Army of the Dead fl-8

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “A compulsion spell?” echoed Veritago. “How does that affect us? There are no elves in Fakara.”

  “There you are wrong,” Xavo shook his head. “There are elven mages attached to each of our enemies’ armies. Did you not know that the elven princesses actually were raised here on the mainland?”

  “I had heard that,” nodded Veritago, “but I thought they had fled to Elvangar.”

  “Fled?” balked Xavo. “One can hardly accuse them of fleeing when they have just recently conquered the Island of Darkness.”

  “Maybe so,” replied Veritago, skepticism still evident in his voice, “but we are still under orders to inform Vand of any major happenings.”

  “Then you must do so,” shrugged Xavo as he watched the mage’s demeanor soften.

  “Then I will do so immediately,” declared Veritago as he rose and turned to leave the room.

  “You are going yourself?” Xavo said with shock. “I cannot imagine that you would not send someone else. Who will be in charge of Meliban while you are away?”

  “Away?” questioned Veritago. “What do you mean away?”

  “Well,” Xavo shook his head in confusion, “I just explained why you must not use an air tunnel over such a great distance. Word of our arrival must be sent to Vand the old-fashioned way. Someone will have to go to Vandegar. I did not think that you would actually go yourself.”

  “Travel to Vandegar?” balked the mage. “You can’t be serious? Do you know how far that is?”

  “I have been there,” smiled Xavo. “It is an impressive temple, much larger than the one in Vandamar.”

  “You have been to Vandegar?” Veritago asked with suspicion. He knew that Xavo had not been to the mainland since the invasion began. “Before the invasion?”

  “Quite a bit before the invasion,” nodded Xavo. “You seem surprised. Did you think that one became a disciple of Vand merely for being a good mage? I have served Vand in many ways, most of which you will never hear about.”

  “I was unaware,” replied Veritago with genuine awe. Only spies and assassins had been allowed to leave the Island of Darkness before the invasion. The mage suddenly had a newfound level of respect for Xavo. The revelation lent great credibility to Xavo’s knowledge and words.

  “I suggest that you send a man of lesser importance than yourself,” smiled Xavo, feeling that he had finally set the hook. “Or you could just let Lady Mystic and me deliver the news. We are heading for Vandegar in the morning.”

  “You are going to Vandegar?” inquired Veritago. “The trip is not safe. Cardijja lost fifty thousand men getting the emperor to Vandegar, and I cannot afford to offer you troops. Our soldiers are needed to guard the caravans going to Premer Cardijja.”

  “We will not need troops to escort us,” Xavo waved off the suggestion. “It is important that the emperor get news of this air tunnel danger. Somebody must deliver the word, and it is important enough that I feel a personal need to do it.”

  “And what should I do when Vandegar contacts me?” frowned Veritago. “They do so on a daily basis.”

  “Do not answer the calls,” warned Xavo as he stepped from the tub and began drying himself. “While they may get angry with you right now, I will explain the situation when I arrive in Vandegar. The danger of someone in Vandegar falling under an elven compulsion spell is too severe to be taken lightly.”

  * * *

  Xavo and Lady Mystic rode out of Meliban early in the morning. They did not speak until they were well away from the city.

  “It has been a long time since I rode,” commented Lady Mystic, “and even that was just for sport. How far is Vandegar?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” shrugged Xavo, “we are not going there. For either of us to show our faces at Vandegar would be suicide right now.”

  “Then what are we doing in Fakara?” scowled Lady Mystic. “I would have preferred to stay on the island over this despicable wasteland.”

  “We will go to Vandegar eventually,” soothed Xavo, “but we cannot just yet. Vand must be desperate for allies before we attempt to show our faces there. In the meantime, we will do our best to make him desperate.”

  “And how do we do that?” asked Lady Mystic. “By stealing two of his precious horses?”

  “I didn’t steal them,” grinned Xavo. “Veritago freely offered them. I think he was relieved that we had offered to go to Vandegar so that he didn’t have to sacrifice any of his men.”

  “I am sure,” chuckled Lady Mystic. “And just what did you tell him last night? His attitude changed dramatically.”

  “That is not important,” shrugged Xavo. “What is important is the level of supplies present in Meliban. I thought there would be much less than what I saw walking around the city last night. Cardijja has been wise in loading up on supplies and not depending on regular shipments from Duran.”

  “Yet he had sent ships to Duran for more supplies,” Lady Mystic pointed out. “Why if he was not in need of them?”

  “Need is relative,” replied Xavo. “When you have three major armies drawing on the same supply depot, a wise man anticipates shortages. I think Cardijja complained about shortages in order to build his own supply depot in Meliban. We must do something about that.”

  “You want the two of us to attack Meliban?” frowned Lady Mystic. “Inconceivable. In addition to ten thousand soldiers, there were more than a hundred mages there. Do not get cocky, Xavo. We are mortal.”

  “Very mortal,” nodded Xavo. “I do not plan to take on the whole Motangan army, but I did find out the route that the caravans use. If we can attack them before they reach Cardijja’s men, we can accomplish something useful while we wait for the right opportunity to go to Vandegar.”

  “It would be nice if we could get the tribes to attack Meliban,” mused Lady Mystic. “Do you know how to contact the Fakarans?”

  “No,” Xavo shook his head, “but I can contact Emperor Marak. He will know how to reach the Fakarans. I doubt that they know of the amount of supplies in Meliban. If they did, they would have destroyed the city already.”

  “Let’s get further away before we do that,” suggested Lady Mystic. “The Fakarans are just as likely to kill us as anyone else. I doubt they would even give us time to talk our way out of an attack.”

  “You are more right than you know,” sighed Xavo. “To the tribes, we are just another couple of black cloaks. Perhaps we should find something else to wear. I could pass myself off as a trader and you as my wife.”

  “Now that sounds interesting,” grinned Lady Mystic.

  * * *

  “All of the bridges over the rivers have been destroyed,” reported General Chen. “Our position is untenable. The Khadorans have hundreds of siege engines pounding our armies from across the Khadora River. We have to pull back until we can determine a way across the river.”

  “It takes time to build siege engines,” scowled Premer Shamal. “We have been ordered to make haste to Khadoratung. Get the mages to come up with a way to get us across.”

  “We have only a handful of mages left,” General Chen shook his head. “The battle at the third trench took a terrible toll on them.”

  “It was necessary,” shrugged Shamal, “just as it is necessary to cross this river. Emperor Vand has lost his patience. He wants Khadora conquered quickly so our armies can cross the Fortung Mountains and search for Angragar.”

  “The emperor cannot always get what he wants,” the general replied softly. “If we move too quickly, our losses will be great.”

  “And you think the emperor cares?” Shamal asked with raised eyebrows. “His armies are merely tools to acquire his personal goals. You must be aware of that.”

  “I am,” nodded General Chen, “but I also wish to cling to life. If that means that the men must be sacrificed, I can play that game.”

  “As can I,” agreed Premer Shamal, “but those same men are what protects us from the Khadorans. I will not throw my armies away needlessly to meet
some arbitrary goal. So far our losses have been acceptable, but we are close to crossing that line. How do we cross the river quickly and still have an army when we are done?”

  “There are only two ways,” answered General Chen. “We can backtrack along the river to find a ford, or we can build siege engines and obliterate the city of Sintula. Both options slow us down.”

  Premer Shamal said nothing, but he began pacing. General Chen had known the premer long enough to understand that the pacing meant that Shamal was not happy with the alternatives. He held his tongue and let his superior pace in silence.

  “There is a third solution,” Premer Shamal finally said, his eyes twinkling with victory over the mental exercise. “Send out patrols upstream along the Khadora River. They are to be covert inspections. I do not want the enemy to realize that our interest in the river is more than cursory.”

  “You want them to look for a ford?” asked General Chen.

  “They should act like they are looking for a ford,” smiled Premer Shamal, “but what I really want to know is how far upstream the Khadorans are watching. They know this river well, so if there is a ford upstream we can be sure that it will be guarded.”

  “So you are more interested in finding out if we will be observed upstream?” questioned the general. “What do you have in mind if we are not being watched?”

  “Rafts,” smiled Premer Shamal. “Simple rafts. The rafts can be created in the forest beyond the prying eyes of the enemy. During the night we will ferry our men across the river upstream from Sintula. When the Khadorans wake in the morning, our armies will be attacking the city from the east instead of being on the south side of the river.”

  “An excellent plan,” grinned General Chen. “It is simple, yet ingenious. I will see to immediately.”

  * * *

  “They have backed away from the river,” reported Marshal Berman. “There do not appear to be any siege machines being constructed. They are just standing there.”

  “Something smells,” frowned Emperor Marak. “They should be building siege engines to attack the city. Are you sure they are not building them out of sight?”

  “I cannot be sure of that,” admitted Marshal Berman, “but I can see no activity at all in the enemy camp. We need a spy across the river.”

  “If they had no plans to use siege engines as all,” interjected Lord Patel, “I would think that they would at least make the appearance of building some. Even if it was just to throw us off.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Lord Chenowith, “but maybe not. Maybe Shamal is just letting his men rest before the attack. They covered the distance from the third trench in an amazingly short time. They must be tired.”

  “They raced to reach Sintula,” frowned the Torak. “That alone indicates that they are in a hurry to conquer us. Perhaps the defeat of Premer Doralin in the Sakova has created some kind of urgency in Vand’s plans. I cannot believe that Shamal raced to Sintula only to rest his men. It makes no sense.”

  “What can he do without siege engines?” asked Lord Quilo. “If he tries coming across the river, we will decimate his troops.”

  “If he does it where we can see him,” mused the emperor.

  “The closest ford is over a day away,” remarked Marshal Berman. “If he was planning on fording the river, his whole army would be in motion. They are not moving.”

  “Nevertheless,” stated the Torak, “he is planning on crossing the river. It is the only thing he can do. Send horsemen upstream, Marshal. I do not want them on the banks of the river where the enemy can see them. Keep them inland a bit.”

  “But then they will not be able to see what the enemy is up to,” frowned Marshal Berman. “What good will that do?”

  “I am more interested in what they hear,” smiled the Torak. “I want to know if they hear any sounds of felling trees, or crafting wood.”

  “Boats?” asked Lord Kiamesh.

  “Boats, rafts, a bridge,” shrugged the Torak. “It doesn’t matter what their plan is, but where it is. Wherever we hear the sounds of falling trees, that will be where the Motangans plan to cross the river.”

  “And what do we do when we find it?” asked Lord Jamarat.

  “We deny them the chance to cross,” answered he emperor.

  “So we move thousands of men to stop them from crossing,” pondered Lord Patel. “Meanwhile, they move their bridge building operation to another spot on the river. We cannot afford to watch the whole river. They will eventually succeed in crossing it.”

  “You are correct,” nodded Marak. “We cannot possibly stop them from crossing. All we can do is to make them waste men and time. Both of those are important to Premer Shamal. Let us plan to make him waste much of both.”

  Chapter 27

  Secret Gambles

  Bakhai sat on a high ledge on the western foothills of the Bone Mountains. He gazed down on the Motangan encampment hundreds of paces below him. Tall sevemore trees stretched high from the massive encampment, and figures in red appeared in spots wherever there was not a tree. The red carpet below the green trees spread for leagues in every direction.

  “It is massive,” Bakhai said with a tone of defeatism. “The camp goes on forever. There is no way that I can go down there and find out where Cardijja is heading. It is impossible. Why did Rejji choose me for this task?”

  “Because he believes in you,” soothed the female voice next to him, “as I believe in you. No one else would stand a chance of getting close enough to learn their secrets. Only you can do it.”

  “I cannot do it,” balked Bakhai. “I am not a spy. I have no special skills that will allow me to pry their secrets from them. I just can’t do it.”

  “You do have special skills,” she insisted. “You grew up in these forests. You know them better than any man alive. Besides, you do have special skills.”

  “What?” retorted Bakhai. “Talking to animals? A load of good that will do. These Motangans only have a handful of horses. I cannot bend the minds of humans, Mistake. That is not what I do.”

  “Are you forgetting the thousands of friends that surround you?” encouraged Princess Alahara. “Surely they can help you accomplish the task.”

  “How?” frowned Bakhai. “Will I call on the chipmunks to attack the Motangans? Will the river otters leave the creeks to come rescue me? This is just a foolish idea. I will not do it. We will rest the night here and return to Angragar in the morning.”

  The elven princess frowned as she stared down at the Motangans. Suddenly a thought popped into her mind.

  “I will get you into the premer’s tent,” grinned Princess Alahara.

  “How?” asked Bakhai. “They would not hesitate to kill an elf if they saw you, Mistake.”

  “They will see me,” smiled Princess Alahara. “I want them to. Come on. We need to hurry. I want to get you in before the daylight is gone. I will tell you about my plan on the way down.”

  * * *

  Princess Alahara peered past the tree at the nearby Motangan sentries. She turned back to Bakhai and smiled.

  “More ragged than that,” she shook her head as she reached and ripped Bakhai’s tunic. “Rub some dirt on your face.”

  Bakhai dug his fingers into the dirt near the base of the tree. He drove his fingers deeper until he felt moist soil. He pulled out his fingers and slashed them across his face. Mistake was busy ripping small tears in his clothes.

  “Are you sure this will work?” asked Bakhai. “I am not afraid to take a chance, but this seems so outlandish.”

  “It may be just that,” Mistake said truthfully. “We cannot know for sure how the Motangans will react, but even how they react will tell us much.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Bakhai.

  “If Cardijja is intent on finding Angragar,” she explained, “he will question you about it. If he has no desire to question you then he probably already knows the location. That is what you have come to find out.”

  “So if they kill me on
the spot,” frowned Bakhai, “you can go back and tell Rejji that they are heading for Angragar.”

  “You are not going to die, Bakhai,” promised the elven princess. “I will not allow that to happen. If I have to charge into that encampment to save you, I will. Are you ready?”

  Bakhai sighed deeply and stared into Mistake’s eyes. He nodded slowly.

  “I am ready,” he said, “but you are not to rescue me. I do not want that on my conscience. If they kill me, I will just go to Kaltara earlier than I had hoped.”

  Princess Alahara opened her mouth to object, but Bakhai was already on his feet. He screamed loudly and dashed around, letting the sentries get a good look at him. Eventually he ran towards the sentries, seemingly falling to the ground as if he had tripped over something. A fireball soared through the air and smashed into the ground a few paces from Bakhai. The sentries shouted in alarm as they sought cover to protect themselves from the magical attack. Bakhai called out to the Motangans for help, but they ignored him. Princess Alahara stepped into the open and sneered at Bakhai. The sentries shouted for mages and archers.

  “Die traitor!” spat the elven princess as she tossed another fireball at Bakhai.

  Bakhai quickly rolled to one side as the fireball struck the ground where he had fallen. Mistake turned and fled into the forest as the archers arrived. Motangan arrows chased the elven princess into the woods, but she was too quick for them to hit. A squad of soldiers raced past Bakhai and gave chase to the elf. Bakhai looked towards the camp and saw an officer approaching him. A dozen soldiers accompanied the officer, and Bakhai shivered with genuine fear.

  “Help me,” implored Bakhai. “Don’t let her kill me.”

  The Motangan soldiers surrounded Bakhai, their swords drawn and pointed towards him. They appeared to be awaiting the officer’s command to shove their swords into his flesh.

  “Who are you?” demanded the officer.