Army of the Dead fl-8

by Richard S. Tuttle

  The column reversed direction with the column leader passing by the other mages and taking the lead once again. The reversal placed Cymelange near the vanguard of the column. The black-cloaks hurried along, nervousness clearly beginning to show in the faces of the mages. A few minutes later the column halted abruptly. Cymelange pushed his way forward to see why they had stopped. He stared in horror at the giant web stretched across the trail. Stuck on the web were the bodies of the two mages that had been left behind. At least Cymelange suspected that that was whom the bodies belonged to. The bodies were completely encased in webbing. Only a few glimpses of black cloaks were visible through the white webbing. Cymelange’s eyes rose upward as he tried to see the top of the web. He could not.

  “Burn it!” he shouted.

  Flames shot from over a dozen mages and tore at the web. The web seemed to sway away protectively from the fire, but Cymelange noted that the strands of the web did melt where the flames were most intense. He watched with morbid curiosity, as holes grew larger in the web. When the holes were large enough for men to pass through, Cymelange barked commands for the column to proceed. He let men pass him as his eyes searched for the spiders. The stench of burning flesh fell heavy across the trail as the two encased mages began to burn. Cymelange crinkled his nose against the odor and followed the other mages through the web.

  Cymelange’s eyes constantly scanned the jungle on both sides for any sign of the spiders, but he could not find them. This irritated him as much as it frightened him. As the column was hurrying towards the camp, a slight noise off to his right caught Cymelange’s attention. The noise had sounded like a human voice, but he could not be sure. As his eyes scanned the foliage for enemies, Cymelange tripped and fell. He hit the ground hard and something smashed into his jaw. He cursed loudly and shook his head to clear his vision. He looked uncomprehendingly at the boot on the ground. As he rose to his knees, Cymelange recognized the body of the mage stretched out before him.

  Cymelange looked up and saw the trail littered with the bodies of his comrades. None of them appeared to be moving. He frowned in confusion as his eyes swept over the bodies. Suddenly he froze, his eyes landing on the small dart stuck in the neck of the mage before him. He bit his lip with sudden understanding. He immediately went prone on the ground as his mind raced with the explanation to the quiet disappearances of the other columns. The darts obviously delivered an extremely fast-acting poison, but those darts would have to be delivered by people, not spiders. There had to be Fakarans nearby.

  Cymelange feigned death, as he remained frozen on the ground. His eyes tried to scan the jungle, but he could see little other than the closest plants. He listened intently for sounds of the enemy, but the jungle had grown deathly quiet. The brightening spells began to fail, and darkness reclaimed the jungle, but Cymelange remained quiet and still. He was not sure how much time had passed, but he suddenly heard a chilling sound behind him. Risking detection, he rolled onto his side and gazed into the darkness.

  At first he could see nothing, but the sounds grew louder. A series of clicks and the rustle of leaves indicated movement nearby, but the jungle was a wall of blackness. As the sounds grew closer, Cymelange felt the need to move away. He cautiously rose to his knees and then stood. However long he had remained feigning death, his eyes were now more accustomed to the darkness. As he stood he frowned, the whole jungle appearing to move before him. He stared in confusion trying to figure out what he was seeing. It took a few moments for the image to fully register with his brain. Giant spiders were harvesting the slain bodies on the trail. His mouth fell open and his eyes widened as he stared at the massive creatures. His limbs began to shake uncontrollably and Cymelange fought for control over his muscles.

  He never even thought of attacking the spiders magically. Instead, Cymelange turned and ran towards the encampment. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, without regard to the noise that he made, or the pain from the plants whipping at his legs and arms. He heard sounds from behind him and imagined that the giant spiders were racing after him. Fear coursed through his body. His heart pounded maddeningly, and he gasped for breath. He had no idea what type of people might inhabit the jungle, but his mind pictured tiny human-like creatures with long blowpipes pressed to their lips.

  When he finally saw the Motangan encampment, his legs had just about given out. He raced past the perimeter sentries and collapsed on the ground, gasping for breath. Pain seared his chest and raced down his arms. Perspiration flooded from his body and his mind began to swim hazily. A crowd gathered around him, but he neither cared nor paid any notice to them. He tried to rest his pounding heart and fill his bursting lungs with air.

  “Cymelange?” questioned a familiar voice. “What is going on? Where are the rest of your mages?”

  The black-cloak gazed up into the face of Premer Cardijja. Cymelange’s lips curled back to bare his teeth.

  “Where are the troops I requested?” spat the mage. “I sent the air tunnel into your tent. You could have saved my men.”

  “I have not been in my tent since you left,” shrugged the premer. “I have been trying to calm a revolt. Tell me what happened. Was it the spiders?”

  “Small creatures,” Cymelange gasped as his throat constricted. “People. Poison blow darts. Spiders. Webs. We must leave the jungle.”

  “He is delirious,” commented General Luggar. “He needs a healer.”

  “He is the last of the healers,” scowled Premer Cardijja. “We need to get him to my tent.”

  The premer waved his arm to direct some of the nearby soldiers to carry the mage’s body, but General Luggar reached out and placed a hand on the premer’s arm. Cardijja looked questioningly at his friend and saw Luggar nod towards the mage. The premer looked down and saw Cymelange’s face contorted in death. The eyes still stared openly in horror, and the mage’s teeth were still bared, but the black-cloak was no longer among the living.

  * * *

  Emperor Vand sat on his throne, staring into space. A dozen black-cloaks stood in a knot off to one side, talking among themselves, while Premer Tzargo stood before the emperor, patiently awaiting word from Khadora. The door to the throne room opened and everyone’s eyes moved to see who was entering. They quickly averted their eyes as the telltale clicking of claws tapped across the floor towards the emperor. Vand alone continued to stare as the demon approached.

  The demon stopped well behind Premer Tzargo. With a hideous snarl, the creature rolled the head of Premer Shamal across the floor. The head struck the steps leading up to the throne. It bounced back and came to rest with Shamal’s open eyes staring up at the ceiling.

  “Report,” commanded the emperor.

  “The army of Shamal no longer exists,” growled the demon. “Those who defeated him will soon converge on Vandegar. The Torak leads an army of Khadorans, elves, and Chula. They will be numerous.”

  “We must order Cardijja to come here immediately,” urged Premer Tzargo. “My men are the best in the army, but we are only fifty thousand strong. We need Cardijja’s men.”

  “Cardijja is finding Angragar,” the emperor shook his head. “That is more important to me. Your men will defend Vandegar.”

  “But we are only fifty thousand,” objected the premer. “I need more men against such a large army.”

  “More?” scowled Vand. “Have I not given you control over a million men? You continue to disappoint me, Tzargo. I have let you plan the invasions and divide your forces as you saw fit. We have had nothing but failure after failure. Tell me why you should continue to live.”

  “I am loyal to you,” Premer Tzargo uttered quickly. “I have devoted my life to protecting you. I cannot be blamed for Doralin’s cowardice or Shamal’s failure. You approved of both of them for their positions. I am only asking for more men to better protect you.”

  “How many more men do you need?” asked the emperor.

  “As many as I can get,” Tzargo replied with a hint of hope in hi
s voice.

  “Two times your current number?” questioned the emperor. “Ten times?”

  Premer Tzargo frowned at the emperor’s questions. He knew that there was no chance for either of the options offered to him. Only Cardijja’s army remained to draw from, and that could hardly be equivalent to ten times Tzargo’s troops.

  “I will make use of every man that you can get me,” promised Premer Tzargo. “You will be protected.”

  Vand smiled darkly at the premer. “Then I shall make your army increase tenfold, “ he said softly. “Go and gather your men, Tzargo. Arrange all fifty thousand in a line that I may bless them each individually. When I am done, your army will be invincible.”

  Premer Tzargo swallowed hard as he realized that the emperor was going to make each of his soldiers into a hellsoul. A shudder ran through his body, but he bowed respectfully and backed out of the chamber.

  Chapter 34

  Escape from the Jungle

  General Luggar entered the premer’s tent and found Cardijja staring at the map of Fakara. The premer looked up briefly to see who was entering, but he quickly returned his attention to the hand drawn markings on the map.

  “There are no markings on the map for this jungle,” commented General Luggar as he crossed the room and stood alongside the premer. “Your interest in the map tells me that you are planning to retreat.”

  “Is there any other option?” sighed Cardijja. “The men are frightened like children. Sending the mages out to battle the spiders was a great mistake on my part. The men know that there are no healers left for them.”

  “You had no reason to believe that all of the mages would die,” sympathized the general. “Do not blame yourself.”

  “Who am I to blame then?” scowled the premer. “I lead this army. All responsibility falls to me. I have managed to send my men into a deathtrap. No, Luggar, I must blame myself. I can hardly blame the men for wanting to run from this infernal jungle. Come morning, we are leaving here and heading westward. Let Premer Tzargo find the lost city of Angragar. My task now is to preserve as many of my men as possible.”

  “You can’t be serious?” gasped General Luggar. “Tzargo will kill you for defying him, and that would be getting off easy. If Vand hears of it, you will be slowly tortured in public to make a spectacle of you.”

  “I fully understand the consequences of my actions,” shrugged Cardijja, “but I will not throw away the lives of my men.”

  “Your men will just be sent out under a new premer after you are killed,” Luggar pointed out. “You will not be saving them from anything. You are a premer, Cardijja. Your task is to lead your armies to defeat the enemy. I do not understand this change in you.”

  “You will come to understand it,” frowned the premer. “I suspect that you will be chosen to replace me. When your promotion is given, remember well what happens here in the jungle this night.”

  “What do you mean?” questioned the general. “When what happens?”

  “When the spiders attack, Luggar,” replied the premer. “Surely you are not foolish enough to think that we will be allowed to sleep until morning? Our enemy is much too clever for that.”

  “You think the spiders are intelligent?” asked the general. “You speak of them as if they were in league with our enemies.”

  “I am sure of it,” nodded Cardijja. “Oh, the reports from the soldiers we sent out might lead one to believe that the spiders merely saw us as intruders and a food source, but the deaths of the mages make me see things differently. Cymelange’s mages may have been pompous and obnoxious, but they were intelligent men. They went into the jungle specifically to find the spiders. They could not have been trapped as the soldiers were.”

  “Perhaps the mages did not die because of the spiders,” offered Luggar. “Cymelange spoke of small people and poison darts.”

  “Exactly,” Cardijja nodded exaggeratedly. “He spoke of people and spiders in the same breath. Now tell me, why is it these small people can survive among the spiders that killed six thousand of our soldiers? Have you considered the implications of that thought?”

  General Luggar remained silent for several moments and finally shook his head. “I see where your thoughts are coming from,” admitted the general, “but you have no proof of it. Perhaps the spiders do normally feed on the small people, but couldn’t resist the men we sent into the jungle.”

  “Inconceivable,” countered Cardijja. “The spiders were capable of capturing almost every one of the soldiers that we sent in. No small people could live in such an environment unless the spiders were their allies. No, Luggar, the spiders are intelligent, and they will attack before dawn. They are merely waiting until our fear is at its apex. That fear will work to their advantage. Instead of facing two hundred thousand men ready to defend this camp, they will be attacking two hundred thousand soldiers trying to flee from the jungle. Our losses will be severe.”

  “If you truly believe this,” frowned the general, “you should be ordering the men out of the jungle immediately.”

  ”I would have done that an hour ago,” sighed the premer, “except for the reports from the sentries. It appears that Fakaran horsemen are prowling the plains outside the jungle. They would like nothing better than to strike us under the cover of darkness once again.”

  “And the Fakarans have not attempted to enter the jungle?” asked General Luggar.

  “Not even a single probe,” Cardijja shook his head. “It is as if they already know where we are and what we are up against. Can you think of any other reason for them to be riding along the edge of the jungle in plain sight of our sentries?”

  “No,” admitted Luggar. “Such an appearance is most certainly designed to keep us here for the night.”

  “Precisely,” nodded Cardijja. “They sit out there like vultures waiting to pick off the weak and wounded as we run from the jungle.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” asked General Luggar.

  “I am not sure,” conceded the premer, “but something must be done soon. We cannot allow the Fakarans to drive our strategy. There was a long strand of forest before we reached the jungle. Do you remember it?”

  “I do,” nodded the general. “We discussed moving into it if the Fakaran horsemen returned before we reached the jungle. It ran to the north for as far as I could see.”

  “I want to devise a plan to reach it,” declared the premer.

  “That is a half-day’s march,” frowned the general. “We would lose thousands of men to the horsemen before we reached it.”

  “I know,” sighed Cardijja, “but what else can we do? If we stay in the jungle, we must fight huge spiders and little people with poison darts. The very thought terrorizes our men. If we merely flee to the plains, we will fall prey to the tribes and their horsemen. We will lose a tremendous number of men to reach the forest, but the jungle creatures will not pursue us, and the horsemen will be at an extreme disadvantage there.”

  “Our men could certainly hold their own in the forests,” Luggar nodded in agreement. “In fact, that is just the terrain we need to defeat the horsemen. If we can lure them into the forest after us, we can turn this war around.”

  “That is what I was thinking,” smiled the premer. “I would prefer to wait until daylight to cross the plains, but I fear that will not be an option.”

  “Daylight would allow more of our men to survive the attacks from the horsemen,” agreed the general, “but you indicated that you thought the spiders would not wait until dawn.”

  “They won’t,” assured the premer, “and that is what bothers me. I am looking for a way out of the jungle without exposing the men to the tribesmen.”

  General Luggar gazed down at the map and frowned in silence. Finally, he tapped his finger on the map.

  “What if we start moving the men along the edge of the jungle?” Luggar proposed. “They could stay close to the plains and move northward. That would make the open area between the jungle and the fo
rests a bit smaller.”

  “It would also spread our men out greatly,” replied the premer, “but I was thinking of doing just that when you arrived. The problem, as I see it, is that those still in this camp when the spiders strike will most certainly be lost. We will have decreased our numbers greatly.”

  “Then we are best to start as soon as possible,” replied the general. “We are going to lose thousands of men no matter what we do. This plan is the best option that we have, unless we send more men deep into the jungle. That might keep the spiders busy until dawn.”

  “Where would you find the men to follow such an order?” questioned the premer. “I am not sure if you have spent much time this night walking around the camp, but I have. Our men are ready to throw down their weapons and bolt for the plains. We would have been better off if the spiders had killed all of the men sent into the jungle. Those few hundred who escaped have caused morale to plummet. If you can find some volunteers, I will take them. Otherwise, we start moving out immediately.”

  “We might as well start moving out,” sighed General Luggar. “You are right about the mental state of the troops. They want out of this jungle.”

  “Give the orders, Luggar,” stated Premer Cardijja. “Make sure that the men understand what we are doing. I don’t want any of them getting lost.”

  Premer Cardijja followed the general out of the tent. He watched Luggar walk off and then his eyes rose skyward. The sky was a mass of black, and the smell of rain was in the air. He cursed the lack of moonlight and called for some men to dismantle his tent. For an hour the premer walked slowly around the encampment. Everywhere men were preparing to leave. He smiled sympathetically and nodded to the soldiers, but most of them averted their eyes. It was clear that they were ashamed of their fear, but Cardijja felt for them. They were trained soldiers, but none of their training had prepared them for what this jungle held. He offered words of optimism and support to the soldiers, and some of them reacted with false bravado, but most of the soldiers merely nodded and smiled in return. Cardijja had become much like a father to most of the soldiers. He was known to be strict and severe with punishment, but he was always considered fair, and the men appreciated that.