Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“Three hundred thousand?” echoed Lord Kiamesh. “That is far greater than the combined armies of Omunga and the Sakova. Didn’t the Omungans only have forty thousand men?”

“They had forty thousand men in four large national armies,” nodded the Torak. “They also had city garrisons of several thousand each, but your point is well taken. The Sakovans are badly outnumbered. I should point out that there are still seven hundred thousand men on the Island of Darkness. A portion of those will be coming to Khadora. I suspect that four to five hundred thousand will be allocated to fight against us. We will also be badly outnumbered.”

“The largest armies that we have are the Fakarans,” frowned Lord Kiamesh, “yet there is nothing there for Vand to plunder. Still, he would have to allocate at least three hundred thousand to Fakara to be assured of victory. That means that we are more likely to face four hundred thousand in Khadora than five.”

“I cannot fault your reasoning,” nodded Emperor Marak. “The real danger is even worse. If Vand can quickly crush either the Sakovans or the Fakarans, his armies allocated to those countries can flank us by coming over the mountains.”

“Which is why you want the frontier estates left intact,” interjected Lord Quilo. “That makes perfect sense now. They are our buffer against a surprise flanking movement.”

“Precisely,” nodded Marak, “but there will come a time when we are forced to use them.”

“Thus your conflict with sending the Chula to aid the Sakovans,” nodded Lord Faliman. “In essence, they will be helping us no matter where they fight, but we must decide where they will be the most effective.”

* * *

The Star of Sakova had a fitful night that was not very restful. Besides the nightmares, every strange sound awakened her. She knew that her nerves were on edge with the impending invasion, so she decided to give up on sleeping. She wandered out of the Imperial Guard headquarters where she had been given a room. The streets were empty and the city was quiet. She saw solders upon the wall that surrounded the city and assumed that others were patrolling the waterfront.

Lyra wandered the streets of Alamar with no particular destination in mind. Her mind wandered as erratically as her feet did. Images of her youth flashed through her mind, suddenly replaced with the sights and sounds of ancient Angragar. She remembered her first journey into the Sakova with her friends Syman and Antello, who had grown to become full-fledged Sakovans. Visions of her entire life passed through her head, but her thoughts always returned to Marak. No matter how much she tried to put him out of her mind and concentrate on other things, his smiling face always ended up stuck in her mind.

“You are going to wear those boots out,” came a friendly voice from the shadow. “Can’t sleep?”

“Uncle Temiker,” smiled Lyra. “I guess there is too much on my mind to sleep this night.”

“Uncle?” chuckled the old mage. “I haven’t been called that in a while. I thought you would be thinking about the coming battle, but it sounds like your mind is in the past. What is bothering you?”

“I’m not sure,” Lyra admitted. “My mind has been wandering all night, but it always comes back to Marak.”

“You like him a lot, don’t you?” asked Temiker.

“I love him,” smiled Lyra, “but that hardly matters. It is a love that can never be. Perhaps if we had met in another place or another time, we would have a happy life together, but this war will tear us apart.”

“The odds are against any of us living through this war,” shrugged Temiker, “but those are just odds. People have beaten the odds before. Besides, you have Kaltara. You haven’t lost your faith, have you?”

“Certainly not,” Lyra shook her head vigorously.

“Well,” smiled the mage, “you are special in Kaltara’s eyes. If anyone survives this war it will be you and Marak.”

“That is where you are wrong,” frowned Lyra. “We have been chosen by Kaltara and given positions of great responsibility, but we are merely tools of Kaltara. We are the instruments to revive the people’s faith in God. Our task is almost over.”

“You think Kaltara is using you?” frowned Temiker.

“Of course He is,” nodded Lyra. “Do not take my words in the wrong sense. I am not feeling abused by God. I am thrilled to be His tool for the betterment of the world, but I also understand and accept my place in that world. The Three are to rid the world of Vand and to bring the people back to Kaltara. We will succeed in doing that, although I question how much of the world will survive the destruction that is coming to us. My thoughts go beyond that day of final triumph. Marak, Rejji, and I will be held up by the people of the world as saviors. We understand that we are not special, but the people will not understand that. They will want to worship us instead of Kaltara. That is not right, and it must not be allowed.”

“So what will stop that from happening?” asked Temiker.

“What else could cause it not to happen?” Lyra shrugged as tears welled up in her eyes. “Can’t you foresee what must happen? We must be sacrificed for the good of the world.”

“Preposterous,” scowled Temiker. “Put that nonsense out of your head immediately. Kaltara would not kill you for being His faithful servant. What kind of reward is that?”

“Our reward is in serving Him,” replied Lyra. “You do not understand. None of us will object to the sacrifice. We will all go willingly. Kaltara knows this. It is not my life that I will miss; I will miss the life with Marak that is never to be.”

“Where do I go to protest the deeds of Kaltara?” grumbled Temiker. “I cannot conceive of such treatment for the Three. I will not let it happen.”

“Don’t be silly,” smiled Lyra. “You cannot dictate terms to God.”

Lyra didn’t notice right away, but she had lost Temiker’s attention. The old mage had turned towards the waterfront and was sniffing the air. Lyra frowned at his sudden lack of attention.

“Have you been listening to me?” asked the Star of Sakova.

“Smell the air, Lyra,” urged the old mage. “This fog that is creeping in is unnatural.”

Lyra raised her nose and inhaled deeply. Deep furrows etched her flawless brow.

“It is the Motangans,” she said softly. “The boy Kenda from Duran spoke of an eerie morning fog before the city was attacked. The enemy is offshore and getting ready to unleash their evil. The Time of Cleansing has arrived.”

“We must rouse the city,” Temiker declared urgently. “I will gather the mages; you wake the soldiers. Tell everyone to remain quiet. We must not let the Motangans know that we are awake.”

Lyra nodded and ran off. Temiker entered the schoolhouse and started waking the mages. Within an hour the entire city was awake and quietly moving to their stations. By that time the sky was beginning to lighten, but the unnatural fog persisted.

Lyra stood on the roof of the Imperial Guard headquarters. LifeTender stood at her right hand and ValleyBreeze her left. The Star of Sakova gazed to her right where General Manitow stood with his advisors and a small group of mages who could cast the air tunnel spell. She waited patiently for the general to signal that his troops were ready.

“We are set,” General Manitow declared. “Show us the enemy.”

Lyra nodded to the two mages beside her who immediately gave a signal to the other mages lining the waterfront. Hundreds of mages simultaneously cast the same spell, and the wind started to flow eastward. Within moments the wind was roaring out to sea and carrying the unnatural fog with it. Gasps echoed all over the city as the Motangan armada was revealed. The ships had been sitting quietly offshore, their sails slack from the lack of wind. The Sakovans stared out at two hundred monstrous vessels sitting offshore.