Army of the Dead fl-8

by Richard S. Tuttle

Unexpectedly, the ground became to tremble. Marshal Berman gazed at the black cloaks as they raised their arms and brought them down again. Each reiteration caused the ground to rumble with more ferocity. Within moments the trench began to crumble. Large rocks broke out of the earth and vibrated towards the trench. Loose dirt flowed like rivers from both sides of the trench towards the gaping gash in the surface of the ground.

  “They are causing the trench to be filled!” Marshal Berman shouted with alarm as he watched boulders unearthed and sent rolling towards the trench.

  “Very clever,” nodded Glenda. “The Motangans could then rush across the land where the trench once existed and rout our troops. I have other ideas.”

  Glenda issued terse commands into an air tunnel and then returned to watching the drama unfold. Marshal Berman looked questioningly at the emperor’s mother, but she did not notice, her gaze intent on watching the black cloaks.

  “How can you stop this?” Marshal Berman asked as the ground began to vibrate so severely that the horses were becoming spooked.

  “Patience,” Glenda replied softly. “We must let the Motangans continue to the point where they dare not leave the job unfinished. If we attacked now, the black cloaks would merely retreat. If we wait until their success is only a moment away, they will try to weather our attack to finish the task at hand. That is when they will die.”

  The ground rumbled more severely, and Marshal Berman saw his men struggling to maintain their balance. The trench was rapidly being filled by the debris flowing towards it. He was about to open his mouth to protest Glenda’s delay when he noticed that something was different. While the rocks were still rolling rapidly towards the trench on the Khadoran side, the debris on the Motangan side was slowing down.

  “Now you will witness why our mages have been kept near the front lines,” smiled Glenda. “It was just for a moment like this.”

  Suddenly the air was filled with rocks and dirt. Everything that had been rolling towards the trench became suddenly airborne. Pebbles and boulders alike flew towards the black cloaks with amazing speed. The debris slammed into the casting Motangan mages with a deadly velocity. Bodies were broken like rag dolls and tossed to the ground to slide backwards into the Motangan army. The black cloaks who survived the initial impact worked feverishly to complete the collapsing of the trench, but a second wave of rocks was already heading towards them. A cloud of dust rose over the Motangan side of the nearly filled trench, blocking the marshal’s view of the black cloaks. Glenda ordered another wave of missiles to be sent towards the Motangans and then turned to Marshal Berman.

  “I think you should order the retreat now,” Glenda said. “I will keep a few mages here to delay the Motangans. It will be a while before they can see clearly, so I doubt that they will charge towards us, but they will have an easy time crossing the trench when they do come. You will need a good head start to reach the bridges at Sintula.”

  “You are an amazing woman, Glenda,” smiled Marshal Berman. “I am sorry for doubting you.”

  “Your doubts were understandable, Marshal,” smiled Glenda. “I discussed Marak’s desire to keep our role secret, but I think his decision was wise in the end. We had no idea what the black cloaks would try, so there was no definitive plan for us. I am sorry that you were kept in the dark.”

  “I am concerned about some of your mages staying while the rest of us retreat,” replied Marshal Berman. “I do not like abandoning them.”

  “Leave us a dozen horses,” Glenda said. “We will keep the air thick with dust and send a few volleys of rocks into it to keep the Motangans cautious. When one of them sticks his head out to see what is going on, we will mount up and ride like the wind. Your cavalry will swallow us up and protect us.”

  “So you will be one of those staying?” frowned the marshal. “I would not like the emperor to hold me accountable for his mother’s death or injury.”

  “Put your mind at ease, Marshal,” replied Glenda. “I was chosen for this position by my fellow mages, not my son. My decisions are my responsibility, not yours. Go quickly. I am not sure how long we can hold the trench.”

  * * *

  “Marshal Berman’s forces are heading towards the city,” the Torak announced to the Lords’ Council. “It is time to ready your armies. The battle for Sintula will commence in a couple of days.”

  “So soon?” frowned Lord Patel. “I though we would have a few more days before the trenches were compromised.”

  “Things are happening quickly around the world,” the Torak responded. “Lyra has accepted the surrender of Premer Doralin. The war in the Sakova has ended.”

  “Fantastic,” grinned Lord Chenowith. “Will the Sakovans be coming to help us in Khadora?”

  “That is not practical,” the Torak shook his head. “By the time the Sakovans get here, this war will be decided one way or the other. Besides, they have eighty thousand Motangans to accommodate. They cannot leave that many of the enemy alone in the Sakova. The Island of Darkness has also fallen.”

  “The elves?” asked Lord Patel.

  “Yes,” nodded Emperor Marak. “King Avalar’s people have taken all four cities on the island. They have also freed thousands of slaves, both human and elven. Now it is our turn to halt the Motangans.”

  “Or at least slow them down,” stated Lord Kiamesh.

  “We will do the best we can,” replied the Torak, “but Sintula is an important battle for us. If the Motangans reach Chantise, Khadora is doomed.”

  “Why?” asked Lord Jamarat. “Khadoratung is the capital. We should not admit defeat before the Imperial Valley is lost.”

  “If the Motangans cross the river at Chantise,” explained the Torak, “they will be unbeatable. Here at Sintula we have them penned in by the convergence of the two major rivers. They will lose many men trying to cross the rivers. Between Sintula and Chantise they will be boxed in between the Three Sisters and the Bear Mountains, but once they cross the river at Chantise, we can no longer constrain them. They can march down the entire width of the Imperial Valley and we will be helpless to stop them.”

  “So you are saying that we only have two chances to destroy the Motangans?” asked Lord Quilo.

  “Here at Sintula,” nodded the emperor, “and again between here and Chantise. Those are the only two places that we can achieve victory. We cannot survive if we are forced to face the full breadth of the Motangan army.”

  “Then we will halt them here at Sintula,” Lord Faliman said confidently.

  “Hopefully,” frowned the emperor, “but let’s not get overconfident. I want the evacuation of Sintula started immediately. Use every boat and barge in the city. I want none of them left for the enemy.”

  “What about using the barges for our troops if we have to evacuate?” asked Lord Patel.

  “They will not be needed for our troops,” Marak shook his head. “We will retreat slowly by land.”

  “Slowly?” frowned Lord Kiamesh. “You want the Motangans to follow us?”

  “Most definitely,” grinned Emperor Marak. “I do not think we can possibly save Sintula from the Motangan hordes, but I think we can defeat them before they reach Chantise. I have several surprises in store for them.”

  “Are you keeping these surprises from us?” frowned Lord Chenowith. “I thought we were trusted.”

  “You are all trusted,” replied Emperor Marak. “My plans will not be kept from you, but I am still refining them. Let me tell you what I have in mind. Perhaps you will have some ideas to make the trap even better. Lord Faliman, start the evacuation of citizens from Sintula. As soon as you return, we will discuss our plans for the Three Sisters.”

  Chapter 26

  The Need for Spies

  The men gathered in a large rectangular room in the palace at Angragar. Maps and charts were spread over the large table and tensions were high.

  “Why would the Motangans pass up a chance to pursue our warriors?” asked Yojji, leader of the Kheri tribe. “The
y have chased us every time in the past.”

  “Maybe they are getting wise?” suggested Adger, leader of the Mutang tribe. “It does not take much more intelligence than that of a wasooki to learn that they lose men each time they chase us.”

  “I don’t know the reason,” sighed Blaka, leader of the Extala tribe. “I am only reporting what I have observed. The last half dozen attempts at luring the Motangans away from their march have failed. Oh, they defended themselves, but they showed no interest in chasing us. When we retreated, they continued following the north branch of the Meliban River.”

  “Almost as if they knew their destination?” frowned Bakhai. “Is that what you are saying?”

  “That is certainly one reason to explain such behavior,” shrugged Blaka, “but I have no way of knowing for sure.”

  “Must you draw them away from the river to attack them?” asked Bakhai.

  “Our men are horsemen,” interjected Wyant, the sheriff of Fakara. “Our method of fighting is to sweep down on the enemy in large numbers and smash the defenders. We leave just as quickly. Fakarans are no match for the Motangans if we dismount and hide behind trees. We need the enemy in the open.”

  “Yet not so open that they can see us coming,” nodded Rejji. “Our best fighting so far has been at night when their visibility is limited, but those days are over. To defeat the Motangans in the forests and mountains, we must adapt new tactics.”

  “New tactics?” balked Yojji. “You expect the tribes to change the way we have fought for a thousand years?”

  “If you want to survive,” Rejji spoke slowly and clearly, “yes. The tribes developed their method of fighting because it suited the terrain. The enemy is no longer on the plains. They are in thick forests, and soon they will be climbing the mountains.”

  “Until they descend out of the mountains on this side,” Adger pointed out. “Then they will be back in our kind of terrain.”

  “True,” nodded Wyant, “but do you want to face two hundred and fifty thousand Motangans so close to Angragar? They must never be allowed to attack this city.”

  “Wyant is correct,” agreed Rejji. “That many Motangans that close to Angragar is a disaster for us. We need to cut down their numbers before they cross the mountains.”

  “What about the Valley of Bones?” asked Mobi, a Qubari tribesman “It was used effectively against Grulak and his men.”

  “The Valley of Bones is not large enough to accommodate the Motangan army,” Wyant shook his head. “We trapped twenty thousand of Grulak’s men and caused the others to throw down their weapons and go home. The Motangans will not throw down their weapons and leave.”

  “They mean to kill all of us,” agreed Rejji. “We can use the Valley of Bones to trim some of their numbers, but not significantly. Cardijja can afford to throw away twenty thousand men while Grulak could not.”

  The room fell silent for a moment as the leaders of the free tribes tried to think of a way to battle the Motangans effectively. Yltar, the head shaman of the Qubari people eased his way to the table and stared at the map.

  “We are neglecting the most important questions of all,” Yltar said softly. “Where are the Motangans heading, and how did they learn of their destination?”

  “You think they are heading for Angragar?” questioned Rejji.

  “They could just be following the river,” shrugged Yltar, “but then why not engage Fakarans where they found them? I believe they have a destination in mind and are anxious to reach it.”

  “The only destination that would interest them is Angragar,” frowned Wyant.

  “Then how did they learn of its location?” prompted Yltar.

  “Why is that important?” puzzled Yojji. “If they know the location of Angragar, who cares how they found out?”

  “Because Yltar thinks that they do not really know the location,” interjected Bakhai.

  The shaman turned and grinned at the Astor’s brother. “You will make a fine Head Shaman one day,” he said to Bakhai. “You understand the importance of questioning all things.”

  “Let me be the first to admit,” frowned Wyant, “that I have no idea what you two are talking about. Explain it so that Fakaran tribesmen can understand.”

  “Let’s suppose that Cardijja thinks he knows where Angragar is,” explained Yltar. “He is moving his massive army as fast as he can towards that goal. He ignores the prods and jabs we inflict on his forces and continues to press onward.”

  “That pretty much explains the behavior of his army right now,” nodded Blaka.

  “Now let’s suppose that Cardijja’s information is wrong,” smiled the shaman. “Or maybe the information is merely too generalized to actually help him find his goal. Perhaps he knows that Angragar is somewhere east of the mountains and he is pushing to cross them before he engages us.”

  “Are you saying that we can still mislead him after he crosses the mountains?” asked Rejji.

  “Perhaps,” shrugged Yltar. “That depends upon where Cardijja received his information. If he only knows the general location of Angragar, he will once again actively engage the tribes after he crosses the mountains. He will try to chase them to see which way they go.”

  “That could work to our advantage,” brightened Yojji. “We would have his armies between us and the mountains. That is a fight that the tribes would welcome.”

  “Unless he truly knows where Angragar is,” frowned Rejji. “We cannot afford to wait to find out where he is heading.”

  “Correct,” nodded Yltar. “Which is why we must find out what Cardijja knows.”

  “And how are we going to find that out?” scowled Blaka. “Do we just send one of us down to ask him?”

  The Qubari shaman did not answer. He turned and stared at Bakhai. Bakhai’s eyes opened wide in confusion as the shaman stared at him, but he finally understood what was expected of him. He inhaled deeply and nodded.

  “I will go,” Bakhai announced.

  The leaders of the free tribes gasped at Bakhai’s offer, but Rejji walked over to his brother and put his arm around him.

  “I will send somebody with you,” whispered Rejji. “Do nothing foolish, but find out where Cardijja is heading.”

  * * *

  Lady Mystic and Xavo entered the harbor of Meliban. Motangan soldiers immediately began to converge on the docks with a few black cloaks taking the lead. Lady Mystic hastily wove an air tunnel and directed it towards the black cloaks. She announced who they were and nothing more before dropping the air tunnel. When they approached the dock, a soldier threw them a line and helped tie the boat to the dock. Xavo helped Lady Mystic out of the boat and then stepped to the dock himself.

  “What are you two doing here?” questioned one of the black cloaks. “Where have you come from?”

  “We have come from Motanga,” Lady Mystic answered. “As to what we are doing here, that is none of your business. Where is Premer Cardijja?”

  “We will ask the questions,” retorted the Motangan mage. “We were informed that the elves have taken over the Island of Darkness. How is it that you two have managed to leave?”

  “You are rather well informed,” frowned Xavo. “We managed to escape while Vandamar was falling. As for who is asking the questions here,” he continued with scorn, “I am a disciple of Vand. As such, I will not tolerate your attitude. What is your name?”

  “I am Veritago,” the mage’s chest swelled with pride. “I am in charge of Meliban.”

  “Good,” Xavo nodded curtly, “then you can escort us to our quarters. We are tired and hungry and in need of bathing.”

  “First I must inform Vandegar of your presence here,” balked Veritago. “We have been instructed to inform the emperor of any significant developments.”

  “You will do nothing of the kind,” scowled Lady Mystic. “Using an air tunnel over such a great distance can be disastrous. Have you not been informed of the dangers?”

  “Dangers?” the mage echoed suspiciously. “We
use the air tunnel all the time. What nonsense are you spouting?”

  “It is obvious that the twelve mages from here never returned,” Xavo said softly to his partner. “This is most serious.”

  Veritago’s eyes narrowed as he watched the two newcomers talk privately. While Xavo’s voice had been lowered to almost a whisper, the Motangan mage could hear them perfectly well.

  “That explains much about their ignorance,” Lady Mystic nodded to Xavo. Raising her voice to a normal volume, she turned to gaze into Veritago’s eyes. “You will contact no one until we have talked,” she said authoritatively. “There are dangers that you are obviously unaware of. Lead the way.”

  Veritago frowned with skepticism, but he turned and led the way to the Kheri Inn just across the street from the administration building. He loudly ordered two rooms for the visitors.

  “Have two baths drawn,” added Xavo. “I will discuss developments with you while I bathe. There is too much danger for the news to wait too long.”

  Veritago passed the order on to the Motangan innkeeper and followed Xavo up the stairs. Neither of them spoke as Xavo undressed and a soldier filled a tub with hot water. When the soldier was gone, Xavo stepped into the tub and began to wash away the salt spray encrusting his body.

  “Many things have happened in the past few days, Veritago,” Xavo began. “Rather than bore you with what I know, tell me what you have been informed of. I will then fill the gaps in your knowledge.”

  The black cloak hesitated, but Xavo appeared so at ease that he could not imagine any subterfuge. He mentioned the most important news that he had already heard. It included the loss of Duran, the defeat of Doralin, the fall of Motanga, and Vand’s instructions to Cardijja to find Angragar.

  “You are fairly well informed,” Xavo nodded when Veritago had concluded. “What is missing from your knowledge is the corruption of the air tunnel spell. While it is still useful for short distances, it is extremely unwise to use it over any great distance. The elves have found a way to spread a compulsion spell through any air tunnel that they can detect. We advised the twelve mages sent to Vandamar about this problem and sent them back here. I am concerned that they never arrived.”