire could not spread to our men.”
“We are not the only army attacking the Motangans on this day,” explained the Torak. “The clans of the southern frontier, the Chula, and the elves are with us. The Motangans will be surrounded.”
“Mercy!” exclaimed Lord Kiamesh. “You had not mentioned all of this before.”
“I was not assured that all of the pieces would come together,” shrugged the Torak. “Now I am. The southern tribes have crossed the river at Deep Bend, and the elves crossed at Sintula. The Chula are right now descending out of the Three Sisters. There will be many of our brothers in the forests before you. We will not use fire unless our position is about to be lost.”
“Here they come!” shouted a lookout.
Marak and the lords gazed over the top of the berm and saw the vanguard of the Motangan army exiting the forest trail. The Motangans halted when they saw the huge earthworks. After a short pause, a Motangan officer ordered his men to spread out across the cleared area. They made no attempt to approach the berm, although they were already within bow range. Marak grinned as he tried to imagine what must have been going through the officer’s mind.
“Let them spread out a bit,” Marak said softly. “We don’t want only the archers in the center of the berm to have targets.”
The berm and the clearing before it spread for over a league from the foot of the Three Sisters to the Khadora River. For many minutes the Motangans filed out of the woods and spread to the left and the right as they hugged the wall of trees before the clearing. Before long, thousands of Motangan soldiers stood staring at the earthen wall, waiting for the signal to attack.
“Now,” Marak said softly to the air mages behind the lords.
Dozens of voices spoke into air tunnels, and the air immediately sizzled with Khadoran arrows. Screams rippled through the Motangan ranks as red-clad soldiers fell to the ground. Some of the Motangans charged towards the mammoth berm while others retreated into the forest. Those who charged the Khadorans were quickly cut down, but other Motangans were still filing into the cleared area.
A Motangan black-cloak exited the forest and glanced at the massacre for only a moment before raising his arm and sending a fireball streaming towards the Khadorans. The fireball hit a magical shield and dissipated. His arm rose again and pointed at a different area of the berm, but an arrow pierced his chest before he could get the spell off.
“Did you see that?” Lord Jamarat asked excitedly. “Their magic is worthless.”
“Do not believe that,” retorted the Torak. “The magical shields can only do so much. None of the Motangan magical projectiles will strike our people, but there are other spells that the enemy can use. I fully expect them to cause the ground to tremble with earthquakes. Our shields will not save us against that kind of magic.”
“What will save us from such spells?” asked Lord Quilo.
“Killing the remaining black cloaks,” answered the emperor. “Our mages destroyed most of the Motangan mages at the third trench, but we must ensure that the rest of them die before they can summon up such magic. They are the highest priority targets for our archers and mages alike.”
“I will see to it,” offered Lord Kiamesh as he waved an air mage towards him.
“When the Motangans stop coming out of the woods,” Marak continued, “our cavalries must pursue them. That will be the deadliest time for our forces.”
“You expect them to halt the attack?” asked Lord Chenowith.
“Eventually,” nodded Marak. “I don’t suspect that Premer Shamal is in the vanguard. When he hears what is happening here, he will order the attack to halt. He will seek a way around the berm.”
“But there is no way around the berm,” frowned Lord Patel.
“He will not be aware of that,” replied the Torak. “It is at that moment that our other forces must attack. Be prepared for it. You will see my signal to our other forces. If the Motangans are still attacking here, there should be no change in your defense at that time, but if the Motangans have halted their attack, that will be the time to pursue them with vigor.”
“You are leaving then?” frowned Lord Faliman.
“I am,” Marak nodded. “I am taking Myka aloft to observe the battle from the sky. As long as I am visible, your mages will be able to contact me.”
The Torak turned and left the group of lords. He hurried down the embankment and climbed aboard the dragon.
“Fly high, winged warrior,” instructed the Torak. “Let’s see what the enemy is up to.”
“About time,” quipped Myka as she leaped into the air. “Waiting on the ground while the enemy attacks is not what I am interested in.”
Marak merely smiled as the dragon’s wings began to beat powerfully. In moments the berm had faded to a small line stretching between the mountains and the river. The Torak gazed down at the road through the forest. His eyes scanned the stream of red uniforms in search of the Motangan premer.