Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“I do not know about the shock,” replied Lord Quilo, “but our words were heartfelt. We Khadorans have lived too long under false pretenses. We should never be afraid of the truth. We are, after all, a people who have claimed to highly value the truth. We should not run from it when it stares us in the face.”

“I agree,” nodded Lord Chenowith. “Let there never be secrets between us again.”

“Speaking of secrets and magic,” frowned Lord Faliman. “There is something that has been bothering me about this war that we are waging.”

“Speak,” the Torak responded.

“You have pioneered the use of battle mages,” Lord Faliman continued. “I have heard glowing remarks about their use at the Battle of Balomar, and I know that we have thousands of mages at the trenches, yet all they do is get in the way of the retreats. Why have we not used their magical abilities?”

“A fair question,” nodded Marak, “and it does fall under the category of closely held secrets. Not even the commanders in the field understand what the mages are out there for. Perhaps that is wrong of me, but I will explain it to you now.”

The other lords nodded and waited anxiously for the explanation.

“My mother, Glenda, is a mage,” stated Emperor Marak. “She is currently leading the mages at the trenches. The instructions that I gave her were to aid the field commanders in any way that they could, but not to unleash their full fury until the appropriate time.”

“And when is the appropriate time?” frowned Lord Kiamesh. “We have large losses at the trenches. Soldiers are dying to ensure the safe retreat of the mages, and yet the mages do little to warrant their being near the front. It would seem prudent to me to utilize every weapon at our disposal.”

“The mages could be used to kill more Motangan soldiers,” admitted Marak, “but I think there is a more important use for them. We know that the Motangans have a large contingent of their own mages, but we do not know what their capabilities are. I have instructed Glenda to use the full fury of our mages as soon as the Motangan mages make their move. It is extremely important to eliminate magical threats to our armies.”

“So Glenda will act on her own when the time comes?” asked Lord Patel. “The commanders will not know that it is coming?”

“Precisely,” nodded Marak. “I cannot describe to the commanders under what circumstances our mages will attack because I do not know. Only an experienced mage will know when the time is right.”

“Isn’t there another mage who could handle that duty?” asked Lord Chenowith. “Putting your mother on the front lines is an extreme sacrifice. Your whole family is likely to die in this war.”

“We may all die,” shrugged the Torak. “Besides, I did not appoint Glenda to her task. She was chosen by the other mages to lead them. I trust in their judgment now, as I always have.”

* * *

HawkShadow and StarWind approached the Motangan encampment in the Sakovan heartland. Once again, HawkShadow carried the large makeshift white flag. There was no bantering from the Motangan encampment, although archers immediately took up position as the Sakovans approached. The Sakovans halted where they had the day before and waited silently. The minutes passed by slowly, but eventually Premer Doralin and General Valatosa came into view. They walked to the perimeter of the Motangan encampment and waved the Sakovans closer. HawkShadow and StarWind exchanged nervous glances, but they eventually nodded and walked forward.

“You should have come forward to meet us halfway,” frowned HawkShadow when they were close enough to be heard.

“There is no half way,” replied Premer Doralin. “Inside this perimeter is Motangan land; outside is Sakovan. Therefore, the perimeter is half way. Speak your piece.”

“We have come once again to request a truce and meeting between Premer Doralin and the Star of Sakova,” declared StarWind. “Will you agree to such a meeting?”

“Define your terms for a truce,” countered the Motangan premer.

“There will be no fighting between us,” replied HawkShadow. “Your people will not leave the encampment, and ours will not enter it.”

“That would prohibit us from having scouts,” frowned General Valatosa. “And what about supply deliveries?”

“I should think yesterday’s delivery is evidence enough that you will not be receiving any more,” retorted HawkShadow. “As for your scouts, keep your men inside the perimeter where they will be safe.”

“You arrogant pup,” growled General Valatosa.

Premer Doralin raised his hand for silence. He glared at HawkShadow, but he spoke softly and calmly.

“I will meet with the Star of Sakova,” he declared, “but only on my terms. The truce will begin when the Star of Sakova comes into view, and it will end when she disappears from view. If you intend to continue to interrupt our supply caravans, you will do so at great risk to your forces.”

“You want the Star of Sakova to stand here in range of your archers?” gasped StarWind. “That is unacceptable.”

“The meeting will be held in my tent in the center of our encampment,” replied Premer Doralin. “I am sure you remember the way there, StarWind. Regarding my archers, I will personally guarantee the safety of the Star of Sakova and her party, which must not number more than two others. That is my offer. Take it or leave it.”

“You are mad,” spat HawkShadow.

StarWind gently placed her hand on HawkShadow’s arm as she watched the Motangan premer shake his head and begin to turn around.

“Your terms are acceptable,” StarWind said loudly, “but I will hold you personally responsible for her safety, Doralin. If harm comes to the Star of Sakova, your life is forfeit. You know that we are quite capable of infiltrating your encampment. We have done it before, and we will do it again.”

The premer turned and glared at StarWind, but he nodded slowly before turning and marching towards the center of the Motangan encampment.

* * *

“There are three ships on the horizon,” General Santiock declared as he stood before Vand’s disciple in the atrium of the temple in Vandamar. “They appear to be ours.”

“Any idea where they are coming from?” asked Xavo.

“From their approach,” replied the general, “I would suggest Fakara, but I cannot be sure.”

“We have had no word of their arrival,” frowned Xavo as he looked over at Lady Mystic.

“I will contact them,” offered Lady Mystic as she rose and hurried up the stairs to the roof.

“Has there been any more word from the other armies,” Santiock asked with concern.

“Last I heard,” Xavo said with apparent unconcern, “is that the elves were on the run. I am sure our armies will return victorious in a day or two. I would not concern yourself.”

“Xavo,” frowned the general, “we have known each other for some time. You can level with me. I fear that something is amiss.”

Xavo gazed into the eyes of the man who had dragged Xavo from the fire when Aakuta died. He knew Santiock as a decent man, but telling him the truth was not an option. Santiock was now the last remaining general on the Island of Darkness, and his ten thousand men were defending the city of Vandamar. Within a day the elves would attack and the last fight for control of Motanga would begin. The luxury of personal feelings could not be allowed to intrude into Xavo’s planning.

“You worry too much, Santiock,” smiled Xavo. “The elves do not have enough ships to bring a large force to this island. Surely twenty thousand men can hunt them down and kill them.”

“I guess it is the lack of news one way or the other that bothers me,” admitted Santiock. “We have only had the capability of air tunnels for a short time, but it has changed everything that we do. Had this occurred last year, I would have no concerns at all, but with air tunnels, we should have had word by now.”