Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

Myka flew into the thick smoke, seemingly unconcerned with the lack of visibility. Marak’s eyes teared with irritation, and his lungs felt taut as he inhaled the heavy smoke. The time in the clouds of smoke seemed to last forever, and Marak inhaled deeply when the dragon flew out of the smoke. He looked down at Sintula, its white buildings contrasting with the dark green forests and brown fields surrounding it. He wiped the tears from his eyes and coughed to clear his lungs as Myka turned into a spiraling descent. As the dragon dropped lower, the citizens of Sintula noticed her. Fearful shouts rose up to greet the Torak as people scurried through the city streets to find shelter from the huge beast.

Marak gazed beyond the city to a sea of tents in a newly cleared portion of the forest bordering Sintula. Colorful banners flew from long poles outside the tents, and the Torak sought out the colors of the clans that formed the Lords’ Council. Near the center of the makeshift camp he saw the purple and yellow of the Neju clan. Nearby were the banners of the Organila, Nordon, Scratti, Walkan, and Aritor clans. A large open rectangle sat in the center of the six encampments.

“Head for the large rectangle in the center,” the Torak said to the dragon. “The soldiers do not know of you so be careful. And try not to frighten them,” Marak added with a chuckle.

“Bah,” snorted Myka as she turned her snout downward and dove at the troops. “I am a dragon. Humans are supposed to fear me. Hang on.”

Officers shouted orders and soldiers scurried to defend themselves as the dragon approached. Arrows started flying upwards towards the dragon long before she was within range. Myka responded by belching long flames towards the ground, and some of the soldiers ran for cover, but most of the Khadorans held their ground.

“Hmmph,” scowled Myka. “Are they so foolish to stand there when I can burn their flesh before they hurt me?”

“Not foolish, Myka,” smiled Emperor Marak. “They are brave men. They understand that you can bring death upon them, but they are standing for their country and their loved ones. I advise a gentler approach.”

The dragon suddenly shot upward to stay outside the range of the Khadoran arrows. Marak drew the Sword of Torak and held it high. It was a gamble that immediately paid off. While some soldiers saw the sword as threatening, others recognized it for what it was. As Myka circled over the encampment, a resonating chant rippled through the Khadoran armies. It began in the Nordon camp and spread outward as bows were lowered and swords were held high as a form of salute. The sound drifted upwards and brought a smile to Marak’s lips.

“Torak! Torak! Torak!” chanted the soldiers.

Myka continued to circle, basking in the chant, as the large rectangular area was made clear of soldiers.

“They love you,” the dragon remarked.

“As they will come to love you,” grinned Marak. “Be on good behavior. These people are our people.”

Myka did not respond as she spread her wings wide and glided towards the ground. The chanting continued until the dragon was on the ground and then wild cheers erupted as Marak slid off of Myka’s back. Waiting at the edge of the cleared area were the members of the Lords’ Council. They bowed in respect as the emperor approached. Other clans’ lords gathered around to hear the words of the Emperor.

“There are still secrets that you keep from us,” greeted Lord Patel of the Nordon clan.

“A few,” smiled Emperor Marak. “Perhaps it is time to end the secrets. I am glad that you recognized me up there. I would hate to see a battle between friends. The dragon is named Myka. She is a formidable foe.”

“Actually,” offered Lord Jamarat of the Neju clan, “we did not recognize you. Latril used an air tunnel to let the armies at the trenches know of the danger presented by a dragon behind their lines. They told us of your attack on the enemy.”

“Then you already know more of my secrets,” sighed the Torak.

“That you are a mage?” asked Lord Kiamesh of the Scratti clan. “How is that possible? For generations all Khadoran mages have been female. Now all of a sudden, male mages appear. It makes no sense.”

“The Chula have male shaman,” replied Marak. “The Qubari and elves have male mages. So do the Omungans and Sakovans, and obviously the Motangans do as well. Why should Khadora be any different?”

“Because for generations we have closed our eyes to the truth?” proposed Lord Chenowith of the Walkan clan.

“Precisely,” nodded Marak. “There is one more secret that I have held from you,” he frowned. “Perhaps now is the time to reveal it.”

“I advise caution,” warned Lord Chenowith. “Perhaps there are some things that are best kept concealed.”

The other lords looked at Lord Chenowith questioningly, but Emperor Marak suddenly saw the Walkan lord in a new light.

“You know?” he asked softly.

“My father discovered it,” Lord Chenowith nodded. “I read it in his papers.”

“And he said nothing?” frowned the Emperor. “Why?”

“I cannot answer that question,” replied Lord Chenowith. “He did not confide in me regarding such things.”

“What is it?” demanded Lord Quilo of the Organila clan. “What drastic thing could be so terrible that you would not tell your friends?”

“It is not us that Marak fears,” interjected Lord Patel. “It is the reaction of our Khadoran brothers and sisters that he fears, and maybe his fears are justified. Perhaps Khadorans must be fed the truth slowly. Our ways have been ancient and barbaric. Only time can heal such things.”

“You know as well?” Marak asked in surprise. “How can this be?”

“Am I the only one in the dark?” asked Lord Faliman of the Aritor clan. “I demand to know what is being discussed. There must be no secrets between us if we are to defeat the Motangans.”

Lord Patel sighed and nodded at the Aritor lord. “Faliman is right,” he said softly. “It is hardly a secret to anyone who has been paying attention to events around them. We have been told about the Time of Calling. We know that it is heralded in by mixed marriages. We also know that the Astor is half Qubari, and the Star of Sakova is half Sakovan. Your secret, Torak, should be a surprise to no one.”

Marak smiled tautly and nodded. He inhaled deeply and said, “I am half Chula. My father is Ukaro, head shaman of the Zatong tribe.”

Silence and shocked faces surrounded the group after the Torak’s announcement. While the members of the Lords’ Council nodded with understanding, the other lords gasped openly. It was an awkward moment, but Marak felt unburdened that the truth was finally known. Unexpectedly, Lord Kiamesh started laughing.

“That’s it?” chuckled Lord Kiamesh. “Your big secret is that your father was a Chula? For a moment I thought you might reveal that you were a mage or rode a pet dragon.”

“Or that you were the first Emperor of Khadora to unite all of the people of this continent in a common cause,” grinned Lord Chenowith.

“Or that you were the most accomplished warrior ever to walk the fields of Khadora,” smiled Lord Quilo. “It is no small wonder about your Chula heritage. I have learned to appreciate the Chula after witnessing what they are capable of. They did, after all, take Alamar with only a thousand men.”

The other lords lost their expressions of shock and started nodding in agreement. Lord Patel ordered ale for the lords and led the group in a toast to the Torak. When the short moment of merriment was complete, the Lords’ Council and the Torak retired to Lord Patel’s tent.

“Thank you for what you did out there,” Marak said quietly to the members of the Lords’ Council. “I know that your public reactions will soften the shock when the rumors spread.”