Army of the Dead fl-8

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “I found that out,” frowned Fisher.

  “Vand also has thirteen mages with him here,” stated Xavo. “Their leader is Pakar, and each of them is greatly accomplished. We will try to keep them out of the battle, but there are no guarantees. The two of us can only do so much, and our main goal is Dobuk.”

  “You are going to confront the Great Demon?” Fisher asked with awe.

  “Someone must,” sighed Xavo. “I do not want to think of my daughter being forced to deal with him.”

  “How have you learned so much?” questioned the Khadoran spy.

  “We have used air tunnels,” offered Lady Mystic.

  “I thought we were not supposed to be using them except in an emergency?” frowned Fisher. “If they are safe to use now, you could send this information to Marak, and I could stay and help you.”

  “We are only using the air tunnel to hear conversations,” Xavo shook his head. “No one can detect that, but it would be disastrous to try sending a message. Get on your horse and get the message back to the Torak.”

  “I have no horse,” sighed Fisher, “and I came from the Fakarans. From what I have heard around the camp, I will not be able to escape to the west. Everyone knows that the Khadorans are coming towards us from the west. Amusingly, no one is expecting any attack from the east. They are in for a surprise. The Fakarans are twice as strong as the Khadorans and probably better suited to fight in this terrain.”

  “Don’t be too sure about the surprise,” warned Lady Mystic. “Those demons might notice the Fakarans coming towards us.”

  “The important thing is get word to someone out there that the size of the defenders is ten times larger than they expect,” stressed Xavo. “They need to know about the skeletons.”

  “Can they be killed?” asked Fisher.

  “I don’t know,” admitted Xavo. “It is my feeling that anything alive can be killed, and that includes the dead warriors. There is some life form that is allowing them to move and fight.”

  “I would suggest decapitation,” interjected Lady Mystic. “It works on the hellsouls, and I have to believe the life forms are similar.”

  “A valid guess,” nodded Xavo, “but, again, there are no guarantees.”

  “Is there anything else that I need to know before I leave?” asked Fisher.

  “Know that Kaltara will win this war,” smiled Lady Mystic. “Go quickly.”

  Fisher stared at Lady Mystic for a short moment and shook his head in wonder. He smiled and bowed in respect to the Emperor’s daughter as Xavo unsealed the door and checked the corridor outside.

  “Be swift, my Chula friend,” Xavo said in parting.

  Fisher nodded and stepped out of the room as Xavo closed the door. He watched in amazement as the door suddenly disappeared, leaving a blank wall in its place. The spy moved swiftly to the stairs and made his way down to the ground level. He moved to the front doors and stepped out into the sunshine. The same two guards looked suspiciously at him.

  “I had hoped that it was your body that had dropped from the roof,” the obstinate guard snarled offensively.

  “Actually,” Fisher smiled, “it was the body of an officer that refused to let me speak with Premer Tzargo. The Premer was not amused by the antics of the pompous fool.”

  The guard swallowed hard as Fisher grinned and moved quickly down the steps. The spy moved quickly, but casually through the throng of soldiers as he tried to figure out how he could steal a horse to make his escape. He was sure that horses would not be given to just any soldier who asked for one. In fact, horses were at a premium in the Motangan camp as the army was strictly infantry. Surely the keepers of the horses would demand some type of authorization from an officer before they allowed a horse to be taken, and Fisher had no time left to walk back to the Fakarans. He had to secure a horse. Fisher walked towards the eastern perimeter as his mind dwelled on the problem. He soon found himself near Savesto’s camp and moved towards it.

  “Did you get roped into another assignment?” asked Savesto.

  Fisher snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the Motangan soldier.

  “Actually, I did get an assignment,” he answered, “and we are in a great deal of trouble.”

  “Trouble?” the soldier echoed worriedly. “What kind of trouble?”

  “I am not supposed to divulge such information,” Fisher replied guardedly.

  “But we are your friends,” protested Savesto who was eager to hear the latest rumors. “You can trust us.”

  “Can I?” Fisher asked.

  “Of course,” the group answered in unison.

  “We like you, Aki,” Savesto said with sincerity. “If you are in trouble, we can help. What is the problem?”

  “The Khadoran armies are much larger than we expected,” Fisher said conspiratorially. “There is a great deal of concern inside the temple that the dead warriors might not be enough to destroy the Khadorans.”

  “The whole country of Khadora would have had to come eastward to defeat the dead warriors,” retorted one of the soldiers.

  “Exactly,” nodded Aki. “Every able man in Khadora is on the way here. I have been ordered to get Premer Cardijja’s army to come here immediately.”

  “That’s great,” exclaimed Savesto. “I don’t have a problem with a few hundred thousand more warriors joining the fun. What is the problem with that?”

  “The problem,” Aki said with an air of failure, “is that I neglected to get authorization to use a horse. There is no way that I will reach Cardijja in time for his armies to get here.”

  “That is no problem,” shrugged one of the men. “Just go back and get authorization.”

  “You don’t understand,” Aki shook his head. “The mood inside the temple is murderous. An officer made a suggestion that Premer Tzargo did not enjoy. He was immediately decapitated and thrown from the roof.”

  “I saw that,” volunteered Savesto. “I wondered what the poor soul had done.”

  “Nothing more than speak when the Premer preferred silence,” Aki replied. “There is no way that I am going back inside the temple and ask for authorization to use a horse.”

  “But the reinforcements won’t make it in time if you walk,” frowned one of the soldiers.

  “I know,” Aki nodded in defeat, “but what can I do?”

  “You can steal a horse,” declared Savesto.

  “And get executed?” balked Aki.

  “You won’t get executed,” smiled Savesto. “We will help you. We know some of the boys that work the corrals. We can distract them while you get the horse and ride out.”

  “Are you sure about this Savesto?” one of the soldiers asked nervously.

  “If we don’t get reinforcements,” stated Savesto, “there is a decent chance that we will die in the coming battle. I’ve got a fair bit of gold with me that I am willing to give up to stay alive. What about the rest of you?”

  “Gold is no good to a dead man,” shrugged one of the soldiers. “Count me in. How do you plan to do it?”

  “Everyone knows that I am a unlucky person,” grinned Savesto. “One of you will happen to go down to the corrals and mention that I have a lot of gold and that I am gambling it away. That should draw most of the guards away.”

  “What about the rest?” asked Aki. “Surely some of the guards will stay there.”

  “The rest of my boys will hang around the corrals,” answered Savesto. “They will offer to take the guards’ places so the guards can come and take my gold. If necessary, they will start a fight with the guards to distract them while you steal the horse.”

  Aki pulled a knife and cut his pouch free. He handed it to Savesto, and the Motangan whistled at the weight of it. Other soldiers handed over their gold and soon Savesto had quite a large pile.

  “Let’s do it,” Aki said confidently.

  One of Savesto’s soldiers ran ahead as the others walked slowly towards the corrals. Before the group reached the corrals, a soldier who had be
en running towards them halted in front of them.

  “Is it true?” he asked the soldiers. “Is Savesto gambling all of his gold away?”

  “He is,” nodded one of the soldiers. “I would love to take some of it from him, but I don’t have a stake to get in the game. Perhaps you could lend me some gold?”

  The guard laughed loudly and took off running towards Savesto’s campsite.

  “I guess that was a no,” chuckled the soldier.

  Several more guards raced by, and by the time the small group reached the corrals, there were only two guards left.

  “Well,” greeted one of the guards, “if it isn’t Savesto’s boys. I knew the rumor of him losing his gold was too good to be true. You boys wouldn’t be away from your campsite if there was gold to be had.”

  “Actually,” admitted one of the soldiers, “Savesto has cleaned us out. He is now sitting on all of our gold as well as his own.”

  “I have never known Savesto to be lucky,” the guard replied suspiciously.

  “Me neither,” shrugged the soldier, “but it’s the truth. He cleaned us all out.”

  “He must be cheating,” declared the soldier.

  “No doubt about it,” nodded one of the soldiers, “but we couldn’t catch him at it.”

  The two guards looked at each other and grinned.

  “Well he can’t cheat us,” declared one of the guards. “I can spot a cheat every time. How would you boys like to earn some of your gold back?”

  “”Sure!” exclaimed one of Savesto’s soldiers. “What do we have to do?”

  “Just guard the corrals while we go clean out Savesto’s little nest egg,” grinned the guard. “We’ll let you have some of your gold back when we return.”

  “And we better hurry before the others get it all,” interjected the other guard.

  “Go,” one of the soldiers said. “Just make sure you get some of our gold back.”

  The two guards ran towards Savesto’s campsite, and the soldiers left behind laughed out loud.

  “Take your pick, Aki,” chuckled one of the soldiers, “but be quick about it. Savesto’s luck truly is lousy, and it won’t take long for them to clean him out.”

  Aki did not hesitate. He leaped over the rail of the corral while the soldiers untied the gate and prepared to open it. Within minutes Aki had a horse saddled and raced out of the corral. The sentries along the eastern perimeter paid no attention to the racing messenger, and Fisher was soon out of sight of the camp.

  Chapter 42

  The Ancient Battlefield

  Marshal Berman gazed to his left and observed the long line of Khadoran horsemen. A rainbow of uniforms extended far beyond the limitations of his eyesight. He nodded with pride and swiveled his head to the right. A mirror image presented itself; only the clan colors were different. Next he glanced over his shoulder at the horde of the Aritor clan, which was slightly in front of the rest of the line. The morning sun was just breaking the horizon, and the Vandegar Temple was visible far in the distance. As the first rays of the sun swept over the vast plain, the ground sparkled with a thousand pinpricks of reflected light.

  “What the devil is that?” asked Lord Faliman. “Something is reflecting the light.”

  Lord Marshal Stanton rose up in his stirrups and gazed over the wasteland. For several moments his eyes tried to decipher what lay before him. Finally he nodded to himself and sat down with a sigh of relief.

  “It is an old battlefield,” he announced. “Thousands must have died here ages ago.”

  “Ages ago?” questioned the Aritor lord. “What do you see?”

  “Nothing but a bunch of fallen skeletons on the ground,” answered Lord Marshal Stanton. “The sun is reflecting off of their old swords.”

  “I do not recall hearing about any old battles here,” frowned Lord Faliman.

  “This used to be the home of the Jiadin warriors,” explained Lord Marshal Stanton. “The temple at Vandegar was the center of their war of destruction. One can assume that many battles took place in this wasteland.”

  The vanguard had reached the edge of the ancient battlefield, and the Aritor clan rode onward, the hooves of the horses making a loud racket as they trampled the long deceased warriors and bones snapped beneath the weight.

  “Why are the swords still shiny?” Marshal Berman muttered aloud.

  “Not much rusts in the desert,” shrugged Lord Marshal Stanton, “but the glare is blinding.”

  Marshal Berman grew increasingly nervous as the Aritor clan moved further into the old battlefield. He rose up and turned to look behind him. The entire group of Aritor horsemen was riding over the skeletons, and the main line of the other Khadora clans was about to begin crunching bones as well. As he turned forward once again, his brow began sweating profusely, although the heat of the day had not yet begun.

  “Something is not right here,” Marshal Berman declared. “The Jiadin were horsemen as were all Fakaran warriors. Where are the horse skeletons? All we are seeing are the remains of men.”

  “You are right,” frowned Lord Faliman. “Is it not also curious that each warrior died with his weapon in hand? Usually warriors lose their weapons in death, but not a one of these fallen soldiers is without his.”

  Marshal Berman held up his hand to halt the column.

  “We are turning back,” he stated.

  “Because of this cemetery?” balked Lord Marshal Stanton.

  “Because this is not natural,” snapped Marshal Berman. “We will take the time to learn the true significance of this battlefield before we continue. Turn the men around Lord Marshal.”

  Lord Marshal Stanton hesitated a moment and then finally shouted the order to retreat. A horn blared the retreat, and the Aritor horsemen began to turn around. Unexpectedly, the field of skeletons rose as one and began slashing at the Khadorans.

  “We are under attack!” shouted Marshal Berman as a dozen skeleton warriors surged towards his point position. “Keep sounding the retreat so that the other clans will hear it,” he yelled to the hornsman.

  Marshal Berman drew his sword and slashed at the skeletons trying to encircle him, but there was nothing to sink his blade into. There were no screams from the victims of his swings, and his steel neither sank into flesh, nor caused blood to flow onto the barren soil.

  The Balomar marshal’s eyes flicked in every direction as he parried blows from the swords of the dead. He saw thousands of skeletons racing towards the still advancing line of Khadorans, and he caught sight of Lord Marshal Stanton trying his best to keep Lord Faliman safe so that he could retreat. Berman cursed as he realized that all was lost for the vanguard. He wheeled his horse and raced towards the hornsman.

  “Stanton,” shouted Marshal Berman, “leave Faliman and rally to the hornsman. We must stop the Khadoran advance.”

  “I cannot leave my lord,” refused the lord marshal.

  “Your lord is dead,” snapped Berman as he raced past. “We are all dead. Make our lives worth something. We must protect the hornsman as long as we can.”

  Marshal Berman reached the retreating hornsman and took up his right flank. Ahead of him he saw the army of skeletons closing off the path of retreat.

  “Blow, son,” encouraged the Balomar marshal. “Blow as long and as hard as you can. Give your countrymen a chance to live.”

  Lord Marshal Stanton pulled up on the hornsman’s left flank and began slicing into the skeletons. Berman saw Lord Faliman race by, but the path was already blocked. All around the hornsman, Aritor soldiers cried out in pain as they toppled from their horses. Berman swung his blade hard, and his victims’ bones cracked in response, but the dead warriors did not fall. The skeletons continued attacking, switching the hands that wielded their weapons if they needed to.

  “I got one to fall,” Stanton shouted in triumph.

  “How?” yelled Berman as the hornsman continued to blare the retreat.

  “Break their necks,” shouted Stanton.

  Mars
hal Berman nodded in understanding and extended his reach on the next swing. His sword slammed into a skeleton’s neck and its head lopped off. The skeleton collapsed in a pile of bones, but the swing cost Berman dearly. Two swords sliced into his leg, and he yelped in pain as blood gushed out of his wounds. Marshal Berman gritted his teeth and struck out again. He scored another blow to the neck of a skeleton and watched the bones fall to the ground, but his joy was short-lived. He watched in amazement as his hand and sword fell to the ground. For a moment he felt no pain from his severed hand, as if it was all a dream, but reality returned all too soon. Blood spewed from the stump of his arm, and he closed his eyes for a final prayer to Kaltara. Seconds later the marshal’s body was struck in several places at once. He tumbled from his horse, and his world grew black.

  * * *

  Emperor Marak was in the forest south of Lake Jabul. He stood with Lyra, Ukaro, King Avalar, and Princess Alastasia. As the sun broke the horizon he could just make out the long line of Khadorans advancing eastward.

  “So it begins,” he said softly.

  “Should we be advancing as well?” asked Princess Alastasia.

  “No,” the Torak shook his head. “The Khadoran army is enough of a threat to make Vand show his hand. Let’s wait and see what surprises he has in store for us.”

  “What is out there?” Lyra asked with a puzzled expression. “Thousands of flickers are reflecting the sun.”

  “I see that, too,” nodded King Avalar. “Something is out there.”

  The Torak’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the thousands of tiny flashes. It was as if the entire ground was littered with pieces of metal. The reflections appeared on both sides of the lake and stretched out far to both the east and the west. The only area that did not have any reflections was right around the distant temple.

  “I have to go look,” declared the Torak.

  “On Myka?” asked the Star of Sakova. “I thought you said you would not be riding her into battle?”

  “I must know what is out there,” replied Marak. “There is nothing natural about those reflections. They are Vand’s surprise.”