Part 8: Gathering Forces

Zion Canyon, Utah

Angel Cave, in the Dead Horses Encampment

A crack in the ceiling of the cave sends a single ray of sunlight into the cave below. Joshua Graham stands ramrod straight underneath that crack, letting the light wash over him and bring him into sharp focus. His audience sits all around him, filling the small cave chamber. These are the most respected members of the Dead Horses tribe: the tribal Elders, the greatest warriors, and the most experienced scouts.

Never before has Joshua called for a meeting like this. As the tribe's acting war chief, he has usually planned and executed missions of war without asking the Dead Horses for their blessing. But what he is proposing today is more extreme than anything he has ever done before. What he was asking the tribe to do could either give them the victory they have sought for… or utterly destroy them.

As a former Mormon minister and preacher, Joshua has always been good at public speaking. Even after the flames of Caesar marked him he retained his speaking prowess. It had been a long time since that skill had ever been necessary, however, and Joshua was worried that his skills might be rusty. Nevertheless, he had to try. He was certain that if he couldn't convince the Dead Horses to go forth with his plan the White Legs would eradicate the tribe.

The Tar Walkers, the Crazy Horns, New Canaan, the Sorrows... the White Legs have killed too many. I will not sit idly while they plot to annihilate the last tribe of Zion. Once again the chilling thought that he was the last of the New Canaanites came to mind. He resisted the urge to shudder. Despite the fact that he was surrounded by people, he felt more alone then he ever had before in his life.

Even when I became the Legate, God never forgot me. When I returned from the Grand Canyon, the New Canaanites brought me back into the fold. But now... maybe this is my final punishment. Watching everyone die because of me.

Joshua shakes the thoughts from his mind; they will do him no good now. He looks up and speaks to the assembled tribals. They watch him eagerly, hanging on to his every word. "Many years ago, the Dead Horses were a weak tribe." Joshua begins. "Enemy tribes bested them in warfare, pushing you out of your homeland at Dead Horse Point. No sanctuary waited for the tribe in Zion; the hunting grounds were dominated by the Tar Walkers and the Crazy Horns, while the Sorrows ignored the plight of the Dead Horses entirely. Raiders, prospectors, and slavers all used the Dead Horses to their advantage." The tribals cringe at Joshua's words, remembering their less then admirable history.

"And then came the day when the Legion discovered you. When I discovered you. I raised you up, taught you the things that would make you warriors, conquerors, a tribe to be both feared and revered." Joshua continued. The tribals nod their heads, looking at their war chieftain admirably.

"You were taught how to wage war, how to scout, how to make better remedies from the plants around you. The Dead Horses became strong. They vanquished their enemies, gained new territory, and claimed their own hunting grounds. You were ready to follow Caesar and his Legion."

Joshua paused for a moment. "Then Caesar suffered his first defeat, losing the majority of his armor because of me. As punishment, he had me covered in pitch, lit on fire, and cast into the Grand Canyon. That vile place was to me my grave. Were it not for God's grace, it would have been."

The tribals listened well, even though they knew all of this already. Joshua went on to speak of his return to New Canaan, and his people's ready acceptance of him. He spoke of returning to the Dead Horses and showing them how to live on their own, leading them away from Caesar's Legion.

"For a time there was peace in Zion. The four tribes kept to themselves, staying within their own territories and hunting grounds. But then everything changed for the worse. The White Legs came from the Great Salt Lake of Utah, bringing death and destruction with them." He paused, watching as the name of the tribe brought flashes of anger into the eyes of many of the tribals in his audience.

"The city of New Canaan was destroyed, its survivors scattered. Some died out in the Wastes, while others made their way to the only sanctuary we had: Zion. There we found solitude and safety amongst the various tribes. Many went to live among the Sorrows, while I decided to return to the Dead Horses."

Joshua pauses once again, sighing before he continues. "We thought we were safe. We thought that the White Legs could never make it into Zion. But we were wrong. For many seasons we have fought tooth and nail against the White Legs. It was not enough. Tribe after tribe fall to them: first the Crazy Horns, then the Tar Walkers, and then the Sorrows. I am the last of the New Canaanites, so I suppose they destroyed my tribe, too."

Joshua lets the information sink in. The New Canaanites were, by all accounts, a strong group. No tribe of Zion would consider themselves to have been even equal to the New Canaanites, let alone greater than them. The idea that the White Legs had completely annihilated all of the New Canaanites but one… it was unthinkable, beyond the comprehension of the Dead Horses.

"You, the Dead Horses, are the last tribe of Zion. Even now the White Legs are preparing to march on this camp and destroy us all. Escape is not an option, as the White Legs are between us and the only escape route we know of. Therefore, only two options are available to us." Joshua pauses and the tribals all lean in, eager to hear what he will say next.

"We can stay here, wait for the White Legs, and try to defend this camp." Joshua shakes his head slightly. "This area is not easy to defend, and I don't know that we can win in a siege. Which leaves one final solution." Again Joshua pauses. This is it, the moment that decides it all Joshua thinks grimly.

He plows on, finishing his speech. "I want to gather up all of the Dead Horses and launch an assault on the Three Marys before the White Legs get the chance to retaliate. We will drive them out of their refuge and destroy them. That, I believe, is our greatest chance at victory. However, I will not order such a military action without the approval of you elders. So I ask that you talk amongst yourselves and make a decision. Should you choose to go forward with my plan, I will need every Dead Horse to take part in this assault. If you choose that path, no one will be allowed to sit this battle out. We will either win and secure Zion for ourselves and our children… or be completely destroyed."

With his speech concluded, Joshua went silent. He stood beneath the light of the crack in the cave ceiling and waited for the tribals to make their decisions. The Dead Horses argued amongst each other for almost an honor before finally coming to a conclusion. The Dead Horse High Elder, the oldest man in the entire tribe, finally stood on his aching bones to deliver to Joshua the decision of the tribe.

Joshua stood ramrod straight and waited with a mix of dread and finality. It is their decision to make he reminded himself. I cannot force this on them. I already brought the destruction of three tribes and the New Canaanites. I will not force the Dead Horses to risk their lives on a gambit.

The cave chamber became silent as the elder stood. His skin is brown and wrinkled, like an old brown paper bag from before the war. When he speaks, his voice his raspy and quiet, but filled with power. His eyes do not waver and he delivers his decree to Joshua. "The Dead Horses," the elders says confidently, "Have chosen to follow you into battle against the White Legs. We wish to assault the Three Marys."

Joshua let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "Thank you, High Elder." The old man nodded and sat down again. Looking around the room Joshua said "If that is the decision of the tribe, then it is time to discuss plans for the assault. Scouts must be sent out to gather the entire tribe together. If this plan is too succeed, everyone needs to know what is going on…" The next four hours were sent planning the assault on the Three Marys.

That night, a little after midnight

The Three Marys, fortress of the White Legs

The wide path that leads into the Three Marys looks strangely ominous, as though the crack in the wall of the cliff was the maw of some ravenous monster. Joshua tries to push away the thought, but it stubbornly remains with him.

The night air is cool and the full moon shines high in the night sky. The stars are slightly dimmed by the presence of the moon, but they still manage to showcase their brilliance. High pitched clicking sounds echo in the air as mutated bats fly about, searching for their moth and mosquito prey. The Virgin River flows slowly in this place, and the trickling of the running water is pleasant to Joshua's ears. Every now and again there is a splash as a fish leaps out of the water to catch a low flying insect and falls back into the water.

The entirety of the Dead Horses tribe stands behind Joshua. Were he just a simple tribal chieftain, this moment would feel empowering, but he has lead far more warriors before. When he was a Legate, hundreds and even thousands of Legionaries were his to command. The Dead Horses numbered in the dozens, not nearly as large a force as Joshua had once led… and yet he felt more proud of these men and women then he had ever felt about any of the Legion.

As far as numbers go, the White Legs and the Dead Horses would be evenly matched. This battle wouldn't be about numbers, though. It would be about equipment, strength, tactical advantages, and most importantly, resolve. And while Joshua knew full well that the White Legs had better weaponry, he knew for a fact that the Dead Horses had far more resolve. They were fighting for their home and for their future, and of course, for the revenge of their fallen friends.

But with their Legion masters among them, the White Legs will fight like unleashed demons to prove their worth Joshua muses. In preparation for the assault, Joshua brought all of the weaponry the tribe had with them. While the majority of the Dead Horses used either war clubs or .45 Auto pistols, some were now armed with fire axes, hunting shotguns, .45 Auto submachine guns, cowboy repeaters, hunting rifles, 9mm submachine guns, trail carbines, and more. As this may be the final battle the tribe every fights in, Joshua held nothing back in terms of weaponry. Every pre-war medical chem and tribal remedy in the tribe's possession had been brought as well, in preparation for what would most definitely be a brutal battle.

Joshua pulls his pistol outs of its holster and chambers the first .45 Auto round. The weight of A Light Shining in Darkness is reassuring in his hand. This pistol has been his weapon of choice for most of his life. He even used it during his time as the Legate of the Legion. It seemed fitting that, if he were to die today, his trusted side arm would be at his side to the end.

And hopefully I'll be able to kill some of the Legionaries with it. You'd enjoy that irony, wouldn't you, Caesar?

Joshua turns back to his tribal forces. He begins to speak to them, voice calm and commanding, the voice of a natural leader. "Tonight, for better or worse, the battle we waged for years will be over. We will either destroy the White Legs and reclaim our home, or we will die trying. Whatever happens, fight with all you have, and may we see each other again in Heaven." Joshua raises his free hand, and the entire tribe yells a war cry that echoes off the canyon walls.

And so the battle begins.