Free Red by Ted Dekker Page A

like rocks, and each had a small opening at its mouth, from which a strip of cloth that had been rolled in powder protruded.
    Thomas called them bombs.
    â€œTwenty along each cliff,” Thomas instructed. “Five at each end and ten along the stretch through the middle. We have to at least box them in. Hurry. The sun will be up in two hours.”
    They crammed the bombs deep into the fault lines of each cliff for a mile on either side of the sleeping Horde. The strips of canvas rolled in powder ran up and then back, ten feet. The idea was to light them and run.
    The rest was in Elyon’s hands.
    Placing the bombs took a full hour. Light already grayed the eastern sky above. The Horde began to stir. A hundred of the Forest Guard had been sent for more arrows. In the event that only half of the army below was crushed by rock, Thomas determined to fill the remainder with arrows. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel, he explained.
    Thomas stood on the lookout, balancing the last bomb in his right hand.
    â€œAre we ready?”
    â€œYou’re keeping one out?” William asked.
    Thomas studied the tightly rolled powder ball. “This, my friend, is our backup plan.”
    The canyon was gray. The Horde lay in their filth. Forty of Thomas’s men knelt over fuses with their flint wheels ready.
    Thomas took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. Opened them.
    â€œFire the north cliff.”
    A soft whoosh sounded behind him. The archer released the signal arrow. Fire shot into the sky, trailing smoke.
    Twenty stood with Thomas on the ledge. They all stared at the cliff and waited.
    And waited.
    Nausea swept through Thomas’s stomach.
    â€œHow long does it take?” someone asked.
    As if in answer, a spectacular display of fire shot into the sky far down the cliff.
    But it wasn’t an explosion. The trapped bomb hadn’t been strong enough to break its wrappings or the stone that squeezed it tight.
    Another display went off closer. Then another and another. One by one the bombs ignited and spewed fire into the sky.
    But they did not break the cliff.
    Scabs began to scream in the canyon. None had seen such a show of power before. But it wasn’t the kind of power Thomas needed.
    He dropped the last bomb into his saddlebag and swung onto his horse. “Mikil, do not fire the southern cliff! Hold for my signal. One horn blast.”
    â€œWhere are you going?”
    â€œDown.”
    â€œDown to the Horde? Alone?”
    â€œAlone.”
    He spun the stallion and kicked it into a full gallop.
    Below, the Horde’s cries swelled. But by the time Thomas reached the sandy wash, their fear had abated. Fire had erupted from the rocks above them, but not one Scab had been hurt.
    Thomas entered the canyon and rode straight for their front lines at a full run. The sky was now a pale gray. Before him stretched a hundred thousand Scabs. Eighty thousand—his men had killed twenty thousand yesterday. None of this mattered. Only the ten thousand directly ahead, packed from side to side and watching him ride, mattered right now.
    He leaped over the boulders the Forest Guard had used as a fighting base yesterday. If Desert Dwellers had trees and could make bows and arrows, they could have brought him down then, while he was still fifty yards out.
    Thomas slid to a stop just out of spear range. Elyon, give me strength .
    â€œDesert Dwellers! My name is Thomas of Hunter! If you wish to live even another hour, you will bring me your leader. I will speak to him and he will not be harmed. If your leader is a coward, then you will all die when we rain fire down from the skies and burn you to cinders!”
    He calmed his stamping stallion and reached for the bomb in his saddlebag. He was playing this by ear, and it was a dangerous tune.
    A loud rumble suddenly cracked the morning air and rolled over the canyon. A small section of cliff crashed down so far to the back of the army that Thomas could