A hundred Mandawilian warriors marched with pride to the south of their village, straight to the Narrows. Like always, the odds were against them. But they all believed that with their datu leading them, they would go home victorious. After all, Salip Pulaco always finds a way. No matter who their foe, no matter what they faced, their datu would find its weakness and deliver them from any peril. He has proven himself all through out the years, defeating upstart warriors from countless different tribes, crushing Haytan's horde, and even putting a stop to the raiding Magalos. He had faced them, and all shattered and fell by his hand. But this day wasn't just any day and they would soon know that some things were just a handful even for their chief.

  Salip Pulaco and his captain stopped a few yards away from the mouth of the pass between the cliffs. While the rest halted just at edge of the treeline. They had to practice caution. Coming out in the open could make them easy targets for an ambush.

  "I've told the men to hold their ground, Salip," the captain said. "I've also instructed Gohod what to do. He's waiting for your order to proceed." He indicated their scout. A young burly man dressed in a boar-skin bahag. He was cleverly concealed behind waist-high cogon grass, crouching like a feline predator waiting to pounce.

  "Good." Pulaco nodded to Gohod. And as he saw his chief's cue the young man began his approach to the Narrows. The stealthy scout went through the verdant bushes to reach the pass. He soon disappeared in the shadows of the rock wall as though devoured by a giant reptilian monster. Being in the Narrows always made men think twice. It was evident in the small talk between the timawas. It always played with their minds and none would argue that the place did not reeked with dread. It was one of those places with dark reputations attached to them that could not be erased. Like stains of blood on a sacrificial altar. A quiet moment passed and the bagani chieftain and his timawas grew weary and anxious. It shouldn't have taken the scout this long to tell them that it was okay to continue. Dark thoughts abound on all of them. The mere idea of fighting another long drawn-out war against the Magalos of the Silver Sultan brought about horrific memories. They've all grown to love peace. And now, threats from the past were slowly encroaching towards their new lives. Pulaco drew his sword and raised his shield. He couldn't wait anymore. He had to find out if he was right or wrong. He wanted to see if he can still save the whole situation from repeating the errors of the past. He started and followed the same path his scout took, careful enough to make any sound. The rest of the warrior serfs followed their chief.

  His captain leaned close to him as the man raised his own shield. "What is it, Salip?"

  "What do you hear?"

  The captain shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing but the waves beyond the Narrows and the swaying trees behind us."

  "Exactly," Pulaco whispered. "Its too quiet. Something's off here."

  "Is it the sultan's men?"

  "I am not sure. But sooner or later... we will find out."

  The captain of the serfs signaled the rest of Pulaco's men. They, then went to their respective groups, each small band consisting of twenty or so men.

  All were armed with a spear or a sword. And all protected by lacquered shields. The captain joined Pulaco's band and gave the signal to raise a shield wall facing all sides of the passage. Spears and swords stuck out from their solid defense. No one would dare face them head on. Even the berserking attacks of the Destroyers would break and falter. Yes, they would have the numbers against the Mandawilians. But Pulaco and his timawas were an immovable rock and waves upon waves of Magalos would only be crushed between their kalasags.

  They marched on the rocky and uneven pathway and the darkness of the pass between the two cliffs that made up the Narrows gobbled them clean. In the dim darkness, they only heard their footsteps and their thumping hearts. And as the fire of battle coursed through their veins like liquid metal, they braved the shadows deeper. But progress was difficult inside the pass. The terrain was full of jagged and uneven rocks and the Narrows itself curved to one side, slowing them even more. Bodies drenched in sweat huddled closer. Eyes narrowed in anticipation and muscles tensed ready. Death was ripe inside the belly of the beast. And so, was uncertainty. But Pulaco, continued– front and center. He had to. Or his men would see it as cowardice. Fear was not good for morale. And he must always lead by example.

  Pulaco sighed. The air was stale in the midst of the pass. The jutting rock formation above them did not help ease the sense of suffocation the Narrows brought. And the scant light inside came only from the opening that led to the beach on other end. But it seemed so far away. So distant. Farther than it has the right to, Pulaco thought. He held his shield higher. He had to focus. This was not the time for deep thoughts. This was not the time for any doubt. He convinced himself that the Narrows was just playing tricks on them. Nothing more.

  The trapped wind inside the pass screamed and shrieked its warning. And a handful of them wavered, murmuring the old superstitions their elders once told them about the pass. So, the captain ordered them to calm down and rely on their experience. But more and more men expressed their doubts.

  The chief spoke as softly as he could, "I don't want any unnecessary risk. Stay close. You all know that together we are strong... stronger than anything. For we are Mandawili's own. And you are the dauntless ones. We will get through this." He took a deep breath. He hoped it was enough to raise their spirits. Faltering now, would mean death for all of them.

  Finally, they closed in on the opening on the other side. And Pulaco felt relief wash all over him. Not a Magalos soul was in sight. And their scout? Well, the man was on the shores at the mouth of the Narrows, standing resolute like an anito stone statue, his back against them. Strangely, he was motionless, thought Pulaco. Perhaps, waiting for the other timawa to join him? It bothered the chieftain but it was dispelled quickly when the captain spoke.

  "Salip," the man said. "Shall we continue to the beach?"

  "Yes." He paused. "I guess I was wrong. The Magalos may have chosen another way. They may never even decide to cross here."

  The captain nodded. "But we will stay vigilant! If they come we will be ready. We've chased them off before and–"

  "Yes, you're right," the chieftain said. "But just to make sure, let's secure the pass." Pulaco relaxed a bit. He turned to his timawas with a smile. "You know what to do? You all know your roles?"

  His men answered him with confidence. They've been through this kind of things before. The tense wait before a battle seemed like a requirement for them already. Fear, like always tried it's best to dissuade them in their progress but it was easily remedied with a small dose of bravery and a meager amount of bravado.

  Pulaco adjusted his kalasag and loosened his grip on the kampilan.

  "Don't be so tense," he said more to himself than to the timawas. "We'll talk first before we fight. Perhaps, we could talk them out of the fight." Some of his men laughed.

  "We're just here to watch," Pulaco added. "Don't put yourself in danger. We'll fall back if we have to. Dying here won't help the rest of our people. Our purpose is to support Sandawili and Butod. Our friends in the beach-"

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Pulaco's words were cut off as he saw the scout on the shore fall to his knees. Then, one by one, men came peeling off the side of the Narrow's inner walls– where the shadows were the thickest. The chieftain swore as he heard the familiar war cries he once heard a long... long time ago. But before he could warn his men eighty or so of their foe rushed them on. They all wore black and red. Face and head covered with a red scarf and the signature black tobao of the Destroyers. With their shields lowered, most timawas fell and were trampled by their attack. Pulaco fell with them, barely avoiding one of Magalos' fist.

  But the Destroyers surprisingly halted their assault. With their curved blades glinting like the devil's red smile, they backed off. Giving just enough space in the tight quarters of the Narrows for the Mandawilian's to recover. This also gave them the chance to avoid the counter-assault of the timawas that were still left standing.

  Pulaco staggered up, a bit surprised. The Magalos somehow knew how to deal with the Mandawilians' shield defense. And as the Destroyers waited, they sniggered at the sight of the timawas caught dumb-founded. As the tense moment continued, the captain of the warrior serfs collected his shield and stood in front of Pulaco.

  He raised his weapon at the enemies. The man would protect his chieftain at all cost. Even with his life. He did not even falter as more of their foes appeared from the beach carrying lantakas and forming a line to hinder their path of escape.

  "We come in peace," Salip Pulaco said, putting a hand on his captain's shoulder.

  Of course, it was a lie. He was ready to fight them off. Ready to die with his loyal men. But he thought delaying the Magalos was still worth it. He and his timawas were all at a disadvantage. And now, he knew why they halted their assault. They were merely repositioning his men to bottleneck the Narrows. The simple maneuver, presented the Mandawilian's vulnerable side. They were helpless targets for the Magalos' hand cannons and arrows.

  Pulaco was unsure how to react. The path to survival in this situation was too vague even for him to see. And victory was clearly out of the question. A reckless strike would only bring them to more danger. It was not the time to risk it all out. Not with the Magalos easily breaking their line like this. Pulaco lowered his weapon. There was a chance that none of the Destroyers knew about Mingming's actions. There was a chance he could still negotiate. Dealing with the Magalos permanently was a last resort for him. The thought of defusing the situation was the only solution he could think of. That or they would be slaughtered here. But it was all dashed to pieces when he heard a voice from the cliffs above.

  "Ah, such tenacity for a man of your stature to speak about peace like you know the meaning of the word." The pass warped the voice, making it sound even greater. "But it's all good, Kalipulako. You know, I prepared for Sandawili here. I really thought you'd send one of your flunkies. She, at least would have had a chance. But I guess luck is on my side today."

  Men sniggered above Pulaco but he couldn't make out their faces, only their dark silhouettes. The man above the cliffs continued on, "My friends see through your lies, Mandawilian. They see through it like I do from the moment I saw you."

  The identity of the speaker finally dawned on Pulaco a little too late. "You traitor," he said. "It's Zullah! Raised your shields!" the datu roared his command.

  It was the exact moment when the arrows and spears rained down like hail upon them.

  ***

  "At last!," Dumog said as he saw the smoke that rose high above the canopy. "Well, were not far from her. You'll be with Manang Sabtano in no time." He added looking back at his brother and Malaya.

  "The kids need a rest," Malaya said, wiping the sweat on her face. "They need to catch their breath."

  "We can't stop right, now," Sikaran replied. "We'll rest in your grandmother's pavilion. It'll be a lot safer there."

  Malaya took urged her younger brothers on. "But the children are tired and we've been walking for an hour."

  Sikaran finally relented after seeing Malaya and the children's weary faces. They all rested near a tight grouping of trees half a league from Manang Sabtano's place. The twins settled a few feet away from Malaya and company. Dumog passed a goat-skin bag full of water to his twin brother. "You all right? You've been quiet from the beginning? Something bugging that head of yours?"

  "Just thinking of master Mingming and Salip Pulaco," Sikaran whispered, so as not to alarm Malaya and his younger brothers.

  "What of it?"

  Sikaran shook his head."A war between us and the Sultan's bastards is bad enough couple it with Zullah's meddling and were on the deep end."

  "Nothing new." Dumog shrugged.

  "Oh, you're not even worried?"

  "We'll get through this. You worry too much, Salak."

  "Come on, Dumog! The schism between Salip and Mingming ain't bothering you? Even a bit?"

  "Add that all up and we have a whole shit going down on us. Yeah, I know. But worrying's not gonna help. It'll just distract you."

  Sikaran didn't answer back.

  Dumog sat on a huge tangle of roots, his back behind the hills and the brightening sky. He pondered for a moment before he spoke. "Well, we can always run," he whispered half jokingly, a smile forming at the corner of his lips.

  Sikaran took it as it is and pretended to throw the goat-skin bag to his brother. "Moron."

  Dumog covered his face with both hands still expecting his brother to throw the water bag at him. "Don't tell me you're not considering it."

  "Yeah, but to where? Who would want deserters? Can you even live with it? We'll have to fight. Whether behind Salip or Mingming. We have to fight."

  Dumog's face stiffened. "Tell you the truth I'm starting to get sick of it. Of all of it."

  "We can't outrun all of this, Dumog."

  "I wager we could. We could travel the seas like we dreamed of when we were small." He gave his twin a sad smile. "We could start looking for our father. Mother would agree with it."

  "I'm sure she would have. When this whole mess is over I think we should. For now, we finish what we started." He paused to look at Salip Pulaco's children. "For now, we need to do what's right." Sikaran stood up to pass the goat-skin bag to Malaya.

  He took a step and stopped on his tracks as a loud bang reverberated not far from where he stood. The goat-skin on his hand burst into shreds and Sikaran fell down. Before shock could settle in, Dumog drew his blade and shield out but another loud bang struck him down. He raised his head but something wet dripped from his left cheek. And a wave of pain soon came after it. He turned to see if his brother was okay, trying to dull down the agony he felt by sheer will alone but Sikaran's glassy eyes stared back at him, no life behind it.

  He turned to Malaya's direction and cried, "Run, dammit, run for your lives!"

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice said.

  Before Dumog could see who it was Malaya and his siblings were already running to the forest's cover. He urged them on, spittle and blood spraying the ground where he lay. "Run! Run for your lives..."

  "Oh, well...I actually like it more when they run," the voice finished with a chuckle.

  Dumog turned to his side and saw who it was. The greasy long hair, the over abundance of golden jewelry, the nasty smile and the foppish grin gave it all away. It was no other than Halang. The Daragangan swallowed a curse as the son of Datu Zullah approached him.

  ***

  The princeling, Halang, carried a weapon that looked like a 'lantaka' on his side. Behind him a group of men followed. They were all clad in metal plates like a tortoise, all armed with blades and strange looking weapons similar to the hand canons of the Magalos. Only they were a lot sleeker and from the looks alone, much more dangerous. Halang turned to one of them to whisper something. The pale man smiled, his curled mustache revealing bone white fangs. He nodded back to Halang and he and his men followed Malaya's trail to the forest. Then, Halang casually walked towards Dumog's direction, swinging his weapon back and forth.

  "So, a Daragangan... How has it been?" Halang said, aiming his musket on Dumog's face. "I wonder if your leader would miss one of you if I send you back to the mud."

  Dumog eyed him. The Daragangan didn't fear for his life. He only felt the uncontrollable fury in his chest as he looked the princeling in the eye.

  Dumog spoke through his bloody mess of a face as clear as he could, "Do it now, coward!" There was a note of pride on his voice. "Kill me now or I'll-"

  Halang snorted as his lips twisted into murderous grin. "Oh, I will Daragangan. I will." The princeling reloaded his musket. Then, he aimed it point blank on Dumog's bloody face. "Good bye...and be sure to wait for your masters in hell."

  Dumog spat at the you princeling's direction. Halang only shook his head in reply. Then, he aimed his weapon on the Daragangan's forehead. But before Halang could finish the black deed against the wounded Daragangan a brawny hand grabbed him from behind. The son of Zullah tried to strike back but a fist folded him, followed with a kick to the gut. He gave a feeble groan. Halang's face was curtained with surprise when he looked up. Fear came in buckets as he realized who it was. He tried to cry for help. He even tried to call Barboza and his men back. He tried but couldn't as the other Daragangans surrounded him.

  "Goodbye?" Mingming said with a mirthless smile as he stood over the foolish princeling. "But we just saw each other?"