Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“And why have we had no food shipments from our men in Alamar?” sighed General Valatosa. “Face it, Doralin. There is a small chance that she is bluffing, but I don’t think so. What if we say no to her and march our men eastward to Alamar and find it full of Chula?”

“If we find out that her words are true,” conceded Doralin, “we will surrender at Alamar, but I cannot bring myself to believe her. Her statements are too outlandish.”

“Do you think the Sakovans are just going to let us turn around and march to Alamar?” asked the general. “We will have to fight our way back to the coast, and we will have to do so with starving men.”

“I have never known you to be so pessimistic, Valatosa,” frowned the premer. “I think that fireball has scared you. It made you realize your own mortality.”

“Perhaps,” shrugged the general, “but I have never seen a warrior move as fast as HawkShadow. He actually killed Zatho before I could get out of the way of the fireball. Think about that. These Sakovans are not running scared from us. They far outclass our army. Oh, we have more men than they do, but that has not helped us so far. They took us by surprise in the open ocean sinking scores of ships. They got our men drunk in Alamar. They poisoned our food supplies, and burned thousands of men in a forest fire. On any given night they can raid our encampment and kill three thousand men before we can counterattack. Maybe I have recognized my own mortality, but if that is what is causing me to think seriously about surrender, then I think it is a good thing. Perhaps you should consider your own mortality.”

Premer Doralin stared at his old friend in silence. He started pacing the tent. General Valatosa said nothing as he watched his friend. He knew that Doralin was a logical man. He would take in the facts he could prove and evaluate them, and then he would dwell upon the rumors and apply them carefully. Valatosa was confident that the premer would come to the same conclusion that he had.

“We have too few actual facts,” Premer Doralin said as he stopped pacing. “I agree that your thoughts are logical, but you give too much weight to suppositions. I cannot surrender without some proof of these wild claims. Come with me.”

General Valatosa followed the premer out of the tent. Doralin returned to the Sakovans who had ignored the chairs brought to them. They still stood where the general had fallen.

“Can you prove your claims?” Doralin asked the Star of Sakova. “Can you prove that Duran no longer exists, or that Alamar is inhabited by Chula?”

“I can speak to the Chula in Alamar,” frowned Lyra, “but that will prove nothing to you. You will claim that my air tunnel could be going somewhere else.”

“Quite true,” nodded the premer. “The only solution is for my army to return to Alamar and see for ourselves. If Alamar is truly in Chula hands and my ships are gone, I will surrender to you there.”

“I am afraid that I cannot allow that to happen,” Lyra shook her head.

“You will have to,” countered Premer Doralin. “You have offered no proof to demand my surrender.”

“I don’t have to do anything, Premer Doralin,” Lyra said sternly. “If you do not accept my terms for your surrender, we will crush your army. We will attack you every day, and we will raid you every night. You may have eighty thousand men right now, but I promise you that by the time you reach Alamar, you will only need a very small boat to return to Motanga.”

“And you will be destroyed upon reaching the Island of Darkness,” added StarWind. “Should any of you make it that far.”

“What about contacting someone on the Island of Darkness that the premer knows?” suggested HawkShadow. “There must be someone there who survived that Doralin would know.”

“An excellent idea,” General Valatosa nodded approvingly. “Almost any of the troops left in Teramar would know the premer or myself.”

“Teramar is not much of an option,” frowned Lyra. “The troops there refused to surrender. They were all killed. There were many prisoners taken in Sudamar. Would that be sufficient?”

“All killed?” balked Doralin. “That is hard to believe. No, Sudamar is not acceptable. That city is under Premer Shamal.”

“What about Vandamar?” asked General Valatosa. “Surely people survived there?”

“Some,” frowned Lyra as her blue cylinder winked out. “I will contact them and find out which officers survived.”

Premer Doralin looked curiously at the Star of Sakova and wondered why she dropped her protection spell. He was soon distracted by Lyra’s conversation as she talked to someone through the air tunnel. He wondered if she would try some ruse to trick him. He listened intently to the names being mentioned by the person on the other end of the air tunnel. He recognized none of them.

“Wait,” interrupted General Valatosa. “Did you say Santiock? You know Santiock don’t you, Doralin?”

The premer nodded, and Lyra requested that Santiock be brought to the air tunnel.

“Do not say anything to Santiock,” warned the premer. “For me to believe you, I must be sure that the man is not being coached.”

Lyra nodded and a few moments later Santiock’s voice came through the air tunnel.

“Who am I speaking to?” asked Santiock.

“This is Premer Doralin,” declared the premer. “General Valatosa is by my side. Where are you standing right now?”

“On the roof of the temple,” answered Santiock. “How is it that you are speaking to the elves? Have you joined them as well?”

“As well?” frowned the premer. “What do you mean?”

“Xavo and Lady Mystic deserted,” answered Santiock. “They helped the elves defeat us.”

“Defeat you?” questioned the premer. “What do you mean? Are you in Vandamar?”

“Where else would I be?” quipped Santiock. “What is going on here? How is it that you are talking to the elves and do not know about the fall of the island? Is this some kind of trick?”

“No trick, Santiock,” sighed the premer. “The Sakovans are asking for our surrender. They told me that Motanga has fallen, but I didn’t believe them. Is the whole island under the control of the elves?”

“All of it,” confirmed Santiock. “They attacked the southern cities first. Our armies were tricked into meeting them in the center of the island. Only my army remained in Vandamar. We could not hold out against the elves. Are you going to surrender?”

“Break the connection,” Doralin said softly to Lyra.

Lyra nodded and dropped the air tunnel. “I trust you are now assured that my words were the truth?”

“I am,” nodded Doralin. “How will my men be treated? What will happen to them?”

“Your men will be well cared for,” answered the Star of Sakova. “We will immediately bring in wagons of food. Your men will be required to give up their weapons. We cannot take the chance that you might change your mind.”

“Understandable,” agreed the premer. “Then what?”

“Your army will be escorted to Alamar,” explained Lyra. “They will be put to work restoring the city that they destroyed. When the war is over, your men will be set free and reunited with their families. I imagine that some will want to return to Motanga, but others will be welcome to stay here. These are details to be discussed later, but I plan to treat your men fairly and kindly. There has been enough suffering.”

“Your terms are generous,” smiled Premer Doralin. “More generous than mine would have been. I accept.”

Emperor Vand bowed low and backed out of the special room in the temple at Vandegar. He hesitated for a moment at the doorway as his eyes roved over the magnificent vista of towering volcanoes. A strong odor of sulfur filled the air, and loud crackling sounds emanated from one of the lava flows. He cast his eyes at the great demon one last time before turning and exiting the room.