Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

Vand strode purposefully from the special room to the throne room of the temple. A dozen black-cloaked mages milled about the room in quiet conversation. They fell to silence as the emperor entered. Vand walked to his throne, which was flanked by six black demons, their stony faces masks of hatred.

“Get me Tzargo,” demanded the emperor.

One of the mages slipped out of the room and returned shortly with the head premer. Tzargo walked towards the throne and fell to one knee, his head bowed in reverence.

“Rise,” commanded the emperor. “Tell me what is happening with the invasions.”

Premer Tzargo rose and stared at the emperor. He dared not let his eyes wander to the faces of the demons for it was said that such a single glance invited a most horrible death.

“There has been little word from the Sakova,” reported the premer, “but the war in Khadora is going well, although slower than we expected. Here in Fakara, Cardijja’s men are following the Meliban River to the east. They have not yet encountered any opposition.”

“Such a rosy picture you paint,” sneered the emperor. “Why has there been no word from the Sakova?”

Tzargo’s left eye twitched at hearing the emperor’s words and the tone in which they were uttered. Something unpleasant was about to arrive. The premer hoped that the emperor’s wrath could be deflected onto someone other than himself.

“I am not sure what Doralin is up to,” reported Tzargo. “In violation of his orders, he has failed to report in regularly. I would like permission to replace him. He has become undependable.”

“Is Doralin alone in his failure to report?” asked the emperor, ignoring Tzargo’s request to replace the Premer of Teramar.

“No,” Tzargo replied nervously. “There are some major problems with the air tunnel spell. While we have regular reports from Premer Shamal and Premer Cardijja, we have been unable to contact Premer Doralin or any city on Motanga. Cardijja recently sent three ships to Vandamar in an attempt to discover the problem with the spell, but he has lost contact with them. He also sent ships to Duran for supplies, but the ships returned empty. They have been unable to even locate the city.”

“You are failing me, Tzargo,” scowled the emperor. “You hold a prestigious position that many would kill to obtain. The enemy is making inroads on my empire, and you are totally unaware of it. Why is this?”

Premer Tzargo’s hands began trembling, and he quickly clasped them behind his back. Sweat began to form on his brow.

“I am not aware of any enemy successes,” Premer Tzargo said softly. “I have our mages working on the problems with the air tunnel, but they seem to be incapable of discovering its flaw.”

“There is no flaw in the air tunnel spell,” declared Vand. “Have you even considered the ramifications of that?”

“But,” frowned Tzargo, “that makes no sense. Why can’t the mages contact anyone then? Do you suspect that our mages are duplicitous?”

“Hardly,” sneered the emperor. “I expected better from you, Tzargo. You disappoint me greatly.”

“I apologize for my failings,” replied the premer. “My devotion to you has never wavered. Whatever my failings, I vow to correct them immediately. Tell me what must be done to please you.”

Emperor Vand glared at the premer for a long time. The room was absolutely silent as no one dared to draw attention to himself. When the emperor finally spoke, it was like the loud crack of a whip breaking the silence.

“Doralin has left the war,” the emperor spat. “He allowed his forces to be bested by a mere girl. Alamar has fallen, and Duran no longer exists. The elves have infested the Island of Darkness, led by the elven king your men allowed to escape from the prison he was assigned to. Explain to me how you have not failed me.”

Premer Tzargo’s mind whirled with the emperor’s words. Suddenly the real reason for the failure of communications became clear. A third of the Motangan army was gone, and there was no longer a source for precious supplies. The burning of the fields in Khadora suddenly took on a more ominous meaning than the mere elimination of spoils.

“As I thought,” scowled the emperor. “You have no excuse. I am changing your invasion plans, Tzargo.”

“Of course,” nodded the premer. “What will you have me do?”

“I want Shamal’s forces to move quickly to lay waste to Khadora,” explained Vand. “I want Sintula, Chantise, and Khadoratung totally destroyed, and I want it done now.”

“Shamal’s men are currently advancing on the third trench,” reported the premer. “Once they get past that obstacle, they will be upon Sintula quickly. Chantise and Khadoratung will be crushed soon.”

“That is not soon enough for my liking,” retorted the emperor. “Abandon your slow and cautious route. Use the mages to destroy the third trench instead of slowly trying to overwhelm the enemy.”

“Such methods will be costly,” Tzargo warned as he felt a measure of relief over the change in topic. Battle strategy was something he felt at ease discussing. “Using the mages so early in the battle will put them in harm’s way.”

“Then they must cast their spells quickly,” shrugged the emperor. “Whatever their losses, I want those armies here in Fakara. Crush Khadoratung and the country will be ruined. We can return later to mop up the fragments of their civilization.”

“You want Shamal’s force here in Fakara?” puzzled the premer. “Cardijja has faced little opposition after the initial surprise attack. He hardly needs more men to find and defeat the Fakarans”

“Cardijja is to stop searching for the Fakarans,” stated Vand. “The key to our victory now rests in destroying Angragar. Cardijja is to continue eastward to the coast. He will find the ancient city and destroy it totally. Shamal’s forces will search western Fakara after he crushes Khadoratung. Between the two armies, we will find the capital of our enemy. When Angragar is reduced to rubble, all opposition against us will cease.”

“I understand,” Tzargo nodded. “Should I make plans for the retaking of the Island of Darkness?”

“That is unnecessary,” Vand shook his head. “My time of exile is over. Vandegar will become the center of the world once again. Find Angragar, Premer Tzargo. Find it and destroy it. Your life depends upon it.”

With a wave of the emperor’s hand, Premer Tzargo was dismissed.

* * *

Marshal Berman stood on a ridge with a good view of the third trench. He watched as the Motangan archers pressed forward to the edge of the ridge and knew that the time to start an orderly retreat had arrived. He was disappointed that the enemy army had advanced so quickly, and he knew that before the day was done, the first elements of the Motangans would be across the trench. He called for a mage. The woman came forward without delay to receive instructions.

“Have the mages begin retreating,” ordered the marshal. “Inform the infantry to prepare to follow the mages. Make sure that they know that they are not to cross the rivers until they reach the city. The only bridges left standing over the rivers are at Sintula. Also,” he continued, “make sure that the cavalry commanders are informed of what we are doing. This will be a major battle for them, as the retreat to Sintula will be much longer than the other retreats.”

The mage nodded and began issuing commands through her air tunnel. Marshal Berman turned and saw the commotion to his rear. He nodded in satisfaction that the retreat was beginning. When he turned his attention back to the trench he was surprised to see the enemy archers retreating. His brow crinkled in thought as he wondered what the Motangans were up to.