Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“I am not a coward,” balked the soldier. “I will fight anyone at any time, but I would still like to see my enemy when he strikes. What are we doing out here in the middle of nowhere? There is nothing here for us to guard.”

“We are following orders,” the officer retorted harshly. “That is all that you need to know.”

The soldier shook his head with disgust and sat back down next to the campfire. The officer turned away with scorn and stared into the dark of the night. After a while he calmed down and considered the soldier’s question. He knew the lad was a fearless fighter, but he could not stand the thought of cowardice in any of his men. Finally, he turned and looked at the soldier again.

“We were meant to create a corridor for the Emperor to pass through,” the officer said softly. “Now that that is over with, I suspect that we will be returning to Meliban.”

“Aren’t we going to track down the Fakarans?” asked the soldier.

“We will,” nodded the officer, “but we will regroup in Meliban first. If it is any consolation, Premer Doralin was against our being out here, too. He felt we would leave ourselves too exposed, but I guess he worries too much. All that matters is that we have accomplished our goal. Our next outing will be to battle with the cowardly Fakarans.”

“I look forward to that,” smiled the soldier. “I just feel like I am a sitting target out here.”

“Do not spread that feeling to others,” warned the officer. “For those who do not know you, it smells of cowardice.”

The soldier nodded silently and stared into his mug of coffee, ashamed that he had presented such an image to his officer. His eyebrows rose curiously as he watched the coffee in the mug vibrate. At first he thought his hands might be shaking so he placed the mug on the ground and continued to stare at it. The light from the campfire was not strong, so he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He leaned forward and continued staring into the mug.

“Do they have earthquakes here in Fakara?” asked the officer.

The soldier’s head snapped up, and he stared at the officer. “Why do you ask?” he questioned.

“Can’t you feel it?” inquired the officer. “The ground is rumbling as if it wants to break free of itself. I have only felt that feeling once before, and it was a minor earthquake at the south end of the island.”

“That explains the coffee,” nodded the soldier. “I thought I was going crazy.”

The officer ignored the soldier’s remarks as he stared into the darkness. The rumbling grew even greater, and the officer became clearly agitated.

“Sound the alarm!” shouted the officer.

“What is it?” the soldier yelled as he abandoned his mug and leaped to his feet.

“Just sound the alarm,” snapped the officer.

The soldier raced to the central campfire and began ringing the bell that hung from a post. Soldiers all over the campsite shouted and began crawling out of their tents. The soldier raced back to the officer’s side.

“Do you think we will be swallowed up in an earthquake?” asked the soldier.

“I do not know what it is,” replied the officer as the ground began to vibrate beneath his feet, “but it is not something to sleep through. It almost sounds like…”

The officer stopped talking and shook his head in disbelief.

“Sounds like what?” prompted the soldier.

“It sounds like horses pounding the plains,” the officer said softly, “but it couldn’t possibly be.”

“Why not?” frowned the soldier. “The Fakarans ride horses. Maybe they are charging towards us.”

“It is too many horses,” the officer shook his head as the dawn began to lighten the sky somewhat. “It sounds like a full mounted army would sound as they galloped past the reviewing stand, but that is because of your closeness to them. I still see nothing out there. It must be something else.”

“It’s not something else,” shouted the soldier as he pointed frantically. “Fakarans!” he yelled to warn the others.

The officer stood frozen for a moment as he stared in disbelief. The charging horses were still quite distant, but they spread from left to right as far as the officer could see.

“Ready archers on the eastern front!” shouted the officer. “We are under attack!”

Shouts tore through the encampment as Motangan soldiers scattered, grabbing their bows and quivers and taking up positions along the eastern perimeter of the camp.

“Ready archers on the western front!” came a distant shout.

“Find that fool and silence him,” the officer snarled to the soldier beside him. “The last thing we need right now is confusion. I will not tolerate a man in my service that doesn’t know east from west.”

The soldier turned and raced towards the voice that was still calling for archers to guard the western front. He zeroed in on another officer and raced towards him.

“The enemy is coming from the east,” panted the soldier as he slid to a halt next to the officer. “You are confusing the men.”

The officer turned and glared at the soldier. Unexpectedly, the officer’s hand came up swiftly and slapped the soldier’s face. The soldier stumbled backwards and tripped over the corner of a tent. He fell to the ground and rolled painfully over the tent stake. The officer continued to rally troops to the western front and the soldier shook his head in disbelief. As he struggled to his feet, wondering what to do, he saw the Fakarans charging. Fear gripped the soldier as he realized that they were going to be attacked from both fronts simultaneously.

The soldier picked up his bow and moved away from the officer who had hit him. He nocked an arrow as the other archers were firing. He saw several horses tumble to the ground and other riders fall from their mounts, but there was no victory cry from the Motangan soldiers. A hail of arrows flew into the Motangan ranks as the horsemen continued to advance. The soldier stood with his arrow nocked, frozen by his fear. The huge warhorses charged with frightening speed as their riders sent arrow after arrow into the Motangan ranks. The Motangan archers killed entire lines of horsemen, but others immediately took their places, leaping over their fallen brothers. The charge continued unabated.

The soldier watched as the vanguard of the Fakarans dropped their bows and drew their swords, the bows swinging wildly from the leashes that attached them to the horses. The horsemen shouted as they met the Motangan line, cold steel slicing into soldiers as they charged through the encampment. The soldier turned as a horseman rode past him. He let his arrow fly, but it missed its target. He fumbled in his quiver for another arrow as his eyes followed the horseman through the encampment. His eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped as he saw the Fakarans charging through the camp from the other side. He dropped his bow and ran, knowing that none of the Motangans would survive to see the rising sun.

The soldier ran south as fast as his legs would carry him. Fakaran horsemen crisscrossed the encampment, slaying the Motangans with every pass. Horses were everywhere, trampling tents and bodies as they swept through the camp. The war shouts rang loudly from every direction and soon all of the Motangans were fleeing for their lives. The soldier zigzagged southward, dodging the attackers. He never even thought about grabbing for his sword. His only thought was to leave the area of the attack, but the charge of the Fakarans was endless.

The soldier felt the blade slice into his shoulder, throwing him off his stride. He tripped and stumbled to the ground, the searing pain threatening his consciousness. He rolled on the ground in agony, and that is when he saw his fate. Fear closed his throat as he saw the Fakaran horse charging towards him. There was no time to roll out of the way of the horse or get to his feet. There was only time to close his eyes and await death.