Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“The Devon clan no longer exists,” smiled the hooded man. “They were wiped out by the Vessi during the Jiadin invasion. I would not have expected the great Clarvoy to be so ignorant of such a thing, but then your mind is more on future events these days.”

The facial expressions of the bursar changed rapidly. First came concern, and then fear. The fear changed to determination, but quickly succumbed to disbelief, and finally to pain and shock. His hand rose threateningly as he turned to stare at the man next to him, but it dropped limp by his side a second later.

“A pity that you must leave us so quickly,” the hooded man said softly. “I would have loved to interrogate you, but I dare not take the chance against your magic.”

The hooded man calmly slid along the bench and stood. He left the poisoned knife sticking in the bursar’s side and moved nonchalantly out of the inn as Clarvoy’s head fell to the table before him, his eyes wide open in the stare of death.

Outside the inn, the hooded man slipped into the alley alongside the building. After checking the alley to make sure that no one was around, he stripped off the black cloak and stuffed it in his pack. Before the first shout of murder emanated from the Wine Press Inn, Fisher was dressed in an Imperial Guard uniform. He moved out of the alley and quickly responded to the call for help.

* * *

The fleet of skimmers rose and fell on the heavy swells, salt spray covering the two sailors in each craft. Kruffel, a crusty old fisherman from the Fakaran city of Ghala, led the fleet of a hundred small, fast, attack vessels. The heavy seas had been unexpected and had resulted in the force missing an opportunity to attack the Motangans before they unloaded in Meliban. Kruffel was determined to strike a blow against the Motangans, but not by sinking empty ships anchored outside Meliban. He led his group further westward in a relentless dash to reach the Motangan fleet heading for Khadora.

“This is mad, Kruffel,” complained his partner. “We have no idea where the Khadora-bound fleet is. You cannot drive these men like this. You will exhaust them.”

“They are between here and Raven’s Point somewhere, Dasra,” retorted Kruffel. “We will find them.”

“If any of our men survive,” scowled Dasra. “These boats were not built for heavy seas. We have almost lost one already, and the seas are getting worse. Give it up.”

“Give it up?” balked Kruffel. “How can you say such a thing? And your being from Raven’s Point yourself. It is your home that these Motangans will be invading. How can those words come out of your mouth?”

“If I thought we had any chance of success,” replied Dasra, “the words would not have been spoken. This is a hopeless gamble that will only result in the deaths of our men.”

“Our men are already dead,” snarled Kruffel. “We failed to attack the Fakaran-bound fleet. Three hundred thousand foreigners are already on Fakaran soil. I will not let this opportunity escape us completely.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dasra sighed with compassion. “We left port as soon as the word was given. No one expected these heavy seas. Do not blame yourself, and do not kill our men just because the weather conspired against us. It just was not meant to be.”

“I should have pressed the men harder,” replied Kruffel. “We might have been able to catch the tail end of the Motangan fleet.”

“No, Kruffel,” Dasra shook his head. “We were far too late for that. There was nothing that you or anyone else could have done. Turn the fleet around and take us home.”

“Home is where I am taking you,” Kruffel replied defiantly. “We are much closer to Raven’s Point than we are to Angragar. You are from Raven’s Point, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Dasra sighed with frustration, “but my home will not exist by the time we get there. No one expects anything to be left standing in Raven’s Point after the Motangans pass through. It will not even be safe for us to land there. Our men will be killed for sure.”

“We all understood that we would probably die in this endeavor,” shrugged Kruffel. “Death will not be what defeats us. Do not fear it. Failure is what must be feared, for our failure to strike a blow against the Motangans will doom thousands upon thousands of our countrymen. I will not turn back as long as there is any possibility of catching the other Motangan fleet.”

“Nor would I,” conceded Dasra, “but this is ridiculous. The Motangans would have to have stopped the fleet in the middle of the ocean for us to catch up to them. Why can’t you understand that?”

An excited shout from one of the other boats interrupted the discussion. Kruffel waited impatiently for his boat to top the next swell. When his boat finally rose high on the sea, Kruffel swore with excitement.

“Drop your sails,” Kruffel shouted loudly to the skimmers around him. “Do not let the Motangans see us. Pass the word on.”

“I don’t believe it,” Dasra said in amazement. “Why would they do such a thing? They are sitting limp in the water. It makes no sense, no sense at all.”

“Perhaps there is more to Kaltara than you are willing to admit,” grinned Kruffel. “They sure looked like Motangan ships to me. Nothing else is anywhere near that size.”

“They are definitely Motangan,” agreed Dasra, “but it still makes no sense. Do you really believe in Kaltara?”

“I haven’t until now,” admitted Kruffel. “Oh, I admit that I get to thinking about it, what with everyone speaking so much about it, but I have had trouble believing in miracles. Now though? It sure is strange that the Motangans stopped and waited for us. It certainly is not something that I would ever have done. It is as if God is intervening to make our lives worthwhile.”

“What will we do now?” asked Dasra. “We cannot just sit here with our sails down.”

“The Sakovan skimmers got in trouble because they were sighted early,” replied Kruffel. “I will not make the same mistake. We will wait until nightfall before attacking.”

“What if the Motangans leave before then?” frowned Dasra.

“I reckon that we are still a day out of Raven’s Point,” answered Kruffel. “Even if the Motangans left right now, we could catch them before they make landfall. We will wait for the darkness. Throw lines to the nearest skimmers. We need to raft together, or we will become too separated without sails to maneuver.”

The skimmer rose on another swell, and Kruffel gazed once again at the Motangan fleet. The four hundred leviathans were only a smear on the horizon without their sails on display, but it was a sight that sent shivers of excitement up his spine.

* * *

The Wound of Kaltara was an enormous gorge through which the Kaltara River flowed. Ancient Sakovan scrolls told the story of its creation over a thousand years ago. It was said to have been blasted out by the hand of God in a fit of rage following the murder of the Star of Sakova. A priest witnessed the event and was sent by God to inform the Sakovan people of Kaltara’s displeasure. The priest was given the Scroll of Kaltara to guide the Sakovan people in the rightful ways of the future.

The canyon was over a league wide and half a league deep, and it stretched for hundreds of leagues from west of Zaramilden to the Wytung Mountains. It was a desolate, uninhabited gorge of enormous proportions that travelers avoided. Usually.

On this particular day, there were over a thousand travelers on the floor of the canyon. Heading south towards the Wytung Mountains, a long column stretched along the banks of the Kaltara River. They were unconcerned about being observed by anyone, as the Wound of Kaltara was fairly inaccessible. Nor were they worried about anyone noticing evidence of their passing, as they left no human footprints. The loin-clothed men rode on the backs of large ferocious cats.