Chapter 18

Great billows of clouds vanished, dissolved in the once-again clear sky as twilight turned to dusk. The storm was but a thing of memory, save the dampness in the ground and the after-drops still glistening on the leaves. Long was the road and heavy were the hearts upon it; the weary column of men kept their eyes downcast as they ran to meet an army almost twice their size. They were young and untested; though most of them could recall the great war from childhood, few among them could claim ever to have borne weapons in true combat.

Eldest among the ranks was the lord Iosoan Lei, and he defied his age with each step. Carrying his spear with long-accustomed ease, the great-bear of a man led the body of soldiers with unyielding tirelessness. Though the grim determination that had overtaken him, he could tell the mindset of the men behind him; he had seen it before. They were afraid: afraid of the unknown, afraid of defeat, afraid of death. Given too much time to spin about itself, the mind can consume a man, can become his own worst enemy. But Iosoan also knew what would happen to them once they reached the lines of battle: the unknown would become known, defeat replaced by adrenaline, and death replaced by blood-thirst and battle-lust. Sadly, many of them would die - perhaps most - but it would at least not be at the hands of their own mindless fear. The great lord gave a sigh which spoke truly of his years.

The last time Iosoan had marched into battle there had been a song. Not an ancient folk-song or a whimsical hunting chorus, but a great battle-song that lifted heart and mind. Written in a low register for fighting men to sing, its lyrics had echoed across the land as army after army toppled to the young heir of Lei. And decades later as the same man again led his army to battle, that old song churned the depths of his memory and rang inside his ears. After the last battle and the defeat of Lein Krun, the armies of Lei and Menadin joined together in the chorus, singing beneath the stars, celebrating their victory and friendship. And there had been a girl also, a girl from under the sea, a princess...

Iosoan wished for a moment that he could leave behind the memories of his youth - they now brought him nothing but pain. But what was the pain of the past when compared with the pain of the present? His daughter lying dead in the forest, his son gone to his death of the battlefield; and now the great lord, the war-maker and peace-giver, would at last meet his end as well. Despite himself, he began to sing; as his strong voice bounced off the trees in the waning light, others joined in as well. By the time the song repeated itself, the entire host opened their mouths and their hearts to sing as one, and their stout wooden spears began to feel less heavy.

'Ye lads stand tall and lift your heads
Look fondly on your home
For this is what we fight to save
With danger bearing down

'March on, march on and have no fear
By right, we cannot fail
Though danger's close this very night
By morn we will prevail

'Raise the spear! Give the cry!
Ever onward 'till we die!
We will not be held back
Like the wind! Like the sea!
As unstoppable are we!
When the horns sound the attack

'The charge begun, the banner raised
The enemy ahead
Our knives be whetted with their blood
And all our foes be dead

'To war! To war!
As our fathers gone before
And we shall make them proud
Stand up tall, soldier band
Yes, the victory's at hand!
And we shall cry out loud'

Night drew ever nearer as the host ran onward. The birds stopped their shrill cries and the insects rose to fill in the silence. Overhead, the last fading glow of the ice-rings disappeared behind the jagged Mahlner Mountains and the moons, Pese and Packe, rose to the sky on their nightly pursuit. The soldiers, at last dry, muscles warm with exertion, pressed on despite their everpresent fatigue. Still, verse after verse and chorus after chorus rolled off their tongues, and those within earshot of the road rose from their sleep with their hearts in their throats.

And so they ran all through the night.

At long last, the end of the road came with the end of the night, the village of Abita in sight. And though the night had cast its cloak darkly, and the cast glow of the twin moons barely lit the road for those who cast their lives upon it, the village stood out in sharp contrast to the backdrop of blackness and cast out its own eerie shadows for all who would approach. Yet approach the army did. The forest men, all trace of song gone from their lips, stood gazing in horror at the hellish spectacle that was Abita. The sight turned their stomachs and hardened their hearts, but the indended inflicted fear did not penetrate their stoic masks. Every soldier on the road, every man with a waiting family, realized at once that the enemy they faced did not merely seek their capitol.

"My God," said the lord Iosoan after uncounted moments of silence.

"I don't believe it," breathed Captain Burto in reply. A beat passed, again in silence. "How long do you think it's been like this?"

Iosoan shook his head, said: "They must've had scouts. They must know we're here."

Just over one hundred yards distant was the outer edge of the once happy village Abita. The trading posts were once filled with customers, the barns once filled with livestock and the fields once filled with crops. The village was once a home to five hundred people; the village as the soldiers looked was ringed with torches and spears. Five hundred torches there were, driven into the ground and set ablaze to illuminate the night; within the ring of torches there were five hundred spears, the blunt ends sunk and the tips aimed toward the inky blackness above.

And mounted atop each spear was a severed head, the eyes open and unblinking, the mouths locked in a perpetual scream.

One head per one spear, set at intervals around the perimeter of the ghost-village - set as a warning to the army of the forest. There were the heads of old and young alike; mothers beside daughters, husbands beside wives, brothers beside sisters; all of them unwilling participants in the most sadistic display of human cruelty. When the torchlight flared, it was evident that the necks had not been cut cleanly; many of the heads carried with them ragged bits of flesh, muscle and tendon; part of a spine was visible below the unblinking eyes of a young boy; the shaft of every spear ran thick with dripped and congealed blood. Many of the faces were marred by recent abrasions and bruises - even burns - and through the blood and dirt on their stiffened cheeks ran the dried rivers of shed tears.

The great lord stood in shocked awe. He strained to draw breath; he did not quail, he did not lose heart, but instead his resolve grew more firm. Consumed by sadness, a single glance at his men confirmed their reflection of his own feelings: the Hai Lei would not go quietly into the night, would not lie back or stand aside while the invaders still came; while there remained one man alive in the forest realm, the enemy would pay dearly for their transgressions.

"Captain," said Iosoan.

"My lord," the captain managed.

"Let's give those brave people the rest they deserve."

"Yes, my lord," said the captin, his voice choked with anguish and pride. Turning to his men, he said, "White, Hern."

"Sir."

"This is a request, not an order: circle the village and take down those spears."

"Yes, sir!" came the reply with fervor.

As the body of men approached, corporals White and Hern jogged forward to the ring of torches. When each man had grasped one of the shafts, a voice called from inside the ghostly ring.

"Back away, if you value your lives." The voice carried an amused twist, almost a sense of enjoyment. Those who heard it shivered. A figure appeared at the edge of the torchlight - a formidable man dressed in the standard gray uniform of the Hai Krun. "You are not to disturb my... gesture of welcome," said the man with a dark smile. "Leave the spears and bring your army into the village."

The two corporals did not even need to hear their lord's reply: they each grasped the spear in their hands and pulled up with a mighty heave, gently laying the shaft lengthwise on the ground.

"You're not the one to give orders," called Iosoan. "If you wish to engage my army, you may do so after these civilians are paid some of their due respect."

White and Hern split from one another, each heading in a different direction around the circle.

"I'll warn you one last time," said the man, showing a slight tremor in the wake of Iosoan's powerful voice. "Leave the spears as they are, or my men will open fire on you."

No reply. White and Hern each lowered another spear to the ground. Then, as if to shed more light on the horrific scene, the sun made its first presence known by splashing the ice-rings in white light. Under the gray sky, the entire village came into view, including the massive force waiting within. The man who had spoken stood several paces in front of the ranks, and three thousand of the Hai Krun's best stood behind him. At a hand signal, two gray-clad soldiers stepped forward with strung bows and began to fire arrows toward the two jogging figures.

Iosoan put a hand on Captain Burto's shoulder, turned to his men and said, "We won't give him what he wants. We won't fire back and we won't attack until all those spears are down." He saw no dissention in the eyes that looked back.

White fell first; Hern survived long enough to pull one more spear from the ground before he too fell.

With pain in his eyes, Burto said, "Not an order... will anyone..."

The captain did not even finish his request before two enlisted men jumped forward, saluted, and ran toward the remainder of the spear-ring. Burto and Iosoan watched with tears of pride in their eyes as the two men each removed more of the spears before falling to arrows. The request did not even have to be repeated after that; each time a man was struck down, another silently rushed forward to take his place; each man made it farther around the circle, father away from the archers' fire, but eventually was struck down and replaced. Iosoan tried his best to hold back the knot in his throat.

It was on the sixth repetition of the bloody cycle that the same man who signaled the archers to shoot, with a strange look on his face, gave them another signal: the men lowered their bows and stepped back into the ranks. So the sixth pair of men, one enlisted and one corporal, finished pulling the spears down and returned to the forest army unharmed.

"I've never seen such a show of blind loyalty," said the man. "I'm honored."

"It wasn't blind," said Iosoan coldly, "and honor will be the last thing you receive here."

The sun rose higher as the Hai Lei army formed rank and moved forward, into the remains of the village. They formed a line opposite that of the Hai Krun, a line which was noticeably thinner. If looks alone could win battles, the boiling rage in the eyes of the forest men would have sent the invaders away in defeat; but looks do not win battles, and the forest men stood facing an army of almost twice their own number. Still, not a man trembled. The downcast eyes and shaking hands of the march were gone, replaced by steeled gazes of singular resolve and firmly clenched fists.

"I outnumber you two to one", said the man who had spoken before. "We both know what the outcome of this battle will be. You do not have to lose your lives here today."

"Your offer means nothing: that is the only thing that I know," replied Iosoan. "You have called me out, and I've come to cast you out."

"Cast me out!" laughed the man - but it was a forced laugh. "After this is over, you will be subjects of the lord Darrak. There is no need for us to be enemies..."

"Shut the fuck up!" roared the great lord. "You attack unprovoked in a time of peace, you torture and murder five hundred innocent people, you call out my army as a means to take my capitol... and you have the goddamned nerve to speak of friendship?" Iosoan shook his head and glared into the three thousand pairs of eyes in rank before him, said: "The acts you've committed are unforgivable," he raised his spear and continued, "and every last one of you will pay the price."

A beat.

"Very well," said the man, much of his bravado vanished. "If you insist on battle, then you'll have it." He raised his hand, and three thousand bows raised, three thousand arrows aimed.

Iosoan raised his own hand and half the number of arrows aimed back the other direction. The entire village tensed in anticipation. Then...

"My lord!" cried a new voice, coming from the East.

Every head in the small village turned to find the speaker; every eye focused on the small unit that had just appeared from the treeline; behind the trees was visible the bare outline of many horse-drawn carts.

"Orman!" said the great lord.

"My lord, I was delayed ever-so-slightly by some pirates and these guys," said the captain, jerking his head toward the ranks of gray. "Better late than never, though."

"On the contrary, captain. You're just in time."

So the returned party of pirate-hunters strode to take their place at the left of the Hai Lei battle line. But there were others with them: there were ten men dressed in the blue uniforms of the Hai Menadin who also took a place in the line; two young girls moved to stand behind the line, but they each held a strung bow in their small hands.

"So you've escaped," said the gray man, his hand still in the air. "It doesn't make any difference now."

"No?" came another new voice from the West. "Maybe we can make a difference."

"Iordan!" cried Iosoan. He forced himself to remain in place rather than rush to his son; his knees felt weak with relief. "Does this mean..."