Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

Suddenly the air was filled with rocks and dirt. Everything that had been rolling towards the trench became suddenly airborne. Pebbles and boulders alike flew towards the black cloaks with amazing speed. The debris slammed into the casting Motangan mages with a deadly velocity. Bodies were broken like rag dolls and tossed to the ground to slide backwards into the Motangan army. The black cloaks who survived the initial impact worked feverishly to complete the collapsing of the trench, but a second wave of rocks was already heading towards them. A cloud of dust rose over the Motangan side of the nearly filled trench, blocking the marshal’s view of the black cloaks. Glenda ordered another wave of missiles to be sent towards the Motangans and then turned to Marshal Berman.

“I think you should order the retreat now,” Glenda said. “I will keep a few mages here to delay the Motangans. It will be a while before they can see clearly, so I doubt that they will charge towards us, but they will have an easy time crossing the trench when they do come. You will need a good head start to reach the bridges at Sintula.”

“You are an amazing woman, Glenda,” smiled Marshal Berman. “I am sorry for doubting you.”

“Your doubts were understandable, Marshal,” smiled Glenda. “I discussed Marak’s desire to keep our role secret, but I think his decision was wise in the end. We had no idea what the black cloaks would try, so there was no definitive plan for us. I am sorry that you were kept in the dark.”

“I am concerned about some of your mages staying while the rest of us retreat,” replied Marshal Berman. “I do not like abandoning them.”

“Leave us a dozen horses,” Glenda said. “We will keep the air thick with dust and send a few volleys of rocks into it to keep the Motangans cautious. When one of them sticks his head out to see what is going on, we will mount up and ride like the wind. Your cavalry will swallow us up and protect us.”

“So you will be one of those staying?” frowned the marshal. “I would not like the emperor to hold me accountable for his mother’s death or injury.”

“Put your mind at ease, Marshal,” replied Glenda. “I was chosen for this position by my fellow mages, not my son. My decisions are my responsibility, not yours. Go quickly. I am not sure how long we can hold the trench.”

* * *

“Marshal Berman’s forces are heading towards the city,” the Torak announced to the Lords’ Council. “It is time to ready your armies. The battle for Sintula will commence in a couple of days.”

“So soon?” frowned Lord Patel. “I though we would have a few more days before the trenches were compromised.”

“Things are happening quickly around the world,” the Torak responded. “Lyra has accepted the surrender of Premer Doralin. The war in the Sakova has ended.”

“Fantastic,” grinned Lord Chenowith. “Will the Sakovans be coming to help us in Khadora?”

“That is not practical,” the Torak shook his head. “By the time the Sakovans get here, this war will be decided one way or the other. Besides, they have eighty thousand Motangans to accommodate. They cannot leave that many of the enemy alone in the Sakova. The Island of Darkness has also fallen.”

“The elves?” asked Lord Patel.

“Yes,” nodded Emperor Marak. “King Avalar’s people have taken all four cities on the island. They have also freed thousands of slaves, both human and elven. Now it is our turn to halt the Motangans.”

“Or at least slow them down,” stated Lord Kiamesh.

“We will do the best we can,” replied the Torak, “but Sintula is an important battle for us. If the Motangans reach Chantise, Khadora is doomed.”

“Why?” asked Lord Jamarat. “Khadoratung is the capital. We should not admit defeat before the Imperial Valley is lost.”

“If the Motangans cross the river at Chantise,” explained the Torak, “they will be unbeatable. Here at Sintula we have them penned in by the convergence of the two major rivers. They will lose many men trying to cross the rivers. Between Sintula and Chantise they will be boxed in between the Three Sisters and the Bear Mountains, but once they cross the river at Chantise, we can no longer constrain them. They can march down the entire width of the Imperial Valley and we will be helpless to stop them.”

“So you are saying that we only have two chances to destroy the Motangans?” asked Lord Quilo.

“Here at Sintula,” nodded the emperor, “and again between here and Chantise. Those are the only two places that we can achieve victory. We cannot survive if we are forced to face the full breadth of the Motangan army.”

“Then we will halt them here at Sintula,” Lord Faliman said confidently.

“Hopefully,” frowned the emperor, “but let’s not get overconfident. I want the evacuation of Sintula started immediately. Use every boat and barge in the city. I want none of them left for the enemy.”

“What about using the barges for our troops if we have to evacuate?” asked Lord Patel.

“They will not be needed for our troops,” Marak shook his head. “We will retreat slowly by land.”

“Slowly?” frowned Lord Kiamesh. “You want the Motangans to follow us?”

“Most definitely,” grinned Emperor Marak. “I do not think we can possibly save Sintula from the Motangan hordes, but I think we can defeat them before they reach Chantise. I have several surprises in store for them.”

“Are you keeping these surprises from us?” frowned Lord Chenowith. “I thought we were trusted.”

“You are all trusted,” replied Emperor Marak. “My plans will not be kept from you, but I am still refining them. Let me tell you what I have in mind. Perhaps you will have some ideas to make the trap even better. Lord Faliman, start the evacuation of citizens from Sintula. As soon as you return, we will discuss our plans for the Three Sisters.”

The men gathered in a large rectangular room in the palace at Angragar. Maps and charts were spread over the large table and tensions were high.

“Why would the Motangans pass up a chance to pursue our warriors?” asked Yojji, leader of the Kheri tribe. “They have chased us every time in the past.”

“Maybe they are getting wise?” suggested Adger, leader of the Mutang tribe. “It does not take much more intelligence than that of a wasooki to learn that they lose men each time they chase us.”

“I don’t know the reason,” sighed Blaka, leader of the Extala tribe. “I am only reporting what I have observed. The last half dozen attempts at luring the Motangans away from their march have failed. Oh, they defended themselves, but they showed no interest in chasing us. When we retreated, they continued following the north branch of the Meliban River.”

“Almost as if they knew their destination?” frowned Bakhai. “Is that what you are saying?”

“That is certainly one reason to explain such behavior,” shrugged Blaka, “but I have no way of knowing for sure.”

“Must you draw them away from the river to attack them?” asked Bakhai.

“Our men are horsemen,” interjected Wyant, the sheriff of Fakara. “Our method of fighting is to sweep down on the enemy in large numbers and smash the defenders. We leave just as quickly. Fakarans are no match for the Motangans if we dismount and hide behind trees. We need the enemy in the open.”

“Yet not so open that they can see us coming,” nodded Rejji. “Our best fighting so far has been at night when their visibility is limited, but those days are over. To defeat the Motangans in the forests and mountains, we must adapt new tactics.”

“New tactics?” balked Yojji. “You expect the tribes to change the way we have fought for a thousand years?”