Gorruk's hordes climbed the thinly defended gorge and assaulted the high mountain passes, streaming onto the fertile alluvial plain of the valley Kingdom of Penc. Its defenders, in total disarray, fell back into the crescent-shaped valley—a rout. Devious sabotage and fifth column infiltrators had undercut their defenses, and the first assaults had overrun forward positions. The southern troops were pushed aside and hacked apart by northern commandos. With the mountain roads clear of defenses, Gorruk' s armored columns motored through the main pass, grinding relentlessly over the rich fields. Phalanxes of hungry, battle-hardened soldiers radiated outward from the narrow mountain trails. Artillery blasted screeching shells overhead while engineers established bridgeheads. The northern armies advanced, pillaging and sacking.
The Supreme Leader called his victorious general home to celebrate the great victory. The imperial capital had turned out to welcome General Gorruk, and a formal audience was held to decorate the military heroes of the campaign. The court of Jook the First was resplendent in banners and battle flags.
"Hah, that old toad Barbluis assumed we would press him from the bloodstained heights of Rouue," Gorruk gloated, addressing the court. "He never dreamed we would attack to the west. And Penc is a worthy prize. My armies will eat like noblekones this winter, thanks to that senile noblefool's complacency." Gorruk glared with ill-concealed contempt at Et Kalass.
"A glorious victory, General Gorruk," stated Jook the First. "Your armies have achieved much. A most glorious victory."
"We salute you, General!" Et Kalass exclaimed, his voice clamorous, but his facial expression inappropriately somber. The minister signaled theatrically, and a lackey jumped upon the podium at Jook' s feet and led a rousing cheer. The entire court and attendant citizens yelled their thunderous acclaim, the hurrahs echoing and reverberating through the polished halls.
Gorruk, lantern jaw held high, basked in glory, and yet his thoughts dwelled on the noblekone standing across from him. The cheers subsided, and the decorum of the court returned.
"General Gorruk, what is your next step?" Et Kalass inquired.
Gorruk' s intense gaze darkened. "That is a military secret, Your Excellency," he replied with vitriolic tones. "Enough questions!" he turned and bowed to Jook. "Your Greatness, permission to depart. My presence is required at the front. For we are still at war."
"And so you must return, General," Jook rumbled. The Supreme Leader had grown larger and more obese, his self-indulgences and depravities legend. Dissipation ravaged his countenance, but stern malignancy and wary cunning still radiated from behind half-shut eye lids.
"To my duty, Supreme One. My armies are engaged," Gorruk replied, hiding his disgust. To think the odious leader had once been the scourge of the north.
Jook nodded, and Gorruk marched from the hall to more and greater cheers.
General Et Ralfkra, the Public Safety Militia commander, walked into Et Kalass' s inner office on an announced matter of urgency. The minister eagerly anticipated the general's message— but he was wrong!
"He was not in the hovercar!" Et Ralfkra said bleakly.
"What!" Et Kalass would have yelled, but his throat constricted, and it was more of squeak. The first attempt at assassination was usually the best—and the last—chance to succeed.
"Three sources have reported Gorruk's arrival at field headquarters. He knows of the assassination attempt and is sending agents to investigate."
Et Kalass sat heavily, chest down on the massive lounge, his mind grinding.
"What is our next step?" Et Ralfkra asked.
"Continue the march." The minister spoke calmly, his courage and resolve returning. "Our positions in this government are too valuable to abandon. Double our personal guards and set up the necessary agents to block Gorruk's inquiry. We will be under siege."
"How will this effect Et Barbluis's plans? What should we tell him?"
"Unchanged. He is to proceed," Et Kalass replied. "We may not have eliminated Gorruk, but I am sure we have distracted him. The distraction may serve our purpose, if to a lesser degree."
"I will send the signal," the militia commander said, but he did not immediately depart. He stood indecisively. Et Kalass noticed the general's agitation and sat erect in the lounge.
"What is it my friend? You have something to say?"
"Minister, the news is sketchy, and I am told his condition is stable—"
"Et Avian! Something has happened to Et Avian?" Et Kalass interrupted, his golden complexion blanching.
"Please, sir! Be at ease and allow me to finish. Et Avian is alive and returning to Kon on the booster you dispatched, but he is badly injured. By a wild animal—a bear. His shoulder was broken and he suffered muscle and tendon damage. The injuries are serious, but he is out of danger."
Et Kalass's panic slowly dissolved. He fell back on the lounge, shaking his head. The pressures were too much. Et Avian must survive; his time was come.
"And more news, Your Excellency," Et Ralfkra reported.
Et Kalass's head snapped up, searching the general's expression. "Good news or bad? I have had enough bad news, General."
"I do not know, Your Excellency. You must tell me. Et Avian made contact!"
Crescent-shaped, the steep-sided and narrow valley of Penc curled to the south and climbed in stages to the lake passes, so named because of the large artificial lakes. Gorruk's armies advanced steadily toward the serene bodies of water, their progress made more difficult by the narrowing and climbing terrain. The retreating southern defenders regrouped, harrying and slowing the advancing columns, but paying a dear price.
The four lakes at the high end of the valley were formed by great dams built millennia earlier, prideful artifacts of ancient konish engineers—beautiful, peaceful reservoirs, graced with rustic stone bridges and bordered by ancient cedar groves. A third of the natural valley had been displaced by these engineering wonders, forming a series of deep lakes, each one monumentally higher than the one before—oceans stacked upon oceans. Tunnels and aqueducts hewn through the ridges surrounding the valley carried the clear mountain water to farms and cities throughout the region. Penc was synonymous with rich and abundant agriculture—and with water.
Gorruk paced the floor of his field headquarters, devising the next phase in his aggressive strategy.
"General, our armies have reached the first dam," the aide reported.
"Very well," Gorruk replied, uncharacteristically distracted. It was not the first time someone had tried to assassinate him, but he knew Et Kalass was behind the latest attempt, and that thought infuriated him. Gorruk moved to the status panel and scanned the real-time displays that continually updated the positions of his forces. His armies were taking the upper hand on all fronts. Gorruk had received word that Et Barbluis was even withdrawing from the plains behind the Rouue massif. Perhaps his armies could move to the central flatlands unopposed. Nothing would stop his armies then.
A runner entered the command center and handed a dispatch to Gorruk' s aide. The aide scanned it quickly and came directly to Gorruk, his face a mask of pale horror. The runner left quickly.
"G-general, we have c-confirmed reports indicating sappers have mined the lake dams," the aide reported, taking a hesitant step backward.
Gorruk's great snout jerked upwards. It was unthinkable. Blowing the dams was unfathomable. Unfathomable! Destruction beyond comprehension. The southern generals were not that desperate. They did not play by those rules. Rules? Stark reality dawned on Gorruk' s strategic and intellectual horizon. He turnedthe idea over in his head and acknowledged the tragic ingenuity. His respect for the old noblekone Et Barbluis elevated immensely. He had been suckered.
The first explosions breached the highest edifice, and torrents of water broke onto the lake below it. Coordinated detonations set along the moss-grown span of the lower dam ripped the centuries-old structure apart, and the combined waters of two reservoirs descended majestically upon the third dam. It in turn was torn asunder in perfect synchronization by another series of blasts, and the full fury of the unleashed waters descended upon the last lake and dam, the largest of all. The doomed stone was crushed by the descending hydrodynamic forces even as the explosives detonated. The explosions were loud, but the banshee scream of the waters eclipsed all sounds. Ripping and gouging with the force of a nuclear explosion, the torrent streamed into the upper valley, carrying everything before it. Soldiers, armored vehicles, barns, trees, herds of farm animals were dashed away in tumbling chaos; the roiling, turbulent onslaught careened down the valley bottom, thundering with resounding tumult. Et Barbluis observed the spectacle from a safe elevation, his grief monumental. He had destroyed the valley, along with many of his own soldiers still fighting the enemy. His stomachs knotted; he could not breathe. Time stood still—tragedy held constant. War was an obscenity.
The cataclysmic scene unfolded. The routed battalions of the north surged backward, creating a chain reaction of panic. Explosive rumblings from the unfettered cascades converted panic into pure terror. Apocalyptic noises from the valley's head vibrated the air. Birds screamed. A gigantic rolling, churning wall of water poured into the valley from the upper horn, its inertia swirling wide and high against the far slopes of the valley, only to come crashing down onto the valley floor, sweeping across it with ruthless power. The heart-stopping sound of water pushing gravel, magnified on a titanic scale, preceded the arrival of the flood, and gales of yellow dust tumbled into the air from the winds compressed before the deluge.
Frantic armies trapped on the valley floor sprinted helplessly, abandoning weapons in the field. Torrents of living flesh, streams of hysteria, hordes of northern troops frantically crawled along the lower slopes, clawing and digging at the sheer rock, obsessed with escaping the deluge. In vain—the roaring waters avalanched by, sweeping away the living and the dead.
When the slithering waters receded to the scooped-out banks of the River Penc, the green peaceful valley was transformed. The once sparkling, crystalline river ran brown and thick, like melting chocolate, and the pastoral valley had become the surreal landscape of a nightmare; muddy ooze slid from exposed rocks, and the deep humus was no more, the fertile topsoil scraped from the bedrock and flushed into the rocky river gorges. Primeval muck, animal carcasses, and the bodies of soldiers were cast among the boulders. Carrion birds arrived in great numbers.