Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“One of the Emperor’s demons,” a soldier on the wharf answered. “We don’t see much of them unless the Emperor is in a really foul mood. Someone will die today, and not in a very pleasant way, either. I would stay out of its way if I were you.”

“But he is staring right at us,” one of the sailors gasped. “Look at his eyes. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

The captain of the ship pushed his way to the rail, the sailors moving apart to make room for him after they saw who it was. He stared at the approaching demon and swallowed hard. He had expected some type of reprimand after the spymaster came onboard hurt in Meliban. Clarvoy’s mistakes were always taken out on somebody else. He had fretted about the problem the entire voyage back from Fakara. When he heard the spymaster mumble something about the enemy knowing that he was coming, the captain remembered Lady Mystic’s conversation the day he had left the Island of Darkness. At first he could not believe that the Emperor’s daughter was a spy, but he knew it was true now. The problem, as the captain saw it, was that the Emperor would never believe that Lady Mystic was a spy. Vand would believe his own spawn over a sea captain.

Knowing that the vile creature was coming for him, the captain moved away from the rail. He looked around in desperation and saw that there was no escape. He looked once more at the approaching demon and felt his blood run cold. His whole body shivered at the thought of the demon’s touch. Hurriedly, he scampered up the mast as the demon drew closer to the ship. He pulled a line free from the mast and hurriedly tied it around his neck. By the time he had completed the knot, the demon stood alongside the ship. Shiny black claws reached out to snare the captain, but he deftly avoid them. He ducked behind the mast and then dove towards the deck. A loud crack rent the air as the rope went taut, the captain’s body swinging wildly from the end of the rope a mere pace above the deck.

* * *

The city of Teramar on the Island of Darkness was teeming with excitement. A sea of red uniforms flowed through the city as soldiers clogged the streets. Merchants closed up their shops as they ran out of merchandise to sell, and the inns were overflowing with drunken soldiers partying before the war. Outside the city, tents and campfires dotted the landscape as far as the eye could see. Tens of thousands of red-clad soldiers were still converging on the already packed city as the sun sank towards the western horizon.

On the roof of the main building hosting the headquarters of the army, Doralin stood watching the assembly of his armies. His red uniform was resplendent with numerous gold bars and stripes denoting the highest military rank afforded to an officer in Vand’s army, that of premer. There were only four premers in the entire army, and each had dozens of generals under his command. For the coming invasion, Premer Doralin had been assigned thirty generals, each commanding a force of ten thousand men. Those armies were now converging on Teramar to board the ships.

“It is quite a sight,” smiled General Valatosa, “is it not?”

“It is,” the premer nodded in satisfaction. “We have waited for this moment for far too long, but it is finally upon us. Are your men prepared?”

“My army arrived last week,” reported the general. “They are tired of sitting and waiting. Should I assume that we will be boarding within the next few days?”

“Your men will be boarding tonight,” answered the premer. “We have been placed on hold by a message from the Emperor, but I have been promised an answer by sundown.”

“On hold?” questioned General Valatosa. “Then the attack may not occur as planned?”

“The attack will occur on schedule,” replied Premer Doralin. “I understand that there may be a last minute change in strategy, but that will not affect your army. You will still be the spearhead that lances into the enemy’s heart. Make sure that the spirits of your men are high. They are to set the example for the other armies.”

“About those other armies,” frowned the general. “Many of the newest arrivals are a bit too deep into their ale. Fights have broken out at the inns. Can’t you put a stop to it?”

“Let the men enjoy their last night on Motanga,” shrugged the premer. “The ale will run out before too long in any event. The voyage is long enough that no one will arrive for battle in a drunken stupor.”

“My men certainly won’t,” retorted the general. “I have placed the inns off limits to my army.”

“Good,” the premer smiled mischievously as he looked at the hard-nosed general. “I have a task for them. I want you to organize the loading of the ships. There are a hundred ships already in the harbor. You will begin loading them at sundown. Make the process simple and quick. Once a ship is loaded, it is to sail out of the harbor to make room for another. I have two hundred ships off the coast waiting to get in.”

“My men can handle that efficiently,” declared the general. “Why are we waiting for sundown?”

“Just a precaution,” answered Doralin. “If there are spies on the island, they will not see the ships depart. I have been using the same technique with the supply ships to Duran, but the movement of this many ships is bound to be noticed. But by then we will be well on our way,” he added with a grin. “It is never wise to let the enemy know that you are coming.”

“So the loading must be accomplished before daybreak,” nodded the general. “We can do that. I will start organizing it now.”

The premer merely nodded as the general left the roof. He turned and continued to gaze with admiration on the largest army ever to be assembled. His chest swelled with pride as he noted that it was his army that would strike the first blow on the mainland.

* * *

When Emperor Marak entered his office, the mage Ophia was waiting for him, which was highly irregular.

“Here or the roof?” the Emperor asked without preamble.

“Better on the roof,” answered Ophia. “The messages are coming fast and furiously.”

“Brief me on the way,” nodded the Torak as he left the office and headed for the roof.

“First was a message from Rykoma,” Ophia explained. “Hundreds of Vand’s ships are missing from the Island of Darkness. They must have set sail during the night.”

“Hundreds?” frowned the emperor. “Can you be more specific?”

“Not really,” Ophia shook her head. “I asked the same question. All that he would say is that yesterday the harbor of one of the cities was crammed with ships. The coastline was also crowded with ships at anchor. This morning there were none. The harbors of the other three cities are still crowded with ships.”

“Assuming that they divided the ships evenly,” Marak speculated, “that would be around two hundred and fifty ships. Of course, they may not be divided evenly. Any idea where they are heading?”

“None,” replied Ophia as they reached the roof. “There was also a message from Rhoda at Raven’s Point. Several attempts to talk to you, actually. She refused to state a message. I don’t think she trusts me.”

“Don’t take it personally,” replied Marak. “Contact her now. She is dealing with some sensitive issues and was told to speak to me directly. I don’t want anything lost in the process of getting the information secondhand.”

“I understand,” nodded Ophia as she connected with Rhoda.

“What do you have for me, Rhoda?” asked the Torak.

“It has begun,” replied Rhoda. “Premer Doralin has left Teramar for the mainland.”

“Anything on the destination?” asked Marak. “Or the strength?”

“Nothing on the destination,” answered Rhoda, “but our source was willing to speculate. The suggestion was made that since Teramar is a southern city, and it was the point of departure, the Sakova would be a likely bet, but that is wholly conjecture. As for the strength, the number three hundred thousand was mentioned. They are searching for more information.”