Army of the Dead

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “At last,” greeted Lord Sevrin of the Ragatha clan. “I was beginning to wonder if you would miss the party.”

  “Not a chance, grinned Yenga as he dismounted. “I took a side trip to gather more men.”

  “Who else is coming?” asked Lord Shamino of the Sorgan clan.

  “The Seth and Disina clans are right behind me,” replied Lord Marshal Yenga.

  “And not the Rican clan?” asked Lord Shamino.

  “I chose not to ask them,” frowned Yenga.

  “A wise move,” Lord Sevrin said softly. “I question even the invite being extended to the Seth and Disina clans.”

  “I discussed it with the emperor,” shrugged Yenga. “He feels that they were manipulated by the Ricans. I tend to agree, and we need the extra men.”

  “What about protecting the frontier?” asked Lord Shamino.

  “The war in the Sakova is over,” smiled Yenga. “We no longer have to fear an attack from the south.” Turning to Lord Sevrin he continued, “Have you posted the mages as requested?”

  “Even better than requested,” nodded Lord Sevrin. “We have at least a dozen mages spread out over the peaks of the Bear Mountains. We will be able to watch the progress of the Motangan armies across the river. There is an air hole at the back of this chamber that goes all the way to the surface. There are several mages stationed back there to relay any messages to us.”

  “Excellent,” nodded Yenga. “I want hourly reports at the minimum. I also want to know the minute something unusual happens. When our time comes, there will be little of it to spare. Here come Lord Sydar and Lord Woroman. Let’s try to make them feel welcome. Past difficulties need to be put aside.”

  * * *

  The lords of the Lords’ Council each rode at the head of their armies as they moved north through the forest. At times the peaks of the Three Sisters could be seen towering above the sevemore trees on their right. At other times the road came close to the roaring Khadora River on their left. Nowhere along the road was there a wide expanse of open land.

  The Walkan army led the procession. Only the scouts preceded Lord Chenowith and he kept the armies moving at a decent pace. His mind wandered as he thought about the emperor’s plan. He tried to envision what awaited him ahead, but he could not picture it, so he felt great anticipation when the scouts announced that the forest was about to end. Picking up the pace slightly, the Walkan lord rode forward. When he came to the edge of the forest, he halted his horse. The armies began to slow behind him, and he moved to one side and waved them onward.

  Standing before the Khadoran armies was a massive cleared area. The forest had been felled in a wide swath from the base of the Three Sisters to the banks of the Khadora River. Jutting across this wide-open area was a huge earthen berm. There were three wide earthen ramps leading over the berm. The Walkan lord shook his head and stared in amazement. The defensive works were huge and must have consumed thousands of men for an extremely long period of time. He could not believe that he it had been accomplished without anyone knowing about it.

  “Incredible,” commented Lord Patel as he halted alongside Lord Chenowith. “I know Marak said that he had a berm created, but I never imagined anything of this scope. How did he do it?”

  “An excellent question,” replied Lord Chenowith, “seeing as we came along this road only a month ago. If someone were to ask me how long it would take to construct such a fortification, I would have said years. The Torak really must explain how he accomplished this.”

  “With magic no doubt,” remarked Lord Kiamesh as he halted beside the other two lords. “It is magnificent. I can well understand the Torak’s desire to meet the Motangans here. They have a narrow path through the woods, which will clump them all up, and then this. They will not even be able to build siege engines without hampering the movement of their own troops. It is brilliant.”

  “And only a small part of his plan,” added Lord Quilo as he joined the group. “I am beginning to feel optimistic about our chances for the first time. Even if everything else doesn’t come together quite right, we should be able to hold this berm for a long time.”

  “Let’s get to the other side and see the guts of it,” suggested Lord Kiamesh.

  “It is only fair to wait for Lord Jamarat and Lord Faliman first,” replied Lord Chenowith. “It would be good for the morale of the troops to see the Lords’ Council ride in as one.”

  * * *

  Fisher slid down the rope from the trap door in the roof. He landed noiselessly on the floor of the abandoned warehouse and was immediately joined by Halman and Gunta.

  “The last of the Motangans have passed through,” Fisher announced. “The supply train was endless. I thought it might be morning before we had a chance to get out of here.”

  “Do you think the delay will cause problems?” asked Gunta.

  “I cannot say,” answered Fisher. “In any event, we had no choice. I would not dare to resurrect the bridge until the Motangans were gone. Let’s move quickly.”

  The three black-clad warriors retrieved their horses and led them out of the warehouse. It was only a short distance to the river where Fisher handed his horse to Halman and walked out onto the dock. Kneeling on the dock, the spy reached under the wooden structure and grabbed a string. Holding the string tightly, he walked off the dock and along the wharf to a point near the winch. He gently pulled on the string until a sturdy rope appeared. Grabbing the rope firmly, Fisher called softly for his horse. Halman brought it to him, and Fisher tied the rope to his saddle.

  “There will be two more ropes knotted to this one,” explained Fisher. “When they come up out of the river, tie them to your horses.”

  Halman and Gunta nodded as Fisher led his horse forward. As the horse moved away from the river, the rope rose out of the water. Eventually it came out far enough for the Torak’s shadows to grab the two additional ropes. They untied the ropes and secured them to their horses. When the ropes were tied securely, Fisher led his horse forward to the wall of the nearest building. Set in concrete at the base of the building was a large winch. Fisher untied his rope and fed it into the winch. He turned and grinned at his partners.

  “We need to light a torch to alert those on the other side of the river,” announced Fisher.

  “Who is waiting over there?” asked Gunta, his eyes straining to see across the river.

  “All I know is that they are friends,” shrugged Fisher. “There must be a lot of them if Marak wanted to go through all this trouble to allow them to cross.”

  Halman found an old torch and brought it to life. He held it high and waved it back and forth. He watched the opposite bank closely, expecting to see a torch in reply. He was rather shocked when the voice spoke to him.

  “You must be Fisher,” said the voice. “Are you ready to do what must be done?”

  “I am Halman,” the shadow replied hesitantly. “We are ready to raise the bridge.”

  There was a short pause without reply. Halman heard whispering and then laughing coming through the air tunnel. He frowned in confusion.

  “Well, shadow of the Torak,” the voice suddenly said, “let us begin.”

  Fisher shrugged with indifference as he started operating the winch. Gunta and Halman led their horses towards the building where two metal rings were imbedded in the foundation. When there was enough slack in the ropes, the shadows passed the ends through the metal rings and tied them. Fisher secured the winch, and the three Khadorans walked back to the dock to watch.

  Slowly the ropes tightened as the people on the opposite shore pulled their end of the ropes. The Khadorans watched as a footbridge slowly rose out of the river. Water cascaded off the bridge, as the ropes grew taut. Suddenly figures appeared on the bridge. Halman and Gunta tensed, but Fisher merely watched with interest. Moments later the figures became identifiable. The three Khadorans bowed in respect.

  “Tayo,” greeted King Avalar. “I appreciate your help in getting across the river.”
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  “We did not know who to expect,” replied Fisher. “Have you brought many with you?”

  “Thousands,” grinned the elven king as he stepped aside to let his men pass by. “I trust that the Motangans are not far ahead of us?”

  “Their tail is but an hour away,” replied Fisher, “but their column is long. They have been marching through Sintula since high sun, and that column is unbroken.”

  “That is a large number of Motangans,” smiled Princess Alastasia as she stepped alongside her father. “I trust the Khadoran fields can use the extra fertilizer?”

  “You have not changed, MistyTrail,” grinned Gunta. “Welcome back to Khadora.”

  “I am known as Princess Alastasia to my people,” smiled the elven princess, “but I do not think they would mind your calling me by my old name.”

  Gunta looked embarrassed, but Avalar smiled warmly. “As long as her name is held in respect,” he said in a friendly manner, “you may call her what you wish. I was told that the Torak would leave a map for me.”

  Fisher nodded and pulled a map out of his black suit. He handed it to the elven king. Halman held the torch high as Avalar gazed at the map. He looked up at the city briefly and then back to the map. Alastasia looked over his shoulder.

  “Direct our people to the western edge of the city, daughter,” instructed the king. “Once we are assembled, we shall begin the long march.”

  Princess Alastasia nodded and ran to the milling group of elven archers. She led them away to the west and those still crossing the bridge followed. King Avalar watched in satisfaction for a moment and then turned to the three Khadorans.

  “You are welcome to join my people for our part in this battle,” King Avalar said. “From what I have heard about the three of you, there are few Khadorans more likely to appreciate the elven ways.”

  * * *

  “You were supposed to ensure that he got away,” Rejji frowned into the air tunnel.

  “He refused to leave, Rejji,” replied Mistake. “He is obviously free to send air tunnel messages out, but I dare not try to contact him. If one of the black-cloaks senses an air tunnel going into the encampment, I will jeopardize Bakhai’s life.”

  “Why would he freely stay in the enemy’s camp?” retorted the Astor. “He has already found out that they do not know where Angragar is. That is all we asked him to do.”

  “He thinks he can do more,” replied the elven princess. “He wants to guide which way the Motangans go. He has asked me to contact you and let him know what to say to Premer Cardijja.”

  “It is too dangerous,” Rejji shook his head. “I want you to tell him to get out of there. If he needs a distraction, I will send the free tribes to attack.”

  “I have already told him to leave,” sighed Mistake as she remembered trying to get Rejji to leave the Zaldoni encampment when they first met. “He refuses. He is stubborn like his brother.”

  Silence followed and Mistake pictured Rejji pacing back and forth. She heard distant murmurs and realized the Astor was getting advice from others. After a long pause, Rejji’s voice came through the air tunnel.

  “Does he know how to contact you once the Motangan army starts marching again?” asked the Astor.

  “I have promised him that I would be exactly one league east of the camp each night,” answered Princess Alastasia, “but he cannot contact me when the army is on the move.”

  “I am going to send out a Qubari shaman to take your place,” stated Rejji. “For now you are to tell Bakhai to guide the Motangans through the pass between the Bone Mountains and the Giaming Mountains. Warn him that the column will be attacked. I don’t want our people to accidentally kill my brother.”

  “Why are you replacing me?” frowned Mistake. “I was responsible for him getting caught.”

  “You did what was asked of you,” replied Rejji. “I expected both of you to return immediately, but that is not how things panned out. Now you need to return here to lead your people. Tell Bakhai of the change when he contacts you.”

  * * *

  The dragon flew low over the forest east of the Three Sisters. At the Torak’s command, she banked sharply and soared up the face of the middle mountain. When she reached the peak, she hovered momentarily as the people scattered to make room for her to land.

  “They always remind me of dinner when they scurry about like that,” quipped Myka.

  The Torak laughed and shook his head as he slid off of Myka’s back. He strode briskly towards the group of people and embraced his father.

  “How is it going?” the Torak asked.

  “The Motangans are not stopping for the night,” replied Ukaro. “It is like watching an unending river of red from up here. Come, I will show you.”

  The Chula shaman led the Torak to an outcropping where several Chula shaman sat. Marak sat among them and peered into the river valley. Far below was a line of red uniforms marching north. He tried to follow the line of red back to the city of Sintula, but the moonlight was inadequate for that. Still, the armies of the Motangans were impressive.

  “Your clansmen across the river are also ready,” remarked Ukaro. “We saw the black and silver arrive earlier today.”

  “And the elves to the south?” asked the Torak.

  “Of them we have had no word,” shrugged Ukaro, “but we are not likely to either. I suspect that the elves know how to remain unseen. I do not waste my time looking for them.”

  “Are your people ready to play your part?” asked Marak.

  “We are your people, Torak,” grinned Axor who was sitting nearby, “and yes we are ready. We assembled three days ago. Our time has been spent in prayer.”

  “Then it has been time well spent,” smiled the Torak. “When do you estimate that the vanguard will reach the earthen berm?”

  “High sun tomorrow,” answered Ukaro.

  “If they don’t stop to rest,” interjected Axor.

  “They will be quite tired if they don’t stop,” mused Marak. “Can Shamal really be in such a hurry?”

  “Perhaps he thinks that the Khadorans have fled to Chantise,” shrugged Ukaro. “If you had planned a reception for him in Chantise as you did in Sintula, his men would have ample time to rest there while trying to figure out a way to cross the river.”

  “Then Shamal has made a grievous error,” replied the Torak. “His tired men will be attacked from four sides simultaneously. Let us pray that his error is fatal.”

  * * *

  Xavo reined in his horse and turned to look out over the plain to the west. He stared at the distant dust cloud with curiosity.

  “What is it?” asked Lady Mystic as she halted alongside him.

  “It is a sizeable movement,” answered Xavo. “If it is a caravan, it is a large one.”

  “Could it be soldiers from Meliban coming after us?” asked Lady Mystic. “They may have communicated with Vandegar and found out that we are traitors.”

  “I do not think of us as traitors,” replied Xavo. “Only a fool would willingly follow Vand. Anyone who values life is obligated to work against him.”

  “You forget that I am his daughter,” frowned Lady Mystic. “For me to go against my father is an act of treason.”

  Xavo sighed heavily and reached for his lover’s hand. “Do not punish yourself for your decisions,” he said gently. “You had no control over who your parents were. It is far more important that you chose the right path than blindly succumbing to a madman’s commands.”

  Lady Mystic smiled tautly and squeezed Xavo’s hand. Her facial expression showed her doubt in Xavo’s words, but her eyes twinkled with love. Xavo smiled broadly and returned the squeeze.

  “In any event,” he continued, “whatever is coming this way is not on foot. The dust cloud is moving too fast for that. It is definitely horses, and that leaves only two possibilities to my mind. Either it is riders of the Fakaran tribes, or it is a caravan. Either one requires some action on our part.”

  “You would not at
tack the Fakarans?” questioned Lady Mystic. “Would you?”

  “Of course not,” replied Xavo, “but I would hide from them. They are just as likely to kill us as the Motangans.”

  “Well,” retorted Lady Mystic, “they will die if they attack us. Allies or not, I do not plan to lose you ever again.”

  “I think we could easily hide from the tribes,” smiled Xavo as he thought about the Valley of the Ram. “I do have experience dealing with them. They are rather superstitious. Let’s ride on and try to find a better vantage point so we can know for sure who it is.”

  Xavo led the way up the gentle slope of the foothills. He occasionally turned to gaze upon the column creating the dust cloud, but he could not identify them. As the sun began to sink towards the western horizon, they came to a large, flat clearing. Xavo halted and studied the area. A large, circular fire ring sat in the center of the clearing, and ruts created by wagon wheels marred the soil. While Lady Mystic waited, Xavo left the clearing on a narrow trail that angled back along a ridge. The trail ended abruptly at the edge of a cliff. Xavo stared down at the trail they had traveled earlier. He smiled broadly as his eyes saw the caravan heading up the foothill. He turned and rode back to the clearing.

  “It is indeed a Motangan caravan,” announced Xavo, “a large one in fact. Must be at least twenty wagons.”

  “And soldiers?” asked Lady Mystic.

  “I could not see well enough to count them,” answered Xavo, “but at least a hundred. I suspect that they will stop for the night in this clearing. It appears to have been used for such a purpose before.”

  “How much time do we have?” asked Lady Mystic.

  “A couple of hours,” smiled Xavo. “What are you thinking?”

  “We have time to plan a few surprises for the Motangans,” grinned Lady Mystic.

  “Indeed we do,” chuckled Xavo. “Dismount. I will lead the horses away from here so that they do not give us away.”