Bill leaned heavily against a tree. His body ached, and he was ready to drop from exhaustion. Just a moment longer, he thought. Then I must return to my post.
Campfires dotted the valley below Bill. The sky turned crimson as dusk settled across the land. He often dreamed of Mary. Thoughts of her carried him down each winding path and filled each mountain hollow. This evening she was especially close as he gazed at the serene beauty of the evening sky.
I wonder how she is tonight, Bill pondered. Has she had the baby? Is it a boy or a girl? What did she name it?
Fading hues of color tinted the western sky. Campfires became beacons in the darkness. Bill stirred. He and Mary had loved this time of day when they could lay their daily routines aside and enjoy each other and the dying day. Now, each setting sun took them farther apart.
A twig snapped in the darkness, and Bill realized his folly: he’d abandoned his post. He started to turn, and then something slammed into his shoulder. It burned like a hot poker. His left arm dropped to his side, and his shield fell to the ground.
Tears of pain and frustration rendered him useless as men crept into the clearing. Gasping, he stumbled and bumped his shoulder on a tree. New shards of pain wakened him to the growing danger. Drawing his blade, he mustered enough strength to shout one word of warning to those in the valley below. “Attack!” His sword sliced the darkness, rending a hole in the onslaught.
John felt tension in the air. Danger seemed to lurk in every nook and corner. They had made camp early today, for tomorrow they crossed into Jeshemon. A bony ridge of rock was all that separated the once proud kingdoms.
Jeshemon and Geba were only two of the many kingdom states that had fallen to the fierce and assertive aggression of Jabin and his confederation. Now they were all one, and they were at war with Amity.
John withdrew from the campfire. He had no desire to chat or tell stories tonight. Still, it was comforting to hear his men joke and tell tall tales back and forth.
Resting in the shadows, John thought of the long march from Green Meadow and the fierce battle at Watershed. For days Jabin had hurled his forces against those of Gaff and Stafford—to little or no avail.
But one morning the armies of Amity and Emancipation had awakened to find no enemy camped against them. Their initial euphoria had given way when it was discovered that about half the enemy had withdrawn to the east, and the other half north. The army had to divide to pursue both factions. Gaff had gone east and John north.
The days since had been dreadful. Every tree or bush seemed to hold enemy fighters. Often they would strike unseen and then disappear into the hills. These hit-and-run tactics were exhausting, far more so than the outright venom of a frontal assault. Every step was dogged with fear.
Then they came to Deorn, a city built squarely across their path. Its high armored wall blocked the road upon which they traveled. It had cost many lives and days of bone-breaking labor to conquer the stronghold.
While laboring at Deorn, news came that Gaff had taken Hesron and Lashish, and his campaign had turned north.
When Deorn finally fell, everyone was dismayed to find that so few had denied progress to the army of Amity. The cost had been large in lives, time, and morale.
Drought had come to the Mountains of Despair. The forest and meadows had become a tinderbox. John warily eyed the campfires all around him. Extreme caution had to be taken to keep the fires from spreading. A fire among the troops could be far more devastating than an enemy assault.
Suddenly John sat upright. He heard a scuffle in the rocks above him. “Douse the fire,” he hissed, and an unseen boot kicked dirt over the feeble flames.
“Attack!” It was Bill’s unmistakable voice directly above him. John looked left and right. Men were already scrambling up the rugged slope.
John surveyed the hill. The rocks were sharp and the incline steep, but he grabbed a protruding bush and pulled. Scraping his knees, cutting his hands, and bruising himself all over, John finally attained the summit. In the darkness, John heard rather than saw Bill fighting for his life. He could hear the angry hiss of Bill’s blade, slashing left and right, plunging forward, only to recoil and strike again. Drawing his own blade, John heard a cry and saw shadows turn to flee. Swords in hand, the men of Amity took up the chase.
Bill staggered. One moment he was fighting for his life, and the next, his enemies were fleeing. He was confused until he saw the familiar helms of Amity dart past him. Help had come.
Trying to catch his breath, Bill suddenly felt nauseous and weak. He closed his eyes in an effort to stop his world from spinning. Opening them again, he saw a shadow move in the darkness, and he caught the faint glitter of steel. A burning pain seared his left arm. Bill raised his blade and lunged at the shadow. He felt the blade twist in his hand as he fell, and he remembered no more.
Archers lined the rim of Jeshemon Valley. Arrows fell thick upon fleeing shadows as they melted into the brush and trees below. With a great shout, John and his men leaped down the rocky crag in a fierce counterattack.
Amity’s brutal assault caused Jabin’s men to flee in confusion. Deeper into the forest the battle raged. From tree to tree, men cut down the enemy in the dark hollows of the forest.
A broad meadow opened before the onslaught. Archers took positions behind trees along the edge of the glade and cut down those who fled before them. An eerie light twinkled in the darkness, not in one location, but all across the meadow. By some unspoken word, light sprang from a myriad of torches.
“Fire,” John breathed. “I can’t believe they would use fire!” Yellow flames licked hungrily at the tall, dry grass. John watched in horror as hundreds of tiny lights suddenly roared into a wall of flame.
A breeze gathered at his back as the fire drew a tremendous breath and then rushed toward Stafford and his men with alarming speed.
“Retreat!” John shouted over the roar of the flames. It was agonizing to realize his folly. He was trapped! The enemy had feigned retreat only to box John’s entire army between a rocky cliff and a raging furnace.
“Retreat!” John yelled again. He could hear fiendish laughter beyond the flames. The eerie light cast dancing shadows between the trees.
“Spare us, heavenly Father,” John prayed as he raced into the forest. A strange moan caught his attention, and he slowed for a moment to understand its significance. “Wind!” He was horrified. He had seen fire race through treetops faster than any deer could run. “We are doomed!” he wept. Tears of frustration mingled with his sweat.
Suddenly John stopped. The breeze was cool and was growing in strength, but more importantly, it was in his face. Cold and tempestuous, a sudden gale unleashed itself upon the earth.
John forgot about the fire as the ground shook and trees bowed before something far greater. A large branch snapped from a tree nearby and narrowly missed John’s head as it sailed by. He crawled behind a tree trunk and pulled his cloak tight around his head. He struggled to breathe as sand, twigs, and leaves filled the air.
“Oh, Lord, be merciful,” John prayed as the wind ripped viciously through the trees. “Be with my men,” he cried. “They have left home and family. They have faced the terror of foreign armies, but who can stand in Your presence?”
A deafening roar filled the air as his shelter shook and swayed. He wondered if anyone would survive. Suddenly, all was quiet. John didn’t move. His ears told him it was over, but his heart was unsure.
“Somebody help me!” a pitiful cry cut through John’s clouded mind. He clambered to his hands and knees, noting that all his limbs seemed to work. “Call again,” he shouted. “I’m on my way.”
Voices were raised all around John as men forgot about war, enemy attacks, or fire. All over the forest, men crawled from locations of refuge to assist those who could not.
Glancing over his shoulder, John saw an eerie light as fire danced upon the distant slopes of Jeshemon. The fire, intended to destroy him, had been turned upon the enemies of Amity. Racing unchecked, it consumed everything in its path.
Silently John bowed before his Creator and gave thanks for the wind’s change of direction. He knew how close he and his men had come to being destroyed. Morning’s light would tell the full story, but that would have to wait. Right now, there were those who needed his help.