The dragon glided through the dawn sky, banking into a lazy spiral as she circled over the coastal city of Duran. Not many Motangans were awake and moving around, but thousands of tents dotted the city.
“There are more than a thousand Motangan soldiers here,” frowned Lyra, her arms wrapped lovingly around Marak as they sat on the back of the dragon.
“Easily,” agreed the Torak. “Vand is taking no chances of another attack on his supplies. If we even had the ships to attack, we would lose tens of thousands of men trying to retake the city. He is smart enough to understand that his armies must eat to fight.”
“There is no way that the three of us are going to attack Duran,” retorted Lyra. “That would not be adventure; it would be suicide.”
“Land on the Wall, Myka,” instructed the Torak.
The dragon broke out of the spiral and glided towards the Wall of Mermidion, a mammoth cliff that ran for hundreds of leagues and isolated the city of Duran from the rest of the Sakova. When Myka landed on the top of the Wall of Mermidion, Marak and Lyra slid off. The sun was just beginning to peek above the horizon and hundreds of Motangan soldiers began emerging from their tents.
“What exactly do you have in mind?” the Star of Sakova asked the Torak.
“If I remember your stories about the Scroll of Kaltara,” smiled Marak, “it states that the Wall of Mermidion was formed from the ground taken from the Wound of Kaltara.”
“You remember well,” nodded Lyra. “It was a demonstration of the power of Kaltara, and of His anger at the Sakovans for disobeying Him.”
“So the Wall of Mermidion was created by the hand of Kaltara?” asked Marak.
“Of course,” Lyra frowned as she wondered what Marak was alluding to.
“Then the Wall of Mermidion can once again be moved by the hand of Kaltara,” grinned Marak.
“You brought us here to pray?” puzzled Lyra. “We could have used the prayer chamber at Changragar. It is a holy place.”
“Prayer works wonders,” smiled Marak, “but that is not what I had in mind. You, Lyra, are the hand of Kaltara.”
Lyra’s eyes opened wide as she stared at the Torak. Her mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out.
“You are wiser than I gave you credit for, Torak,” chuckled the dragon. “This will indeed be an adventurous day.”
“You can’t be serious?” Lyra finally uttered. “Do you have any idea of the magnitude of power that you are requesting from me?”
“Do you have any appreciation for the powers bestowed upon you by Kaltara?” countered Marak with a grin.
“I value my powers greatly,” frowned Lyra, “but I don’t think such a thing is possible. I doubt that hundreds of mages could even accomplish it.”
“Kaltara has blessed you with more than just your magical powers,” declared the Torak. “He has also given you wisdom. Use your mind, Lyra. Look at the Wall upon which we stand and tell me what you see.”
“I see rock,” frowned Lyra, “massive amounts of rock. The cliffs are huge and towering.”
“Which consist of vertical strata,” hinted the Torak.
“As it should,” nodded Lyra. “It once sat at the bottom of the Wound of Kaltara.”
“The many layers of sediment compressed into rock layers over the ages have been lifted out of the Wound of Kaltara and stood upon their edges,” grinned the Torak. “Instead of layer upon layer of horizontal rock, we now have huge vertical slabs.
“And all I would have to do is separate a few layers of the strata,” the Star of Sakova nodded. “Gravity would do the rest. You are brilliant, Marak. Whole sections of the Wall of Mermidion could be sent tumbling down on Duran.”
“Could and should,” smiled Marak. “Let us bury forever the city that the Motangans have seized to further our destruction.”
“I will need your help,” Lyra said distractedly as she walked along one of the faults, staring at the small cracks in the surface that separated the various colored layers. “If we have any chance of making this happen, I will have to separate the layers along one of the faults slowly, or just the top section will crumble off.”
“Just tell me what you want me to do,” smiled Marak. “I am in your service.”
Lyra grinned and looked up at the Torak. “And I intend to keep you there,” she chuckled. “We will have to do this from above the Wall,” she continued seriously. “I think we can peel off the three outermost layers in one shot, but I will need to do it slowly. The deeper I go, the harder I will need to concentrate. Myka can guide me by flying along the section of the Wall that resides above Duran, and turning around when we reach the limits of the city. I will need you, Marak, to hold onto me tightly. I am not sure how I will feel when my power is drained. You will also have to decide when I have done enough.”
“Decide?” frowned Marak. “What do you mean?”
“I am only going to separate the layers a tiny amount,” explained Lyra, “otherwise the outer layer will just crumble a bit at a time. That would not suffice to destroy the entire city. In fact, it would probably alert the mages below of what we are up to. I have no idea what their powers are, and I do not want to find out today. When you feel that I have gone deep enough to cause the entire layer to fall at once, you need to direct force bolts into the crevice. Direct them as deep into the crevice as you can, and make them increasingly powerful as you go deeper.”
“So the first force bolts will only widen the crevice, but the more powerful ones will start the destruction down deeper?” asked Marak.
“Exactly,” nodded Lyra. “If the first ones are too powerful, you will blow off small chunks of the wall. That will not do what we want as the debris will merely fall to the bottom of the Wall. We need the whole wall to come down at once if we wish the destruction to reach the harbor.”
“I understand,” nodded Marak as he helped Lyra onto Myka’s back.
Marak scrambled up the dragon’s back and sat behind Lyra. He wrapped his arms tightly around her as Myka leaped into the air. The dragon climbed in altitude as she headed for a spot of the Wall where the limits of Duran ended. Myka banked sharply and turned around to make the first run over the selected section of the Wall of Mermidion. Marak watched with interest as Lyra concentrated and began casting her spell. Small stones popped into the air, and a loud cracking sound drifted up to them as a small fissure appeared in the Wall.
“Slower, Myka,” Lyra demanded.
The dragon’s wings began to beat faster, but her forward motion slowed.
“That is as slow as I can go without tossing you two about,” declared Myka. “We are practically at a walk.”
Lyra did not respond as she continued to concentrate on the fissure. The crack that Lyra created was barely large enough for one to stick the tips of their fingers in. When Myka reached the northernmost limit, she banked sharply and reversed course. Lyra concentrated on enlarging the fissure, both in width and depth.
“This is going better than I would have thought possible,” Lyra said softly. “The layers are most willing to be separated.”
“They have remained in their unnatural position for a long time,” smiled Marak as he watched the fissure widen.
After the second pass, the fissure was large enough to put your arm into. Marak could not see how deep it went. As Myka started the third pass, small chunks of stone tumbled from the Wall to the city below. Although the land directly below the Wall was mostly farmland and outside the limits of the city proper, shouts arose from the Motangans before the third pass was complete.
“We have been noticed,” announced Myka. “Soon the whole city will be gazing up at us.”
“I am almost done,” replied Lyra. “At the end of this pass, take us higher and more inland. That will keep the Motangan mages from being able to target us.”
Marak stared down at the crevice, which was now large enough for a person to slip into. He looked down at the city of Duran and saw thousands of people running around and pointing upward. Fireballs flew upwards, but they could not reach the dragon. Unexpectedly, lightning flashed out of the clear sky. The lightning bolt missed the trio, but it was close enough to make Marak’s skin tingle.
“Take us up and inland,” shouted Lyra as they reached the end of the third run.
Myka instantly obeyed as she banked sharply and climbed powerfully. More lightning flashes lit the morning sky, but they were not close enough to cause any harm.
“What now?” asked Marak as the dragon soared over the Sakova so far inland that Duran was no longer visible.
“We have to make one more run,” declared the Star of Sakova. “There will be a short change of plans, though. Marak, I want you to concentrate on the less powerful force bolts. Just widen the fissure for me. I will sit backwards and follow your force bolts with my own. Mine will be more powerful and deeper. Myka, I am going to want you to fly much faster this trip. Gauge your speed on how quickly Marak can throw his force bolts. He must toss one every hundred paces, but the faster we do this the better. Once, my force bolts hit the bottom of the crevice, the wall will start to fall. It is best if it all goes down together.”
“How quickly can you perform your magic, Torak?” quipped the dragon.
“How quickly can you fly, dragon?” retorted the Torak. “I am skilled with both hands. If I only need one every hundred paces, a fast gallop would not be too fast.”
“Fortunately,” snorted the dragon as it landed in a clearing in the Sakova, “I am not a horse. Arrange your bodies as you want them. Let me know when to start this final run.”
Marak unwrapped his arms, and Lyra slid past him. She turned around and sat facing the dragon’s tail.
“You will feel me falling,” frowned Lyra, “won’t you?”
“You have never had a safer seat,” chuckled the dragon. “Are you ready?”
Lyra said that she was ready and the dragon leaped into the air. Lyra instinctively placed her hands on the dragon’s scales and heard Myka laugh. The dragon banked slowly in a long low flight far to the south of Duran. When she reached the Wall of Mermidion, she turned to the north and skimmed the surface of the cliff.
“Here it comes,” announced the dragon. “I will go slightly higher and bank to one side so that you can use both hands. If I am going too fast, shout quickly.”
The dragon suddenly shot up a hundred paces and banked steeply to one side. Marak saw the fissure coming and readied himself for the attack. He started throwing force bolts as quickly as he could. Lyra could only see the crevice after they had passed over it. She directed her force bolts deep into the yawning fissure.
“Faster!” Lyra shouted as she saw the vertical rock layer begin to sway.
Lightning bolts flashed in the sky again, and the Motangans in Duran began to shout hysterically. Thousands of men raced to the waterfront as the Wall of Mermidion began to waver. Unfortunately for the Motangans, there were no ships in port to swim out to.
Myka suddenly leveled out of her bank and soared upward, her tail coming forward to secure Lyra. Lightning crackled throughout the sky as the Motangan mages attempted to extract revenge for their coming defeat, but they could not anticipate the dragon’s moves as Myka zigzagged across the sky. Myka leveled out at a high altitude as the lightning ceased. Marak looked back at Duran and wondered if they had failed. The Wall of Mermidion still stood over the city of Duran, although the Motangans continued to run around hysterically.
Then it happened. The Wall wobbled like a man unsteady from too much drink. As Marak watched, one end of the Wall leaned slowly outward to hang precariously over the city. The rest of the Wall followed, and suddenly the entire layer of rock fell outward as if pushed by a mighty hand. Millions of tons of rock slammed down on the city of Duran, and well into the sea beyond it. The air thundered in a tremendous reverberating clap as the ground shook for hundreds of leagues around. A huge cloud of brown dust rose skyward, blotting out the sun and casting the ancient city into a veil of darkness.
The dragon moved deftly to avoid the brown column of dust as she dropped altitude and circled back towards the city. Marak peered through the dimness to gaze upon the results of the mission.
“You would never believe that a city had once existed there,” Lyra said softly. “I feel sad that it has come to destroying our own cities to protect our people.”
“There is only one person alive who is from Duran,” replied Marak, “and I do not think he would disapprove. At least his kinsmen are now properly buried.”
“Along with thousands of Motangans,” added the dragon. “I must get out of this foul air.”
“Take us home,” Lyra said to the dragon, “but land somewhere first so I will not be forced to view your tail for the entire journey.”
* * *
The Motangan soldier saw the officer approaching the campfire. He grabbed a spare mug and poured some hot coffee into it. He walked a few paces towards the approaching officer and handed him the mug.
“This wasteland chills you at night,” smiled the soldier.
“No one said Fakara would be a paradise,” chuckled the officer. “Are you on sentry duty?”
“No,” the soldier shook his head. “I took my turn hours ago. I just couldn’t get back to sleep.”
“Well, there will be no time for you to catch up on your sleep now,” the officer said as he sipped the coffee and gazed up at the sky. “Dawn will be here soon.”
“I prefer the daylight,” shrugged the soldier. “We never had such dark nights on Motanga.”
“That’s because there isn’t a living sole for leagues around us,” replied the officer. “The nearest torch is probably back in Meliban. The campfires give off enough light to navigate the campsite.”
“I have no problem finding my way around the camp,” offered the soldier. “It is beyond our camp that I want to see.”
The officer turned and frowned at the soldier. “I do not tolerate cowards in my command,” snapped the officer. “You had better adjust your attitude.”
“I am not a coward,” balked the soldier. “I will fight anyone at any time, but I would still like to see my enemy when he strikes. What are we doing out here in the middle of nowhere? There is nothing here for us to guard.”
“We are following orders,” the officer retorted harshly. “That is all that you need to know.”
The soldier shook his head with disgust and sat back down next to the campfire. The officer turned away with scorn and stared into the dark of the night. After a while he calmed down and considered the soldier’s question. He knew the lad was a fearless fighter, but he could not stand the thought of cowardice in any of his men. Finally, he turned and looked at the soldier again.
“We were meant to create a corridor for the Emperor to pass through,” the officer said softly. “Now that that is over with, I suspect that we will be returning to Meliban.”
“Aren’t we going to track down the Fakarans?” asked the soldier.
“We will,” nodded the officer, “but we will regroup in Meliban first. If it is any consolation, Premer Doralin was against our being out here, too. He felt we would leave ourselves too exposed, but I guess he worries too much. All that matters is that we have accomplished our goal. Our next outing will be to battle with the cowardly Fakarans.”
“I look forward to that,” smiled the soldier. “I just feel like I am a sitting target out here.”
“Do not spread that feeling to others,” warned the officer. “For those who do not know you, it smells of cowardice.”
The soldier nodded silently and stared into his mug of coffee, ashamed that he had presented such an image to his officer. His eyebrows rose curiously as he watched the coffee in the mug vibrate. At first he thought his hands might be shaking so he placed the mug on the ground and continued to stare at it. The light from the campfire was not strong, so he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He leaned forward and continued staring into the mug.
“Do they have earthquakes here in Fakara?” asked the officer.
The soldier’s head snapped up, and he stared at the officer. “Why do you ask?” he questioned.
“Can’t you feel it?” inquired the officer. “The ground is rumbling as if it wants to break free of itself. I have only felt that feeling once before, and it was a minor earthquake at the south end of the island.”
“That explains the coffee,” nodded the soldier. “I thought I was going crazy.”
The officer ignored the soldier’s remarks as he stared into the darkness. The rumbling grew even greater, and the officer became clearly agitated.
“Sound the alarm!” shouted the officer.
“What is it?” the soldier yelled as he abandoned his mug and leaped to his feet.
“Just sound the alarm,” snapped the officer.
The soldier raced to the central campfire and began ringing the bell that hung from a post. Soldiers all over the campsite shouted and began crawling out of their tents. The soldier raced back to the officer’s side.
“Do you think we will be swallowed up in an earthquake?” asked the soldier.
“I do not know what it is,” replied the officer as the ground began to vibrate beneath his feet, “but it is not something to sleep through. It almost sounds like…”
The officer stopped talking and shook his head in disbelief.
“Sounds like what?” prompted the soldier.
“It sounds like horses pounding the plains,” the officer said softly, “but it couldn’t possibly be.”
“Why not?” frowned the soldier. “The Fakarans ride horses. Maybe they are charging towards us.”
“It is too many horses,” the officer shook his head as the dawn began to lighten the sky somewhat. “It sounds like a full mounted army would sound as they galloped past the reviewing stand, but that is because of your closeness to them. I still see nothing out there. It must be something else.”
“It’s not something else,” shouted the soldier as he pointed frantically. “Fakarans!” he yelled to warn the others.
The officer stood frozen for a moment as he stared in disbelief. The charging horses were still quite distant, but they spread from left to right as far as the officer could see.
“Ready archers on the eastern front!” shouted the officer. “We are under attack!”
Shouts tore through the encampment as Motangan soldiers scattered, grabbing their bows and quivers and taking up positions along the eastern perimeter of the camp.
“Ready archers on the western front!” came a distant shout.
“Find that fool and silence him,” the officer snarled to the soldier beside him. “The last thing we need right now is confusion. I will not tolerate a man in my service that doesn’t know east from west.”
The soldier turned and raced towards the voice that was still calling for archers to guard the western front. He zeroed in on another officer and raced towards him.
“The enemy is coming from the east,” panted the soldier as he slid to a halt next to the officer. “You are confusing the men.”
The officer turned and glared at the soldier. Unexpectedly, the officer’s hand came up swiftly and slapped the soldier’s face. The soldier stumbled backwards and tripped over the corner of a tent. He fell to the ground and rolled painfully over the tent stake. The officer continued to rally troops to the western front and the soldier shook his head in disbelief. As he struggled to his feet, wondering what to do, he saw the Fakarans charging. Fear gripped the soldier as he realized that they were going to be attacked from both fronts simultaneously.
The soldier picked up his bow and moved away from the officer who had hit him. He nocked an arrow as the other archers were firing. He saw several horses tumble to the ground and other riders fall from their mounts, but there was no victory cry from the Motangan soldiers. A hail of arrows flew into the Motangan ranks as the horsemen continued to advance. The soldier stood with his arrow nocked, frozen by his fear. The huge warhorses charged with frightening speed as their riders sent arrow after arrow into the Motangan ranks. The Motangan archers killed entire lines of horsemen, but others immediately took their places, leaping over their fallen brothers. The charge continued unabated.
The soldier watched as the vanguard of the Fakarans dropped their bows and drew their swords, the bows swinging wildly from the leashes that attached them to the horses. The horsemen shouted as they met the Motangan line, cold steel slicing into soldiers as they charged through the encampment. The soldier turned as a horseman rode past him. He let his arrow fly, but it missed its target. He fumbled in his quiver for another arrow as his eyes followed the horseman through the encampment. His eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped as he saw the Fakarans charging through the camp from the other side. He dropped his bow and ran, knowing that none of the Motangans would survive to see the rising sun.
The soldier ran south as fast as his legs would carry him. Fakaran horsemen crisscrossed the encampment, slaying the Motangans with every pass. Horses were everywhere, trampling tents and bodies as they swept through the camp. The war shouts rang loudly from every direction and soon all of the Motangans were fleeing for their lives. The soldier zigzagged southward, dodging the attackers. He never even thought about grabbing for his sword. His only thought was to leave the area of the attack, but the charge of the Fakarans was endless.
The soldier felt the blade slice into his shoulder, throwing him off his stride. He tripped and stumbled to the ground, the searing pain threatening his consciousness. He rolled on the ground in agony, and that is when he saw his fate. Fear closed his throat as he saw the Fakaran horse charging towards him. There was no time to roll out of the way of the horse or get to his feet. There was only time to close his eyes and await death.
* * *
Harmagan reined in his horse next to the Kheri tribe leader. He sheathed his sword and grinned broadly.
“It feels great to back on the plains,” Harmagan laughed loudly. “These Motangans die like villagers.”
“They did this time,” Yojji agreed, “but do not expect it to remain that way. The Motangans are well trained. We were fortunate to catch them sleeping. The next battle will not be as easy now that they have been bloodied.”
“I will keep that in mind,” grinned the Jiadin leader. “What do we do next? Do we attack some more?”
“Not today,” Yojji shook his head. “Your men may resume wearing their red scarves now. Return to the west and await a message. The free tribes will return to the east.”
“Why not continue attacking?” asked Harmagan. “We have over a hundred thousand warriors together. We can kill them all.”
“I seriously doubt it,” Yojji shook his head. “On these plains they can see forever. Their archers will exact too great a toll on our forces. The only reason we succeeded as well as we did was because of the darkness and the element of surprise. We have lost both of those for the rest of today. Return to your camp and make sure you post watchers. The Motangans will be looking for our encampments.”