Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

Fisher desperately wanted to know what the army of the dead was, but asking it directly would surely raise more suspicions.

“Do you think enough Khadorans could have survived to outnumber the army of the dead?” Aki asked.

“Inconceivable,” Savesto shook his head. “I don’t think there were a half million Khadorans to begin with.”

“Well I hope the Khadorans kill a good portion of them,” one of the other soldiers said softly. “I don’t mind saying that I feel ill having those dead skeletons around me.”

“You may not mind saying it,” warned Savesto, “but you will lose your tongue if you say it anywhere away from this campfire. Keep your thoughts to yourself lad.”

“He’s right, though,” added another soldier. “Why do you think Tzargo ordered them back into the city of Vandegar? All of our men were getting jittery with them around. No doubt he was worried about desertions.”

“That’s enough,” bellowed Savesto as he glanced at Aki to gauge his reaction to the comments.”

“I agree with them,” Aki said softly to Savesto. “Their words will not pass my lips if that is what you are worried about.”

Savesto grinned and nodded as he poured more coffee into Aki’s mug.

“You are alright, Aki,” he declared. “You are welcome to join our group out here if you wish. It is about the safest place in the encampment.”

“I would like that,” smiled Aki. “I will have to return to the temple occasionally just to make sure that Tzargo is not looking for me, but the rest of the time I would be pleased to spend here with men like you.”

* * *

Thousands of Khadorans in blue and green uniforms snaked through the forest below the Fortung Mountains. The soldiers of the Aritor clan were impressive upon their war steeds, but they were only the vanguard of the Khadoran army. The column that wound back through the forest, up the mountainside, and through the pass, was a rainbow of colors. Every clan in Khadora was represented by their finest fighters, and the column stretched over many leagues.

Lord Faliman, leader of the Aritor clan and member of the Lords’ Council, led the procession. On his left rode Lord Marshal Stanton of the Aritor clan, and on his right rode a solitary figure in the orange and yellow of the Balomar clan. The plumes upon his helm denoted that he was the marshal of the Balomar clan. That man was Marshal Berman, and he had been chosen to lead the Khadorans into battle.

“The forest will end soon,” Marshal Berman declared. “I want the Aritor troops to set up a perimeter for the rest of the army.”

“You intend to halt the advance early in the day?” questioned Lord Marshal Stanton.

“I do,” nodded Marshal Berman. “When we exit this forest, our forces will spread out in a wide line. We cannot afford to have troops leagues behind us. We also cannot afford for the enemy to flank us. We will make camp here until all of the clans have congregated.”

“The Lords’ Council assured me that the Aritor clan would lead the charge,” asserted Lord Faliman. “Are you suggesting that my troops will merely be part of the line?”

“I think that is best,” sighed Marshal Berman, “but I serve at the pleasure of the Emperor and the Lords’ Council. If the Lords’ Council has promised you the vanguard, I will yield to their decision, but the rest of the clans will line up as I command. Lord Marshal, if you would direct the clans as they arrive so that our camps stretch out evenly to the left and right of our current position, I would be most grateful.”

“As you command, Marshal Berman,” saluted the Lord Marshal.

“I am going to take a short ride in each direction to view the lay of the land,” declared Marshal Berman.

The Balomar marshal turned and rode out of the forest.

“Uppity for a marshal, isn’t he?” remarked Lord Faliman.

“He is,” agreed Lord Marshal Stanton, “but I hear he has good reason to be. His leadership in the prior battles has been admirable.”

“And he has been a favorite of Emperor Marak’s since the battle at the Balomar estate before all of this invasion nonsense started,” replied Lord Faliman, “but I still think you would have been a far better choice to lead this invasion.”

“I am pleased by your words, Lord Faliman,” smiled Stanton, “and I must admit that it grates at me to take orders from a simple marshal, but I can find no fault with Berman’s reasoning nor his orders so far.”

“Then you think this delay is necessary?” asked Lord Faliman.

“I do,” nodded Stanton. “I merely posed the question to Berman to hear his justification. If I may be so bold as to speak frankly?”

“Of course,” nodded the Aritor lord.

“I also think it is unwise for the Aritor clan to be out in front of the line,” Stanton declared. “If the whole line is attacked, our forward position will cause chaos and confusion as we try to retreat into the line. I believe that Marshal Berman was wise to question your request.”

“I doubt that fifty thousand Motangans are going to come out of that ancient temple to attack us,” retorted Lord Faliman. “We are almost as numerous as they are, and we are mounted. More likely they will drop their weapons and run for their lives, and our biggest worry will be tracking them all down.”

“Our prior engagements with the Motangans have not shown any propensity towards cowardice,” countered Lord Marshal Stanton. “I think the Motangans will not only stand and fight, but to win they must use a superior strategy. It is only my opinion.”

“And I value your opinion,” sighed Lord Faliman, “but there are other consideration at play here.”

“Such as?” asked the lord marshal.

“I am the newest member of the Lords’ Council,” replied Lord Faliman. “All of the others were present when Lord Marak was made Emperor of Khadora. As such, they have a much closer bond with our Emperor. I must have some victory of my own to gain the prestige that the other lords have. That is why I requested the vanguard. To abandon it now that the council has acceded to my wishes would be unacceptable.”

“It would smack of cowardice,” agreed Lord Marshal Stanton. “I understand completely. We will make you proud in the coming battle, Lord Faliman. You can depend on us.”

“I know that I can,” smiled the Aritor lord. “Tomorrow will be a glorious day for the Aritor clan.”

Not far away, hidden in the trees of the forest, a black-hooded man smiled inwardly as he stealthily moved away from the congregating armies of Khadora. He ran quietly though the trees for over an hour before coming to a small camp. Sitting around the small camp were twelve other black-hooded men, and they all looked up in anticipation as the runner entered the clearing.

“The attack will be tomorrow,” the spy stated. “Their forces will be arrayed in a long line with only the Aritor clan out in front. Some of them are not expecting much of a fight.”

“Then they will be greatly surprised,” smiled Pakar.

“Have you discovered anything about the Chula and the elves?” the spy asked.

“Indeed,” nodded Pakar. “Look up in the sky to our south.”

The spy moved to get a clear view of the southern sky and saw a dragon circling the summit of the mountains. Although it was at a great distance, he could also detect a man riding atop the dragon.

“That would be the Torak,” Pakar answered the unspoken question, “and he is not circling the pass because he is alone. He is surveying the other half of his army.”

“Are we sure it is the Chula and the elves?” asked the spy.

“It can be nothing else,” declared Pakar. “Both the elves and the Chula are well versed in magic, so none of us are foolish enough to get any closer. You may if you wish, but I am convinced.”