Army of the Dead fl-8

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “I agree,” smiled Premer Cardijja. “There was a fork in the road not long ago. Where does the northern fork lead to?”

  “To the Valley of Bones,” Bakhai answered without hesitation. “It is a large valley protected by four great peaks. It is said that ancient armies used it as a fortress.”

  “That might be where the free tribes are hiding,” General Luggar commented with excitement. “Perhaps we should go there instead.”

  “The free tribes are not there,” Bakhai replied quickly.

  “How do you know?” the general frowned with skepticism.

  “Everyone knows,” shrugged Bakhai. “The free tribes are far to the south. Their homes are along the Taggot River.”

  “Show me on the map,” ordered Premer Cardijja.

  Bakhai walked over to the map and stared at it for a moment. He appeared to be confused by the strange symbols, but he finally pointed at the large peninsula that occupied southeast Fakara.

  “The Taggot River runs down the center,” Bakhai said softly. “It starts in the center of the Giaming Mountains and empties into the sea. That is where the free tribes live.”

  The premer smiled broadly and nodded in appreciation of the knowledge. He cast a smug glance at General Luggar.

  “So which way do we go?” asked the general. “Do we search this jungle for Angragar? Or do we alter course and march on the free tribes?”

  “The distance to the free tribes is great,” mused the premer. “I think our priority should be to find Angragar. The Fakarans will remain trapped on the peninsula. We can choose our time to turn southward and trap them between our armies and the sea. I have suddenly begun to feel very optimistic about this campaign.”

  General Luggar glanced at Bakhai and frowned. Premer Cardijja noticed the glance and shook his head.

  “Go outside and play, Bakhai,” the premer said in a friendly manner. “I will call for you if we need to talk more.”

  Bakhai smiled and nodded. He moved eagerly to the tent flap and let himself out. Premer Cardijja shook his head once more and turned his gaze upon General Luggar.

  “You still do not trust the lad?” he asked.

  “I do not trust any Fakaran,” shrugged the general. “It is one thing to ask questions of the captive, but quite another to reveal your thoughts to him.”

  “His information has been accurate in every regard,” the premer defended Bakhai. “We could never have progressed so far without his help. We would still be blindly searching for a pass through the mountains.”

  “The roads were easy enough to spot,” retorted the general. “I am sure that our scouts would have found them.”

  “We were too far north to find this pass,” countered the premer. “I will grant you that we might have found the Valley of Bones, but we would probably have missed the jungle that lies ahead. I wonder if the jungle is large enough to conceal the lost city?”

  “It is probably similar to the jungles on Motanga,” offered General Luggar. “It is most likely a small strip along the coast.”

  “Is it?” questioned the premer. “Bakhai says that we will reach the jungle in two days, yet we cannot be close to the coast. I am imagining a much larger jungle than on the Island of Darkness.”

  “Perhaps,” shrugged General Luggar. “What did you make of his description of the Valley of Bones?”

  “The name is strange,” mused the premer, “but it is worth checking out. Should the free tribes move northward, we could use it as a place to defend. I do not care to be caught on the plain with horsemen charging my position. I saw what the Fakaran horsemen are capable of in such a situation. It cost me fifty thousand men.”

  “Yet we are heading for a plain tomorrow,” cautioned the general.

  “It must be crossed to get to the jungle,” retorted the premer. “We will only spend two days at most upon it. Once we gain the safety of the jungle, the Fakaran horsemen will lose their advantage.”

  “Then you were wise to order an early halt to today’s march,” noted the general. “The men should be well rested in case there is trouble in the next two days.”

  “You worry too much,” replied the premer. “I am feeling very good about things right now. Go and get some rest yourself, Luggar. Tomorrow we will tread on uncharted Fakaran land.”

  Bakhai heard the general preparing to leave the tent. He quickly dropped his air tunnel and picked up a stick. He started drawing in the dirt as the general left the premer’s tent. Luggar hardly glanced at the lad as he headed for his own tent. Bakhai smiled inwardly and rose from the ground. He walked through the large camp towards the east and settled on the ground not far from the sentries manning the perimeter.

  Over the past few days, the Fakaran lad had become a familiar sight to the sentries. They even nodded to him in a friendly manner when he arrived each evening. Bakhai stretched out on the ground facing east and appeared to be resting and watching the sentries. After his daily arrival, the sentries paid no attention to him. Bakhai wove an air tunnel to a position one league to the east. He spoke softly, his voice no more than a whisper to himself.

  “I told them that the free tribes are far to the south along the Taggot River,” reported Bakhai. “I also said that the Valley of Bones was uninhabited and would make a good defensive position.”

  “Any reactions to your information?” asked the Qubari shaman.

  “There was a discussion on searching for Angragar or heading south to battle the free tribes,” answered Bakhai. “The premer has decided to pursue the location of Angragar.”

  “Well done,” replied the shaman. “Be forewarned,” he continued. “The Motangans will be attacked tomorrow. Perhaps you should escape during the night. Do you need a diversion, or can you escape on your own?”

  “I cannot leave,” replied Bakhai. “If I fled tonight, General Luggar would suspect an attack tomorrow. He is still suspicious of me.”

  “He will be more than suspicious after the attack,” warned the shaman. “You must flee.”

  “No,” Bakhai said adamantly after a long pause. “There is more that I can do to affect the outcome of tomorrow’s battle.”

  “What can you possibly do, brother of the Astor?” asked the shaman. “Flee while it is safe to do so. Tomorrow night your life will most certainly be forfeit.”

  Bakhai dropped the air tunnel and fell silent as he thought about the shaman’s question. He knew that prudence required that he escape before morning, but he also knew that such a maneuver would cost the free tribes greatly. General Luggar would certainly demand defensive procedures that would result in many Fakarans dying needlessly. Bakhai rose quietly and returned to the premer’s tent. He stretched out alongside the tent and fell asleep.

  Bakhai awoke shortly after the sun had set. He sat up and let his eyes rove over the encampment. Campfires glowed as the sky darkened, and the stars began to appear. The Fakaran spy sat silently and watched the Motangans eat and prepare for a night’s sleep. For several hours, Bakhai did not move. As the night progressed, the Motangans retired for the night. Only a few soldiers moved within the camp near the premer’s tent, but Bakhai knew that the perimeter would be ringed with sentries. They were not his concern at the moment.

  Bakhai wove an air tunnel and directed it to the east. He did not however extend it the normal one league, but rather shortened it to a distance halfway between the premer’s tent and the perimeter. Bakhai’s mouth moved as he slowly turned the air tunnel clockwise around the camp. He was not concerned about the black-cloaks intercepting his air tunnel, as the sounds emitted out of Bakhai’s mouth would be unintelligible to the Motangan mages. The sounds, however, were understood clearly by the insects living within the camp. Throughout the camp, millions of ants and spiders began moving. They swarmed over the sleeping bodies, biting and stinging as they went.

  The Motangan encampment came alive with shouts and curses from every quadrant. The men inside tents came storming out, stamping their feet on the ground and dancing
around like drunken fools at an all night festival. Those who slept outdoors were rolling on the ground and swatting their bodies to rid themselves of the insects. Campfires surged anew as soldiers gathered in the light to inspect each other’s bodies and remove the biting insects.

  Within an hour the encampment grew quiet. Bakhai heard soldiers complaining about welts on their skin and terrible itching, but eventually everyone returned to sleep. Bakhai waited until the encampment was quiet and then repeated his call to the insects. Once again the little creatures swarmed out of their hiding places and struck the Motangan soldiers.

  Bakhai reclined and feigned sleep as Premer Cardijja came storming out of his tent. The Fakaran spy had exempted the large tent from his orders to the insects so that he would not be bitten himself. This exception spared the Motangan premer from the uncomfortable surprise, but he glowered at the state of his encampment. Cardijja began shouting orders in an attempt to regain control over the soldiers, but it was a futile gesture. The soldiers ran around trying to rid themselves of the tiny bugs. Once again Bakhai let the camp quiet down.

  Premer Cardijja returned to the comfort of the large tent, and Bakhai sat up again. He smiled inwardly as he thought of a variation to the attack. His third call went out to the snakes and reptiles. Within moments thousands of slithering beasts invaded the encampment. Again the shouts and curses split the air, and Premer Cardijja was quick to appear. He looked over at Bakhai questioningly.

  “What in the world is going on?” he snapped.

  “I do not know,” frowned Bakhai. “I was awakened by loud screaming. Are we under attack?”

  “It is snakes and lizards,” a nearby officer reported. “This land is cursed.”

  “Nonsense,” bellowed the premer, although Bakhai could sense uncertainty in the man’s voice.

  The officer turned and ran off to help his men. Premer Cardijja turned to Bakhai once again.

  “Have you ever heard of such things around here?” he asked.

  “There are occasional insect plagues,” nodded Bakhai, “but they are a rare occurrence. They are only ants and spiders and will not really hurt anyone, but the snakes and lizards I have never heard of before. Perhaps the insects disturbed them, and they are trying to get away. At least they do not seem to be affecting us,” he added with a smile.

  The Motangan premer shook his head as he gazed at his soldiers in disgust. He stormed back in his tent. Bakhai grinned inwardly and watched the soldiers. He knew that he should not repeat the call a fourth time, but he was pleased to see that it would be unnecessary in any event. The Motangan soldiers were not returning to sleep. They gathered in groups around the campfires and smoked and drank coffee. Bakhai was smiling as he let himself drift off to sleep.

  When morning came, Bakhai sat up and gazed around the encampment. Many of the soldiers were in the same spots that they had occupied when Bakhai closed his eyes. He listened intently to the conversations of passing soldiers and learned that the camp had been awake the whole night. Many of the men sported dozens of welts, and all of them were scratching some part of their body.

  When Premer Cardijja emerged from his tent and ordered the camp struck, cheers rang among the soldiers. They eagerly donned their packs and collapsed their tents, spending extra time to inspect each for any hidden threats. Within a couple of hours, the Motangan army was marching eastward through the pass between the Bone Mountains and the Giaming Mountains.

  Bakhai’s eyes scanned the plain the moment it came into view. He looked for any sign of the free tribes, but he could see none. By high sun the army was through the pass and marching across the open plain. Bakhai kept looking for any sign of the attack, but nothing happened. He gazed around at the soldiers marching alongside him. They appeared weary and uncomfortable, and the Fakaran spy knew that the time for the attack was ripe, but still no Fakaran horsemen arrived.

  The sun descended in the west and eventually dipped below the peaks of the mountains. Bakhai gazed at the long shadows in confusion. He wondered what had happened to the promised attack. A few hours later, Premer Cardijja called for the column to halt. The Motangan soldiers started staking out the camp as the premer called Bakhai in for his daily briefing.

  Chapter 31

  Riders of the Night

  “Are you familiar with this ground?” asked Premer Cardijja.

  “Yes,” nodded Bakhai. “I have crossed here many times.”

  “Will there be problems with insects here?” inquired the premer. “I cannot afford to have the men subjected to that again tonight.”

  “Insect attacks are very rare,” shrugged Bakhai, “but no one can predict them. I have slept here many times and never been bothered. We will just have to wait and see.”

  “How far to the jungle?” asked General Luggar.

  “One day’s march,” answered the Fakaran spy. “Tomorrow we turn slightly to the right when we leave camp. That is the shortest path to the jungle and will bring us close to where the evil spirit started chasing me. I hope she is not around,” Bakhai added anxiously.

  “You will be protected,” promised the premer. “You have nothing to fear while you are in my camp.”

  “We will kill any evil spirits that appear,” assured General Luggar with a sigh of disbelief. “Why don’t you go out and draw in the dirt or whatever it is you do?”

  Bakhai glanced at Premer Cardijja and saw the man nod with approval. He rose and sauntered out of the tent. As soon as he was outside the tent and away from the sentries, Bakhai sat down on the ground and secretly wove an air tunnel through the gap in the door flap. He listened to the conversation of the two men, but he learned nothing new or exciting. When a Motangan mage came near, Bakhai quickly dropped the air tunnel and rose. He wandered around the huge camp for an hour before arriving at his usual spot near the sentries at the easternmost point of the perimeter. The soldiers nodded in a friendly manner and then returned to watching for any potential intruders. Bakhai again wove an air tunnel and aimed it at a spot one league to the east. He spoke softly into it.

  “What happened?” Bakhai asked, expecting to hear the voice of the Qubari shaman. “There was no attack.”

  Bakhai nearly gasped out loud when his brother’s voice answered.

  “You are to leave the Motangan camp tonight,” Rejji said sternly. “As soon as full darkness comes, you are to head east as fast as you can run.”

  “But you did not attack today,” protested Bakhai. “I can call on the insects again tonight. Tomorrow the Motangans will be weak from lack of sleep. Besides, if I leave the premer will suspect an attack tomorrow. I must stay.”

  “You must leave,” asserted the Astor. “The attack will occur tonight, not tomorrow, but it will not happen at all with you in the camp. In one hour’s time, I am sending some Qubari to eliminate the perimeter sentries near you. Watch them closely. When they fall, you are to flee as fast as you can. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Bakhai subconsciously nodded. “I will be ready.”

  Rejji’s end of the air tunnel dropped, and Bakhai sighed with anxiety. He stretched out on the ground and closed his eyes, willing his body to relax. The hour passed slowly as Bakhai listened to the sounds around him. He opened his eyes abruptly when he heard the premer’s voice.

  “What are you doing here, Bakhai?” asked Premer Cardijja.

  Bakhai bolted to a sitting position and looked up at the Motangan premer.

  “I often come here at the end of the day,” Bakhai replied. “I like to watch the moon rise.”

  “That is hours away,” replied the premer. “Come back to the tent and eat. You ate very little today.”

  “I am not hungry,” Bakhai shook his head. “Besides, I do not mind waiting for the moon. It looks magical when it rises. It is so large at first, but it grows smaller as it climbs into the sky. It is wonderful to watch.”

  Premer Cardijja stared at the Fakaran youth and smiled. “Very well,” he said, “but return to the tent after
it rises. I do not wish you to be so close to the perimeter. You do not want the evil spirit to get you, do you?”

  “Oh, no,” Bakhai shook his head exaggeratedly. “I will hurry back to the tent right after the moonrise.”

  The premer nodded and started walking away. Bakhai frowned at the encounter. In a different place and a different time, he could have become friends with a man like Cardijja, but he had to remind himself that the Motangan premer was tasked to destroy Fakara and all of its inhabitants. There could be no friendship under the current circumstances. There could only be death or surrender for the Motangan.

  Bakhai got to his feet and stretched as his eyes covertly scanned the darkness now surrounding the camp. The two nearest sentries suddenly dropped quietly to the ground. Bakhai quickly looked around to see who was watching. The nearest tents had blazing campfires burning before them, and Bakhai knew that their ability to see beyond the flames was limited. He bolted past the dead sentries and ran into the darkness. He never saw the Qubari warriors who had delivered the deadly darts, but Mobi, a highly skilled Qubari warrior, soon met him.

  “Come,” Mobi said authoritatively. “Your brother is waiting for you.”

  Bakhai nodded silently and followed Mobi at a swift pace. They eventually reached Rejji, who was standing on a hill overlooking the Motangan encampment. Rejji silently embraced his brother and then returned to looking at the sprawling camp.

  “It is much larger than I could have imagined,” Rejji said softly as he viewed the thousands of campfires that dotted the plain. “Even our attack tonight will not be able to crush something so large.”

  “But tomorrow they will head for the jungle,” replied Bakhai. “Surely that will stop them.”

  “Perhaps,” frowned Mobi, “but that is not guaranteed. The Qubari have never faced anything so large. The stories of the last invaders, led by Fakar, speak of many Qubari deaths. It is said that the Qubari barely survived as a people, and we were much more numerous back then.”