פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ

Chapter Nine: Broken Legion

Lawe Cathon winced as Airene dabbed at his chest wound with a moist cloth. He tried to push himself up, but the Aes Sedai firmly kept an iron grip on his shoulder.

Cathon gave up and lay back, as she began to dress his wounds. Airene had dark circles around her eyes, and her dark hair hung down in limp strands. The general knew she was completely exhausted if she had to rely on old-fashioned healing.

The details of the previous day swam in his mind. The call to retreat. Airene's lashes of fire beating back the shadowspawns, and his men swarming desperately through the gap. Cathon had hoped those at the northern end had made it out as well, but the last scene he saw as he broke free was the Horde swarming into the hole the Band had blasted through. A glancing blow to his chest had dropped him, but Austern had dragged him out. They had to leave anything they could not carry, the tents, the supplies, everything.

Cathon sighed, "All my fault. My entire bloody fault. I should've known it was a trap."

"I should've felt the shadowspawns." Airene noted, "If I was not preoccupied with my own problems. But that much Trollocs so near should have raised my alarm. The Dreadlord had done something. Something the Tower knows not."

"It was my decision, and now, ah." Cathon grimaced, "You should get some rest, Airene. I'll survive."

"I'm tougher than you think, Lawe." Airene bound his wounds and stood up, "there are more injured to see."

"I need to see my men." Cathon struggled to his feet.

"Do what you will then. It is your life." Airene walked away.

Cathon swept back the damp hair from his eyes, and gazed around the camp. With all the tents lost in the valley, the men had bivouacked on the bare ground.

Fortunately, the weather had since made tents obsolete. One of the few and only advantages of the Blasted Lands. The sun had set, but the earth was still searing hot. Darkness, unrelieved except for a waning moon, set over the camp, reducing soldiers and horses to black shadows.

"I'm glad to see you're up, Marshall-General." Major-General Jot Diadrem's voice drew Cathon's attention.

"Where's the others." Cathon glancing to see only General Seth Notar with Diadrem.

"Generals Vader, Hill, and Arcanum have all been missing since Getty's Canyon, sir." Nathen Austern walked up. The two remaining generals nodded grimly.

"Bloody..." Cathon massaged his temples, "What's the situation."

"We have the majority of Black Moon and True Blade. We have half of Hill's Zephyr Hawk and some of Vader's First Legion." Austern said.

"I have taken the survivors of Zephyr and First into True Blade." Diadrem added.

"At the current count, we have a little more than a hundred thousand men left. Roughly half. Two thousand injured, but thankfully, with the healers and Airene Sedai, the majority will survive. The rest, about eighty thousand men, including the three Generals, are presumed to be casualties."

"No, they survived." Cathon grabbed a rumpled white shirt from the ground and drew it over his body. He glanced up to dubious looks.

"They survived. They must have broken through the north side. They are good men, skilled in survival." Cathon picked up his battered cloak and hung it around his shoulders, "We march for Shayol Ghul again."

"Cathon, is this wise?" Notar asked doubtfully.

"We've suffered a grievous wound today, I do not deny this. But we will heal, and we will strike back. The Shadow thinks it has won. We will teach them differently. And if the other half of the Band still survives, which I believe with all my heart, they will continue the attack."

"Sir..." Diadrem began.

"It is your right to advise." Cathon cut him off, "You have advised me. But I have made my decision. We will continue our attack on the Black Bastion once more."

"I understand, general." Diadrem replied, "And the Creator willing, you are right."

"Nathen, what is it you need?" Cathon asked his adjutant.

"Scouts report a fist of Trollocs approaching from the north. Nothing serious, perhaps a hundred. A splinter group from yesterday most likely, eager for loot and blood."

"Notar, lead a banner of your best cavalry. Wipe those raiders out. All of them. Bring their heads back on pikes; we need a morale boost." Cathon glanced up at the black sky and the blacker spire of Shayol Ghul, "We ride tomorrow morning. Send scouts out to find a path across this...well...this blasted land."

"Sir." The two generals saluted and walked into the night.

"What is the account on supplies, Nathen?" Cathon asked, glancing up at the clouded sky.

"We managed to pull out a third of our supply wagons. The rations will be thin, and we only have enough fuel for firepits at the siege. No campfires, but in this weather, we'd only need it for perimeter lighting. We might survive with what we have. We might not. Sir, are you sure this plan of yours is still prudent?"

"We can only hope so, Nathen. We can only hope so." Cathon laughed dryly, "It will be the only way we can live with ourselves."

In the distance, Notar's cavalry galloped away, a single torch among them, from the pitch black camp into the pitch black night.

פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ