Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“They might not even be alarmed if the ships are missing,” General Didyk interjected. “If no crewman survives to give details, there are many possibilities for missing ships. They could have sunk, returned to Motanga, or gone to Duran for supplies. I think the plan has great merit.”

“And we could use the ships to ferry civilians to Khadora,” added General Manitow. “What have we got to lose?”

“Our people,” frowned Lyra as she shook her head. “How many people are in on this scheme?”

“I have over a hundred volunteers,” replied Chargo. “I could easily get more if I need them. These fishermen are not warriors, Lyra. They will be of no use tromping through the forests fighting the Motangans. This is a way that they can contribute, a way to strike back at the Motangans. They all understand that they might die in the attempt, but they still want to do it. All we need is your blessing.”

“And how will we contact you?” asked the Star of Sakova. “Not one of you can weave an air tunnel. We will never know if you succeeded or died trying.”

“I will go with them,” volunteered Temiker. “I assure you that I can weave an air tunnel.”

Lyra stared at her uncle with disbelief. “You really feel that strongly about this?” she asked.

“I am an old man, Lyra,” smiled Temiker. “I may still be able to wield the power, but I do not look forward to a long campaign of running through the forests. Besides, I think it will demoralize the enemy. We must continue to do what is not expected. I also think there are innumerable uses for a Motangan ship. We can infiltrate their navy. We can impersonate Motangans. We can transport people or supplies, and if need be, we can attack.”

“What if Duran is guarded?” asked the Star of Sakova.

“We will have uniforms from the crewmen that we kill,” answered Chargo. “We will pretend to be from Doralin and tell them that we have come for supplies. We will even let them help us with the loading,” he added with a grin.

“You both are incorrigible,” Lyra smiled as she shook her head. “You have my permission, Chargo, with one condition.”

“Anything,” smiled the sailor.

“Make sure that my uncle is not hurt,” stated Lyra. “The Sakovans still have a need for such old men.”

“He will not be hurt,” Chargo promised excitedly.

Chargo and Temiker left the farmhouse to plan their mission. Lyra watched them leave and then turned her attention to the map.

“How do we get the Motangans to come towards us after they have rested?” asked Lyra.

“You need not worry about that,” replied General Didyk. “They want to come after us. This war is not about gaining territory. They seek to annihilate us. They have to come after us.”

“Then let’s start planning a reception for them,” responded the Star of Sakova. “Who wants to be first to present ideas?”

Premer Doralin sat at the long table in the dining room of Temiker’s schoolhouse in Alamar. It was one of the few buildings in the city that had somehow managed to withstand the bombardment unscathed. General Valatosa stood before the premer, looking rather uncomfortable.

“All I know is that the report was from a mage spy that Clarvoy managed to insert into one of my armies,” scowled the premer. “If it wasn’t so obvious that the mage had died before finishing his report, I would be hunting for him right now.”

“You should avoid saying such things,” advised the general. “I know how you feel about the mages, but they do have a voice that reaches to the Emperor. It is unwise to vocalize your feelings about them.”

“Your warning has been noted,” sighed Doralin. “Valatosa, I need your help. These Sakovans are a wily bunch, and the other generals do not recognize that.”

“Wily?” frowned the general. “In what way?”

“In every way possible,” replied the premer. “Do you think it is purely accidental that there is not a scrap of food in this entire city, yet there are stockpiles of ale? I should be pushing towards Breele to keep the Sakovans off balance; instead I have a city full of drunken soldiers. This is no accident. The Sakovans have planned well for this invasion.”

“The ale is a problem,” agreed the general, “but I am not sure that I agree totally with your assessment. We took Alamar in one day. If the Sakovans had planned well, we would still be trying to get ashore.”

“Would we?” the premer asked skeptically. “I don’t think the Sakovans want to fight us in the city. I think they plan to lure us into remote terrain that only they have any knowledge of. Look at this map Clarvoy supplied. It shows exacting details of every city, village, and road in the entire country, but what do you see in the center of it all?”

“Nothing,” shrugged Valatosa. “It is all forest. What is there to chart?”

“How about individual mountain passes?” prompted the premer. “Rivers? Lakes? Where is this famed StarCity? There is nothing in the center of this map.”

“Over the past few years,” responded General Valatosa, “when it was clear what sector I would be assigned to, I made a point of reading everything I could about Omunga, as the country was called at that time. It consisted only of the coastal cities. The interior of the country was a void, as it is on this map. It was known as the Sakova, but no one dared to enter it. Omungans who tried to were never heard from again. I can well expect the same held true for Clarvoy’s spies. I am troubled somewhat by a lack of geographic features, but I think we can overcome that deficit.”

“We have read the same reports,” replied Premer Doralin, “but I do not share your optimism. I know when I am being lured into a trap, yet I truly have no say in the matter. The Sakovans have retreated into their heartland. We must follow them.”

“Agreed,” nodded the general. “What help is it that you require from me?”

“I want your army to be more than the spearhead,” answered the premer. “I want your men to be my eyes and ears within the other armies.”

“That is highly irregular,” frowned the general. “My men are not trained to spy on others. They are elite warriors.”

“Understood,” sighed Doralin. “I am not asking for spies. I am asking that they merely let me know what is happening in a general sense. Take this ale problem for example. I noticed that only your men refused to imbibe in the free ale this evening.”

“I would not tolerate it,” frowned General Valatosa. “My men know that.”

“Exactly,” nodded Doralin. “And if I had known about the problem early enough, I could have prevented the other armies from indulging. That is the type of information that I am looking for. Have your men be alert for these wily tricks of the Sakovans. Have them notify me when something is amiss. That is all that I am asking for.”

“I have no problem with that,” agreed the general. “I do question your pessimism in regards to the Sakovans though. I do not see them as being clever. The lack of details on the maps is logical. As for the ale, why would they cart it through the forests with them when they were forced to flee? I think the Sakovans hold no more surprises for us.”

Several blocks away from Temiker’s schoolhouse, where the premer and the general were talking, the Maritako River ran through the city of Alamar. At that very moment, in the dark of night, small boats of various designs were floating down the river and through the city. Were anyone to glance upon the boats, they would have appeared empty, but a closer inspection would have revealed Sakovan fishermen in the bottom of the vessels covered by dark tarps.

As the river carried the fishing boats into the sea, the fisherman rose from their concealment. They hoisted their sails only far enough to catch the gentle breeze required to propel the crafts to the large ships off the coast. The small boats scattered over a wide area and then, using signals to select their quarry, converged on a small fleet of behemoths that appeared undamaged.