Army of the Dead fl-8

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “My life is in His hands,” smiled Lyra. “He will never let me down. I hope that I do not let Him down.”

  “You should stay here and wait for the Torak,” advised Xavo. “Lady Mystic and I are very familiar with the interior of the temple. We will find Pakar and his men and finish them off. We will return to let you know when it is safe to pursue Vand.”

  “I think I can do that task safer than you,” objected Lyra. “I have lost you twice already. I do not need to go through that again.”

  “Your blue cylinder cannot be used inside the temple,” Xavo shook his head. “It will bring the walls down upon you.”

  Lyra frowned as she digested her father’s words. Suddenly she smiled and shook her head.

  “That will not happen,” she declared. “I have used it indoors before.”

  “Still,” interjected Lady Mystic, “you do not seem capable of casting while you maintain your shield. There is little that you could do when you found Pakar. Let Xavo and me take care of the problem.”

  “What are you two up to?” Lyra asked suspiciously. “You both seem very intent on keeping me out of the temple.”

  “We want you in the temple,” Xavo said defensively, “but not until Pakar and his men are eliminated. Save your energy for Vand and his pet demon.”

  “The last demon is inside?” asked the Star of Sakova.

  “He will be with Vand,” nodded Lady Mystic. “I must warn you, Lyra. Do not underestimate my father. His powers derive directly from Dobuk. You cannot imagine the strength he possesses. All of the rest of his armies are merely a source of enjoyment to him. He has never truly needed them.”

  “Strong or not,” replied Lyra, “it is Vand that we have come for. We will not leave until he is dead.”

  “We had no thoughts that you would say otherwise,” responded Xavo, “but heed her words. Do not underestimate his power.”

  Everyone looked up as Myka soared overhead. The Dragon settled on the roof and Emperor Marak leaped off. As soon as he was on the roof, the dragon leaped back into the air.

  “Where is she going?’ asked Rejji.

  “She is going to play with the hellsouls,” Marak shook his head in amusement. “What is the situation here?”

  Lyra explained what had been discussed, and Marak squinted suspiciously at Xavo and Lady Mystic.

  “Why not just tell us what it is that you two really want to do?” questioned Marak.

  “We just want to help,” shrugged Xavo, “and I don’t want my daughter tired from minor skirmishes when we can take care of them. Is that so hard to understand?”

  “No,” replied the Torak, “but it is hard to believe. We shall all go in and hunt down Pakar’s men. Where is Vand likely to be?”

  “He will wait for you in the throne room,” answered Lady Mystic, “but Pakar and his men will be elsewhere. They will not risk incurring Vand’s wrath for abandoning the roof.”

  “Fine,” Marak nodded decisively. “We will all hunt down Pakar and his men before entering the throne room. Let’s go.”

  Xavo sighed with defeat and stepped through the doorway. Lady Mystic followed closely and by the time the Three had entered, they were already lost to sight.

  Chapter 48

  Isolation

  The Lord Marshal of the Torak clan watched as his men traded blows with the Motangans. While the Khadorans were constantly able to move closer to the temple, the cost of gaining territory was excessive. Most of the Motangans were struck down with blows that did not result in decapitation. The hellsouls rose again, and had to be killed once more. Lord Marshal Yenga stood tall in his stirrups and gazed across the battlefield. While his own Khadoran army was slowly pushing back the Motangan hellsouls, the Fakaran tribes were slashing through the enemy with a swiftness that he could only admire. He watched as the Jiadin and free tribesmen leaned far out of their saddles to lop off the heads of the Motangans. Mentally calculating the relative distance to the temple from the two opposing forces, Yenga decided to halt the Khadoran charge.

  “Sound a defensive posture,” Lord Marshal Yenga shouted to the hornsman. “We stand here and fight.”

  The hornsman blew his horn loudly, and the call was quickly picked up by other hornsman throughout the line. Slowly the charge faltered as the Khadorans formed a tight defensive line that was impenetrable. The plan was to remain in position for as long as the Motangans continued to attack. Once the attack abated, the Khadorans would move forward slowly, crushing the Motangans between themselves and the Fakarans.

  * * *

  Harmagan led the Jiadin charge through the mass of Motangan soldiers. He constantly shot a glance far to his right where Blaka was leading the free tribes on a parallel course. Whenever Blaka appeared to move ahead of Harmagan, the Jiadin leader shouted a war cry to urge his men onward.

  “Quit fighting like old maids,” shouted Harmagan. “Do you want the free tribes to get there before you?”

  A thousand negative shouts answered Harmagan, and the big man’s face broke into a wide grin. He slapped the rump of his horse with the flat of his long blade, and the stallion surged forward. Standing erect in his stirrups, the Jiadin leader flew past the Jiadin vanguard, leaning far to one side to sever the head of a Motangan soldier. The move of the Jiadin leader was inspiring to his men. Before Harmagan could attack the next Motangan, scores of Jiadin surged past him to engage the enemy. Over the din of battle, Harmagan heard distant shouts. He turned to his right once again and saw Blaka driving the free tribes hard into the red-clad Motangans. Harmagan howled with laughter as Blaka refused to let the Jiadin reach the temple first.

  Several Jiadin near Harmagan fell from their horses, but the leader hardly noticed. The Jiadin lived and died on the back of their mounts, and to die in battle was to die a natural death. As he struck down another Motangan hellsoul, Harmagan felt as if this was the very moment for which he had been born.

  * * *

  “Harmagan is crazy,” shouted Yojji, the leader of the Kheri tribe. “Does he think this is a race?”

  “He is not crazy,” Blaka responded as he glanced to the left and saw Harmagan take the lead of the Jiadin. “He is a true Jiadin, not one of those villagers that they kidnapped and raised to fight.”

  “You sound as though you admire him,” frowned Yojji. “It was not long ago that he was your sworn enemy.”

  “It is not that I admire him,” corrected the leader of the Extala tribe. “It is that I respect him. He is not leading the Jiadin against defenseless villagers today. He is crushing invaders from across the sea, and he is our ally now.”

  Blaka leaned far out to the right and sliced through the neck of a Motangan soldier while Yojji mirrored the maneuver to his left. The red-clad soldiers fell to the ground, their bodies immediately trampled by hundreds of hooves.

  “And it is a race,” grinned Blaka, “one that I will not let the Jiadin win.”

  The words were barely spoken before Blaka surged forward to pass the forwardmost riders of the free tribes. Yojji shook his head in amusement and quickly followed. The leader of the Kheri tribe turned briefly and saw the gap left behind. A wicked smile crossed his lips. He raised a horn to his lips and a long, shrill note blared out. The sound was immediately echoed by a hundred horns throughout the free tribes.

  “What are you doing?” chuckled Blaka. “Why call a charge? We are already charging.”

  “Well,” grinned Yojji, “we are not charging fast enough. If this is a race, I will be blasted if I intend to let the Jiadin win. Move aside. You are slowing me down.”

  Blaka laughed as Yojji pulled up alongside him. Together the two tribal leaders surged forward to take the lead once again.

  * * *

  The dragon swooped into the mass of red-clad soldiers yet again. Arrows soared up to meet her, but they bounced off her armored scales. Flames belched from her snout, and her claws extended out before her as she attacked. Some of the Motangans tried to harm her with their swords, but most of them
panicked and ran. Myka cackled as she snared two Motangans, one head in each claw. The dragon shot upwards so that she was clearly visible to the Motangan host before she shook the heads until the bodies separated and fell to the ground. Thousands of upturned faces screamed in horror as Myka tilted her wings and fell into another dive.

  After a dozen more dives, Myka saw the Khadorans halt their advance. She circled lazily while she observed the battlefield. The Jiadin and the free tribes were racing towards the temple, and most of the Motangans were fleeing towards the Khadorans. What disturbed the dragon was the large number of red-clad soldiers running into the temple. That was not part of the plan, and the dragon broke out of her circling and sped eastward. Her keen eyes swept over the charging free tribes until she located the elves and Chula behind them. Diving steeply, the dragon sped downward and landed before the elven king.

  “Motangans are entering the temple in large numbers,” reported the dragon.

  “How close are the Fakarans?” asked King Avalar.

  “They are closing swiftly,” answered Myka, “but it will still be some time before they can reach the temple. Maybe a half-hour. The Khadorans have already halted to give the Motangans room to gather before the clamp gets tightened.”

  The elven king turned to the head shaman of the Zatong tribe. “Can you get us to the temple ahead of the Fakarans?” he asked.

  “How many of you?” asked Ukaro.

  “Myself,” frowned King Avalar, “and my two daughters.”

  “Axor?” the Torak’s father asked. “Rykoma? Will you two join me?”

  The two shamans stepped forward and nodded solemnly. All three shamans shimmered for a moment and then disappeared. Seconds later, three large tigers appeared in their place. King Avalar waved the two elven princesses over and nodded towards the tigers.

  “See if you can dissuade some of the Motangans from entering the temple,” King Avalar said to the dragon. “We will be there shortly.”

  The dragon nodded silently and leaped into the air. King Avalar mounted one of the tigers and immediately nocked an arrow to his bow. Princess Alahara and Princess Alastasia mimicked their father’s moves.

  “Why bows?” asked Princess Alahara as the cats sprung to life and raced towards the temple. “Wouldn’t light blades be more appropriate?”

  “Light blades may travel through the Motangans and hit some of the Fakarans,” explained the elven king. “We do not need to decapitate the Motangans that we will meet along the way. We just need to keep them away from us while we get to the temple door. If they rise again, someone else will take care of them.”

  Princess Alahara nodded thoughtfully as the three tigers started loping westward. Within minutes the tigers were racing along the tyrik web wall that surrounded the skeletons. Hundreds of the trapped skeletons were stuck to the web, and others were trying to climb over it without touching it. Princess Alahara shuddered in disgust and looked away.

  King Avalar took the lead as the group started riding single file along the web barrier. The Fakarans ahead of them had kept away from the web for fear of getting stuck, but it appeared that they had managed to kill the Motangans along the edge of their route. The tigers leaped over decapitated bodies without breaking stride, and they soon caught up to the tail end of the Fakaran horsemen. The elven king watched as the Fakarans ahead of him leaned far out of their saddles to strike at the Motangans trying to hug the web. Several Motangan hellsouls were stuck to the outside of the web. The tigers nimbly avoided contact with the stuck Motangans.

  As the tigers drew parallel with the vanguard of the Fakarans, King Avalar raised his bow. The elven king fired as fast as he could nock arrows, and his daughters joined in, but it was impossible to kill all of the Motangans in their path. The lead tiger leaped into the air and pounced on a Motangan who had managed to survive the withering volley of elven arrows. The large cat pushed out with its forepaws, knocking the hellsoul to the ground, and continued onward. The following cats leaped over the fallen body before it could rise. Several more Motangans were bowled over by the tigers and soon the elves were clear of the conflict. The Motangans between them and the temple were fleeing to the west or into the temple.

  Myka stood on the steps of the temple, flames pouring out of her mouth as red-clad soldiers tried to race around her. Her tail was constantly whipping from side to side, and each movement swept Motangans to the ground. The dragon’s claws streaked outward and grabbed soldiers and snapped their heads off, but the red-clad soldiers still raced towards her.

  “They think they can overwhelm her,” shouted King Avalar.

  “They probably can,” replied Princess Alastasia. “She can only do so much, and to remain outside the temple is certain death for the Motangans. What is our plan?”

  “We will seal the entrance,” King Avalar replied as the tigers raced up the steps towards the dragon.

  The large cats raced through a sea of red uniforms, but there was little combat as the Motangans were fleeing. It was only when the elves reached the doorway to the temple that the hellsouls realized the danger. Myka swayed to one side to allow the tigers to pass by her huge body and then she immediately resumed her position. The tigers raced through the doorway and immediately halted. The elves leaped off the backs of the cats, ready to fire upon soldiers inside the temple, but there were none in sight, although their shouting and pounding footsteps could be heard coming from farther within the temple. King Avalar raced to the edge of the doorway and knelt down. He studied the darkness for several moments before he found what he was looking for.

  “Scraggly weeds,” the elven king said with distaste, “but it is better than nothing. A sturdy vine stock would have been too much to ask for. Join me, daughters.”

  The elven princesses ran forward and began to cast spells on the weeds. So intent was their concentration that they were unaware of the Motangan soldiers overwhelming the dragon and surging towards the doorway. Unexpectedly, magical projectiles streamed over the heads of the conjuring elves, and red-clad bodies began flying backwards away from the doorway. King Avalar glanced over his shoulder and saw the three Chula shamans in their human form. The shamans stood at angles to the doorway so that their spells would not impact the dragon if they missed. The elven king smiled inwardly and returned to his spell casting. Within minutes the scraggly weeds had grown thick and strong, and crisscrossed the doorway from top to bottom, but the elves continued casting.

  “We can no longer keep them away without damaging what you have done,” announced Ukaro. “They are already hacking at your weed with their swords.”

  King Avalar nodded wordlessly and continued his magic spell. Even as the Motangans sliced through strands of the weeds, the plants grew stronger and more numerous. Minutes later, light ceased to pass through the doorway, the entire opening covered in a mass of thick vegetation. The elves stood up and ceased their casting, their foreheads damp from the strenuous weaving of magic.

  “Will it hold?” asked Ukaro.

  “They could eventually cut through it,” shrugged King Avalar, “but I doubt that the Fakarans will allow them time to accomplish it. The hellsouls will soon realize that they must stand and fight. There will be no fleeing from this battlefield.”

  “We must do something about the ones who already got into the temple,” remarked Princess Alastasia. “They must not be allowed to aid Vand in his battle against the Three.”

  “Our people were supposed to enter through that door,” frowned Princess Alahara. “Now we have sealed them out.”

  “Not entirely,” smiled King Avalar. “There is a balcony on the second level facing east. We shall create a plant ladder for our people to use. If our Chula friends will join us,” the elven king continued, “we will begin that process now. The sooner we can get our people inside, the quicker we can eliminate the hellsouls already here.”

  * * *

  Emperor Marak looked down the corridor and saw no one. Using a hand signal to warn Lyra and Rejji t
o stay back a bit, the Torak eased his body against the wall and peered around the corner. There was a large open area with two staircases descending to the lower levels. He saw Lady Mystic on the far staircase. She was hurrying down the stairs. No one else was in sight. The Torak stepped around the corner and saw Xavo hurrying down the closer staircase.

  “Xavo and Lady Mystic are both heading downward,” the Torak said softly. “I suspect that is where Pakar’s men must have gone.”

  There was a large urn positioned next to a stone railing half way between the staircases. As Marak turned his head towards Lyra, his peripheral vision caught sight of the urn, and it was in the process of disappearing. In its place stood one of Pakar’s mages. Shouting a warning to his friends, the Torak dove for the floor. A magical projectile flew just over his head as Marak rolled into a ball. Marak came out of the roll and immediately tossed a light blade towards the enemy mage. The spell impacted a shield and dissipated. Marak dove again as the black-cloak threw another spell at him.

  Lyra stepped around the corner and pointed her fist at the enemy mage.

  “He is shielded,” Marak shouted as he tried to keep moving.

  Knowing that Lyra did not have time to erect her blue cylinder, Marak charged towards the black-cloak in an attempt to draw attention away from the Star of Sakova. The enemy mage wavered for just an instant, but it was long enough for Lyra to strike. A powerful force bolt sped from Lyra’s fist and smashed into the enemy’s shield. While the mage’s shield prevented the force bolt from reaching him, it did not quite absorb the spell either.

  Lyra’s magical spell hit with such force that the black-cloak’s shield was forcibly pushed backwards, carrying the mage with it. Marak watched in awe as the mage in his shield was pushed through the stone railing and over the edge of the top level of the temple. The black-cloak’s scream faded as he plummeted down to the ground level. Marak raced to the gaping hole in the railing and looked down into the atrium. The black-cloak’s body was splattered on the ground floor many levels below.