Army of the Dead

by Richard S. Tuttle

  Tamar nodded silently and started instructing his men as to what he wanted done. Within moments the elves were ready to attack. A dozen archers sat at the lip of the edge above the great chamber. Three other elves sat back from the edge; each of them had one end of a rope wrapped around his body. The rest of the elves stooped low, ready to toss the ropes over the edge and rapidly descend into the great chamber.

  The slave master shouted, his whip cracking the air as the last overseer exited the bucket. The kruls instantly stopped pushing the wheel. Before the echo of the whip had died, a dozen arrows flew from the edge overlooking the room. Three ropes were tossed over the edge and elves raced to descend into the great chamber. Another round of arrows flew into the room, and shouts and screams filled the air.

  Princess Alahara saw the kruls struck by the first round of arrows. The huge beasts howled in pain, several of them immediately falling into the abyss. The second round of arrows caught the last of the overseers who had not yet left the great chamber. The slave master had managed to survive the two rounds of arrows, as he was at the far end of the chamber, but he did not escape Alahara’s compulsion spell. The large man’s face contorted with confusion as his body moved towards the rim of the pit. Fear replaced the confusion, but he continued forward until his body toppled over the edge of the rim. His scream lasted for several long seconds before ending suddenly.

  Princess Alahara followed the elven warriors down the rope. Distant sounds of shouting entered the great chamber from each of the tunnels leading off of it. Within moments, freed slaves, both elven and human, started pouring into the great chamber.

  “Do not panic,” Princess Alahara shouted to the elves and humans alike. “You are being freed by the forces of King Avalar of Elvangar. Gather at the entrance to the mine and get the gates open, but do not leave until you are told to.”

  The princess continued to direct the slaves as hundreds of them flowed into the great chamber. The humans looked at the elven princess with confusion, but the elven slaves grinned and bowed slightly as they hurried past. They knew that their day of liberation had finally arrived.

  * * *

  King Avalar stood back from the edge of the rise watching his men divide into two groups. One group went to the east and the other to the west. Both groups walked silently in single file, and King Avalar decided to join the western group. He stepped into the line of warriors and followed the elf in front of him. The long silent walk eventually ended, and the elven warriors drew arrows from their quivers. Avalar gazed across the hidden canyon. He saw a long line of elves facing him on the opposite rim of the canyon. He had no fear of discovery as his men were far enough back from the edge to avoid detection. He waited patiently until that line of elves stopped moving.

  When King Avalar was satisfied that his army was ready to attack, he raised his arm skyward. A thousand elven warriors nocked arrows and watched the king intently. When Avalar suddenly brought his arm down, the elves stepped forward to the edge of the rim and fired.

  In the belly of the canyon were two thousand Motangan soldiers, prepositioned by Vand’s disciple. The Motangans shouted with alarm as the elven arrows flew into their ranks, but there was little defense that they could offer. Another round of elven arrows flew into the Motangan army, and the soldiers began to run towards the mouth of the canyon, but none of them were allowed to exit the death trap. In mere minutes, the slaughter was over. Nothing moved on the floor of the canyon. King Avalar issued terse orders, and the line of elves moved into the canyon to make sure that no one had survived. When he was sure that the task was complete, King Avalar directed his army to the next hiding place of the Motangans.

  * * *

  StarWind and HawkShadow stood outside the great tent in the Sakovan encampment, concern clearly etched into their faces. Healing mages scurried around tending to the wounded outside the tent, but none of them entered the tent itself.

  “I am worried about her,” StarWind said softly. “There are no healing mages inside the tent to keep an eye on her. Healing takes a great deal out of the mage. How long can she keep this up?”

  “Healing is something that I know little about,” admitted the assassin. “I only know that the worst cases get to be inside the tent. Normally those outside the tent receive little attention from the mages as they must concentrate on the severally wounded.”

  “Well that is certainly not the case today,” frowned StarWind. “Do not misinterpret my feelings. I am thrilled with what Lyra is doing, especially with StormSong and SunChaser, but I fear that Lyra will reach the limit of her endurance. That is dangerous for a mage. It is possible for a mage to lose her magical ability by pushing it too far. There have even been cases where death has resulted from over exertion.”

  “Lyra will not lose her magical ability,” interjected StormSong as she came up behind the couple.

  StarWind whirled to stare at StormSong. Her face beamed with joy, and she smiled at her friend. StormSong looked as fit as she ever had.

  “You look wonderful,” smiled StarWind, “but your knowledge of magic is minimal. You are not a mage.”

  “No, I am not,” replied StormSong, “but I am a Sakovan.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” asked HawkShadow. “We are all Sakovans. What does that have to do with Lyra burning herself out? She has been inside that tent all day. Even you mentioned how much your healing appeared to take out of the Star.”

  “I have no doubt that Lyra’s work today will push her to the limits of her tolerance,” replied StormSong, “and I am concerned for her too, but not in the same way as you are.”

  “Explain yourself,” frowned StarWind.

  “Lyra is using magic to heal our brothers and sisters,” declared StormSong, “but not only magic. Healing magic is only capable of doing so much. Lyra has far exceeded those limits.”

  “Well,” shrugged StarWind, “Lyra is the most powerful mage in the Sakova. I would be surprised if she could not heal better than any of the others.”

  “You are not listening,” replied StormSong. “It is more than magic. Lyra is filled with the spirit of Kaltara. He is using her to heal the critically wounded.”

  “An interesting theory,” commented HawkShadow.

  “It is not a theory, HawkShadow,” frowned StormSong. “I felt it. I cannot explain the feeling to you, but Kaltara was within me. I should have died from my wounds, but something kept me going. When Lyra took my hand, I felt an inner warmth that I have never felt before in my life. When she prayed for me, I felt Kaltara within me. He will protect her.”

  “Then what is your concern?” asked StarWind. “If Kaltara is guiding her, you should have no concerns.”

  “My concern is that Lyra will continue long after Kaltara has told her to stop,” frowned StormSong. “I know that sounds foolish, but Lyra is driven to heal everyone. I do not think she can accept the fact that not everyone will be healed. When that time comes, then your fears about her burning out will be valid.”

  “Well I am not going to let the healers keep me out of that tent any longer,” StarWind said with determination. “I will stay by Lyra’s side as long as is necessary to ensure that she does not hurt herself.”

  “I will go with you,” offered HawkShadow. “StormSong?”

  “Without question,” nodded the healed warrior. “I owe my life to Lyra.”

  The three Sakovans approached the tent, and LifeTender rushed to intercept them.

  “You cannot go in there,” declared LifeTender. “Lyra has requested that no one enter.”

  “Out of our way, healer,” glared HawkShadow. “We will not interfere, but we are standing at Lyra’s side until she is done.”

  “She is done,” said a Sakovan warrior as he exited the tent. “I am the last of the wounded. Lyra needs rest. Go to her.”

  LifeTender joined StarWind and the others as they rushed into the tent. Lyra was sitting on the ground in the large empty tent. Her eyes were glazed over as she stared at the
tent wall. The four Sakovans raced to her side and knelt next to her.

  “Are you alright?” asked LifeTender.

  Lyra nodded woodenly and tried to rise. HawkShadow and StarWind each grabbed one of Lyra’s arms and steadied her.

  “You need to rest,” advised StarWind. “Do not try to get up. Stretch out and rest here.”

  “There are more to be healed,” Lyra protested weakly. “Have the others brought into the tent.”

  “There are no wounded outside that the healers cannot take care of,” assured LifeTender. “Those beyond our capabilities were all in here. You are not needed. You must rest.”

  “Listen to LifeTender,” pleaded StormSong. “The Sakovans need you alive. Listen to Kaltara. He is guiding you.”

  Lyra turned in a daze and stared at StormSong. She smiled weakly and nodded.

  “You are wise, StormSong,” Lyra said softly. “He was the hand of the healing, and you are correct. My healing time is over. I will rest, but not in this tent. Bring the other wounded in so that they will be protected from the weather.”

  HawkShadow and StarWind helped Lyra to her feet and guided her out of the tent. They led her to an area under a large fargi tree while LifeTender used a warming spell to dry the ground so that the Star would not have to rest on damp soil. Lyra sat down, but she looked up at the spymaster and the assassin before reclining.

  “This war must end,” she said to the pair of Sakovans. “There is too much death and destruction. It does not please Kaltara.”

  “We will destroy the Motangans as quickly as we can,” offered HawkShadow. “We killed over three thousand last night without a single loss. We will attack them again tonight.”

  “No,” frowned Lyra. “You are to arrange a truce with the Motangans.”

  “A truce?” frowned StarWind. “You can’t be serious. The Motangans are tasked to destroy every single one of us. They must be killed before they decide to attack the Omungan cities. That is why we lured them into the heartland. Think of your people, Lyra.”

  “I am thinking of them,” retorted the Star of Sakova. “We have lost over thirty thousand Sakovans in this war already. I want it to stop. You are authorized to halt the Motangans from leaving the heartland, and to defend our camp, but nothing else. I want a truce with our enemy. I demand to speak with Premer Doralin. Set it up.”

  “You must rest,” countered HawkShadow. “We will follow your orders while you rest, but I suspect that you will change your mind when your body is refreshed.”

  “Do not presume to understand me, HawkShadow,” frowned Lyra. “Set up the meeting with the Motangans.”

  Lyra reclined and closed her eyes. The spymaster and the assassin stood silently over their leader and watched her fall asleep. When they were sure that Lyra was sleeping, they turned and left her side.

  “How are we to approach the Motangans and ask for a truce?” frowned HawkShadow. “They are so nervous from our attacks that they are likely to skewer us as soon as we show ourselves.”

  Goral approached the pair of Sakovans. It was obvious from one glance that the giant was anxious. StarWind and HawkShadow halted their conversation and turned to the approaching giant.

  “Motangan soldiers have left the encampment,” announced Goral. “Around a thousand of them are marching eastward.”

  “For what purpose?” frowned HawkShadow. “Are they trying to flank us?”

  “Not with a thousand men,” StarWind shook her head. “It is also too many to be deserters.”

  “They were marching in a controlled manner,” declared Goral. “It is not a desertion.”

  “Alamar!” HawkShadow exclaimed with certainty. “They are trying to find out why their food is not being delivered.”

  “And that excites you?” frowned StarWind. “Why?”

  “Because it gives us what we need,” explained the assassin. “According to Lyra’s instructions, we are free to attack this group. Their defeat will also serve as our entrance to the Motangan encampment.”

  “I do not understand,” replied the spymaster. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I will tell you on the way,” answered HawkShadow. “Goral, find a mage and get some of the Motangan supply wagons that we captured. Have them meet us four hours march east of the Motangan encampment. StarWind and I will be organizing the war party. Join us when you can.”

  “How large a war party are you planning on?” StarWind asked HawkShadow as Goral ran off to find a mage.

  “How many chokas do we have?” grinned HawkShadow. “Every one of them will carry a Sakovan warrior to the spot that I am thinking of.”

  * * *

  Premer Cardijja paced the floor of the administration building in Meliban. His jaw was set rigidly, and his eyes were narrowed to slits as he tried to walk off the rage he felt boiling inside himself. General Luggar leaned against a wall and watched the premer carefully. He knew better than to interrupt when Cardijja was in such a mood. A black-cloaked mage entered the building, and Cardijja immediately halted his pacing and faced the new arrival.

  “Well?” snapped the premer.

  “The only place we can contact is Vandegar,” sighed the mage. “There is nothing wrong with the spell. Of that I am sure. None of the cities on Motanga are answering and neither is Duran. I do not understand it.”

  “Get out of my sight,” bellowed Premer Cardijja. “And don’t come back until you have fixed your magic.”

  Cardijja’s hands rolled into fists as the mage hurried out of the room. The premer exhaled deeply and flexed his fingers shortly after the mage had left. He sighed and shook his head, a sign that it was safe for the general to speak.

  “Is it possible that something might have happened to the mages in Motanga?” the general offered softly.

  “Anything is possible,” conceded the premer, “but it is hard to imagine that all of the mages on the entire island succumbed to some strange disease. Even if that was possible, how would you account for Duran?”

  “Duran could have been attacked again,” shrugged General Luggar. “The Sakovans did it once before.”

  “When it only had a handful of men defending it,” retorted the premer as he began pacing again. “I was told that we left an entire army in Duran this time. Ten thousand men are not easily crushed without at least some word traveling of its defeat. Yet we have heard nothing from them.”

  “I have sent ships to gather more supplies,” declared General Luggar. “We will know within a few days what the problem in Duran is.”

  “Are the ships armed?” asked Premer Cardijja.

  “The ships carry only crews,” answered Luggar. “I saw no need to send troops with them.”

  “Understandable,” nodded Cardijja, “although I now wish they had soldiers aboard. Something is going terribly wrong with this invasion. I have this gnawing fear in my gut that is trying to warn me of impending doom.”

  “Are you sure that is not just a reaction to our losses on the plains of Fakara?” asked the general.

  “Our losses?” echoed the premer. “You say that phrase so casually. We lost fifty thousand men to the enemy, and we have nothing to show for it. A few dead Fakarans and horses are precious little to gain from such a loss. I curse Vand and his orders.”

  “Careful,” General Luggar softly warned his superior. “Such words carry a death sentence. You can never be sure who is listening.”

  “I curse them all,” Cardijja said defiantly. “I begged and pleaded not to have my men stretched out over the plains of Fakara, but Tzargo demanded it. Demanded it! That fool cost me fifty thousand men for no reason. I hope that I live long enough to see him pay for that mistake.”

  “Quiet,” urged the general. “I share your sense of frustration, but your words ill serve you. It is better that we concentrate on the future than dwell upon the past.”

  Premer Cardijja nodded and halted his pacing. He turned and faced his old friend. “You are right, Luggar,” admitted the premer. “We must move fo
rward. Send some ships to Motanga. Put troops on them this time. I must know what is happening abroad.”

  “We are going to need food shortly,” replied the general. “If we load the ships with troops, we will have to leave them on Motanga to make room for the supplies. Perhaps we are better off sending some mages with the ships. Hopefully their magic will allow them to communicate what they find.”

  “What they find?” echoed the premer. “You suspect something nefarious has happened?”

  “That is how we must think,” nodded Luggar. “I am not well versed in magic, but spells do not suddenly cease to work. If our mages can communicate with Vandegar, then something is seriously wrong in Motanga and Duran. We should proceed cautiously.”

  Premer Cardijja stood silently for some time, his eyes staring through Luggar while he thought about his general’s words. Slowly he nodded in agreement.

  “Your words are wise as always,” Cardijja said calmly. “Put enough mages onboard the ships to keep a constant stream of communications open. I want to know precisely when the spell fails, if it does fail. Find out if we have any mages present that are capable of contacting Alamar or Raven’s Point. We need to get to the bottom of this problem.”

  “I will see to it immediately,” promised the general. “What about the armies? Are we to stay in Meliban or hunt down the Fakarans?”

  “We move tomorrow to hunt down the Fakarans,” declared the premer.

  “It is my understanding that we were attacked from both the east and the west on the plains,” responded General Luggar. “Which direction are we going to pursue? Or will you divide the army and pursue both camps of Fakarans?”

  “We are going to head eastward,” declared the premer. “The tracks leading out of Meliban were much too obvious. They wanted us to pursue them to the west. I will not play their game. In the morning we will march northward along the Meliban River. When we get to the southern fork of the river, I will decide which branch to follow.”