Army of the Dead

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “There will be no surrender,” Lyra said, sorrow evident in her voice.

  The Motangans had no reaction to the words of the Star of Sakova. They continued to fire at her as the black-cloaks focused their attention on the blue shield to watch for any sign of its weakening. The Sakovans however did react to her words. The Sakovan mages crept out of their hiding places and took up positions surrounding the park. Suddenly a hundred light blades whirled into the thick mob of Motangans, and bodies were sliced into pieces.

  Temiker watched as wave after wave of light blades sliced through the crowd. He shook his head sadly, but he kept his eyes on the group of black-cloaked mages. It took several minutes for the attack to register with the black-cloaks, so intent were they on destroying the blue shield. When they finally did notice, it was because the light blades were ripping through their ranks. Veritago turned and tried to marshal his mages to defend against the Sakovans. Temiker did not give him a chance. From the concealment of his illusion, Temiker cast a light blade of his own. The bright projectile spun into the group of mages. Other Sakovan mages had also seen the attempt to use magic against them and had also targeted the knot of black cloaks. Veritago and his minions ceased to exist.

  “Stop!” shouted Lyra as she saw the black-cloaks die. “I will give one more chance for the Motangans to surrender.”

  The light blades from the Sakovan mages halted, as did the arrows aimed at the Star of Sakova. There was a tense moment of standoff as the Motangan archers thought about attacking the Sakovan mages. Lyra spoke quickly.

  “Drop your weapons,” she instructed. “There is no need for you to die. The black-cloaks no longer rule over you. Drop your weapons and live to see your families again.”

  Many of the Motangans lowered their bows and placed their arrows back in their quivers, but others did not. One of those who hesitated spoke loudly.

  “Why should we believe you?” he shouted. “If we drop our weapons, you can just kill us easier.”

  “Your deaths are not particularly hard to accomplish,” replied Lyra. “Look around you. The carnage sickens me. We arrived in Meliban on a great ship. I am prepared to let all of you board that ship, and the others already in the harbor, and return to the Island of Darkness. Once there, the elves and humans who now rule the island will meet you. They will return you to your families, and the war for you will be over.”

  “And if Vand returns we will die,” shouted the skeptical soldier.

  “Perhaps,” admitted Lyra, “but you will surely die here tonight if you do not surrender. As for Vand returning to the Island of Darkness, I doubt that he wants to. He has come here to conquer Angragar, but we will not allow that. Let me tell you the state of the Motangan army. The Island of Darkness has been conquered by the elves. Premer Doralin surrendered to me in the Sakova along with eighty thousand men. Perhaps you have already received this news.”

  Many of the soldiers murmured and nodded.

  “Premer Shamal and his army were destroyed in Khadora,” Lyra continued. “They refused to surrender, and there were no prisoners taken. Earlier this evening, Premer Cardijja and one hundred thousand of his men surrendered to the Astor in the mountains far to the east of here. Other than those of you here in Meliban, Vand’s personal army headed by Premer Tzargo is all that remains of your once mighty army, and we have no desire to allow him to escape. The Island of Darkness shall remain free of Vand’s influence. It can be your home once again, and you can live in peace. Will you lay down your weapons and surrender?”

  Many of the soldiers looked to the protester for guidance, but others threw down their bows and swords. The move was contagious. Suddenly the air filled with the sound of discarded weapons. Even the protester nodded his head in defeat. He dropped his bow and sword.

  The Sakovan mages faded back into the fog and found their hiding places. The Sakovan warriors, who had moved up behind the Sakovan mages, turned and headed for the wharf. They hurriedly unloaded the five hundred chokas and led them on a circuitous path towards the gates of the city, while StarWind and HawkShadow walked into the park.

  “We will escort you to the harbor,” announced StarWind. “Each of the ships will be piloted by Sakovans, and mages will be aboard to ensure that you arrive safely in Vandamar. If you would form a line and follow us, we will get you underway quickly.”

  Other Sakovan warriors lined the main street of the city to ensure that no weapons were being taken aboard the ships. Temiker dropped his illusion and banished the fog that persisted over much of the city. The Motangans marched quietly to the harbor and began filing onto the ship that the Sakovans had arrived on. When it was filled to capacity, it set sail for the Island of Darkness, and another ship was brought from the harbor to the dock.

  The loading continued through the night and into the morning as seven thousand Motangan soldiers were shipped off to Vandamar. A few minor fights broke out during the process, but considering the magnitude of the evacuation, things went very smoothly.

  “You should get some rest,” Temiker said to Lyra as they sat over a meal in the Kheri Inn. “It will be a long ride to Vandegar.”

  “We all need rest before the trip,” nodded Lyra. “Have all of the buildings in the city been searched?”

  “They are still searching,” answered Temiker, “but I feel confident that all of the Motangans are gone. You did well last night, Lyra. I am proud of you.”

  “We killed close to three thousand men last night,” frowned Lyra. “That is hardly worth being proud of.”

  “You concentrate on the deaths,” frowned Temiker, “when you need to focus on the lives that you saved. Did your cylinder weaken at all?”

  “No,” Lyra shook her head. “At least not that I could feel. I felt smothered when all of those men charged at me. It was horrible listening to them die. I don’t want to do that again.”

  “Hopefully, you won’t have to,” Temiker smiled weakly. “Only Vandegar remains to be defeated.”

  * * *

  Emperor Vand bowed to Dobuk and backed out of the great chamber filled with lava-spewing volcanoes. His smile was broad as he marched through the corridors of the Temple of Vandegar and out onto the roof. The six demons occupied the roof and they nodded respectfully as the emperor emerged. Vand halted and gazed at the black, stone creatures. They were beasts of legend and Vand swelled with pride to have been given charge over them.

  Agad, Barrok, and Caliphia, the demons of the falling. Xero, Yunga, and Zarapeto, the demons of the resurrection. All were gifts from Dobuk, the Great Demon, and they were sworn to serve Vand. Beings mightier than the greatest armies, Vand gazed upon them and grinned with delight.

  Also waiting on the roof of the temple was Premer Tzargo. All of Tzargo’s fifty thousand men had recently undergone the ceremony that transformed them into hellsouls. Their lives were now inseparably intertwined with Vand’s. The soldiers might die in battle, but they would rise again and continue to fight. Only the severing of their heads or the touch of a weapon blessed by Kaltara could permanently kill the hellsouls.

  The twelve personal mages of Vand were also present. While those mages carried no particular blessing from Dobuk, they were twelve of the most powerful mages in the world. Vand himself had personally selected each of them for their power and skill.

  “Do you think we are ready to meet the enemy, Premer Tzargo?” asked the emperor.

  “As ready as we will ever be,” Tzargo nodded. “I would still like to call Premer Cardijja’s men here to supplement our troops. We can never have enough.”

  “You are a greedy man,” snarled Vand as he fixed his gaze on the premer.

  Premer Tzargo swallowed hard, but the emperor’s lips turned upwards in a wicked grin.

  “I like greedy men,” chuckled Vand. “Cardijja must continue to hunt for Angragar, but I can still put your mind at ease. Come with me.”

  Vand led Premer Tzargo to the northern edge of the roof. He waved his hand over the plain below and the gre
at finger of water that swung down from the ocean.

  “Do you see where that great body of water intrudes upon the plain?” asked Vand. “Do you know its story?”

  “I see the water,” replied the premer as he gazed outward from the roof of the high temple, “but I know of no story connected with it.”

  “Then I shall tell you the story,” Vand continued unfazed. “Thousands of years ago I stood in this very spot, battling the other gods. Millions of people worshipped me, and that made the other gods jealous. They conspired against me and joined forces to defeat me. I managed to kill them all except for one.”

  “Kaltara?” asked Tzargo.

  “Yes, Kaltara,” Vand hissed. “Never mention his name again in my presence.”

  Premer Tzargo bowed meekly, and the emperor nodded in satisfaction of the premer’s submission.

  “I could have defeated them all,” Vand continued, “but they tired me out. They were too cowardly to attack me singly, because they feared my power.” Vand pointed once again to the water, “That body of water that you see did not exist at the time. It used to be part of the Plains of Vandegar, and millions of my followers dwelt there. The great city of Vandegar rested upon that plain, and it was more magnificent than Angragar.”

  “What happened?” asked Tzargo.

  “The other gods joined their powers against me,” explained Vand. “They smote the city of Vandegar and the land that it sat upon. The land twisted and was swallowed up. The sea rushed in and killed the millions of inhabitants. I promised that I would return for them one day, and I have arrived. Behold.”

  Vand stretched out his arms, and unintelligible words rolled off his lips. The mages and the demons gathered around, their lips curled with delight as they anticipated what was to come. Suddenly steam rose from the long finger of water, and great waves crashed about in a chaotic pattern.

  Premer Tzargo’s jaw dropped as something poked up from the roiling sea. He tried to focus on it to identify it, but the sea was violent, and waves rose high enough to block the object from view. Vand continued chanting and other objects rose from the sea. Within minutes it was clear that a city was rising from the depths of the sea. Land rose with the city, and the water fled back to the northern sea, carrying buildings and debris with it. Eventually the entire plain was reclaimed, and the ruins of a once great city stood dripping in the sunlight.

  “Vandegar?” gasped Tzargo.

  “Vandegar,” nodded Vand. “The years have not been kind to it. Kaltara shall pay for this.”

  Vand continued chanting, and his arms moved fluidly in a flowing pattern over the city. Tzargo squinted as he caught sight of something moving. No, not something, but many things were moving in the newly reclaimed city. Xero chuckled loudly and nudged Zarapeto.

  As Tzargo watched with disbelief, thousands upon thousands of skeletons clawed their way out of the dirt and began marching towards the temple. Within moments the resurrected plain was swarming with skeletons and all of them were heading for the temple.

  “There are your extra men, Tzargo,” grinned Vand. “I said that I would increase your army tenfold. Behold. Five hundred thousand warriors who will not eat a shred of your precious provisions.”

  Chapter 38

  Of Dragons and Demons

  The dragon banked slightly, and Emperor Marak stirred from his slumber. The battle at the Khadora River and the long march towards Fakara had left little time for sleep. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll on the Torak, and he napped whenever he got the chance. Marak’s eyes opened and his head swiveled from side to side. While he could sense the first lightening of the day, the sky was not visible. Moist, gray swirls raced by as Myka glided silently eastward.

  “It was time for you to awaken anyway,” the dragon apologized softly.

  “Where are we?” asked the Torak.

  “We are crossing the Fortung Mountains,” answered the winged warrior. “The summits are just ahead.”

  “Any sign of our armies?” asked Marak.

  “The Khadorans were easy to spot before we entered the clouds,” replied Myka. “Their columns stretch for many leagues. The elves and Chula were harder to find, but even they could not hide from my eyes. They have already reached the southern pass.”

  “They must have marched day and night to get here ahead of the Khadorans,” frowned the Emperor. “Take me to them. We all need to rest before the coming battle.”

  Myka nodded silently and banked hard to the right. Emperor Marak involuntarily flinched when a wall of solid rock suddenly appeared in front of them. The dragon snorted and banked more severely. Marak exhaled slowly as the face of the mountain sped by mere inches away. Moments later the dragon descended out of the clouds, and the warm glow of dawn surrounded them.

  Marak knew that the close call with the mountain was intentional on the dragon’s part, but he felt that something was missing from the experience, although he could not put his finger on it. His eyes scanned the towering peaks while his mind probed his feelings of ill ease.

  Minutes later, Myka thrust her wings straight and began circling over the southern pass. Marak looked down and saw the armies of the elves and the Chula. Warriors pointed skyward at the winged warrior, and excitement rippled through the armies as the warriors broke ranks and cleared a place for the dragon to land. The Torak gazed at Myka with a puzzling frown as the dragon broke out of her circling and glided towards the pass. His mouth opened to speak, but he halted before the words were formed.

  As Myka landed in the pass, the elves and Chula bowed reverently to the winged warrior and the Torak. Emperor Marak slid off the dragon’s back as soon as they had landed. Marak’s father, Ukaro, strode towards the new arrivals with a grin on his face. He embraced the Torak with a smile and gently placed his hand on Myka’s scales.

  “So,” Ukaro said humorously to the dragon, “you did not try to sneak up on us this time. You must be getting old.”

  Myka did not respond, and the puzzled frown returned to the Torak’s face, but he did not have time to dwell upon the mystery. The leaders of the elves and the Chula quickly gathered around the Torak to hear about the reason for the visit.

  “Will you be joining us for the coming battle?” asked King Avalar.

  “Marak is a Chula,” declared Tmundo, chief of the Kywara tribe. “It is fitting that he join our ranks for the final battle.”

  “Why have you come?” asked Princess Alastasia.

  Marak gazed around at the gathering tribes and smiled broadly. It was the type of welcome he had come to expect, but it suddenly dawned on him that the extent of the warmth coming from these two diverse peoples was nothing short of love and admiration. It was not so much the thought that they were paying homage to the Torak, as they were embracing a true friend and family member.

  “The elves and the Chula travel swiftly,” grinned Marak. “It would not do for you to beat the cavalries of Khadora to the battlefield. I have come to join you for the night while you rest your armies.”

  “Then let us make camp here in the pass,” grinned Rykoma, the head shaman of the Kywara tribe.

  Tmundo also grinned as he shouted out orders to make camp for the night. His boast of having to sit around and wait on the Khadorans was met with jubilation. Marak smiled broadly as he knew that the elves and Chula had marched long and hard to ensure that they did not miss the battle. He noticed the sighs of relief as the tribesmen began setting up campfires.

  “You know that we would not start the attack without your armies,” Marak said softly as the elven king and princess joined the Chula shaman and chiefs in a wide circle around the first fire built.

  “We understand that,” Ukaro nodded seriously, “but the first action may not be left up to us. It would be wise of Vand to attack us one group at a time if that were possible.”

  “What of the eastern armies?” asked Princess Alastasia. “Will Rejji and Alahara be joining us?”

  “They are coming,” the Torak nodded at the
elven princess and then turned towards his father. “Premer Cardijja surrendered at the Valley of Bones. Your concern is valid, Ukaro. We must make sure that all of our armies are in position before the attack commences. Vand is only supposed to have fifty thousand men in his army, but I will not accept that as truth until after he is defeated. Vand has shown the capability of surprising us before. I do not intend to let him do that again.”

  “What is the plan of attack?” asked King Avalar.

  “I truly have not given it much thought,” admitted Emperor Marak. “That is one of the reasons for stopping your armies. We have been so intent on reaching Vandegar that we have not given sufficient thought to what might await us there.”

  “We could send scouts on ahead,” suggested Tmundo. “A Chula shaman can travel swiftly without tiring.”

  “Tonight we all rest,” Marak shook his head. “Let us take some time to discuss what we do know about Vand. In the morning it might make sense to send scouts out ahead of us.”

  Everyone agreed and soon food was served. The conversation was light during the meal and many stories about the battle of the Khadora River were shared. After the meal the group began talking about Vandegar and Vand. Marak offered up the tales of old that he had read about in Angragar, but a feeling of unease hampered his concentration. He could not locate the source of his feelings, but he knew that something was wrong.

  The talk continued for several hours before the group began to split up to go to sleep. After most of the leaders had left, Marak’s mother came over and sat down quietly beside him.

  “What is bothering you?” Glenda asked. “While your lips move freely, your mind is not present.”

  “I am not sure,” sighed Marak. “It is just a feeling that something is wrong. There is something that I have overlooked and I think it may affect us greatly.”

  “When did this feeling begin?” prompted Glenda.