Free Red by Ted Dekker Page B

hardly see it. Dust rose to the sky.
    A bomb had actually exploded! One bomb in twenty. Maybe a spark that had smoldered and fumed before detonating in a weak spot.
    How many had been crushed? Too few. Still, the Horde shifted away from the cliff in a ripple of terror.
    Bolstered by this good fortune, Thomas thundered another challenge. “Bring me your leader or we will crush you all like flies!”
    The front line parted, and a Scab warrior wearing the black sash of a general rode out ten paces and stopped. But he wasn’t Qurong.
    â€œWe aren’t fooled by your tricks!” the general roared. “You heat rocks with fire and split them with water. We can do this as well. You think we fear fire?”
    â€œThen you don’t know the kind of fire that Elyon has given us! If you lay down your weapons and retreat, we will spare your army. If you stay, we will show you the fires of hell itself.”
    â€œYou lie!”
    â€œThen send out a hundred of your men, and I’ll show you Elyon’s power!”
    The general considered this. He snapped his fingers.
    None moved.
    He turned and barked an order.
    A large group marched out ten paces and stopped. It was a very dangerous tune indeed. If the bomb in his lap didn’t detonate, there would be no bluffing.
    â€œI suggest you move to the side,” Thomas said.
    The general hesitated, then walked his horse slowly away from his men.
    Thomas withdrew his flint wheel, lit a two-foot fuse, and let it burn halfway before urging his horse forward. He ran the steed directly at the warriors, hurled his smoking bomb among them, and veered sharply to his right.
    The smoldering bag landed in the middle of the Scabs, who instinctively ran for cover.
    But there was no cover.
    With a mighty whump, the bomb exploded, flinging bodies into the air. The concussion hit Thomas full in the face, a hot wind that momentarily took his breath away.
    The general had been knocked off his horse. He stood calmly and stared at the carnage. At least fifty of his men lay dead. Many others were wounded. Only a few escaped unscathed.
    â€œNow you will listen,” Thomas cried. “You doubt that we can bring these cliffs down on you with such a weapon?”
    The general held his ground. Fear wasn’t common among the Horde, but this man’s steel was impressive. He refused to answer.
    Thomas pulled out the ram’s horn and blasted once.
    â€œThen you will see another demonstration. But this is your last. If you do not withdraw, every last one of you will die today.”
    The fireworks started at the far end, only this time on the southern cliff. Thomas desperately hoped for at least one more explosion. One weak spot along the cliff, and one bag stuffed with black powder to send tons of rock—
    Whump!
    A section of cliff began to fall.
    Whump! Whump!
    Two more! Suddenly a full third of the cliff slipped off the face and thundered down onto the screaming Horde. A huge slab of rock, enough to cover a thousand men, crashed to the ground, and then slowly toppled over and slammed into the army. The earth quaked, and more rock fell. Dust roiled skyward. Horses panicked and reared.
    The Horde weren’t given to fear, but they weren’t suicidal either. The general gave the order to retreat only moments after the stampede had begun.
    Thomas watched in stunned silence as the army fled, like a receding tide. Thousands had been killed by the rock. Perhaps ten thousand. But the greater victory here was the fear he’d planted in their hearts.
    His own army cautiously edged to the lip of the northern cliff. What remained of it. Like him, they watched in a kind of stupefied wonder. They could have killed even more Scabs with the arrows that had just arrived, but the Forest Guard seemed to have forgotten those.
    It took only minutes for the last of the Horde to disappear into the desert. As was their custom, they killed their wounded as they retreated. There was