Chapter 13

"Captain Hayaln, good morning. Or is it afternoon now?"

"My lord, it's an hour after noon."

"Yes, that's right. I've been awake so long I can't tell anymore."

"I know what you mean."

The lord Iosoan pulled his rain cloak farther over his face as he walked beside the tall captain. Both men hunched slightly against the steady downpour of the storm, which had not abated through the night. Morning had brought the sun unseen to shine behind a veil of boiling clouds, lighting the world to little more than a vague gray. Most of the shutters had been drawn around the sprawling forest palace in the night, and stinging raindrops still pounded sideways against the walls. Yet through it all, figures had been visible throughout the night and the morning, hurrying across the compound, from one building to another, or dashing off down the main road to fetch some important person. The long dormant Hai Lei war machine had been waked, and war does not wait for the weather.

"I already sent a runner to the prince," said Iosoan. "Last night, as soon as I got the news. He'll know to expect you, but don't be surprised if he's not very happy when you arrive."

"My lord?"

"I'm placing you in command of the unit which will reinforce the unit already engaged in the forest. The enemy count two thousand; the Hai Krun's best. Not the best in the forest, but still very tough. My son will take command once your unit arrives, but right now all he has is a search party of five hundred. I'll supply your unit with extra weapons, but I can only give you six hundred men."

"Only six hundred!"

"Hayaln," said Iosoan, raising a calming hand. "That's all I can spare."

"But that makes eleven hundred against two thousand!"

"I'm well aware of the numbers, captain. My army is little more that a peacekeeping force, far too few in number to handle an invasion like this. And I have to divide it to fight on two fronts. Six hundred is all I have to give you."

"We'll be slaughtered..."

"Your men are better fighters. And the forest is your friend. I'm counting on that to make the difference. Hayaln, my son is already out there in the middle of it: you'll not be slaughtered because it's you whose going to make sure he gets home."

The great lord heaved his shoulders in a sigh, added to himself: "I'm not going to lose two children..."

"My lord, you know I'll do my best... all the men will..."

"Captain, your best may not be good enough. Retreat is not an option this time, my friend. There's no falling back, no safe ground. While you're fighting a force of two thousand in the forest, I'll be fighting a force of three thousand at Abita.

I'm taking Captain Burto and the remaining twelve hundred men to the village to engage them; we'll be outnumbered no worse and no better than what you'll be. While we're gone, we leave our cities and villages unprotected, and if either of us fails to turn back the invaders..."

"... Iordantan will fall," finished the captain, eyes wide.

Iosoan nodded his grim assention. "Now you see the true nature of the threat. This is not only real, it's bigger than anything we ever though possible. And no second chances."

"Do you really think... I mean... is there really a chance we can win?"

A beat.

"There is always a chance," said Iosoan. "We have to strike now, faster than they expected and with more viciousness than they ever anticipated. If we do that," the great lord shrugged, "we may see our home again."

"If not... against so many men..."

"I know. But things are made simple for us: we have no choice, no course of action but the one we are taking. Remember that while you're out there. You're not on a mission this time. You're going out there to fight so you can come home and see your wife and son again."

"Yes, my lord."

"And make sure your men know that too. That knowledge might be the only thing on our side right now."

"I will."

So as the wind and rain blew, the Hai Lei army gathered under the soggy sky and marched out of the city. Word had spread like fire, and the tear-streaked faces of wives and children lines streets and balconies as the columns passed. One party turned East to cross the Crystal River, the other headed South into the Khokuri Forest, both moving at the highest speed possible.

All of the soldiers had shed their cloaks just prior to their departure in the interest of speed, and they were all soaked through before they passed one hundred paces. Mostly young and frightened, they struggled to recall the encouraging words given them by their lord; encouragement escaped them and they struggled instead to keep their footing and keep hold of their weapons. As the final war party issued forth from the gates of Iordantan, the residents turned back indoors; the clouds sank a little lower and spirits did not improve.

Already in the forest, approaching the line of battle, was a young message runner. He had been running through most of the night and all through the morning, the words of the message burning in his head.

'To the prince!' they said. The words echoed in the boy's skull, rattling around and repeating with each frantic step. 'To the prince! From the great lord! Six hundred men!'

So the boy ran. His feet slipped on wet leaves, his skin torn repeatedly from tangled thorns, blood mixing with sweat and rainwater. His breath came in gasps, vision cloudy. The message was urgent! It could not wait! The young messenger did hold back his reserves of energy as he usually did; he did not take care with his footing, or the noise he was making with each step; his only concern was for speed.

'The prince! Six hundred!'

The boy counted his distance, recalled the position to which he had been sent. That was the position of the prince the day before: how far North would he have moved in that time? Still the boy ran. He scanned the trees overhead for a sign of the search party, probed the vegetation for hint of the prince. Absentmindedly, he heard the sound of a bird call from over his shoulder.

'Six hundred!'

Then it happened. One moment the boy had been running alone through the trees; the next, the blunt end of a spear hit him sideways in the chest. When his vision returned, he found himself lying on his back in the mud, looking up. Standing around were three looming figures; more were standing off to one side or the other. The enemy! In his haste, he had been captured!

Suddenly, the boy felt as if his palms had opened new pores, and his throat tightened. Captured! Eyes wide, his frightened gaze darted from one man to another and back. He tried to get up, started to move, then coughed as he received a foot in the ribs for his effort.

"Who sent you?" one man asked roughly.

Enemy! The boy's mind screamed at him inside his head; the conditioning took over. In an instant, his palms cooled and his throat eased up; he breathed. The message was gone! Even if he were so inclined, the boy could not have told the men anything they wanted to know. That did not stop them from asking.

"Who are you trying to find?"

Enemy!

"What's the message you're carrying inside your filthy little head?"

Enemy! The boy made no sound. His eyes were blank.

"Hey!" said the first man angrily. He bent down to shake the young messenger. "What's your message?"

The second man turned to the third, said: "He's not gonna talk. What should we do with him?"

"No good to us," agreed the third.

"We could take him back to the prince, see if he can get anything out of him."

"Suppose you're right. The prince'd want to see him anyway, even if he won't talk."

"Oh, I heard there's ways of making 'em talk. Just gotta know the right..." the voice trailed off as the second man turned back to watch the first, caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

"Tell... us... the fucking... message!" shouted the first man as he kicked the boy again and again.

"Hey Ben," said the second man, "It's not gonna do any good. Don't kill him yet."

"Fuck him!" the man screamed. "What the fuck is the message, you little shit! What the..."

The enraged voice stopped, the man's eyes went wide as an arrow slammed through his neck. Blood spurted from the wound, pouring down his back and chest; his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground. The other two men stared in shock, turned a second too late to meet their attackers; they died. And the remaining twelve Hai Krun soldier also died where they stood, without even the time to turn or raise a weapon, as ten men clothed in green fell upon them with drawn knives.

"It's my message," spat the prince Iordan, casting a glare on the dead men that would have killed them had the deed not already been done. "And you can all go to Hell."

Turning to the crumpled boy, the prince knelt, said: "Holy shit! Are you alright?"

"My lord," the boy managed. "I have a message for..."

"Shut up," said the prince good-naturedly, "until we know you're not broken. Doc, can you look him over?"

"Yes, my lord," said a man who carried no weapons, stepped forward.

"What did you do, get lost?" the prince asked the boy.

"I must have... in such a hurry..."

The doctor looked up. "Nothing broken. Lots of bruising, though. He can walk."

"Okay," said the prince. "We can't stay here. Let's get moving." To the boy, he said, "Can you climb?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good. Let's go."

The group, moving slowly for the sake of the battered youth, departed the latest bloodshed. They moved North away from the advancing Hai Krun army and found a temporary resting place in the trees.

"My lord prince," said the boy, wincing as he shifted his weight on the low-lying limb, "the lord Iosoan sends word: while you are fighting here, another force of three thousand has also invaded and sacked the village Abita, to the East. The great lord marches to meet them; though he cannot spare them, he sends six hundred men to reinforce you here in the forest."

Iordan's jaw dropped. "Six hundred?" he asked, hoping against hope he had heard wrong.

"Yes, my lord."

"Six hundred." The prince shook his head, not wanting to believe. He glanced around at the faces of the men who had also heard, said: "He must be figuring his numbers thinking we still have our original five hundred. With that many we might have a chance..." He paused, thinking. "Hale," he said at last.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Do you know the last estimate of their numbers?"

"Anywhere from fifteen to seventeen hundred. With all that's happened, it's been hard to keep an accurate count."

"And our reinforcements will bring us to nine hundred. Enough to stop our retreat, to stand and fight. But to push them back? I don't know..."

"My lord, if we continue with our current tactics..."

"No," Iordan cut in. "Our current tactics are just a big retreat. And we're getting closer to home every time we fall back.

No, we need to hold our ground here." He shook his head, continued, "They're adapting to the forest, too. Becoming more aggressive." The prince turned grave eyes on the faces around him: "We're going to take a lot of casualties."

The somber air was broken by the call of a thrush.

Iordan cocked his head, said: "More coming. Let's get ready."

The men moved higher in the tree, further out on the edges of the limbs, perched lightly and ready to pounce. Eyes and ears strained for the un-natural sounds of Hai Krun soldiers in the forest. Pulses quickened again, hands gripped nocked bows, arrows notched on the strings, ready in an instant to loose a hail of death upon their enemy. And the enemy came.

Far to the South and beneath the sea, a steady stream of hurried activity had coursed through the city of Namitan all through the day. Soldiers of the Hai Menadin who had been moved by the words given to them on the previous day made the underwater trip to their homes to prepare for a new military campaign.

And the training of the slave-girls had continued throughout the morning, much to the wide-eyed fascination of the city's male population. The dark-haired girl who declared herself a royal ambassador carried herself with such an air of graceful importance that no one dared approach her, and any time she spoke it was always to a hushed, reverent audience. No one was quite sure what she meant when she said she came from the stars. The implications were astounding, even beyond rational belief, but her manner left no room for the suggestion that she did not speak the truth.

Now, the girl with dark hair sat beside a captain of the royal navy.

"You said the boats are large enough to hold a hundred men each. Does that mean they'll be too large to navigate the river?" the girl asked. A curious crowd gathered around at some distance, pretending not to listen, trying desperately to hear.

"Oh no, not at all," answered the captain. "They're merchant boats, designed to take large amounts of trading goods up even small rivers. They're long boats, but very narrow."