THE DOOR OPENED.
Nakor entered, shaking his head as he said, “No, no, no. This won’t do.”
Rupert Avery looked up from the plans unrolled before him. He was standing on the newly refinished floor of what had once been Barret’s Coffee House, watching workers repair the walls and roof above. “What won’t do, Nakor?” he asked.
Nakor looked up, surprised at being addressed. “What? What won’t do?”
Roo laughed. “You were the one muttering that something wouldn’t do!”
“Was I?” asked Nakor, looking surprised. “How odd.” Roo shook his head in amusement. “You, odd? Perish the thought.”
Nakor said, “Never mind. I need something.”
“What?” asked Roo.
“I need to get a message to someone.”
“Who?”
“Pug.”
Roo motioned Nakor away from the workers and said, “I think you need to start at the beginning.”
“I had a dream last night,” said Nakor. “I don’t have many of them, so when I do, I try to pay attention.”
“All right,” said Roo. “I’m with you so far.”
Nakor grinned. “I don’t think so. But that’s all right. There’s something going on. There are three pieces here, all seemingly separate, but they’re all the same thing. And they all look to be about one thing, but they’re about another. And after the odd thing that happened, I need to talk to Pug.”
Roo said, “I am no longer with you.”
“That’s all right,” said Nakor, squeezing Roo’s upper arm in a reassuring fashion. “Anyway, do you know where Pug is?”
“No, but I can ask at the palace. Someone there might. Don’t you have some sort of magic … trick you can do that would get Pug’s attention?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know if the damage would be worth it.”
“I don’t want to know,” said Roo.
“No, you don’t,” agreed Nakor. He looked around, as if noticing the work for the first time. “What is this, then?”
“No one’s seen the old owner since the fall of the city, so either he’s dead or not coming back. Even if he shows up, we’ll work out a deal.” Roo waved his hand around in an arc. “I’m trying to restore this exactly as it was before the war. I’m very fond of this place.”
“As you should be,” said Nakor with a grin. “You made a great deal of wealth here.”
Roo shrugged. “That’s part of it, but more importantly, this is where I made myself.”
“You’ve come a long way,” said Nakor.
“More than I could have imagined,” said the one-time death cell prisoner.
“How is your wife?”
“Getting large,” he said, motioning with his hands as he grinned.
“I heard a rumor that you arrived in town with Lord Vasarius of Queg as a prisoner.”
Roo said, “He wasn’t my prisoner.”
“Is it a good story?”
Roo said, “It’s a very good story.”
“Good, then you can tell me sometime, but first I need to ask about Pug.”
Roo put down his plans and said, “Tell you what. I could do with a bit of a stretch, so let’s walk over to the New Market Jail and visit with Dash Jamison.”
“Fine,” said Nakor, and they left the coffeehouse.
Everywhere they looked the city was slowly returning to the life they had known before the war. Each day another building was restored and another shop opened. More goods were coming into the city via the ferry outside of Fishtown, or over the caravan routes. Rumor had it a large caravan from Kesh would arrive within the week, the first since before the fighting. As war hadn’t formally been declared, trade between the Kingdom and Kesh was resuming. If the Wreckers Guild could continue raising ships, the harbor would be navigable the following spring, and fully restored within a year after that.
Moving through the crowd, Nakor said, “This city is like a person, don’t you see?”
“It was beat up pretty badly,” agreed Roo, “but it’s coming back.”
“More,” said Nakor. “There are cities that have no … I don’t know what to call it, an identity perhaps. A sense of being someplace different. Lots of those in the Empire. Very old cities with lots of history, but one day is much like the next. Krondor is a very lively place in comparison.”
Roo laughed. “In a manner of speaking.”
They reached the market and saw the New Market Jail, now sporting a fresh coat of paint and bars on all the visible windows. Entering the door, they found a harried-looking clerk, who looked up and said, “Yes?”
“We’re looking for the Sheriff,” said Nakor.
“He’s out in the market, somewhere, and will be back here, sometime. Sorry,” he said, returning to his paperwork.
Roo motioned for Nakor to move outside. They stood on the porch looking at the press of people in the market. Vendors had organized themselves into a rough series of aisles, with the outer edge of the market a sort of random pattern of blankets with goods laid atop, carts overloaded with produce, men carrying boards covered with trinkets, and the furtive denizens who offered less than legitimate wares. Roo said, “He could be anywhere.”
Nakor grinned. “I know how to get his attention.”
Before Nakor could step down from the porch, Roo put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Wait!”
“What?”
“I know you, my friend, and if you think you’re helping out by starting a riot so that every constable in the market comes running, think again.”
“Well, it would be effective, wouldn’t it?”
“Do you remember an old proverb?”
“Several. Which one do you have in mind?”
“The one about not using an axe to remove a fly from a friend’s nose.”
Nakor’s grin broadened, and he laughed. “I like that one.”
“Anyway, the point is, we should be able to find Dash without starting a riot.”
“Very well,” said Nakor. “Lead on.”
Roo and Nakor entered the press of humanity in the market. Roo knew that Krondor still had less than half its former population, yet it seemed even more crowded than before, mostly due to the largest portion of that population thronging to the market. While work was underway throughout the city, in every neighborhood, the business of daily life was confined for the most part to the market.
Roo and Nakor made their way past wagon after wagon with late spring and early summer harvest: squash, corn, grain in sacks, and even some rice up from above Land’s End. Fruit was offered and so was wine and ale. A number of prepared food vendors filled the air with aromas both savory and pungent. Nakor sneezed as they passed one vendor of pakashka, a bread pocket filled with meats, onions, peppers, and pods. “That man has so much spice on that meat my eyes want to pop!” he said, hurrying by.
Roo laughed. “Some people like their meats hot.”
“I learned a long time ago,” said Nakor, “that too much spice often masks bad meat.”
“As my father said,” returned Roo, “if there’s enough spice on it, it doesn’t matter if the meat’s bad.”
Nakor laughed. They turned the corner and saw a group of men standing before a large wagon being used as makeshift tavern. Two barrels had been set up at each end of the wagon, and a board was set atop them to serve as a bar. Two dozen men idly stood around, drinking and laughing. As Nakor and Roo drew near, they quieted down and watched the two men pass.
After they had moved down the street, Nakor said, “That’s odd.”
“What is?”
He motioned over his shoulder. “Those men.”
“What about them?”
Nakor stopped and said, “Turn around and tell me what you see.”
Roo did as he was asked, and said, “I see a bunch of workmen drinking.”
Nakor said, “Look closer.”
Roo said, “I don’t see …”
“What?”
Roo scratched his chin. “There’s something strange, but I can’t quite tell what it is.”
Nakor said, “Come with me,” and led Roo off the way they had been heading. “First of all, those aren’t workers.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re dressed like workers, but they’re not. They’re soldiers.”
“Soldiers?” said Roo. “I don’t understand.”
“You have more work than you have workers, correct?”
“Yes,” said Roo. “That’s true.”
“So what are workmen doing standing around at this hour of the day drinking ale?”
“I …” Roo stopped. After a moment, he said, “Damn. I thought they were simply having their midday meal.”
“That’s the second thing, the midday meal isn’t for another hour, Roo. And did you see how they stopped talking when we got too close? And how everyone around them gives them a wide berth?”
Roo said, “Yes, now that you point it out. So the question is, what are soldiers doing standing around dressed like workmen getting drunk in the morning?”
Nakor said, “No, that’s not the question. They’re standing around dressed like workmen getting drunk in the morning so that people will think they’re workmen getting drunk in the morning. The question is why are they trying to make people think they’re workmen—”
“I get the point,” interrupted Roo. “Let’s find Dash.”
It took them only a half hour to spy a band of men wearing the red armbands, and when they overtook them, they found Dash leading them. Dash told his men to continue their patrol, and said, “Nakor, Roo, what can I do for you?”
Nakor said, “Tell your great-grandfather I need to talk to him. But before that, there are men at a wagon bar over there” – he pointed to the general area where they had passed the wagon – “dressed like workmen, but they aren’t.”
Dash nodded. “I know. They are one of several bands like that throughout the market.”
“Oh?” said Roo. “You know?”
Dash said, “What sort of sheriff would I be if I didn’t?”
“The usual sort,” said Nakor. “Anyway, if you know about those men, we can talk about Pug.”
“What about him?”
“I need to see him.”
Dash’s eyes narrowed. “And you want me to do what?”
“You’re his great-grandson, how do you contact him?”
Dash shook his head. “I don’t. If Father had means, he never told me. Or Jimmy, else I’d know. Grandmother merely had to close her eyes.”
Nakor nodded. “I know that. Gamina could talk to him across the world at times.”
Dash said, “I thought you’d have the means.”
Nakor said, “I don’t see him that much, except when we’re both on the island. Maybe he’s there.” Nakor turned toward Roo. “Can I borrow a ship to go to Sorcerer’s Island?”
Roo said, “If you haven’t noticed, there’s a full-blown war going on out there!” He pointed toward the ocean. “A Free Cities ship might sail out there without being accosted, but a Kingdom ship is either going to run into Quegan pirates, Keshian pirates, or Fadawah’s pirates, unless you have a fleet. I might be tempted to lend you a ship, but I’m not lending you a fleet.”
Nakor said, “I don’t need a fleet. One ship will be fine.”
“And the pirates?”
“Not to worry,” said Nakor with a grin. “I have tricks.”
“Very well,” said Roo, “but what’s the problem?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you?”
“No,” said Roo. He looked at Dash, who shrugged.
“You have to see this,” said Nakor, setting off without bothering to see who was following.
Roo looked at Dash, who said, “We’d better see what this is all about.”
They hurried after Nakor, so as not to lose sight of him, and the little man walked briskly through the city, all the way to the eastern gate, the one which opened on the King’s Highway.
By the time they got to this destination, Roo was almost out of breath. “We should have ridden.”
“I don’t have a horse,” said Nakor. “I had a horse once, a beautiful black stallion, but he died. That’s when I was Nakor the Blue Rider.”
Dash said, “What did you want to show us?”
“That,” said Nakor, pointing to the statue he had erected a week earlier.
A dozen people were gathered before the statue looking and gesturing.
Dash and Roo left the road and moved to where they could see what the travelers were looking at. Roo asked, “What is that?”
Down the face of the statue, two red streaks could be seen below the eyes, marring the otherwise perfect face.
Dash pushed his way past the onlookers, and said, “It looks like blood!”
“It is,” said Nakor. “The statue of the Lady is crying blood.”
Roo hurried over and said, “It’s a trick, right?”
“No!” said Nakor. “I wouldn’t stoop to cheap tricks, at least not where the Lady is concerned. She’s the Goddess of Good, and … well, I just wouldn’t.”
“All right,” said Dash. “I’ll take your word for that, but what’s causing this?”
“I don’t know,” said Nakor, “but that’s nothing. You’ve got to see the other thing.”
He hurried off again. Dash and Roo exchanged glances, and Dash said, “I can’t wait to see what this other thing is.”
Again they followed the hurrying little man. Once more they entered the city gates, crossed through the eastern quarter of the city and back across the city toward the market. Only this time, they skirted the market to the south and headed over toward Temple Square.
Roo was laughing as he struggled to keep up with Nakor. “Why couldn’t he have two marvels across the street from one another?”
Dash said, “I have no idea.”
They reached the empty lot between the Temples of Lims-Kragma and Guis-wa. Clerics from several other temples were gathered nearby, peering at the crowd gathered before a tent that was erected there.
Where Nakor had found the tent, Dash had no idea. One day it wasn’t there, the next day it was – a huge pavilion with enough room under it to comfortably accommodate a couple of hundred people.
Dash firmly shoved his way through the crowd. Some people began to object until they saw the red armband. When they got to the entrance, Nakor and Roo a step behind, Dash stopped, and his mouth fell open.
“Gods,” said Roo.
Directly before them, his back toward them, in a meditative position, sat Sho Pi and a half dozen other acolytes of this new temple. In the center of the tent was the young woman, Aleta. Only she was neither standing nor sitting. She was in a position identical to Sho Pi’s: legs crossed, hands in her lap. And she was bathed in a nimbus of pure white light which seemed to emanate from within her, suffusing the tent with light. But she floated six feet above the ground.
Roo put his hand on Nakor’s shoulder, and said, “I’ll give you a ship.”
Dash whispered, “Why my great-grandfather? Why not ask the other temple clerics?”
“Because of that,” said Nakor.
Directly below the woman something hovered. Dash and Roo hadn’t noticed it when they first entered, because of the startling sight of the young woman afloat. But now they could see there was a blackness hanging in the air, a cloud of something vile and terrifying. A clear certainty struck both Dash and Roo at the same time: the light from the young woman was confining that black presence, keeping it penned up.
“What is it?” whispered Dash.
Nakor said, “Something very bad. Something I didn’t think I would see in my lifetime. And it’s something Pug must know about as soon as possible. The temple clerics will know about it soon enough, and they have an important part, but Pug must know about this.” He looked Dash in the eyes. “He must know soon.”
Roo grabbed Nakor by the arm. “I’ll take you out to Fishtown myself, right now. I’ll put you aboard a ship and you just tell the Captain where you want to go.”
“Thank you.” To Sho Pi, Nakor shouted, “Take care of things. And tell Dominic he’s in charge until I get back.”
If Sho Pi heard Nakor, he said nothing. As they left the tent, Roo said, “I didn’t think you went anywhere without Sho Pi going with you.”
Nakor gave a slight shrug. “That used to be true. But I am no longer his master.”
Roo dodged along the street. “When did that happen?”
Using his walking stick to point over his shoulder, Nakor said, “When she started floating in the air a couple of hours ago.”
“I see,” said Roo.
“And that’s what I meant.”
“What is what you meant?”
“When you asked me what was I talking about.”
Roo said, “When? I seem to be asking you what are you talking about nearly every time we meet.”
“When I first walked into the coffeehouse, and I said, ‘This won’t do,’ that’s what I was talking about. That blackness.”
Roo said, “I don’t know what it is, and I don’t think I want to know what it is, but ‘it won’t do’ is a rather mild way of putting things. Just looking at it scares me.”
“We’ll fix it,” said Nakor. “As soon as I reach Pug.”
They got to the docks and Roo only had to wait a few minutes to commandeer one of his boats. He had them row Nakor out to one of his fastest ships.
“What do you do if Pug’s not on the island?”
Nakor said, “Don’t worry. Gathis will find him for me. Someone on the island will.”
Nakor climbed a net ladder, and Roo shouted, “Captain! Shove off as soon as you can and take him where he wants to go!”
A disbelieving Captain said, “Mr. Avery! We’re only half unloaded.”
“That will have to do, Captain. Have you supplies for two more weeks at sea?”
“Aye, sir, we do.”
“Then you have your orders, Captain.”
“Aye, sir,” said the Captain. He shouted, “Get ready to cast off! Secure the cargo!”
Men started scrambling, and Roo instructed the boat crew to turn around and take him back to shore. As he reached the docks he saw the sails unfurling on his ship and he bid Nakor a fair voyage. With good winds he’d reach Sorcerer’s Island in a week or less, and knowing Nakor’s “tricks,” he was certain Nakor would see good winds on this voyage.
Reaching the docks, Roo couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was occurring in Krondor, it was now something far beyond his plans for wealth and power. The game that was about to unfold would be beyond the powers of even the richest man in the Western Realm, and that frightened him. He decided to let the workers leave early tonight and return to his estates. Karli was overseeing the rebuilding there, and Roo had a powerful desire to spend the night with his wife and children.
Jimmy reviewed the reports until his eyes couldn’t focus. He stood up and said, “I have to get some air.”
Duko looked up and said, “I understand. You’ve been reading since dawn.” Duko’s own command of the written King’s Tongue was improving, so he could now read along with Jimmy or someone else reading aloud, but the messages they were getting were too critical for him to trust he wasn’t making a mistake.
The net effect of this was twofold: first, Jimmy didn’t think he could see anything more than two feet away right now and, second, he was starting to develop an overall appreciation of the strategic situation along the Kingdom’s southern frontier.
Kesh had a plan. Jimmy wasn’t sure what it was, but he was almost certain that it required a large commitment of Kingdom forces in two places, in Land’s End and near Shamata to the east. At times he almost felt as if he understood what Kesh was going to do next, but he just couldn’t quite make it come together in his mind.
A rider came galloping toward the headquarters building and reined in his lathered horse. “Sir!” he said. “Messages from Shamata!”
Jimmy stepped off the porch and took the packet. He brought it inside and Duko said, “That wasn’t much time.”
“Messages from Shamata.”
Duko said, “More messages. You’d better read them.”
“The messenger was in a hurry,” said Jimmy as he unwrapped the package.
He read the single paper that was in the packet and said, “Gods! One of our patrols caught sight of a fast-moving Keshian column moving rapidly northeast through Tahupset Pass.”
“What’s the significance?” asked Duko.
“Damned if I know,” said Jimmy. He motioned for one of the orderlies in the room to bring over a particular map and spread it out before the Duke. “That’s a pass that runs along the western shore of the Sea of Dreams. It’s part of the old caravan route from Shamata to Landreth.”
“Why would the Keshians threaten Landreth, when we have a garrison in Shamata that can take them from behind?”
Jimmy stared into space and for a moment he didn’t answer, then he said, “Because they’re not going to Landreth. They just want us to think they are.”
“Where are they going?”
Jimmy studied the map. “They’re too far east to support any move at Land’s End.” His finger traced a line, and he said, “If they cut west here, they could come straight at us, but we’re too well defended with all the support units for Land’s End here.”
“Unless they want to draw us off before they push at Land’s End?”
Jimmy rubbed his tired eyes. “Maybe.”
Duko said, “Isolating us from Land’s End would make sense.”
“If they could, but they’d need more than a single cavalry column. Maybe if they were sneaking other units through …” Jimmy said, “I have a hunch, m’lord, and I don’t like it.”
“What?”
His finger traced lines across the map. “What if the column doesn’t go northeast to Landreth, but goes due north instead?”
“That would bring them here,” said Duko. “You said you didn’t think they were trying to draw us off.”
“They aren’t. If they go straight north from here” – his finger marked a spot on the map – “they’re fifty miles east of our usual patrol route.”
“There’s nothing out there,” observed the Duke.
“There’s nothing out there to defend,” replied Jimmy. “But if they keep moving north, they intercept a trail here that runs through the foothills. It’s part of an old caravan route from the dwarven mines at Dworgin that runs to here.” His finger stabbed at the map.
“Krondor?”
“Yes,” said Jimmy. “What if they’ve been slipping columns and soldiers through there for weeks? We just caught a glimpse of this one.” He reexamined the communiqué. “No word of banners or markings. The soldiers could be from anywhere within the Empire.”
“They hold us static with units we’re used to facing, then bring up units from farther down in the Empire …”
“And they take Krondor in a flash attack.”
Duko was on his feet. He headed to the door of the headquarters and was shouting orders just as the old soldier, Matak, got the door open.
“I want every unit ready to move in an hour!” He turned to Jimmy. “My orders instruct me to defend and protect the Southern Marches. So I’m keeping the garrison intact, but if you’re correct, the Prince will need every soldier we can spare back in Krondor.”
With efficiency born of experience, he had the entire garrison moving within minutes. “Jimmy, you will lead the column, and I hope you’re in time. For if you are correct, Kesh will strike at Krondor any time now, and if they take it …”
Jimmy knew probably better than Duko what that would mean. It would leave the Kingdom split in half. Greylock’s army would be locked in struggle south of Ylith, Duko’s army would be forced to hold against the aggressors at Land’s End, and the garrison at Shamata would be forced to hold a defensive position to prevent a strike past them at Landreth. If Kesh held Krondor, Greylock would lose all support by land from the south, as well as any chance of retreat. He would be caught between two hostile armies. And if the Armies of the West were lost …
Jimmy said, “I’ll have them on the road within the hour.”
Duko said, “Good, for if Krondor falls, the West is indeed lost.”
If that observation from one of the men attempting to overthrow the West just a year prior struck Jimmy as ironic, he was too busy to register it. He hurried back inside the headquarters and shouted to the nearest orderly, “Get all my things together, and get my horse out of the stable!” He grabbed a parchment and leaned over the writing desk. He almost pushed the scribe out of his seat.
Jimmy couldn’t very well order the Knight-Marshal of Krondor to do anything, nor could Lord Duko, but he could make a suggestion. A strongly worded suggestion. He wrote:
Reports indicate a strong likelihood of a major offensive against Krondor by Kesh, striking along old Dorgin mine road. Urge you detach whatever units can be spared and send them south by fastest means.
James, Earl of Vencar.
He grabbed a stick of sealing wax, heated it, and affixed his ring seal to it. He folded the parchment and inserted it into a message pouch.
The scribe whom he had displaced was sitting in his chair, watching the entire thing. Jimmy turned and said, “What’s your name?”
“Herbert, sir. Herbert of Rutherwood.”
“Come with me.”
The scribe glanced around the room at the other orderlies and scribes, but all returned only astonished or blank expressions.
He hurried past Duko, who was still watching over the unfolding spectacle of his entire command, save the resident garrison, getting ready to mobilize. Jimmy led the scribe down to the docks and hurried to the far end, where a Kingdom cutter lay at anchor.
He hurried up the gangplank, and when he reached the top shouted, “Captain!”
From the quarterdeck, a voice replied, “Here, sir!”
“Orders!” shouted Jimmy. “Take this man north.”
The scribe stood on the plank behind Jimmy. Jimmy reached around and grabbed him by the front of his tunic, hauling him forward and depositing him on the deck. Jimmy said, “Herbert, take this pouch. Sail north, find our army, and give this to Lord Greylock or Captain von Darkmoor. Do you understand?”
The scribe’s eyes were round and he couldn’t speak, but he nodded.
“Captain, get this man to Lord Greylock. He’s somewhere south of Quester’s View!”
“Sir!” replied the Captain, who turned and shouted, “Make ready to get underway!”
Jimmy left the stunned Herbert standing on the deck and ran from the docks back through the town of Port Vykor toward where he hoped his gear was ready. He was impatient to leave, and impatient to reach Krondor. His only brother was still in Krondor, and unless Greylock could get units south faster than Jimmy could go north, all that stood between Dash and destruction was a few palace guards, the city militia, and a barely repaired city wall.
Erik shouted, “Get into that breach!”
Catapults on both sides of the line fired rocks and bundles of burning hay. Large ballista bolts flew overhead and men lay screaming and dying.
The fighting had been underway since dawn the previous day, and night turned the scene hellish. The enemy had dug a series of trenches backed by a high wall, upon which platforms held war engines. Thousands had died building these fortifications, and the dead had been left outside the wall, unburied. The stench could be smelled miles before the first trench could be seen. The trenches had been filled with water, atop which oil had been floated. The oil had been fired and was sending a black blanket of smoke across the ground.
Earl Richard had reviewed the defensive position and had been forced to agree that the only approach was a direct one. Erik had supervised the construction of a set of massive wooden bridges, set up to roll over logs cut from the nearby woods. The first set of trenches had been difficult, because of the bow-fire from the wall above, but once he got his men underway, the trenches were quickly bridged. Soldiers frantically shoveled dirt across the top of the oil, banking the fires as the bridges were run across.
Fortunately for the Kingdom forces, when they reached the wall, they found a wooden stockade. It was brilliantly fashioned, and as stout as could be imagined, but being wood it could be cut. Men had died wielding axes at key locations, and when finally their work was done, chains with large iron bars had been thrown through the gaps. The iron bars snapped sideways when pulled back and the chains were tied to draft horses.
They had pulled down a twelve-foot-wide section of the wall, and the Kingdom forces were now pouring through. Erik waited for the huge gates across the highway to be opened so he could lead his cavalry through.
The gates suddenly shuddered, then swung open, and Erik ordered the advance. He kicked his horse, and the large chestnut gelding leaped forward and was up to a comfortable canter immediately.
Erik’s eyes watered from smoke and the stench of blood and death, but he could clearly see what lay on the other side of the gates. He frantically shouted for a halt.
Moving slowly forward, he saw his footmen were upon the battlements and locked in hand-to-hand fighting. “Dismount!” he shouted to his men.
They did, and Erik said, “Follow me!”
He ran through the gate and the men behind him saw what had made him stop the advance. Just behind the gate lay a pit ten feet deep, with sharpened wooden stakes. The gate was only six feet wider than the pit, three on each side, so men could move around the pit, but a horse could not pass.
Erik urged his men through the smoke and blinked tears from his eyes. “Where is all that smoke coming from?” he shouted.
“Over there,” came the familiar voice of Jadow Shati.
Erik looked where his old friend pointed, and said, “Damn.”
“Yes, man, damn and damn again.”
Four hundred yards up the highway, thousands of men were lined up in ranks, with officers and cavalry mounted to the flanks and rear. More catapults, mangonels, and ballistae were apparent. This was not a defensive position. This army was making ready to attack.
Suddenly Erik saw what was about to happen. He glanced at the wall through which he had fought and realized that if it were knocked down from behind it provided a massive bridge over the trenches on either side of the pit.
“Back!” shouted Erik, and the order was passed.
“Get back and get ready!” shouted Jadow.
Erik raced back to where his horse was waiting, and he leaped into the saddle. The sound of horns and the shout of men up the highway told him that at last he was going to join battle in the field with General Fadawah. And Erik’s only thought now wasn’t on victory, but rather on survival.