The king nodded in understanding and continued the briefing until everyone knew their part in the battle. As the sun began to set over Duranga, the meeting broke up and everyone headed for their groups. As they left the inn, Jenneva pulled Alex aside.
“You were unusually quiet in there today. Is something bothering you?”
“There was no need for me to speak,” Alex replied.
Jenneva chuckled. “That has never stopped you before. Why so quiet?”
Alex sighed and gazed into his wife’s eyes. “You still think of Arik as the boy we found in Largo so many years ago, but that memory no longer reflects who he has become. Arik is one of the finest commanders I have ever known, and it does no one any good for me to constantly infringe on his rightful place. His plan is sound and is much like what I would have planned had it been up to me. Give him space to become who he will become, Jenneva. He is the Warrior King.”
Jenneva’s brow creased sharply. “I agree with your words, husband, but I suspect there is something deeper bothering you. Have you had any dreams lately? Have you seen your own death this night?”
“My life will not be led by dreams,” scoffed Alex. “There is nothing deeper in my meaning than the words I just uttered. Let’s go and get ready for the attack.”
* * * *
Sergeant Dilney frowned as he watched the other squad of soldiers from the 17th Corps of Spino approaching the western perimeter of the camp. He called his own squad to attention and prepared to hand off the guard detail to the new arrivals before returning his gaze to the approaching soldiers. The replacement squad moved sluggishly, and their sergeant did not seem to notice or care. He made eye contact with his replacement before speaking softly.
“It has been quiet so far,” Sergeant Dilney reported, “but I would remind your men that we are in hostile territory. They need to stay alert.”
“My men can handle perimeter duty,” scowled the other squad leader. “They need no reminding.”
Sergeant Dilney shrugged and called for his men to form up. His squad members quickly formed a column, and Sergeant Dilney marched them away from the western perimeter. He led them to the squad’s area of the camp and dismissed them. As his men settled in for the evening meal, the sergeant turned and walked away. He wandered through the encampment until he saw Colonel Shellard, assistant to General Kozinski. He caught the colonel’s eye and waved for his attention. The colonel nodded in acknowledgement and the two men met halfway.
“I have a concern about the men, Colonel,” Sergeant Dilney said cautiously, “but I do not wish to bring the matter to the attention of General Kozinski. May I speak to you about it?”
The colonel hesitated, but he eventually nodded silently.
“Many of the men are taking our situation too casually,” declared the sergeant, “particularly in regards to sentry duty. My squad was just replaced on the western perimeter by a squad that wouldn’t see a dragon approaching until it ate them. The sad part is that such a squad is not an exception in the 17th Corps right now. The men have grown complacent, Colonel. They act as if we are back in Valdo protecting a supply depot, as if they can’t wait until their duty is up so they can visit the nearest tavern. They need to be reminded that we are in enemy territory.”
Before the colonel could reply, the ground trembled. The eyes of both men widened in alarm as the trembling grew more intense. Small debris began falling from the trees and tents began to collapse. The sergeant and the colonel instinctively reached out for each other to steady themselves as men walking through the camp stumbled and fell. As the trembling intensified, a roaring wind began to blow through the camp. The wind whipped up walls of dirt which blasted everything in its path. Tents were ripped from the ground and sent flying away. Sparks from the campfires shot through the air, burning holes in the tents and searing the flesh of anyone unfortunate enough to be caught downwind.
“This is magic,” hissed Colonel Shellard. “I bet an attack will soon follow. Run to the western perimeter and replace that incompetent sergeant. Take over his squad and prepare them to repel attackers. I will need a runner, so send their sergeant to me. I will be in General Kozinski’s tent.”
Sergeant Dilney broke away from the colonel and raced towards the western perimeter. Waves of dirt blackened the already darkening dusk, but the sergeant had a good sense of direction. He ran blindly through the camp, quickly picking himself up each time the moving ground tripped him. He felt numerous stings from flying sparks, but he ignored them. All around him, the soldiers were panicking. The dirt-filled air was saturated with shouts of alarm and cries of pain. He ignored them as well.
As Sergeant Dilney approached the western perimeter, the wind seemed to die down, and the trembling of the ground lessened. He halted his mad rush by grabbing onto a tree and stared in confusion at the sight before him. At first all he saw were the sentries of the western perimeter stretched out on the ground, but then arrows streaked out of the trees and other soldiers fell. With no squad for him to command, Sergeant Dilney quickly moved behind the tree and peered around it. Cries of pain ripped through the air as hundreds of arrows flew into the camp.
Several captains shouted orders in an attempt to organize a defense of the camp. They ordered their companies to form shield walls and prepare to assault the forest with waves of arrows, but the enemy gave them no time to organize. Another volley of arrows from the forest was followed by a mounted charge. Sergeant Dilney watched with rapt fascination as black-clad warriors surged out of the trees and attacked the Spinoan soldiers. The sergeant’s eyes were quickly drawn to one imposing warrior with long golden hair tied in a tail. The Alcean moved like a specter through the Spinoan ranks, his long two-handed sword drawing blood with each swing and back swing. Sergeant Dilney shuddered as the Alceans advanced, cutting down everything in their path. He turned and ran towards the center of the camp.
When Sergeant Dilney reached the center of the camp, he found both command tents collapsed in tatters. Pandemonium reigned as officers shouted orders, and runners ran off to carry messages to distant companies. The sergeant saw Colonel Shellard and ran to him, but he halted wordlessly upon arrival. The colonel was dispatching troops to reinforce the camp’s defenders, and the sergeant thought someone else had already delivered the bad news. He realized his error when the southern perimeter was mentioned as the location of the attack.
“Colonel,” the sergeant said loudly with an urgent tone. “The southern perimeter is not the only attack. The western perimeter is being overrun by Alceans.”
The colonel turned with alarm on his face. “How many attackers?”
“Hundreds,” answered the sergeant, “maybe thousands. I did not stay to take count of them, but they are cutting their way into the camp without much opposition. Hundreds of our men were struck down in the initial volley, and the Alceans charged before a defensive shield could be formed. The barrier didn’t even slow them down.”
The colonel did not answer immediately. When he eventually spoke, Sergeant Dilney thought his voice was amazingly calm considering the situation.
“Sergeant,” ordered Colonel Shellard, “I want you to personally check the northern and eastern perimeters. Carry word back to me if we are under attack from those quarters as well. If we are not, inform the perimeter guards to expect an attack at any moment.”
“Just the northern perimeter and hurry,” countermanded General Kozinski as he joined the conversation. “There is nothing but sea to the east of us.”
“There is enough forest to conceal a rather large army,” countered the colonel.