“True, but you wear the tailbone of the Bruth around your neck. That gives you the power to slay Garone and his minions here in this realm. You have commanded men in battle before. I ask that you lead our soldiers to face Garone’s armies. As we speak, he assembles his forces against us.”
“What about my daughter?”
“She is one of the chosen Undying. Help us defeat Garone, and your daughter will return to you.”
“What must I do?” asked the general eagerly.
“Follow me.”
For many hours the general followed the hovering nevii over hills, caves and mountains, the drive to find his daughter making him oblivious to the bleeding wound sustained during his last battle with the horned demon’s minions. And then they came upon an open field where there waited many an armed soldier. The general looked at them in amazement, unsure of what to make of it all. But what caught his attention was the man who stood before them all. He was their leader. He was Dahnay, the rebel leader the general had slain in the land of the living many weeks prior.
“Who are they?” the general asked the nevii.
“They are some of the Undying chosen by the maker of men to join him in his realm. But they are trapped here by Garone’s actions. These men you see here have volunteered to fight Garone and his minions so that their souls and others may join their maker. All they need is a leader.”
The general walked to the Undying soldiers. He spoke to Dahnay, his enemy in the land of the living.
“They say it is your curse that killed my daughter.”
“Those were just angry words of a dying man I spoke, General. I hardly think words alone could account for your daughter’s tragedy.”
The general shook his head, acknowledging the wisdom of Dahnay’s words.
“You were chosen to meet your maker, commander?” The general began. “I would have thought you to be with Devil.”
“I fought against you for what I believed in, General,” Dahnay responded, “But I was always a good man.”
“Indeed, commander.” The general gave a friendly tap on the former rebel leader’s shoulder. “Together we will defeat Garone so that you may meet your maker.”
“I await that moment, General.”
The general looked at the soldiers.
“How many men stand before me?” the general asked of Dahnay.
“A hundred plus half a hundred more.”
“And our enemy?”
“Twice two hundred.”
“The odds are not in our favor, Dahnay.”
“The odds were less in your favor when you wiped out my army at Aksum,” Dahnay said with a smile.
“I had Iskinder, my adjutant with me. He was my strategist and closest friend. He fell at Akkele Guzu Province fighting what was left of the Zagwe princes.”
“You taught him all he knew, General. You will do just are good here without him.”
“I hope so, commander,” the general said with little confidence, “I hope so.”
“Please,” continued Commander Dahnay, “Say a few words to the men.”
The general turned to address the men.
“Many a time before, I have led men in battle—” he began, “Some to their slaughter, but most to glory. And I promise you, glory for your army it will be!”
A loud cheer erupted from the soldiers, hoping for a chance to have their souls depart the misery of the Realm of the Undying for the comfort and plenty offered by their maker.
The nevii led the general and his army to the foot of the hills of Saragoza, where Garone’s forces waited. Here, the fate of many a thousand souls would be decided. Whether they would be seized by the Devil, welcomed by their maker, or continue to languish in the Realm of the Undying would depend on the actions and skill of the general.
Both armies stood facing each other, each determined to slay the other. The general looked for the leader of Garone’s forces. It was not Garone himself. It was someone the general recognized. Yet the general could not have expected this person to be one of the Devil’s own. The general walked to the middle of both armies, where he was met by the surprising leader of the Devil’s forces.
“Commander Iskinder?” the general called the name of the Devil army’s leader, his former adjutant and strategist.
“General?” Iskinder called too, misery and anguish apparent through his voice.
“I was there when you fell. How is it that your soul should stand with the Devil? You are a good man. You helped build the Istifanos Monastery. You risked your life to save the priests at the Church of St. George during the Mohamedan raids.”
“I did things, general,” responded Iskinder, a hint of regret and sadness in his voice, “Most of them I dare not even speak off.”
“Ask your men to stand down and surrender, commander. Perhaps their maker may find a way to welcome them to his realm.”
“Too late, General. We must fight here and prevail so the devil may not take us to his realm. Though life here may be wretched it is a hundred times more bearable than in the Devil’s realm.”
“I cannot find the words to say to you, commander. You are a dear friend.”
“Worry yourself not, General. Count your blessings that you witness the happenings here today, for should you survive this and return to the land of the living with your daughter, avoid my mistakes and excesses, and perhaps you will avoid a fate such as mine and those of every man you see here in my army. Now go to your army and do what you must do, but know that I will fight with everything I have so that I do not lament in the Devil’s realm.”
The general and his former adjutant stared at each other for a brief moment, finding no appropriate parting words for so forlorn a moment. Then the general nodded, and with heavy hearts both men turned around walked towards their armies.
The battle raged for many countless hours. The lower numbers of the general’s army did little to handicap his men,
