Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“Stop!” he demanded. “These people are guests. Disperse all of you. Go back to your tents.”

The Sakovans remained alert, obviously expecting more treachery to come towards them, but the crowd of soldiers started backing away. In the space the soldiers had just occupied was a body. Doralin stared at the black-cloaked form and saw a nasty metal star imbedded in the mage’s forehead. Zatho’s dead eyes stared skyward.

“What treachery is this?” spat StarWind as the premer came nearer. “You gave your word.”

“And I meant it,” Doralin replied as he gazed at General Valatosa whose chest was smoldering. “Go in the tent where you will be safe. I must see if General Valatosa is still alive.”

Doralin walked over to the general’s body and knelt beside it. The general groaned painfully, but he was still alive.

“I need a healer,” Doralin shouted to his men. “Quickly.”

Valatosa was more than a favored general to the premer. He was also Doralin’s only friend. He ignored the Sakovans as he ripped the smoldering uniform from the general’s chest. Unexpectedly, Doralin looked up to see the Star of Sakova kneeling opposite him. Her strange blue cylinder was gone.

“I am a mage,” Lyra said softly as HawkShadow and StarWind moved to surround their leader. “I can ease his pain.”

“Please do so,” said Doralin. “Your male friend just killed our last mage.”

“He deserved to die,” scowled HawkShadow.

“Indeed he did,” Doralin nodded. “I do not fault your actions. Indeed, I am impressed with your skill. What is your name?”

“I am called HawkShadow,” the assassin replied.

“HawkShadow,” Doralin said as he rose to a standing position, “I gave my pledge of safety, and I meant it. My orders were that anyone who attacked you would be turned over to your people to do with as you wish. I intend to keep my word. While the archer may have missed, I will have him found and delivered to you.”

“He didn’t miss,” interjected StarWind. “His aim was true, but Kaltara protects the Star of Sakova. The arrow was not allowed to hurt her.”

Premer Doralin looked at StarWind as if she were crazy. He turned and walked away. He called for an officer and demanded that the archer be found. Then he walked to where Lyra had been attacked. He searched the ground for the arrow, but he could not find it. He shook his head in confusion.

“You will not find it,” a general said quietly.

“The arrow?” asked Doralin as he turned to face the general. “It has already been picked up?

“No,” explained the general. “It never landed. It simply disappeared as it passed through that blue cylinder. I have never seen anything like it.”

“Are you sure?” questioned the premer.

“I would not speak if I were unsure,” nodded the general. “I saw it with my own eyes. The shot was good, but it never struck. It simply disappeared. We are no match for such magic.”

Premer Doralin turned and left the general without replying. He saw HawkShadow sheath his sword long enough to help General Valatosa to his feet. The Star of Sakova stepped back and the blue cylinder reappeared. HawkShadow drew his sword once more and stood ready to protect his leader. Doralin walked over and gazed at Valatosa’s naked chest. It was red, but appeared unburned.

“Let us go into the tent and discuss whatever has brought you here,” Doralin suggested to Lyra.

“I cannot enter your tent,” Lyra shook her head. “My spell would destroy it.”

Doralin gazed upward at the blue cylinder that stretched skyward as far as he could see. He looked again at Valatosa’s chest and nodded. He shouted orders to bring chairs for his guests.

“Thank you for saving General Valatosa,” the premer said softly. “I will see that you are treated well when you surrender.”

“When we surrender?” echoed Lyra. “You must be joking?”

“Joking?” scowled Doralin. “That is the purpose of this meeting. What game are you playing?”

“I do not play games, Premer Doralin,” replied Lyra. “Let me explain the facts to you. You have eighty thousand men in the middle of a strange and dangerous forest. You are far from home, and your men are starving. You have no ships to leave this land, and you cannot walk across the water. We are prepared to engage you at our whim until all of you Motangans are dead. Or you could surrender now and be treated far better than I think you would treat us if we surrendered. That is the situation that you are in. You have a choice to make. What is your decision?”

“You overstate your hand,” smiled Doralin. “We outnumber you greatly, and you are mistaken about my ships. My army can come and go as we please. If you are especially good at hiding your armies, I will merely bring in more soldiers to hunt for you. It is you who must surrender.”

“And where will you bring these new soldiers from?” smiled Lyra. “Are you talking about the ten thousand soldiers in Alamar who are dead? Or perhaps the ten thousand in Duran, who are also dead?”

“You are brazen in your lies,” chuckled Premer Doralin. “Do not try to scare me into surrendering little girl. I have played this game much longer than you have been alive.”

“Perhaps you want to try to call for the three thousand men in Teramar?” Lyra continued unfazed by the premer’s remarks, “but they are as dead as the three thousand in Sudamar and the three thousand in Eldamar. And do not even think of the thirty thousand men stationed in Vandamar. They have been annihilated.”

“Preposterous,” scowled Premer Doralin. “You expect me to believe that the Sakovans are off conquering the world while my army chases you through the forest?”

“Not at all,” replied Lyra. “The elves have taken over the Island of Darkness. They needed no help from Sakovans. The Chula took Alamar. The Khadorans took your fleet of ships, and you don’t even want to hear about Duran. That city no longer exists. Ten thousand Motangans are buried under the Wall of Mermidion.”

Premer Doralin stared at Lyra in disbelief.

“Surely you must have suspected something when you could no longer contact any of those cities?” smiled Lyra. “For an army that knows how to use air tunnels, you appear to be rather ignorant of how poorly the Motangan forces are faring. Vand’s days of glory are at an end. You have only two choices available to you now. You can surrender, or die.”

Doralin’s mouth opened to speak, but General Valatosa’s hand tapped his shoulder. “We need to discuss this in private,” the general said softly. “Will you excuse us?”

“Certainly,” nodded Lyra, “but do not delay. I am ill at ease standing alone in your camp.”

Premer Doralin and General Valatosa turned and walked into the tent. The general led the premer away from the door flap.

“I think she is telling the truth,” stated the general.

“And I think that fireball damaged your senses,” retorted the premer. “Her story is wholly fabricated. The elves have no part in this war, and the Chula live far to the north. We must be getting close to annihilating them for her to demand our surrender.”

“If her story is fabricated,” countered the general, “how is it that she happens to know the correct number of soldiers in each of those locations?”

“The Sakovans must have good spies,” shrugged Doralin. “That StarWind is certainly a capable woman. A few like her could easily supply such information.”

“Why is it that our mages were not capable of contacting any one of those cities?” pressed Valatosa.

“The Sakovans must have found a way to block the spell,” suggested Doralin. “Maybe there is something in these forests that makes the air tunnel ineffective?”