The Stolen Kingdom

If you had been one of those villagers who had heard the sound of 8,000 men and 600 horses passing through the streets shortly before dawn, you probably would have been as curious as they were and looked out the window to see what all the ruckus was, just as they did. You would have then seen a parade of gray: gray helmets, gray uniforms, gray steel; and you would have seen the Dark Duke, sitting tall atop a dark brown steed, with both Farv and Rahavi by his side. In front of them was a ragged-looking man, with an ugly face and a grisly beard. He had been granted a horse, this man, though he looked not fit to ride a mule. Next to him was a wagon, which carried within it a chest of one thousand gold pieces, surrounded by four Palace Guardsmen on each side.

  The people stared at this procession of men in awe. Some followed it down the street, some ran from it into their houses. Children sat spellbound as their mothers tried to wrest them from its path, grabbing at their arms and tugging them along. Pigs and chickens and geese, some marching in their own right, were kicked from the street without warning, as was the occasional vendor who had come out early that day to set up store. For ten minutes this lasted, a wave of continuous gray with no words but the words of feet and hoofs. And then they were gone.

  …………………………………………..

  Slowly, but surely, the Dark Duke and his men were led on by Nome Flag, over one hill and then the next, past woods and streams, all the while careful of a possible ambush. The Dark Duke had told Nome that he wanted as clear a path as possible: no woods, no bushes, as far as he could take them. Nome insisted that this would not be easy, as the place was covered by wood, but said he would do the best he could; and so he led them through towns and around hills, down into valleys and up, till finally they reached a wooded area about ten miles from the dukedom of Roth.

  Nome halted before it, then motioned them forward with his hand so as to indicate that this was indeed the place.

  “What is this?” said the Dark Duke, turning to Farv. “Where are we?”

  Farv shook his head in astonishment.

  “Cheshire Woods, Your Highness.” He held out his hand. “Home of the giant Ashen cats.”

  “Ashen cats?” said the Dark Duke. “What do you mean, Ashen cats?”

  “Giant cats with extraordinary vision,” Farv repeated. “They live only within these woods and are known to be of the most deadly temperament.” He paused for a moment. “He’s even more gutsy than I thought,” he reflected. “Who would’ve thought that he would make camp in such a place?”

  “Well, apparently not you,” said the Dark Duke with obvious consternation. “An error which we will have to discuss at a later time.” His eyes were dead as doornails. He turned back to the woods, steadying his horse. “Arrange the lines. Prepare to attack.”

  Farv nodded and trotted off, two of his lieutenants following at his tail. There would be no arrow attack to give warning, and so he set the footmen first, with the horses directly behind. The archers he split into two sects, with one on each side, so that they might cover any attempt at a flank; needless to take any chances. The land, though hilly and dense with trees, sloped downward at their part, which would make for a quick and easy attack. Farv had his cavalry advance to cover all escape routes, surrounding the woods with horse and arrow: “anywhere that light could peek through.” He moved the four cannons they had wheeled along to the top of hill, some distance back – for they would be of little use up close, but could prevent escape with power from above. He then set his commanders to their posts, instructing them to wait for his signal. Trotting back to his king, he informed him of the army’s readiness.

  All was quiet.

  The Dark Duke, his eyes shifty in his head, his mouth watering at the gums, scoured the woods for a moment, only to find more nothing. He turned to Nome Flag, the slobbering fool beside him, appraising him carefully with his eyes. Nome was pressing his finger into his ear, examining the contents, and pressing into it again, as if digging for some buried treasure of wax. Surely, the Dark Duke thought, this man was either a complete and utter idiot or else the most terrific actor there ever was. If this was a plot, Taylor James had entrusted an idiot to hatch it.

  The Dark Duke looked back to Farv and nodded.

  A moment later Farv’s hand flew up into the air. The men waited anxiously for it to drop, sixteen thousand eyes enraptured. Their hearts beat, their bodies tensed. The rush that was in their brains was beginning to travel down their spines and into every crevice of their bodies. The air seemed thicker, bloodier, angrier. The sun seemed bolder, brighter, as if shining down only to shed light on the onslaught oncoming. The wind was deadlier now, anxious for the smell of blood so that it might waft it into the air and spread its odor for miles to come.

  They themselves were deadly.

  The swords pointed, the axes raised – the hand dropped.

  “Charge!” went the call, echoed from every commander. “Chaaarge! Chaaarge! Chaaaaaarrrrrrggge!”

  Screams came rushing over the sounds of rustling feet, as, in one swift instant, the tidal wave of gray swept down the hill and into the woods. Like a roaring river they rushed, through the trees and the shrubbery, cutting and slashing, their eyes darting, searching for something to satisfy their lust for life’s liquor. The noise of the woods died suddenly in their passion, drowning in their river of rage like a pebble in a pond. Within minutes they were at Taylor’s camp, rushing down upon the buckets and the clothes and the towers like rain through trees – pouring over the hill as they came upon one tent and then another, and cutting through them with unabashed vigor.

  …………………………………………..

  The Dark Duke, high atop the hill upon his horse, waited in eager anticipation, surrounded by some five-hundred remaining soldiers. He felt confident that this was indeed the end. Soon he would have Taylor James’s head, and let the insects do as they wished with the body. Those that fell to his army’s wrath, fine - the rest he would lock up in the Tower, where slowly they would rot and die.

  …………………………………………..

  “Aar!” cried the Guardsmen, knocking through the tents. They cut and stomped their way in, some throwing the canvasses up with their hands, some rushing inside with swords drawn. Quickly, though, did they exit; for inside they found none but themselves, and outside they found none but their comrades, stagnant in utter confusion. They looked perplexingly at each other, from one to the next, an army of bats surprised by the daylight.

  Suddenly, from nearby, there came a soft, deep purring sound.

  They glanced round fearfully.

  “Hold your guard!” one major called, “Watch for ambush!”

  He motioned to five others, who followed him to the edge of the clearing. The purring grew louder as they approached and their brows uniformly knitted in bewilderment. The major pushed away some shrubbery with his hands. He saw nothing.

  “What in the world?-”

  “Roooouwww!”

  In one terrible moment his body crashed to the ground as the claws came down upon him.

  “Ah!” he screamed. “Get’m off me! Get’m off me!”

  The men, thunderstruck, stood gazing in awe, as their commander’s head bent back in agony. The beast was gnawing at his chest, working past his mail and tearing into the heart and intestines, clutching and clawing its way through the body.

  The five others raced for cover, their helmets bounding from their heads as they fled from the great monster. They dove for safety, but their comfort was short-lived; for five more Ashens now came charging, their jaws wide, their teeth bared.

  In an instant the army became a mass of hysteria, with soldiers clamoring to get back up the hill, while their fellows fell limp before the mouths of the monster cats. Those that were successful, rose only to meet the sound of hoofs pounding, as Farv, impatient for victory, had sent in the horses. The trees and the shrubs left little room to maneuver, and just as many fell to the horses’ charge as did to the Ashens, their bod
ies crushed under the immense weight, their heads trampled.

  …………………………………………..

  Outside, the Dark Duke watched in utter disbelief as his men came rushing out in herds.

  “What’s going on?” he snapped to Farv. “What’s happening?”

  “I don’t know, Sire.”

  “Well, find out, damnet!”

  “You there!” Farv cried, addressing a passing soldier. “What happened? Why are you retreating? I did not order a retreat.”

  The man, frightened and out of breath, glanced quickly back over his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Commander. But-”

  “Where is Taylor James?” the Dark Duke snapped.

  “No Taylor James,” puffed the man. “Just-”

  “Rooouuuwww!”

  “My God…” The Dark Duke looked up. A giant Ashen stood by the edge of the woods, its claws scratching at air, its teeth sharp as razors.

  At first he thought to revert back, but it seemed that the Ashen was not advancing past the woods, but giving warning, rather. The Dark Duke stared at it in shock, and might have remained like that for some time, had not a noise off to his right distracted him.

  “Look out!” cried a Guard.

  He turned to see Nome Flag, desperate at last, charging for his chest of gold. The rugged man clubbed one Guardsman in the face with his fist, then kicked down another with his boot.

  “Grab him!” Farv screamed. “Converge upon him!”

  But the large brute was too heavy for them. He threw one from his back, then knocked another three with his giant arms. It took them a full minute before they had him under control, and then longer yet to subdue him to his knees. The Dark Duke, ever calm, slid down from his horse and approached the barbaric man with sword in hand.

  “You lied to me,” he said. “And you do know what the penalty for lying is, now don’t you?”

  “But it was the truth!” Nome barked.

  “Cut off his leg,” the Dark Duke ordered.

  “Wait! Wait!” Nome cried. “I know more! I know more!”

  The Dark Duke put his sword to Nome’s chin. He brought his face down to meet the raggedy man’s own, and spoke in a slow, metallic tone:

  “Where…is…Taylor….James?”

  The ragged man coughed.

  “There’s a trail…” he managed to mutter.

  “What trail?”

  Nome gulped.

  “A trail to Dermer,” he said. “In the south. Taylor James ’uz been usin’ it t’send people. He’s probably there himself, right now.”

  “You know this trail?” the Dark Duke asked.

  Nome nodded.

  “Been there meself, a few times – helpin’ t’get folks across the border. I can take ya there if ya want.”

  The Dark Duke retracted.

  “This better be good,” he warned.

  ……………………………………………

  While Nome Flag and the Dark Duke were occupying themselves by Cheshire Woods, Taylor James and Robert were busy leading a band of four hundred men to a destination which they themselves knew little about other than rumor and speculation.

  Years ago, before they had entered the Grand Legion, even, Robert’s father had confided to them a secret, a legend of sorts, but one that he contended was true. He claimed that somewhere in the southern region of Monastero, near the town of Tapel it was said, there existed a cave known as the Dark Hole; a secret cave that only the royal family knew of. The existence of this cave had been kept as a secret within the royal family for many years, but was told to Sir Roth by King Peter one day as a point of interest; for the cave had always been a curiosity to him, especially since nobody truly knew what it was that was inside. Had the king anyone else to discuss it with – a wife or a daughter, maybe – Sir Roth most probably would never have found out. But he had told Sir Roth as he might have a brother, trusting that it would not leak out to the people, who, the king had been ordained with since a boy, were never to know.

  Sir Roth had told Robert and Taylor that same night, curious as to what their opinion might be on the matter, and trusting them to keep it to themselves. Needless to say, it came as rather a shock to both, their own sense of adventure concocting various theories on the matter. The rest of the evening was spent in speculation, with little or nothing of substance being produced on the matter. The three had then taken themselves to bed, the two young men hardly thinking about it again until urgency was to call upon them. It was only after Taylor saw to it that Rosemarie and the others (the last of the women and children) were sent safely away, that he revealed his plans to Robert. King Peter and Sir Roth were both gone now; and desperate times called for desperate measures. If finding the Dark Hole could save the army, they had to try for it.

  The route to the Dark Hole was not a difficult one in and of itself. It was covered by wood most of the way, and only about fifteen miles from Cheshire. But Taylor’s wariness made for a slow journey, as did the tired feet of the men, who had been forced to leave late at night with only their weapons and whatever food they could carry on their person. None of the men were sure of where they were going, but they knew that their leaving meant worse things followed behind.

 

  …………………………………………..

  Rosemarie was a very brave girl, and refused to let the dense woods, with its deep roars and its terrible howls, frighten her too much. Through the thickness of it all, she remained calm, her hand clasped within her mother’s as they made their way toward Lord Marks.

  Her brother, meanwhile, sat across from her with his eyes plastered to the open-space window of the carriage, a fine one which Taylor’s men had stolen from one of the Dark Duke’s dignitaries. In his hand was a bow, a sheath of arrows close at hand by his back, ready for whatever dangers might arise. Next to him sat Soothie, sleeping as only a wise woman can.

  Stockwell sat up front, driving – following the procession as quietly as possible. Like his son, he too was wary of the woods, his eyes constantly glancing from side to side in anticipation of disaster. It was a good thing, in fact, that he could not be seen by the others; for had Rosemarie noticed the shift in his eyes, she would only have been assured of her own cause for worry. This she did not need. Her grief was great enough. Fortunately, Stockwell’s concern seemed quite unfounded, as they had advanced many miles already without any obstruction.

  Their carriage was third in a line of seven, with most of the people, about seventy-five in all, traveling instead on foot. Any amount of noise could cause great jeopardy to all, and so talking was kept to a bare minimum. This silence was of course essential to the success of the journey, but at the same time was rather unnerving, especially to Mrs. Stockwell, who, with the buzz of the woods all around her, was constantly imagining various sounds of non-existence and crying out now and again, “What was that?” or “Did you hear that noise?” to the consternation of those around her. These figments, however, were quickly put to rest, and so the poor woman would lean back in her place, only to hear the same imaginary sounds once again five minutes later.

  The woods seemed to grow louder now, more intimidating – or maybe it was just the time – heaven knew. Either way, all were growing more anxious by the minute, fluttery as the birds above them.

  “Was that a growl?” Mrs. Stockwell asked.

  “No, Mother,” her daughter replied. “You’re imagining things again.”

  “Oh.”

  The older lady leaned back. Her eyebrows knitted.

  “I hear it again,” she said. “Don’t you hear it, Rosemarie?”

  “No, Mother. I’m afraid-”

  “Aaaa-a-ah!”

  The carriage came to a sudden halt, jolting all but Soothie, who somehow managed not to stir in the slightest.

  “I heard that!” Mrs. Stockwell declared.

  Quickly James jumped out, bow and arrow in hand. Rosemarie went to do the same, but was flung
back by her mother. “Don’t be foolish,” the elder woman said. “You stay here till we know it’s safe.”

  Reluctantly, she peered out the window, poking her head for a better view.

  Her father had jumped from the carriage as well, and at first she could see nothing but the two rushing forth with another, weapons drawn. But when she saw what it was that they were rushing to, her heart nearly came to a stop.

  Standing on its hind legs, a good ten feet tall, was the largest, most ferocious brown bear she had ever seen – a true rarity. Its teeth were long as daggers, its claws sharp as nails, powered by tremendous paws of unequivocal strength. The eyes, small but piercing, were as red as the blood that they thirsted for, glaring down onto the comparative midgets that surrounded it with deadly contempt.

  He let out a roar that could be heard echoing off of every tree, his fists swinging freely in the air. This was apparently a victory chant; for below him Rosemarie could make out the unconscious figure of a man not half his size, lying dazed upon the ground. The sight of the beast alone was enough to make Rosemarie shiver and, for a moment, she fell back into the carriage with her hand to her chest. By the time she had recovered, the three men had joined four others, including Tibbie, and were circling around the foaming beast with swords and spears. The bear had reverted to all fours so that he might strike more easily, waving his claws wildly in the air.

  Rosemarie watched as James took to one knee and set an arrow in his bow. He wasted no time in doing so, and a moment later the arrow became a sliver in the air. It struck the beast directly in the belly, a good shot for sure; but, to their astonishment, it had absolutely no affect on the creature! – He flinched not an inch, though the shot would have most certainly been a sting of death to any being of lesser proportion.

  James, fast to react, quickly set another arrow in his bow. But it was too late. Before he could let loose, the beast jolted from its spot with unseemly agility, and crashed down before him with paws raised. Helpless, in shock, the massive paw came down upon poor James, knocking him a good ten feet into the bushes.

  Rosemarie could take it no longer. She jumped from her spot and rushed toward the beast, ignoring her mother’s cries of restraint. Another pair of arms was soon to receive her, though, as she felt herself being held by one of the common men.

  “Let me go!” she cried, elbowing him in the chest. “Let me go!”

  And the man did. This might have confused her somewhat ordinarily, but in her fit of passion she took little notice. But soon the cause of the man’s relenting became obvious:

  The massive bear, built so much like a barricade, now lay helpless upon the ground, stone dead. Behind it stood the tall figure of Stockwell, with sword still in hand, covered with blood from head to toe. He was breathing heavily, his eyes set down on that creature which had been foolish enough to harm his only son. Rosemarie’s eyes met his, to embrace him, and for a moment she saw a part of her father that she had never seen before.

  Suddenly his eyes twittered back and forth.

  Rosemarie moved forward, but he stopped her with his hand. He seemed to be listening for something.

  “What is it?” Rosemarie said.

  “Sh!” said Stockwell, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I heard something.”

  …………………………………………..

  Robert was stumped.

  The motley group that he and Taylor were leading had walked for over seven hours straight, through hills and forests, mud and swamp, and to fall short now would be not only heart-renting, but disastrous. Sometime past dawn some of the men had asked if they could stop a while to rest, but both Taylor and Robert had refused, insisting that they reach their destination in as quickly a fashion as possible. As the day dragged on, though, so did the men’s feet, and Robert knew that if they did not reach their destination soon, fatigue might outdo reason. He was relieved then, when Taylor stopped suddenly upon a hill, and told the men to take rest. The men gratefully complied.

  “There, Robert,” he said, pointing out a large elm. “That must be it. The tree your father spoke of. The cave must be near.”

  “How can you be sure?” Robert asked.

  “I can’t,” Taylor admitted. “But look. You see how the branches dip down to form a lion’s head? Your father said that the king had mentioned something about a lion leading the way by the elm, but he knew not what it meant. Well, I think I have an idea. Plus, this is the only elm we’ve seen in miles, and we’re right by Tapel. If it’s not it, it certainly reeks of the description.”

  “Where is the cave, though?”

  “That I haven’t quite figured out just yet. Let’s take a look around.”

  As the two started off, Cosko rose to follow, but Taylor motioned him back.

  “Stay seated,” he said. “You’re gonna need your energy.”

  The portly townsman watched curiously as the two young men walked off toward the enormous elm. Was this what they had been searching for? he wondered. A tree? That was it?

  But it appeared to be true.

  The two men looked up the giant elm, appraising each branch, leaf, and root. Taylor felt at the base with his hands, then examined it with confusion, while Robert paced around it once, then twice, then again. Neither seemed to show any indication of what it was they were looking for.

  Soon the men began to whisper amongst themselves, speculating, wondering whether their leaders had in fact gone crazy. This was the destination, some claimed, while No, it can’t be, claimed others. There is no shelter here – no woods – no place to build a fire. Surely Taylor James would not lead us only here, to this place. We will take our leave soon enough.

  But as the minutes dragged on, and as Taylor and Robert sauntered off in separate directions, searching for any clue, the men began to worry. “What are they doing?” one man asked. “Damned if I know,” said another. “They look like they’re searchin’ f’leprechauns.” “Ha-ha! As good a guess as mine.”

  Robert had wandered about forty feet from the elm when he heard Taylor call to him.

  “Here, Robert! Come quick.”

  Taylor had been waddling, sniffing at the dirt, even. His nose was pressed against the ground before a great boulder, some thirty yards from the elm.

  “What is it?” Robert asked, approaching.

  “Look here,” Taylor said, pointing down. “Do you see?”

  “See what?”

  “The flowers.”

  “What flowers?”

  “Exactly.”

  Taylor got up and brushed himself off. He pointed out by the elm.

  “You see there? Flowers. All around, even by the roots. They go all the way out to there.” He pointed. “And come all the way down here. Then, around this boulder, they stop. Then…” He turned. “…See over there? They start again, a few feet away.”

  “What are you saying?” Robert asked.

  Taylor looked him in the eye, his finger jutting down at the boulder.

  “Under the boulder is one thing,” he said, “but a few feet around it is another.” Robert was slowly beginning to realize. “This boulder,” – Taylor tapped it - “has been moved.”

  Robert’s eyes widened as he stared down upon it.

  “Cosko!” Taylor yelled. “Come here a moment.”

  The cherry-cheeked man took quickly to his feet.

  “Everything all right?” he asked, approaching.

  “Help us move this boulder,” Taylor said, getting down on his knees and under it. The three men took hold.

  “On three,” said Taylor. “One…Two…Three-ee!”

  The boulder rolled from its spot, revealing dark brown dirt underneath. Sure enough, the rock had a rope pinioned to it. Taylor and Robert took to the ground and began digging, with Cosko following suit. Some of the others, curious as to what it was that they were doing, had come up behind them, and soon they too began to dig. They did not have long to wait.

  Within a couple of minutes Taylor’s hand
struck upon something that he knew could not be of Mother Nature’s creation. It was hard, but not a rock – soggier. They dug deeper, and soon he realized that this was a piece of wood of some sort, a door even, with a tiny, barred window. Quickly, they scraped around the edges and found that the door had hinges. Once the dirt was cleared, it could be pushed open rather easily, and so Taylor pushed it in with his foot, the men reverting back as he did so, unsure of what laid beneath.

  They stared in awe a moment at the excavated blackness.

  “Come now,” said Taylor at last, “let’s not waste any time. The longer we stand out here, the greater the danger. Everybody into the cave.”

  It took some minutes for each man to travel down into the darkness. When they were all in, Taylor and Robert pulled back the rock by the rope, re-padded some of the dirt, and closed the door.

  The inside was completely black. So much so, that had one tried to see his very fingers in front of his face, it would have been impossible. Robert called out to one of the men.

  “Besser…” he said. “Where are you?”

  “Yes, sir?” came the reply.

  “Give me the bag I asked you to hold.”

  A shuffling could be heard as Besser attempted to follow Robert’s voice.

  “Is this you, sir?” he asked, groping at a head.

  “No, it is not!” cried an indignant voice.

  “Oh. Beg ya pardon, then…”

  “Over here,” Robert hissed. “Quickly now.”

  Besser moved once again toward the voice and was given a sudden start when it found him instead, grabbing at the bag in earnest. Robert sorted through it quickly, and soon enough visibility was restored by the illumination of torchlight. A moment later, another piece of wood was lit and placed in the hands of Taylor James. Then six more. The light revealed a narrow path, and slowly they began to proceed down it.

  The walls, dirt at first, soon became rock, carved out, it seemed, to form a slightly wider enclave. The torchlight reflected off the moisture on the walls, casting large shadows before them as they marched. Up ahead was darkness, like that from which they had come, and it continued for some distance, making a speedier advance utterly impossible. Slowly but surely, they proceeded, curving this way and that along with the path. Yet, nowhere did the ground offer any more comfort from that which came before it, and so they pressed on, only to find more nothing as they went.

  Eventually they came to a fork, and a decision had to be made. Without consultation, Taylor chose the path to the right, aware that each path offered equally unknown circumstances. This proved to be a fortuitous event, however, as they soon came to an area with a stream running through it, oddly enough. The men were tired and thirsty, and so it was decided that it would be best to set up camp there for a while in order to get some much needed rest. Some collapsed right on the spot, falling into slumber against the cave wall; for it had been many hours since they had last slept.

  The rest sat and passed around whatever rations they had been able to secure for the journey. Those that didn’t have were graciously given by those that did, and together they all ate. The torches were propped into wall crevices, giving just enough light to make out the man sitting next to you.

  “Taylor,” Robert said after some time, “do you not think it odd that a stream should exist in such a place?”

  “It’s odd, all right,” Taylor replied. “But we knew something was odd when we found the door.”

  “So then you think that we’re not alone here?”

  “Anything’s possible. Let’s just be on our best guard.”

  The two men fell silent, as some of the others tried to make the best of the situation by singing songs and telling stories. They did what the best of people do when they are desperate: they laughed; and had they been able to see outside, they would’ve known that they did so into nightfall. Eventually, though, laughter made way for rest, as, one by one, the men began to doze off.

  A four man watch was set, with two on each side, and Taylor and Robert were at last able to let loose their guard and try to get to sleep. Unfortunately, their eyes were not cooperating.

  “Are you all right?” Robert finally asked, noticing Taylor’s vacant stare.

  “Are you?” Taylor said, giving him hardly a glance.

  Robert knew that Taylor was referring to the death of his father.

  “No,” he said, “I suppose not.”

  “And so I suppose the same,” Taylor returned.

  Robert didn’t want to talk anymore. He cuddled himself on the ground as best he could and laid his hands under his head. The last thing he would see before finally dozing off was the eyes of his dearest friend, staring blankly out at the cave wall.

  …………………………………………..

  That same night, John Miglene sat with a stick in his hands by a fire in the woods of Belsden, alongside of Ezra Dunn and a hundred and fifty of their men. For a time, all was quiet as he stared into the empty void of flames thinking; thinking while the men were waiting – waiting for something – some words of wisdom, maybe, to accompany what they had witnessed in Monastero. The minutes moved on; the woods grew darker; but still they waited in silence. They would continue to wait, and John would continue to stare, until finally, angry, he rose in a fit of fury.

  “Damnet!” he cried, throwing the stick into the fire. “Damnet, damnet, damnet!” He paced forward, then back, then forward again, the men following with their eyes. “We were this close,” he said, gesturing with his thumb and forefinger. “This close, and we missed it! This close, and that Taylor James has to come and ruin it all!…Damnet, I say!”

  “Patience, friend,” said Ezra. “You’ll get your chance soon enough.”

  “Patience?” John scoffed. “Patience? I’ve been patient for twenty years, Ezra! How much more patient can I be?”

  “Well, what do you suggest, then?”

  John fell back to the ground. He rubbed his hair.

  “Nothing,” he said at last. “There’s nothing to suggest.”

  For a moment there was silence. Then Ezra spoke:

  “We’ll keep on fighting, John. Ya know it. But ya gotta accept that we might just be fighting t’are deaths, n’ that’s all. Ya gotta look at what we’re up against.”

  “We need more people,” John said.

  “Certainly,” his friend countered. “That we know. But the more people involved, the greater the risk.”

  “Well, maybe it’s time to take that risk.”

  “Aye,” said Ezra, “maybe it is.”

  All eyed their leader carefully. The fire crackled in the background.

  “We must move now,” he said. “The longer we wait, the worse it’s going to get.”

  None objected.

  “Are you all prepared to die?” he asked them.

  Feet shuffled, heads fell to the floor. Slowly, they nodded.

  “We’re dead already,” someone yelled.

  The men laughed. So did Miglene.

  “True,” he said. “Too true.”

  He picked another stick from the ground and tossed it into the fire.

  “Get to sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow we begin again.”

  Chapter 30

  In the Hidden Cave