Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“I could have defeated them all,” Vand continued, “but they tired me out. They were too cowardly to attack me singly, because they feared my power.” Vand pointed once again to the water, “That body of water that you see did not exist at the time. It used to be part of the Plains of Vandegar, and millions of my followers dwelt there. The great city of Vandegar rested upon that plain, and it was more magnificent than Angragar.”

“What happened?” asked Tzargo.

“The other gods joined their powers against me,” explained Vand. “They smote the city of Vandegar and the land that it sat upon. The land twisted and was swallowed up. The sea rushed in and killed the millions of inhabitants. I promised that I would return for them one day, and I have arrived. Behold.”

Vand stretched out his arms, and unintelligible words rolled off his lips. The mages and the demons gathered around, their lips curled with delight as they anticipated what was to come. Suddenly steam rose from the long finger of water, and great waves crashed about in a chaotic pattern.

Premer Tzargo’s jaw dropped as something poked up from the roiling sea. He tried to focus on it to identify it, but the sea was violent, and waves rose high enough to block the object from view. Vand continued chanting and other objects rose from the sea. Within minutes it was clear that a city was rising from the depths of the sea. Land rose with the city, and the water fled back to the northern sea, carrying buildings and debris with it. Eventually the entire plain was reclaimed, and the ruins of a once great city stood dripping in the sunlight.

“Vandegar?” gasped Tzargo.

“Vandegar,” nodded Vand. “The years have not been kind to it. Kaltara shall pay for this.”

Vand continued chanting, and his arms moved fluidly in a flowing pattern over the city. Tzargo squinted as he caught sight of something moving. No, not something, but many things were moving in the newly reclaimed city. Xero chuckled loudly and nudged Zarapeto.

As Tzargo watched with disbelief, thousands upon thousands of skeletons clawed their way out of the dirt and began marching towards the temple. Within moments the resurrected plain was swarming with skeletons and all of them were heading for the temple.

“There are your extra men, Tzargo,” grinned Vand. “I said that I would increase your army tenfold. Behold. Five hundred thousand warriors who will not eat a shred of your precious provisions.”

The dragon banked slightly, and Emperor Marak stirred from his slumber. The battle at the Khadora River and the long march towards Fakara had left little time for sleep. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll on the Torak, and he napped whenever he got the chance. Marak’s eyes opened and his head swiveled from side to side. While he could sense the first lightening of the day, the sky was not visible. Moist, gray swirls raced by as Myka glided silently eastward.

“It was time for you to awaken anyway,” the dragon apologized softly.

“Where are we?” asked the Torak.

“We are crossing the Fortung Mountains,” answered the winged warrior. “The summits are just ahead.”

“Any sign of our armies?” asked Marak.

“The Khadorans were easy to spot before we entered the clouds,” replied Myka. “Their columns stretch for many leagues. The elves and Chula were harder to find, but even they could not hide from my eyes. They have already reached the southern pass.”

“They must have marched day and night to get here ahead of the Khadorans,” frowned the Emperor. “Take me to them. We all need to rest before the coming battle.”

Myka nodded silently and banked hard to the right. Emperor Marak involuntarily flinched when a wall of solid rock suddenly appeared in front of them. The dragon snorted and banked more severely. Marak exhaled slowly as the face of the mountain sped by mere inches away. Moments later the dragon descended out of the clouds, and the warm glow of dawn surrounded them.

Marak knew that the close call with the mountain was intentional on the dragon’s part, but he felt that something was missing from the experience, although he could not put his finger on it. His eyes scanned the towering peaks while his mind probed his feelings of ill ease.

Minutes later, Myka thrust her wings straight and began circling over the southern pass. Marak looked down and saw the armies of the elves and the Chula. Warriors pointed skyward at the winged warrior, and excitement rippled through the armies as the warriors broke ranks and cleared a place for the dragon to land. The Torak gazed at Myka with a puzzling frown as the dragon broke out of her circling and glided towards the pass. His mouth opened to speak, but he halted before the words were formed.

As Myka landed in the pass, the elves and Chula bowed reverently to the winged warrior and the Torak. Emperor Marak slid off the dragon’s back as soon as they had landed. Marak’s father, Ukaro, strode towards the new arrivals with a grin on his face. He embraced the Torak with a smile and gently placed his hand on Myka’s scales.

“So,” Ukaro said humorously to the dragon, “you did not try to sneak up on us this time. You must be getting old.”

Myka did not respond, and the puzzled frown returned to the Torak’s face, but he did not have time to dwell upon the mystery. The leaders of the elves and the Chula quickly gathered around the Torak to hear about the reason for the visit.

“Will you be joining us for the coming battle?” asked King Avalar.

“Marak is a Chula,” declared Tmundo, chief of the Kywara tribe. “It is fitting that he join our ranks for the final battle.”

“Why have you come?” asked Princess Alastasia.

Marak gazed around at the gathering tribes and smiled broadly. It was the type of welcome he had come to expect, but it suddenly dawned on him that the extent of the warmth coming from these two diverse peoples was nothing short of love and admiration. It was not so much the thought that they were paying homage to the Torak, as they were embracing a true friend and family member.

“The elves and the Chula travel swiftly,” grinned Marak. “It would not do for you to beat the cavalries of Khadora to the battlefield. I have come to join you for the night while you rest your armies.”

“Then let us make camp here in the pass,” grinned Rykoma, the head shaman of the Kywara tribe.

Tmundo also grinned as he shouted out orders to make camp for the night. His boast of having to sit around and wait on the Khadorans was met with jubilation. Marak smiled broadly as he knew that the elves and Chula had marched long and hard to ensure that they did not miss the battle. He noticed the sighs of relief as the tribesmen began setting up campfires.

“You know that we would not start the attack without your armies,” Marak said softly as the elven king and princess joined the Chula shaman and chiefs in a wide circle around the first fire built.

“We understand that,” Ukaro nodded seriously, “but the first action may not be left up to us. It would be wise of Vand to attack us one group at a time if that were possible.”

“What of the eastern armies?” asked Princess Alastasia. “Will Rejji and Alahara be joining us?”

“They are coming,” the Torak nodded at the elven princess and then turned towards his father. “Premer Cardijja surrendered at the Valley of Bones. Your concern is valid, Ukaro. We must make sure that all of our armies are in position before the attack commences. Vand is only supposed to have fifty thousand men in his army, but I will not accept that as truth until after he is defeated. Vand has shown the capability of surprising us before. I do not intend to let him do that again.”