K'rar went down the mountain with just 100 men, whom he handpicked himself. He had them carry some nightly logistics, like torches and tents, as well as a horse for each man. They moved several centimeters apart from each other through the forest, so that it would be easier to take cover. Pliny and Ashdud rode either side of him though. The men moved silently through the forest, with only a few muffled whispers, which, K'rar knew, were about him. He was particularly being enigmatic, but in a good way. He, for example, had left the camp behind him full of fighting men, something that was unheard of. Also, somehow he was going to battle with a severely outnumbered team right after narrowly escaping annihilation the night before. Of course the enemy would be surprised, which was advantageous for K'rar, but within a few minutes of the clash, the enemy would regain the upper hand. But only last night's heroics and this morning's act built up all the confidence in him. So they blindly followed their 14-year old king without deciphering exactly what he was thinking, and that included K'rar and Pliny, who were his top generals as it were. It wasn't until they came to the slope of the target, when K'rar revealed his game.
'Get the best ten men in the squad,' he said to Pliny, 'each should carry a torch. Bring them to me. Bring me Mongoose too.'
'Yes, my lord.'
'We going to burn the camp?' Ashdud asked as soon as Pliny turned around. K'rar, smirking, looked up at him.
'Yes,' he said.
'How? The camp has a guarded fence, remember?'
'Never fight except in a crisis,' K'rar said, quoting from his favorite book, 'I am in a crisis, Ashdud.'
'But we only have 100 men.'
'Yes. And only 10 will do the job.'
Pliny now returned with the eleven men including Mongoose. K'rar addressed Mongoose without looking back at him.
'Mongoose, take the rest of the squad to the northwest side of the enclosure. Maintain the distance between each other. Once you're there, have them shout a battle cry, but keep them in hiding. Keep it up until the Goldorans come out to investigate or to line up in formation. If they send out a few men, kill them. If they come out to battle, lose them. Do you understand?'
K'rar knew the Goldorans wouldn't come out on horseback, so it was easy for his men to escape into the trees. He went on,
'Keep doing this until the camp is up in flames. Attack immediately when that happens.'
'Understood.'
'Go now.'
Mongoose's horse trotted away back into the trees. K'rar kicked his own mare forward and downward, until the camp was within sight. It seemed tranquil and undisturbed, as though nothing had taken place there for weeks. The Goldorans hadn't repaired the hole that K'rar's men had punctured in the west wall facing them, although they had stationed three men to guard this side of the perimeter wall. The watchman in the ramshackle watchtower was also still present, always on the alert. He was a pain in the neck, that watchman. He was the difference between K'rar's plan's success and failure.
'My lord, this could take us all day,' said Ashdud to K'rar.
'Ashdud, this mountain is not very big. If the traitors and the Goldorans surround it, they will find us.'
'You're creating an opening.' Ashdud finally caught on, smiling to himself. Escaping the mountain going north would mean scaling miles of difficult ranges of Magherita, zigzagging and wasting precious time. The incoming army would have already blocked off the north face of the mountain. This outpost, on the other hand, was an opening to flat road, a clear route to the north. They would be long gone before anyone knew where they were headed.
'Yes. I am. I thought you would figure it out,' he said, 'now, you're more astute when it comes to the field operation itself. So you're in charge now.'
Ashdud maintained the bewildered countenance for a moment, turned around and gave a quick look at the ten men, then back at the king.
'What about you my lord?'
'You tell me,' he said. 'I can wield a sword, you know, but I cannot fight against a grown man. So what do I do?'
'Even if you could, sir, you wouldn't have to fight. That's why we exist.' Ashdud turned to the men again, 'Men, we will get closer to the base and lurk in the trees. All we need is a good amount of confusion, and we can take out the sentries. We will have to sneak past that watchman somehow.'
About six hours later, centurion Arameid started to really consider the possibility that the freaks howling like gibbons were more than just some rowdy natives. There was no reason to believe that they were K'rar's men from last night, but there was also no reason not to. Nonetheless if they were the soldiers from last night, they would have been more than these. Arameid marched out of his chambers to investigate himself. Dhali was already up in the single watchtower with the watchman, and several of his men were on the ground, and some climbing on stages they'd hoisted along the interior of the log perimeter. Arameid bungled on onto the scene, yelling,
'How come they're still there? Did we not send scouts after them?' he was referring to scouts they had just sent, not the ones that had been sent the night prior.
'Yes sir. They haven't returned, sir.'
'What do you mean they haven't returned? It's a stone's throw away!'
'Centurion thinks they have been killed, sir.'
Arameid was now a mixture of anger and confusion. Throwing back the sleeves of his cloak, he proceeded to climb the ladder into the watchtower to take a look himself.
'What the hell is going on?' he demanded before he was fully into the tiny space above.
'They must be in the hundreds,' said Dhali, 'but that is not the problem. The problem is we cannot see them.'
'So we don't know who they are,' said Arameid, 'what the bollocks are they playing at?'
'I'm taking my men in there.'
'We don't know how many there are, you just said that.'
'They can't be more than a hundred. But if we don't figure out who they are or what the hell they want, we will be playing into whatever their plan is.' He turned around to leave, but Arameid pulled him back by the arm.
'And we might just be playing into their hands by going out after them.'
'So one of us will stay here. Last night, we surprised them. They thought there was only one century here. But they retreated pretty quickly. Won't hurt to see who the hell these bunch are.'
'Leave it to…'
'My lords,' the sentry behind them said, 'look.' The sentry looked like he'd seen a phantom. His voice was shaky and terrified. On the ground outside the wall, three men had come out from behind the tree line. Each of them held a bloodied spear in one hand and a bloodied bag in the other. The man in the center was Mongoose, and to his left was Kanga. They waited until there was a good number of Goldoran fighters standing along the ramparts, and some of them along the wall's exterior, the perimeter guards. Apart from the gentle hissing of the wind, there was absolute silence in the place. Mongoose stepped forward from the trio.
'Hear, you imperialists!' he yelled, 'you have until midnight to leave this outpost. Go and tell your master that the people of Korazin have declared war.' He held out his luggage bag and shook it to untie its cords. The head of one of the Goldoran soldiers on reconnoiter rolled out and fell with a thud to the ground. The other two men dropped the heads of his companions too. Mongoose went on,
'That was for our men whom you killed last night. There will be no further warning. If you do not leave this place by midnight, we will send the heads of your leaders to your master.'
The sentries on the outside of the wall immediately drew their swords to attack. They hadn't moved two meters before they were struck down by arrows from the trees. In a chain reaction, the archers who were already along the ramparts pulled out their weapons, but Arameid commanded them to halt. Mongoose was lifting his gaze from the writhing soldiers on the ground to the tower. He met Arameid's eyes. The centurion was livid, even from that distance, but Mongoose remained indifferent. He was counting on it. He curled up a sardonic smirk from one side of his face, and lifted up his spear to point it at Arameid in the tower in a show of intimidation.
'And they call us barbarians,' Dhali remarked about the beheadings.
'Who the hell does he think he is?' Arameid spat out, watching the men retreating back into the forest. He and Dhali scuttled back onto the ground in a frenzy, and some of their high ranking officials followed them to the main building. The rest of the soldiers suddenly began speculating all sorts of things, so that there were cocoons of them all over the outpost discussing these things.
Dhali was saying to Arameid,
'We should attack them before they attack us again.'
'We don't know their number, sir,' one officer was saying from behind them, 'should I go out and spy, sir?'
'Did you not see what those bastards did to your comrades?' Arameid replied with a surreptitious glance behind at the officer.
'They are many, but mostly made up of inexperienced civilians turned soldiers in the last six months. We easily took them on last night.'
'Because they didn't know the size of our forces,' Arameid said, 'which they do now.'
'So what do we do? Fulfil their demands and escape with our tails between our legs?'
'Of course not. But we need a good plan.'
They were now entering the main building. The situation room, which was the former main office of the Constable in charge of Magherita, had been cleaned out and refurbished with a long table, a maroon carpet that filled the room, and a new wine cabinet. From this, Dhali quickly grabbed a bottle for himself and poured a silver cup out. Arameid shot him a furious look.
'What? You may only prevent my men from drinking, not me. I can handle myself,' Dhali said to him, 'so what's the plan?'
'How far out is Garrera?'
'Earliest is after tomorrow, my lord,' said one of the other five officers standing in the room. He was in charge of correspondence. This answer clearly distressed Arameid, who grunted to himself and slapped a large hand against the table.
'Now we have to fight off two attacks in two days,' he said, 'it seems as if something spooked the bastards into action.'
'You think they might know?' Dhali said of the incoming 3,500 Goldoran troops on their way to the peak, from Chaldea and from the Hone border.
'It must be that. They are more than just guerrillas. It's an organized group, leading an organized resistance. They should know about the troops coming in. At least those from the western frontier.'
'The more I examine this, the more I see that it is the same group from last night,' said one of the officers, an astute strategist called Chica, in Dhali's command.
'You think so?' Dhali replied.
'Yes. Like he said, they are an organized group. Their attacks are not random. They strategize just like we do. So they would have figured that the object of the troop movement was to flush them out. If I was their planner, I would move to create an escape route.'
'Meaning, this outpost.'
Chica nodded.
'So they do know about the operation.'
'Aye. The western border was evacuated, and the soldiers are all headed in this direction.' said Chica, 'Would have been easy for the royalists to get that information.'
'This also proves without question what has been conjecture up to this point. The boy is on this mountain. By all means,' said Dhali, 'Garrera needs to know.'
'Send a man, Sasha,' Arameid said to the officer in charge of mail, 'explain to him why the operation needs to be expedited with the utmost urgency.'
'Yes, sir,' Sasha sped out of the room.
'Meanwhile, we still need to find out how many of those termites are out there.'
'Perhaps we ought to send a large force instead of a few men,' Dhali suggested.
'Yeah. That is a good move. I concur,' said Arameid.
'What about you, Chica, what do you say?' Dhali wanted to know.
'They are the guerrillas from last night. Which means it doesn't matter whether we defend or attack. We can handle them. But that is assuming that the number from last night are the only ones. There could be a lot more.'
'Get the men ready,' said Arameid, 'we'll take 120 men. Eighty will guard the place. I don't think they can attempt another decoy attack.'
'Yes sir,' and Tychica also sped out of the room.
Ashdud and his men, eight of them, had utilized that window of opportunity when Mongoose did what he did, and they were already lurking along the exterior perimeter, infiltrating the base one by one through the unrepaired gap in the wall. Three of the men were already inside, locked away in one of the less busy facilities at the constabulary that were close to the perimeter. They had slit the throat already of one soldier who happened to be roaming about the wrong place at the right time. Ashdud knew they had to be inch perfect with this part of the operation, by avoiding any new sentries who could be deployed here, as well as getting caught by those inside. By the time the last man snuck in, more busy bodies had begun roving near their hideout, retrieving logistics from one of the adjacent buildings. The building Ashdud was in seemed to be an old cell that had been cleared of its inmates except a few who had been arrested by the Goldoran patrols in the city of Magherita down below in the valley, as well as some of Ossus' men from the night before. They were incarcerated in the subterranean dungeons of the cell, and were unguarded. Ashdud avoided them for now and stayed with his men on the ground floor. From a space in the top floor, he and his men examined the activity going on in the constabulary, while studying its layout. One of the men was scribbling down the relevant notes on a piece of paper. Another man was wearing the maroon uniform of the slain Goldoran.
'They're going out in numbers,' said one of the men, 'we're lucky.'
From their vantage point they were also able to watch the assembly of the soldiers and listen to the instructions they were being given, which included capturing some men alive, including the one who had beheaded their soldiers, Mongoose. Arameid declared that he owned the honor of taking his soul as a sacrifice to his gods.
The men stayed put in their positions until they were certain that the Goldorans were far from the base, before quickly taking up their torches. They knew they had limited time, because the Goldorans would soon discover that the Korazites in the forest were riding on horseback, and would call off the chase.
'That structure near the west wall must be their kitchen,' said the man who had been taking notes, 'their supplies must be there.'
'Divide up in twos. We will set fire to the main structure, the kitchen and the dormitories. If we have time we will set ablaze the rest of them too. Kanga and Leander, you come with me.'
There were six buildings in the enclosure except the cells. The main building stood in front of the assembly point, and the dormitories next to it. Two buildings stood adjacent to these on either side, and one of them was detached by a large space from the others. The cells stood at higher altitude than the rest of the buildings, and had three floors instead of two. The space between the cells and the building in front of it was very narrow, which had allowed Ashdud and his men to view the activity from a good point of concealment. The place had been more than just a constabulary, which would be much more frugal than this. The Magherita outpost was also a mountain safe house for travelers and visitors of the mountain. It had been state-run as a tourist center as well as a Constabulary outpost until it was transformed into its current purpose.
The sky outside them was beginning to approach the evening hours, and the wind was beginning to get colder. These were ideal conditions for a fire, but they were also a harbinger of rain. If the rain put out the flames in their initial stages, the whole plan would fail. Ashdud and his moles had to act fast.
With just over eighty men in the vicinity, maneuvering through it was much easier. The majority of the men were indoors, having retired there once they were satisfied that the guerrillas had escaped back into the trees. Ashdud, Kanga and Leander headed straight for the main building, using the back of the building in front of them. The sentry in the watchtower had to be avoided from the north side of this building even though his gaze was focused on the outside. They met no resistance until they came to the entrance, where they accosted a couple of men goofing around with wine, and silenced them in the swiftest of manners, dumping their bodies in the main office, whose door they kicked in before soaking the place in booze. Ashdud was quick to take anything that might be of importance in future, including some papers that he stuffed in his garment haphazardly.
'Hold on,' Ashdud said to the men before they set their torches alight, 'there is only one entrance for both this building and the adjacent dorms. If most of the barbarians are in this building, we can lock them in and roast them.'
'They are,' said Leander.
'Good. What about this wine? Where are they getting it?' Ashdud wanted to spill more of it to catalyze the burning.
'Look, they've got numerous bottles in the cabinet here,' Kanga went to retrieve them.
It took them about eight minutes to sneak around from corner to corner, and within that time they also broke some few necks and slit some throats. In the ninth minute, they heard the first shout of alarm about a fire in the kitchen. So Ashdud fired up the corridor between the dorms and this building, and he and his three goons escaped before the 60 or so men in the dormitory's common room came out in leaps and bounds. Any remnant in the compound couldn't be more than twenty, and Ashdud's men could take them easily. When they all convened outside near the assembling point, the blazes were beginning to tower and smash through the windows. The pair that had taken care of the kitchen had also found supplies of alcohol, and the other teams had found hay in the stables. There were also about six women, one of them with a son, whom they had extricated after they revealed they were natives. Kanga, who was more thrilled by the flames than the others, was shouting like an idiot.
'Take them to the gap in the wall, Leander!' Ashdud yelled instructions, 'we'll stay back and exterminate any escapees.'
'Yes sir! What about the watchman in the watchtower?'
'He's got no one to warn. Even if he tolls the bell, it's useless. He shouldn't be a problem for you. Go with the prisoners in the dungeons too.'
K'rar was watching from behind the same rocky outcrop he had stood on the night before, and he was pleased with himself. The chasing pack were close, but not close enough. The flames consuming the constabulary post would soon divert their attention, as they could see it from anywhere on the hill even through the trees. Indeed the inferno halted their chase. Arameid and Dhali were in the vanguard when the message reached them that the outpost was up in flames. Chica the strategist chuckled to himself, drawing an angry response from Arameid,
'And what's so funny!?'
'This was their plan. I can bet you my head it is not our men who have caused that fire.'
This assessment made sense immediately.
'Son of a bitch,' Dhali cursed, 'son of a bitch!'
'And we need to retreat, sir. Now.'
The guerrillas, who had retreated in response to the chase, but only a short distance, were now returning downhill, yelling battle cries once more. Chica knew that even though they could be fewer, they were on high ground, and now had an additional advantage of having disoriented their men. This, even Arameid saw. His men's faces were white with terror.
'Retreat where, sir?' one of them asked. The din from up on the hill was growing louder.
'Into the valley, anywhere but here!'
The retreat was actually already taking place.
'Those scumbags, doing what they just did,' Dhali was swearing, 'they just asked for a death sentence.'
'But what happened to the men inside,' Chica asked the question everyone else had on their minds but refrained from asking.
'I'm going in to check,' was Arameid's response. Chica and Dhali would come with him.
Leander returned to the king with the prisoners, who prostrated themselves. Some vowed to join the war against the invaders, and some were sent home as free men. Some of them had been in prison before the Goldoran invasion, for crimes against the king before whom they were now assembled, so K'rar took it upon himself to pardon them.
The ten man team had completed the operation and were back to K'rar, watching their men chase down the invaders into the valley. K'rar had ordered them to get close enough and execute some of the men, but not to engage them completely.
'The operation has been a success Your Majesty, as you can see,' Ashdud declared, 'it will be impossible to inhabit it.'
'We have officially began this civil war, Ashdud. I am calling a sword against Garrera now on all my mountains. Send word out to the rest to begin trekking to the plains of Dura, including our base. We are not going back.'
'Yes, Your Majesty. I also managed to steal these papers from the office. It includes the plan to execute your mother from this outpost to fish you out. Garrera is coming up here with her, apparently. Which means there's more men than we thought at first. From out east and from the capital.'
But K'rar knew that his mother's death was already a foregone conclusion, and was not a matter of if, but when. He had tried to grieve in advance, but this was impossible, so he knew that at some point in the war he had started, he would have to shed those tears.
And General Garrera knew that. He also knew that this was the boy's Achilles' heel, which he would harness, to try and crush the intransigent rebels. The Goldoran aliens had failed to accomplish that, and he knew they wouldn't accept to have so many native leaders among their ranks, those imbeciles. If only they had allowed two homegrown soldiers, including Hatto, to join them in the manhunt at Magherita, perhaps all of this annoyance would have come to a conclusion. But despite being in his command, by their own king's command, they were still disdainful of Korazites, and the Korazite battalions under him responded in kind. So Garrera had to command two groups of soldiers who had been trained to hate each other since they were boys, and that was the dilemma that was a constant pain in the neck for the man. He knew he had to find a way to resolve that quickly. The Goldorans were to stay for a long time before their decommissioning. The Goldoran commanders did obey him, but only to the extent of their own king, Tao's, command to do so. The penalty for indiscipline, and the power to impose it, had been given to Garrera. The soldiers nevertheless understood the importance of this mission as far as the glory of their nation was concerned.
Garrera's forces had marched north toward the Debasian Mountain along the hills and uninhabited landscape to ensure that very few whispers reached the boy king in the mountain. He was camped just outside the small village of Ursa among the rocks that shielded it, from the south. 4 miles north, and they would arrive at Magherita, after scaling through two settlement towns of farmers on the slope of the great mountain. This was scheduled for the following day, the last day of the march. By late afternoon the day after tomorrow, the bulk of the forces from the west led by Goldoran General Kaputska, were expected to make an appearance at their rendezvous spot somewhere on the southeast face of the Debasian Mountain. Garrera was travelling north with Hatto's men, just over 400 of them, so it was easier to avoid attracting more than necessary attention.
General Garrera was relaxing on a chair placed at the top of one of the crags, facing the village of Ursa. It was a sad village. They were an isolated, reserved people, minding their business along the mountain slopes. They allegedly deified the mountain, but there was no conclusive evidence to this effect other than the fact that they confined themselves to the mountain. They never left. Garrera had a plan for them. A plan that he had not spoken about to anyone except his loyal lapdog, Lankh. It is that plan that was occupying his thoughts as he watched Ursa from the rock. He was still here when Lankh came scrambling up the rock. He had a report to deliver.
'My lord. We have received a messenger from Magherita,' he said.
Garrera raised his eyebrows. Lankh began to stammer slightly, reluctant to speak. Garrera raised his brows at him again.
'We lost the camp at Magherita, my lord. The rebels burned it down last night. We lost most of the men.'
Garrera clenched his fists and his teeth. He was, however, not more aggrieved by the losses than by the fact that now there was an opening for K'rar and his rebels to begin their trek north. And he couldn't afford that.
'They know we're coming,' he said, and kicked at the rock beneath his feet, 'they are obviously already off the mountain.'
'Sir, I believe they got wind of the western front approaching. There's no way they know about us.'
Garrera knew what his man was suggesting.
'You're right. Tell the men to break camp. If we march on Magherita in an hour, we can catch up to them. There is only one direction they could be headed. The west is out of the question, and the east has many of our men.'
'North, into the middle of nowhere?'
'The object is to stay in hiding. The country already knows he is alive and well,' said the General. He pondered for a moment, and then added, 'the Ursa operation.'
'Are you asking me to…'
'Yes. Launch the operation immediately.'
Lankh nodded and turned away from him. He had been waiting for his master to issue the command for so long now. He was happy with his master now. This was the General he had known for two decades. The general who had made a reputation for being ruthless in his attitude in war. And this was war. Garrera had slightly lightened up, Lankh thought, because he was now leading a primrose path being the king. He had slightly forgotten his military roots, and was even feeding too much. Lankh, though, had noticed in the last six months that the General couldn't keep this up for long. The last piece in the confirmation of his kingship was still out there, amassing large armies that could sustain a resistance. Besides, everyone knew that Shona's intervention in these matters was just a matter of time, as long as K'rar was still out there, so Lankh had not been happy with his master's light approach to eliminating the threat of K'rar. His master needed to take military action, not just sitting back in his new throne and giving orders to the Goldorans. He needed to treat K'rar as he treated Goldoran belligerents before his ambitious transformation. He needed to use force, to use the most severe, ruthless methods to make a statement of intent to the boy king, if he was to firmly establish this new kingdom.
Yorgi was 18 years old. He had lived in Ursa all his life with his family, a mother and three sisters. He was the only male in their home, and he was its guardian of sorts although he was the second born, being three years younger than the firstborn sister. Three months ago he had struck 18 years of age, and according to custom been confirmed as his family's patriarch. He now had the responsibility of making sure of his family's welfare in the small communal setup of his village, including acquiring possessions for them and attending the village's elder's meet, which his mother had been attending until three months ago. He had not protested these responsibilities. His mother had been diligent in preparing him for this, and his father, who had died 14 years ago, had been reputable in this village, so his son was more than welcome to sit among the men of the clan.
Yorgi was also a good farmer. That was the minimum requirement in this queer village for one to be regarded with some respect. Among other herders like him, they took care of many people's livestock, including walking them to pastures and water all day long, and sometimes even during the night. Today he was with a group of four herders, two of them youthful like him, though he was the youngest. Upon completion of their day's assignment, these four would split the herd depending on the location of the owners' homes and their own homes, and deliver to each owner his animals. Yorgi was able to attract some good money for his family in this way. But he had bigger prospects. He didn't want to live all his life in this traditional setting. Yorgi had a dream to travel away and engage in real commerce, perhaps far north in Cockroach or south in Chaldea. He wanted to liberate his family from this hermit's way of life, and have them live in a good house and attract obscene bride price, as other people did. He wanted to make the family name known so that everyone in the vicinity knew it and respected it.
Tonight was one of those nights in which Yorgi and his colleagues were to stay outdoors with the animals. The best pasture for tomorrow was far from here, so they had decided it made no sense to move the animals back to their owners' homes. This, of course, would attract more money for the job done. But Yorgi and his friends didn't have food for the following day, so he and one of the other herders, Amodak, were assigned to trek back to Ursa to replenish their padkos bags, while the other two stayed to tender the animals. They were camped about a mile away from Ursa. This area had no serious predators they would worry about except coyotes and foxes, so two of them could keep the animals company in open space.
Yorgi and Amodak were to refill their food bowls from the former's home. When they did, they took a longer route, walking along a route adjacent to the rocky outcrops.
And that's when things got juicy.
Amodak heard it first. A soft trot of what was clearly a large crowd of people. Amodak snatched Yorgi's hand and pulled him off the road. He was just in time because the first horseman, a scout, appeared from the corner, waving a burning torch. Another four riders came after him, and then a squad of marching soldiers, and so on and so forth. Yorgi and Amodak made sure not to breathe so loudly. They were not afraid of coyotes and leopards, but what they were seeing now sent cold chills through their spines. They had never seen so many soldiers in the same place at any time. Even the insurgents, whom they knew were at Magherita, never used this route through Ursa, never bothered the village. The boys stayed behind the rock concealing them until the last soldier was about 20 meters away, before staring in shock at each other's faces.
'What the hell?' Amodak said.
'They're going to our village.'
Again the boys stared at each other. They had the same curious thought. To follow the army.
'They're looking for the king,' said Yorgi, who jumped back onto the road from behind the rock, 'I can't miss this.'
'Dude what about the food?'
'Fuck that, man. There's an army marching into our village.'
'Think it's the king's army?'
'That uniform is not Goldoran, I know that. Come on.'
The boys paced up to catch up with the rear guard of the force. There was still some good distance to be covered to get down into the valley, but they wanted to get to the village first. They wanted to deliver the news of an incoming military force first. The two of them could use a shortcut and scale the parched ground to the right of the marching army, race across the terrain and get to the village. But they hadn't come close to the spot from where they would slope, when the trot of two horses suddenly approached them from the back. The boys got spooked, not sure if they had been spotted or of they should make a run for it. Their uncertainty cost them a good few seconds for the rear guard soldiers to have them in their sights and stop them.
'Halt!' one of them yelled. The boys knew better than to try and escape even though the horses wouldn't be able to climb down the difficult terrain skirting the road, so they obliged and stayed put. The horsemen were not wearing Korazite colors. Amodak looked like he'd seen a ghost, as he and Yorgi stared back into the faces of the Goldorans scrutinizing them.
'What the heck are you two doing outside at this time?' one of the riders bellowed into Yorgi's face. He was so intimidating that Yorgi failed to speak despite opening his mouth.
'Answer, boy!'
'We're herders, we're herders! We were just going back to the field!'
'I don't see any animals,' said the other man, 'in this direction.'
'Are you from the village?'
'Yes.'
'You're coming with us.'
The men dragged them along slowly, until they came to the outskirts of the village and stopped. Almost the entire perimeter of the village was visible from where they stood, with the two boys between the horsemen. Yorgi and Amodak watched in confusion at what the soldiers were doing. Several of them on foot and some few on horseback were entering the village, while others were surrounding the small village. This took them about ten minutes, before the purpose of the army's visit dawned on the herders like a frightening thunderclap, because of what the soldiers did next. First, some two or three soldiers with horns blew into them to arouse the village. Some who had heard the soldiers and come outdoors to investigate were quickly rounded up into a space large enough just near the exit on this side, but the boys hadn't seen them. They saw those that joined them, because the soldiers were routing the village and parading it in the space, one by one, all men, women and children. All the while Yorgi and Amodak tried to protest and escape into the village, but the burly Goldorans held them. They stayed mum to whatever passionate queries the boys made, especially Yorgi, until the entire operation was complete. Yorgi couldn't make out from the crowd if his mother and sisters had submitted, but Amodak was the one who had a serious worry, because his father, if he knew him well, would gladly go to the grave before submitting to Goldoran rule.
'We saved you from yourselves,' the men explained to the boys, 'if you'd gone down there you would have been killed trying to be heroic. Now move. You will help us find your king.'
'I am not moved by your pretense kindness, Goldoran,' hissed Yorgi. He was more wordy and perhaps more cocky than his friend.
'You better be,' said the Goldoran, 'because if none of you villagers say where the boy king is hiding, we will waste this village.'
They took the boys down into the village, and handed them over to their superior, explaining that they were herders found trying to escape.
One sullen man was pacing about this way and that, examining the crowd, which they had sat down on the dirt in silence. Yorgi didn't need the gods to tell him he was the highest ranking officer. But Yorgi didn't know the man was more than that. He was General Garrera, his new king, officially. At long last that man began to speak, addressing the village.
'In case you do not know who I am, I am your new king, but…' someone had spat at his feet, which he paid for with a mighty smack of the hilt of a sword from a soldier, which dropped him, 'but, as you can see, some of you don't think so, because there is another king hiding in this mountain. Now, I am giving you a choice, each one of you. To tell me where the boy and his men are hiding in this mountain, exactly, and no one will have to know by force that I am the king. You have five minutes before I order my men to begin exterminating the men and the boys.' He whispered something to the nearest man, who disappeared and returned with a chair from the nearest house for Garrera. The villagers were as mum as stones for the first three minutes, before Garrera nodded to a soldier, who, with the help of another man, handpicked one man from the crowd and knelt him before Garrera, who drew his sword and put it on his neck.
'Man, you either tell me where the boy is hiding, or pray someone does.'
The man began to shed tears and to convulse in fright.
'My lord, I do not know where he is. No one in the village disputes your kingship my lord,' he was talking too fast, 'please spare me. I do not know where they are!'
'Wait!' Yorgi spat out just before Garrera slid the sword across the man's throat, 'please don't kill him. I know the route into the mountain, he doesn't!'
But Garrera already knew K'rar and his rebels were long gone from Magherita, knowing that the boy struck that station down to create passage for himself. All this was part of a long game, and Yorgi's efforts would yield no salvation, because Garrera already had a premeditated plan to exterminate this village, to fish out the boy, yes, but mostly to mark it down for all of Korazin to acknowledge his kingship. By devoting this place and all life in it to destruction, the stubborn populace would learn to fear him if not respect him. The rest of the land would know the price of concealing the king in their midst. The whole of the north was in danger of destruction until the boy handed himself over. But Garrera intended to spare some whom he thought were worthy, and some to tell the tale. He thought Yorgi was worthy.
'Bring him here,' Garrera ordered.
'Stupid boy!' someone from the back of the doomed congregation yelled. It was Amodak's father. They ignored him, and Yorgi was assembled before Garrera, who lowered the sword from the man's throat.
'Is this your father, boy?' Garrera asked.
'No, he is not.'
Someone knocked his head,
'You are speaking to your king. Use respect,' he said.
'So why are you trying to save him?' Garrera asked Yorgi.
'No one has to die here, my lord. We never move away from Ursa, so he doesn't know. Please, my lord.'
'But you know where the king is?'
'I'm a herder. I move animals for long distances, including near Magherita, where the king is hiding.'
'Will you betray him for this man?'
'I believe the king is capable of fighting for himself, but not this man.'
'Shut up, herder!' there were screams from the villagers.
'As you can see, not many of your friends agree with you,' Garrera said.
'I believe that even without our help your men will eventually catch up with the king. Please spare him, my lord.' Garrera studied the boy's countenance for some time, and said,
'What is your name?'
'Yorgi, my lord.'
'There are two kings. One has 10,000 men and is about to kill all the men in this village. The other is the reason a village will die, because he holds on to something taken from him and is not his to have anymore,' Garrera stood up from his chair and put the sword on Yorgi's neck instead. A woman squealed in horror, and began to protest before she was pacified forcefully. Yorgi knew it was his mother, 'which one will you choose, Yorgi?'
'Please, my lord. I will take you to Magherita. Just spare us.'
Garrera took the scruff of the boy's neck. He could feel the boy's blood flowing even through the fabric. A rivulet or two of sweat cascaded out of the boy's hair and down his neck.
'You would risk being banished from your home forever?' Garrera whispered into the boy's ear.
'Y-yes,' stammered Yorgi, 'I prefer my mom and my sisters to be alive even if they'll hate me for it.'
'Hmm. Good. I will make you an offer now. I will spare you, but you must work for me until I discharge you. Take for yourself up to six people from the crowd. They will be spared too, because you are reasonable.'
'My lord, what about the rest of them?'
Garrera just stared down at the boy's face at close range, frowning behind his terrifying look.
'Choose now,' he took down the sword to stand and watch Yorgi. Lankh walked toward his mother, who was easy to pinpoint, and brought her forward out of the crowd. Yorgi was still devastated, having to choose just two other people apart from his family, knowing for sure that Garrera would carry through with his promise to exterminate the whole village. He had to make a choice. Ghastly images formed up in his mind of the aftermath. Worse images of his dead family formed in the alternative aftermath if he didn't take the General's offer. He cast one desperate look at Garrera, who raised his eyebrows at him and made a gesture with his hand toward the crowd. Lankh momentarily came to him and bent over to whisper to him,
'The offer wasn't prepared in advance for you only. Now hurry up, we haven't got all night.'
Yorgi's face was now wet with perspiration. His feet somehow felt too feeble to walk, so he looked a bit lame as he walked back toward the position from where Lankh had picked his mother. Two men followed him including Lankh. Once the last of the ladies was helped up, the shock in his body was magically transmitted to some of those other villagers quick enough to understand what the hell was going on. It quickly became a murmur when more soldiers surrounded the camp of 200 or so village, some looking menacing and others sad.
'Hey, are you going to kill us?' Amodak's father yelled when Yorgi pointed at Amodak, who was also taken out of the group along with another person to make it six.
'I'm so sorry Amo,' said Yorgi, in a shaking voice.
'What is this Yorgi? What is going on?' Amodak said loudly, but he needed no answer because the assembly quickly became a bloodbath. The soldiers escorting him didn't allow him to look back, and just took them and cooped them up in the nearest house. Yorgi, however, was made to stay behind and watch the massacre. He was sure he could hear some people yelling curses at him and calling the wrath of the gods upon his head. He tried to keep his head down, but he couldn't do that for 10 minutes, and he had to glance up and see the ground turn red with innocent blood. At long last the king, Garrera, came to stand next to him. Yorgi was unable to hold back his tears. At first they were just a number of irregular sobs, but when the man who had given the order came to his side, they were aggravated into loud wailing. Inevitably, the young man's feet failed under him, and he fell to his knees. Lankh and his master looked in each other's faces. Garrera turned to walk away, beckoning for Lankh to come along.
'Tell him we leave as soon as the bodies are buried. He is in your charge. Can you turn him into a valuable asset?'
'I have been looking forward to it. I think he will be a good student.'
'And if he is not?'
'He knows.'
'Bring him to me in the morning, when he has depleted all his tears.'
'Yes sir. What about the village sir? Shall we begin to spread the good news?'
'Certainly. That was the purpose of the cleansing wasn't it?'
K'rar and his group had already began their exodus to the north, but had only covered 18 miles. They had pitched up their tents in an uncultivated farmland belonging to a tradesman from Tirzah who had settled here. K'rar was not still keeping out of sight, but at Magherita he had had no reason to do so. He had been advised by Ashdud and Ossus to reassure the masses by making a public appearance. For six months only as few as 10 or more people apart from his rebel camp knew his whereabouts. Even his other rebels, including those that were commissioned by Ossus, had been kept in the dark. It was extremely dangerous if everybody knew where he was, but now that precaution was moot because the ruse had been discovered, and the enemies of the kingdom were closing in on him. K'rar and his soldiers had just suddenly appeared at Magherita town from the mountain just when the town was still buzzing about the fires at the Constabulary and the fleeing Goldorans. Ossus had then began singing a war song that most everyone knew, to indicate that the king was with the marching horde of fighters. Magherita had paused all its activities to sing along, and several of them and escorted the king's procession for about three miles of the distance so far covered.
By the time Garrera arrived and learned that K'rar had travelled for some time and distance, the township was silent as a graveyard. It was oblivious of their presence, and the peace and smug of the town gave the General some sort of satisfaction because of what he had in mind for them.
'It's time,' Garrera said to Lankh, 'let them know.' He was referring to getting the news of the Ursa massacre known at Magherita. But the whole town was asleep, and Lankh put in that reminder.
'Wake them up. Let some of the survivors go. Two of them will be enough.'
Lankh knew that Garrera meant spreading the fearsome news by releasing some of the hostages, including Yorgi's family. He found Yorgi in the same state as he'd been in hours ago after the massacre. He had been put in a tent alone with a man to watch him, and those he'd handpicked for survival were even worse, especially Amodak, who had twice been forcibly pacified by the two men guarding their tent. Yorgi was cuddled up in a ball in the corner of the tent with his head between his knees, looking like he'd been retrieved from a bog. His hair was disheveled, his face was crinkled like an old man's, and the remains of the tears he had shed most of the time were just beginning to dry up and leave sad evidence along his face. He did not move an inch when Lankh's towering figure skulked into the room and stood over him. He knew he was being scrutinized. He knew that Lankh was about to issue some sort of command for him, now that he was in the king's employ. But the picture in his mind was permanently ingrained on it, and he couldn't by his own effort remove it. Lankh knew this. And he was equipped to eliminate it.
'If you hadn't chosen them, I would have asked someone else to choose his own people, and you would have died.'
'You should have killed us all. Their blood is on my hands,' Yorgi spat out.
'Wrong. You didn't lift a finger. You did what needed to be done.'
'But I allowed myself to choose who should live and who should die. I am not a god am I?'
'Wrong still, Yorgi. There is nothing you could have done to stop it. We didn't seek your permission before we did what we did,' the man sat down on a chair he arrogantly pulled from behind, 'think of it this way. You saved the lives of six people. You chose them. It is us who chose to kill the rest. At all times we knew we would let six people live.'
'Then why did you not choose them yourself?'
'Because,' he leaned forward, 'we had already chosen to kill the rest, hundreds of them. Must we not leave the choice of who lives to someone who did not raise a hand against them?'
'That makes no sense.'
'We will visit the main city of Magherita next today. Unlike your village, they have harbored the rebellious boy, and if he really loves them, he must surrender himself in their behalf, as he is their king. Without that, we are willing to do the same to many more places.'
'How can you live with yourself?'
'I'm a realist Yorgi. What is on the ground is that my king sits on the throne, has the armies and the money, even if the rest of the land hates him. The king the land loves is living in a forest, has a bunch of untrained men to fight for him, and can do nothing on his people's behalf. Yet they love him. So what does the king who actually sits on the throne do? He cannot be loved while the other survives. He must rule with fear. But who is to blame? One who lives in the present, like my king, or one who still holds on to past glory?'
Yorgi had to pause for a long time to internalize these words. The man was right. There was nothing that anyone in this kingdom was able to do to restore the kingship. It was in the past, and the old rulers had failed to hold on to it. The nation couldn't be expected to hold on to him if he does not exercise power, because the new owners of the power were willing to demonstrate it in no unambiguous terms.
'He did this,' he said inaudibly.
'Pardon?'
'He has no power to restore himself.'
'And to restore himself what must he do?'
'Of course he must kill you and your goons.'
'True, true. Can he do it?'
'N-no.'
Lankh smiled to himself.
'Yorgi, your first job as a realist will be to help us get this nation in line, as we cannot hope to kill all of them to do that. There are huge rewards for you and your family.'
'What rewards?'
Lankh smiled wryly again.
'A new life, to be precise. You were living like savages in that village. Herding animals,' he scoffed, 'this is your chance to move up in the world. That life is behind you now. But it's up to you if you will take the opportunity or let it pass.'
Lankh did not need to say any more than that. Unbeknownst to him, he had just offered Yorgi his big break. He wouldn't care where it came from.