Army of the Dead

by Richard S. Tuttle

“On the way here,” shrugged Marak. “I cannot say for sure when I first noticed it, but I felt fine yesterday. What does it matter when it started?”

  “Think, Marak,” urged Glenda. “If you can remember precisely when the omen began, you can locate its source.”

  Marak frowned as he mentally traced his steps backwards in time. Finally he sighed and slumped. “I cannot tell when it first came over me,” he said. “I think I just need to force it out of my mind. I am probably tired.”

  “Have you not slept at all?” asked Glenda.

  “I napped on Myka’s back for a while,” admitted the Torak, “but there has been too much to do to actually spend a night sleeping. While the Lords’ Council was almost eager to follow me across the Fortung Mountains, many of the smaller clans required convincing. I could not afford to lose half of my army.”

  “Could it have been a dream while you napped on Myka?” asked Glenda.

  Marak pondered the question for a few moments before his eyes suddenly widened. He stood quickly and Glenda rose with him. She gently placed her hand on his arm and peered into his eyes.

  “You have remembered?” she asked.

  “It is a small thing,” Marak nodded, “but I must ask about it. I am sure that is why I am feeling this way.”

  “Tell me about it,” urged Glenda.

  “It is Myka,” replied the Torak. “The dragon and I have grown very close. I feel that I have begun to anticipate her moves very well, but she acted strangely today.”

  “In what way?” questioned the Torak’s mother.

  “Her flying skills are legendary,” explained Emperor Marak. “We almost crashed into a mountain on the way here, but I was not afraid. I know Myka well enough to understand that we were never really in danger. She flies like that for the thrill of it, but she also makes light of it when she does it. Today there was no cackle of joy.”

  “And that causes you grief?” frowned Glenda. “I do not understand.”

  “I don’t either,” admitted Marak, “but it is not normal for her. She also did not try to sneak up on the Chula and the elves when we arrived. She always delights in surprising people. Ukaro even taunted her about it, and she did not answer him with a quip or rebuttal. Something is wrong with her. I must go to her immediately.”

  Glenda’s face showed her lack of belief, but she smiled and nodded as she removed her hand from Marak’s arm. “Go to your dragon,” she smiled, “but above all else, you need rest. Do not spend the night talking.”

  Marak nodded distractedly and hurried out of the circle of light to where the dragon was sleeping. He made no attempt to be quiet as he walked up and stood before the dragon’s snout. Myka’s eyes were closed, but the Torak knew that she was aware of his closeness. He sat down before the dragon and waited for the quip that was to come. Nothing happened and Marak’s brow creased heavily.

  “Aren’t you even going to threaten to roast me?” Marak asked softly.

  One of Myka’s eyes opened and peered at the Emperor of Khadora. The eye closed again and the dragon remained silent.

  “What is bothering you?” asked Marak. “I would think that you would share it with me.”

  The eye opened and closed again.

  “Don’t you ever sleep?” the dragon scowled. “Go away and rest. A great battle is soon upon us. You will need your strength.”

  “Would you rest if something was troubling me?” the Torak persisted.

  “Yes,” snapped the dragon. “Something is troubling you now, and I am trying to rest. Go away.”

  “That is somewhat better,” grinned the Torak, “but I will not leave until you trust me enough to share your concerns.”

  For several long minutes the scene remained frozen. Marak sat before the dragon’s snout and Myka’s eyes remained closed. Without warning, Myka’s eyes snapped open and flames belched from her mouth, narrowly missing the Emperor. Marak felt the heat sear his arm, but his lips smiled broadly.

  “You missed,” teased the Torak, “and I am right in front of you. You must be getting old and feeble. How will you deal with Vand’s army with such poor skills?”

  Myka growled loudly, causing many in the vicinity to jump to their feet. Marak waved to them and indicated that they should go back to sleep. He watched Myka intently and finally the dragon sighed heavily.

  “You make light of this coming battle,” Myka said softly, “but you are unaware of what awaits us at Vandegar.”

  For the first in their relationship, Marak sensed fear in the dragon’s voice.

  “Tell me about it,” Marak pleaded softly. “There is nothing that we cannot face together.”

  “There are things that I must face alone,” declared Myka.

  “Alone?” balked Marak. “Never. You have always stood by me, and I shall always stand by you. Together, we will face whatever it is that troubles you.”

  “Not this time, Torak,” countered the dragon. “You would only get in the way.”

  “I am pretty good at getting in the way of Vand’s armies,” assured the Torak. “You forget that I have skills other than wielding a sword. If I can’t slice into whatever it is you must face, I will use magic to destroy them.”

  “Dobuk’s demons are immune to your magic,” scowled Myka. “They will toss you aside to get to me. You must be nowhere near me when they attack.”

  “Demons?” gasped Marak. “What kind of creatures are they?”

  “They are the spawn of Dobuk,” replied the dragon. “They are creatures of great strength and are almost indestructible. They will slice through your armies with ease if I do not distract them.”

  “I will concentrate our archers on them,” swore the Torak. “If magic will not fell them, I will make them succumb to shafts of steel.”

  “Their skin is like stone,” Myka shook her head. “Your arrows will merely bounce off them. Only I can kill them.”

  “How can you kill them then?” asked Marak. “They cannot be indestructible if you can kill them. You can kill them, can’t you?”

  “I can,” nodded the dragon. “It is the purpose for my kind being created.”

  “I don’t understand,” frowned the Torak. “Have you battled demons before?”

  “Twice,” Myka answered softly. “The first war between Kaltara and Dobuk was never recorded. It was in the time before man. Hundreds of dragons and demons battled for the glory of their masters. Most died before Dobuk withdrew from the battlefield. It is said that the tears of the dragons flooded the world as they grieved for their lost kin.”

  “I imagine the demons must have suffered even worse,” Marak said cautiously. “They must have added to the flood.”

  “Demons do not grieve for their kin, or anyone else,” snapped Myka. “They are despicable beings that were born to kill without remorse. Do not attempt to draw parallels between the winged warriors and the foul spawn of Dobuk.”

  “I am sorry,” apologized the Torak. “You said that you fought the demons twice. When was the second time?”

  “The second battle was at Vandegar,” the dragon answered as she tried to compose herself. “There were only a few dozen dragons and demons left when Vand tried to crush the forces of Kaltara. The battle was fierce and both races almost became extinct. Now has come the time to finish it once and for all. When this battle is over, either the demons or dragons will cease to exist. It will be as if we never existed.”

  “Do not concede the battle before it is joined,” Marak stated in an attempt to raise the spirits of the dragon. “I did not even know that other dragons still existed. How many demons are left?”

  “There are six demons left,” answered Myka. “They wait for us at Vandegar.”

  “And how many other dragons?” asked Marak. “When will they arrive?”

  “I am the last dragon,” Myka replied as giant tears rolled from her eyes.

  “Six to one?” gasped Marak. “Can you take on six demons at once?”

  “No,” answered the dragon. “To figh
t a single demon is the fight of your life. In the olden days, the dragons would use clever strategies to outsmart the demons. Kaltara was wise enough to endow us with great intelligence, but Dobuk was merely interested in strength. The demons cannot match wits with a dragon, but their stupidity can only help a small bit.”

  “How can you use their stupidity against them?” asked Marak.

  “By challenging them to mortal combat singly,” answered Myka. “Their pride will force them to come one at a time unless Vand discovers what I am trying to do. If he orders them to attack in force, they will.”

  “You will still have to kill all six of them to win,” frowned Marak. “If you are evenly matched in skills and strength, the odds are against you.”

  Marak had merely been thinking out loud, but he realized his mistake immediately.

  “But I am sure that you can do it,” Marak quickly added with a smile.

  “Nice recovery, Torak,” sighed Myka, “but your words are true. My goal in the coming battle is to at least disable each demon before they get me so that they cannot hinder your troops. You must defeat Vand or all hope for the world is lost.”

  “That is a defeatist attitude,” scowled the Torak. “Never give in while there is life in your breast.”

  “I am not giving in,” snapped Myka. “I will do the best that I can do, but I am also keenly aware of my mortality. Why are we even having this discussion? The demons are no affair of yours unless I die before my job is done. Your task is to defeat the armies of Vand and end his miserable life. I will keep the demons busy while you do so. Just don’t dally once the battle is joined. Time will not be on our side once the fighting begins.”

  “There must be a way that I can help you with the demons,” sighed Marak. “I will find a way.”

  “Go to sleep,” replied the dragon. “We all need rest so that we are at the peak of our skills when the battle begins. Let me sleep.”

  Myka’s eyes shut instantly. Marak sat for a few more minutes staring at Myka. His mind raced trying to think of how he could help, but he knew that Myka was probably correct. Her life was created to battle the demons, so she surely knew their weaknesses. He finally started to rise to find a place to sleep, but he could not bear to leave Myka alone. The Torak moved close to the dragon and curled up next to her and fell asleep.

  * * *

  Premer Tzargo entered the throne room at Vandegar. The head mage, Pakar, had just finished addressing the Emperor and returned to stand with his mages.

  “Report, Tzargo,” commanded Vand.

  “The Khadoran armies are crossing the Fortung Mountains,” Tzargo responded. “They appear to be in no particular hurry, but there can be no doubt that every clan in Khadora is coming to Vandegar.”

  “Excellent,” smiled the Emperor. “We will put an end to them soon enough. What about the Chula?”

  “There has been no sign of the Chula,” frowned Tzargo. “They are definitely not traveling with the Khadorans. I specifically asked our scouts to watch for them.”

  “And the elves?” prompted the Emperor.

  “They have not been seen, either,” shrugged Tzargo.

  The Emperor growled, but Pakar stepped forward and spoke.

  “The Elves and the Chula will travel clandestinely,” the mage advised the Emperor. “They may elude our scouts in the forests of Khadora, but once they reach the plains of Fakara, there will be little for them to hide in. We will see them coming long before they get here.”

  “It has been a long time since you were last in Fakara,” the Emperor shook his head. “It is no longer the complete wasteland it once was. The Chula shamans brought their magic here and have caused the barren wastelands to spring to life. You really need to get out more, Pakar.”

  The mage frowned in humiliation. The Fakara he knew from years ago when he had helped Veltar seize control of Grulak’s mind was a vast wasteland. He could not imagine anything else.

  “Perhaps you should spend some time on the roof,” smiled Premer Tzargo. “While the area around us is indeed barren, you can see the distant forests from up there.”

  “I have a better idea,” smiled the Emperor. “Pakar, take your mages and make your way to the west. You can report back when you have found out where the Chula and elves are.”

  “And leave you defenseless?” balked the mage. “We might not get back in time for the battle.”

  “I am hardly defenseless,” chuckled the Emperor as he enjoyed watching the mage squirm. “It will give your men something to do while we wait for the Khadorans. They are growing fat and lazy sitting around here. Find the elves and Chula and report back quickly. Go.”

  Pakar bit his lip as he bowed low to the Emperor. He turned and gathered his dozen mages and marched them out of the room.

  “They would be useful to have around when the battle starts,” Tzargo said softly.

  “They will be back in time,” shrugged Vand. “You would be amazed at how well Pakar and his men can perform when they are given a task. They have not failed me yet, but they are getting lazy sitting around here. Their small task will do them good. Has there been any further word from Premer Cardijja?”

  “Nothing,” frowned Premer Tzargo. “Their last message made little sense. They were in a jungle being attacked by giant spiders and little men. All attempts to contact them since have failed.”

  “That is not what I wanted to hear,” frowned the Emperor. “I want Angragar located.”

  “I could send a rider out to them,” suggested Tzargo. “There is still time to have his armies return for the coming battle.”

  “Have I not given you enough men?” shouted Vand. “You have half a million more men than you brought with you, plus I have made each of your men invincible. You have the strength of all of the armies that we sent out of Motanga and still you whine for more. You will not mention it again. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly,” Premer Tzargo replied quickly as he bowed low to the Emperor.

  Tzargo remained bowed low as he waited for the Emperor’s anger to subside. Several minutes passed before the Emperor spoke again.

  “What about the dragon?” Vand asked the Premer. “Have there been any sightings of the foul beast?”

  Premer Tzargo glanced towards the dark corner of the room as a loud hissing emanated from it when the word dragon was mentioned. He tore his eyes from the dark corner and gazed at the Emperor.

  “There has been no mention of a dragon since the battles in Khadora,” answered the Premer.

  “Zarapeto,” called the Emperor. “Come out of the darkness and stand before me.”

  Premer Tzargo gulped air as the huge demon strode out of the corner. The premer backed slowly away as the black creature made its way to stand before the Emperor. The loud clicking upon the stone floor reverberated through the nearly empty chamber as the demon halted in front of the throne.

  “Your command?” asked the demon with a low guttural voice.

  “I want you to head to the east,” Vand ordered the demon. “I want you to find either Angragar or Premer Cardijja and then report back to me.”

  “As you command,” nodded the demon.

  “You will take Xero and Yunga with you,” declared the Emperor.

  “Three demons are not necessary for so simple a task,” frowned the demon.

  “I will take no chances while the dragon’s location is unknown,” Vand responded. “I know you are concerned with missing the battle, but you need not be. It will take at least a couple of days for the Khadorans to get here. If you have not found Angragar or Cardijja within two days, return here.”

  Zarapeto nodded and skulked off without a reply.

  “Why is the dragon so important to the demons?” asked Premer Tzargo. “Zarapeto appeared offended that you are sending others with him.”

  “He is greatly offended,” shrugged the Emperor with disregard for Zarapeto’s feelings. “A dragon is the only beast that can kill a demon, and I will not risk losing Zarapeto be
cause of his foolish pride. A dragon can possibly beat a lone demon, but it has no chance against more than one. My demons will remain grouped in threes until the dragon is destroyed.”

  “Nothing else can destroy a demon?” asked Tzargo.

  “Nothing,” smiled Vand. “Perhaps now you can understand my distaste for your whining. Let the Torak bring whatever armies he wants against me. The more he brings; the more we will kill. In just a few days, the world will be delivered to me as promised by Dobuk so long ago.”

  Chapter 39

  They Came from the East

  The two mages stood on the open plain, a wasteland blasted to infertility ages ago. It was this area, north of Lake Jabul, that the Chula shamans had not gotten to when they set out to restore life to Fakara’s barrenness. While the rest of Fakara was in various stages of regrowth, the land around the Temple of Vandegar still resembled the harshness of salted earth. Having abandoned their horses at the edge of the new forest a day ago, the mages had walked across the barren openness, but they had not been seen by anyone. The shimmering hue of an illusion surrounded the duo, obscuring their approach from the eyes of the enemy. They halted, just a half-hour’s stroll from the ancient temple fortress.

  “What do you see?” Lady Mystic asked impatiently.

  Xavo did not answer as he stood peering at the distant temple. His head shook dismissively as his attention remained intent on the throng of distant Motangans.

  “This illusion does nothing to shield us from the sun,” warned Vand’s daughter. “It is already climbing into the sky, and I am not about to stand out here and bake while you ignore me. What are you looking at?”

  Xavo sighed and dropped his hands to his side.

  “It was not what I was watching,” he explained softly, “it was what I was listening to. We are too far away to see much of anything other than thousands of Motangans milling about.”

  “Fine,” snapped Lady Mystic. “What were you listening to?”

  “Pakar is leaving the temple,” smiled Xavo. “He is taking his mages with him. I suspect that Vand is sending them somewhere, and they are not too happy with the order.”