Army of the Dead fl-8

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “Do you want some tea?” asked the woman. “I don’t seem to be able to sleep tonight, and someone to talk to would be nice.”

  Fisher could not refuse. To do so would be an insult to the lord’s family. He nodded his head, and the woman smiled.

  “I will unlock the back door for you,” offered the woman just before she disappeared.

  Fisher debated making a run for it, but he really wanted the information from Bagora’s journal, and he would never get another chance. He walked to the rear door of the mansion and entered. Thankfully, the woman had only lit one torch in the kitchen, so the lighting remained dim enough for her to confuse the uniform with a Walkan one. The woman set two cups of tea on the table and settled into one of the chairs. Fisher slid into the other chair and smiled.

  “You are a quiet one, aren’t you?” smiled the woman. “What is your name?”

  “Some of my friends call me Scarab,” shrugged Fisher.

  “And I thought Elly was a bad name,” chuckled the woman. “Where did you get a name like Scarab?”

  “Elly is a fine name,” smiled Fisher. “How could you think it is bad?”

  “Do you really think so?” she asked.

  “I do,” smiled Fisher as he rose. “I have to attend to something right away. I guess this tea filled me up. Will you wait here for me?”

  “Sure,” smiled Elly. “I will make some fresh tea. This pot is a little stale.”

  “That’s great,” smiled Fisher as he slipped out of the kitchen.

  He walked to the back door of the mansion and opened and closed it without passing through it. He quietly moved along the corridor until he came to Bagora’s room. The door was locked. He swiftly removed a strip of metal from his belt and worked the lock. The click sounded tremendously loud in the silence of the mansion. He opened the door and slipped into the room and closed the door.

  He dared not light a torch in the room, but the moon was just past full, and moonlight flooded in the window. He walked to a corner of the room where several metal boxes were placed in a row. He saw one that had been broken open and immediately moved towards it. He opened the box and peered at the papers inside. There were more than he had anticipated. Knowing that he did not have time to find the proper papers, Fisher grabbed them all and put them in his pack. He closed the box and moved swiftly to the door. He slowly opened the door and eased into the corridor. Fisher moved to the back door of the mansion and opened and closed it again. He smiled as he walked into the kitchen and sat down.

  “I thought you got lost,” commented Elly. “Here is a fresh cup of tea.”

  “Thank you,” smiled Fisher. “I probably should be getting to bed soon. Won’t the tea keep you awake?”

  “Not really,” shrugged Elly, “but I should go to bed soon, too. Father probably wouldn’t like to see me up this late. He worries that I will get sick. You know how fathers can be sometimes, even if you are old enough to marry.”

  “I sure do,” Fisher lied. “I enjoyed talking to you. Maybe I will sneak back some night and do it again.”

  “That would be fun,” grinned Elly. “Come earlier next time.”

  Elly let Fisher out the back door and then locked it. He was just about to round the corner of the mansion when he heard the horses riding in from the road beyond the estate.

  “It sounds like father has arrived,” Elly smiled as she stuck her head out of the window. “Good night, Scarab.”

  “Good night, Elly,” smiled Fisher.

  The spy moved around the corner of the mansion and hugged the building, hoping that none of the soldiers escorting the lord would come around to the rear of the mansion. He remained frozen for what seemed an eternity, but the estate finally returned to silence. Fisher walked calmly in the open until he reached the fields. Once he was concealed, he ran as if his life depended upon his speed.

  Chapter 7

  Supply Depot

  The dragon circled over the half-destroyed city, the early morning light casting long shadows from the few buildings left standing. Most of the wooden structures in Duran had been burned to the ground during the earlier Motangan invasion, but the stone structures were still intact. It was in the stone structures that the soldiers slept and the perishables were kept. The rest of Duran consisted of piles of burnt debris and crates of supplies waiting to be picked up and ferried to the invading armies. The Torak gazed down on the enemy supply depot and searched for signs of sentries. He saw none.

  “They are not early risers,” Emperor Marak declared. “We need to find the mage first. I do not want word of the attack to reach the Island of Darkness.”

  “Can Myka get us down there without being seen or heard?” asked the Star of Sakova.

  “Just give the word,” replied the dragon. “I can glide along the base of the Wall of Mermidion. Any sentries awake would be more likely to keep a close eye on the sea.”

  “Let’s do it,” urged the Torak. “I prefer to be on the ground before they wake up.”

  “Hmmph,” snorted the dragon. “Some day you will eat those words. There is no better place to command a battle than on the back of a winged warrior.”

  “I will stay with Myka,” volunteered Lyra. “I have no reason for close contact with the enemy. You flush them out into the open, Marak, and I will deal with them.”

  “The Star of Sakova understands,” grinned the dragon as she quietly touched down at the base of the cliffs. “Enter the rat holes and chase out the prey, Torak. We will be waiting above you.”

  Marak slid off the dragon without comment. He did not bother to turn around and watch the dragon leap into the air. He pulled the Sword of Torak from its sheath and headed for the first stone building.

  The first stone building was a mill, and Marak approached with his long, black, sinuous blade held before him. He peered through the window and saw two Motangan soldiers sleeping. Silently he made his way to the door and crept into the small building. His eyes swept the dark corners of the room before moving to stand over the two Motangans. His first swing decapitated one of the sleeping soldiers. The other soldier woke as blood splattered onto his body, but Marak drove the Sword of Torak through the man’s heart before the Motangan realized what was happening. The Torak moved on.

  Stone buildings dotted the old city. Some of them used to house smiths and trade shops, but one was much larger than the rest. It was the headquarters of the Imperial Guards. The building was the most likely place to find the mage, but it was also where Marak was apt to find a large concentration of enemy soldiers. He moved cautiously to a window and peered inside.

  The room had piles of cloth covering crates, which were stacked half way to the ceiling. Marak could not see any Motangans in the room. Sheathing his sword, the Torak climbed in the window and quietly lowered himself to the floor. He padded softly to the door and eased it open. Beyond the door was a large entry foyer with several soldiers sleeping on the floor. A number of other doors lined the opposite wall, and there was a staircase leading to the next level. Marak frowned at the possibility of finding the mage without waking any of the soldiers, but he had to try. Maintaining the secrecy surrounding Duran was vital to his plans.

  Marak slid out of the room and closed the door. He moved silently to the stairs and slowly started climbing them. He was half way up the stairs when movement on the upper floor caught his eye. He froze.

  Marak saw the swirl of a black cloak as the mage closed a door and locked it. The Torak slowly and silently took several Sakovan stars from his pouch as he waited for the mage to move towards the top of the stairs where he would get a decent shot at him.

  “Intruder!” shouted a voice behind Emperor Marak.

  The Torak whirled around and saw a soldier drawing his sword. The other five soldiers were quickly leaving their slumber behind and scrambling to their feet. Sounds of cursing and running were audible over his head, and Marak knew that it was time to leave the building as quickly as he could.

  The Torak raced dow
n the stairs, the first Sakovan star already sailing through the air. It impacted the shouting soldier just above the nose, the man teetering slightly before falling to the floor. Two other soldiers were already to their feet and drawing their swords. Marak sent two Sakovan stars flying towards the men. He struck one Motangan in the forehead, but the other man had moved too quickly.

  Marak drew his sword as he raced for the front door of the building. He wanted to look over his shoulder to see who was coming after him, but he could not afford to with four soldiers before him. He charged directly at the man who already was armed. The Motangan tensed and took a defensive stance, his sword held before him. Marak jogged to one side at the last minute, swinging his long two-handed sword at the Motangan. The enemy’s sword clattered to the floor, with the man’s hand still gripping the hilt.

  The Torak charged into another man who was fumbling for his sword. He knocked the soldier over and raced out the front door. Once out of the building, the Torak immediately moved to the right so that he was not visible to the mage. He heard someone shouting instructions to the soldiers and figured that it was either an officer or the mage. He wasn’t sure which, but the orders made up Marak’s mind as to how to proceed with the battle. They wanted him alive.

  There was a large plaza across from the building with a well in the center of it, and Marak raced towards it. There were soldiers pouring out of buildings everywhere he looked. Marak stopped in the center of the plaza and leaned his sword against the well. He stood with his naked hands in plain view as soldiers poured out of the headquarters building.

  None of the soldiers were in a hurry to attack Marak. In fact, none of them entered the plaza. They surrounded the plaza and drew their swords, waiting for the command to attack. The Torak turned slowly as he memorized the position of the groups surrounding him. Marak heard loud arguing coming from the headquarters building, and he tried to hear what was being said. A moment later, two men emerged from the building. One was an officer, and the other was the black-cloaked mage.

  “Because we must know how he got here,” yelled the mage. “Have you no sense at all? Duran is supposed to be inaccessible from the land. Do you see any boats in the harbor?”

  “My men are quite capable of attacking and defeating him without killing him,” argued the officer. “All you had to do was ask properly. You do not give orders to my men. I do.”

  Suddenly, the air rippled in front of the mage. One moment the mage was opening his mouth to yell at the officer, the next moment his head exploded in a fine red mist. The Torak was surprised by Lyra’s spell, but he did not need to wait for an invitation to join the battle. He immediately tossed a ball of light at the soldiers crowded at the front of the building. The ball of light instantly flattened, and blades of light grew out of it as it sailed into the group of men. The blades sliced into the men, body parts flying through the air.

  Marak swiveled to strike another group to his right, but they were already dead, their charred bodies sending spirals of smoke into the air. The whole plaza had erupted with confusion. The Torak turned rapidly to search for the other large group that had been behind him, but the soldiers were running away from the plaza. As Marak continued his turn, he saw the reason for the soldiers running away.

  Myka soared overhead, a Motangan soldier screaming in each claw. Fire spit out of her snout in a long searing streak. On the dragon’s back, Lyra was tossing fireballs with one hand and force bolts with the other.

  “Grab your sword, Torak,” taunted Myka as she dropped the bodies of the Motangan soldiers. “You will miss all the fun if you just stand there. Flush them out for me.”

  The dragon flew after a large group of Motangans that were heading for the sea. Marak grabbed his sword as he saw two Motangans duck into the blacksmith shop. He ran after them.

  For the next two hours, the Torak methodically checked every building in the city while Lyra and Myka hovered overhead. A few of the soldiers put up a fight when discovered in their hiding places, but most of them tried to run away. Lyra and Myka caught them all.

  When the last building was checked, Marak returned to the plaza and sat with his back to the well. He was cleaning his sword when Myka landed, and Lyra slid off of the dragon’s back.

  “What an amazing creature,” Lyra said as she sat down next to Marak. “Are you alright?”

  “I am fine,” nodded Marak. “The two of you were great today. I don’t mind telling you that I had my doubts about coming here while I was in the plaza surrounded by the Motangans. There was certainly more than a corte of troops here.”

  “This was just practice,” snorted Myka. “Sort of like playing hide the Motangan. In a real battle you don’t get to eliminate the enemy in small groups.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” Marak replied dryly.

  “I felt indestructible up there today,” grinned Lyra. “What a way to fight the enemy!”

  “There was only one mage against you today,” warned Marak, “and no archers. Do not ever feel indestructible. There is no such thing.”

  “The blue cylinder spell protects me completely,” countered Lyra. “I know of nothing that can penetrate it.”

  “Who knows what another mage can do?” shrugged the Torak. “Besides, you cannot hold that spell forever.”

  “What is bothering you, Marak,” frowned Lyra. “Is it that Myka and I killed more Motangans than you?”

  “No,” sighed the Torak. “You two did great. I wouldn’t have survived today without both of you. I think that is what is bothering me. Halman and Gunta have become quite angry with me since I have been riding Myka. They feel that I am exposing myself too much without them around to protect me.”

  “And they think I am incapable of protecting you?” snorted Myka. “Ridiculous.”

  “That’s not the point, Myka,” replied Lyra. “I know what Marak is talking about. My people are the same. They constantly offer up their own lives to protect me. That is quite a sacrifice for anyone to make, and it hurts when they find out that it is not needed.”

  “But those two always protect the Torak,” frowned Myka. “They are even called his shadows, but must they be with him every minute?”

  “They worry for his safety as a mother worries for her child,” explained Lyra. “Can you imagine that, Myka?”

  Myka did not reply, and Lyra turned to look at the dragon. Tears were clearly visible in Myka’s eyes, and Lyra bit her lower lip with anguish. She had not imagined that Myka might have been a mother, but it was clear from her reaction that she had been.

  “I am sorry, Myka,” Lyra said softly. “I didn’t know. What happened?”

  “I am going to check on the fishermen,” Myka said abruptly. “I will be back soon.”

  The dragon leaped into the air and flew out to sea.

  “She lost a child?” asked Marak.

  “Apparently so,” nodded Lyra. “The hurt is still strong enough that she does not wish to discuss it.”

  “I am sorry for my attitude,” apologized the Torak. “I am glad that you demanded to come today, otherwise I might really have made Halman and Gunta unhappy.”

  “So you felt vulnerable today?” asked Lyra. “Is that it? Because if that is all that it is, it was a great day indeed. We both must remember the feeling of vulnerability. Kaltara may favor us, but we are not Kaltara. We must never forget that. Any of us can die at any moment, even though we are asked not to fear death.”

  “It is not death that scares me,” replied the Torak. “It is the prospect of leaving my work undone. Still, I cannot afford to become too cautious. What Kaltara expects of me will require me to risk my life many times before this is done. I have come to terms with that.”

  “You have done well so far,” smiled Lyra. “Without your efforts, none of us would have been ready for this invasion. Keep doing what you have been doing. It will all work out.”

  “We are hardly ready for the invasion,” replied Marak. “We are better prepared than we were before,
but we know so little about the Motangans.”

  “True,” nodded Lyra. “What are we to do about Duran? I mean after we steal their supplies? Won’t they just bring more supplies in here?”

  “They might,” Marak answered, “but I have planned a surprise for them. I have brought poison with me. Whatever your fishermen do not take, we will poison.”

  “Clever,” nodded Lyra. “The Motangans will soon learn to be suspicious of everything. StarWind arranged to leave barrels of ale in Alamar when we retreated. It is no small wonder that the Motangans did not chase us last night.”

  “That was smart,” chuckled Emperor Marak. “You have good people, Lyra. Look, Myka is returning. The fishermen can not be too far off.”

  “We do not have to wait here for the ships to arrive,” offered the Star of Sakova. “Those ships are huge. Myka would have no problem landing on one.”

  “That suits me well,” nodded the Torak. “Time is valuable right now. The invasion fleets are on their way to Khadora and Fakara. I need to talk to your skimmer pilot to find out what happened with Doralin’s fleet and then I will return you to Breele.”

  “Return me to the edge of the Sakovan heartland,” replied Lyra. “We expected the Motangans to attack at dawn. My people will not put up much of a fight until we are in the forests. For now we will retreat each time they engage us.”

  * * *

  “We can rest here,” declared StarWind as they reached the crest of a small hill. “We do not want to lose the Motangans.”

  The Sakovans dismounted and immediately started to set up a temporary camp. Campfires were started and sentries were selected, although there was little need for sentries. The terrain west of Breele was mostly meadows and gradually rose in elevation as one got closer to the heartland. From their current vantage point, the Sakovans could see the Motangan vanguard in the distance. The sea of red uniforms stretched out as far as the Sakovans could see.

  “They must know that we are baiting them,” HawkShadow said to StarWind. “Every time we get some ground between us, we start up the fires and have a meal, and they keep marching until they reach us. They are not fools.”