Chapter 15: Showdown

*****

Jack took aim at one of the Swabian warriors now rushing his position only about thirty yards away. The man had just cranked the bolt back to eject his round before sliding it forward once more, taking aim at one of the Numratha in front of him and bringing him down easily. For once, the shoe was on the other foot, and Jack remembered what it was like to fight a more modern enemy. That Swabian didn't stand a chance once Jack brought the crosshairs to his chest, and a quick bang of the rifle ensured that he crumbled to the ground a moment later. He didn't have time to celebrate, as there were almost ten times as many of the Swabians as there were to Javans. If they didn't keep firing, they'd soon be overwhelmed, despite his slight advantage in overall numbers.

All along the line, the Javan marines kept up a steady pace of firing just like they'd been taught. This was just another battle for them, another dance with death that many of them would survive while others would stumble, only to rise no more. Already he could see the remains of several marines that had lost the dance, their corpses eerily silent and motionless where they fell.

Jack heard Greg roar over the sound of battle. "Focus on the rifles first, boys! Give them hell for thinking they can defeat marines!"

The marines all along the line gave a sudden roar of approval at Greg's words as the Swabians closest to their defensive line started to drop quickly. Many of them had simply rushed down the hill, taking no cover beyond crouching while they aimed their rifles. They quickly realized the error of their strategy when those in the first waves took horrendous casualties. The men near the middle and the rear learned to drop to the ground, using the terrain as best they could for protection. They were harder to pick off.

What made it worse for all of them was how the enemy clans would throw in their own tactics to mass firepower on the Javan lines. They were all too content to let the Swabians do most of the firing with their rifles. Only when most of the firing had stopped when the Swabians reloaded would they rush forward and take aim as one body, letting slip over a thousand arrows to come raining down on the line. Once that barrage was finished, they'd slip back behind the Swabians for protection.

It was a clever plan, and there were only a few times during the entire battle that Jack's line wasn't being fired upon by one of the groups. However, it did have a few weaknesses that they were quick to exploit. For one, the Andalucians hadn't figured out how to take cover against the potency of the NT-12 at short range. Every time they rushed forward, fewer of them came, their remaining comrades laying against the ground at the front of the lines. In time, the line of bodies became their only protection once they'd been significantly thinned out, but it also significantly reduced the threat of their aerial barrages.

Another factor that helped the battle was that the Swabians rifles didn't appear to fire as quickly as the NT-12. Jack had yet to see one up close, but he noticed just about all of them were bolt-action rifles, meaning each round had to be manually fed into the chamber before firing, compared to the NT-12 which was semi-automatic, therefore a new bullet was fed into the chamber once the operator had pulled the trigger. While it wasn't a huge difference between them, the difference in timing gave the advantage back to the defender.

That small difference had started to catch up with the Swabians by the time the battle was about midway through. Those that made it too close to the lines were often sitting ducks to the marines, especially vulnerable when they needed to reload. The protection of lying prone against the ground could only last for so long when you were too close to the line, and those men were rapidly mopped up.

The last phase of the battle became a shooting match between the exhausted enemy clans and Swabians behind the wall of their dead. Rarely did they venture forward to directly assault the Javan wall yet they were keen to keep pressure all along the line as long as they had their own protection. Rare groups of Andalucians would eventually press forward from that line, trying to attack local positions where it appeared the defense had thinned out. Most of those attacks failed miserably, quickly drawing the eye of all the defenders who then filled the attackers with measurable amounts of lead.

"Come out of that line and fight, you cowards!" yelled Greg at the attacking forces, safe behind their wall of bodies.

Many of the Javans added onto the taunts of their commander, only to have the enemy clans yell back in return. Many of those threats were in their ancient language, while just a small handful were in the common tongue—colorful comments about what they could do to their own mothers.

"They look pretty comfy behind that position, Jack," yelled Greg as he slipped in beside him.

"I have half a mind to lead the boys out and see if we can take it on."

Jack shook his head rapidly. "Don't. You saw how much damage we did to them on the way down. Even with that many numbers, a frontal assault on our position was going to be a tough job. We weathered the storm pretty well from the looks of it, but I fear we'd take casualties that we couldn't replace if we attempted the same."

"Normally, I'd agree with you, but their line is just a pile of bodies. If we press hard with the full force, we might be able to take them all right now," said Greg.

"I'd rather not risk it, Greg," said Jack with a firm shake of the head. "They still outnumber us pretty heavily on the rifles. If it was just the Andalucians, I'd say go for it. But with the Swabians there, we need to stay point."

Greg looked like he wanted to say more but he bit his tongue, giving a short nod before returning his attention back to the line. Jack knew he was frustrated but like the good marine he was, he wouldn't speak about it publicly.

The last great charge came shortly after that conversation. Almost the entire right flank of the Andalucian clans sprung forward at once from their defensive line, their short swords barred and their bows left behind. From the looks of things, they hoped to close the remaining distance between the two lines rapidly on foot before unleashing with their short melee weapons in close quarters. It was a bold plan but one that was destined to fail.

For one, they had no support from the Swabians beyond the briefest of covering fire. All of them stayed put behind the line of dead bodies, not chancing the attack with their comrades. Without the Swabian spear in the front of the attack, the enemy clans had no chance. They were mowed down almost to the man, but not before several of them had reached the line. It was the furthest any of the attackers had gotten to their position, the high tide mark of the battle. Jack was just thankful that they were able to hold them off without much more difficulty.

From there the battle started to lose steam. With neither side willing to go across the no-man's-land in the middle, most of the firing died down in order to save ammunition. It persisted in that stalemate until nightfall. As soon as the sun dipped down below the western mountains, small groups of Swabians and Andalucians could be seen sneaking back up the mountain, abandoning their vulnerable position on the battlefield.

They left largely unmolested. Jack's own lines were too tired from the daylong battle to protest their steady retreat back to the mountains. He couldn't say he blamed them. It wasn't an eager warrior who went to battle in the night, especially after the draining day they'd just suffered. Many of them were content to rest up and fight again another time.

Although it was technically a win since the Swabians were leaving the battlefield, Jack knew that it was more inconclusive than it looked. They still outnumbered him in rifles if not in bodies, and they were far from beaten. Even his own lines were very precarious, made all the more worse by the threat of another enemy, the Occitanians, out at sea. Not to mention, there was still the report of his "reinforcement" clans who had halted in their place, no doubt wanting to see who would emerge the victor of this little contest.

"I have the final count of our forces," said Greg, slipping in behind him not far from the center line. "We lost fifteen more guys, meaning we're down to eighty effectives. I have thirteen wounded. Most of them will pull through. Some won't. One unlucky bastard took a bullet right through the eye. How he's still alive, I have no idea, but I doubt he will be in the morning."

"Not too bad considering the odds we faced. There had to be nearly a thousand Swabians on the way down to attack us this morning," said Jack. "Where the hell did they come from?"

"It looks like we finally pissed off this Avila guy enough that he decided to send an army," said Greg, kicking a stone around with his feet. "Unfortunately for us, those Swabians are the heaviest armed opponents we've faced since we got here in the Vector."

Jack nodded. "I knew our good luck with facing enemies that still relied on swords and bows was bound to run out soon. I've heard the Swabians were more advanced but had no idea how far they were. I guess that answers our question."

Greg walked away for a moment to grab something near his pack. He brought back one of the enemy rifles upon his return. "Look at this thing. One of the guys recovered it from one of those dead bastards that got a little too close. This looks like something my father might have used."

Greg was largely correct. The wooden stock, bolt-action rifle would be practically a relic back in Java, something they were bound to find in their grandfather's hunting cabinets. It didn't make it any less deadly, and in the right hands, it would be a potent force. However, it did provide a measure of relief back to Jack.

"We can infer a lot about their technology now that we've seen their rifles," said Jack after he'd inspected it. "Do you remember when we sunk that Swabian cruiser before we got to Andalucia?"

"How couldn't I?" replied Greg dryly. "That was the last time I didn't have sand in my boots constantly."

Jack chuckled. "That cruiser was like something I'd trained on when I was a lot younger. From what I can see, their level of technology looks to be about twenty years or about one generation behind ours."

"That's still pretty damn close, especially when compared with the Sorellans and Andalucians, Jack."

"True, but we still have some semblance of an advantage. There's a huge difference in our wars today versus the wars our fathers fought. If we know the Swabians are still stuck at this level, perhaps we might be able to regain the initiative."

Greg squinted his eyes. "What are you suggesting? An attack on their own lines?"

"I don't know if this is the right time to do that, Greg. I know you're itching to get back at them, but we need to conserve our strength against unnecessary battles."

"What if we do something small and stealthy?" the major suggested. "Something more like a raid? We come in quiet and hit the lines with everything we have, and then we melt back when it starts to get hot. A quick in and out."

Jack mulled the idea over in his mind for a few moments before responding. Sure, it would be great to strike back at the Swabians and let them know they still had a lot of fight left in them. But Jack worried most about the terrain that they were attacking on, one that favored the defender on two points. For one, the Andalucians knew the terrain they were on while the Javans didn't. Even his own clans weren't familiar with the territory for the most part. For two, they were pulled back to their defensive position in the mountain, almost impregnable to everything but a frontal assault. Even if they were to pull off a successful raid, all the defenders would have to do is watch them scurry back down the mountain on all that open land. They'd be easy pickings.

Finally, Jack shook his head. "I'd be more worried about the target your backs would present as you came back down from the mountain. No, let's hold tight here another day. They've already shown they can't force us from this position with their strength alone. Now that they are weakened, let's see if we can make them attack us again in the morning."

"What if they have more reinforcements in the morning, Jack? What are we to do then? We gave them a good showing today, but if they pick up more men, there's no telling where this might go."

Jack pursed his lips. "If that's the case, we may have to pull back. As much as I hate to say it, we can't take on a full regiment of Swabians with only eighty marines."

Greg's face split into a small smirk. "I don't know, Jack. Those might be good odds to some commanders."

Jack chuckled to that one. "Not that one of our men isn't worth twenty of those bastards, but I won't throw away your lives so easily. Let's sleep on this and see what the situation is in the morning. Who knows, they might pull back."

*****

Jack awoke early the next morning before most of the camp. He slipped out of the tent quietly, after kissing a still sleeping Kat. She murmured quietly as she turned over, not yet ready to greet the day.

He moved through the camp at a brisk pace, coming to the front lines shortly after. Most of the early morning sentries were still at their posts, watching the darkness pass in front of them and trying to discern any enemy movements. It was largely uneventful. After the enemy clans and the Swabians had pulled out after dark, there had been no other movements, and from what most of them could see, the enemy was still tucked away on the defensive back up the mountain.

For now. Until they decided it was worth another attack.

The men were in good spirits despite yesterday's brutal battle. His own clans seemed just as bloodthirsty as the day before while many of the marines seemed to ache for the chance to avenge their fallen comrades. By the look of things up on the mountain, Jack doubted that anything further would come to pass today. The enemy didn't look like they were bound to come down from that mountain any time soon.

"Your Majesty, there you are!"

Jack turned his head to look at Dula of the Muthada, who was rapidly closing the distance between them. Dula was a younger man in his early twenties who had been part of the scouting force that watched the flanks of the army. He was also the same man who'd originally spotted the Occitanian force off the coast and brought word of its arrival to Jack.

"Dula, take a breath," said Jack while raising his hands. "What has you so worked up?"

As soon as Dula reached him, he hunched over and rested his hands on his knees. It was obvious that wherever he was coming from, he ran all the way back to camp. His face was pale, and he looked nearly frightened.

"Your Majesty, those enemy ships are lingering off the coast! They have turned back around!"

"Calm yourself, Dula," said Jack, placing his hand on the younger man's shoulders. "Start over slower this time. What did you see?"

Dula finally pushed himself up. "You put me out to scout with the others and to watch the fleet that I'd discovered the other day. Well, I was watching them, Your Majesty. They continued north along the coast, and we thought they'd left. Yesterday morning, there was no sight of them."

"But they're back now? Is that right?'

Dula nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. They've doubled back. The worst part about it is they've sent men from the ships to land on the island. I saw it with my own eyes, sire. A small boat came ashore with no more than twenty men, only about five miles away from our spot right now."

Jack's expression turned dark. "What were they doing? Were they just scouting the land or were they pushing inland?"

"I didn't stay to watch them long, sire," admitted Dula. "I was more alarmed to see that they'd returned, and as soon as I saw them sending men ashore, I had to let you know. They'd no more than pushed onto the sand when I started my run back here."

Jack cursed silently. He knew that Dula meant well, but he'd ran entirely too fast. What could be the purpose of the Occitanians on the shore? Surely it couldn't be a coincidence that they managed to land on the only stretch of land anywhere close that was just a short distance from his own army. But if it wasn't a coincidence, how did they find him? More importantly, what were their intentions? A task force that size could clearly have their own marine regiment aboard, and if that was the case, they were truly fucked.

But first, he needed to find out their intentions.

"Dula, how long did it take for you to run this distance?"

"About twenty-five minutes, sire. I'm a good runner. Always have been."

"Good, I want you to take one of my marines back with you, just like you did the day before yesterday. I want you to figure out what those men and ships are doing before you come back," said Jack, before yelling for a nearby marine.

"Take Private Vance with you, and don't come back until you can give me a detailed report of what they're doing," said Jack. He then turned to Vance. "Listen to this man and go with him. He'll explain what you need to do on the way. Now go, both of you!"

Vance offered a bewildered salute before taking off after Dula, the unlikely duo soon disappearing in the direction of the coast. Jack didn't linger to watch them leave; instead, he slipped back to his tent after grabbing Greg and Kat to start another impromptu war council. Both of them looked at him expectantly, no doubt expecting word of what he wanted to do with their current position.

"Things are getting a little dicey," said Jack as he rubbed his face with his hand. "It's been reported to me that the Occitanians have returned to the stretch of coast just opposite our camp. They've even sent a landing party."

Greg straightened his posture. "A landing party? Of marines?"

"I don't know," said Jack with frustration. "The scout left a little too soon, but I sent a marine to go check it out again. If this happens to be marines, this will be a bad sign."

Kat scrunched her eyebrows. "How would they know we were here? Wasn't the last report that they were sailing by?"

Jack nodded. "I don't know. I don't think this is a coincidence though. Either they heard the battle yesterday or they've intercepted some of our radio traffic. It doesn't seem to matter right now though. If they know we're here, then we're in an even more difficult position. The Occitanian force will be even more deadly than the Swabians and maybe just as numerous."

"We might be able to handle one or the other," said Greg with a worried look. "But not both of them. Especially if they come in two different directions."

Jack nodded. "I have to agree with that. The situation has changed against us. I think we ought to pull back and put some distance between us and them, at least until we get reinforcements."

"What's the status of that, Jack? I know we've been promised some, but it feels like we've received that promise months ago."

"I'd sent a message directly to Bancroft asking that we receive reinforcements soon. Ships and men. Hopefully, we could get Luke back in the process as well. I've heard it was accepted, but the rest of the command has been quiet on me since then. The short answer is I still don't know when they might arrive."

"That could prove to be all the difference in this fight," said Greg. "Without them, we might be sitting ducks until either the Swabians or Occitanians decide to pounce."

"The Swabians will follow our army as well, Jack," added Kat. "Don't expect them to sit here just because we're pulling back. I've seen how their army fights. They never let the enemy get too far away. They stay latched on like a parasite, hoping to restrict your movements while they slowly drain your strength away. It's only once you're weak enough that they'll move to strike the final blow."

Jack thought about her response for a while before he started speaking again. "Perhaps we can turn that against them? Use that to our advantage?"

Greg pursed his lips. "What are you thinking, Jack?"

Before Jack could respond, he was already calling for Bazu. "Bazu, can you come in here please? I need you at once!"

The excitable vizier entered their partition of the tent, already looking red at being called in so hastily in front of an audience. He bowed in front of Jack as was customary. "Yes, Your Majesty. How can I help?"

"I need you to find any maps of the country along the eastern coast. Bring to me everything you can get your hands on. Likewise, bring me anyone who has experience with the terrain. Perhaps someone who grew up here. If we pull back the army, I want to know exactly what to expect with the area that we're going to."

"Certainly, Your Majesty, I'll get right to it!" chirped the vizier before rushing on his way.

"What's on your mind, Jack? You look like you're up to something," said Kat with a sly smile.

"I think I have a way that we can get out of this, but we'll need to move quickly."

*****

The King of Sorella was nervous.

It wasn't an everyday type of nervousness that came from ruling nor was it that subtle yet crushing anxiety that appeared right on the eve of battle.

This type of nervousness was more direct than the others. And it reminded him of feelings he hadn't had since his youth.

One fond memory in particular occupied his thoughts while he walked to the spare wing of his palace, one that he hadn't thought of in almost thirty years. It was back in the days before he was king, and even before his father was too. Heron remembered having his eye on a lovely young lady from a foreign house, and wanting to ask her to sit with his family during the upcoming Feast of Malicoe.

To do so was a huge honor for just about any of the noble houses. Getting the chance to sit with the king's family was a matter of high privilege. It also signaled to others the desire of romantic relations on the part of the inviter. And if accepted, acknowledgment was given from the invitee as well.

At the time, Heron had barely seen twenty springs, and he was still quite green in matters of the heart. It was long before he'd fallen in love with his wife, Niamh, and in those days, his heart could still be quite wild and reckless.

The object of his affections had been young and beautiful. And she knew it, which was the worst part about it. A first daughter of a loyal, noble house, she had her pick of suitors simply due to her stunningly attractive profile. The passing of time had made the memory of her name much harder to recall, to the point that Heron struggled to even recall it.

Astara?

Or was it Athene?

No matter the name, her beauty was known throughout the land of Sorella, but only her beauty alone. What had developed on the outside had stunted the inside, unfortunately, and the young woman had a reputation for being more vain than Heron might have liked. Still, he was young and he was in love, a preoccupation that seemed to negate everything else. How silly he must have been in his youth.

He remembered just how nervous he'd been to ask her to sit with him—the sweaty palms, the sputtering speech, and even the redness of his face had all been sure indicators. Looking back, he'd been over the moon to hear her say yes. At the time, he thought it was because she wanted his affections. He didn't dream that it could have been that she saw a way to elevate her status, a method for lording over her main rivals.

Despite the sourness of the memory, the feeling of nervousness stayed with him. It emerged once again when he was first introduced to Niamh, long after he'd figured out the first girl wasn't worthy of his affections. Then it laid dormant for years, evaporated by age and only to be remembered fondly over time.

Until the feeling came roaring back on his walk through the empty wing. The very same feeling now throbbed in his heart as he brought his hand to the door, knocking softly.

"Who is it?" rang a feminine voice from the inside.

"It's Heron," he said more quietly than he intended, the feeling already affecting his speech. Damnit, I'm an old man, not a lovestruck teenager!

The door opened with a sudden start, the inhabitant's lovely brown eyes instantly focusing on him. It made the old king's heart skip a beat to see a genuine smile form on her lips.

"I didn't expect to see you today," said Melora with a beaming grin. "I asked about you to Nikias earlier, and he said you might be busy all throughout the evening."

Blasted Nikias, I should have a word with him, thought Heron.

"No, no, I wish he would've sent you through. Your company would have been greatly appreciated from the tedium of the day," said Heron.

Melora's cheeks instantly reddened. "Does this mean that you're free now?"

"Yes, I am. In fact, I was hoping you'd join me? The moon just rose up above the palace, and it looks spectacular tonight. Would you like to sit outside with me and watch it?"

She nodded eagerly. "Oh my! That sounds lovely. Thank you, Heron."

Only with slight hesitation did he offer her the crook of his arm. Melora looked down at it and smiled again, gently slipping her hand through the opening as they began to walk away from her room. It was already quiet in this portion of the wing, and Heron knew they were unlikely to see anyone but the palace staff. He was just fine with that—he didn't need any more gossip about the amount of time he spent with the lovely woman at his side.

"You feel a little tense right now, Heron," she noted while softly tugging at his arm. "Is something bothering you or was it just a long day?"

"A little of both," he answered too honestly. "It's why I so desired your company as a means to escape the doldrums of ruling. You always seem to find a way to put a smile back on my face."

Melora giggled softly and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You always say the nicest things to me. Sometimes I don't know why you give me the time of day."

"I could say the same thing, you know? I find the fact that you like spending time with this old man very improbable."

"Oh, stop that. You're not that old," quipped Melora with a sly grin.

"Old enough to be your—"

"I said stop," she said more firmly, forcing him to look at her. "We're not going down that road again so put it out of your mind. I know who I want to spend my time with and that person is you. As long as you'll have me, this is where I'll be."

Heron didn't answer her and only nodded his head. He was grateful for that fact. It wasn't the first time they'd had that conversation, but her answer never seemed to change. They'd spent so much time together in the weeks that had passed since he first ran into her in the kitchens that it was always at the forefront of his mind. He liked Melora. Maybe a little too much. But he wanted to be sure that whatever he was feeling for her was requited.

And by her actions and words, it seemed they were very much in the same boat.

He led her outside to the small balcony that occupied a quiet corner near his own personal chambers. Almost as soon as she stepped out, Melora gasped at the sight around her.

"By the gods, the moon is lovely tonight," she said while pointing. "I've rarely seen it so bright."

"It doesn't happen often from what I understand," said Heron. "But on nights like these, I always like to enjoy them. It's even better when you can sit out here with someone special to you."

He'd arranged to have a small wooden bench put out here for them to have a place to sit. The narrow room for seating meant that they'd have to be close together, a fact that he'd hoped she wouldn't mind. Nor did she, when Melora sat on one end and patted the seat next to her. Heron sat down eagerly as his body pressed next to hers, and her arm soon looped back through his.

"It's the perfect night for this," she said quietly. "It's just warm enough with a small breeze off the ocean. This beats my own room hands down."

Heron chuckled. "I was hoping you'd say that. We've had just beautiful weather in the last few days. I'm hoping it holds up for the celebration tomorrow." The day had finally arrived for the whole city to celebrate the impending nuptials of Elektra and Nikias. Tomorrow was bound to be a day of festival and frivolity, and the old king just hoped that the splendid weather would hold.

"How is Elektra feeling? Is she nervous?"

Heron shook his head slightly. "It's always hard to tell with her. She does a good job of hiding her true feelings from me when she wants to. On the surface, she seems calm, but I remember when I was in her position and feeling all of the nerves the night before." And oddly enough, it's similar to what I'm feeling now.

Melora giggled lightly. "As do I! I was a nervous wreck the night before my wedding, and it was just a simple affair. I can't imagine having to be the center of attention for an entire city."

"Elektra should be used to it. At least, I would hope so," said Heron. "It just kind of comes with the territory."

"What about you? How does it feel that your youngest daughter is getting married?" She reached out to caress his knee. "Has it hit you yet?"

Heron took a long sigh. "Yes and no. It's what I wanted for so long that I still can't believe it's here. I felt like I pushed and pushed for this, and Elektra tried her hardest to fight me back. She just gave up too easily though, and I'm still in a state of shock about it."

"What do you think caused her to stop fighting it?"

"If we're being honest, I think it was Nikias," said Heron. "I see the way they look at each other. I also see the gestures and the affection they give each other when they think no one is looking. Elektra was so adamant about following her own destiny that all it took was Nikias to come along to show her another path. I'm grateful for that."

Melora gave him a deep, knowing look. "I know how that can be. Waiting for the right man."

He hazarded a glance at her before his eyes flickered down to her lips. They looked so soft, so inviting, that he didn't dare stare at them too long lest he lose his train of thought. When he looked back to her lips, he was pleased to find she wore a small smile. "Oh, yeah? You have experience there, I take it?"

She hugged his arm tighter. "I do. Twice, you can say," she said hesitantly.

"Twice you say. Tell me more."

Melora giggled softly. "Don't be cruel."

"Who me? I could never be cruel to you."

"Then don't make me say it out loud," she said while burrowing her head against his shoulder.

"Maybe I want to hear you say it out loud. Maybe that's the one thing I want the most?"

"And what if I'm too scared to? What then?"

Heron chuckled softly and patted her hand affectionately. "You have nothing to be scared of."

Melora turned her face to look at him. Her eyes were deep, full with emotion. The bright, beautiful moon reflected off them lovingly. "Do you want me to admit how much I care for you?"

"I would. Honestly, I really would."

She smiled. "And why should I give you the pleasure?"

Heron chuckled again. "It should be illegal to tease an old man as mercilessly as you do."

"If you think this is teasing, you have much to learn, my king," she answered with a twinkle in her eyes.

"You might be the death of me with what you're insinuating."

"Oh, I don't think so," she said, bravely stroking his thigh. "I think there's a lot of youth in you still. A lot of energy—at least I hope."

"For you, I'm sure I could muster up plenty."

"Good, you're going to need it."

Heron grinned and turned back to the moon. "Are you just going to play with me all evening or are you ever going to kiss me?"

"What in the name of good Juna do you think we're out here for if not for some good kissing?" she quipped.

"You do a good job of playing chaste, but I suspect you have a wild side to you, Melora."

She purred. "You just might be right. And maybe if you're lucky, you can see some of that wild side."

"Tonight?"

She slapped his thigh. "No, not tonight. But I'll never turn away a kiss."

Heron slipped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. Her lips appeared tantalizing close to his face, and the tension between them hung thickly in the air. That invisible barrier between them finally destroyed, Heron pushed in further, connecting their lips for the first time.

Melora let out a content sigh as they made contact, melting against him as the rush of passion surrounded them both. Her lips felt just as soft as they looked and tasted just as sweet. It was only when they parted to introduce her tongue did she press harder against him, her hand sliding along his inner thigh. Her tongue welcomed his own, a gentle greeter that beckoned him to explore further. He took the invitation heartily, invading her mouth and seeking to bridge that connection that had so separated them.

Only too soon did she pull away. "Oh my gods, that was . . . I have no words for what that was."

"Was it good?" he asked breathlessly, his heart in his chest.

"Better than good. So very good. I haven't been kissed like that in a long time."

"Neither have I. It reminds me of old times," said Heron sadly, while his mind drifted back to Niamh. It wasn't a place he planned to go intentionally, but when you lived as long he did, it was a habit that was hard to break.

Melora gently caressed his face, already guessing his thoughts. "It's okay. They're gone now, Heron. And they would want us to be happy."

She wasn't wrong. If Niamh could see the doddering old fool he'd become, she would be greatly disappointed. She would want this for him. To spend out the rest of his life with someone who made him happy.

Someone like Melora.

"Yes, yes you're right," said Heron firmly. "They would want us to be happy. Together."

"As long as that's what you want," she said with a vulnerable look. "Do you want me?"

"I want nothing more than to spend every night with you just like this. Sitting here together, enjoying the moonlight, some conversation, and some of your sweet lips on mine. That's my definition of growing old happily. For so long, I tried to push love and affection out of my mind. I tried to focus on duty, ruling, and family. For the first time in a long time, I think I have a chance to be happy again."

Melora beamed with a smile. "You have no idea how that makes me feel to hear you say that. Coming here felt like I was starting over after a nightmare. In a way, it was. I thought my life would be tainted forever. You've given me that second chance. And you weren't some snobby or haughty king just giving out favors. You did it because you cared for us. You could have easily thrown us onto the street, but you cared when you didn't have to. I think I started falling for you at that moment."

"Falling for me, huh? An old fart like myself?"

Melora grinned and caressed his chin. "I think you mean an established, debonair king."

"That's quite the spin."

"I thought you might like that."

Okay, okay," said Heron with a chuckle. "All jokes aside. Do you really mean that?"

"Of course, I've always found you debonair."

"No, not that. The falling part."

She bit her lip in a sexy manner. "I wouldn't tell you something unless it was true. And everything I've ever told you has been complete honesty. Every moment with you, my king, makes me feel like a giddy girl once more who just found out another boy likes her. I find myself singing throughout the day, and I'm the worst singer you could imagine."

"I'm not sure I believe that. I bet your singing is lovely."

Just to shut him up, she gave him a small sample. After about thirty seconds of that, Heron had to struggle not to grind his teeth. "Okay, maybe you have a point here."

She swatted him playfully. "You beast."

"You still like me, don't you?"

"Gods help me, I do," she said with a dramatic sigh.

Heron pushed in for another kiss. Melora captured his mouth eagerly, teasing her tongue along his upper lip. Her movements were sultry and suggestive, an invitation to more if he so desired. Yet there was also a degree of reservation there. A hint of two steps forward, one step back. He got the feeling that while Melora wanted to escalate their kissing, part of her remained scared to do so.

The kiss ended abruptly as she then burrowed her head against his chest and looked back out to the moon. Heron sighed happily and held her tightly against him, enjoying the feel of her body.

"Can I ask you something? Something that you promise you won't think I'm silly for?" she asked finally.

Heron chuckled lightly. "I'm not sure I won't think you're silly but why don't you go for it."

"There's one thing that worries me slightly about us."

"Oh? What is that?"

"Elektra. I worry about what she might say."

Heron slipped his fingers between her hair. "What makes you say that? If there's anyone who could understand sudden happiness, it would be her."

"Do you think she would take offense to my age? I'm scarcely ten years older than her. I'm closer to her in age than I am to you."

Heron thought it over for a few moments. Melora had a point—the age gap between them was significant. He also wasn't sure how she would feel about Melora being in his life, and whether she would see her as a replacement for her mother. It was a sticking point that he wanted to invest more time on. Knowing how hotheaded his daughter could be, he'd have to go about it carefully.

"Let me think about how we can tell Elektra for the moment," he said finally. "Tomorrow is her day. Let her enjoy the celebration of her upcoming wedding, and we shall discuss it after. I'm sure we can make her see that this is the right thing. For both of us."

Melora sighed happily and nodded against his chest. She didn't chance any more words for some time, and together they enjoyed what remained of the evening, letting the moon shine down on the blossoming of a new relationship.

*****

Abel was once again stationary against the rocks that dominated the mountain pass, carefully huddled about ten feet to the right of the main passage and on high alert for signs of the enemy. In front of him, he had a commanding view of the entire valley, a point that was about a three day journey south from their last battle with the enemy clans.

With highly-trained eyes, he once more scanned the valley floor, looking for signs of movement. In this part of the country, there wasn't much in the form of wildlife, and it showed by the lack of anything resembling the living. Even vegetation was sparse, finding only low-lying bushes and cacti that could survive such a harsh environment. There were no humans in sight yet, and for that he was thankful.

Abel had been tasked to guard the flank of the army as it moved south, destined to move out of the way of the converging enemies on both land and sea. While the Muthada were still few in number after their loss of strength in the war, their knowledge of their home country made them excellent scouts to watch the movements to their rear and allow enough time to warn the main body of any attempted attack.

Abel grabbed his quiver, doing a quick count of his arrows before looking back to the desert valley in front of him. It was quiet now, almost too quiet. It had been a day since he'd last spotted any enemy action. He wasn't surprised that they'd left their commanding position in the mountains in order to pursue them. After all, Andalucians were attackers more than anything and wouldn't so easily let their enemies slip away. Yet, it was a bit confusing to see them lagging this far behind. All it meant was that he'd have to be extra vigilant in preventing any attempted outmaneuvering on their parts.

As he neared the end of his watch, he was relieved by his replacement, a younger and heavily-scarred warrior named Uba, and Abel soon made his way back to the central camp to give his report to the king. He'd spent the better part of six hours on watch, most of it in the midday heat, and he was looking forward to some time spent away from the front lines. Or maybe, perhaps even some time with Nia.

Following the usual path to the king's tent, he waited for Jack to be free of a meeting with one of the Numratha clan warriors before he got his turn. He bowed deeply to his sovereign before turning to face the man.

"Your Majesty," said Abel after locking eyes on him. "I've just finished my watch."

Jack looked more worse for wear. His eyes were narrow and his forehead was taut. Abel could see the man wasn't sleeping well for deep bags now occupied the area under his eyes. He seemed to be stressed beyond measure, something that wasn't wholly unexpected considering their recent reversals.

"Abel, have you seen anything?" asked Jack calmly. "Anything to report?"

"Nothing on the southeast side from what I could see. The desert valley we passed yesterday is still empty. Not a human or beast occupied it."

Jack gave him an odd look. "That would be surprising. I'd have thought they'd be pushing in on that ground now. They've shown every indication they were going to pursue us once we started moving so I thought they'd be pouring through that valley by now."

Abel shrugged. "It's not to say they still couldn't, but perhaps they've pushed on through another way? There is a coastal path that will save them time and come in directly north of our current position. It's possible they've changed course and headed due east to reach that path."

Jack rubbed at his chin before looking down at a map of the country in front of him. "I have men posted there from the Burlada but they've been quiet so far. I wasn't sure if they would chance a more direct route along the coast, especially if they knew what happened to the last clans that got a little too close to the water."

"I've noticed in my country, some lessons need to be repeated several times for them to stick," said Abel with a slight chuckle.

That finally made a grin appear on the king's face, and he soon laughed with him. "I'm tired of having to retreat, Abel. I didn't picture this campaign going in such a way."

"Every campaign changes its course at least once, sire. Nothing ever goes according to plan. If I remember right, if the Muthada's original plan went correctly, you might not be standing here right now."

Jack gave him a solemn nod. "Things were much easier back then. I only had a couple of enemies. Now it seems they multiply."

"All the better for us, sire," said Abel. "We get to take them out all at once instead of having to do it piecemeal."

Jack laughed heartily at that. "Does nothing scare you, Abel? All of your countrymen built of such stern strength?"

Abel gave him a small smile. "Only the best warriors can call themselves Andalucians, Your Majesty. It's all we look forward to. The only thing that scares me is dying an old man, forgotten in my bed."

"You know, men in most countries could only ask for such a fate?" asked Jack with an arched eyebrow. "They'd label that as a good death."

Abel grinned. "Andalucia isn't one of them."

The two of them shared a laugh before another member of the Burlada appeared in the tent. After giving a customary bow to Jack, the warrior started to speak.

"Your Majesty, we've just received an envoy from the enemy clans. He's asked to speak with you. Shall I send him in?"

"Is he alone?" asked Jack.

"Yes, sire. Alone and stripped of any weapons. We've searched him twice."

Jack gave Abel a guarded look before finally looking back to the Burlada warrior. "Send him in."

*****

Jack stepped back a few feet to rest against his desk as he crossed his arms. An envoy from the enemy clans at this point wasn't a good thing. He'd fought long enough in this country to know they only sent envoys when they thought they had you defeated. Many times, it was to give the last of several final taunts before you were crushed in battle. At this time, he expected nothing less.

"Do you want me to leave you, Your Majesty?" asked Abel as he gestured outside the tent.

Jack brought up his hands. "No, no, stay Abel. I trust your opinion just as much as anyone. I'd like you to be here to hear out this envoy and let me know your thoughts after."

Abel barely had time to nod before the tent flap was opened by the Burlada warrior, escorting the new Andalucian inside. Jack took careful measure of this envoy before he stopped in front of him. His face was bare, even though the rest of his head was surrounded by a black head covering. He was a young man, no more than twenty if he had to guess, with patches of dark hair on his face that hinted at his immaturity. His eyes were highly focused on Jack, and he offered no bow or salute as soon as he was in his presence.

"What clan are you from?" asked Jack as the young man simply eyed him up.

"I'm from the mighty Lapusa clan," said the envoy haughtily. There were no signs of respect, and no recognition for Jack's title. This meeting was going off just the way he expected.

"And do you have a name?" Jack asked, already finding himself annoyed.

"I'm called Salam in my clan."

"Well, Salam, there is much for us to do so why don't you get to the reason why you're here. In doing so, please help me find a reason why I shouldn't kill you where you stand to prevent word of our exact locations getting back to your clan?"

Salam's confidence took a hit with that proclamation, and the man noticeably sputtered with his next words. "I'm an e-envoy of my c-clan. We are protected under Andalucian custom!"

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Is it not customary to bow to your king as well, Salam? Since we're breaking customs, why stop with just one?"

Realizing that Jack had a point, Salam offered the most half-hearted of bows before he straightened up. Jack had to try really hard not to let a grin slip onto his face.

"That's better," said Jack. "Now, what message are you here to give?"

"Our clan as well as our allied clans believe it's time that you surrender your crown, Jack Easterbrook," said the envoy boldly. "Ever since you've landed in this country, you've brought nothing but death and misery to its inhabitants. You've broken our customs and killed our rightful king by your own hand."

"I don't know how you think you can dictate those kinds of terms to me," said Jack with a slight chuckle. "I'm the king, and I'm nominally in charge of all the clans of Andalucia. You have two clans and some Swabians with you. Hardly a position of power with which to bargain with."

"Yet it was still the position that defeated you in battle," quipped Salam. "We pushed you back, and at this very moment, we're chasing you now. You know our force is superior to yours. We are but a day behind your forces. As soon as you stop, we'll be on you."

Jack bit his tongue. The man was right, but he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting it. "What about terms? Didn't you come here with any other terms beyond my surrender? What happens to my men?"

"The clans that you have under your command will receive new clan chiefs, no doubt from members of the Lapusa and the Gartala," said Salam simply. "You will be killed, of course. We can't have you running around in this country anymore. All the foreigners that you have under your command will be enslaved as well. They won't have much in the way of lives, but they will still be among the living."

Jack started to chuckle again. "And you expect me to accept these terms?"

Salam shrugged. "My clan chief thought it wise to at least let you know what you faced. Such is the fate for anyone who has so disturbed this country. And we've heard some rumors as well."

"What rumors have you heard?"

"That you intend to free the slaves," said Salam, making a disgusted face. "We can't have that. We've heard of what you did in Septhada. How long until it's the entire country? We can't have you turning Andalucian society completely upside down."

"I freed those people because it was the right thing to do," said Jack behind gritted teeth.

"If you say. From our perspective, it was the worst thing you could possibly do. Slaves are not the same as Andalucians."

"Those men are the same as you," said Jack angrily. "They look like you, they think like you, they feel like you. Who are you to deny them things that you take for granted?"

"You know nothing of what it means to be Andalucian," snapped Salam. "And you call yourself king." The man spit on the ground.

"I don't think you're going to find any terms here, Salam."

Salam shrugged. "If that's the case, we will be forced to give battle to you again, and we will kill everyone in your camp. This meeting at least gives you the ability to enable the majority of your force to live." Salam then gave him a wicked grin. "Your fate is settled either way."

"It seems you don't leave me many options then, Salam." Jack took several steps closer, approaching the man's face. "Yet, you're forgetting one thing."

Salam's confidence took an immediate hit. He swallowed heavily once Jack was close enough to him. "What's that?"

"My men never surrender. And neither will I. I'm the man who used two clans to take the crown of this country." Jack leaned his head forward until it was just inches away from Salam's. "Don't you think I'm the wrong guy to fuck with?"

Salam gulped again, but not before taking a step back. "My message has been delivered. I take it you decline our terms."

"They are very much declined," said Jack.

"As you wish. I will return the message to my clan."

Jack snapped his fingers. "No you will not. Like I said earlier, I don't want word of our exact position getting back to your clan." Jack called for the Burlada warrior just outside the door, waiting for the man to stick his head inside the tent. "Take this enemy envoy and put him in with the other prisoners."

The color quickly drained from Salam's face. "I'm an envoy of the Lapusa! You can't kill me!"

"Oh, I'm not going to kill you Salam. But you're my prisoner now." He then turned back to the Burlada warrior. "Get him out of my sight."

As Salam was dragged out of the tent, Jack returned to his desk and sighed. The message from the enemy clans was bold, but it wasn't without the threat of force to back it up. As long as they had the greater numbers of Swabians on their side, he wouldn't be able to let his guard down.

"Am I a fool for turning him down, Abel?" he asked quietly.

"No, Your Majesty," said Abel firmly. "There is still time for us to fight and win."

Jack hoped like hell that Abel was right.