Army of the Dead

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “And he cannot stand rejection,” Lyra nodded vigorously. “Let me handle this. Move away.”

  As Marak walked away, the blue cylinder surrounding the Star of Sakova disappeared. Vand noticed the spell dropping and turned his curious gaze towards Lyra.

  “Even if you defeat us,” Lyra said loudly, “you will not be permitted to enter Angragar.”

  “What are you talking about?” spat Vand. “Angragar is my birthright. If you think Kaltara can stop me from possessing the city, you are deranged.”

  “Kaltara has put me in your way,” smiled Lyra. “Before you can leave here, you must defeat me.”

  “A small task for my powers,” shrugged Vand, “and a situation I have already planned for.”

  “I am sure that you have,” nodded Lyra, “but even then you cannot enter Angragar.”

  “Preposterous,” spat Vand. “Who is going to stop me?”

  “Dobuk will stop you,” smiled the Star of Sakova.

  “I am Dobuk’s disciple,” scowled Vand. “You are speaking nonsense.”

  “You have been Dobuk’s disciple,” corrected Lyra, “but that time is over now. The Great Demon will choose a new disciple. You have greatly disappointed Dobuk, just like you have disappointed everyone who has ever known you.”

  “I have had millions of followers,” Vand shouted, his fists curling in anger.

  “And every one of them hated you,” retorted Lyra. “Every one of them rejected you. They all knew that Dobuk had made a mistake in choosing you, just as Kaltara had made a mistake in choosing you before that. You are a failure, Vand. You are unloved, unaccepted, and feeble.”

  Vand’s face contorted in rage, and it was obvious that he would soon strike out at someone. Lyra knew that their only chance of survival rested in directing Vand’s anger towards herself.

  “You are so feeble that you cannot even best a young woman like myself,” taunted Lyra. “You are afraid to drop your shield as I have done, because you know that you are a failure and would lose to my superior power.”

  Vand’s move was swift when it came. Both of his hands streaked out before him and pointed at Lyra. The young Star of Sakova stood motionless as she stared at Vand. For a long moment the two opposing mages appeared to be frozen in position. Marak stared at Lyra’s face. Her eyes were glassy, and she showed no notice of his presence.

  “What is going on?” shouted Rejji from across the room. “Vand looks like he is frozen.”

  “Lyra is using an ancient Sakovan spell,” explained the Torak. “It is a contest of raw power. Neither can react to anything while they duel, and the loser will die.”

  “But what if Vand has the greater power?” questioned the Astor.

  Marak stood speechless for a moment as he recalled the story of Lyra’s battle with her father right after she had become the Star of Sakova. She had greater power than Master Malafar, and her father’s life was only saved by Goral smashing a chair over his head. As Marak watched, he saw Lyra’s face begin to contort with pain, just as Master Malafar’s had.

  “What does Vand’s face look like?” shouted Marak.

  “He looks angry,” answered the Astor, “just like he did when he tried to kill me.”

  “No contortions?” Marak asked frantically.

  “No,” Rejji shook his head.

  “Use your staff to kill him,” urged the Torak.

  Rejji dashed across the room and swung his staff at Vand’s head. The staff rebounded off of the invisible shield surround Dobuk’s disciple.

  “He is still shielded,” yelled Rejji.

  “Still shielded?” echoed Marak. “Yet he still has the power to destroy her?”

  “Perhaps your sword would work better,” Rejji suggested.

  Marak stared at the fissure in the floor. He wondered if he could possibly leap over it without falling in. Knowing that a fall into the crevice would mean certain death for all three of them, Marak abandoned the idea and paced nervously. Suddenly, he stopped pacing and stared at the long table that had been set up when they entered the throne room. Sheathing his sword, Marak dragged the table to the edge of the precipice. He grunted with effort as he struggled to stand the table on one of its short edges.

  “Hurry,” shouted Rejji.

  Marak gasped with exertion as he maneuvered the table into position and pushed it forward. The table fell to the floor creating a bridge over the crevice. The Torak raced across the bridge, avoiding the spot where the demon’s acidic spittle had eaten a hole in it. He unsheathed his sword as he skidded to halt next to the throne. With all his might, Marak swung the Sword of Torak at the Emperor’s head. The sword slammed into the invisible shield, and the vibration of the impact was so severe that Marak dropped the sword.

  “It won’t work,” seethed Marak.

  “Why won’t it work?” frowned Rejji. “Kaltara would not have let us come this far without providing what we need.”

  “Well I wish he would tell us,” shouted Marak as he raced back to check on Lyra.

  He stared at Lyra and saw her face grossly distorted. Her limbs were shaking violently and Marak swallowed hard. As he lowered his head in frustration, his eyes landed on the Rapier of the Star. His eyes widened and grabbed Lyra’s sword. With a sword in each hand, the Torak raced over the crevice again and slid to a halt next to Rejji.

  “We are the Three,” Marak declared with a sword in each hand. “Kaltara has given us everything we need. Join me in attacking this fiend.”

  As the three weapons from Kaltara approached Vand, it became clear that the shield could not stop them. Marak handed the rapier to Rejji and gripped the Sword of Torak with both hands.

  “Just prick him,” ordered the Torak.

  Rejji shoved the staff and rapier into Vand’s side, blood oozing from the rapier’s puncture. Marak spread his legs wide and swung as hard as he could. As the Sword of Torak sliced through the Vand’s neck, his head flew through the air and rolled along the floor. Vand’s body tilted forward and toppled from the throne. Across the room, Lyra collapsed to the floor. Marak dropped his weapon and raced across the bridge and knelt at her side. Lyra’s body trembled. Her limbs twitched, and her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Marak lifted her head and tried to hold her, but her body was wracked with spasms.

  “She needs help,” shouted Marak.

  “I am right beside you,” Rejji said softly. “I will go find some healers.”

  “How?” Marak gazed up in confusion.

  “The doors are back,” pointed Rejji. “Stay calm. I will be right back.”

  Tears flowed from Marak’s eyes as he cradled Lyra’s body and rocked back and forth. He knew enough magic to heal a wound, but he could not comprehend what was happening to Lyra’s body. He felt useless.

  * * *

  “The door won’t open,” scowled Xavo as he stood with Princess Alastasia and Lady Mystic outside the door leading to Dobuk’s domain.

  “Stand aside,” ordered Lady Mystic.

  Xavo glanced at his partner and nodded as he moved to one side of the doorway. Lady Mystic extended both fists towards the door. The air shimmered for an instant as the magical projectile slammed into the door, but nothing changed. Lady Mystic tried again, but to no avail. The door would not budge.

  “It has been a long time since the doors to the throne room disappeared,” sighed Xavo. “Lyra will be dead by the time we reach Dobuk. She might already be dead for all we know.”

  “I don’t know what else to try,” Lady Mystic said defensively. “We have tried brawn, and we have tried magic. I do not know what else to do. If we do not distract Dobuk, all is lost. There is no mage alive who is stronger than my father.”

  Princess Alastasia frowned at Lady Mystic. While her words may have been true, it was not helping the situation for Xavo to hear them.

  “Let me try,” the elven princess said.

  Lady Mystic shrugged and shook her head as if the suggestion was ludicrous, but she moved away. Xavo looked curious
ly at the elf.

  “What can you do, MistyTrail?” asked Xavo. “I thought elven magic was mostly healing?”

  “Elven magic focuses on life forms of all kinds,” explained Princess Alastasia, “even dead and dormant life forms.”

  “Necromancy?” frowned Xavo.

  “Not exactly,” the elf shook her head. “Although the magic in theory would work on higher life forms, I am hoping to manipulate the wood in the door. If I can control it, I can cause the door to open a hole for us to pass through.”

  “Try it,” Xavo urged. “Nothing else seems to work.”

  Princess Alastasia moved close to the door to Dobuk’s chamber. She placed her right hand flat against the door and felt the wood.

  “The door is ancient,” the elven princess remarked.

  As she placed her left hand on the door to begin her casting, the door suddenly swung open. A look of surprise came over her face as she turned and stared at Xavo. Lyra’s father’s eyes brightened immediately. He pushed the elf aside and burst into the room ready to strike the moment his eyes landed on the Great Demon. Lady Mystic hurried in behind him, but Princess Alastasia remained outside as they had agreed.

  After several minutes of silence, Princess Alastasia peeked around the corner of the doorway. She saw Xavo and Lady Mystic standing still. They were staring at the plain walls of a very small room.

  “We spent all this time on the wrong door?” she asked as she entered behind Xavo and Lady Mystic.

  “This is not the wrong room,” Lady Mystic shook her head in confusion. “This is where Dobuk resides.”

  “Or did,” corrected Xavo. “It is clear that he resides here no longer.”

  A distant cry for help split the silence of the empty room. Princess Alastasia cocked her ears and listened. Another cry was heard and she clutched Xavo’s arm in excitement.

  “That is Rejji’s voice!” exclaimed the elven Princess. “He must be outside of the throne room for us to hear him.”

  The three mages turned and raced out of the room.

  Chapter 51

  All is Relative

  Princess Alastasia raced along the corridor with Lady Mystic and Xavo falling behind. The young elf rounded the corner and saw Rejji leaning over the railing and shouting for help from those below.

  “You are alive!” exclaimed the elven princess as she slid to a halt. “What is the matter?”

  “It is Lyra,” the Astor responded anxiously as Lady Mystic and Xavo rounded the corner. “She is hurt, and Marak doesn’t know what to do.”

  Princess Alastasia turned and ran into the throne room with the rest of the group right behind her. She saw Marak cradling Lyra and crying. She rushed to his side and saw Lyra shaking uncontrollably.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “She used that ancient Sakovan spell,” answered Marak. “I fear that Vand was stronger than her. I don’t know what to do for her.”

  “The spell she used on me?” Xavo asked as he looked across the room and saw Vand’s corpse.

  “Yes,” nodded Marak. “She used it to immobilize Vand so that Rejji and I could attack him. Her magic was no good against him.”

  “Clever,” Lady Mystic nodded appreciatively as her eyes drifted towards her father’s head. Her face clearly showed the shock of loss, but there were no tears in her eyes. “It is finally done then.”

  “Someone go outside and summon Avalar,” instructed Princess Alastasia as she eased Lyra away from the Torak. “I will do what I can while we wait for him.”

  Xavo nodded and immediately hurried out of the room. He stood by the railing over the atrium and wove an air tunnel to the lower levels.

  “The Star of Sakova is wounded on the top level,” Xavo announced as he moved the air tunnel around the building. “We need healers immediately, especially King Avalar.”

  Lyra’s father repeated the message several times and was rewarded with shouts from below. He watched as elves and Chula shamans scurried up the stairs towards the vine ladder that the elven princess had created. Xavo felt a presence near him and turned to see Lady Mystic standing beside him.

  “That is why Dobuk was gone when we entered the room,” she said softly. “With Vand dead, there was nothing for him to stay around for.”

  “He will reappear somewhere with another stooge,” frowned Xavo. “The world should not have to go through this again.”

  “You know,” Lady Mystic smiled, “a short while ago I would have said it was inevitable, but now I am not so sure.”

  “What do you mean?” squinted Xavo.

  “I have always seen our mission as a form of suicide,” confessed Lady Mystic. “I was willing to die with you to save your daughter’s life because I love you and I would not want to live without you.”

  “It was a suicide mission,” Xavo responded, his voicing showing confusion as to what his lover was trying to say.

  “It was indeed,” Lady Mystic continued, “but it doesn’t have to be that way any more. I thought Vand was indestructible, but your daughter and her friends proved differently.”

  “I do not understand what you are saying,” frowned Xavo. “Of course it is no longer a suicide mission. Vand is dead. It is over.”

  “Is it?” questioned Lady Mystic. “You just said that Dobuk will find another fool and try to confront Kaltara once again. That means this is not over.”

  “Are you suggesting that we try to find Dobuk and defeat him?” inquired Xavo. “You must be mad. He could be anywhere in the world. He could possess someone else tomorrow, and we would never know.”

  “And he is invincible,” Lady Mystic nodded with a smile. “I know all that, but I no longer believe that he cannot be beaten.”

  “You are serious,” gasped Xavo. “It would take the rest of our lives just to find the Great Demon.”

  “Do you have something better in mind?” grinned Vand’s daughter. “We would be together for the rest of our lives and see places that no man has ever seen before.”

  “You have a point,” Xavo nodded thoughtfully. “As long as I know that Lyra will be alright, there is really nothing else to keep us here. Neither one of us would fit in very well in any of the countries that we know of, but I think your thoughts about actually killing Dobuk are mere fantasy.”

  “Are they?” retorted Lady Mystic. “I have seen Kaltara perform miracles in this last year. I have to believe that He would aid us in our mission. In any event, we will never know if we do not try. Are you up for a new challenge?”

  “You are the only challenge that I need,” chuckled Xavo as elven mages started rushing into the throne room, “but yes, I am up for a new challenge. Let’s make sure that Lyra will survive and then we can quietly slip away from all of this.”

  * * *

  Marak and Lyra sat on the steps outside the front doors of the temple. Thousands of campfires lit up the night sky, but the Torak eyes were glued to the one he loved.

  “How are you feeling?” Marak asked softly.

  “Marak,” the Star of Sakova sighed with mild exasperation, “you have been asking me that every few minutes. My answer will not change. I am feeling fine.”

  “But you said that you felt weak,” frowned the Torak.

  “I am weak,” chuckled Lyra. “I will probably feel weak for some time, but I am fully healed. There is nothing wrong with me. I just need some rest.”

  “Maybe I should find a tent for you to lie down in,” mused Marak.

  “The tyriks are done removing the webs,” announced Rejji as he strode in from the darkness. “It seems the skeletons all collapsed suddenly while we were in the throne room. I am having the bones buried deeply just in case.”

  “That was probably the moment of Vand’s death,” Lyra responded. “He controlled the skeletons, and without his will supporting them, they could no longer exist. Hopefully they will stay buried forever now.”

  “I hope so,” nodded the Astor as he turned to leave. “I will leave the two of you alone.”


  “Wait,” Lyra said quickly. “Why don’t you bring the Torak up to speed on how our armies made out in the battle? I think he needs to get his mind onto other things.”

  Marak looked hurt and confused, but Rejji chuckled and nodded.

  “Our losses were severe,” he reported, as his face grew serious. “The Jiadin suffered the worst. They lost about half of their men, but there is a bright spot in their loss. The free tribes admired the courage of their Jiadin brothers, and I suspect that there will no longer be a division within Fakara. The Jiadin proved to be true brothers when they were needed. All of the tribes will work together to rebuild this country.”

  Several sets of feet approached as the Three spoke on the steps of the temple. Marak looked up and saw many familiar faces, faces he had hoped that he would see again after the battle was over.

  “How did the Khadorans do?” the Torak asked Lord Chenowith.

  “Not too bad,” shrugged the member of the Lords’ Council. “I am disheartened to report that the Aritor clan is but a remnant of its former glory. Lord Faliman died in the initial attack and most of his clan died with him. We will need to elect a new member to the Lords’ Council. The other clans had heavy losses as well, but not nearly as bad as we had feared. Khadora will survive. A lot of good men died to rid this world of Vand, but he is gone and we are not. All in all, that is a satisfactory result.”

  “It is,” Marak sighed with sadness. “Lord Chenowith, I want the Lords’ Council to select another Emperor of Khadora. If they were interested in my views, I would propose that you replace me. Your father served Khadora well, and I see him and much more in you.”

  “We have no need for a new emperor,” balked Lord Chenowith. “You have started us down a path that should have been taken centuries ago. We are not ready to relinquish that task. The Lords’ Council will not accept your resignation.”

  “I have other plans,” Marak said curtly.

  Lyra and Rejji stared at Marak in confusion, but the Torak’s eyes fixed on Rejji with a look of determination.