Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“And the king is riding with us to spy on us?” posed Jaker.

“I don’t think so,” replied Harmagan. “He has no need to spy himself. He has many under his command that could do that for him. I suspect that he wants to completely heal the rift between the tribes. Maybe this is his way of doing that.”

“Alright,” conceded Niger, “but what about the half day rides? He says that is to allow Scarab time to spy, but the free tribes have been doing half days since the Valley of Bones.”

“Now that is a true mystery,” granted Harmagan. “I want you two to filter through the camps of the free tribes and find out what you can. No Fakaran horseman rides half days when a battle is ensured at the end of the trail. There is a reason for the king’s pace, and he has not yet revealed it to us. I want to know his secret.”

“You can count on us,” grinned Niger as he and Jaker rose eagerly from the campfire.

Fisher dismounted at the western edge of the woods and set his horse free. He did not intend to ride into the enemy encampment, and the sight of a free horse roaming the plains would cause a curiosity that he preferred not to happen. It was still a long walk to Vandegar, but the sun would be setting soon. If he encountered no difficulties and kept up a decent pace, the spy could be in Vandegar when the sun rose in the morning.

Fisher stripped off his Jiadin disguise and pulled a Motangan uniform from his pack. He had last used the uniform on the Island of Darkness and it was in good shape. He rolled his Jiadin clothes up and shoved them to the bottom of the pack in case anyone wanted to give a cursory inspection of his belongings. Attired as a Motangan soldier, the spy stepped out of the forest and headed westward.

For the first several hours, Fisher’s mind wandered. He walked through the dark wondering what he would find in Vandegar, but when his musings turned to thoughts about whether or not he would survive the coming incursion, Fisher knew that he was in trouble. One lesson that the spy had learned early in his career was never to go into a situation doubting the successful conclusion of the mission. To achieve success in such a daring profession, there could be no room for doubt.

Fisher immediately forced his concentration towards the brightest image of his future, and soon a broad smile played across his lips. An image sprang into his mind that brought joy to his heart. It was the image of Elly, the daughter of Lord Chenowith. He remembered the night that they had met when he posed as a Walkan soldier. The young woman had let him into the mansion and served him tea. At the time Fisher was only interested in stealing some secret papers of the previous emperor of Khadora, but the spy soon found many excuses to return to the Walkan mansion, and a fond romance had blossomed with Lord Chenowith’s daughter.

Fisher promised himself that when this war was over, he would return and ask for Elly’s hand in marriage. And that, Fisher realized, was the heart of his problem. The Khadoran spy had never had anything to live for previously. It was that very lack of desire to live that had made him so effective. He took chances that other men would never think of taking, and his boldness paid off handsomely, but now he had a very strong reason to live, and his thoughts returned to wondering if he would survive the journey to Vandegar. Fisher cursed inwardly as fear started to build up inside him, yet his feet never faltered. He continued marching westward through the dark night towards his destiny.

The sky lightened with a predawn glow as Fisher reached the eastern edge of the Motangan encampment. The enemy sentries were few, and they were spread out over a great distance. The spy altered his course slightly and casually walked towards an early morning campfire. If any of the sentries were alert enough to have seen him, they did not raise an alarm.

Most of the camp was still asleep, but Fisher intentionally headed towards a small group of soldiers who were up early having a morning coffee. They gave him a quizzical look as he walked into their midst.

“Can you spare a cup?” asked Fisher. “There is a bit of chill this morning.”

“There is a bit of chill every morning,” quipped a burly soldier. “Who are you?”

“Aki,” smiled the spy. “What’s your name?”

“The name is Savesto,” replied the burly man with suspicion, “but I have never seen you before. When did you join us? Who do you serve under?”

“I have been here about a month,” lied Aki. “I was originally assigned to Premer Cardijja, but he sent me here with a message last month. Premer Tzargo has been using me for odd tasks ever since. I feel like a fish out of water here.”

“Where are you camped?” asked another soldier.

“That is part of the problem,” sighed Aki. “I don’t even have a tent of my own. I spend most nights curled up in a corner inside the temple, but I can’t stand it in there any more. Most of the men inside the temple do not believe in bathing and the foul stench permeates the air. I came out for an early walk just to breath some clean air.”

The Motangan soldiers laughed heartily, and Savesto slapped Aki on the back and handed him a mug of coffee.

“And we thought we had it hard out here,” laughed Savesto. “We moved our tent as far away from the rest of the camp as we dared for just the same reason.”

“Won’t Tzargo be looking for you to run errands?” asked one of the Motangan soldiers.

“Probably not,” shrugged Aki as he sipped his coffee. “He hasn’t had anything for me to do in the last week. Perhaps he has forgotten that I exist.”

“One can only hope,” smiled Savesto.

Aki downed the warm coffee and extended his arm to get a refill. He was extremely thirsty from the long dry walk and the coffee went down easily. As he waited for Savesto to pour more coffee he noticed one of the other soldiers rise with concern on his face.

“You do not bear the mark of the hellsoul,” he said accusingly to Aki.

Aki’s eyes flicked left and right and saw the small mark on each of the men’s wrists. A tremor started to race through his body, and the spy sought to suppress it. All eyes around the campfire were glaring at him.

“No, I don’t,” Aki admitted calmly.

“How can that be?” Savesto asked with suspicion. “You said that you have been here for a month, and it has not been that long since the rites were given. It was required of everyone.”

“I must have been on one of Tzargo’s errands,” Aki shrugged. “In any event, no one has ordered me to submit to it, and I am not about to volunteer. Would any of you have participated if it was not required?”

Savesto’s stern face softened, and he smiled once again.

“You are one lucky man, Aki,” Savesto said. “I know that we are supposed to be thrilled to rise from the dead to once again serve the Emperor, but I personally find it distasteful. If I am struck down in battle, I would just as soon die.”

“That’s the truth of it,” nodded one of the other soldiers. “I wonder if there is any way to get rid of it?”

“If there is,” interjected another soldier, “we won’t find it in the next two days, and by then it will be too late. I heard that the Khadorans will be here within two days. This waiting to fight is almost over for us.”

“We will probably never even see any action,” retorted Savesto. “The Khadorans have to get through the army of the dead before they reach us, and there can’t be that many of them left after Shamal’s invasion.”

“And even if they manage to get through the army of the dead,” offered another soldier, “we are the easternmost part of the camp. The Khadorans will come from the west, and all would have to be lost before we end up fighting.”