Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“I will tell you on the way,” answered HawkShadow. “Goral, find a mage and get some of the Motangan supply wagons that we captured. Have them meet us four hours march east of the Motangan encampment. StarWind and I will be organizing the war party. Join us when you can.”

“How large a war party are you planning on?” StarWind asked HawkShadow as Goral ran off to find a mage.

“How many chokas do we have?” grinned HawkShadow. “Every one of them will carry a Sakovan warrior to the spot that I am thinking of.”

* * *

Premer Cardijja paced the floor of the administration building in Meliban. His jaw was set rigidly, and his eyes were narrowed to slits as he tried to walk off the rage he felt boiling inside himself. General Luggar leaned against a wall and watched the premer carefully. He knew better than to interrupt when Cardijja was in such a mood. A black-cloaked mage entered the building, and Cardijja immediately halted his pacing and faced the new arrival.

“Well?” snapped the premer.

“The only place we can contact is Vandegar,” sighed the mage. “There is nothing wrong with the spell. Of that I am sure. None of the cities on Motanga are answering and neither is Duran. I do not understand it.”

“Get out of my sight,” bellowed Premer Cardijja. “And don’t come back until you have fixed your magic.”

Cardijja’s hands rolled into fists as the mage hurried out of the room. The premer exhaled deeply and flexed his fingers shortly after the mage had left. He sighed and shook his head, a sign that it was safe for the general to speak.

“Is it possible that something might have happened to the mages in Motanga?” the general offered softly.

“Anything is possible,” conceded the premer, “but it is hard to imagine that all of the mages on the entire island succumbed to some strange disease. Even if that was possible, how would you account for Duran?”

“Duran could have been attacked again,” shrugged General Luggar. “The Sakovans did it once before.”

“When it only had a handful of men defending it,” retorted the premer as he began pacing again. “I was told that we left an entire army in Duran this time. Ten thousand men are not easily crushed without at least some word traveling of its defeat. Yet we have heard nothing from them.”

“I have sent ships to gather more supplies,” declared General Luggar. “We will know within a few days what the problem in Duran is.”

“Are the ships armed?” asked Premer Cardijja.

“The ships carry only crews,” answered Luggar. “I saw no need to send troops with them.”

“Understandable,” nodded Cardijja, “although I now wish they had soldiers aboard. Something is going terribly wrong with this invasion. I have this gnawing fear in my gut that is trying to warn me of impending doom.”

“Are you sure that is not just a reaction to our losses on the plains of Fakara?” asked the general.

“Our losses?” echoed the premer. “You say that phrase so casually. We lost fifty thousand men to the enemy, and we have nothing to show for it. A few dead Fakarans and horses are precious little to gain from such a loss. I curse Vand and his orders.”

“Careful,” General Luggar softly warned his superior. “Such words carry a death sentence. You can never be sure who is listening.”

“I curse them all,” Cardijja said defiantly. “I begged and pleaded not to have my men stretched out over the plains of Fakara, but Tzargo demanded it. Demanded it! That fool cost me fifty thousand men for no reason. I hope that I live long enough to see him pay for that mistake.”

“Quiet,” urged the general. “I share your sense of frustration, but your words ill serve you. It is better that we concentrate on the future than dwell upon the past.”

Premer Cardijja nodded and halted his pacing. He turned and faced his old friend. “You are right, Luggar,” admitted the premer. “We must move forward. Send some ships to Motanga. Put troops on them this time. I must know what is happening abroad.”

“We are going to need food shortly,” replied the general. “If we load the ships with troops, we will have to leave them on Motanga to make room for the supplies. Perhaps we are better off sending some mages with the ships. Hopefully their magic will allow them to communicate what they find.”

“What they find?” echoed the premer. “You suspect something nefarious has happened?”

“That is how we must think,” nodded Luggar. “I am not well versed in magic, but spells do not suddenly cease to work. If our mages can communicate with Vandegar, then something is seriously wrong in Motanga and Duran. We should proceed cautiously.”

Premer Cardijja stood silently for some time, his eyes staring through Luggar while he thought about his general’s words. Slowly he nodded in agreement.

“Your words are wise as always,” Cardijja said calmly. “Put enough mages onboard the ships to keep a constant stream of communications open. I want to know precisely when the spell fails, if it does fail. Find out if we have any mages present that are capable of contacting Alamar or Raven’s Point. We need to get to the bottom of this problem.”

“I will see to it immediately,” promised the general. “What about the armies? Are we to stay in Meliban or hunt down the Fakarans?”

“We move tomorrow to hunt down the Fakarans,” declared the premer.

“It is my understanding that we were attacked from both the east and the west on the plains,” responded General Luggar. “Which direction are we going to pursue? Or will you divide the army and pursue both camps of Fakarans?”

“We are going to head eastward,” declared the premer. “The tracks leading out of Meliban were much too obvious. They wanted us to pursue them to the west. I will not play their game. In the morning we will march northward along the Meliban River. When we get to the southern fork of the river, I will decide which branch to follow.”

“A wise move,” nodded General Luggar. “Let Shamal’s troops deal with the western hordes after they are done with Khadora.”

“You think Shamal will have an easy time of it in Khadora?” asked Cardijja.

“I would not say an easy time,” Luggar shook his head. “The Khadorans are the most organized lot the enemy have, but the Khadorans will stand and fight. They will not run and hide, as the Fakarans are wont to do. Just finding the Fakarans will take up the bulk of our time.”

“That is a problem,” nodded Cardijja. “We are also tasked with finding Angragar, so the search for Fakarans will not be in vain. Our scouts also report that there are large forests to the east of the Meliban River. Fighting in such an environment will limit the capabilities of these Fakaran horsemen. They may charge swiftly on the plains, but they cannot do so in the woods.”

“I look forward to that,” smiled General Luggar. “What about the port of Meliban and our supply lines?”

“We will leave ten thousand men to secure this city,” answered Premer Cardijja. “They can spend their time fortifying it against the Fakaran hordes. Our supply caravans will be heavily guarded. That will be our weakest point and the most alluring target for the Fakarans. I would like to set up some traps for the enemy along our supply routes. It will be most demoralizing to them that they are not able to disrupt our supplies.”

HawkShadow waved a large white flag in the air and shouted for attention. The flag was crudely made from the white uniform of a deceased Imperial Guard and attached to a long branch. StarWind stood alongside the assassin and held her hands well away from her sword. They were quickly noticed, and nearby Motangan soldiers flowed out of their tents and unsheathed their swords. Ranks of archers soon appeared, but no one came out to meet the Sakovans.