BlackThorn's Doom Page 0,39
saying among the Mahjie, a mans heart is a sharper blade than any forged of steel.”
Casius nodded sheathing his sword. “Sur’kar may win this war, but it will cost him dearly.” He took one last look into the dark abyss and ran for the open door.
As they dashed across the bridge the tower groaned and fell in on itself in a great cloud of dust and cascading rubble.
Connell and Yoladt hugged the dust-clouded tunnel’s wall and slipped past a group of Morne racing towards the ruined keep.
At the base of the causeway they turned left and ducked into the shadows of the closest building.
“We should make for the forest while the Morne are occupied.” Connell said catching his breath.
“Aye,” Yoladt agreed. “And from there?”
“I will go to Timosh,” Connell answered looking around the corner of the building to see if the way was clear. “It is where the men of the east are making their stand.” Connell ducked back as a group of Morne rushed past headed for the tunnel. “Will you be going home then?”
Yoladt shook his head. “There is a legend among my people that the wielder of Aethir would lead us from the mountains to a rich fertile land were we would thrive and become a great nation.” Yoladt paused remembering Casius’s fall. “I will not return to my home and shatter the last hope of my people.”
“Then come and fight with me.” Connell invited the Mahjie. “Lets go,” He said motioning the warrior to follow him across the now deserted street.
“Is this Timosh far?” Yoladt whispered once they had entered a small courtyard.
“Half as far as the journey was from your own lands.”
“Another long walk then.” Yoladt said gloomily.
Just beyond the courtyard a horse snorted in the gloom.
“I said nothing of walking,” Connell said softly.
Yoladt looked about and realized they were standing in the garrison’s courtyard. “Those are the Morne horses.” Yoladt said awed by Connell’s audacity.
“Aye,” Connell replied. “While they are busy at the tower they’re free for the taking.”
A few minutes later to Morne cloaked figures raced their steeds through the dark town. Each mounted man leading a remount behind.
The towns inhabitants leapt clear of their path, believing them to be Morne messengers on some errand of great import.
Out of the town they thundered, the horses hooves tearing deep gouges in the soil. They took the eastern road and ran the mounts hard until foam flecked the stallion’s sides.
Chapter Thirteen
The Taur Di column stopped at the crest of a low hill. From where Burcott sat he could see the westward spur of the Rahlcrag Mountains rising above a low rocky plain that bordered the great rolling dunes of the wastes.
Spread out upon the plain before them lay an encamped host numbering in the thousands. Gossamer like tents formed concentric circles about a ring of poles bearing multicolored pennants. One tent stood alone in the circle of standards, its silky fabric dyed a dark scarlet. A lone standard flew above it, a flag the color of the desert sand with seven blue stars forming a ring in its middle.
“The nomads?” Burcott asked Jehnom who sat mounted at his side.
Jehnom nodded. “It would seem that the Sahri himself has left the open wastes to be here.”
A group of nomads appeared from the rocks. “Warriors of the Taur Di!” One of them shouted. “The Sahri sends his welcome, he wishes you to join us in friendship and peace.”
Burcott recognized the man as the one they had seen the day before. “Does the Sahri seek to bar our way?” Burcott asked.
The man bowed with a smile. “Lord Burcott, the tribes of the eastern wastes have gathered beneath the Sahri’s banner, but not to wage war upon the Taur Di.”
“Then why have you gathered here?” Jehnom asked the messenger.
“To wage war upon the Morne,” The nomad answered. “To join our forest brothers in exacting revenge upon the lizards of the north.”
“They number in the thousands!” One of Burcott’s men blurted out excitedly.
The nomad smiled, “Six thousand and three score.” He answered. “Never in our history have we left our lands in such numbers, nor have we faced such perils as our oracles have foreseen.” The Nomad touched his forehead and heart as he said the word oracle. “Who among you will speak for the Taur Di?”
“I have been selected as War Chief of the march from among my people.” Jehnom said with a slight nod of his head. “I am called Jehnom, the Willow.”
“And I have been given the