Army of the Dead fl-8

by Richard S. Tuttle

  The Torak turned and ran through the woods to the clearing where Myka rested. He raced right up onto her back with impatience.

  “Going somewhere?” quipped the dragon.

  “I have no time for humor,” replied the Torak. “Get me over the battlefield quickly. Something is wrong.”

  Myka wasted no words in reply. She rose up and leaped into the sky.

  “Head towards the Khadorans,” instructed Marak, “but keep low enough for me to see what we are traveling over.”

  Myka skimmed over the trees of the forest and was soon flying over the baked soil of the wasteland. Marak looked down with a puzzled expression on his face. Thousands of skeletons littered the ground and it soon became obvious that the sun was reflecting off the swords that they held.

  “An old battlefield?” questioned the dragon.

  “I don’t think so,” mused the Torak. “Do you see any of the bones crushed? Each skeleton is fully formed. How could anyone ride or march to Vandegar without crushing some of the bones?”

  “Maybe no one has ever approached the temple from this direction?” posed the dragon.

  “Possible,” admitted the Torak, “but I will not accept that just yet. We have been expecting some surprise from Vand, and this is surprising.”

  “We will know soon enough,” declared the dragon. “Your Khadorans are about to start crunching bones.”

  Marak strained his eyes trying to see the progress of the Khadoran clansmen, but they were still too far away to make out the details. His eyes drifted downward and scanned the skeleton bodies.

  “Did you hear that?” asked Myka.

  “Hear what?” asked Emperor Marak.

  “A horn,” answered the dragon. “It came from the Khadorans.”

  Suddenly, the skeletons below came to life and rose to their feet, their bony hands brandishing swords.

  “Mercy!” swore the Torak. “There are thousands upon thousands of them.”

  “And not enough flesh on all of them put together for even a decent snack,” the dragon said dryly.

  Marak dragged his eyes away from the skeletons below and focused on the blur of Khadorans in the distance.

  “What can you see?” he asked the dragon as they sped across the wasteland.

  “The vanguard is being encircled,” Myka reported. “The rest of the Khadorans are still moving forward as if unaware of the danger, but the horn is still blowing.”

  “I can hear it now,” nodded Marak.

  “The blue and green ones are falling from their horses,” the dragon continued. “They have turned around to flee, but there is nowhere for them to go.”

  “Is Marshal Berman with them?” asked Marak.

  “There is one in orange and yellow among them,” replied the dragon. “He fights valiantly, but his blows are wasted. The creatures do not fall down when struck.”

  Emperor Marak turned his head to survey the rest of the area around the temple. He saw a large mass of red uniforms around the temple, but they were making no move to join the battle. Suddenly, swift movement caught his eye near the roof of the temple. He squinted into the rising sun and saw a large black shape leap off the roof. Its wings spread out, and it flapped hard as it headed straight towards Marak and Myka.

  “We have a visitor coming,” the Torak said nervously. “I think it might be a demon.”

  Flames shot out of the dragon’s mouth as her head turned towards the temple.

  “Barrok,” spat the dragon. “Use your knife, Torak. This will be the type of ride you never wished for.”

  “Perhaps you should put me down?” questioned the Torak. “I do not want to hinder your fighting.”

  “I wish there was time to do just that,” replied Myka, “but there is not. I cannot afford to let the demon get above me. I would also lose too much speed by letting you off. Use your knife and hang on.”

  Emperor Marak shoved his knife into the scale of the dragon. He wedged it in strong and gripped it with both hands. As Myka turned to face the approaching demon, Marak’s eyes returned to the battle below. They had covered enough ground so that Marak was now able to see clearly. What he saw was disturbing.

  The Khadoran Emperor watched as Marshal Berman fell to the ground, his body cut and bleeding. The hornsman was the next to go, but the most interesting sight was that of Lord Marshal Stanton breaking the neck of one of the skeletons. The creature immediately crumpled into a pile of bones and did not get up again. He also saw Lord Faliman sliced open and realized that none of the vanguard would live. He hastily wove an air tunnel to the Khadoran mages behind the line of horsemen.

  “You need to hang onto your knife,” warned the dragon. “I will not be able to stop you from falling.”

  “In a minute,” replied the Torak.

  An air mage picked up his air tunnel, and the Torak wasted no words.

  “Tell Lord Marshal Yenga to assume command of the army,” ordered the Emperor. “Tell everyone that the creatures need to be decapitated. Order the cavalry to fall back and use the mages to blast the skeletons in any way they can to aid in the retreat.”

  “Retreat?” asked the air mage.

  “Yes,” snapped the Torak. “Get our people away from the skeletons. Notify King Avalar about everything I have said and try to contact the Fakarans.”

  “Using air tunnels?” questioned the mage.

  “The time for secrecy is over,” replied the Torak. “Vand knows that we have arrived. Our forces need to coordinate.”

  “The knife, Torak!” shouted Myka. “Now!”

  Marak dropped the air tunnel and quickly grabbed the knife. He looked up to see the grotesque creature streaking towards them. Its fangs were bared and long, sharp talons were stretched out before it. The two powerful creatures were on a collision course at a speed that the Torak could only imagine. He gripped the knife firmly with both hands and waited for the crash that was to come.

  Suddenly, Myka rolled to one side, her claws reaching out to rake the side of the passing demon. Marak gripped the knife harder than he had ever gripped anything in his life, and his legs tried to press against the sides of the dragon to avoid being sent to his death below. The demon screamed as it passed, and one of its wings came perilously close to Marak.

  “First blood,” Myka said with satisfaction as she leveled out and swept into a sharp bank to the left.

  Marak felt his body tossed about like the ear of a romping dog. He gripped the knife anew and adjusted his legs as the dragon straightened and headed towards the distant demon that had also turned around. Once again the two huge creatures raced towards one another, and once again it appeared that a collision was imminent.

  Unexpectedly, the demon’s wings flared out to each side and the demon dropped rapidly. Myka screamed as she flew over the demon, as Barrok gashed her underside with its sharp claws. The dragon did not turn as quickly as the last time, but sped on straight for some time. Marak turned his head and saw the demon approaching from behind.

  “It’s coming up behind you,” warned the Torak.

  “I know,” answered the dragon. “You must hang on tightly just before Barrok reaches me. You will be jarred abruptly.”

  Marak kept watching the approaching demon until it was too close to see without letting go of the knife. Unexpectedly, Myka’s entire body thrashed as her powerful tail whipped full out and smashed the demon in the face. The demon reacted as if it had run into a wall. Its wings flapped furiously and Barrok dropped a hundred paces in altitude. Myka had already begun her dive and spiraled around to attack the demon before it recovered. Her claws dug into the demon’s face, but Barrok was not defeated yet. The demon spun its body, and its talons tore into Myka’s left wing. The dragon broke off, large tears shredding a section of her wing. She immediately rose higher in the sky to put distance between the demon and herself.

  “Can you win this fight?” asked the Torak. “This demon seems to be a formidable foe.”

  “I must,” replied Myka. “Thi
s is only the first of six, and those six are the survivors of the last battle. They are all skilled and deadly. Thankfully they are attacking one at a time, or I would have no chance at all. Hold on tight, Torak, we are going in for the kill this time.”

  Marak was not sure if Myka could kill the demon. The lacerations in her wing surely had to affect her ability to maneuver quickly, and the Torak could see no weakness in the demon.

  Myka wobbled as she flew, and the demon cackled as it circled. On one pass the demon spit at Myka, and a large glob of acidic spittle landed near Marak. The glob smoked as it started to eat through one of Myka’s scales. Marak’s hand darted to his pack to retrieve a piece of cloth to blot the sputum, but Myka spoke sharply.

  “Mind your knife, Torak,” ordered the dragon.

  “Wise, Myka,” cackled Barrok. “There is no need to worry about scales when you both shall be dead soon.”

  Marak’s hands immediately gripped the knife tightly. The demon darted inward towards Myka’s injured wing from the rear. Myka suddenly folded her wings inward and began to drop precipitously. The demon shouted in surprise and streaked after the falling dragon. The Torak’s body lifted off the dragon’s back, and he remained affixed only by his hands holding the knife. Without warning, Myka’s wings suddenly flared outward, and Marak’s body slammed into the dragon’s scales. The demon had been tricked into believing that Myka was heading for the ground. As the demon instantly caught up to the dragon, Myka twisted in the air and snapped her jaws tight on Barrok’s throat. The demon gagged and flailed as it tried to break free, but the dragon increased the pressure as her teeth sunk ever deeper. Acidic, black blood seeped out of the demon’s neck and flowed along its body. With a loud snap, the demon’s head lolled to one side. Myka flipped her head and discarded the creature’s body. Marak watched the demon’s carcass fall to the ground.

  “You did it!” exclaimed the Torak.

  “This is no time for congratulations,” sighed Myka. “Agad and Caliphia are coming out to play.”

  The Torak glanced towards the temple and saw two distant black shapes winging away from the building’s roof.

  * * *

  “Have them blunt their arrows,” shouted King Avalar. “I want them to hit solidly when they are fired. There will be no flesh to bite into. The task is to break the spinal column supporting the head.”

  “I will see to it,” promised Galantor.

  The elven king returned his attention to the duel in the sky in time to see the demon gore the underside of the dragon.

  “That doesn’t look good,” commented Ukaro. “Isn’t there anything that we can do to help?”

  “Not according to Myka,” Lyra shook her head. “The demons are immune to magic, and our weapons are puny in comparison to the armor of their hides.”

  “Emperor Marak is being tossed around dangerously,” frowned Princess Alastasia. “If Myka dies, so does the Torak. How can he manage to hang on?”

  “His life depends upon hanging on,” Ukaro said softly.

  StarWind came running towards the group and halted alongside Lyra.

  “We have contacted the Astor,” she reported. “We were just in time. The free tribes were just about to advance into the field of skeletons. They have halted and are awaiting instructions.”

  “They will have to wait a bit,” Lyra said distractedly. “I don’t know how to continue without the Torak.”

  “We must continue,” balked King Avalar. “We are all committed to destroying Vand. There is no other option for us. He will destroy our world. Surely the Star and the Astor will carry on?”

  “I understand the position that we are in,” Lyra retorted tensely. “What I meant by my words is that the prophecies clearly state that the Three will battle Vand for control of the world. If the Torak dies, the Three are no longer. I do not know if just the Astor and I can fulfill the prophecy.”

  “I will not accept that,” Princess Alastasia declared. “Everyone here will fight to the death to destroy Vand. I do not care what the prophecies state. We are all committed to this campaign, and we shall finish it, one way or another.”

  “Well spoken, daughter,” smiled King Avalar.

  “I would have it no other way,” explained Lyra. “I have no intention of backing out. I just want everyone to realize that our fight may be futile. That is not to say that we would even think of abandoning it.”

  “A tail to the face!” exclaimed Ukaro. “Myka is going in for the kill.”

  Everyone’s attention returned to the battle overhead as Myka’s claws ripped into the demon’s face and then the demon shredded the dragon’s wing.

  “This is not going well,” StarWind remarked with nervousness. “Can’t we do something? I would rather attack than stand here watching helplessly.”

  “Myka does look wounded,” sighed King Avalar, “but I would never give up on a winged warrior. They have the spirit of Kaltara abiding within them.”

  “Within her,” corrected the Star of Sakova. “Myka is the last of her kind.”

  The group watched as the demon circled the wounded dragon. Breaths were held and the camp fell silent as the demon spiraled closer and closer.

  “She’s falling,” gasped Lyra. “Oh, Kaltara, save her.”

  The demon dove after the falling dragon, and everyone held their breath again. When Myka flared her wings and struck the demon in the neck, the whole crowd cheered loudly. They watched with satisfaction as the demon’s body plummeted to the ground.

  “I thought Marak would fall off when Myka began dropping,” Lyra sighed with relief. “He was barely hanging on, and a fall from such a height would surely have killed him.”

  “Praise Kaltara that that is over with,” exhaled Ukaro.

  “Praise him indeed,” King Avalar said softly, “but it is not over. Look towards the temple.”

  The group gazed towards the towering Temple of Vandegar and saw the two black specks flying towards the dragon.

  “She is in no condition to fight right now,” frowned Ukaro. “She must flee to fight another day.”

  “She is trying to flee to the east,” remarked StarWind, “but her flying is erratic. I don’t think she will be able to elude them.”

  The demons saw the dragon’s intended path and moved to intercept her. The two demons separated in altitude as they approached Myka, and everyone knew that the fight would commence soon. There was no way for Myka to escape. As everyone watched in horrified silence, the demons angled to get the dragon between them so that they could both attack at once. Myka tried frantically to outmaneuver the demons by twisting and turning and reversing course, but it was not to be. Another battle in the sky was about to begin, and this one was not a match of equals.

  A sudden communal gasp ripped through the forest as Emperor’s Marak’s body separated from the back of the dragon and plummeted towards the ground. No sooner had he fallen than the demons swept in to strike the dragon and deal a deathblow to their mighty foe.

  Chapter 43

  Close Friends

  As the group watched Emperor Marak fall from the dragon, the Star of Sakova dropped to her knees in prayer. Absolute silence reigned for several seconds and then wild cheers erupted from the group. Lyra rose swiftly and tried to see why they were cheering.

  “Tell me,” pleaded Lyra. “What happened to Marak?”

  “Weren’t you watching?” replied Princess Alastasia. “He landed in the lake.”

  “Is he alive?” Lyra asked.

  “We can’t tell from here,” King Avalar said softly, “but there is hope for him now. Had he landed on the ground he would have surely died.”

  “We must go to him,” declared the Star of Sakova. “StarWind, get everyone ready.”

  “There are thousands of creatures between us and the lake,” warned StarWind. “We may not survive the journey.”

  “We would have to go there and then bring Emperor Marak back here,” added Princess Alastasia. “We cannot possibly defend him at
the side of the lake, and those creatures are sure to pursue us.”

  “I don’t want excuses or warnings,” screamed Lyra. “Get the chokas ready now. The Sakovans are going to get Marak and bring him to safety.”

  StarWind backed away from Lyra, her eyes wide with surprise. While Lyra often had emotional outbursts, she had never screamed in fury before. The Star of Sakova’s face was scarlet and her eyes were piercing. StarWind swallowed and nodded silently before she raced into the campsite and called for the Sakovans to mount up for battle. Ukaro stepped next to the Star of Sakova and placed his arm around her comfortingly.

  “The Sakovans are only five hundred strong,” he said softly.

  Lyra turned, pushing his arm away as she glared at the Chula shaman. Her mouth opened wide to deliver a verbal tirade, but Ukaro smiled and placed a finger on her lips.

  “Here my words,” Ukaro pleaded. “I am not saying that you should not go, but I want you to realize the seriousness of what we are going to do.”

  “We?” frowned Lyra.

  “Marak is my son and the pride of the Chula people,” smiled Ukaro. “Did you actually think that we would abandon him? I do not know how much help the Chula will be, but we will run with you.”

  “In cat form?” asked King Avalar.

  “It would be the only way that we could keep up with the chokas,” nodded Ukaro. “That is why I said we may not be of much help against the creatures. We can run or fight, but doing both at the same time is not very effective.”

  “Would your people accept riders?” asked Princess Alastasia.

  Ukaro smiled broadly. “Elven archers perhaps?” he asked.

  “That is what I was thinking,” nodded King Avalar. “Marak is our Torak as well. We have not come all the way from Elvangar to see him die at the hands of these creatures.”

  “With pleasure,” Ukaro nodded vigorously. “We can only carry five hundred archers. The rest of my people are not shamans and cannot perform the transformation.”

  “Then this is what I propose,” explained King Avalar. “We place the elven archers astride the Chula in the center of the procession. The Sakovans will take the vanguard and the outside flanks. They can hack at the creatures as we shoot our arrows over the Sakovan heads. I will have the archers that remain behind in the forest start to open up a corridor for our return trip.”