[Firefoot]

It was not long before Siamak was again hurrying through the dark streets of Kanak. After Jarult had oriented him to their position in the city, they had decided that it would be best to go straight to the army, camped outside the city walls. Siamak had wanted to see Morgôs, yet, even if the General were still alive, he could not afford the time to get to the palace, nor did Siamak know how he would get back in. And while he made his trip to the army, Zamara and Jarult were working out how to raise the rest of the city and, hopefully, get news.

So now he rushed on to the great gate of the city, which was closer than Siamak had realized. He only hoped that there would be few Orcs guarding it… he wondered hopefully whether they might have abandoned their posts in the ‘excitement’ going on in other parts of the city. From what he had seen of the vile creatures, he would not put it past them.

The further he went without hearing any sound of pursuit, indeed, any sign of life, the less uneasy he became. He still was wary, but it was nevertheless a relief to hear the Orcs’ cries coming from the center of the city growing fainter and fainter, almost out of earshot.

So when Siamak heard an Orkish cry not too far away, he could feel his heart jump into his throat. He quickly ducked into the shadows of a nearby doorway, waiting anxiously. When no Orcs came, however, Siamak realized they must be nearer to the gate than he had thought. He crept out of the doorway and down the street, drawing his sword quietly. He peered around the corner of the last building on the street and saw, as expected, the gate of the city. It was guarded by four Orcs, one of them apparently dead. The others stood round it, jeering at the corpse. Siamak pushed back a grim laugh. His father would regret the day he decided to replace the army of Pashtia with these… creatures.

He paused for a moment, but what had to be done had to be done, after all, and they had to get through that gate. Swiftly he jumped out from behind the building and within seconds it was done: the three remaining Orcs had joined their dead comrade. The one Orc who had actually seen him had not even had time to draw his blade. Siamak felt a wave of revulsion rush through him at the killings as he wiped his blade of the black Orkish blood on the garment of one of the Orcs.

Before leaving the city, he dragged the bodies of the Orcs out of the open. A needless precaution, perhaps, but he wasn’t taking any chances. A few precious minutes later he moved onto the gate. It was sturdy, but once unlatched it swung open easily and soundlessly on its hinges. This was the first part of the battle won: he was through the gate.

Siamak’s gaze quickly alighted on the glow of campfires a short distance away. “That way,” he muttered, and strode off. Perhaps two-thirds of the way there he was stopped by a youthful figure calling, “Who goes there?” Youthful, Siamak thought him, then realized that the soldier standing before him could not have been more than two years younger than himself.

“Hold that question for a few minutes, and I will answer it,” said Siamak. “I would ask you a question first…” Now came the first delicate part of his plan. He needed to know how the ordinary soldiers felt, and he felt sure he would not get an honest answer if they knew his identity.

“Go on…” said the youth, hand straying to sword hilt.

“Where do your loyalties lie?”

The soldier frowned at him and did not say anything for a long moment. “To Pashtia,” he finally answered. “I serve my country.”

“And the rest of the army… do they feel the same?”

He did not hesitate this time, answering sharply. “Who are you, and why do you want to know? You have come here, and it is our right to judge you before you judge us.”

“Very well,” answered Siamak. “I ask because much is afoot tonight, the services of the army will be needed, and in service to Pashtia, though not, perhaps, to its king. As to myself, I am the Prince Siamak. I must see the commanding officers. By the time we are done, the army needs to be ready to fight. Can you spread that word?” Siamak had watched the play of emotions on the young man’s face, from suspicion to disbelief to readiness, but shining through it all was hope.

He nodded. “Yes, m’lord, I will. Come with me.” He turned and led Siamak into the camp. He spoke to a few men before they reached a rather larger tent towards the middle of the camp. These pauses gave Siamak time to get a good look at the camp. Many men sat awake tonight, no doubt brooding over the unrest in the city. Now, Siamak could see that there was burning in the city by the dull orange glow and thick smoke billowing out over the city. Time was running out.

The two filed into the tent and Siamak found himself facing five men. The tent itself was fairly roomy; tables bearing various papers and maps were set up along the sides. Siamak guessed (correctly) that this was the makeshift headquarters now that the army had been ousted of its former spacious grounds.

“The Prince Siamak to see Captains Adbullar, Memon, Iskender, Gyges, and Aysun,” announced the soldier (though he gave no indication of which man belonged to which name), and with that he bowed and exited, leaving Siamak alone with the captains. The captains bowed as well in proper Pashtian fashion and sat down on low cushions. Siamak did likewise. He could not read their emotions and prayed that this would go easily and quickly. When none of them spoke, he plunged in.

“I am the Prince Siamak,” he said, though he knew it had already been stated, “and I act in the name of Pashtia. Khamul the king is no longer fit to rule and destroys his country; my sister Gjeelea is in agreement with this, though I do not know if she yet lives. In such circumstances the rightful rule of Pashtia falls to me.” He could not tell if the captains were accepting this, and so he played his trump. “In addition, the General Morgôs, whom I pray still lives, swore fealty to me some months ago, giving me the power to command him and thereby the army.” He could see that there was some surprise at this statement and that he now had their full attention. “I am in need of these services now. If something is not done tonight, Pashtia may well fall into the utter darkness and shadow brought by the Emissary of the west. Already, the light and glory of Pashtia has faded considerably. The land is despoiled, the people are disheartened and fearful, the army is disgraced and replaced by the foul race of Orcs. The time has come for you to fight for your country and yourselves, for your rights and your liberty, for your friends, your families, and all that Pashtia once was. The time has come, and there are no more bystanders. Either you aid your country or hasten its downfall. Which will you do?” He was resolved now, and a fell light was in his eyes. The captains looked upon him now with new expressions: one doubtful, one hopeful, one uncomfortable, one thoughtful, and the fifth resolute and ready.

“You ask something of us that would be treasonous, something that should require further deliberation,” objected the third man.

Siamak looked him straight in the face. “Treasonous only to a mad king, not to Pashtia. And there is no time for deliberation. The Elves are being destroyed; parts of the city are burning. The time to act is now.”

“If you will excuse us for a moment,” muttered the first man, and for the next couple of long minutes the five men turned to each other and held a whispered debate. Siamak was on the point of wondering if they would ever reach agreement when one pulled away from the others. “I care not what the rest of you decide. I will follow the prince who I deem to be the rightful lord of Pashtia.”

“And I,” said two more. With that, the remaining two agreed, not quite readily but not reluctantly either. In a short matter of time all five captains had sworn fealty and Siamak was outlining his plan.

“The Orcs in the city outnumber the men you have here, I think,” said Siamak. “However, they are otherwise occupied and will not be expecting a concerted attack. We must go in secrecy into the city and attack at once, before there is time for the Orcs to be organized. I do not know very much about what is happening in the city, however, I would guess that there is more afoot than the destruction of the Elves, and that Khamul and the Emissary will be down commanding things. If this is so, everything will probably come to a head in the middle of the city, in the square of the new temple. We know little for sure, though, so communication will be vital. We need to move into the city as soon as possible. All right?”

One of them nodded. “I hope this will go quickly. However, it will take some time to get the men assembled and organized…”

“I think,” said Siamak as they all stood to go, “that you will find most of them already set to go.”