Night of the Bold. Morgan Rice
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water, still spewing out corpses by the minute as it bubbled over, and he turned and looked at the horizon, toward Everfall, where the gushing torrents had slowed to a trickle. Slowly, he felt the thrill of victory well up inside him. All around him, the air began to buzz with the victorious cheers of his stunned men, all trekking through the waters in disbelief, all slowly realizing that they had actually won. Against all odds, they had survived, had conquered the much greater legion. Leifall had come through, after all. Duncan felt a surge of gratitude to his loyal soldiers, to Leifall, Anvin, and most of all, his son. In the face of grim odds, none had backed down in fear.
There came a distant rumble, and Duncan checked the horizon and was overjoyed to see Leifall and his men of Leptus, Anvin and Aidan amongst them, White running at their feet, all returning from Everfall, riding back to reunite with them. They were joined by Leifall’s small army, hundreds of men, their shouts of triumph audible even from here.
Duncan looked back to the north and spotted on the distant horizon a world filled with black. There, perhaps a day’s ride away, sat the remainder of the Pandesian army, rallying, preparing to avenge their defeat. Next time they would not attack with ten thousand men, Duncan knew, but with a hundred thousand.
Duncan knew time was short. He had been lucky once, but there was no way he could withstand an attack from hundreds of thousands of soldiers, not even with every trick in the world. And he had exhausted all his tricks. He needed a new strategy, and he needed it fast.
As his men gathered around him, Duncan searched all the hard and earnest faces and knew these great warriors looked to him for leadership. He knew that whatever decision he made next would affect not just him but all of these great men – indeed, the entire fate of Escalon. He owed it to them all to choose wisely.
Duncan wracked his brain, willing the answer to come to him, pondering all the ramifications of any strategic move. All moves carried great risk, all carried dire repercussions, and all were even riskier than what he had done here in the canyon.
“Commander?” came a voice.
Duncan turned to see the serious face of Kavos, looking back at him with respect. Behind him, hundreds of men stared back, too. They were all awaiting direction. They had followed him to the brink and had come out alive, and they trusted him.
Duncan nodded, breathing deeply.
“We meet the Pandesians in the open field,” he began, “and we lose. They outnumber us still a hundred to one. They are also better rested, armed and equipped. We would all be dead by sunfall.”
Duncan sighed, his men hanging on his every word.
“Yet we cannot run,” he continued, “nor should we. With the trolls, too, attacking, and the dragons circling, we have no time to hide, to fight a guerrilla war. Nor is hiding our way. We need a bold and quick and decisive strategy to defeat the invaders and rid our country of them once and for all.”
Duncan fell silent for a long time, pondering the near impossible task ahead. All that could be heard was the sound of the wind rippling off the desert.
“What do you propose, Duncan?” Kavos finally prodded.
He looked back at Kavos, gripping and ungripping his halberd, staring back with intensity, as his words rang in his head. He owed these great warriors a strategy. A way not just to survive – but to victory.
Duncan pondered the terrain of Escalon. All battles, he knew, were won by terrain, and his knowing the terrain of his homeland was perhaps his one remaining advantage in this war. He reflected on all the places in Escalon where the terrain might offer a natural advantage. It would need to be a very special place indeed, a place where a few thousand men could fight off hundreds of thousands. There were few places in Escalon – few places anywhere – that could allow that.
Yet as Duncan recalled the legends and tales ingrained in him by his father and his father before him, as he recalled all the great battles he had studied from times of old, he found his mind turning to the battles that were most heroic, the most epic, the battles of few against many. Again and again, his mind returned to but one place: the Devil’s Gulch.
The place of heroes. The place where few men had fought off an army, where all the great warriors of Escalon had been tested. The Gulch offered the most narrow pass in all of Escalon, and it was perhaps the one place in the land where the terrain defined the battle. A wall of steep cliffs and mountains met the sea, leaving but a narrow corridor to pass through, forming the Gulch that had taken more than a few lives. It forced men to pass through single file. It forced armies to pass through single file. It created a bottleneck where a few warriors, if well placed and heroic enough, could fight off an entire army. At least, according to the legends.
“The Gulch,” Duncan finally replied.
All eyes widened. Slowly, they nodded back in respect. The Gulch was a serious decision; it was a place of last resort. It was a place to go when there was no other place to go, a place for men to die or to live, for the land to be lost or to be saved. It was a place of legend. A place of heroes.
“The Gulch,” Kavos said, nodding for a long time as he rubbed his beard. “Strong. Yet there remains one problem.”
Duncan looked back.
“The Gulch is designed to keep invaders out – not in,” he replied. “The Pandesians are already in. We could perhaps block it off and keep them in. But we want them out.”
“Never once in our ancestors’ time,” Bramthos added, “has an invading army, once it crossed the Gulch, been forced to leave through it again. It is too late. They have already passed through it.”
Duncan nodded back, thinking the same thoughts himself.
“I have considered this,” he replied. “Yet there is always a way. Perhaps we can lure them back through it, to the other side. And then, once they are south, we can seal it off and make our stand.”
The men stared back, clearly confused.
“And how do you propose we do that?” Kavos asked.
Duncan drew his sword, found a dry patch of sand, stepped forward, and began to draw. All the men huddled around close as his blade scratched the sand.
“A few of us will lure them through,” he said, drawing a line in the sand. “The rest will wait on the other side, prepared to seal it. We shall make the Pandesians think they are pursuing us, that we are fleeing. My force, once it passes through, can circle back, through the tunnels, come back on this side of the Gulch, and seal it off. We can then all make a stand together.”
Kavos shook his head.
“And what makes you think Ra will send his army through that gulch?”
Duncan felt determined.
“I understand Ra,” he replied. “He craves our destruction. He craves complete and total victory. This will appeal to his hubris, and for that, he will send his entire army after us.”
Kavos shook his head.
“The men that lure them through,” he said, “will be exposed. It will be near impossible to make it back in time through the tunnels. Those men may likely be trapped and die.”
Duncan nodded gravely.
“Which is why I shall lead those men myself,” he said.
The man all looked back at him with respect. They stroked their beards, faces beset with concern and doubt, all clearly realizing how risky this was.
“Perhaps it could work,” Kavos said. “Perhaps we can lure the Pandesian forces through and perhaps even seal them out. Yet even so, Ra won’t send all his men. Stationed here are just his southern forces. He has other men, spread throughout our land. He has a mighty northern army, guarding the north. Even if we won this epic battle, we would not win the war. His men would still hold Escalon.”
Duncan nodded back, thinking the same thoughts himself.
“This is why we shall split our forces,” he replied. “Half of us will ride for the Gulch, while the other half will head north and attack Ra’s northern army. Lead by you.”
Kavos