The Gorgans by Andrew Johns

Author:Andrew Johns [Johns, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-12T22:00:00+00:00

General of the East Part 3

Kurmazul sat at an oak table at the back of a large octagonal tent that had housed him and the three other generals during their expedition across the southern plains. From behind the desk, Kurmazul faced the front of the tent. He stared bleakly at a large map spread across the table before him. Crosses and triangles had been drawn on the map to indicate places where signs of gorgans had been spotted. A triangle meant the remains of a camp had been found. The crosses, on the other hand, had a far more sinister and compelling connotation to them: each cross represented where scouts had found signs of battle.

Every day, three squimp scouting parties were dispatched in different directions: one party to the north, one to the south along the southern tree belt and the other ahead of them to the west. Every night, Nemril, the lieutenant of Jertan’s squimp division, convened with the four generals to relay the findings of the day’s scouting. Lehorrah had advised Kurmazul to place her in command of the combined squimp divisions, and once he had met her, he understood Lehorrah’s unwavering confidence in her. At first glance, he knew she was a more than capable commander for the combined squimp divisions. The deep lines down her face and her cold, unwavering eyes warned anyone that she was a tough and seasoned commander. She was almost the same height as Kurmazul. Her head peaked just above his eyes. What’s more, every night when he saw her, she always had her long auburn hair plaited behind her back and always wore the official armour of a squimp rider, which consisted of a thick multiple-layered hemp vest, a thinner pair of hemp leggings, a shoulder-and-arm guard and leg flaps of bark scales. Most nights, at the end of each meeting with Nemril, Kurmazul would add another triangle to the map, but the crosses had become less frequent over the course of the march, another peculiarity, and one of the many Kurmazul had resigned himself many nights past to unravel.

“So many sightings of battles, yet not a single gorgan has been sighted.” Kurmazul cursed, which was followed by a thump of his open palm against his desk.

“Stop looking at the map,” Lehorrah barked from beside the cook fire in the middle of the tent. “It won’t give you any answers.”

When Lehorrah chided Kurmazul, Queje flipped out of his hammock, landed firmly on his feet, strode to the desk and stood next to Kurmazul. With the silence of someone deep in thought, he stared at the map, and as he did, he shrugged and said.

“Looks the same to me.”

He walked back to his hammock. “I don’t know why you care about the gorgans hunting the humans.”

“They’ve never hunted humans before. Why now?” Kurmazul querried.

Queje looked over his shoulder at Kurmazul with a perplexed look. “What do you know about gorgan hunting habits? It’s simple, really.” Queje swung into his hammock and closed his eyes.

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