Duna
It wasn’t easy to lead an army that was split into three parts, especially underground, but Duna had no choice.
She had always known General Tennech to be the kind of general to wade into battle along with his troops, even if only to shout directions at them, such as telling them to back off or to press the attack. She looked to follow his example now, as she knew that he was probably the greatest military mind alive.
Their army had met some Chovathi resistance at the entrance to the tunnel, but not nearly as much as she had imagined, which most likely meant that the bulk of the forces was concentrated near the entrance to the Mouth. She thought of the long staircase that descended deeper into Ghal Thurái, and how treacherous it would be trying to fight one’s way down it. And, for the first time in a long time, she thought about the welfare of her sister.
She just hoped that Kunas was upholding his end of the bargain as well.
Kunas
She is in here, the voice said to him. It was driving him onward, urging him forward, deeper into the reaches of Ghal Thurái.
At first, he’d thought he had gone mad. But then, when the Xua’al matriarch had used the blood pact to open his mind and senses to what she was seeing and feeling, he embraced it; if madness was this intoxicating, he welcomed it gladly.
Where? Kunas asked. How far?
There was a momentary silence as he could feel Zhala probing the deepness with her mind. Despite being a half day’s walk away, the Xua’al matriarch had no problem extending her consciousness into the cave through the use of her broodlings.
Not far, she replied.
Just as she said that, Kunas felt the mountain around them tremble.
What was that? he asked.
This place resists my presence, came the answer. There is great power here.
Kunas felt his need for self-preservation drive him to leave, but Zhala put a stop to it.
Continue, she said in a stern tone. My power is limited, and so is our time.
“Oh, wonderful,” Kunas said out loud. He wasn’t sure if Zhala couldn’t hear him, or if she was simply ignoring the sarcasm. Either way, she was silent and Kunas found himself pleased.
“What wonder-ful?” Khaz asked from behind them.
The Xua’al foot soldiers were carving their way through the tunnel in one of the subentrances to Ghal Thurái, meeting firmer and firmer resistance as they went deeper. Zhala was right: the matriarch was here, and she may have been redirecting the bulk of her soldiers to rally to her protection. It was like they had hit a wall of Chovathi, a wall that pushed back no matter how hard it was attacked.
“Nothing, Khaz. Push on,” Kunas replied. He was not used to combat in such limited confines as the inside of a mountain, and he found himself unable to effectively use his Breaking without crushing his own army as well.
Khaz gave a grunt of acknowledgment as he hurled himself at a crowd of oncoming Chovathi scouts.
Chovathi-on-Chovathi combat, Kunas noted, was an interesting dance to behold. Since the only way to properly kill a Chovathi was by removing the head, there was a great deal of posturing involved. If an errant fang or claw managed to sever a limb, that limb would be used to regrow an entirely new body.
The bulk of this army, though, was made up of scouts, much smaller than the warriors who made up the Xua’al army. And, as such, they were outmatched in hand-to-hand combat. The larger warriors simply picked them up and tore their heads from their bodies, thus ensuring their death. The carcasses were tossed aside, plunging into the cavernous stone of the mountain.
Yet a Chovathi army that did not rely on its strength of numbers and the ability to replenish its ranks was no army at all. So it seemed that, for every scout they killed, another one would rise up to take its place, which is why the Xua’al army’s progress into the depths of the mountain fortress had suddenly stalled.
As Kunas opened up a chasm in the ground to swallow a number of encroaching troops, he thought, This is useless. We could fight them all day and not get anywhere.
Yes, Zhala replied in his mind. Which is why you must leave my broodlings to fight the battle—you are the one who can win the war.
He dropped a boulder from high above them, crushing some enemy soldiers but taking a few of his with it.
How? asked Kunas.
By going to the source, Zhala replied. And just then a light appeared at the edge of his vision, red and flickering like a flame. I have found it, she said, and Kunas realized what he was seeing: it was the outline of the Chovathi matriarch, deep within the stone. Somehow, Zhala was able to pinpoint her presence and “paint” it for him. No matter where he turned his head, the flickering red outline was there; even when he looked away completely, he could “see” her in the back of his mind.
You are useful, he admitted.
I am much more than that, Zhala answered, her powerful voice echoing inside him. Now go. I can mask my presence, but not for long.
Kunas took a look at the rocky walls that stood before him, and listened to the sounds of Chovathi bodies being torn apart. He let the surging creatures flow around him; they seemed oblivious to his being there at all. He decided not to waste the opportunity, so he moved forward, farther into the Mouth of the Deep, trudging ahead toward the burning, pulsing light of the Chovathi matriarch—the one constant in a churning sea of enemies.
Duna
Suddenly and perplexingly, the Chovathi army had retreated back into the walls of Ghal Thurái. The most unnerving thing about the retreat, though, was how synchronized it had been—as if they had all received the call for retreat at precisely the same moment, despite Duna’s hearing nothing at all that would have been such an indicator.
Even Captain LaVince looked perplexed.
“They seem to be retreating, General,” he said, wiping off his blade after pulling it from a nearby Chovathi’s neck.
“So I see,” said Duna as she watched them go. Only moments before, they had all felt the mountain tremble, and she was worried that Kunas might be trying to bring down the whole thing in one grand act of destruction. But, much to her relief, it had seemed to be nothing more than a tremor, and the mountain remained intact. “I hesitate to follow them,” she said, adding, “It could very well be a trap.”
LaVince gave a grunt. “A retreat deeper into the Mouth seems like it would protect them,” he conceded. “But we also might be able to tighten the noose around them as well—choke the life out of them while they are weak.” He turned to Duna. “But it’s your army, General. We await your command.”
She could hear the snarling retreat of the Chovathi as the sounds of battle around them began to quiet. She wondered exactly why they were retreating; was it to reinforce another part of their army? To protect something? Was it a planned escape? And if they were to follow them deeper into the mountain, did the Chovathi have some way of bringing it all down upon their heads?
She had no idea how willing the Chovathi were to destroy their ancestral home in order to defeat their enemies, and she wasn’t willing to risk that being the case.
“We should fall back,” she said at last. “I don’t like it, whatever this retreat is. We can regroup outside and reinforce the Sharian army. Perhaps they are the reason these creatures are doing what they are doing.”
“As you command,” LaVince said to her. He then signaled his sergeants to begin the extraction of troops outside the mountain tunnels.
While Duna had experience fighting Chovathi, she had never seen them on this big a scale before, and certainly not this well organized.
She hoped she was making the right decision.
Benjin
The Sharian army had fought its way through a slew of the fearsome white creatures, and had just about reached Cortus Venn, who was still madly chopping down Chovathi like a farmer harvesting wheat.
“Who wants more?” he shouted maniacally as the creatures continued to surround him; but as fast as he could cut them down, they seemed to be reappearing from the depths of Ghal Thurái.
From up ahead, Queen Lena was swinging her giant sword in terrifying arcs, taking the heads off of two or three Chovathi at a time. Benj almost stopped just to watch her work, but he knew his duty lay in supporting Captain Jahaz, who would never let him hear the end of it if anything slipped by him.
Things seemed to have come to a deadlock, though: their own army was not pushing farther in, and the Chovathi numbers did not seem to be dwindling. Which was why, without any apparent cause or signal, when the Chovathi army started a perfectly synchronized retreat back into the mountain, Benj was overjoyed. He watched them as they turned tail and ran.
He started celebrating.
“Thyst!” he yelled to his friend, who had already picked off a few fleeing Chovathi with her bow. “They’re running!”
Thyst smiled at him, looking as though she would be taking the credit for sparking the retreat. Yet, when Benj looked over to their leader and saw the look on Queen Lena’s face, he was surprised to see that it was not one of relief, it was one of puzzlement.
Captain Jahaz must have noticed it too. “Your Grace,” he said, sheathing his sword, “something troubles you.”
“I do not understand why they flee,” she answered. She sheathed her mammoth sword and watched as the white tide receded into the depths of Ghal Thurái. “And I do not like it.” Standing with her arms crossed over her armored chest, she surveyed the area. She looked up at the winged creature that was still circling them, as if to make sure that they were covered in all directions.
“What do you see, Your Grace?” Captain Jahaz asked.
“Weakness,” she answered plainly. “We have them in our grip, and now we must squeeze.”
Jahaz nodded, and signaled for the troops to follow the retreating Chovathi.
Benj had always seen the queen as strong, and this act only strengthened his opinion. He didn’t care about the whispers that spread among the troops that she was the less tactically minded one in her family; what he was seeing now—the pursuit of a fleeing enemy in order to ensure victory—spoke of strength to him.
His chest swelled with pride, and he knew, then and there, that he would follow his queen anywhere—even to his own death.