The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (24 page)

“It is evident that Prince Fenrel is a madman, but he cannot force his troops to attack a fortified position on little rest in the dead of night. If Brelg and other members of the Orphans are involved, they will have used unorthodox tactics against the Keltaran. Attacking after nightfall multiplies the Keltaran’s chances of defeat. Fenrel must wait for the morrow. If we break now for a few hours rest, we should be able to push through the night and arrive before daybreak.”

Corad frowned and furrowed his brow. If Gage were wrong, he risked the entire Zodrian force and with them the fate of Rindor. However, he learned in the past several years that Gage possessed the insight and reasoning of his mother. The young man would make a good king one day and Corad trusted his wisdom.

“Pass the word,” stated Corad. “We break for a few hours. Tell them to lie where they stand. There is no need for a camp.”

Gage immediately nodded to his father, reined his horse about and rode down the Rindoran line shouting orders. Corad smiled and thanked Avra for the meddling of a secretive old Elf in his personal life years ago.

The giant and Guardsman walked in near complete darkness for over two hours. The tunnel they navigated varied little. It continued on its southwest trajectory with a steady down slope for leagues. Their muscles ached and blood pounded through their temples as they tried to keep from stumbling in the weak torchlight.

Granu abruptly halted. Cefiz nearly stumbled into the back of the enormous giant and his pack dropped to the ground. He was ready to chastise Granu, but sensed something was wrong. Cefiz peered down the passageway in a vain attempt to discern a change in their situation. The Guardsman glanced back at the giant through the torchlight. Granu tested the air with his nose.

“What is it?” asked Cefiz.

“Guano,” replied Granu as he drew in a deep breath.

“Pardon?” questioned the Guardsman.

“Bat droppings,” answered the giant flatly. “Can you not catch that hint of acrid odor in the air?”

Cefiz frowned and drew in a deep breath, ready to announce the sensation a figment of the giant’s imagination. However, just before he spoke a hint of the acrid odor tickled his senses.

“Yes,” said a surprised Cefiz. “There is .... something in the air.”

The Guardsman drew in another deep breath and definitely smelled the odor.

“They are distant from us,” said Granu, “but a number of bats definitely roost within this cave system.”

Cefiz frowned and turned on the giant.

“Well, that is fascinating news, Keltaran,” huffed the Zodrian, “but I don’t care if a family of grizzled bears takes refuge in this hole. I want out. How does this news help us?”

Granu turned on his companion, smiled and shook his head.

“Hours in the darkness dull your wits, lieutenant,” laughed Granu. “Bats may roost in caves, but they do not hunt there.”

A look of recognition slowly crept across the Guardsman’s face.

“On occasion they will fly more than a league into the depths of a cave,” continued the giant, “but they must forage every evening. We cannot be more than two leagues from the exit of the tunnel.”

Cefiz’s eyes widened and a broad smile broke across his face. Quickly, he snatched his pack from the floor of the tunnel and moved down the passageway. As the pair hurried along, Cefiz felt a stir in the air. The suppressive staleness they journeyed through broke up. However, the overwhelming stench of ammonia replaced that staleness.

Shortly, Granu put a firm hand on the eager Guardsman and drew him to a halt. Cefiz frowned, annoyed that his rush to open sky was halted. Granu pointed to the tunnel ceiling above the lieutenant and Cefiz’s eyes followed the motion.

It appeared to the Guardsman that the brown ceiling of the tunnel wavered in his torchlight. Was the flickering torch creating this illusion on the surface of the rock, or was the heat of the flame playing tricks with the light? Cefiz held his torch aloft and stabbed it closer to the ceiling.

There was a high-pitched shriek as an entire section of the brown ceiling shifted from the flame. Cefiz recoiled and immediately recognized that which Granu uttered.

“Bats,” stated the giant. “The ceiling is covered with them.”

The giant’s own torch was dipped toward the ground and Cefiz looked down to see the floor of the passageway coated in a thick grayish white substance. Cefiz glanced back to the ceiling and slowly drew his torch down toward his side. The tiny bodies cramped together on the tunnel ceiling filled back into their original places.

“It must be daytime,” stated Granu. “They roost.”

The giant carefully stepped forward across the slick, wet floor of the tunnel. Within moments the stench within the tunnel broke up and the darkness outside the circle of torchlight lessened. They rounded a small bend in the tunnel and spied light ahead.

“Thank Avra,” exclaimed Cefiz. “Never have I been so happy to catch a glimpse of sky.”

The pair moved forward to the tunnel’s opening and navigated past several large boulders wedged there. They stepped out onto a ledge that ran ten yards along the surface of a shear rock wall. Both men shielded their eyes from the overwhelming sunshine. After a few moments their sight adjusted and they inspected the location.

Additional boulders lay crowded about the ledge, many of which stood as tall as the tunnel’s opening. Granu inched forward and peered over the edge of their mountain balcony. A hundred yards below the Frizgard roared through the gorge it etched into the mountains. After two days within the confining darkness of the tunnel, the plunge to the river below was overwhelming and the giant stepped back with an unusual case of vertigo.

“That answers a question that nagged me over the course of our journey through the mountain,” stated Granu turning to the Guardsman.

“What question?” asked Cefiz still blinking from the blinding rays of the sun.

“I wondered where we were being led and why the Ulrog Horde never discovered this tunnel’s opening,” said Granu. “Over the centuries they crawled about on the surface of the Scythtar likes ants on their hill. I could conceive of no tunnel or cave they have not explored. This opening is virtually unattainable from the river below and these boulders obscure the cave’s mouth so perfectly that I highly doubt the Malveel are aware of its existence.”

“If these heights are unattainable from below,” frowned Cefiz, “is below unattainable from these heights?”

“Perhaps,” replied Granu smiling. “That is the first question we must answer. Once we are on the banks of the Frizgard, we must attempt to determine in what direction our future lies. I hoped for a sign.”

 “I believe our second question has already been answered,” said a stunned Cefiz gazing past the shoulder of the giant.

Granu slowly turned and followed the Guardsman’s line of sight. His eyes adjusted to the bright sunshine and he gazed out over the southern horizon. From this height, the view was incredible. The northern hill country stretched out toward the southern horizon for leagues.

“A sign indeed,” mumbled the giant.

Far in the distance, slightly west of their position, a massive column of black smoke rose and polluted the blue sky.

“It seems my brother guides me to his whereabouts,” continued the prince.

The Keltaran threw his staff to the ground and checked that the ax of Gretcha was properly secured to his back. Again he inched toward the edge of their roost and peered down the face of the granite wall.

With a deep sigh the priest of Awoi pulled a length of rope from his pack and tied one end about his waist. The other end he deftly tossed to Cefiz.

“I cannot afford to lose you, Guardsman,” growled the Keltaran playfully. “If you should fall, please try to bounce off a rocky outcrop or two to slow your plunge. It would lessen the strain on the rope when it finally goes taught.”

Cefiz hesitantly moved toward the ledge and gazed over it wide eyed. He placed a hand on the still ample paunch above his belt line.

“If I fall,” replied the cook, “I pray to Avra you have the claws of one of those bats, or I fear my days before a sauce pan will send us both to our deaths.”

Granu smiled and sat on the edge of the precipice. He threw his feet over and slowly lowered himself. Cefiz quickly tied the rope about his own waist and stepped away from the edge, drawing the slack from the rope. In a moment, the giant disappeared from view and the Guardsman stood sweating in the cool mountain breezes. A moment more and he felt a light tug on the rope. Cefiz swallowed hard and moved toward the cliff’s edge.

Fenrel sent for his pavilion and his men hastily set it up beside the slopes of the second Knuckle. The prince desperately wanted solitude. He wished to commune with the powers that fueled his desire for conquest. He needed to report to his master.

When his infantry scouts had walked him to the main force of the Anvil, word quickly spread concerning his heroics in the face of the enemy’s archers. A second Hammer was sent to help in the retrieval of bodies, while a third scouted the hills and assessed the enemy’s whereabouts.

The sun dipped toward the horizon as Aul’s body was carried to the main encampment. Word also spread concerning the praise Fenrel heaped upon his second. When the body was laid before Fenrel, the prince fell to his knees hugging the corpse and sobbing uncontrollably. The Anvil went silent. Fenrel had never been seen in this light before and a confused army stood stunned. Fenrel’s face rose to the sky.

“Why?” shouted the giant, “Why does one man live and another die? By what rule do you hold sway over our fortunes? I have been weak .... and at times I have lived the life of a selfish man. But here lies a man who always understood sacrifice. A man willing to fall for the lives of others.”

A cheer went up from the Anvil. Aul’s past was erased with his performance in battle and in the minds of the Keltaran he already reached legendary status for his bravery.

“To fall in such a way,” snarled Fenrel. “To perish at the hands of trickery and cowardly machinations. To be ensnared in a trap, then brutally slain from afar with bow and bolt. What type of man lures his enemy to a death with no honor? What type of enemy runs from battle? These Zodrians are not men. They are spineless cowards!”

Again the Anvil roared its approval. Fenrel held them now. He appealed to their sense of honor. A subject he cared so little for in the past, but now found a potent motivator.

“The Zodrian raise nary a blade against us, but we bleed,” screamed Fenrel. “As in the past, when they rode down the sons and daughters of Hrafnu who tended to their flocks, the Zodrian display their true colors. A people of murderers and thieves! A people who have stolen our lands and our birthrights! A people that cannot be trusted!”

Fenrel jumped to his feet and his broad shoulders and huge frame eclipsed all around him. His eyes went wild and his teeth shown as he sneered at his men.

“Look at this brave man,” said Fenrel pointing to Aul.

A few men close to Fenrel dropped their eyes to the ground, ashamed to stare at the body of the fallen hero. Fenrel quickly grabbed the shirt of a man close to him and yanked him toward Aul’s body.

“LOOK AT HIM!” screamed Fenrel as he pulled the man down toward Aul. “This man was my friend! My brother in arms! What has he died for?”

The soldier squirmed under the pressure of the question and Fenrel growled and threw him back into the crowd.

 “WHAT?” continued Fenrel, “So we could bury our people and head back to our valley? No! We will complete what Aul and the others began. We will honor their memory against the dishonorable. We will clear the lands of the Zodrians and their moral bankruptcy.”

As he finished, a line of infantry ran from the hill above. The Keltaran surrounding the prince parted and let the commander of the unit advance to Fenrel.

“What do you report?” snapped the prince.

 The commander bowed low.

“My lord,” said the Ramsskull. “The Zodrians move east. They fortify positions along the third and last line of the Knuckles. The fires continue to rage preventing any advance by our cavalry through the valleys.“

“Then we shall lead our Brodor over the hills,” snarled Fenrel in return.

The Ramsskull commander missed Fenrel’s speech. He spent the long climb over the hill trying to discern what his army’s next move might be. Fatigue and confusion caught the better of him and he blurted his objections.

“My lord,” stammered the commander. “We cannot possibly continue our attacks.”

Fenrel spun on the man his eyes widening. His hands clenched into balls of rage, but in an instant he realized his mistake and relaxed. He couldn’t attack this man and maintain the facade of honor he displayed to his troops. Quickly he reined in his temper and addressed the commander.

“Do you suggest otherwise?” said Fenrel flatly.

The commander glanced about at his comrades then replied.

“Yes ... uh ... yes I do,” stated the commander. “The Zodrian have confounded us in the light of day. To attempt another attack, in the dark of night, against a position they prepared, appears folly to me. We must march on them with first light. They can run no further for they must be as exhausted as we are. I also believe they will not abandon the fortifications they engineered to make a run for their capital. If they were caught short of their goal, we would surely annihilate them. I suggest we march on them as one unit, horse and infantry abreast. They will fall to our combined might.”