Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“The Sakovans attacked his fleet with hundreds of small ships,” answered the premer. “The small boats had some type of deadly harpoons that pierced the hulls of Doralin’s ships. Each ship that went down cost a thousand men. As for that happening to us, Khadora really has only one port on this coast, and that is Raven’s Point. Not only are there not a hundred ships in Raven’s Point, there are none with weapons attached to them. Besides, I have instructed the ship captains to sink any vessel approaching the fleet. Doralin’s people thought they were fishing boats and let them get too close.”

“You were wise to hide this from the men,” replied General Chen. “While our armies have the courage to face death in battle, sitting here exposed would have terrified them if they had known what had happened to Doralin. Your decision to go ahead with the attack makes perfect sense now.”

“Do not spread word of this until we make landfall, Chen,” warned the premer. “I have only shared this with you because I value your advice. You are the finest general in the Motangan army.”

* * *

The Khadoran bursar was finely attired in silk garments of the white and black colors of the Devon clan. He perused the merchandise only at the most expensive stalls in the marketplace of Khadoratung, and he did so at a leisurely pace. So it was of no surprise that the bursar would end up at the stall of an exclusive merchant situated in the middle of the last row. The merchant, Wendal, immediately sized up the bursar and watched with interest as the man approached.

“Good day to you,” greeted Wendal. “Looking for something in particular?”

“As a matter of fact I am,” nodded the bursar as he placed a large pouch on the table.

The jingle of gold was unmistakable to the merchant as the pouch hit the table. Wendal smiled broadly.

“What do you require?” Wendal asked.

“I am interest in BaGrec,” smiled he bursar.

“The finest artisan to have ever lived,” nodded Wendal. “His pieces are in great demand since he died. What piece are you looking for?”

“The three-legged horse sculpture,” smiled the bursar.

The merchant’s eyes immediately shifted left and right as he scanned the walkways around his stall. He deftly reached out and snared the pouch of gold. He hefted it as if to measure its worth before tucking it under his tunic.

“What would you like to know?” Wendal asked softly.

“Anything and everything about the coming invasion,” declared the bursar. “I am particularly curious about the recent buildings going up around the city.”

“It seems that Sakovan citizens are being relocated here,” replied Wendal. “Many have already arrived, but I understand that thousands are coming in the near future. Whole Sakovan cities are being emptied of the women and children.”

“What of the men?” asked the bursar.

“Only old men are arriving,” answered Wendal. “The fit have remained behind to fight the invaders.”

“And why are Khadoran soldiers working on the buildings?” prompted the bursar. “Where are the laborers?”

“They are far to the east,” replied Wendal. “They are building great trenches.”

“Trenches?” frowned the bursar. “Where and what for?”

“BaGrec’s works have become very expensive these days,” smiled Wendal. “They are in great demand.”

The bursar frowned heavily, but he placed another pouch on the table, which was immediately swept away by Wendal.

“The trenches are a feat that will be spoken about for years to come,” smiled Wendal. “They stretch for many leagues and are designed to impede the advance of the invaders. It is said that a man cannot jump them for they are too wide, but a horse can leap them easily.”

“Where exactly are they located?” asked the bursar.

“There are three that I know of,” replied the merchant. “They are concentric rings between the coast and the Khadora and Lituk Rivers. It is said that they run from the Kalatung Mountains clear to the Fortung Mountains.”

“What about roads across them?” asked the bursar. “Surely they have made places where wagons can pass over the trenches? Many estates would be isolated without some type of bridge.”

“There are three,” nodded the merchant, “but they will be destroyed if the enemy gets close. There is one near each end of the arc and one in the middle. An enemy that seized one of those bridges could entirely defeat the purpose of the trenches. It would be a shame to see such work go to waste.”

“What of the defenses at Raven’s Point?” asked the bursar.

“Those defense plans have been kept well guarded,” frowned Wendal, “but there have been observations that offer clues to what might happen. Of course, if there is an invasion, the value of BaGrec’s works will soar in value.”

“Enough,” the bursar said in a threatening tone as he placed another pouch of gold on the table.

Wendal smiled broadly as he swept the pouch away. “Thousands of mages are reported to be along the coast,” declared the merchant. “Practically every mage in Khadora is out there. The armies of the Imperial Valley are also on the move. Reports speak about traveling far to the east, but not all the way to the coast.”

“Held in reserve to defend a retreat?” frowned the bursar.

“I am not a military man,” shrugged Wendal, “but that would be my guess. It is curious that these troops are traveling so far, and yet the frontier troops have not been ordered to move at all. Especially since many of them are much closer to Raven’s Point.”

“That is curious,” admitted the bursar. “How solid is that information?”

“Very solid,” assured Wendal. “We get many visitors here in Khadoratung. Every frontier clan has been told to remain at home.”

“So the first line of defense is merely the coastal clans?” mused the bursar. “That sounds negligent.”

“Unless the mages plan some type of devastation of their own,” shrugged Wendal. “You do know that the mages have been schooled in battle magic?”

“I have heard,” nodded the bursar. “One last question. Where is the Emperor in all of this planning?”

“Of that I know little,” admitted Wendal. “I will venture a guess, but it is only a guess. Emperor Marak is known as the ultimate warrior by the Khadoran clans. I would expect him to be where the fighting is. He is not the type of Emperor to sit here in Khadoratung while the battle is raging elsewhere.”

The bursar nodded his head and left the stall. Only the most thorough observer would notice the man’s slight deformity. His left palm faced slightly forward when his arm was at his side.

The bursar of the Devon clan left the marketplace and entered the Wine Press Inn. He stood inside the door and scanned the common room before moving to take the seat in the far corner of the room. The bursar had not been sitting long before a black-cloaked man entered the common room. The new comer marched across the room and slid along the bench to sit right next to the bursar.

“Would you mind sitting elsewhere?” asked the bursar. “There are plenty of open seats available. I wish to be alone for my meal. I have much on my mind.”

“Actually,” said the black-cloaked man, “I was hoping to talk to you during the meal. I have something that might be of interest to the Devon clan.”

The innkeeper appeared to take the meal orders, and the black-cloaked man ordered two special wasooki steak meals and a bottle of expensive wine. The innkeeper smiled broadly, and the bursar frowned in confusion, but he nodded his acceptance.

“What is of so much interest to the Devon clan that you must disturb my meal?” asked the bursar after the innkeeper had left.