Army of the Dead

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “Then let us go and see it,” Luggar nodded with a hint of a smile.

  The officers rode through the swarming army and had soon passed the vanguard. Even on horseback the trip into the valley took well over an hour, and that was with the horses being ridden hard. The officers slowed as the gap narrowed considerably. At the gap’s narrowest point, it turned sharply. Cardijja paused to turn around and view his army crossing the plain. There was no sign of either the horsemen or the elves. He nodded with satisfaction and continued into the valley. The narrow gap continued for a ways before it opened up into a broad valley surrounded by high cliffs. Cardijja and Luggar halted to gaze upon the huge valley.

  “This is magnificent,” Cardijja sighed with satisfaction. “We can hold the eastern entrance with only a thousand men, and look at the room within the valley. It is massive.”

  “Not much in the way of food,” frowned Luggar as he gazed at the flat and empty floor of the valley.

  “Not yet,” Cardijja brushed off the general’s pessimism, “but we have only just entered the valley. Let’s ride across and check out the western approach.”

  The officers proceeded across the valley at a moderate pace. Cardijja pointed out a small herd of deer on the way, but Luggar still remained concerned. When they reached the western exit from the valley, they halted again. There was a straight view through the narrow gap looking down on a vast forest with a wide trail running through it.

  “It’s perfect,” grinned Cardijja. “If we put some men up on the cliffs, we will see the Fakarans coming while they are still a long ways off. In the meantime, we can harvest the game in that forest. We have found a temporary home, Luggar. Here our men will be fed and rested and ready to resume the war.”

  Even Luggar smiled at the thought. “It is a defendable valley,” the general conceded. “Perhaps I was wrong about Bakhai after all. Certainly no Fakaran would willingly tell us of this place.”

  “I miss him,” Cardijja said with sadness in his voice. “Something about that lad got to me, Luggar.”

  “You should know better than to allow such things to happen,” scolded the general. “There is no time for such feelings during war. While I may have been wrong about the lad, your attachment to him is still dangerous. Be glad that he is gone.”

  Cardijja frowned at his general and turned his horse to the east. Without further words, the premer started back towards his army. General Luggar followed, but he did not speak. The officers halted at the eastern gap and gazed out at the approaching army for several long minutes without speaking.

  “I am only speaking to you as a friend,” Luggar finally said softly. “At best, thinking of Bakhai now is only a distraction for you. You must concentrate on our position.”

  Slowly Cardijja’s frown softened, and he nodded in agreement. “I am fortunate to have such a friend,” smiled the premer. “I do not know why my thoughts waver so.”

  “Because of your son,” Luggar said almost in a whisper. “It is understandable.”

  “You know about Armen?” Cardijja said with surprise. “I thought no one knew.”

  “I would not be a good general if I did not strive to know everything about my superior,” shrugged Luggar. “While your thoughts are understandable, you must forcibly refuse to let them take hold. We are not out of this war yet.”

  “You are correct, my friend,” smiled the premer. “I just need sleep as you and the men do. I will be fine in the morning.”

  “I will have your tent erected as soon as the men arrive,” promised Luggar. “I will take care of getting the camp set up.”

  “That is much appreciated,” replied the premer. “I want three thousand men camped within sight of each of the exits. Detail some men to kill the herd of deer that we saw and prepare it for everyone. In the morning we will send men out to harvest the forest. In three day’s time, we march to the east to kill the horsemen and find Angragar.”

  “So it shall be,” Luggar smiled as he welcomed his premer back to the real world. “Go find a spot for your tent and rest. I will have the men erect the tent over you. Just let the horse graze. I will secure him later.”

  Premer Cardijja smiled and nodded and then turned towards the center of the valley. He chose the spot for his tent and stretched out on the ground. Within minutes he was fast asleep.

  General Luggar remained at the eastern gap, issuing instructions to the men as they entered the valley. He was extremely tired, but he smiled as he welcomed the soldiers into the valley and issued instructions for setting up the camp.

  Far above the floor of the valley, the Astor sat watching the Motangans entering the trap. Gathered around him were the leaders of the various groups under his command.

  “There are so many of them,” commented Wyant as he watched the red-clad soldiers file into the Valley of Bones. “Are you sure that we can contain them?”

  “We must,” answered Rejji. “There are many of them, but there will be far fewer by morning. Yltar, order the sealing of the western exit.”

  Bakhai watched as the Qubari shaman wove an air tunnel to someone high above the western exit. He could almost picture the huge tyriks climbing into the gap and spinning the web that would seal the entrance.

  “Perhaps we can demand their surrender,” suggested the Astor’s brother. “Those men could be used to rebuild Fakara.”

  “We have talked about this before,” Rejji shook his head. “We cannot control a hundred thousand men, Bakhai. They could promise to surrender and then change their minds when they are fully rested. It is too dangerous.”

  “Perhaps when there are less of them,” interjected Princess Alahara. “Tomorrow there will be less than half of them left.”

  “Half?” balked Bakhai. “How is that possible?”

  “The poison,” Mobi pointed towards the herd of deer grazing in the northern section of the valley. “Qubari warriors are already down there ensuring that each deer is poisoned. The Motangans will eat well tonight, but most of them will not survive.”

  “And the elves will attack during the night,” added Princess Alahara, “just like we did in the forest. Once the eastern entrance is sealed, the Motangans will have no choice but to die.”

  “Not before the Jiadin and the free tribes are in position, Mistake,” interjected Rejji. “I will take no chances with the Motangans finding a way through the webs.”

  “Of course,” nodded Princess Alahara. “There is no rush.”

  Yltar started talking about the Qubari warriors that would sneak into the camp after sunset. Bakhai frowned heavily and turned away from the meeting. He meandered along the rim of the valley and finally sat down in a secluded spot to gaze upon the Motangan army. He knew that Rejji and his advisors saw the need to destroy the Motangans, but he wondered why he did not feel the same way. They had, after all, come to Fakara to exterminate everyone who lived there, but his heart still sought a way to save them. Perhaps it was the time that he had spent in their camp, Bakhai reasoned. The Motangans had seemed as friendly as any group of Fakarans. He found it hard to believe that each of those men felt as Vand did. They were not necessarily evil like the leader who had sent them.

  * * *

  Darkness settled over the Motangan camp as campfires flared to life. Near the center of the camp, a hundred soldiers carried dead deer to a wide cleared area where other soldiers stood ready to butcher the meat. Thousands of Motangans had already gone to sleep, foregoing the meal to ease their exhaustion, but others forced themselves to stay up to conquer the grumbling of their empty stomachs. For them, sleep would have to wait a while longer.

  Through the maze of sleeping bodies, a solitary figure cautiously made his way towards the center of the camp. Several soldiers looked at the lad with alarm, but they shook their heads and returned to their duties. The boy was not challenged until he reached the tent of Premer Cardijja.

  “What are you doing here?” one of the sentries snapped, his hand drawing his sword menacingly.

&nbs
p; “I have come to talk to Premer Cardijja,” Bakhai answered calmly. “You do remember his edict that I am not to be harmed?”

  “That was before you vanished,” scowled the soldier.

  “And has that order been rescinded since?” questioned the Fakaran.

  The sentry’s face clouded with doubt, but he did not appear to soften his stance. Bakhai looked to the other sentry and shook his head. The other sentry smiled and shrugged.

  “He is but a lad,” the second sentry said. “What are you expecting him to do? Do you want me to search him for weapons?”

  Bakhai pulled a knife from his belt and dropped it on the ground. “That knife never threatened the premer before,” Bakhai said steadily, “and there is no reason to believe that it ever will, but I leave it here to make you at ease with my presence. Do you care to enter with me and hold my hand while I speak to the premer? I am sure that he will be touched by the gesture.”

  “The premer is not to be disturbed,” barked the first sentry. “Those are General Luggar’s orders.”

  Bakhai bent and retrieved his knife. He shoved it back into his belt and shrugged. “Very well then,” he bowed mockingly. “Be sure to tell Cardijja that I came by to help him save his army, but that you refused me entry.”

  Bakhai turned to leave, but the second sentry’s hand streaked out and grabbed him by the shoulder, turning Bakhai around to face the sentries once again.

  “What do you mean?” asked the sentry. “What do you know?”

  “What I know I give to Cardijja out of friendship,” Bakhai said softly. “It is not for anyone else’s ears. He protected me one time. I felt obliged to do the same, but I see that my words are not welcome. Give him my message.”

  The first sentry pointed his sword at Bakhai’s chest. “If you know something about the enemy,” he threatened, “you will speak it now.”

  “I think not,” Bakhai scowled. “A friend would not have his sentries treat me in such a way. Go ahead and kill me. Everyone in this valley will be dead by dawn anyway. You will only hasten my death by mere hours.”

  The second sentry physically shoved the first sentry away. “Sheath your sword,” he snarled. “Our orders were not to harm the lad. Those orders have never been rescinded.”

  “We can’t just let him walk into the premer’s tent,” objected the first sentry.

  “I can,” snapped the second sentry. “If you do not want to be involved in the decision, go get some food. I can handle the premer’s tent alone for a while.”

  The first sentry sheathed his sword and stormed off, glancing back several times to glare at Bakhai.

  “He is tired,” shrugged the remaining sentry. “We all are tired. We have not had sleep since you left. That is why I must ask you the importance of this visit. Premer Cardijja has not slept either. He will not be pleased to be woken.”

  “I think he will be very pleased,” smiled Bakhai. “I would not risk my life in coming here if it was not important. You may accompany me if you wish.”

  “I shall,” agreed the sentry. “While it is not wise to bring notice to oneself, I must protect the premer.”

  Bakhai nodded as the sentry pulled open the tent flap. He slipped into the dark tent and felt the sentry follow him. The interior of the tent was dark, but Cardijja’s snoring showed Bakhai the way. As Bakhai crossed the tent, the sentry lit a torch. A dull glow of light lit up the tent, and Bakhai saw the premer curled up on the ground. He had not even bothered to get into bed. Bakhai walked slowly towards the premer and reached out and gently shook Cardijja’s shoulder. The sentry watched closely.

  “Armen?” mumbled Cardijja. “What are you doing up?”

  Bakhai shook the shoulder more forcefully and Cardijja’s eyes popped open. For a moment he stared into Bakhai’s face uncomprehendingly. Suddenly he bolted to a sitting position, his eyes opened wide.

  “Bakhai?” gasped Cardijja. “Is it really you?”

  “It is me, Premer Cardijja,” smiled Bakhai. “I must talk to you.”

  Cardijja’s eyes scanned the tent and landed on the sentry. He waved his arm to dismiss the sentry, and the soldier withdrew from the tent.

  “You look alright,” smiled Cardijja. “What happened to you? How did you find us?”

  “I have much to tell you,” smiled Bakhai, “but first I need your immediate help.”

  “My help?” frowned the premer. “Are you in trouble?”

  “No, premer,” Bakhai shook his head. “You are in trouble. I need you to order your men not to eat the deer. It is poisoned. You must act quickly. Your butchers are already cutting it up.”

  Cardijja did not hesitate to act on Bakhai’s word. He rushed to the tent flap and shouted orders to the sentry outside. He was tempted to go to the butchers and verify the lad’s story, but he would not allow Bakhai to disappear again. He let the flap fall and returned to Bakhai.

  “How do you know this?” he asked.

  “I am Fakaran,” answered Bakhai.

  “Of course you are Fakaran,” frowned Premer Cardijja. “There was never any doubt about that, but how do you know about the deer?”

  “You misunderstand me,” Bakhai said as the tent flap flew to one side and General Luggar rushed in.

  “Him?” scowled the general as he drew his sword and held it to Bakhai’s chest. “Is he the one that poisoned the meat?”

  “Put that sword away, Luggar,” snapped the premer. “Bakhai warned me about the poisoned deer. We will know soon enough if it is true.”

  “Oh, it is true,” snarled Luggar, making no attempt to sheath his sword. “One of the butchers has already died. We weren’t sure what was happening until your message arrived. And just how does Bakhai know about the poison unless he is one with the enemy?”

  “Preposterous,” scowled Cardijja. “Why would he warn us then?”

  “Perhaps we should let him answer,” Luggar demanded stubbornly.

  “That is what I was trying to tell you,” sighed Bakhai. “I am as Fakaran as anyone can be. I am all that General Luggar suspects that I am.”

  Premer Cardijja sighed heavily and slumped into a chair. He looked sadly at Bakhai and then at Luggar who was just waiting for permission to shove his sword through the lad. For several moments the scene in the tent remained frozen. Finally, Premer Cardijja spoke softly but authoritatively.

  “Put the sword away, General,” he ordered. “I will not ask you again.”

  “But…” frowned the general.

  “Away,” snapped Cardijja. “If you cannot follow my orders without question, then remove yourself from my tent.”

  General Luggar reluctantly pulled his sword back and sheathed it. Cardijja tapped the chair beside him and indicated to Bakhai to sit down. The lad crossed the tent and sat obediently in the chair.

  “Tell me why my enemy has come to warn me,” Cardijja demanded softly.

  “The time for dying should be over,” answered Bakhai. “When I came to your camp, I learned that you are not the evil that the prophecy foretold. You and your men are my brothers. We should not be killing each other.”

  “Prophecy?” questioned the premer. “What prophecy?”

  “This invasion was foretold thousands of years ago,” explained Bakhai. “We knew that Vand would seek to reclaim Angragar. We have prepared for the day that evil from the Island of Darkness would arrive, but Vand is that evil, not you. You are just an unwitting tool.”

  “And you plan to stop the fighting?” sneered Luggar. “How do you propose to do that?”

  “By getting Premer Cardijja to surrender,” replied Bakhai. “There is no reason to die.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” spat the general.

  “No, Bakhai,” Cardijja shook his head. “My people will never surrender. We will fight to the death, and we will be victorious. If you stay by my side, I can offer you sanctuary. There is no need for you to perish, but we will conquer Angragar. That is a promise.”

  “Do not promise what is beyond yo
ur grasp,” warned Bakhai. “Not a single one of your men will leave this valley. The Valley of Bones will be your graveyard as it was the graveyard of your ancestors. It does not have to end this way.”

  “Preposterous,” retorted Luggar. “We have both ends of the valley secured. Your fellow horsemen will never even enter this valley. If they want to die, let them come.”

  Bakhai sighed and shook his head at the general. Cardijja watched with curiosity.

  “Tell me what you know, Bakhai,” urged the premer. “You are holding back.”

  “I am not even supposed to be here,” Bakhai replied softly. “I came in a gamble to save your lives, but do not expect me to betray my brothers.”

  “Then convince me that my cause is lost,” prompted the premer. “Maybe you can convince me to surrender.”

  Bakhai knew he was being toyed with, but he sighed and nodded with the hope that he might succeed.

  “You do not have this valley blocked off,” declared Bakhai. “We do. Send runners to each of the valley’s exits, but tell them to tread softly. I would not want them to die.”

  Cardijja nodded to Luggar who stepped outside the tent and issued the orders that sent two runners off in different directions. He promptly returned inside the tent.

  “The tribes are outside both ends of the valley,” continued Bakhai. “When the time is right, they will sweep in and finish you off.”

  “Finish us off?” frowned Cardijja. “That is a mighty big aspiration.”

  “It is right now,” agreed Bakhai, “but it won’t be in the morning. Tonight you will not only be attacked by elven arrows, but the Qubari and their poison darts will return, as will the tyriks.”

  “Tyriks?” questioned the premer. “Who are the tyriks?”

  “Not who, but what,” answered Bakhai. “The tyriks are the giant spiders that you encountered in the jungle.”

  “You know about that?” gasped Luggar. “How is that possible?”