Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“Stop!” shouted Lyra as she saw the black-cloaks die. “I will give one more chance for the Motangans to surrender.”

The light blades from the Sakovan mages halted, as did the arrows aimed at the Star of Sakova. There was a tense moment of standoff as the Motangan archers thought about attacking the Sakovan mages. Lyra spoke quickly.

“Drop your weapons,” she instructed. “There is no need for you to die. The black-cloaks no longer rule over you. Drop your weapons and live to see your families again.”

Many of the Motangans lowered their bows and placed their arrows back in their quivers, but others did not. One of those who hesitated spoke loudly.

“Why should we believe you?” he shouted. “If we drop our weapons, you can just kill us easier.”

“Your deaths are not particularly hard to accomplish,” replied Lyra. “Look around you. The carnage sickens me. We arrived in Meliban on a great ship. I am prepared to let all of you board that ship, and the others already in the harbor, and return to the Island of Darkness. Once there, the elves and humans who now rule the island will meet you. They will return you to your families, and the war for you will be over.”

“And if Vand returns we will die,” shouted the skeptical soldier.

“Perhaps,” admitted Lyra, “but you will surely die here tonight if you do not surrender. As for Vand returning to the Island of Darkness, I doubt that he wants to. He has come here to conquer Angragar, but we will not allow that. Let me tell you the state of the Motangan army. The Island of Darkness has been conquered by the elves. Premer Doralin surrendered to me in the Sakova along with eighty thousand men. Perhaps you have already received this news.”

Many of the soldiers murmured and nodded.

“Premer Shamal and his army were destroyed in Khadora,” Lyra continued. “They refused to surrender, and there were no prisoners taken. Earlier this evening, Premer Cardijja and one hundred thousand of his men surrendered to the Astor in the mountains far to the east of here. Other than those of you here in Meliban, Vand’s personal army headed by Premer Tzargo is all that remains of your once mighty army, and we have no desire to allow him to escape. The Island of Darkness shall remain free of Vand’s influence. It can be your home once again, and you can live in peace. Will you lay down your weapons and surrender?”

Many of the soldiers looked to the protester for guidance, but others threw down their bows and swords. The move was contagious. Suddenly the air filled with the sound of discarded weapons. Even the protester nodded his head in defeat. He dropped his bow and sword.

The Sakovan mages faded back into the fog and found their hiding places. The Sakovan warriors, who had moved up behind the Sakovan mages, turned and headed for the wharf. They hurriedly unloaded the five hundred chokas and led them on a circuitous path towards the gates of the city, while StarWind and HawkShadow walked into the park.

“We will escort you to the harbor,” announced StarWind. “Each of the ships will be piloted by Sakovans, and mages will be aboard to ensure that you arrive safely in Vandamar. If you would form a line and follow us, we will get you underway quickly.”

Other Sakovan warriors lined the main street of the city to ensure that no weapons were being taken aboard the ships. Temiker dropped his illusion and banished the fog that persisted over much of the city. The Motangans marched quietly to the harbor and began filing onto the ship that the Sakovans had arrived on. When it was filled to capacity, it set sail for the Island of Darkness, and another ship was brought from the harbor to the dock.

The loading continued through the night and into the morning as seven thousand Motangan soldiers were shipped off to Vandamar. A few minor fights broke out during the process, but considering the magnitude of the evacuation, things went very smoothly.

“You should get some rest,” Temiker said to Lyra as they sat over a meal in the Kheri Inn. “It will be a long ride to Vandegar.”

“We all need rest before the trip,” nodded Lyra. “Have all of the buildings in the city been searched?”

“They are still searching,” answered Temiker, “but I feel confident that all of the Motangans are gone. You did well last night, Lyra. I am proud of you.”

“We killed close to three thousand men last night,” frowned Lyra. “That is hardly worth being proud of.”

“You concentrate on the deaths,” frowned Temiker, “when you need to focus on the lives that you saved. Did your cylinder weaken at all?”

“No,” Lyra shook her head. “At least not that I could feel. I felt smothered when all of those men charged at me. It was horrible listening to them die. I don’t want to do that again.”

“Hopefully, you won’t have to,” Temiker smiled weakly. “Only Vandegar remains to be defeated.”

* * *

Emperor Vand bowed to Dobuk and backed out of the great chamber filled with lava-spewing volcanoes. His smile was broad as he marched through the corridors of the Temple of Vandegar and out onto the roof. The six demons occupied the roof and they nodded respectfully as the emperor emerged. Vand halted and gazed at the black, stone creatures. They were beasts of legend and Vand swelled with pride to have been given charge over them.

Agad, Barrok, and Caliphia, the demons of the falling. Xero, Yunga, and Zarapeto, the demons of the resurrection. All were gifts from Dobuk, the Great Demon, and they were sworn to serve Vand. Beings mightier than the greatest armies, Vand gazed upon them and grinned with delight.

Also waiting on the roof of the temple was Premer Tzargo. All of Tzargo’s fifty thousand men had recently undergone the ceremony that transformed them into hellsouls. Their lives were now inseparably intertwined with Vand’s. The soldiers might die in battle, but they would rise again and continue to fight. Only the severing of their heads or the touch of a weapon blessed by Kaltara could permanently kill the hellsouls.

The twelve personal mages of Vand were also present. While those mages carried no particular blessing from Dobuk, they were twelve of the most powerful mages in the world. Vand himself had personally selected each of them for their power and skill.

“Do you think we are ready to meet the enemy, Premer Tzargo?” asked the emperor.

“As ready as we will ever be,” Tzargo nodded. “I would still like to call Premer Cardijja’s men here to supplement our troops. We can never have enough.”

“You are a greedy man,” snarled Vand as he fixed his gaze on the premer.

Premer Tzargo swallowed hard, but the emperor’s lips turned upwards in a wicked grin.

“I like greedy men,” chuckled Vand. “Cardijja must continue to hunt for Angragar, but I can still put your mind at ease. Come with me.”

Vand led Premer Tzargo to the northern edge of the roof. He waved his hand over the plain below and the great finger of water that swung down from the ocean.

“Do you see where that great body of water intrudes upon the plain?” asked Vand. “Do you know its story?”

“I see the water,” replied the premer as he gazed outward from the roof of the high temple, “but I know of no story connected with it.”

“Then I shall tell you the story,” Vand continued unfazed. “Thousands of years ago I stood in this very spot, battling the other gods. Millions of people worshipped me, and that made the other gods jealous. They conspired against me and joined forces to defeat me. I managed to kill them all except for one.”

“Kaltara?” asked Tzargo.

“Yes, Kaltara,” Vand hissed. “Never mention his name again in my presence.”

Premer Tzargo bowed meekly, and the emperor nodded in satisfaction of the premer’s submission.