Emperor Vand bowed low and backed out of the special room in the temple at Vandegar. He hesitated for a moment at the doorway as his eyes roved over the magnificent vista of towering volcanoes. A strong odor of sulfur filled the air, and loud crackling sounds emanated from one of the lava flows. He cast his eyes at the great demon one last time before turning and exiting the room.
Vand strode purposefully from the special room to the throne room of the temple. A dozen black-cloaked mages milled about the room in quiet conversation. They fell to silence as the emperor entered. Vand walked to his throne, which was flanked by six black demons, their stony faces masks of hatred.
“Get me Tzargo,” demanded the emperor.
One of the mages slipped out of the room and returned shortly with the head premer. Tzargo walked towards the throne and fell to one knee, his head bowed in reverence.
“Rise,” commanded the emperor. “Tell me what is happening with the invasions.”
Premer Tzargo rose and stared at the emperor. He dared not let his eyes wander to the faces of the demons for it was said that such a single glance invited a most horrible death.
“There has been little word from the Sakova,” reported the premer, “but the war in Khadora is going well, although slower than we expected. Here in Fakara, Cardijja’s men are following the Meliban River to the east. They have not yet encountered any opposition.”
“Such a rosy picture you paint,” sneered the emperor. “Why has there been no word from the Sakova?”
Tzargo’s left eye twitched at hearing the emperor’s words and the tone in which they were uttered. Something unpleasant was about to arrive. The premer hoped that the emperor’s wrath could be deflected onto someone other than himself.
“I am not sure what Doralin is up to,” reported Tzargo. “In violation of his orders, he has failed to report in regularly. I would like permission to replace him. He has become undependable.”
“Is Doralin alone in his failure to report?” asked the emperor, ignoring Tzargo’s request to replace the Premer of Teramar.
“No,” Tzargo replied nervously. “There are some major problems with the air tunnel spell. While we have regular reports from Premer Shamal and Premer Cardijja, we have been unable to contact Premer Doralin or any city on Motanga. Cardijja recently sent three ships to Vandamar in an attempt to discover the problem with the spell, but he has lost contact with them. He also sent ships to Duran for supplies, but the ships returned empty. They have been unable to even locate the city.”
“You are failing me, Tzargo,” scowled the emperor. “You hold a prestigious position that many would kill to obtain. The enemy is making inroads on my empire, and you are totally unaware of it. Why is this?”
Premer Tzargo’s hands began trembling, and he quickly clasped them behind his back. Sweat began to form on his brow.
“I am not aware of any enemy successes,” Premer Tzargo said softly. “I have our mages working on the problems with the air tunnel, but they seem to be incapable of discovering its flaw.”
“There is no flaw in the air tunnel spell,” declared Vand. “Have you even considered the ramifications of that?”
“But,” frowned Tzargo, “that makes no sense. Why can’t the mages contact anyone then? Do you suspect that our mages are duplicitous?”
“Hardly,” sneered the emperor. “I expected better from you, Tzargo. You disappoint me greatly.”
“I apologize for my failings,” replied the premer. “My devotion to you has never wavered. Whatever my failings, I vow to correct them immediately. Tell me what must be done to please you.”
Emperor Vand glared at the premer for a long time. The room was absolutely silent as no one dared to draw attention to himself. When the emperor finally spoke, it was like the loud crack of a whip breaking the silence.
“Doralin has left the war,” the emperor spat. “He allowed his forces to be bested by a mere girl. Alamar has fallen, and Duran no longer exists. The elves have infested the Island of Darkness, led by the elven king your men allowed to escape from the prison he was assigned to. Explain to me how you have not failed me.”
Premer Tzargo’s mind whirled with the emperor’s words. Suddenly the real reason for the failure of communications became clear. A third of the Motangan army was gone, and there was no longer a source for precious supplies. The burning of the fields in Khadora suddenly took on a more ominous meaning than the mere elimination of spoils.
“As I thought,” scowled the emperor. “You have no excuse. I am changing your invasion plans, Tzargo.”
“Of course,” nodded the premer. “What will you have me do?”
“I want Shamal’s forces to move quickly to lay waste to Khadora,” explained Vand. “I want Sintula, Chantise, and Khadoratung totally destroyed, and I want it done now.”
“Shamal’s men are currently advancing on the third trench,” reported the premer. “Once they get past that obstacle, they will be upon Sintula quickly. Chantise and Khadoratung will be crushed soon.”
“That is not soon enough for my liking,” retorted the emperor. “Abandon your slow and cautious route. Use the mages to destroy the third trench instead of slowly trying to overwhelm the enemy.”
“Such methods will be costly,” Tzargo warned as he felt a measure of relief over the change in topic. Battle strategy was something he felt at ease discussing. “Using the mages so early in the battle will put them in harm’s way.”
“Then they must cast their spells quickly,” shrugged the emperor. “Whatever their losses, I want those armies here in Fakara. Crush Khadoratung and the country will be ruined. We can return later to mop up the fragments of their civilization.”
“You want Shamal’s force here in Fakara?” puzzled the premer. “Cardijja has faced little opposition after the initial surprise attack. He hardly needs more men to find and defeat the Fakarans”
“Cardijja is to stop searching for the Fakarans,” stated Vand. “The key to our victory now rests in destroying Angragar. Cardijja is to continue eastward to the coast. He will find the ancient city and destroy it totally. Shamal’s forces will search western Fakara after he crushes Khadoratung. Between the two armies, we will find the capital of our enemy. When Angragar is reduced to rubble, all opposition against us will cease.”
“I understand,” Tzargo nodded. “Should I make plans for the retaking of the Island of Darkness?”
“That is unnecessary,” Vand shook his head. “My time of exile is over. Vandegar will become the center of the world once again. Find Angragar, Premer Tzargo. Find it and destroy it. Your life depends upon it.”
With a wave of the emperor’s hand, Premer Tzargo was dismissed.
* * *
Marshal Berman stood on a ridge with a good view of the third trench. He watched as the Motangan archers pressed forward to the edge of the ridge and knew that the time to start an orderly retreat had arrived. He was disappointed that the enemy army had advanced so quickly, and he knew that before the day was done, the first elements of the Motangans would be across the trench. He called for a mage. The woman came forward without delay to receive instructions.
“Have the mages begin retreating,” ordered the marshal. “Inform the infantry to prepare to follow the mages. Make sure that they know that they are not to cross the rivers until they reach the city. The only bridges left standing over the rivers are at Sintula. Also,” he continued, “make sure that the cavalry commanders are informed of what we are doing. This will be a major battle for them, as the retreat to Sintula will be much longer than the other retreats.”
The mage nodded and began issuing commands through her air tunnel. Marshal Berman turned and saw the commotion to his rear. He nodded in satisfaction that the retreat was beginning. When he turned his attention back to the trench he was surprised to see the enemy archers retreating. His brow crinkled in thought as he wondered what the Motangans were up to.
“Belay those orders,” Marshal Berman said to the air mage. “Something is different with the Motangan approach to this trench. I wonder what they are up to.”
The Khadoran marshal watched with curiosity as the Motangan archers drew back. He subconsciously heard the air mage sending the messages out, but he tuned them out as he watched the battle cease. The Khadoran archers were left with no targets to aim at, as the Motangans pulled back out of range. Unexpectedly, a large swarm of black cloaks appeared at the vanguard of the Motangans.
“What they are up to is magic,” said a female voice beside him.
Marshal Berman glanced to his left to see who was talking. He saw an elderly woman, but not the air mage that he had just given directions to.
“You should remain with the rest of the mages,” cautioned Marshal Berman. “This is too dangerous a location for you unless you are called for.”
The old mage ignored the marshal and wove an air tunnel. He frowned at her as she began issuing orders to the mages. He listened as she ordered the mages to advance to the front lines.
“What are you doing?” snapped Marshal Berman. “I do not want our mages in harm’s way. Cancel those orders, or I shall have you removed from this ridge.”
“I am doing what the Torak has commanded,” the woman replied, unafraid of the marshal’s wrath. “I am Glenda. We are about to be attacked magically. I strongly advise you to withdraw your archers immediately. The area around the trench is about to become a magical killing field.”
Marshal Berman immediately turned to the other air mage who had been handling the orders to retreat. He marched towards her in a sour mood.
“I want to contact the emperor immediately, “ he snapped. “Find out who this Glenda is and if he has issued orders to her to countermand my commands.”
“Glenda is the emperor’s mother,” the air mage said softly as she wove an air tunnel to Sintula. “She is in command of the mages.”
Marshal Berman frowned as he heard the air mage request the emperor. Marak’s voice came through a moment later.
“What is happening?” asked the Torak.
“I am not sure,” admitted Marshal Berman. “Motangan mages are coming forward. A woman mage is issuing orders that countermand my own. I understand that she is your mother. Is this true?”
“My mother is called Glenda,” answered the Torak. “If she is issuing orders, obey them. She must think a magical attack is coming or she would not have said anything.”
“Why was I not informed of being replaced?” asked the marshal.
“You have not been replaced, Marshal Berman,” replied the Torak. “I have complete faith in you. Glenda was told to watch for magical attacks and move quickly to counteract them. She has my complete faith. Listen to her and work with her. She will relinquish command when the magical nature of the attack is over.”
“But she is ordering the mages to the front lines,” protested Berman. “Many of them will be killed.”
“That may be so,” conceded the emperor, “but Glenda would not act unless your troops are in dire danger. Her instructions were to intervene only in the case of an emergency. I suspect the third trench is about to fall, and fall in a disastrous way. Prepare for a swift retreat.”
The air tunnel was dropped at the emperor’s end. Marshal Berman stood fuming for a few seconds before ordering the air mage to follow him. He returned to stand at Glenda’s side.
“I am sorry for this,” Glenda said softly, “but magical warfare is something your men are not prepared for.”
“What are the Motangans going to do?” asked the marshal.
“I am not sure,” admitted Glenda, “but Premer Shamal has gone to great lengths to protect his mages, as you have. Now he is sending them forward. It is an ominous move. I strongly suggest that you withdraw your men from the trench. Do not let them remain where the enemy expects them to be. We do not know the power of Motangan mages.”
“But our mages will be decimated without my archers,” objected the marshal.
“Our mages are warriors just like your men, Marshal,” countered Glenda. “They will not expose themselves to unnecessary harm, but they will fight to the death for Khadora. Withdraw your archers quickly.”
Marshal Berman stared at the approaching black cloaks for a moment before nodding and turning to the other air mage.
“Order the archers to retreat five hundred paces,” he ordered. “Have the infantry move forward and use shields to protect the archers. Get our cavalry commanders to move to the sidelines and prepare to charge towards the center in front of the infantry in case of a breaching of the trench.”
The air mage nodded and began to issue orders through her air tunnel. Marshal Berman watched his entire army burst into motion. The archers moved back, and the infantry moved forward. The mages moved past them all to become the front lines of the Khadoran army. The Motangan black cloaks continued to advance. They eventually halted at a point that was just outside the range of the archers.
“If we call the archers forward,” Marshal Berman said softly to Glenda, “we could strike a few of them down before they retreated.”
“Not yet,” Glenda shook her head. “I fear the trench will soon become a death zone. We must wait for the black cloaks to commit themselves. Once they are into their spell casting, our mages will attack. You may want to bring the archers forward at that time, but I am not sure.”
Marshal Berman nodded as his fury at being overridden by Glenda began to fade. He watched the enemy with curiosity as forces on both sides of the trench moved to follow orders. He wondered what had changed the Motangan approach to crossing the trenches.
Unexpectedly, the ground became to tremble. Marshal Berman gazed at the black cloaks as they raised their arms and brought them down again. Each reiteration caused the ground to rumble with more ferocity. Within moments the trench began to crumble. Large rocks broke out of the earth and vibrated towards the trench. Loose dirt flowed like rivers from both sides of the trench towards the gaping gash in the surface of the ground.
“They are causing the trench to be filled!” Marshal Berman shouted with alarm as he watched boulders unearthed and sent rolling towards the trench.
“Very clever,” nodded Glenda. “The Motangans could then rush across the land where the trench once existed and rout our troops. I have other ideas.”
Glenda issued terse commands into an air tunnel and then returned to watching the drama unfold. Marshal Berman looked questioningly at the emperor’s mother, but she did not notice, her gaze intent on watching the black cloaks.
“How can you stop this?” Marshal Berman asked as the ground began to vibrate so severely that the horses were becoming spooked.
“Patience,” Glenda replied softly. “We must let the Motangans continue to the point where they dare not leave the job unfinished. If we attacked now, the black cloaks would merely retreat. If we wait until their success is only a moment away, they will try to weather our attack to finish the task at hand. That is when they will die.”
The ground rumbled more severely, and Marshal Berman saw his men struggling to maintain their balance. The trench was rapidly being filled by the debris flowing towards it. He was about to open his mouth to protest Glenda’s delay when he noticed that something was different. While the rocks were still rolling rapidly towards the trench on the Khadoran side, the debris on the Motangan side was slowing down.
“Now you will witness why our mages have been kept near the front lines,” smiled Glenda. “It was just for a moment like this.”
Suddenly the air was filled with rocks and dirt. Everything that had been rolling towards the trench became suddenly airborne. Pebbles and boulders alike flew towards the black cloaks with amazing speed. The debris slammed into the casting Motangan mages with a deadly velocity. Bodies were broken like rag dolls and tossed to the ground to slide backwards into the Motangan army. The black cloaks who survived the initial impact worked feverishly to complete the collapsing of the trench, but a second wave of rocks was already heading towards them. A cloud of dust rose over the Motangan side of the nearly filled trench, blocking the marshal’s view of the black cloaks. Glenda ordered another wave of missiles to be sent towards the Motangans and then turned to Marshal Berman.
“I think you should order the retreat now,” Glenda said. “I will keep a few mages here to delay the Motangans. It will be a while before they can see clearly, so I doubt that they will charge towards us, but they will have an easy time crossing the trench when they do come. You will need a good head start to reach the bridges at Sintula.”
“You are an amazing woman, Glenda,” smiled Marshal Berman. “I am sorry for doubting you.”
“Your doubts were understandable, Marshal,” smiled Glenda. “I discussed Marak’s desire to keep our role secret, but I think his decision was wise in the end. We had no idea what the black cloaks would try, so there was no definitive plan for us. I am sorry that you were kept in the dark.”
“I am concerned about some of your mages staying while the rest of us retreat,” replied Marshal Berman. “I do not like abandoning them.”
“Leave us a dozen horses,” Glenda said. “We will keep the air thick with dust and send a few volleys of rocks into it to keep the Motangans cautious. When one of them sticks his head out to see what is going on, we will mount up and ride like the wind. Your cavalry will swallow us up and protect us.”
“So you will be one of those staying?” frowned the marshal. “I would not like the emperor to hold me accountable for his mother’s death or injury.”
“Put your mind at ease, Marshal,” replied Glenda. “I was chosen for this position by my fellow mages, not my son. My decisions are my responsibility, not yours. Go quickly. I am not sure how long we can hold the trench.”
* * *
“Marshal Berman’s forces are heading towards the city,” the Torak announced to the Lords’ Council. “It is time to ready your armies. The battle for Sintula will commence in a couple of days.”
“So soon?” frowned Lord Patel. “I though we would have a few more days before the trenches were compromised.”
“Things are happening quickly around the world,” the Torak responded. “Lyra has accepted the surrender of Premer Doralin. The war in the Sakova has ended.”
“Fantastic,” grinned Lord Chenowith. “Will the Sakovans be coming to help us in Khadora?”
“That is not practical,” the Torak shook his head. “By the time the Sakovans get here, this war will be decided one way or the other. Besides, they have eighty thousand Motangans to accommodate. They cannot leave that many of the enemy alone in the Sakova. The Island of Darkness has also fallen.”
“The elves?” asked Lord Patel.
“Yes,” nodded Emperor Marak. “King Avalar’s people have taken all four cities on the island. They have also freed thousands of slaves, both human and elven. Now it is our turn to halt the Motangans.”
“Or at least slow them down,” stated Lord Kiamesh.
“We will do the best we can,” replied the Torak, “but Sintula is an important battle for us. If the Motangans reach Chantise, Khadora is doomed.”
“Why?” asked Lord Jamarat. “Khadoratung is the capital. We should not admit defeat before the Imperial Valley is lost.”
“If the Motangans cross the river at Chantise,” explained the Torak, “they will be unbeatable. Here at Sintula we have them penned in by the convergence of the two major rivers. They will lose many men trying to cross the rivers. Between Sintula and Chantise they will be boxed in between the Three Sisters and the Bear Mountains, but once they cross the river at Chantise, we can no longer constrain them. They can march down the entire width of the Imperial Valley and we will be helpless to stop them.”
“So you are saying that we only have two chances to destroy the Motangans?” asked Lord Quilo.
“Here at Sintula,” nodded the emperor, “and again between here and Chantise. Those are the only two places that we can achieve victory. We cannot survive if we are forced to face the full breadth of the Motangan army.”
“Then we will halt them here at Sintula,” Lord Faliman said confidently.
“Hopefully,” frowned the emperor, “but let’s not get overconfident. I want the evacuation of Sintula started immediately. Use every boat and barge in the city. I want none of them left for the enemy.”
“What about using the barges for our troops if we have to evacuate?” asked Lord Patel.
“They will not be needed for our troops,” Marak shook his head. “We will retreat slowly by land.”
“Slowly?” frowned Lord Kiamesh. “You want the Motangans to follow us?”
“Most definitely,” grinned Emperor Marak. “I do not think we can possibly save Sintula from the Motangan hordes, but I think we can defeat them before they reach Chantise. I have several surprises in store for them.”
“Are you keeping these surprises from us?” frowned Lord Chenowith. “I thought we were trusted.”
“You are all trusted,” replied Emperor Marak. “My plans will not be kept from you, but I am still refining them. Let me tell you what I have in mind. Perhaps you will have some ideas to make the trap even better. Lord Faliman, start the evacuation of citizens from Sintula. As soon as you return, we will discuss our plans for the Three Sisters.”