Free Die for the Flame by William Gehler Page A

the arrow back, aim, and release. Next arrow, next target.”
    He nodded and thought about what she said. It made good sense.
    They chatted about the days past when they were growing up in the village, going to school and working on their parents’ farms. Sajan’s eyes revealed a fondness for Lillan, but she was watching Clarian off in the distance on the training field. Finally, she waved good-bye and urged her horse toward a group of archers who had just ridden up and were setting up targets for some practice runs.
    Sajan had reminded her of her home and her parents. She would send them a letter, and maybe she would mention Clarian.
     
    The night of the full moon was upon them. Clarian met with the Flamekeeper and briefed him on the impending struggle. Rokkman and the commanders joined them in the Flamekeeper’s office.
    “How prepared is our army, Clarian?” asked the Flamekeeper.
    “A small number of our soldiers are ready,” Clarian replied. “We’ve had only a few weeks to train the new troops. Many are very young. Many are women who have never fought or handled a bow or lance.”
    The Flamekeeper’s face looked haggard, which Clarian hadn’t noticed before, and the old man’s body appeared bent with age and stress.
    “Surely you will be ready when the Maggan come, don’t you think?” asked the Flamekeeper.
    Lillan answered for Clarian. “Not if the Maggan come tonight or even next week, Holy One. We don’t have an army yet. We’re trying to build one, and we’re short on time.”
    “Our army needs at least three months of intensive training before it is ready to face the enemy,” said Clarian.
    Clarian’s words shook the Flamekeeper, and his eyes were wide with fear now. “When will they attack?” He glanced from face to face, his mouth parted as if he were gasping for breath.
    “No one knows, Holy One, but they won’t wait for three months,” said Rokkman. “They are gathering at the forest’s edge at this moment. They may come any night. It’s the full of the moon soon.”
    “You are the Chosen One, Clarian. You must find a way to defeat these creatures,” croaked the Flamekeeper.
    “I know,” replied Clarian, looking tired.
    The commanders, several dozen of them, surrounded the Flamekeeper, Clarian, and Rokkman, all silent, their faces solemn. Martan, commander of the scouts, cleared his throat. Everyone looked at him. “What is our plan if they come in the next few days?” he asked. Everyone looked at Clarian.
    “They are not horse people. They will march on foot followed by supply wagons, and if they rest during the daylight hours, it may take them six or more days to reach the Citadel unimpeded. We will have time to go out and engage them. But that’s the easy part. We have to prevent them from advancing. They won’t like being out from under the forest and in the sun for very long. We will meet them in the ridge country and try to bottle them up between the ridges and cliffs. We’ll try to bring them down with arrows.”
    “We’re not ready to fight your way,” barked Martan.
    “You have been training your troops to die, Martan.”
    “What do you know of armies?”
    “Nothing. But soldiers die one at a time. We must make the Maggan die in great numbers, and we must do it my way.”
    “Clarian?” asked Lillan, as she poked her head around a tall officer. “What if they break through?”
    Clarian nodded. “I have thought about it. They can’t move fast. So we would be able to retreat to the Citadel and fight from here or abandon the city and flee into the Grasslands. And they might follow us all the way to the Grasslands in order to steal the Flame. If need be, we could retreat across the river into the land of Madasharan. They wouldn’t follow us there. It’s desert, with a hot blazing sun, and they can’t survive where there are few trees and no caves. It’s not a good prospect for us, either.”
    “I think Clarian has a good plan,” offered