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Author Topic: Twenty sixth wave.  (Read 1244 times)
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« on: August 12, 2008, 12:54:49 PM »

The night was dark and cold. North-Western wind was pushing the big tent, as if it would lift it in the sky any moment, but so far - in vain.
Several torches were shading some light inside and its exit was guarded by two soldiers, bristled, their hands on their swords, watching vigilantly the whole camp. Nobody was to interrupt the meeting. Nobody.
Inside the tent Marshal Flinstoun was sitting on a pillow on the very ground, his chalice in his right hand, facing five Emperors, who were sitting the same way. A large and comprehensive map of the lands of Imperia was spread in their feet.
The Marshall pointed a river on the map with his finger.
'This will be the buffer zone. We will deploy our forces here, on the right bank of the river, all the way South and North. The bridges are four, there is no other way. Otherwise the would have to make extremely wide march through these mountains, here and here. They can get the siege machinery that way and half of their horses will freeze to death at the glaciers up there', the Marshall made a pause and scratched his chin, 'Yes... this is really the only way. And we can hold them at least a year on that river.'
The five Emperors did not say a word. They only nodded.
They did not feel comfortable being here.
They did not feel comfortable about the nomad leader's offer. Nor did they like what he wanted from them.
And the only thing he wanted - was to proclaim himself as the Only Lord of Imperia. And them - to be his Vassals. And when the time comes for him to defend his will by force - he would call upon them to fight... both nomads and their own blood.
But they did not have any choice.
The alternative was... total annihilation.
The had seen his huge siege armies and two of them - had already "tasted" his wrath and unbreakable ambition in previous battles.
'What guarantee do we have that your Chieftains will not sense the plot and... let's say... hang you on some tree in the nomads camp', one of the five asked.
Flinstoun smiled.
'The Leaders of the Horde are my concern', he started, 'They belong to the past. Relics. Mellowed by their age, they do not possess neither the ambition, nor the motivation to want anything. We are the ones who carry out this war. We are... the future. Jane, Caxo, Petsmart, that... mangy dog Oton and... me.'
'The mangy dog who... became the First Marshall of the Horde', spitefully remarked one of the rulers, 'Are you certain all this is not just a... rivalry between two First among First?'
The smile did not leave Flinstoun's face, though his guts boiled this instant. The Wild one was controlling himself perfectly.
'When the time comes... I will take care of him. So... what will be thy decision, Emperors? We there be an agreement between us?'
The fives took out their dagger, cut the flats of their hands and left the blood drops mix on the map instead of answer.
Flinstoun's smile widened.
"A smart move!"
Because... in any other case... they would not leave his camp alive.

Twenty sixth wave results:

Imperian Fortresses destroyed: 1982
Defenders' victories: 663

Nomads killed: 17797700
Imperian soldiers killed: 4346979

The spring had already come in the nomad camp.
And, by tradition, the Steppe Sons were celebrating it with games, competing their strength and agility.
No one could match the Amazon in riding and javelin throwing.
Marshall Robust defeated all his opponents in the fist fights and General Petsmart outran everyone.
The lot fell upon Jane and Robust to compete in the final, throwing a javelins.
'Be careful not to fall from your horse, kiddo', the Black Marshall smiled widely, stretching his right arm for the forthcoming throw.
'The difference between you and me, my old friend is that I still can keep myself on the settle', Jane lifted her chin and poked her stud. She galloped like lightning and pierced the bull's eye with her pike. The gathered nomads gasped in disbelief and Xaoc stood up, clapping.
Despite his massive body Robust lively mounted his horse and... his spear pierced Jane's right in the middle.
The crown burst into wild claps and Jane could not believe her eyes.
'Even if you try it a hundred times again, you can not repeat that throw', she stated, grabbing his shoulder.
The Black Marshall nodded and looked into her eyes.
'You still have much to learn, kiddo', and they both laughed.
And the spring... would pass as quickly as it came. And after that... summer would come.
A summer which... would witness the final stage of the Greatest War in the history of Imperia.
The Nomad Horde was preparing itself for the decisive and crushing blow which will destroy the free rulers.
And the free rulers themselves... were repairing their Strongholds, recruiting more soldiers, mobilizing their veterans and were determined to defend their lands till the last man.
Nomads and Imperians were strengthening their ranks for the final confrontation which would echo through centuries and generations to come and would become a legend.
The Legend of the First Era of Nomads Invasions.
« Last Edit: August 12, 2008, 14:40:11 PM by Oton » Logged

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