Chapter 17

Run. Another step, another breath, another upturned root, another low-hanging limb. The tired forest slipped by on either side with surprising speed and the unit ran. Captain Hayaln willed the hammering of his heart to subside as his feet consumed league after league of the dense ground. Six hundred men strung out behind, Hayaln pretended calm - but it was for their sakes: it was not a calm that he felt. The young, untested captain knew it was all that the young, untested soldiers could do to match his headlong pace.

Hayaln raised a free hand to his mouth as his feet ripped through yet another stand of aeleos thorns, and cried out in the throaty call of a blue lema; three times he called with no respose. And so the men kept running, as they had since the previous day.

The sun, more than halfway complete in its daily journey across the sky, was just becoming visible as the clouds at last exhausted themselves. Though the rain had ceased to fall from the sky an hour before, the broad leaves overhead had gathered enough water to keep the downpour going at full strength. Hayaln and his men were soaked through, had been soaked through for more than a day, and more than one nervous youth considered that he might be slain in battle - that being soaked through would likely be his last bodily experience. They were all of them tired, worn and weary with exertion, yet unwilling to yield: and so they ran.

The captain made the blue lema call three more times. No answer. They ran.

Then came a sound that every one of them knew to fear: the sound of barking. A pack of dogs roamed somewhere to the West, within earshot but still distant enough that they were not an immediate threat. The barking did not appear to grow any closer.

"Keep... going..." called the breathless captain. "Ready... to climb... if need to... not yet..."

Hayaln had never seen one of the wild hunting dogs with his own eyes, but he had heard all the stories. Facing a pack of such monsters was something he wished to avoid, but he would have to if they gave pursuit - the six hundred running men did not have time to spare hiding in the trees. The captain recalled a story told in the village of Banu-Ia: a pack of wild dogs had entered the village one night to retrieve an injured pup; they left taking the pup, and also a human infant, as if to prove a point to the arrogant humans. Hayaln shivered. And ran.

Then, the captain ran literally through the middle of another story, this one even more fantastic than the dogs. A rough pack of bent, hairy creatures that could hardly pass for human were loping their way through the forest - the wild men - and Hayaln's running feet had just carried him bursting across their path. He stopped dead in his shock and turned, found himself in the midst of the strange group.

"Keep going!" the captain shouted to his men, following his path in a long line. "Keep going, don't stop!"

The young soldiers were just as surprised as their captain, but they followed his order and let their feet carry them through the wild group and onward toward their destination. Hayaln remain frozen, staring at the mass of ugly, scarred faces as soldier after soldier flew past him. The wild men stared back, just as unmoving, just as shocked. Hayaln reached for his knife, but none of the hairy figures made any aggressive move. He waited and watched, fascinated; then his stomach turned as he saw what they had been doing: one of the females had just given birth - an infant less than an hour in age was being held and caressed by some of the other females - the remains of the mother were still lying prostrate in the dirt where the males had begun to pick the last bits of flesh clean from her bones. When the last of the six hundred had passed unharmed, the captain shook himself in revulsion, and turned to follow.

Even after running for more than a day, even after stopping briefly and finding himself at the end of the line, Captain Hayaln managed the energy to run past the entire file and find himself running again at the head. He resolved to himself that, should he survive the day, he was going to take the wild men and women out of the forest and civilize them; they may have been wild, but they were still human.

The blue lema call rang out again, three more times. No answer. Then, for some reason, Hayaln sounded the call a fourth time. This time, the answer came, barely audible across the distance. The men heard it, spirits rose, and feet quickened on the slick leaves and mud.

"Almost... there..." puffed the captain as he yet again increased his pace.

The last few moments, running at the fastest possible speed, their destination almost within reach, seemed to drag on the longest. Hayaln wondered whether he heard correctly, if the call that landed on his weary ears had been that of a real blue lema, when the trees kept falling away behind and the embattled search party did not appear bedore. He warned himself silently against carelessness as he cleared a fallen log in full stride; running headlong into the enemy lines would not be a wise move.

But at long last, the young captain dropped from his run and stood breathless on the tangled forest floor. As the six hundred running behind closed the distance and came to a halt, a small group of soldiers in standard green stood to greet them. The ranking officer among them offered a salute, which the captain returned.

"We've been waiting for you, captain" said the man, returning the salute hand to his side. "I'm sergeant Hale. The prince will be here any second."

"I hope you haven't been waiting too long."

"No!" called a strong voice. The speaker appeared from behind a tree, said: "You're here just in time!"

"My lord," offered Hayaln with a quick bow. He eyed the bandage covering the prince's left shoulder.

"Hayaln," said the prince as he walked forward with a smile. "My father told me he was only sending me six hundred men, but the fact that he placed you in command more than makes up for it."

The captain could not contain a smile of his own as he said, "My lord, I understand you are to take command of my men. We stand ready for your orders."

"You're still their captain," said the prince with a shake of his head. "Now that we have a full army, you and Captain Milan will take orders from me, but your men will still take orders from you."

"I understand," beamed Hayaln. Even though he did not look, he knew the expressions on the faces of the soldiers behind him. Any question or doubt they had fostered on the grueling run were erased with the words of the noble-born.

"Now tell me," continued the prince, "what toys have you brought me?"

"Each of my men carries arms for two. We can easily resupply whatever you've spent already."

"And spears?"

The captain nodded. "We emptied the armory, my lord."

Another group of green-clad soldiers arrived at that moment. They appeared on the edge of exhaustion, but heartened at the sight of the long-awaited reinforcements.

"About fucking time!" said Captain Milan, but with a smile in his voice. "What took you so long, Hayaln?"

"Oh you know," Hayaln responded in kind. "We thought we'd take the scenic route. Pick some flowers, watch the grass grow..."

"Well now that you're here, why don't you just take over the fighting? I think my men'd like to go pick some flowers too."

"Now Milan," chided the prince, "I'll put you on permanent flower-picking detail after we get back to the capitol. And you, Hayaln, I'll put on permanent grass-growing detail. But for now let's get the weapons distributed."

"The lord prince is both wise and just..." began Milan, stopped when Iordan threw a playful punch at his shoulder. It was the first time in days any of them had anything to smile about.

"They're not far behind us," said the prince, growing serious again. "My last ambush was less than two hundred yards South."

"Mine even less than that, my lord," said Milan. "Just a matter of moments ago."

"Alright. Milan, gather the rest of your men; make sure everyone's rearmed. I'm putting you on the left of the line. Hale, I want you and your men in the center with me. Hayaln, your unit gets the right."

"Yes, my lord," the three officers answered.

"We're going to take the worst of it in the middle, so you on the ends be sure not to fall back too fast. Don't let them flank our line, but don't leave us exposed in the middle either."

The men moved quickly. Ambush teams came down from the hiding places to replenish their supply of arrows, replace broken bone knives, and grip the comforting weight of sharpened spears. They took their places to the left of the newly forming line, and the weary but unwhetted reinforcements moved to the right. The captains took their places on the flanks, the prince his in the center.

The trees were too close together, offered too much protection for arrows to be of any use on the ground. The men gripped their spears and listened for sounds of the approaching enemy. Those standing on the left of the long line, those who had already been engaged for almost three days, were injured and beaten. Glad to be at last standing instead of running, they hefted their weapons, drawing strength from the wood and bone. Eyes and ears alert, the forest men waited for the enemy to come.

And the enemy came.

Captain Hayaln stood listening. The sounds of the approaching Hai Krun invaders grew louder as they approached. His breathing had slowed with the long run complete, but his heart still pounded and his veins coursed with the fire of anticipation; he licked his lips. The first sounds of battle came from the left. Whether it was from the far left flank or somewhere in the center, Hayaln could not tell from his position. Yet he waited; for another long moment he waited with no sign of the enemy.

Then, through the trees, the invadered appeared. The blood-red dragons on their tunics almost glowing in the dim light, they came at a run with their spears ready. Their faces were stern and determined; many were blood-stained. The young captain tensed his muscles, prepared for the charge; he found himself wondering what thoughts possessed the enemy soldiers, what could cause the sense of entitlement evident on their faces. It appeared the men in gray thought they owned the forest.

Closer.

Hayaln stole a glance at the men beside him; the nervousness was gone, and their eyes blazed. It was the first time any of them stood on the line of battle. None of them could say for sure whether they would walk away when it was over, but none of them ran away; every last man stood his ground as the enemy bore down.

Closer.

The captain's eyes flashed with an image of his wife. Her words before he left still rang in his ears: 'I know you'll come back to me. I know because you're the only one who can come back to me.' Her image burned in his mind; she stood in the rain, raindrops mingled with her tears.

Closer.

His mind turned toward the capitol, the green banner. He thought of the prince and the great lord; he remembered the other battle set to take place far to the West in Abita; he considered the men standing farther to the left in the same line, already engaged. His eyes narrowed as his vision filled with the closest of the invaders: a small man with white-blonde hair, only a few years older than himself. Left foot forward, knuckles strained against tight skin as fists clenched around the solid wooden spear shaft; one final blink, one final breath, one final prayer.

There.

Hayaln leaped forward to meet the attack, and the men to his left and right did the same; spears crossed and broke. The initial clash came with the sound of many dying groans, and the slick leaves were splattered with blood. The young captain found his spear thrust had pierced his opponent; the enemy spear missed its mark by the smallest of margins and the captain was still on his feet. Then another gray-clad invader came charging forward. Hayaln, with his spear still trapped inside his first opponent's body, swung spear and body alike with all his strength to knock the new attacker backwards; he drew the long bone knife from his belt and lunged farther forward to slay the man.

With the sound of battle all around, Hayaln realized he was alone; he had stepped too far forward and was surrounded by gray. He slashed out at those who pressed toward him, his outstretched arm sprayed with the hot blood he drew. A step back; he recovered the blood-stained shaft of his spear and a one armed swing sent the butt into the skull of a man to his left, a one armed thrust sent the tip through the chest of a man to his right; his knife hand killed another who came from the front.

Another gray tunic leaped to attack; the young captain swung to block, heard a crack as his spear broke, felt the shock travel up the length of his arm. The splintered, broken spear became a short club and another gray tunic crumpled on the ground. Hayaln added two more to his body count before he managed to retreat back into his own line; he found the line somewhat thinner than when he left. The ground was becoming covered in gray uniforms, but also green. A glance to his right told the captain what he needed to know: even as he grasped a new spear and killed another enemy soldier, he gave the shout.

"Watch the flanks!" shouted the captain, the veins in his neck standing out with the roar. "Don't let them flank us!" He killed another. "Back up!"

It was a fact the Hai Lei soldiers knew they had to deal with before the battle began: when a smaller force engages a larger one, the larger can always outreach the smaller on the sides and attack the flanks. The left and right flanks of the line had to keep falling back, had to keep the enemy from maneuvering around behind the line. The smaller force must fall back at the same rate, must keep the line connected; if the line breaks, the battle is over. So when the right flank of the Hai Lei began to give ground, they did so slowly.