Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

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Harmagan reined in his horse next to the Kheri tribe leader. He sheathed his sword and grinned broadly.

“It feels great to back on the plains,” Harmagan laughed loudly. “These Motangans die like villagers.”

“They did this time,” Yojji agreed, “but do not expect it to remain that way. The Motangans are well trained. We were fortunate to catch them sleeping. The next battle will not be as easy now that they have been bloodied.”

“I will keep that in mind,” grinned the Jiadin leader. “What do we do next? Do we attack some more?”

“Not today,” Yojji shook his head. “Your men may resume wearing their red scarves now. Return to the west and await a message. The free tribes will return to the east.”

“Why not continue attacking?” asked Harmagan. “We have over a hundred thousand warriors together. We can kill them all.”

“I seriously doubt it,” Yojji shook his head. “On these plains they can see forever. Their archers will exact too great a toll on our forces. The only reason we succeeded as well as we did was because of the darkness and the element of surprise. We have lost both of those for the rest of today. Return to your camp and make sure you post watchers. The Motangans will be looking for our encampments.”

The jaguar raced through the Motangan jungle, leaping fallen trees and swerving around pits of quicksand. The sleek cat reached the edge of the jungle and stared at the dusk sky while it caught its breath. After a short rest, the jaguar followed the edge of the jungle, padding silently through the fine sand of the beach. As the large cat approached its destination, it moved stealthily back into the cover of the dense foliage. A few hundred paces later, the jaguar sat and stared out of the jungle at the lonesome building sitting on the beach on the eastern coast of the Island of Darkness.

The jaguar sat erect for hours, its ears tuned to the sounds of the night, as it observed the nightly routine of the four occupants. It paid careful attention to the flickering lights emanating from the windows. When the last light was extinguished, the large cat purred with satisfaction. If anyone had been watching the jaguar, they would have been puzzled by its sudden disappearance. Even more curious, they would have been baffled by the sudden appearance of the Chula shaman.

Calitora moved silently out of the jungle. He moved swiftly to the side of the building that he had been observing every night for the past week. The shaman eased his way around to the front of the building and slowly opened the front door and slipped inside. He silently closed the door and made his way to the staircase leading upstairs. With carefully placed steps, the shaman slowly climbed the staircase.

As the shaman listened to the snoring of the occupants, he moved into the quieter of the two bedrooms. Two men slept in a large bed, and Calitora moved to the headboard. He drew two knives from his belt. He leaned over the bed and drove the knives into the two sleeping men. One of the Motangan soldiers died quietly, while the other kicked out, hitting the wall with his foot before succumbing to a permanent sleep. Calitora withdrew the knives and crouched next to the bed, waiting to see if the disturbance had been enough to awaken the two men in the neighboring room.

After a few moments of continued snoring from the other room, Calitora rose and padded out of the room. He waited a few minutes to be sure that his victims had not awakened. Feeling confident, the shaman stepped into the second bedroom. As he moved to the headboard, one of the Motangan’s eyes popped open. The man frowned as he stared up at the Chula shaman. Calitora did not hesitate. He immediately shoved a knife through the man’s eye. Moving swiftly, the shaman leaned over the bed and cut the second man’s throat.

Wiping the blades of his knives on the bed, Calitora left the room, grabbing a lantern as he went by. He climbed the stairs to the third level and threw open the shutters facing the sea. He lit the lantern and leaned out of the window, swinging the light widely from side to side. He kept up his signaling for several minutes before a soft voice addressed him.

“What is your name?” the unseen voice asked.

“I am called Calitora,” the shaman answered softly.

“And your message for us is?” questioned the voice.

“The coast is clear,” replied Calitora.

“Hang the lantern out the window,” instructed the voice. “You are to stand on the beach beneath it. You must remain visible at all times. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” replied the Chula shaman.

The shaman felt the air tunnel drop. Calitora removed a knife from his belt and leaned out of the window. He drove the knife into the side of the building and hung the lantern on it. When he was satisfied that the lantern would remain, he descended the stairs and exited the building. He stood under the lantern and waited. Within an hour the Chula shaman saw the outline of a sailboat against the star-studded sky. He waited anxiously as he watched the ship come closer and eventually beach itself. Several men immediately leaped out of the ship and raced towards Calitora, their swords drawn.

“Welcome to the Island of Darkness,” the shaman said loudly as he gazed at the men with a discerning eye. “I am Calitora.”

“Tayo, Calitora,” smiled the leader. “I am Tamar. Are there Motangans in the area?”

“Not this area of the coast,” smiled Calitora. “That is why I chose it for your invasion.”

Tamar’s elven face grinned broadly as he turned and signaled the other passengers on the ship. He turned back to the Chula shaman.

“What of the watchers in the house?” he asked.

“All four of them are dead,” assured Calitora as he handed a paper to the elf. “Here. I made a map of the island. I marked in all of the mines and work camps that I could find. I also shaded the areas where the kruls congregate.”

“I see that the mine where I found Eltor is on there,” smiled a young female elf. “You have done well, Calitora.”

“You are the voice from the air tunnel,” smiled the shaman.

“She is Princess Alahara,” introduced Tamar. “She is leading this war party.”

The Chula shaman smiled widely and bowed to the elven princess. “I have heard of you,” he grinned. “You are the one called Mistake?”

“I used to be,” nodded the princess. “Tamar, have the word sent to the other ships. We have much to do before dawn, and remove the lantern from the window. It has served its purpose.”

“I would be pleased to retrieve the lantern for you,” offered Calitora. “You must get your people prepared for war.”

“Tamar can handle that,” replied Princess Alahara. “I want you to explain each of the marks on this map of yours. Let’s go into the kitchen and light a lantern of our own.”

The shaman nodded and followed the princess into the house. He passed her in the dark and moved swiftly into the kitchen and lit a lantern. The princess cleared a spot on the table and placed the map down on it.

“You are very young to have such a grave responsibility,” frowned the shaman. “It is good that you have Tamar with you. Has he been to the Island of Darkness before?”

Princess Alahara understood the subtle question that the Chula was trying to ask. She smiled with understanding. “I am indeed young,” she replied, “but I have been to this island twice already. My sister and I rescued our father from the temple in Vandamar, and we are quite capable of leading the elven armies. There will actually be three prongs of the attack. I will lead one. My sister Alastasia will lead another, and my father Avalar will command the third. Would you care to come with us?”