The best place for the Gansa to ambush the Mukonians was on the slope leading to the road’s highest point behind the fortress. The Mukonian soldiers were well aware of this and halted their march some distance before it to rest and prepare for the uphill spurt. They deployed scouts ahead, too—mountain men from the west side of the Toga range. Accustomed to this type of terrain, they moved swiftly, with no wasted motion.
Van and the Ahfal Oma watched them go while hidden in the woods and far enough to remain undetected. Zakka and the other Gansa warriors had already circled round behind the Mukonian forces.
“We’ll send a messenger to the Zolian fort when the Mukonians begin climbing the slope,” Ohfan had told him. “The hard part is the timing. If we let them know too soon, the Zolians will have time to defend themselves.”
They don’t quite trust me yet, Van thought.
He’d only been fed tidbits of information, making it hard to grasp the overall plan. Still, by watching Ohfan and his men, Van now had a reasonably good idea of their intentions.
They’re going to let the Mukonians attack the fort.
Ohfan’s people would demonstrate their loyalty by sending a messenger to warn the Zolians, telling them they planned to attack the invaders from the rear, while simultaneously enacting some other scheme.
But what?
Van had his suspicions, and he was probably right.
Ohfan raised two fingers. Two scouts were returning to the Mukonian troops, checking their surroundings as they went. Ohfan watched them until they disappeared toward the bottom of the hill, then nodded at a warrior behind him. The man vanished deep into the forest, crouching low as he ran. Presumably, he was heading to the fort to warn the Zolians.
Ohfan glanced at Van and flashed him a devil-may-care smile.
The angle and hue of the sunlight on the tree trunks had begun to change. The Mukonians undoubtedly hoped to reach the top of the rise before sunset, meaning they would mobilize soon. Van closed his eyes and listened intently. In the distance, he caught faint sounds that would have been inaudible to him before. The Mukonian soldiers must have set out.
Ohfan rose without a sound and gestured for his men to move.
The road’s highest point overlooking the fort from the rear was more a hill than a mountain. Ohfan headed for a spot in the forest that offered a good view of the fort yet kept a distance from where the Mukonians were expected to set up camp.
Building a fort within easy range of archers was poor military strategy; however, a river once flowed through this area, and no other spot offered a sufficiently firm foundation. From a distance, the Toga Mountains looked deceptively gentle, but steep ravines plunged between the peaks, and the rugged terrain meant that few routes were broad enough to accommodate large numbers. Like a cork in a bottle, the Zolian fortress plugged the entrance, preventing armies from crossing to the plains of Aquafa.
Zolian garrisons were extremely sturdy. Without large-scale siege engines, the walls would not be breached, and carrying that type of equipment slowed an army tremendously. When this region had teemed with skilled pyuika riders, a sluggish force would have made the perfect target. However, that was no longer the case. The Zolian army had failed to realize the decisive role pyuika riders played during the winter. Ironically, by wiping out the Lone Antlers, the Zolians left a hole in their own border defenses.
Red torches burned in the fort, and soldiers rushed about. The garrison must have been informed of the impending attack.
The structure was of typical Zolian design with two gates, one in the front and one in the rear. Both were guarded by semicircular half-moon ramparts that made it impossible to tell from above whether the portcullises were open or closed. They also prevented the use of battering rams. Archers on the ramparts would pick off any soldiers rushing a gate.
When Van led the Lone Antlers, they’d had difficulty capturing such fortresses.
How will the Mukonians attack?
As Van gazed down at the fort, his instincts as a leader came alive.
With fire.
Although sturdily built, the Zolian stronghold was not a closed box. There was an open square near the soldiers’ barracks to move various supplies. Shooting a flaming arrow that far was impossible, but if that section of the fort caught on fire, it would do considerable damage.
As Van mused on this, he sensed someone approaching. He turned and gasped. A soldier had come up beside him bearing someone on his back, someone Van recognized.
Ah, so that’s it.
Van’s expression clouded. His dream journey into the old man’s memories came rushing back.
The warrior gently lowered his burden to the ground. Kenoi looked up at Van and smiled. “It’s a pity,” he rasped. “When I’m in my body, I’m a sick, old man.”
Ohfan approached and dropped to one knee before Kenoi. “Father.”
The old man nodded, then shifted his gaze to the fort. “Any moment now,” he whispered. He looked to Van with narrowed eyes. “Can you smell them?” he asked.
Van had just caught the scent—saltpeter and charcoal mixed with sulfur. “Firebombs,” he said. The hairs on his nape rose instinctively. The stench resembled that of the Zolian army’s firebombs. Many of Van’s friends had perished to such explosives. When the bombs hit their target, they blew the victim’s body apart. It was a gruesome way to die.
The scent did not waft from the fort, however. The wind carried the odor from a different direction. “Have the Mukonians learned to use firebombs?” Van questioned.
Ohfan nodded. “They’re crude and unreliable compared to those of Zolian make, though. I’ve seen men handling them get blasted apart by accident… Look. Over there. They’re about to start.”