The king was so happy after those new revelations that everyone was wondering whether it was a sign of a man clutching at his last straws trying to cheer himself up. K'rar had reemphasized the importance of keeping his secret a secret until its time, so the king had to create new reasons for being happy when he had been a real anxious box for many months, even years. K'rar was now part and parcel of the war, which on paper he had already shifted to the crown's side.
K'rar first wanted to see Shaniz. He was told she would be either in her chambers or in the orchard with her cousin, Bekka. She wasn't in her chambers, so K'rar walked past the second courtyard toward the dormitories of palace servant staff, where the exit to orchard would be. She was no doubt here, because there were about three guards standing many feet apart from each other, looking in the same direction. The guard at the metal door let him pass, but the second guard asked him who he was, and said that the princess wanted to be alone. He was still trying to explain, when Shaniz herself said from without,
'K'rar?' K'rar turned around, and Shaniz said to the guard immediately, 'leave us.'
She was by herself. She had now made her hair into beautiful waves, and was dressed in silk trousers with a long light green dress over them. For a long moment, they stood apart from each other like animals sizing each other up before a fight, except this was far from a fight. K'rar's blood wasn't flowing the same way. He felt a cold sensation under his skin in her presence, a feeling he had had once before, still in her presence.
'It's been long,' he said. She came closer, as if to remove all the doubt that it was him. She looked down at his weapon, his boots, and his hair. 'I tried to reach you, but then the…oh.'
She was hugging him, and saying from behind his neck,
'You idiot. I thought you were dead. I was even the one who told your parents in Iscalan, and they were gutted. Where have you been you idiot? You broke my heart?'
'With your permission, I will mend it back to health.'
'Yes, you do that,' she released him from her hug, 'I grew fond of you, in case you didn't notice. I still keep your book.'
This was good news, but K'rar allowed them to catch up on three and a half years of absence, during which she admitted, had begun to forget about him. K'rar soon arrived at the juncture in which explained to her all the details of his affairs up to the point of him joining the war effort.
'You've been here all day?'
'And, your father has invited me to live here,' K'rar said.
She was clearly overjoyed at this, and K'rar knew why, because although he expertly concealed his own joy about having unlimited time with her, he felt the exact same way.
'I was just going to get my bags from an apothecary's in the city,' he said to her, 'I'll be back.'
K'rar did not tell her just yet about the Nephilim and the Behemoth, or about her father being open to his prospects of making her one of the first pioneers in his project. He said it now,
'If you're still willing to learn sword fighting, your father is open to the idea. Excited about it even. We can start when you're ready.'
'Really?' she said, 'that is glorious. I didn't want to learn sword fighting without you.'
'Tell you what, it's not the same teaching someone who isn't you,' K'rar said. He was not lying.
'I would go with you, but because of the war I can't just walk about in the city. When you come back I'll take you around.'
She did take him around, and K'rar confirmed that this palace was even larger than his initial calculations. It had two more courtyards, and these were the ones within the walls. The orchard was one of three other open spaces outside the perimeter. North of the main residence and the audience hall, there was a large library, a maze, an infirmary, and the third and fourth courtyards which harbored a spa, a textiles repair room and manufactory, and another structure with no real use. The north gate of the palace was here. It was the gate no one used, as it led to the valley through which the mighty Bizkek River flowed. The section of the river in the valley in front of this gate was the king's land too, as well as the wood on the hill skirting the river. Many from the palace liked this spot, and K'rar became one of them. He was alone with her by the bank of the river near the stairs leading back up to the north gate. It was evening, and they'd spent most of the day together, during which her stories took up most of the time. Which was okay for K'rar, because his stories would add up to something which he wanted to keep hidden from her for now, and he didn't want to lie.
'Okay, let's go see the rest of the family,' she said to him, 'it will be time for the supper meal. Tomorrow, you can start teaching me. We'll do it here by the banks.'
'Of course. I will be leaving for the south, though. I must look at the real battlefield, see our chances.'
She remained silent a bit when he said this. They were on the steps going up to the north gate.
'Will you leave when the war is over?' she said.
'Why?' K'rar was stalling what he really wanted to say. But Shaniz was open, and she said,
'I prefer if you were here, K'rar.'
K'rar had to break and give in at least one bread crumb,
'It depends on if we win the war or not. The war council will begin executing my plan, and I will be there with them. If we win, the king promises me that we will start working on a project I told him about. Then I will stay.'
Shaniz wanted him to say that his decision to stay must be based on her and not the war, but she decided against it. While she didn't want to admit it first, he also didn't want to show a lot of eagerness. Both understood that time had to pass, that time would tell.
Over the next few days, K'rar remained at the palace, and some of the war council members had left to prepare for the execution of Operation "Spy's Blood" named with a reference to Chalak, who had, under pressure, confessed to all the accusations against him and his wife. K'rar wouldn't travel south immediately. He still had to travel to the Kaffraria and fetch his giants. On the sixth day is when he would leave for the northeast, and in the late afternoon after discussing with King Sargios the details of this tour, he went to see Shaniz on her request. She was in her chambers with her cousin, Bekka. The latter was the first one to speak to him though. Bekka, like everyone else in the palace, had warmed up to K'rar instantly, even the kitchen ladies. Like he had done with Hleb, he had raised dampened spirits of the king, for which especially the queen liked him even though she had no idea how he had done this. K'rar had noticed that Xaxanikan people all had the culture of having meals together as families, including the royal family. The king had asked him to have meals with them for reasons only he and the king knew, and he had thus seen and spoken to all the members of the family, even briefly. Bekka said to him,
'K'rar, young soldier. I noticed you and my cousin are spending many hours together. You are stealing my cousin from me.'
'I told you, I'm learning combat,' Shaniz defended.
'Really, cousin? Really? Because I came looking for you once, down by the river, and you two didn't seem to be doing a fighting drill.'
K'rar knew this was true. He had spotted her looking at them. He was smiling now,
'Well, we have also become friends,' he said. Bekka came closer to him.
'Look, K'rar. I know you two will become more than friends, but it seems neither of you is willing to admit it to the other, when everyone else who has eyes has seen the signs.'
'Bekka!' her sister protested.
'Relax, Shaniz. I didn't say I don't like what you're doing. Even the queen knows you two are involved, and she's all for it. Because you are nobler, she said, than all Shaniz's suitors. Everyone likes you.'
'I'm glad people think that about me.'
'Now for the reason Shaniz really called you here,' Bekka retrieved K'rar's drawing book, still in Shaniz's possession, and opened the page with a very elegant drawing of an armed female warrior, 'this right here. I can't let you train my sister only. I'm joining this thing, and I'm not asking.'
'Really?'
'Yes. Shaniz is training to become the first female fighter I have ever seen. That Xaxanika has ever seen. I want to be the second. Shaniz has already said yes.'
Shaniz nodded that this was the truth.
'Well, I have always dreamed of meeting female warriors despite the notion that they are not efficient. And I get to teach two of them, both of them princesses. You two better turn out well.'
'We will,' Bekka promised.
When K'rar and Shaniz were alone, almost a minute of awkward silence arrested them. K'rar was dressed for travel, in boots and manicas and a woolen coat. He just stood by the locked door while she sat on her bed, until K'rar, as usual, broke the silence.
'This is a nice room.'
She scoffed,
'This is the Grand Palace. All its rooms are nice, even in the Staff Pavilion.' This referred to the dormitory for the servants.
'Okay, I was just breaking the silence. I'm leaving shortly. Going northeast.'
Shaniz stood up.
'I know,' she said, reducing the space between them to just centimeters, 'do you think she was right?'
K'rar knew she was referring to Bekka's speech about their relationship earlier. There was no doubt at all that Bekka was right. K'rar had fallen for Shaniz ages ago, and this was reciprocated. Still, he took the long route of stalling,
'Did I…did I tell you what I am going to do in Cauda?'
Shaniz rolled her eyes, and looked away for a moment. She said, without looking at him,
'As if I wanted to know. Just, go and win the war, and come back, alive.'
Although K'rar regretted taking that route, he said,
'Okay. Till we meet again,' and began to turn around. But then she held him back by the hand. He turned around. She took his other hand too, which he gave willingly, and they looked at each other in the face. K'rar's heart escaped from his body. But, letting go of is hands, she said,
'Till we meet again.' And she turned her back, until K'rar closed the door. Outside it, he closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, and brushed his hair with his left hand. This was the umpteenth time this past week that he had refused to admit his feelings despite moments like that. It was custom for him, being the male, to make a move, and he knew it. He had promised himself that he would muster up the strength to tell her, but every time the opportunity had come, he had got cold feet. He thought to himself that for a young man who had seen some of the world's most scary things and faced them all, and who was about to go out to lead a war, this situation was much harder to weather than them all. In six days, several times as many reasons had showed him that he shouldn't behave shyly before her. That she wanted him to say it, but K'rar had completely failed to form the words every time the opportunity had presented itself, even one so easy as today.
So K'rar shook his head, and disowned himself. He turned back and knocked at the door.
'Yes?' a shaky voice returned from the other side. K'rar opened the door. She didn't look up at first, as her face was downcast. When she did, she was startled.
'K'rar?'
K'rar walked across the space to her, took her hands and helped her up. An uprush of confidence flooded his veins, and he pulled her closer to himself and kissed her, briefly.
'It is true,' he said. While she was still either shocked or excited or both, he added, 'all the plans I have had in my head the past few days have involved you, Shaniz. And I don't want them to fall on rocky ground because I didn't want to admit that…that…'
She placed an index finger on his lips. Those words were sufficient, for now. With starry eyes she smiled happily at him, and then wrapped her hands around his neck and kissed him back.
'Actions speak louder than words,' she whispered. She was caressing his cheek, and her forehead was against his, 'this was a good enough confession. I love you too, K'rar.' She released him, 'now, go crush the Resistance, and come back.'
K'rar was suddenly feeling much, much better than before. He wanted to do just what she had said. Crush the Resistance and return to her. Quickly.
Three Generals, including Kratos who knew the area of Mayorka, Jew and the old warrior Zeljko headed for Rethrain, the city of Bar'sha along the Bizkek River that was closest to Mayorka. Revolutionary Guard troops were mostly based there to buffer both Et and Bar'sha against the rebels. They arrived on the third day, when the city and the Revolutionary Guard camp were a bit quieter than usual, hoping that a truce was in consideration because of the Union Games. The military camp was just less than two miles south, right on the bank of the Blood River, an estuary of the Bizkek River. The latter flowed to the east of Rethrain going north, so the Blood River and the Bizkek protected Rethrain to the south and east. But Mayorka was to the south of the Bizkek before its course shifted northward. The rebels had destroyed a bridge on the Bizkek directly north of Mayorka, so that Revolutionary Guard could only cross the river from a point further up, where the rebel camp was stationed in the river's dry bed. There, they could be ready for them at any time. The generals arrived close to the evening. The sun was still at large, and the weather was dry. The field captain of this unit was supervising combat drills when the generals showed up by themselves on three horses, dressed in full body armor. A ramshackle enclosure of the camp was made of sticks planted in the earth and joined to form a perimeter. Some soldiers were burning logs near the entrance, and Zeljko berated them for this before ordering them to do so elsewhere. The drill paused when the soldiers saw the generals, and the captain, Distin the Mole Rat because of his tiny eyes, came forward. To greet the generals, Mole Rat drew his sword and placed it across his chest and then returned it to its sheath. The soldiers just stood in long columns in a parade and kept quiet. Jew waved his hand, which meant at ease, and some soldiers left while others stayed.
'Comrade Distin,' Jew said to the captain, and jumped off his horse, 'these are just a hundred men, but you have 2000 men in this camp.'
'Yes, General. The companies have been training in turns.'
'Excellent. Blow the horn, I need all the men ready for battle.'
'Sir, I thought we were negotiating a truce,' said Mole Rat.
'And the rebels are still slaughtering our people and hanging them on spikes. The king will not negotiate with murderous rebels. Get the men ready.'
'Forgive me, sir. I do not understand.'
'Comrade, where is your deputy?'
'On the east side, sir.'
Jew clicked his fingers to the nearest foot soldier to fetch him. He said again to Mole Rat,
'The horn. All the men must prepare to march to the river.'
So the banner men were sent around the camp yelling, "Spears and shields, spears and shields!" sparking frantic activity, as many men thought the camp was under attack. The camp was both anxious and buoyed by this visitation by three generals at once, and the instant deployment of the entire camp of 2500 or so men. Men were yelling battle cries and slogans. Battle formations were being formed. Leaders were yelling angry instructions. The air was ripe for war.
Meanwhile K'rar was on the back of Tahwan, followed by fourteen other giants, racing through all the places barren of people. The giantess called Jehl was also carrying Targa, K'rar's grey wolf. There was one other female with them named Risa. Still, K'rar knew that the entire north, by the end of all this, would be filled with stories of sightings of the Nephilim, and this would refuel the stories from three years ago. But the exposure of the giants was the least of Xaxanika's, and K'rar's, problems. Xaxanika would still have to get used to the giants, because K'rar was planning on using them in the war anyway, and marching north to Zadok if they won, with them. These fifteen Nephilim would be the difference between the life and death of the Union of the ten tribes of Xaxanika. A grand irony, but Xaxanika had no idea, having been taught a diluted version of their existence.
The Nephilim's anatomy allowed them to clear the entire distance from the Caudan coast to the east of Rethrain in just twelve days, and this was more than was needed if they weren't armored and carrying very large, heavy weapons. The giants only needed to stop once in many days for a meal. They needed just a good night's sleep to refresh muscles after running at almost fifty miles an hour all day long, and then start again. Also, the giants' skins healed many times faster than human skin. Twice on the journey, K'rar had deliberately made them storm through villages either at dawn or when it was just getting dark, just for the thrill of it, and also to see later on if the tale would reach as far as Zadok. So in the early morning hours of the thirteenth day, K'rar was in the hillside near the bend of the Bizkek to the east of it. The belligerent armies would be across the river at the intersection of the great river's change in course. K'rar was hoping that the armies had not begun confrontations, as this would mean that the Revolutionary Guard was reduced severely. There were more than 3000 rebels here. Neither K'rar nor the generals knew how the rebels managed 3000 men in just this place, and still commanded many others in their other strongholds. The only explanation was that Kospar Petry had been preparing his armies in secret in the years prior to the start of the rebellion. Still, many of the rebels would be half-baked soldiers, at least those deployed in the places that the rebels had already overtaken. K'rar took all his giants to the river where it flowed north. They were covered by vegetation, and K'rar was studying its flow. The Bizkek River was even wider and stronger here than in the capital. Very, very large, noisy volumes rushed past them, white with rage and momentum. Even the Nephilim couldn't cross the river here. This section was particularly tilted to the north. K'rar left thirteen giants here, and took Tahwan and Asthenes to study the arm of the river flowing west before it turned. He was hoping that the enemy camp was in the flood plain according to plan.
It was. Here, K'rar had seen that the water was more sluggish before it turned toward the north in a spot where the terrain shifted its course. The rebel camp was within striking distance of a flash flood. The Revolutionary Guard had executed K'rar's plan to perfection and lured the rebels into the spot. When he made sure of this, he said to Asthenes and Tahwan,
'These bastards made a big mistake camping here.'
'Why so?' Asthenes asked.
'Well, they didn't calculate the dangers of camping in a dry river bed,' he said in a tone that indicated he wanted Asthenes to read what was on his mind. Asthenes was old and experienced enough to do so. The giant said,
'You want us to flood the camp with the river.'
K'rar nodded his head with a wry smile. It is exactly what he wanted.
'Can it be done?' he asked.
Asthenes took a look at the environment before saying,
'These rocks on the side are large enough to change its course, Your Majesty.'
'Be careful with that title. I still want my secret kept for now.'
'Sure, sir.'
'Now look, Asthenes. Our friends that way would have been making mock advances to lure them out of the camp. The next phase begins now. I'll get them to do another mock run, and we'll sneak 1000 men around their camp. So in about six hours, alter the river, and disorient them. They should be keeping northern tribesmen and women, so at the right moment, I want all of you down there to destroy the camp but also to rescue as many as you can.'
'Yes sir. I'll get the others ready.'
'Good. Tahwan, full speed ahead. Let's pay my camp a visit.'
The camp had just rested for about five hours, having done a nightly march to the battlefield without attack for the eighth time since the generals arrived. K'rar had convinced, even ordered, them not to attack the rebel camp although the generals themselves wouldn't have done so even without his suggestion. This morning the field commanders of the forces, including Mole Rat and Horta, were questioning Jew and Kratos about the motive of these mock runs, and for the umpteenth time the generals had said that it was to remind the rebels that they were alert and not slumbering, in case the rebels tried anything during the truce or impending truce.
'But you said there was no truce, sir,' is what Mole Rat was emphasizing to Jew, who was condescendingly munching on roast meat and pretending not to notice.
'Of course there isn't, captain. Like I said…'
'The king doesn't negotiate with rebels?'
'That's right,' he sipped a mouthful of drink with the food still in his mouth.
'Well, then we will attack at some point?'
'We cannot attack 3000 men with our 2000.'
'But the 3000 are not coming after us because they're honoring the truce…'
'Because they do not know our number. If they did, they would have already attacked us. By doing these runs, captain, we keep them in the mind that we are capable and ready to attack at any time.'
'That's why they've moved their camp closer to the river from Mayorka,' said Kratos. He was more reticent than his superior.
'And closer to us too, sir,' said Mole Rat, 'the men are already asking questions and getting agitated. What kind of a strategy is this? Is there something you are not telling me, sir?'
There was something he wasn't being told. Jew didn't want to tell him that they were waiting for the arrival of K'rar, who would initiate the second phase, that is, to sneak a thousand men, by crawling, to the back end of the enemies between them and the fortified city. Jew would have to explain who K'rar was, and the answer would force Mole Rat to declare him cracked. He himself had decided to follow the young man's plan. The young man had struck him as a real military trailblazer, and an astute one at that. He was a proud man, but he never let that cloud his good sense of judgment. He knew when something was good or bad, especially in the military sense of things. And he knew that K'rar was excellent. So even though K'rar had not told him exactly why he should carry out this plan under attack, the General went through with it. Besides, his colleagues had all agreed that the boy was perhaps the missing piece, after his heroics in impaling the traitor, and his history with the rebels at Hazazon-Tamar. But before Jew tried to explain any more things, a soldier came to the tent and broke up the little outburst.
'Sir,' the soldier's words were directed at Jew, 'there's a boy here saying he wants to speak to you.'
Jew and Kratos looked at each other. Mole Rat asked the man,
'A boy? What boy?'
'A weird kid, sir. Knows what we've been doing, knows the Generals' names and the others on the war council. He's got black hair and a large dog…'
'Wow, he was fast. It's been nineteen days only,' Jew said, and stood up with Kratos. He said this because he knew that K'rar had gone to Cauda for some reason, yet he was here less than three weeks later.
'You know him, sir?' the man in the entrance asked.
'Comrade Distin,' Jew said to Mole Rat, 'this is what we have been hiding from you. Now, let's go see your surprise package.'
Outside, K'rar was flanked by two men on each side. He was clad for combat, in boots and armor that the Nephilim had made him. His sword was strapped on his left side rather than his right like many of the soldiers.
'You are early,' Jew said to him, 'we didn't expect you at all.'
'My transport was fast,' K'rar said. The men flanking him left him now, and now it was Mole Rat and his deputy who were looking at each other in confusion. K'rar added, 'now we begin the second phase. Who will take me to the marshes? Are they maneuverable? Did you examine them?'
'Yes, I did,' said Kratos, 'the bamboo is in plenty. No one will suspect a thing.'
'Good. Who will come with me?' he was speaking with so much authority.
'Forgive me, K'rar,' Kratos said, 'we haven't introduced you to these men. Gentlemen, this is K'rar von Caspar, newest member of the war council.'
'He is the one who won us the first decisive battle by poisoning the rebels near Hazazon-Tamar, when he was fourteen years old,' said Jew, 'he is your superior officer for this operation. Is that clear?'
'Him?' Mole Rat couldn't believe it, 'he's the one who killed those hundreds of rebels?'
'This kid cannot be my superior officer,' his deputy, Horta, refused outright.
'What is he going to do that we wouldn't do by ourselves? March us through the marshes? Then what? We attack from two fronts. But we're still outnumbered, and the enemy camp can still…'
'Captain,' K'rar stepped toward him, 'in less than three hours, the Bizkek will shift its course and flash flood their camp in the flood plain. You and 1500 men will then attack the disoriented camp attempting to flee, and you'll find your comrades fighting them already. They will try to bolt for the walls of Mayorka. We will box them in, and we will take back the city.'
'Comrade Distin,' Jew was stern faced, 'remind me. What is the penalty for disobedience? Shall I have the field captain flogged by his own men?'
'I am sorry, sir. Perhaps you didn't hear what this boy just said. The river will magically flood the camp? Sir, is this just a good jest?'
'It is not,' said K'rar. He then looked down at Targa and said to him, 'go!' and the dog bolted toward the direction of the river. K'rar turned to the nearest soldier who wasn't either of the leaders, 'You, there. What makes a soldier? Is it his age, his skill, discipline or his aptitude?' K'rar was repeating what Ossus had once taught him.
'All,' the soldier said. Other soldiers were present, including one who had fought in Hazazon-Tamar when hundreds of rebels were poisoned.
'So then, what is the minimum age?'
'As long as the soldier demonstrates a…reasonable understanding of what it means to be a soldier.'
'So, how do I fit into that?'
'You're talking about a flood,' Mole Rat interjected immediately.
'He also dispatched those rebels when he was fourteen,' the soldier who had been there to pick up the bones in Hazazon-Tamar said, 'I was there. It was a brilliant show. He is a folk hero.'
'Thank you, soldier,' said K'rar, 'now I said the river will flood them, but I didn't say how. Here's your answer.'
All eyes turned to the direction of the river, the east side of the camp. There, Tahwan, towering at twelve feet, had just bungled onto the scene, led by Targa, who was skulking back to K'rar with his tongue out. K'rar had intentionally planned this show, and had told Tahwan to remain hidden from the camp.
'What in God's name is that?' Jew asked. He asked for everyone else in the camp.
'Captain. This is how the river will be moved,' K'rar said, 'this is Tahwan. A Nephilim warrior. Fourteen others like him are near the Resistance camp by the river, and will alter its course right into the flood plain they are camping in.' Soldiers were cringing away from Tahwan, who was purposefully wearing the outlook of the big bad giant in the legends, 'now you can ask me later how a legendary beast is in your midst, but right now I need you to execute my commands, captain.'
'Aptitude,' Kratos said, chuckling, 'you didn't employ them with sheer brute force. You are using them to alter nature in our behalf.'
Jew stood out from the group of him, Kratos, Zeljko, who had just joined them, and the captain and his deputy. He yelled to the camp,
'Soldiers! Assemble!'
The command was repeated by other leaders throughout the camp, and as the soldiers scrambled to prepare themselves, K'rar said to Mole Rat,
'You are forgiven of your disobedience. I will not be as magnanimous next time. Now, I need a thousand men on me and General Jew. You, Kratos and Zeljko will lead the rest for another mock run. This time, the men must not yell battle cries or anything. Approach silently, and keep out of sight until you hear the rebels scrambling when the river swallows them up. By that time we will be waiting for any soldiers fleeing to the walled city.'
Mole Rat had only just began to understand everything, and it took him some seconds to do so. He said,
'Yes, sir,' and exited the scene himself. K'rar said to Tahwan,
'You'll come with my section.'
'Right, your…right, sir.' The whole camp was still getting used to the giant. Some were even standing around stupidly instead of getting themselves ready.
The Resistance camp contained the larger part of its soldiers. Only about 200 and been left at Mayorka, terrorizing its denizens in preaching the word of Astarte and of Kospar Petry, and punishing royalists. But the valley couldn't fit all the men, so the tents were tightly packed on the earth like a school of fish. Commander Almiron, the "chief of the thousand" in charge of the combined war effort here, was drawing plans with his colleagues to attack the Revolutionary Guard by surprise if it came back again on a mock provocation. The Revolutionary Guard had for the past week or so tried to lure them out of the camp to the hills upriver by assembling right in front of them, and then fleeing to higher ground to snatch an advantage. Almiron had not fallen for it. It's why he was the chief of the thousand, commissioned by Petry himself. He had crushed the Revolutionary Guard across the claimed north-south border, which included the most part of Hannes, and had gained a reputation for himself. The royalist armies had claimed that they were just making sure that he wasn't playing dirty, which he was. He was awaiting the opportune moment to strike, although he did not know where the royalist camp was stationed. They were expertly hidden somewhere close, and had installed scouts to look out for spies. But that didn't faze him. He knew that they wouldn't attack him here. That is why he had camped with 3000 men to demonstrate a show of force. Besides, the two battles that they had actually fought in this place, including one further south when the royalists had gotten too close to Mayorka, had been glorious victories for him. The royalists knew what was awaiting them if they tried anything stupid.
He was right. And then, in the blink of an eye, he was wrong.
He was in his tent to the north of the camp near the river by himself, waiting for the other officers to join him to draw a strategy. The officers hadn't even entertained the idea to do this, when it happened. First, there was a soft, faint rumble coming from the back. Then there was the sound of men yelling from the east of the camp. Then the rumbling increased. And then Almiron stood up to find out himself what was going on. The royalists couldn't be attacking from this direction. Neither could they have gotten that close without being seen. They couldn't have crossed the huge river, still without being detected. Yet, whatever was happening did not sound like merrymaking. He had not yet slapped his tent flap aside when a man came running to his tent, nearly knocked him down.
'Sir, the river. The river has burst!'
What the fuck?
'The river? How?' the bulky commander left his armor and his weapon inside and went out. The soldier had bolted to another tent.
It was chaotic outside. He couldn't see the water immediately, but hundreds of men were fleeing the northeast side of the camp like birds fleeing a disturbed tree. The commander drew closer. Other tents were being exited by men who, like him, were rushing out to have a look. Those who had already understood what was unfolding were running for dear life. Soon, the entire camp was in disarray. Nobody cared for a second about his neighbor. Nobody gave a rat's ass that Almiron was there. Each man was by himself. The plain would soon be completely inundated. The tremendous snake of the Bizkek was tearing up tents, swallowing them up under its murky gray waters with the silt and rocks it had carried with it. Horses and food animals had been abandoned to the river. Near the east side, massive rocks had smashed into the camp, and the few altruist soldiers that were attempting to retrieve their comrades from the mud were killed for their efforts. The river was devastating the Resistance's main force as if with conscious malice. There was no time to ask how the river's waters had purposely left their course to attack the camp. There was no rain, and even with rain, the camp wouldn't be affected at all, as the rainwater would mostly flow away to the direction of the swamp west of the camp. The Bizkek never burst its banks here. Yet here it was, in the broad morning sunlight, mauling through the camp as if it wasn't there.
All these things flashed past him in a second, and then he, too, had to start running. Hundreds of men were falling like flies before his very eyes. Many hadn't even managed to escape their tents, and those who had, had stumbled into the tomato soup outside, into a stampede. There was a lot of noise and a lot of scrambling and a lot of screaming, as well as a lot of instinctive action. That is why when the commander returned to his tent, his horse was missing. A sharp soldier had snatched it. Shit. He made for the inside of the tent to retrieve the useful items within, but had hardly stepped inside when something prevented him from doing so. A very loud battle cry coming from the same direction as the river. A myriad of tents had been torn down already, so this time his view was not blocked. About a dozen gigantic men dressed in heavy armor were descending on the camp, waving battle axes and blunt weapons. Two waved gargantuan maces. The Bizkek was now seeping into his own tent, and the commander knew that his time was up. The giants were just hopping through the flood like pigs in a mud bath, very easily wading though. Ten of them headed straight for the diagonal southwest of the camp, where most men were heading to escape the plain and run toward Mayorka. This is the moment the commander realized he and the Resistance with him, was on the receiving end of a deliberate, purposeful act of war from the crown.
This, what was happening, would effectively break the Resistance. And suddenly, Astarte seemed powerless against these massive creatures slashing his men like grass. Bodies, about three at a time, were being launched into the air like sticks, and others were being stamped underfoot. There was that bad stench of defeat in the air, and the sound of sheer agony crying out from the ground. Even with the water eating him up slowly, though not beating him off his feet as he was on slightly higher ground, he didn't want to move. He just watched, statuesque, as his camp got eaten up. Father down to the southwest, the giants were picking escaping men like mushrooms. And then his own tent was snatched away from him by a massive wave, and that suddenly turned his attention to himself. The giant looking menacingly down on him had a broader chest, and hips. It wasn't a broader chest. The armor was covering its breasts. This giant was female. It did not immediately strike him. He thought that perhaps it would spare him unlike all the men around him, who were being struck down by another female and another male. One other giant was deliberately picking out northern prisoners who were meant to be killed. He very easily wore an apologetic face, something which he wouldn't have done were it a mere man staring at him. The giantess smiled at him, and there was no time for him to decipher whether this was a good or bad smile, because before he knew it, he had been whacked to the side of the head by the giantess' bare hand, thrown clean off his feet, and knocked out.
When the commander came to, he was among a large group of his men clustered up in a bunch. There was a smell of wet mud, a good smell, and near his abdomen, Almiron couldn't feel any clothing. What was definitely mud was smeared up all over his back thigh sitting on the earth, and there was mud in his ass. He didn't need to recover from the whack that had knocked him out to realize he was naked. Taking one look in every direction he could, he made out they were a few feet from the destruction. The camp was a total waste. The river had stopped, and there was no more flood, as most of the water had flowed away, taking a lot of equipment with it. Whatever had altered the river, the giants no doubt, had also undone this, and the river would be flowing in its original direction now. On the side of the open ground that led to Mayorka, an entire army of royalists was assembled. Commander Almiron let out a bad moan. He shed a tear. These bastards had completely shattered him.
'General Almiron,' the voice of a young man turned his face to look at K'rar, who was flanked by Jew and Kratos, 'here's what is going to happen. You are coming with us to Mayorka. You will command your men to open the gates and surrender peacefully, or else my men, and that includes the Nephilim…well.'
'And once we cleanse the southwest of your filth, you will still come with us as we restore order,' said Jew, 'to the rest of the south. Then we will march together, as good citizens, to Zadok, and perhaps we will grant you your clothes again. Right? Right, commander?'
Asthenes moved closer to him and arrogantly brandished his battle ax just a hairbreadth from his temple. Almiron twitched in fear, and conceded.
The rebels in the cluster amounted to 46 men. Everything else was dead. K'rar had won again. He had registered the single most deadly extermination of an army in all of history, including the history that he knew and others did not.