“You are quite an attractive woman,” stated the premer. “What is your name?”
StarWind toyed with the idea of refusing to talk, but she knew that the torture would gain the Motangans whatever knowledge they desired. She decided to be cooperative up to a point.
“My name is StarWind,” the Sakovan spymaster replied. “May I assume that you are Premer Doralin?”
“I am,” the premer smiled. “You certainly appear calm in your current situation. May I presume that spying is something that you have done for some time?”
“It is my vocation,” nodded StarWind. “Or should I say was?”
“You are eager to taste death?” asked the premer.
“No one is eager for death,” shrugged StarWind, “but I know when I have failed my mission. I know that you will never let me leave this camp alive.”
“True,” nodded the premer, “but I may allow you to live within the camp, providing you tell me what I want to know.”
“Premer Doralin,” cautioned Zatho, “do not trust this woman. She will try to take her own life to avoid giving us the information that we want. Let me extract the information from her. You know that I never fail to get what we want.”
“Your talents are well known, Zatho,” nodded the premer, “but I will give this woman a chance to avoid the needless pain of your interrogation. She is such a beautiful creature that I am hesitant to watch you disfigure her.”
“There is little that I can offer you no matter which method of interrogation you choose,” interjected StarWind. “I told you that I was a spy and have been so for many years. My task was to spy on the Omungans before they were defeated. As such, I spent my life in the Omungan cities plying my trade. There is much that I can tell you about those cities, but I fear that is not the type of information that you are seeking.”
“I am sure that there is much that you can reveal,” smiled Premer Doralin. “You know enough of the geography of the Sakova to find our encampment. My maps could use much updating in that regard. Are you willing to disclose what you know without torture?”
“I will reveal what I can,” nodded StarWind, “but there is little that I can offer in terms of Sakovan secrets. The Star does not confide in me.”
“She is faking her cooperation,” Zatho blurted out. “She will fill you with lies and misinformation. Only my methods will get to the truth. Do not be tricked by her pretty face.”
“I suspect that you are right, Zatho,” sighed the premer. “Still, I am tempted to give her a chance. The armies are not marching today, as they need their rest before another major battle. I will give the Sakovan only this day to tell me what I need to know. If I am not satisfied by morning with her level of cooperation, I shall turn her over to you.”
“You must keep the sack on her head,” warned Zatho. “She might have magical abilities.”
Premer Doralin sighed and nodded to the soldier beside StarWind. The soldier placed the sack over StarWind’s head, and the Sakovan spymaster knew that she would not be able to talk her way out of her predicament.
Chapter 11
Making a Stand
Lord Rybak stood on a rise west of Raven’s Point, large columns of smoke rising high in the sky as the Khadoran fields burned to deny the enemy any food. Through the smoky haze he watched the Motangan boats still pouring fresh troops onto the shore. He slowly moved his gaze closer to the rise that he stood on and saw the Situ cavalry engaging the vanguard of the Motangan army. Mounted Situ soldiers charged the Motangan lines in an attempt to slow the advance, but the red-uniformed soldiers continued to push steadily westward.
“What is the situation in the north?” Lord Rybak asked.
“Lord Saycher has retreated,” replied Polema. “His people are safely over the first trench, and he has destroyed the northern bridge spanning it.”
“And the Motangans up there?” asked Lord Rybak.
“They are not pursuing Lord Saycher,” advised the air mage. “He suspects that they have turned south to flank our troops.”
“He suspects?” snapped Lord Rybak. “That is not acceptable. Contact him again and tell him to get scouts out. I must know where those Motangan troops are heading.”
Lord Rybak returned his attention to the battle below while Polema contacted Lord Saycher. He saw his cavalry harassing the enemy, but the solid sea of red uniforms all the way to the coast ensured that he would have to retreat soon. Already the cavalry losses were easily visible.
“He already has scouts out,” Polema interrupted his thoughts. “He just hasn’t heard back from them.”
Lord Rybak thought about ordering more scouts to be sent out, but he knew there was not time for that.
“What of our own evacuation?” he asked Polema. “Did you find out what is holding up the retreat?”
“It is the mages,” Polema reported softly. “Many of them are not as physically fit as the soldiers are. They cannot move swiftly. They have the central bridge clogged, and the infantry is behind them. It will be hours before they are safely across the trench.”
“We don’t have hours,” scowled Lord Rybak. “Our cavalry is being decimated. If we can hold another hour, that will be the best that we can do.”
“Should I advise them to destroy the bridge in an hour?” asked Polema.
Lord Rybak stood silently for a long time, his eyes viewing the carnage below. Finally, he sighed heavily and shook his head.
“Order the southern bridge destroyed immediately,” instructed the Situ lord. “At the center bridge, our infantry soldiers are to bypass the mages. They are to jump into the trench. Have the men on the other side of the trench lower ropes for them to climb out. As soon as the last mage crosses the bridge, destroy it.”
“What if the Motangans arrive before that?” asked Polema as she wove an air tunnel to the central bridge.
“The bridge must be denied to the Motangans,” declared Lord Rybak. “Regardless of costs, that bridge must be destroyed before the Motangans reach it.”
“I understand,” Polema nodded solemnly.
Lord Rybak turned to the lectain behind him. The officer snapped to attention when he felt his lord’s eyes upon him.
“There will be a change in plans,” stated Lord Rybak. “We are going to try to draw the Motangans to the south. Order the troops to start edging towards the south with every charge.”
“That will take the pressure off their northern vanguard,” frowned the lectain. “They might get to the central bridge sooner than desired.”
“They might,” agreed Lord Rybak, “but that is a chance that we must take. I am gambling that the Motangans are out to destroy as many of us as possible. If the Motangans that landed to the north did not pursue Lord Saycher, it can only be because they want to flank us from the north. If I am correct, the whole Motangan army will turn south to chase us.”
“Then I pray that you are correct,” saluted the lectain. “Will you be retreating now?”
“No,’ Lord Rybak shook his head. “I will be riding with you, Lectain. We must delay our enemies for several more hours. If they fail to turn southward, I want to be in a position to change my orders.”
The lectain smiled and nodded. He bowed slightly to the Situ lord and retreated to his mount.
“You do not need to ride with them to issue orders,” frowned Polema. “I can do that from anywhere.”
“Can you also send messages from somewhere that you are not?” questioned Lord Rybak.
“What do you mean?” Polema asked.
“Our armies on the other side of the trench must be kept informed of what is happening here,” explained Lord Rybak. “If you and I retreat, that task will remain uncompleted, and I will not retreat and leave you here. Besides, this battle is my responsibility. I plan to exact the maximum amount of damage on the enemy that we are capable of.”
“Your presence will energize the men,” smiled Polema. “They do look up to you.”
“I am glad to finally hear that,” smiled Lord Rybak. “I have spent the past few years trying to be like Emperor Marak. While I know that I can never compare myself to him, the love and respect from his men is his hallmark. They idolize him.”