The Betrayed Read Online Free PDF Page A

places. They had to be ruined. The false gods had to be destroyed.
    He was not sure what kind of opposition the patriarchs would put up. Although they professed lies about peace and compassion, they secretly trained armies that were ready to march and crush any opposition to their brutal monopoly. The Feorans had felt their evil, ferocious bite. But they had survived.
    Davar also took note of the common people, not just the clergy. Many former criminals had found refuge in the Territories, shedding their sins and former identities in return for a few more years of life in peace. But Davar was unconvinced. Animals were animals, and no gilded cage could change that. Feor knew that and accepted it. And that was the simple reason why people loved him. He was the Truth.
    The longing for destruction was in the hearts of men. Denying one’s nature was denying one’s existence. The rapists and murderers all over the Territories could fool no one but themselves. They simply waited, waited to be liberated of their self-imposed imprisonment.
    Davar wondered whose side they would take.
    But if the patriarchs managed to conscript even a tenth of their number, his armies would have to face quite a large force. Then again, he had never promised anyone an easy or a bloodless war.
    Most of the Territories would be easy prey, though. Most of the people in the Territories would never lift a finger to save their hides, even as they got slaughtered. But one could only hope.
    The sun would set in about an hour. Most of the troops had arrived in the camp. Latecomers consisted mostly of long, lumbering supply convoys.
    The General urged his horse off the knoll, following a winding, dusty trail back to the valley.

    Commander Mali did not care for formalities. She ushered the scout into her tent and let him drink from her own flagon. The man did not look particularly exhausted, but he did seem parched; it was very hot outside.
    “Where do you hail from?” she asked him as he slowly recovered.
    “Near Bakler Hills, sir,” the scout reported.
    She had long ago established that her inferiors should use “sir” when addressing her. It had been one of her little battles at neutering her rank and authority and making the soldiers accept her as just another officer—not one with tits.
    “The enemy has moved about ten miles into the Territories. They burned a few villages and such, nothing significant. But people are afraid and fleeing toward the cities. The patriarchs are trying to assemble troops.”
    Mali looked at a map, marking the Bakler Hills in her memory. “How many?”
    “Well, I heard ten garrisons or so, sir. Copper Astar on the west flank, but many others further east. I have seen two camps, must be like two or three days old. They send foraging parties and such, and they raid villages for women, but they have made no major moves.”
    “So they are massing up.” The commander looked at her officers, spread about the tent. They kept silent, contemplating their enemy’s motives.
    Mali had sent tens of scouts south and east, probing into the Territories and Caytor, trying to weigh the situation. Confusing reports poured in, but in the blur, a misty truth was slowly unveiling. Large bodies of Caytorean forces had crossed the border into the Territories, but only just. And apparently, they were waiting for yet more forces. Or perhaps, waiting for her.
    She was not sure why the Caytoreans had suddenly decided to invade. She had sent inquiries to the political echelon, hoping for some kind of an answer. But she was not optimistic. She suspected the leaders of the nation would take this act of aggression as a sweet excuse to begin yet another series of bloody wars with Caytor, finally hoping to win. Not that it had worked in the last seventy wars or so.
    The two countries had warred for so long, no one really remember why. But they had realized they could never win a true war without a professional standing army—instead of levies and