Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“I thought you got lost,” commented Elly. “Here is a fresh cup of tea.”

“Thank you,” smiled Fisher. “I probably should be getting to bed soon. Won’t the tea keep you awake?”

“Not really,” shrugged Elly, “but I should go to bed soon, too. Father probably wouldn’t like to see me up this late. He worries that I will get sick. You know how fathers can be sometimes, even if you are old enough to marry.”

“I sure do,” Fisher lied. “I enjoyed talking to you. Maybe I will sneak back some night and do it again.”

“That would be fun,” grinned Elly. “Come earlier next time.”

Elly let Fisher out the back door and then locked it. He was just about to round the corner of the mansion when he heard the horses riding in from the road beyond the estate.

“It sounds like father has arrived,” Elly smiled as she stuck her head out of the window. “Good night, Scarab.”

“Good night, Elly,” smiled Fisher.

The spy moved around the corner of the mansion and hugged the building, hoping that none of the soldiers escorting the lord would come around to the rear of the mansion. He remained frozen for what seemed an eternity, but the estate finally returned to silence. Fisher walked calmly in the open until he reached the fields. Once he was concealed, he ran as if his life depended upon his speed.

The dragon circled over the half-destroyed city, the early morning light casting long shadows from the few buildings left standing. Most of the wooden structures in Duran had been burned to the ground during the earlier Motangan invasion, but the stone structures were still intact. It was in the stone structures that the soldiers slept and the perishables were kept. The rest of Duran consisted of piles of burnt debris and crates of supplies waiting to be picked up and ferried to the invading armies. The Torak gazed down on the enemy supply depot and searched for signs of sentries. He saw none.

“They are not early risers,” Emperor Marak declared. “We need to find the mage first. I do not want word of the attack to reach the Island of Darkness.”

“Can Myka get us down there without being seen or heard?” asked the Star of Sakova.

“Just give the word,” replied the dragon. “I can glide along the base of the Wall of Mermidion. Any sentries awake would be more likely to keep a close eye on the sea.”

“Let’s do it,” urged the Torak. “I prefer to be on the ground before they wake up.”

“Hmmph,” snorted the dragon. “Some day you will eat those words. There is no better place to command a battle than on the back of a winged warrior.”

“I will stay with Myka,” volunteered Lyra. “I have no reason for close contact with the enemy. You flush them out into the open, Marak, and I will deal with them.”

“The Star of Sakova understands,” grinned the dragon as she quietly touched down at the base of the cliffs. “Enter the rat holes and chase out the prey, Torak. We will be waiting above you.”

Marak slid off the dragon without comment. He did not bother to turn around and watch the dragon leap into the air. He pulled the Sword of Torak from its sheath and headed for the first stone building.

The first stone building was a mill, and Marak approached with his long, black, sinuous blade held before him. He peered through the window and saw two Motangan soldiers sleeping. Silently he made his way to the door and crept into the small building. His eyes swept the dark corners of the room before moving to stand over the two Motangans. His first swing decapitated one of the sleeping soldiers. The other soldier woke as blood splattered onto his body, but Marak drove the Sword of Torak through the man’s heart before the Motangan realized what was happening. The Torak moved on.

Stone buildings dotted the old city. Some of them used to house smiths and trade shops, but one was much larger than the rest. It was the headquarters of the Imperial Guards. The building was the most likely place to find the mage, but it was also where Marak was apt to find a large concentration of enemy soldiers. He moved cautiously to a window and peered inside.

The room had piles of cloth covering crates, which were stacked half way to the ceiling. Marak could not see any Motangans in the room. Sheathing his sword, the Torak climbed in the window and quietly lowered himself to the floor. He padded softly to the door and eased it open. Beyond the door was a large entry foyer with several soldiers sleeping on the floor. A number of other doors lined the opposite wall, and there was a staircase leading to the next level. Marak frowned at the possibility of finding the mage without waking any of the soldiers, but he had to try. Maintaining the secrecy surrounding Duran was vital to his plans.

Marak slid out of the room and closed the door. He moved silently to the stairs and slowly started climbing them. He was half way up the stairs when movement on the upper floor caught his eye. He froze.

Marak saw the swirl of a black cloak as the mage closed a door and locked it. The Torak slowly and silently took several Sakovan stars from his pouch as he waited for the mage to move towards the top of the stairs where he would get a decent shot at him.

“Intruder!” shouted a voice behind Emperor Marak.

The Torak whirled around and saw a soldier drawing his sword. The other five soldiers were quickly leaving their slumber behind and scrambling to their feet. Sounds of cursing and running were audible over his head, and Marak knew that it was time to leave the building as quickly as he could.

The Torak raced down the stairs, the first Sakovan star already sailing through the air. It impacted the shouting soldier just above the nose, the man teetering slightly before falling to the floor. Two other soldiers were already to their feet and drawing their swords. Marak sent two Sakovan stars flying towards the men. He struck one Motangan in the forehead, but the other man had moved too quickly.

Marak drew his sword as he raced for the front door of the building. He wanted to look over his shoulder to see who was coming after him, but he could not afford to with four soldiers before him. He charged directly at the man who already was armed. The Motangan tensed and took a defensive stance, his sword held before him. Marak jogged to one side at the last minute, swinging his long two-handed sword at the Motangan. The enemy’s sword clattered to the floor, with the man’s hand still gripping the hilt.

The Torak charged into another man who was fumbling for his sword. He knocked the soldier over and raced out the front door. Once out of the building, the Torak immediately moved to the right so that he was not visible to the mage. He heard someone shouting instructions to the soldiers and figured that it was either an officer or the mage. He wasn’t sure which, but the orders made up Marak’s mind as to how to proceed with the battle. They wanted him alive.

There was a large plaza across from the building with a well in the center of it, and Marak raced towards it. There were soldiers pouring out of buildings everywhere he looked. Marak stopped in the center of the plaza and leaned his sword against the well. He stood with his naked hands in plain view as soldiers poured out of the headquarters building.

None of the soldiers were in a hurry to attack Marak. In fact, none of them entered the plaza. They surrounded the plaza and drew their swords, waiting for the command to attack. The Torak turned slowly as he memorized the position of the groups surrounding him. Marak heard loud arguing coming from the headquarters building, and he tried to hear what was being said. A moment later, two men emerged from the building. One was an officer, and the other was the black-cloaked mage.