“He was near the eastern perimeter,” the premer said softly. “He must have been terrified. Send someone to look for him.”
The general nodded and signaled for a soldier to come to him. He issued terse instructions and sent the soldier to search for the lad.
“It is possible that he was a spy,” suggested the general.
“A spy?” balked the premer. “To what end? What could he possibly learn from his short visit? We always excluded him from important conversations.”
“True,” shrugged the general, “but who knows what goes through the mind of these savages?”
“You must not think of the Fakarans in such a way,” cautioned the premer. “That only makes us underestimate them. The attack tonight was well planned and flawlessly executed. We must be ready for the next wave.”
“You think they will attack again?” asked the general. “Their element of surprise will be gone.”
“I would attack again if I were them,” declared the premer. “Even without the element of surprise, we are fairly defenseless here.”
“Defenseless?” balked the general. “We have two hundred and fifty thousand men under your command. They could not muster half that many men if they had the whole nation of Fakara assembled out here.”
“And who is to say that they do not have all of their fighters here?” asked the premer. “Look around you. Show me a tent that wasn’t trampled when they passed through. I cannot imagine how many thousands of riders passed through this camp, but it was a lot.”
General Luggar did not bother to point out the premer’s own tent. He understood the point that Cardijja was making, and it was a valid point. There had certainly been tens of thousands of riders in each of the three prongs to the Fakaran attack. The thought of another attack sent shivers up the general’s spine.
“How do you think they found us?” asked Luggar. “The lad said that the tribes were far to the south.”
“I suspect that their scouts have been following our progress for some time,” answered the premer. “We cannot exactly hide our presence very well, not with the size of this army. They probably have scouts up on the mountain peaks.”
“Then we must gain the safety of the jungle quickly,” suggested the general. “Perhaps it is wise to strike the camp right now and start marching, especially if you expect another attack. Let’s be gone from here before they return.”
“I would agree wholeheartedly,” frowned the premer, “except that the men had no sleep last night. Curse those insects. That couldn’t have happened at a worse time. No, Luggar, the men can’t march tonight. Increase the perimeter by tenfold, especially in the areas where the Fakarans entered and exited the camp. Let the others rest, but with their weapons at their sides. As soon as dawn arrives, I want this whole camp up and ready to move out at a brisk pace.”
The premer did not wait for a reply. He turned and entered his tent. General Luggar walked to a group of runners stationed nearby. He issued orders that would implement the premer’s commands. He left it up to the individual generals to determine which troops would be forced to stand sentry and which would be allowed to sleep.
For the next two hours, General Luggar walked around the encampment making sure that the premer’s orders had been carried out. Eventually he was pleased with the preparations and confident in his belief that the Fakarans would not return before morning. He returned to his resurrected tent and went to sleep.
When the attacks came an hour later, they were not from the same directions as the previous attacks. The Jiadin came from the southeast, Yojji’s men charged from southwest, and Adger’s troops attacked from the northeast. Despite all the preparations, the Motangans were unprepared for the changes in direction. Once again the Motangan encampment was invaded and destroyed as the three cavalries crisscrossed the camp.
While the second attack was more costly to the Fakarans in terms of casualties, it broke the morale of the Motangan troops. The tired and injured Motangans remained awake for the rest of the night, waiting for the next wave of Fakaran horsemen.
* * *
Emperor Vand entered the throne room of the temple at Vandegar. His eyes narrowed as he watched Premer Tzargo and the mage, Pakar, talking softly near the door. They were so absorbed in their conversation that neither of them had noticed the emperor enter the room. Vand walked to his throne and sat down. Clearing his throat loudly, he glared at the two men. Premer Tzargo bowed low towards the emperor while Pakar hurried across the floor to take his place with the other eleven mages assigned to guard the emperor.
“You have something to report?” Vand scowled at Tzargo.
The premer nodded and marched across the room to stand in front of the emperor. He bowed again and waited for permission to speak.
“Report,” scowled Vand.
“I was just informed of a battle in Khadora,” Tzargo swallowed hard. “The report came from the force under Premer Shamal’s command.”
“Yes, yes,” the emperor snapped impatiently. “Tell me what is significant about this report. Has Shamal conquered the country?”
“I do not know,” frowned Premer Tzargo. “The report was sent as the battle was beginning. It occurred somewhere between Sintula and Chantise.”
“Then Sintula has fallen?” asked the emperor.
“It would appear so,” Tzargo said hesitantly.
“It would appear so?” mocked the emperor. “Is it too much to ask to have decent reports on my armies? Pakar!”
The black-cloak hurried across the floor and stood beside the premer. He bowed low in a sign of ultimate respect and then rose to look into the emperor’s eyes.
“The mages under Premer Shamal have been negligent in their reporting,” Pakar offered, knowing that his words would cause some deaths among his confederates. Vand did not stand for incompetence and his punishment was a humiliating death. “We should have had a report when Sintula fell, but none arrived. The fact that Shamal’s army was already north of Sintula declares that the Khadoran city must have fallen.”
“I do not want your suppositions,” scowled Vand. “I want the reports from the people in the field. When I want an analysis, I will ask for one. Now, leave me and get a thorough report on Shamal’s victories.”
“We have been trying for some time to contact him,” replied Pakar. “We have been unable to contact a single mage under Premer Shamal.”
“What are you saying?” frowned the emperor. “Are you trying to make me believe that the Khadorans defeated Shamal? That is preposterous. Go and get me my reports.”
“If the emperor will allow my thoughts?” Pakar asked hesitantly.
Vand sighed with frustration and shook his head, but he waved his hand in a show of permission for the mage to speak.
“We have had a communication from Meliban,” declared the black-cloak. “I think it is of great interest and may reveal another reason why Shamal might not be able to communicate.”
“Proceed,” ordered the emperor, his curiosity aroused.
“Two mages arrived in Meliban from Vandamar,” stated Pakar. “They spoke with great authority and warned against any use of the air tunnel spell. They informed our people in Meliban that the air tunnel was corrupt. They said that the elves had found a way to weave a compulsion spell through the air tunnel and that using it over any distance would be dangerous. They even demanded that our calls to Meliban not be answered. It was only after I threatened to go there and kill them that they finally picked up the air tunnel.”
“And what is the importance of this?” Vand asked. He thought he understood where Pakar was going, but he wanted nothing left unsaid.
“If the same rumor was spread in Khadora,” reasoned Pakar, “Shamal’s mages would be afraid to contact us for fear of jeopardizing your safety. I do not know if this is the case, but it is a possibility that we must consider.”
“Then you were wise to bring it to my attention, Pakar,” nodded the emperor.
“Perhaps we should send some of Premer Tzargo’s men over the Fortung Mountains to investigate,” suggested Pakar.