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The Quartz Key Chapter Sixty-Eight
by Lianne Burwell
August 2003
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Nemir had woken with a strange headache and the memory of 
dreams that he could not quite recall, other than that they 
were not the usual dreams that filled his nights. He 
thought that the dream might have been about Judas, but he 
was not sure. Still, even the tattered fragments of a dream 
where Judas was in great danger just added fuel to the fire 
burning within him. It burned so high that he felt almost 
fevered.

That fever was rising higher and higher, the further south 
the army marched, and more and more of his dreams were 
filled with blood. He would smash the clans. He would 
reclaim what was rightfully his. And then, perhaps it was 
time to push his borders even further south.

The sun had barely mounted up above the horizon when the 
army was on the move. More and more, Nemir was frustrated 
by the slow pace, but there was little he could do. There 
were not enough horses for every warrior to be mounted, 
even if they had all been able to ride. The majority of the 
army were foot soldiers, farmers and servants drafted into 
service in the army. Few would know what to do on a horse's 
back. They barely knew how to swing a sword without 
endangering their fellow soldiers, but they would have to 
do.

So they continued south at a snail's pace, while the guard 
and scouts rode ahead.

Nemir tried to stay with the main part of the army as much 
as possible, knowing that his presence would hearten them 
and urge them on, but it was difficult. Often by midday he 
would ride on to the camp that was already being erected by 
the advance riders. There he would pore over the maps, 
discussing the route with Limon and make preliminary plans 
for the coming battles.

At the army's current pace, they would be arriving at an 
open plain on the border between the southern lands and the 
old Kingdom about the time of the full moon. It was on that 
plain that the south had been defeated before, and there he 
would crush them. Never again would they have the chance to 
rise up in rebellion again.

Did they not understand the privilege that had been granted 
them? The Kingdom had brought peace and prosperity to all 
the lands under its dominion. Its peoples had freedom from 
war. Even the lowest of the low had the chance to advance. 
Loyalty was rewarded, and treason was punished swiftly and 
brutally. If the southern clans had embraced their place, 
they could have been content. Instead, rabble-rousers had 
driven them to rebellion, and it would be their 
destruction. Nemir was saddened slightly by the thought, 
but did not let it deter him from what must be done.

The battle plain had mountains capped with snow year-round 
bordering it to the south and east, but the land was itself 
completely flat, as if rolled out by some divine hand. 
Wastelands pressed in on the west, separating the Kingdom 
from the lands inhabited only by barbarians and the costal 
cities beyond which traded across the sea and with the 
Kingdom. The plain itself was home to no one but herds of 
grass-eaters and the predators that hunted them. Springs 
dotted the plain, feeding rich growth. And yet, despite the 
relative richness of the land, even the nomads avoided it. 
Men feared and avoided the plains except for in battle.

Nemir did not fear it. There was little that he would fear 
now. He had come so far since his grief-stricken flight 
from Ajantha after his father had been executed.

Nemir paused. So long ago it had been that he could barely 
remember his life before the temple. It was a strange 
feeling, not being able to recall something so important. 
Then he shook his head and put such thoughts out of his 
mind.

It was not as if his past was important anymore.

All that mattered was what he was now.

>>>~~~<<<

They reached the plain where the battle would be fought two 
short days before the full moon and found the army of the 
south already waiting there for them there. On a plain so 
flat, it was impossible to get a proper vantage from which 
to evaluate the enemy, but Nemir already knew that their 
army was smaller than his own. His own army had been 
growing for months and would have been even larger if 
they'd had until winter to bring in soldiers and warriors 
from the northernmost princedoms.

There'd been no reason to wait.

If he had been inclined to worry, it would only be that his 
own army had not had enough to time train. Many of his foot 
soldiers were simple farmers who knew how to swing a 
scythe, but not a sword. The Southern clans, on the other 
hand, no doubt trained all their sons to fight in 
anticipation of this foolish rebellion. As well, they had 
little to lose. If they failed, they would all pay with 
their lives. With such a fate in front of them, they would 
fight like a cornered lion.

For a moment, Nemir thought that he could even hear the 
scream of an enraged lion. No, a lioness. It sparked 
memories of kinder times, and for a moment he wondered 
where Markus and Dansen were.

Then those thoughts were pushed aside as Nemir considered 
the coming battle. There was little doubt that the clans 
would lose, for the Sun God was on his side.

>>>~~~<<<

By late in the afternoon, the camp was already forming 
around the center hub where Nemir's large tent had been 
erected, and those of the army commanders. Nemir's tent was 
being used as the command tent, and he met there with 
Limon, the high priest, and the company commanders.

"Nearly half the army is here," Limon reported, spreading 
out the papyrus map on the folding camp table. The 
mountains were painted in shades of brown, while the plain 
was yellow. At the far northern edge of the map, Nemir's 
capital was marked with gold leaf that gleamed brightly in 
the sunlight coming through the tent flap and vent holes. 
The day had grown increasingly hot, and the slight breeze 
that moved through the camp did little to cool things.

Limon was indicating a point at the center of the plain. 
Mountains, wasteland, and the kingdom of the north were all 
equidistant from that point. Nemir eyed it, noting absently 
that the mountain ranges formed an almost perfect crescent 
around the edge of the plain, much like a waning moon.

For a moment, silver eyes were superimposed over the map, 
and Nemir winced, a shooting pain stabbing at his eyes. He 
closed them, then reopened them once the pain had faded. 
The eyes were gone, but it seemed to him that he could hear 
a woman's voice sighing sadly.

He ignored at as a trick of the wind.

"What of the enemy. What are their numbers?" he asked, 
ignoring the puzzled looks he was getting from his 
commanders.

"Nearly a thousand," Limon said. "We outnumber them 
already, although the soldiers are still tired from the 
journey. Once the rest of the army arrives, we will 
outnumber them by nearly five men to every one of theirs."

Nemir smiled at that, but he was not foolish enough to 
celebrate his victory yet, even though victory was assured. 
"Superiority of numbers is good," he cautioned, "but they 
know that we mean to crush them. Nothing fights fiercer 
than a cornered animal."

"I have set extra guards around the perimeter of the camp," 
Limon assured him. "If they think to take advantage of our 
relatively weaker position to launch an early attack they 
will find us ready." The other commanders all nodded 
fiercely in agreement.

Then Limon turned serious. "But I would feel better if you 
were with the main portion of the army. We may be ready for 
an attack, but if they were very lucky and were able to 
slay you, it would be a devastating blow to us all." His 
voice was thick with emotion, and Nemir smiled slightly at 
the obvious love in it.

He did not reply at first. As it had been all day, his gaze 
were drawn to the tent flap and the view beyond. He focused 
on the distant enemy, even though he could not see them. He 
could feel them out there, waiting.

Was Judas out there as well? Was he a prisoner of that 
distant enemy?

"They will not attack yet," he said slowly but confidently, 
turning back to the table. "And my place is here, not 
cowering behind companies of soldiers. They should see that 
their king is willing to take risks as well. Do not fret 
so, Limon. All will happen as it must."

Limon nodded his obedience, but the unhappy expression did 
not clear completely.

The rest of the afternoon was spend drawing up possible 
plans, trying to anticipate everything that the enemy might 
try. Nemir knew that no battle plan ever survived the first 
melee, but anticipating possible events would make the 
battle smoother, if you could ever say that about something 
so bloody and chaotic as a war.

But as the sun began to dip towards the horizon, they broke 
up the strategy session. The clans, who worshipped a moon 
goddess instead of the sun god, were more likely to attack 
at night, so the commanders needed to be with their men, 
preparing in case such an attack came.

But Nemir did not think that would happen this night. The 
moon was still two nights short of being full, and a full 
moon was what the enemy would consider most auspicious for 
their chances. That would give his army time to finish 
coming together and rest in preparation. Rest that would 
make his own victory even more assured.

The priests were already performing their evening devotions 
as the commanders left. Nemir emerged from the tent, 
ignoring all the of the eyes on him. His own gaze was fixed 
on the sun rising low on the horizon. Behind him, over the 
mountains, the sky was already turning purple and the first 
stars were beginning to appear. He did not turn back to 
look.

The sky around the sun was slowly turning the red of fresh-
spilled blood. A good omen, he decided.

He dropped to his knees, then sat back on his heels, 
closing his eyes and opening himself to the last rays of 
the setting sun. For a moment he thought he heard his name 
being called, but he ignored it. It was not important.

All that was important to him was the sun, the battle to 
come, and the warm voice that whispered in his ear.

END CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT