“The Sakovan skimmers got in trouble because they were sighted early,” replied Kruffel. “I will not make the same mistake. We will wait until nightfall before attacking.”
“What if the Motangans leave before then?” frowned Dasra.
“I reckon that we are still a day out of Raven’s Point,” answered Kruffel. “Even if the Motangans left right now, we could catch them before they make landfall. We will wait for the darkness. Throw lines to the nearest skimmers. We need to raft together, or we will become too separated without sails to maneuver.”
The skimmer rose on another swell, and Kruffel gazed once again at the Motangan fleet. The four hundred leviathans were only a smear on the horizon without their sails on display, but it was a sight that sent shivers of excitement up his spine.
* * *
The Wound of Kaltara was an enormous gorge through which the Kaltara River flowed. Ancient Sakovan scrolls told the story of its creation over a thousand years ago. It was said to have been blasted out by the hand of God in a fit of rage following the murder of the Star of Sakova. A priest witnessed the event and was sent by God to inform the Sakovan people of Kaltara’s displeasure. The priest was given the Scroll of Kaltara to guide the Sakovan people in the rightful ways of the future.
The canyon was over a league wide and half a league deep, and it stretched for hundreds of leagues from west of Zaramilden to the Wytung Mountains. It was a desolate, uninhabited gorge of enormous proportions that travelers avoided. Usually.
On this particular day, there were over a thousand travelers on the floor of the canyon. Heading south towards the Wytung Mountains, a long column stretched along the banks of the Kaltara River. They were unconcerned about being observed by anyone, as the Wound of Kaltara was fairly inaccessible. Nor were they worried about anyone noticing evidence of their passing, as they left no human footprints. The loin-clothed men rode on the backs of large ferocious cats.
Kyata, tribal leader of the Zatong tribe of the Chula, raised his hand in an unspoken command to rest. The Chula warriors silently dismounted their beasts and gathered in small groups to refresh and eat a meal. Ukaro, head shaman of the Zatong tribe, sat next to his brother Kyata.
“Your words about the Wound of Kaltara are true,” smiled Kyata. “No one has appeared on the rims of the canyon since we entered it. It is easy traveling and yet unobserved. You have done well.”
“The peaks of the Wytung Mountains can likewise be traveled in secrecy,” smiled Ukaro, his long mane flowing fluidly as he stretched his neck. “It is along the coast of the sea that I am concerned about. I am not sure where the Motangans might position spotters.”
“Perhaps your son could be tempted to fly his winged warrior over the area?” posed Kyata.
“The Torak has much to worry about,” Ukaro shook his head. “I will not trouble him for a such a trivial matter. The Chula know how to move unobserved, even if it is in a foreign land unfamiliar to us. We will reach Alamar without giving notice to the invaders.”
“Do you have any knowledge of the strength of the enemy in Alamar?” asked Kyata.
“Nothing accurate,” replied the shaman. “We will send scouts before us, but I think that the Motangans would not leave the port city unsecured. They have sufficient men to leave five or ten thousand to guard the city without concern for the troops. Alamar is needed by the Motangans to unload supplies. Without it, they are cut off from their Island of Darkness.”
“Then we shall remove it from their hands,” grinned the chieftain.
Chapter 9
Winds of Change
Kruffel could barely keep his eyes open as he piloted the skimmer westward. He had gone for days with only short naps to refresh his body, and the tension of the battle had drained his energy. The old fisherman turned his head to scan the seas around him in search of any other skimmers that might have survived the battle. Dawn was still hours away, and Kruffel could not see any other ships around them.
Unexpectedly the boat slewed sideways as the swell picked up the skimmer and carried it sideways. Kruffel’s eyes jolted open as he fought the tiller to correct his course.
“You are falling asleep,” Dasra said groggily as he woke up. “Let me take over for a spell.”
“I accept,” Kruffel quickly replied. “Check our friend first and see if he is still alive.”
Dasra moved to the man that they had fished out of the sea during the attack. The man was a skimmer pilot from a small village in Fakara that neither of the men knew well. His skimmer had been sunk in the heat of the battle, and Kruffel had hauled the man aboard.
“He is still alive,” reported Dasra, “but he is burning up. How long to Raven’s Point?”
“I have no idea,” sighed Kruffel. “I am not sure how long I dozed off for. I am glad that you woke up, although I know you have not had much more sleep than I have. I must rest my eyes at least.”
Dasra moved to the stern and grabbed the tiller, allowing Kruffel to move to the bow and close his eyes, but as tired as he was, the old fisherman could not fall asleep right away.
“I cannot get the battle out of my mind,” Kruffel said, his eyes still closed. “On one hand I am elated at the number of Motangan ships we sent to the bottom of the sea, but on the other hand I think of all the men we lost. They were brave men, and they will be sorely missed.”
“Their lives were not lost in vain,” Dasra replied. “I have no idea how many behemoths we sunk, but it was a lot. The losses were certainly large enough to be severely felt by Vand’s armies. I can only hope that it will be enough to make a difference in the battles to come.”
“I must sleep,” Kruffel replied after several moments of silence. “Wake me if you see any other skimmers.”
* * *
StormSong nudged Lyra, and the Star of Sakova opened her eyes. Lyra sat up and gazed around, but it was too dark to see very far.
“You wanted to be notified when the armies were in position,” StormSong said softly. “We just received word that they are all set. We need to pull back ourselves now. Sorry to wake you.”
“Thank you, StormSong,” smiled Lyra as she rose from the ground. “What time is it?”
“A few hours before dawn,” answered the Sakovan warrior, her voice soft and hushed. “It took longer than expected for the armies to position themselves. They are unfamiliar with the terrain of the heartland.”
“Let’s hope the same can be said for the Motangans,” replied Lyra. “Have they moved at all?”
“Not a bit,” StormSong shook her head. “They have not even sent out scouts this night.”
“After last night,” Lyra said, “I cannot blame them. They must be getting tired of losing men every night with nothing to gain for it. Will there be enough of a trail for the Motangans to follow in the morning? We don’t want them getting lost.”
“We will blaze a trail that even the simplest of trackers can follow,” StormSong assured the Star, “but we need to start doing that now. The people are nervous with you this close to the enemy.”
“Then we shall leave immediately,” promised Lyra, “although we are not that close unless they have moved while I slept. We have caught every one of their scouts in the past. They do not move as quietly as Sakovans.”
“We will take no chances,” shrugged StormSong. “I will gather the others while you get ready.”
Lyra grabbed her pack and put it on. She retrieved her rapier and dusted the dirt off her clothes. She stretched while she waited for StormSong to return with the chokas.
Suddenly, a horrifying scream rent the air. Lyra did not recognize the voice, but it was obviously female. The only female Motangans that anyone had seen were mages, and they were not known to scout out enemy positions. Sakovans emerged out of the darkness and began encircling the Star of Sakova.
“Who was it?” Lyra asked softly.