Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“We have talked about this before,” Rejji shook his head. “We cannot control a hundred thousand men, Bakhai. They could promise to surrender and then change their minds when they are fully rested. It is too dangerous.”

“Perhaps when there are less of them,” interjected Princess Alahara. “Tomorrow there will be less than half of them left.”

“Half?” balked Bakhai. “How is that possible?”

“The poison,” Mobi pointed towards the herd of deer grazing in the northern section of the valley. “Qubari warriors are already down there ensuring that each deer is poisoned. The Motangans will eat well tonight, but most of them will not survive.”

“And the elves will attack during the night,” added Princess Alahara, “just like we did in the forest. Once the eastern entrance is sealed, the Motangans will have no choice but to die.”

“Not before the Jiadin and the free tribes are in position, Mistake,” interjected Rejji. “I will take no chances with the Motangans finding a way through the webs.”

“Of course,” nodded Princess Alahara. “There is no rush.”

Yltar started talking about the Qubari warriors that would sneak into the camp after sunset. Bakhai frowned heavily and turned away from the meeting. He meandered along the rim of the valley and finally sat down in a secluded spot to gaze upon the Motangan army. He knew that Rejji and his advisors saw the need to destroy the Motangans, but he wondered why he did not feel the same way. They had, after all, come to Fakara to exterminate everyone who lived there, but his heart still sought a way to save them. Perhaps it was the time that he had spent in their camp, Bakhai reasoned. The Motangans had seemed as friendly as any group of Fakarans. He found it hard to believe that each of those men felt as Vand did. They were not necessarily evil like the leader who had sent them.

* * *

Darkness settled over the Motangan camp as campfires flared to life. Near the center of the camp, a hundred soldiers carried dead deer to a wide cleared area where other soldiers stood ready to butcher the meat. Thousands of Motangans had already gone to sleep, foregoing the meal to ease their exhaustion, but others forced themselves to stay up to conquer the grumbling of their empty stomachs. For them, sleep would have to wait a while longer.

Through the maze of sleeping bodies, a solitary figure cautiously made his way towards the center of the camp. Several soldiers looked at the lad with alarm, but they shook their heads and returned to their duties. The boy was not challenged until he reached the tent of Premer Cardijja.

“What are you doing here?” one of the sentries snapped, his hand drawing his sword menacingly.

“I have come to talk to Premer Cardijja,” Bakhai answered calmly. “You do remember his edict that I am not to be harmed?”

“That was before you vanished,” scowled the soldier.

“And has that order been rescinded since?” questioned the Fakaran.

The sentry’s face clouded with doubt, but he did not appear to soften his stance. Bakhai looked to the other sentry and shook his head. The other sentry smiled and shrugged.

“He is but a lad,” the second sentry said. “What are you expecting him to do? Do you want me to search him for weapons?”

Bakhai pulled a knife from his belt and dropped it on the ground. “That knife never threatened the premer before,” Bakhai said steadily, “and there is no reason to believe that it ever will, but I leave it here to make you at ease with my presence. Do you care to enter with me and hold my hand while I speak to the premer? I am sure that he will be touched by the gesture.”

“The premer is not to be disturbed,” barked the first sentry. “Those are General Luggar’s orders.”

Bakhai bent and retrieved his knife. He shoved it back into his belt and shrugged. “Very well then,” he bowed mockingly. “Be sure to tell Cardijja that I came by to help him save his army, but that you refused me entry.”

Bakhai turned to leave, but the second sentry’s hand streaked out and grabbed him by the shoulder, turning Bakhai around to face the sentries once again.

“What do you mean?” asked the sentry. “What do you know?”

“What I know I give to Cardijja out of friendship,” Bakhai said softly. “It is not for anyone else’s ears. He protected me one time. I felt obliged to do the same, but I see that my words are not welcome. Give him my message.”

The first sentry pointed his sword at Bakhai’s chest. “If you know something about the enemy,” he threatened, “you will speak it now.”

“I think not,” Bakhai scowled. “A friend would not have his sentries treat me in such a way. Go ahead and kill me. Everyone in this valley will be dead by dawn anyway. You will only hasten my death by mere hours.”

The second sentry physically shoved the first sentry away. “Sheath your sword,” he snarled. “Our orders were not to harm the lad. Those orders have never been rescinded.”

“We can’t just let him walk into the premer’s tent,” objected the first sentry.

“I can,” snapped the second sentry. “If you do not want to be involved in the decision, go get some food. I can handle the premer’s tent alone for a while.”

The first sentry sheathed his sword and stormed off, glancing back several times to glare at Bakhai.

“He is tired,” shrugged the remaining sentry. “We all are tired. We have not had sleep since you left. That is why I must ask you the importance of this visit. Premer Cardijja has not slept either. He will not be pleased to be woken.”

“I think he will be very pleased,” smiled Bakhai. “I would not risk my life in coming here if it was not important. You may accompany me if you wish.”

“I shall,” agreed the sentry. “While it is not wise to bring notice to oneself, I must protect the premer.”

Bakhai nodded as the sentry pulled open the tent flap. He slipped into the dark tent and felt the sentry follow him. The interior of the tent was dark, but Cardijja’s snoring showed Bakhai the way. As Bakhai crossed the tent, the sentry lit a torch. A dull glow of light lit up the tent, and Bakhai saw the premer curled up on the ground. He had not even bothered to get into bed. Bakhai walked slowly towards the premer and reached out and gently shook Cardijja’s shoulder. The sentry watched closely.

“Armen?” mumbled Cardijja. “What are you doing up?”

Bakhai shook the shoulder more forcefully and Cardijja’s eyes popped open. For a moment he stared into Bakhai’s face uncomprehendingly. Suddenly he bolted to a sitting position, his eyes opened wide.

“Bakhai?” gasped Cardijja. “Is it really you?”

“It is me, Premer Cardijja,” smiled Bakhai. “I must talk to you.”

Cardijja’s eyes scanned the tent and landed on the sentry. He waved his arm to dismiss the sentry, and the soldier withdrew from the tent.

“You look alright,” smiled Cardijja. “What happened to you? How did you find us?”

“I have much to tell you,” smiled Bakhai, “but first I need your immediate help.”

“My help?” frowned the premer. “Are you in trouble?”

“No, premer,” Bakhai shook his head. “You are in trouble. I need you to order your men not to eat the deer. It is poisoned. You must act quickly. Your butchers are already cutting it up.”

Cardijja did not hesitate to act on Bakhai’s word. He rushed to the tent flap and shouted orders to the sentry outside. He was tempted to go to the butchers and verify the lad’s story, but he would not allow Bakhai to disappear again. He let the flap fall and returned to Bakhai.

“How do you know this?” he asked.

“I am Fakaran,” answered Bakhai.

“Of course you are Fakaran,” frowned Premer Cardijja. “There was never any doubt about that, but how do you know about the deer?”