Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“Then kill them,” shrugged Galantor. “Let this man pass.”

The elven soldier stepped aside, his eyes glaring at the Motangan. The temple guard moved slowly past the soldier, expecting to be struck down at any moment, but no blow came his way. He threaded his way through the maze of barracks until he came to the one that he knew the officer inhabited. He opened the door without knocking and stepped into the darkness. He walked halfway along the corridor between the bunks before someone grabbed him from behind.

“What are you doing sneaking into this building?” snarled the soldier who had captured the guard.

Two torches immediately blazed to life as soldiers jumped from their bunks and crowded around the intruder.

“A thief most likely,” accused one of the soldiers. “We should decorate the rafters with him.”

“He should have chosen a different barracks,” scowled another soldier. “Only a fool would enter this one and expect to get away with it.”

The guard stood speechless, shaking his head vigorously. Before he could explain that he was just a messenger, the officer approached and pushed his way through the crowd. He stood tall before the captured man and glared at him.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” asked the officer.

“I carry a message,” the guard said haltingly. “I think you should hear it in private.”

“A message?” puzzled the officer. “From whom?”

“Can we speak in private?” asked the guard nervously.

“Answer me,” snapped the officer. “Who is the message from?”

“From the elves,” the guard swallowed hard. “The barracks are surrounded by elves. They sent me in to ask for your surrender.”

Some of the soldiers started laughing, while others shouted that the intruder was a liar. Some of the soldiers started towards the door, swords in their hands.

“Stop!” barked the officer. “Everyone be quiet.”

When the room fell into silence, the officer stepped close to the guard and spoke softly, but harshly.

“You will explain yourself,” ordered the officer.

“I was on guard duty tonight at the front door of the temple,” the guard nodded vigorously. “My partner and I were tricked into entering the temple by a constantly opening door. When we did enter, an elven mage froze us. She told me that I could live if I delivered a message to the officer in charge in the barracks. I agreed. If I had not agreed, they would have killed me.”

“Continue,” the officer said loudly to halt the chatter that his men had started up after hearing about the attack on the temple.

“She said that she did not want to kill all of the soldiers in the barracks if she didn’t have to,” continued the guard. “She is offering to accept your surrender and let your men live if they will leave the barracks without their weapons.”

“And if they leave with their weapons?” asked the officer.

“They will be killed,” answered the guard.

“Did you see the supposed army of elves around the barracks?” asked the officer.

“I did not,” the guard answered truthfully, “but I did hear them. They were not keen on the idea of allowing us to surrender, but I believe that they will do so.”

“Are you really expecting me to believe that a bunch of escapees are demanding our surrender?” the officer shook his head. “You will be hanged for deserting your post.”

The officer pointed to two men and motioned towards the door. The two chosen soldiers grinned and nodded as they hurriedly dressed. They picked up their swords and moved to the door.

“I do not think that they are escapees,” the guard offered sheepishly. “They certainly weren’t dressed properly for slaves.”

The two Motangan soldiers quickly opened the door and barged outside. The first soldier out the door was instantly skewered by an elven arrow and fell to the ground. An elven arrow also struck the second soldier, but his body fell back through the doorway. Other soldiers dragged his body completely into the building and slammed the door shut.

“What do you mean about their dress?” the officer asked the guard. “If they are not escapees, then who are they?”

“One of them was referred to as the princess,” offered the guard. “I think they are from Elvangar.”

“Preposterous,” laughed one of the soldiers, earning him a dark glare from the officer.

“We need time to figure a way out of this,” the officer muttered to himself. “If we can get word to our mages, they can call for troops from one of the other cities.”

“I don’t think there are any mages to call upon,” frowned the guard. “I am not sure how they did it, but there were over two dozen elves already inside the temple. If the mages were still alive, we should have heard from them by now. They also said that if you didn’t surrender, they would burn down the barracks with the men still inside.”

“What else haven’t you told me?” snapped the officer.

“I would rather die with a sword in my hand than be burned alive in here,” shouted one of the soldiers.

Other soldiers shouted in agreement, and the officer yelled for silence. His mind worked feverishly to figure a way out of his dilemma, but he could not think of one. Finally, he pointed to a soldier near the door.

“I want you to walk outside without your sword,” ordered the officer. “Let’s see if these elves are true to their words. Look around and see if you can determine the number of elves that are out there.”

The chosen soldier hesitated, but those around him helped him by opening the door and shoving him out. No arrows streaked into his flesh as he gazed around in the dim light. He could not see any elves, but he saw the body of the other soldier on the ground, an arrow piercing his skull. One of the elves must have figured out what was going on, because suddenly a distant voice barked and the elves stepped out of the shadows. The Motangan’s jaw dropped as he slowly turned and gazed at the ring of elven archers surrounding the barracks compound. The soldier’s hands instinctively rose upward to show that he held no weapon. A moment later, the elves disappeared into the darkness. The soldier turned and entered the building and closed the door.

“Well?” prompted the officer.

“We are surrounded,” the soldier reported nervously, “and the elves I saw did not look like escaped slaves. Motanga has been invaded.”

“And they didn’t shoot at you?” asked the officer.

“Not at all,” replied the soldier. “At first I could not see any elves at all, but their officer barked a command, and they stepped out of the darkness to show themselves. They are clearly confident of their position.”

“How many are there?” asked the officer.

“I can only guess,” answered the soldier, “but there are certainly more than a thousand.”

“Which means that we would never survive the battle,” frowned the officer. “Even if I could get word to the other barracks, the elves have the darkness on their side.”

“Plus their intention to burn us alive,” interjected one of the soldiers. “I don’t think we have any choice.”

The officer whirled and glared at the soldier for a moment, but he did not discipline the man. Instead he sighed heavily and nodded.

“Get dressed,” the officer commanded his troops. “We will march out of here with dignity. You are to leave all of your weapons on your bunk, including knives. I will not give the elves any excuse for going back on their word.”

The soldiers talked softly as they got dressed. They often looked over at the officer expecting a rebuke, but the officer scolded no one. He turned to the temple guard and spoke softly.

“Go outside and tell the elves that I am bringing my men out unarmed,” instructed the officer. “When I am sure that their word can be trusted, I will go from barracks to barracks and bring out all of the men. If this is not acceptable to them, come back and tell me.”