The burning hole of pain he felt inside of himself was clouding his judgement, just like the tears in his eyes were clouding his vision. But there was still a part of himself, above all the rest, that had learned too much to forget how to survive. That part of him could ignore the gentle movements of the horse beneath him, and the narrow, slippery path in front of him, but it could not ignore the growing clouds of red dust climbing to the horizon in front of him. His senses came alive as if he had gone from asleep to awake.
Evan spurred his horse onwards, careful when he exited the slow moving stream not to lead his mount directly onto the path the led over the little bridge. He came up short of the road, his horse easily navigating the little bank and led them into the scraggly brush along the stream bed. Evan tied the animal behind a small rise far from the road before he carefully crept back towards the bridge on his hands and knees. He made it back to the road just in time to see the mounted army appear over the horizon.
He could feel the rolling vibrations from their hooves even before he could see them, and was still surprised by the site of them. There had to be at least 30 heavily armed men, each on a hulking specimen of a horse. Evan had never seen so many riders assembled in one group. Evan had not even seen 30 rifles in the same place before. From his vantage, behind some scrub brush and with his belly pressed flat to the ground, Evan had some difficulty at first discerning their formation. But once he spotted the wagons, it became more clear to him. There was an well organized vanguard of around 18 riders, a menacing enough site on its own. Behind those riders were four large covered wagons, each with a driver and a rifleman sitting shotgun. The wagons were flanked by eight riders, four on each side, with four mounted gunman trailing in the rear of the column. Although the horsemen wore a motley collection of dark clothing, each had a red arm band tied around their left arm.
The large column paused as they reached the bridge, but there was little hesitation. Evan could tell this group already knew where they were going. Their decisiveness sent a chill through Evan. This small army was headed to the hidden village. The lead group of horsemen organized themselves into three squads of six, and the first two guided their mounts into the small stream. Shortly after they had disappeared out of site around the bend, the first two wagons entered the stream. They were followed by six riders, who proceeded the final two wagons, who proceeded the final six riders. Two of the four rear guard were left at the road. One dismounted to stretch his legs and scoop up water from the shallow stream. Evan knew he had to try to warn the village.
For an organized army, the rear guards did not arrange themselves smartly. They spent so much time stretching and drinking that it was little effort for Evan to sneak up within twenty feet of them. While one guard was distracted by the river, Evan put an arrow straight through the other guard's neck. As that guard fell heavily to the dirt, a second arrow went straight through his companion's heart. Evan was soon carefully picking his way through the cold stream, following the thin dirt trail along the road. Two more guards, making no effort to hide their position, were quickly dispatched around a bend of the trail. And from there, Evan began to cautiously approach the rear guard of the wagon train. Two shots rang out further up the valley, and Evan realized he was too late.
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The march leader raised his left hand, and his men obediently halted. Two shots meant that these settlers they were after were not short on ammo. Two shots also meant they weren't smart enough to disguise their position. That second shot, at least, came from the top of a hill to the left, somewhere near the base of a large tree overlooking the valley. The leader dropped his hand to his side and with a barely recognizable flick, giving a signal. Two men slipped out of the back of the lead wagon and began crawling up the hill through the tall grass. The leader and his men carefully avoided looking at their companions as they snuck their way up the hill. Instead, the leader spent his time scanning the valley ahead. The wooden wall was not yet visible, but he knew it was there. The leader could see his scouts cautiously approaching the top of the grassy hill before two more shots rang out from further up the valley. The two shots were too close together to have come from the same gun and be well aimed, yet both his men slumped forward and slid a short ways down the hill through the thick grass, before they stopped moving forever. This was going to be much harder than the Army had anticipated.
There was something pleasing in that challenge. The Leader hadn't faced opposition this good in many years, and he could respect a well organized opposition. Too often he had ridden like a landslide through helpless villages, easily crushing his opposition, and there was very little honor in that. Here, he might finally have a chance to use the martial skills he had honed for many years.
His voice called out, loud and clear, "I request parlay!"
Only silence followed his words. He waited for a moment, watching the hills in front of him, before calling out again, "I request parlay!"
"Go away," came a response from the near hill to his left. "We don't like visitors and we don't want to talk."
The Leader smiled. He had started a dialogue. "I only want a chance to talk to your leaders without getting shot," he yelled. "Please allow me and just a couple of my men to approach your village."
There was another long, quiet pause. His men, ever obedient, barely stirred as they waited for the response. "Alright," came the voice, "only you and one or two others. Try anything stupid and we'll cut you down."
The Leader nudged his horse forward, and his deputy fell silently in beside him. Around the bend the enormous wooden wall came into view, and the Leader was again impressed. These people had a solid fortification in a well defended position with easy access to water. They had chosen their location very well.
"That's far enough," came a deep voice from behind the wall. The Leader halted his horse.
"I bring greetings from the Red Empire," called out the Leader.
"How did you find this place?" Asked the voice.
The Leader smiled again. "You trade. You venture out from this place. You exist. The Red Army finds everyone eventually."
"What do you want?" asked the voice.
"We want you to join us," yelled the Leader. He had extended this offer many times before, and the speech was well rehearsed. "We offer you the protection of the strongest fighting force in this world. You can roam freely under our protection. No need to hide behind your walls."
"And what do you want from us?" asked the voice.
"Your young men will be conscripted into this army. They will be well armed and well trained in how to defend you. After ten years of service, they will be free to return to this village. Your village will also be asked to provide ten percent of all of its produce to the Army, in order to keep your defenders, and your own young men, well fed and well armed."
"And what if we decline to join you?" said the voice.
"I'm afraid I can't allow that," returned the Leader. "This is Red Army territory now. Your village will be living under our blanket of protection. All those who benefit from the safety and order we provide will be expected to contribute."
"I could kill you and most of your men right now. What's to stop me from saying no?"
"You could kill us, that's true. But my men who survived would speed word of what happened to our home, and they would return with even more men," explained the Leader. This was a half truth, he knew. The force behind him was the largest the Red Army could field, but there was no way this village would know that.
"Why do you call yourselves the Red Army?" asked the voice.
Not at lot of people asked that, and the Leader was again impressed. It showed curiosity and a thinking process that could only come from a calm mind. Someone overcome by terror would never consider it.
"Centuries ago, a group of men on horseback ran these plains. They worked it and controlled it. They called themselves "The Cowboys," and wore red arm bands to signify their allegiance to their order. We follow in their footsteps."
"Funny," came the voice. "I knew a different Red Army. We decline your offer and ask you to leave."
The Leader suspected this village might say something like that. It was time to try enticement. Why use force when you didn't have to?