Army of the Dead

by Richard S. Tuttle

  Premer Cardijja’s brow creased in puzzlement, but he nodded his appreciation of the honor being bestowed upon him. The only time any of the premers, other than Tzargo, were allowed in the Emperor’s presence was in the throne room in Vandamar. This day in Meliban would be a story to tell his children about.

  The wait was not long. Moments after Premer Tzargo spoke, Motangan soldiers marched across the gangplank. Tzargo silently issued orders with his hands, and the soldiers formed corridors along the main street of the city. When the human corridor was complete, the Emperor’s procession began. First came half a dozen black-cloaked mages, their eyes shifting constantly as if they did not trust their own soldiers. Premer Cardijja frowned at their attitude, but he kept his mouth shut.

  Next came a sight that caused Cardijja to gasp out loud. He had heard rumors of the Emperor’s demons, but he did not believe the tales. He had never seen any evidence of the creatures during his many visits to the temple, but now he believed the rumors. The six creatures were extremely tall and appeared to have been chiseled out of shiny black rock. They had long sharp claws on their hands and feet, and the noise they made descending the gangplank sent a shiver up Cardijja’s spine. Their heads were hideous distortions of a beastly nature, with long sharp horns protruding from their temples. Their snouts were long, and Cardijja swallowed hard when one of them opened its mouth. Several rows of sharp, meat-tearing teeth appeared quite capable of biting through the thickest of human bones.

  “You see,” smiled Premer Tzargo, “the rumors are not entirely false. You will also understand where six of the wasooki will be going tonight.”

  Premer Cardijja tore his eyes away from the demons and looked at Tzargo. He found the head premer smiling broadly at him. Cardijja realized that he was being used as a source of amusement for Tzargo, and he quickly turned away to watch the procession.

  In the center of the six huge demons, Emperor Vand walked silently. His head swiveled slightly as he took in the sights of the city, but his expression was one of disinterest. Premer Cardijja noticed that six more black-cloaked mages followed the demons. There were no soldiers in the Emperor’s inner circle.

  “Are there no military advisors within the Emperor’s party?” Cardijja asked as he turned to Premer Tzargo.

  “I am in the Emperor’s party,” replied Tzargo. “I am the only military advisor he needs. Come. We are to lead the parade.”

  Premer Cardijja dutifully followed Tzargo and led the procession along the main street of Meliban. He halted outside the administration building, wondering how the demons would fit through the doorway. His silent question was immediately answered when one of the demons simply marched through the doorway, sending showers of wood splinters raining onto the porch as the wooden frame gave way to the black-rock creature. Cardijja stared at the now-enlarged doorway and shook his head. He bowed deeply as the Emperor passed by, but Vand did not appear to even notice him.

  “I must make sure that the wasooki are prepared for the Emperor’s party,” Cardijja said to Tzargo as he hastened to get away from the administration building. “If anything is required by the Emperor, I will have men stationed in the park up the street. You only need to ask, and it will be supplied.”

  Premer Tzargo grinned as he watched Cardijja flee. He remembered his own feelings the first time he met the demons, but he was not about to feel sympathy for his rival. Cardijja was well respected by his men, and even Tzargo had to admit that the man was capable of great deeds, but he was not about to allow anyone to come between the Emperor and himself. A true Motangan never allowed that.

  Chapter 14

  Feline Persuasion

  StormSong, ValleyBreeze, HawkShadow, StarWind, and Lyra dismounted from their chokas and turned to look at the narrow canyon they had just come through. General Didyk and General Manitow slid off their horses and joined the small group.

  “Are you sure that halting and making a stand is a wise idea?” asked Lyra. “There are still far too many of the Motangans left.”

  “This is the only passage in this ridge for a league in either direction,” nodded HawkShadow. “The plan is not without risks, but this is a golden opportunity to trim their numbers.”

  “This is the ridge that I drew on Doralin’s map when I was captured,” interjected StarWind. “He thinks it runs on for leagues and leagues. He will be forced to bring his armies through it.”

  “He would be a fool to believe you,” scowled StormSong. “Besides, he will obviously know that you are no longer captive. Won’t he change his plans?”

  “He might,” shrugged HawkShadow, “but that does not change my thinking. Let’s assume that he is smart enough to send men out in each direction. Marching a league will take a good deal of time for those troops. Meanwhile, we can position archers atop the ridge where it ends.”

  “So if he does question my information,” StarWind nodded, “his men will die three times as fast. We fight those coming through the canyon while our archers attack both ends of the ridge.”

  “I think it can work,” added ValleyBreeze. “We could also have mages up with the archers. Our only problem will be breaking off the fight and retreating when they start to overrun us.”

  “That is a problem,” frowned HawkShadow. “There is no easy way off the ridge.

  “We can station troops on this side at each end of the ridge,” offered General Manitow. “We should be able to halt the Motangan advance long enough to give some time to those upon the ridge.”

  “And how will your men retreat?” asked Lyra.

  “Our men will be mounted,” answered General Didyk. “We can surely outrun the Motangans. Personally, I like this plan. I am glad that I am no longer fighting the Sakovans. The Motangans will lose a great many men in this battle. It will be a glorious victory for us.”

  “You seem united in this,” smiled Lyra. “So be it then. We will stand here and inflict as much damage as we can on the Motangans, but I want an organized withdrawal when the time comes. This will not be our last stand.”

  “Agreed,” nodded HawkShadow. “We must preserve our people if we are to win this war.”

  “Have you contacted Marak about what I learned during my capture?” StarWind asked Lyra.

  “Not yet,” the Star of Sakova shook her head. “I will do that right after this meeting.”

  “And you will do that from StarCity?” StormSong asked sternly.

  “I am not a feeble old woman,” frowned Lyra. “I have much to offer in these battles.”

  “No one is questioning your power or your courage,” interjected HawkShadow, “but you are more than just a military weapon. You are the heart and soul of our people. Your loss, even if a simple wounding, would demoralize our people. We cannot risk that at this time.”

  “He is right, Lyra,” StarWind smiled compassionately. “You are the symbol of Kaltara to us. The time will come when your powers are truly needed, but it will not be a minor battle in the woods of the Sakova.”

  “Minor battle?” balked Lyra. “You cannot possibly believe that? Our whole army is on the line in this battle.”

  “Our whole army is on the line each and every day,” declared General Manitow. “I agree that the Star should remove herself from the battlefield. I am going to ready my troops.”

  “Manitow has already spoken my words,” smiled General Didyk as he bowed to the Star and retreated after General Manitow.

  StormSong and ValleyBreeze smiled and also left. Lyra glared at HawkShadow and StarWind.

  “The two of you planned this,” accused Lyra, “didn’t you?”

  “If you mean making the others leave so that we could be alone with you,” grinned HawkShadow, “then the answer is yes. StarWind and I would like you to marry us before you return to StarCity.”

  “Before I return…” Lyra began with a scowl, but she suddenly stopped short with a look of disbelief on her face. “Did you say marry you?”

  “He did,” grinned StarWind. “We want your bles
sing.”

  Tears came to Lyra’s eyes, but she smiled broadly. She rushed over and hugged StarWind.

  “I am so happy for both of you,” Lyra cried. “We can have a big celebration when we all return to StarCity. I will have a beautiful gown made up for you.”

  “We do not want to wait until after the war,” StarWind said softly. “We do not even want to wait until after this battle. We want you to marry us now.”

  “Before the battle?” Lyra frowned as she broke the embrace. “Is that wise?” she asked without having to explain her reservations.

  “It is the wisest thing that either of us has every done,” HawkShadow replied with a grin. “We will put our faith in Kaltara to make our a marriage a long and happy one.”

  “And if He decides differently,” added StarWind, “we are ready to accept His judgment. HawkShadow and I have already discussed this at great lengths. Our minds are made up.”

  “Talking to either one of you when your minds are made up is bad enough,” chuckled Lyra. “I will not even attempt to second guess your resolve, but will we have time to put together a wedding here on such short notice?”

  “We will invite only the witnesses,” answered HawkShadow. “We have chosen Goral and StormSong to witness for us.”

  “But the others will want to wish you well,” frowned Lyra.

  “Others may come if their tasks are complete,” shrugged HawkShadow, “but we do not intend to slow down the preparations for the Motangan attack. A simple ceremony is all we ask for.”

  “And your blessings,” added StarWind.

  “My blessings?” smiled the Star of Sakova. “You shall certainly receive my blessings and my prayers. When do you wish to do this?”

  HawkShadow whistled loudly, and Goral and StormSong suddenly appeared. StormSong was carrying a bunch of wildflowers and handed them to StarWind.

  “Now would be a good time,” the assassin grinned.

  * * *

  “Come on,” shouted the Motangan general, “get those wagons loaded. The sun is already setting, and this caravan was supposed to be out of here this morning.”

  The black-cloaked mage stood beside the general and shook his head in disbelief. “Do you think your men could work any slower?” he scowled. “Premer Doralin is certainly going to be asking questions about this delay, and I will not take the blame for it.”

  “As you have made clear all afternoon,” snapped the general. “You file your report, and I will file mine. There is something spooky about this city of Alamar. All day I have had men coming to me and telling me that the supplies were not where they were supposed to be. It is almost magical how things have been moved around.”

  “What are you suggesting?” frowned the mage. “Are you accusing my mages of hampering your efforts to load the supply caravans?”

  “I made no such accusation,” retorted the general, “but it is curious that things are not where we left them. It certainly is not the fault of all these cats that have suddenly invaded the city. You tell me how it has happened.”

  “I will tell you,” countered the mage. “Your men have probably been drinking again and have no idea where they stored the supplies when they came off the ships. Do not even think of pinning the blame for your incompetence on my mages. With ten thousand men you surely should be able to handle the shipment of supplies without magical help.”

  “You handle your mages,” snapped the general as he strode briskly towards the caravan, “and leave the handling of my men to me.”

  The general was fuming as he approached the caravan. Dealing with mages always set him off on a rampage and he decided to get away while he still had some vestige of calm within him.

  “What is the hold up this time?” the general bellowed at the officer in charge of the caravan.

  “Sixty crates of smoked meat are missing,” the officer replied with exasperation. “I personally saw them loaded into the cellar of one of the destroyed inns, but the crates are not there now. The caravan cannot leave without them.”

  “Are they being stolen?” the general asked with concern as he started to calm down.

  “I don’t think so,” shrugged the officer. “Everything else that was missing has turned up elsewhere, some of it in the most illogical places. I think the city is haunted by spirits.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” scowled the general. “Spirits do not move crates of meat around. It is more likely a band of your men that do not want to make the journey into the forests. Find the culprits and execute them. That will end these annoying movements of supplies.”

  “I can hardly do that and load this caravan at the same time,” sighed the officer. “I will make a map for the next shipments from Duran. Every crate will be numbered and stored in a specific location, and I will assign guards to watch over it until the next caravan is loaded.”

  “I like that idea,” brightened the general. “It is too late for your caravan to leave today. Tell your men to find those sixty crates and load them. Your caravan will leave at dawn. The sooner they find the crates, the sooner they can go to sleep.”

  “I will see to it,” saluted the officer. “We will leave promptly at dawn.”

  The general nodded with satisfaction and left the caravan. He returned to his headquarters in the old schoolhouse once used by the Omungans to teach magic. As soon as he entered the schoolhouse, the kitchen staff scurried to prepare the evening meal.

  The general and his staff sat down in the dining room and talked amicably as the kitchen staff provided a feast for the officers. Several hours later, the general and his staff turned in for the night. All over the partially destroyed city of Alamar, soldiers bedded down for the night, well fed and comfortable in the buildings that remained standing.

  * * *

  The alley was dark, although the sky was studded with brilliant stars. The pale orb of the moon was just rising over the horizon as the small black cat darted along the alleyway. It ran openly down the center of the alley, confident that the only Motangans awake were those sentries guarding the perimeter of the city. They were of no concern to the small cat.

  The cat reached its destination, a window near the door to a large mansion once owned by a wealthy Omungan. There it moved into the darkest of shadows and waited. It did not have long to wait. The cat tilted its head upward as it caught the new scent drifting lightly on the wind. It purred softly as it listened intently for the sound of footsteps that were sure to follow.

  In the dim light of the city, the cat saw a dozen Chula warriors enter the mouth of the alley. Without waiting for them to arrive, the cat leaped onto the windowsill and entered the mansion. It made a quick circuit of the interior of the building where over a hundred Motangan soldiers were sleeping. It found no one awake. The cat returned to the door to the alleyway and instantly vanished. In the cat’s place stood a Chula shaman. The shaman opened the door to the alley and silently greeted the dozen warriors outside.

  With swift hand signals, the shaman gave orders to the warriors. The warriors dispersed throughout the building while the shaman waited to see if his assistance would be needed. Within minutes, the warriors began to gather at the door, their knives dripping with Motangan blood. There were no cries of alarm issued, and the shaman immediately transformed into a cat and dashed through the open door and into the alleyway. It hurried to the next building on its list, knowing that other groups of Chula were working just as hard all over the city. It was a race to see how many Motangans could be killed before an alarm was issued to wake the city up.

  Several blocks away, a tawny kitten led a group of cats into the alleyway alongside an inn. When the kitten halted, a dozen cats halted beside it. It was a strange sight to behold as the dozen cats formed a semicircle around the kitten and sat down as if they were preparing to listen to a lecture. In the blinking of an eye, they all disappeared. In their place stood twelve head shaman from various tribes in a semicircle. In the center stood Ukaro, the head shaman of the Zatong tribe, and th
e father of the Torak. The shamans looked attentively towards their leader.

  “There are a hundred black-cloaks inside,” Ukaro warned softly. “They would have to be quite foolish not to have magically alarmed this building. Our task here is not one of speed, but of stealth. If any alarm is given, you are to attack without regard to stealth, but until that time, tread softly and take no chances of being discovered.”

  “Are you saying that entering through windows is unacceptable?” asked one of the shaman.

  “I must suspect that it is,” nodded Ukaro. “I will not underestimate my opponents.”

  “Then how can we proceed at all?” asked the shaman.

  “I plan to enter through the roof,” explained Ukaro. “I will take three others with me. The rest of you are to prepare for battle the moment an alarm is sounded. I want every door and window guarded. None of the black-cloaks are to escape. Destroy the building and everyone in it if you must, but do not let a single Motangan mage get outside.”

  The shamans nodded and Ukaro pointed to three other shamans before transforming into the tawny kitten again. The three chosen Chula mages also transformed into cats and followed the kitten. The kitten raced along the alleyway as if it was its home. It darted around an old cart and leaped onto a large barrel, immediately vaulting further onto the roof over the porch. From the low porch roof, it moved slowly to the corner of the building where a decorative wooden strip ran upward for another two stories. The kitten’s sharp claws dug silently into the wood as it climbed vertically upward.

  As the other three cats followed, the kitten leaped onto the kitchen chimney. Its nose crinkled with distaste as it sniffed the lazy spiral of smoke drifting upward. Jumping down from the chimney, the kitten raced across the roof to the next chimney. Again it sniffed the air and purred lightly at the absence of smoke. The kitten suddenly disappeared. In its place was a larger bobcat whose limbs were better suited to descend the chimney to the fireplace below.