“Help me,” pleaded Bakhai. “Don’t let her kill me. She is an evil spirit.”
“Evil spirit?” smirked the officer. “She is nothing but an elf. Who are you?”
“I am just a village boy,” Bakhai replied timidly. “I am called Bakhai. She is an evil spirit. There are no more elves. She has been following me ever since I entered the jungle.”
“Jungle?” questioned the officer. “What jungle?”
Bakhai started crying. He buried his head in his hands and let tears stains his cheeks. The officer shook his head with disgust. He raised his hand to give the soldiers the signal to kill the captive, but he paused for some reason. His hesitation gave enough pause for another officer to arrive.
“What is going on here?” asked the newly arrived general.
“I am not sure,” admitted the officer. “An elf magician tried to kill this boy, although he claims that she is an evil spirit. He said something about a jungle. I think he is crazy. I will have my men dispose of him.”
“No,” countermanded the general. “Is he armed?”
“Not that I can see,” replied the officer. “He is barely dressed.”
“What of the elf?” asked the general.
“She escaped into the forest,” answered the officer. “I have men tracking her down.”
“Good,” the general nodded satisfactorily. “Have some of your men bind the captive and bring him to my tent. I want to interrogate him. Perhaps he can tell us something about this land. There is no mention of a jungle on my maps.”
“As you wish,” saluted the officer.
* * *
The sky was clear, and the waxing moon was only days away from being full. The star-studded sky reflected in the smooth flowing water of the Khadora River. It was an idyllic scene, for the moment. A short distance beyond the sevemore trees that lined the northern bank of the river, three thousand Khadoran archers stood silently, waiting for the order to approach the riverbank and open fire. Across the river the distant telltale sounds of hatchets striking wood drifted in the still night air.
Marshal GeHert of the Nordon clan turned to the air mage next to him and whispered softly, “Inform the Lords’ Council that we have found another spot on the river where the Motangans plan to cross. Notify them that I have three thousand archers ready to counterattack.”
The air mage nodded silently and wove an air tunnel to Sintula. At the other end of the air tunnel, a mage called for Lord Patel. The Nordon lord took the report from Marshal GeHert and hurried into the meeting room where the Lords’ Council was meeting with the emperor.
“Another one,” sighed Lord Patel as he entered the room. “This one from GeHert. He is about six leagues to our east.”
“Have the Motangans started crossing yet?” asked Lord Jamarat.
“Not yet,” answered the Nordon lord, “but they will soon enough. Our men are too spread out.”
“Shamal is no fool,” sighed Emperor Marak. “Even after he knows that we have detected his plan, he is wise enough to know that we cannot foil it completely. With the amount of men that he has, he is capable of extending the front for hundreds of leagues. That is exactly what we have been trying to avoid. We cannot afford to spread ourselves that thin.”
“The only alternative,” countered Lord Quilo, “is to let the Motangans cross the river. I do not see how that aids us.”
“It does not aid us to let them cross,” replied Lord Kiamesh, “but we cannot stop it from happening either. If Shamal succeeds in getting men across the river, our defenses of Sintula are worthless.”
“Worse,” interjected Lord Chenowith, “if his men cross anywhere other than the farthest eastern spot we have detected, he will have some of our archers cut off from Sintula. Those men would die quickly as they tried to get back here.”
“There is no pattern to the spots he has chosen to cross,” added Lord Faliman. “At first they kept going further eastward, but that has changed. This latest attack shows that any spot along the river is a likely crossing place.”
“And the weather has favored us so far,” remarked the Torak. “If this night was overcast, we would be hard pressed to find targets when his men tried to cross the river. We need to start thinking about an orderly retreat.”
“So soon?” asked Lord Jamarat. “The Motangans have not even reached this shore yet.”
“They will soon,” answered the Torak, “If we wait until they attack the city, we will lose thousands of men. I am not suggesting that we evacuate immediately. Just that we start preparing now. My goal is to kill as many Motangans as we can as they try to cross the river, but retreat once they have troops on this side of the river.”
“We keep falling back whenever the Motangans threaten us,” frowned Lord Jamarat. “Our men are willing to stand and fight to defend Khadora. Why not let Sintula be the place to show our bravery?”
“No one questions the bravery of our men, Lord Jamarat,” the Torak smiled tautly, “at least not in this room. Tens of thousands of Khadorans have already given up their lives to halt this Motangan invasion, but that is not the measure of our worth. It is the number of dead Motangans that we need to concentrate on. Go down to the city docks and gaze upon the river. Thousands of Motangan bodies are floating past this city. Shamal is paying a terrible price to cross the Khadora River, but eventually he will succeed. We are not capable of denying him that small victory.”
“But they will destroy Sintula and march on to Chantise,” frowned the simple-minded lord. “Crossing the Charl River will be the only obstacle to stop him from reaching Khadoratung and the Imperial Valley.”
“No, Lord Jamarat,” smiled the emperor. “Shamal will never reach the Charl River.”
“You have a plan in mind?” asked Lord Quilo.
“I do indeed,” nodded Marak. “It is a plan that will require extraordinary planning and extreme secrecy, but it will crush the Motangan army.”
“Then let us plan it and get started on it,” urged Lord Patel.
“The planning is already underway,” confessed the Torak. “I apologize for keeping this council ignorant of the plan, but a single word to the enemy would be disastrous for us. I could not take the chance that one of our men might be captured and tortured, so I have kept knowledge of the plan to myself.”
“Does this plan require that we abandon Sintula earlier than we wish?” frowned Lord Kiamesh. “I am afraid that I agree with Lord Jamarat. The Khadora River is a natural defense for us. Even considering the loss of many Khadorans, we can inflict much more damage on the Motangans by refusing to yield the northern bank of the river.”
“I agree with your assessment,” sighed the Torak, “but my plan does require us to leave Sintula shortly. The Motangans must be in pursuit of us by high sun tomorrow.”
“High sun?” echoed Lord Kiamesh. “They will not be done sacking Sintula by then even if they cross the river right now.”
“They will not pause to sack Sintula,” assured the emperor. “Shamal’s moves shows that he is suddenly in a hurry to finish with Khadora. That haste will destroy him. I will explain my plan now,” he added after a moment’s pause, “but I must warn you that no one outside this room is to learn of it. I must have your vows on this.”
* * *
The Torak walked the deserted streets of Sintula, his shadows watching for friendly eyes as well as those of the enemy. North of the city, the cavalries of the Lords’ Council sat patiently waiting to provide defensive cover for the retreating archers. The Motangans had finally managed to cross the river just before dawn, and they were currently marching westward towards Sintula. Within the hour the vanguard of Shamal’s troops would reach the city.
The Torak turned into an alley and halted. Halman and Gunta scanned the alley looking for any signs of life. There were none. Marak moved cautiously along the alley and halted at a nondescript door leading to a warehouse. He knocked on the door in a cryptic rhythm and waited. Halman and Gunta concealed their curiosity as they flanked the To
rak. The door slowly opened, revealing a large darkened room. Halman immediately leaped through the door, his sword held menacingly before him. His eyes scanned the dim room, searching for inhabitants. Emperor Marak stepped into the room and motioned for Gunta to follow. The Torak closed the door, dimming the light even further.
“Relax,” Marak said softly to his shadows. “There is no one here to harm me.”
Halman and Gunta reluctantly sheathed their swords, but Marak chuckled inwardly as he saw both of them fist Sakovan stars.
“Time is short, Fisher,” the Torak said to the silent room. “Come into view before my shadows cause you harm.”
A pile of hay in the corner of the room moved. Halman and Gunta tensed as they watch a black-clad figure emerge from the pile. They relaxed somewhat when they recognized Fisher, but their eyes continued to scan the darkness.
“You are early,” Fisher said softly as he brushed off the hay and approached the Torak.
“Not by much,” shrugged Marak. “Is this where you will hide the horses?”
“They are in the far corner,” nodded the spy. “They are sleeping.”
“I would not have noticed them,” smiled the Torak. “Are you sure this place is secure enough to avoid detection?”
“It is the safest place in Sintula,” nodded Fisher. “I have checked them all out. The Motangans will not find us here.”
The Torak turned to face his shadows, confusion evident on their faces.
“I am leaving you two here to help Fisher,” he said softly.
“Leaving us?” objected Gunta. “That is not wise.”
“It is necessary,” replied the emperor. “Fisher will explain the details, but he needs your help after the Motangans pass through Sintula. I cannot think of three men who could possibly have a better chance at avoiding the enemy’s scrutiny when they pass through the city.”
“We do not mind the task, whatever it is,” frowned Halman, “but we are loathe to abandon you. The enemy is far too close for you to be unprotected.”
“I will be leaving on Myka,” replied the Torak. “Rest assured in the knowledge that I will not be unprotected. Your task is of vital importance.”
“What is the nature of this task?” asked Gunta.
Marak sighed and smiled tautly. He had planned to let Fisher reveal it, but he understood the hesitancy of his shadows. Their lives were sworn to protecting the Torak.
“Simply put,” answered Marak, “there is a bridge across the Khadora River that has escaped the notice of the Motangans. The bridge rests on the bed of the river. There are concealed ropes attached to it on each side of the river. You three must raise the northern side of the bridge as soon as the Motangans pass through Sintula. Fisher has all of the details and will brief you when the time comes.”
“I have a winch set aside to help us,” offered Fisher. “The whole task will only take a few hours.”
“And who will raise the other end?” asked Halman.
The Torak grinned and turned to leave.
* * *
The Motangan general walked into the tent and saluted. He stood silently waiting to be addressed.
“I understand that you have a prisoner,” stated Premer Cardijja as he turned away from General Luggar to face the new arrival.
“A boy,” nodded the general. “I think he may have valuable information. He was being chased by an elf, which he thought was an evil spirit.”
“Are you sure it was an elf?” asked the premer.
“That is what was reported,” shrugged the general. “I expect that our men know what an elf looks like. She was a mage as well. She cast fireballs at the boy.”
“Have him brought here,” demanded the premer. “I wish for nothing to be lost in the interrogation.”
“As you command,” frowned the general, obviously unhappy with the turn of events.
The general left the tent and Premer Cardijja returned to the map on the table. General Luggar looked at the premer curiously.
“Why bring him here?” asked Luggar. “The mages are better suited to extracting information from him.”
“The mages are just as likely to kill him in their enthusiasm to get information,” answered the premer. “They have certainly failed miserably with the past captives. I need to know where Angragar is, and I cannot wait any longer. The lad is quite possibly the best prospect we have captured. He will not be as worldly as the soldiers that we have interrogated.”
“I understand,” nodded General Luggar as two soldiers dragged Bakhai into the tent.
“Stop mishandling him,” scowled Premer Cardijja. “He is a guest here.”
The soldiers were taken by surprise by the premer’s orders. They helped Bakhai to his feet and then let go of his arms. They bowed curtly and backed out of the tent.
“Come have something to eat,” smiled the premer as he held out a plate of dried meat. “What is your name?”
“I am called Bakhai,” the lad said nervously as he reached for the food.
The premer watched the boy greedily swallow the food. He shook his head and smiled.
“Chew your food properly,” the premer said softly. “You can have more if you wish. I understand that you were being chased when my soldiers found you.”
Bakhai nodded exaggeratedly as he grabbed another piece of meat. “She was an evil spirit,” he volunteered.
“And why would an evil spirit chase you?” asked the premer.
“I do not know,” shrugged Bakhai. “I did nothing to offend her.”
“Where do you live?” the premer asked, trying a different tact.
“I live in the mountains,” answered Bakhai. “The forest is my home.”
“Do you know this land well?” asked Cardijja.
Bakhai nodded again as he chewed on another piece of meat. “Is there water?” he asked.
General Luggar filled a mug from the pitcher and handed it to Bakhai. The boy took the mug and smiled at the general. Luggar sighed with impatience.
“Have you heard of Angragar?” asked the premer.
“The lost city,” nodded Bakhai.
“Where is it?” asked Premer Cardijja.
Bakhai stared blankly at the premer as if he had asked a rhetorical question.
“You are wasting your time,” sighed General Luggar. “He knows nothing.”
Premer Cardijja glowered at the general and then quickly smiled at the lad. “Do you know where Angragar is?” the premer asked again.
“It is lost,” shrugged Bakhai as he gulped down some water. “That is why it is called the lost city.”
“Well I want to find it,” the premer said with a smile. “Perhaps you can tell me where not to look for it?”
Bakhai’s mind raced to figure out how he should answer the question. He realized that he had already determined that Cardijja did not know the location of Angragar, but he thought that there might be more that he could do while he had the ear of the premer.
“I know many places that it is not,” offered Bakhai. “Maybe that is why the evil spirit was chasing me,” he added with seemingly sudden understanding. “I tried going to a new place and she attacked without warning.”
“Oh?” Premer Cardijja responded with interest. “Is this new place around here?”
“Not here,” Bakhai shook his head exaggeratedly. “She chased me for many days. Many times I thought I had escaped from her, but always she came back.”
“Come and look at this map, Bakhai,” urged Cardijja. “Point to where you were exploring when she first chased you.”
Bakhai walked over to the map and studied it. He was amazed at the lack of detail on the map. He noted freshly drawn lines that had been added, but the land east of the mountains was an empty void. He quickly realized that the Motangans had no idea where they were heading. They were drawing the map as they went.
“Bakhai, does not understand the pictures,” the lad shrugged. He watched the premer sigh with disappointment. Bakhai smiled broadly and
added, “I can show you the way.”
Premer Cardijja grinned with success as he turned and laid a hand gently on Bakhai’s shoulder.
“And so you shall,” smiled the premer. “Luggar, arrange for a mat to be brought in here. Bakhai will be staying with me.”
“Is that wise?” General Luggar said softly as Bakhai went to the other table and sampled some more food. “He may be just a boy, but he is not that young. His physical growth has certainly outpaced his mind, but you are foolish to dismiss a danger to your person. Let him sleep outside.”
Premer Cardijja turned and watched Bakhai closely. The lad appeared to be interested in nothing but the free food, still the general had a valid concern.
“Very well,” nodded Premer Cardijja. “Bakhai will sleep outside the tent, but I do not want him bullied by the soldiers. He is to have freedom of the camp, but he is not to be allowed to leave it. Only if he tries to leave are the soldiers to bother him. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” nodded General Luggar. “Do you really think that he can lead us to the lost city? He has admitted to not knowing where it is.”
“The elf was trying to kill him for some reason,” offered the premer. “It is said that the elves protected the ancient city of Angragar, yet there has been no record from our spies that any elves still existed here in Fakara. I think the lad stumbled onto something that he wasn’t supposed to, and the elves were trying to preserve their secret. In any event, we have nothing to lose. We are tasked to map this country and find Angragar. As long as he leads us further eastward, we have paid nothing for his information. I think it is worth the gamble. If something better comes along, I may change my mind, but for now I will follow Bakhai.”
The general nodded and left the tent to procure a sleeping mat for the lad. Bakhai dropped the air tunnel he had used to listen to the conversation. He reached forward with both hands and filled them with pieces of dried meat.
“You act like you have not eaten in days,” chuckled Premer Cardijja as he approached Bakhai. “Slow down or your stomach will ache.”
Chapter 28
Vand’s Slaves
Army of the Dead fl-8 Page 35
