Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“It takes time to build siege engines,” scowled Premer Shamal. “We have been ordered to make haste to Khadoratung. Get the mages to come up with a way to get us across.”

“We have only a handful of mages left,” General Chen shook his head. “The battle at the third trench took a terrible toll on them.”

“It was necessary,” shrugged Shamal, “just as it is necessary to cross this river. Emperor Vand has lost his patience. He wants Khadora conquered quickly so our armies can cross the Fortung Mountains and search for Angragar.”

“The emperor cannot always get what he wants,” the general replied softly. “If we move too quickly, our losses will be great.”

“And you think the emperor cares?” Shamal asked with raised eyebrows. “His armies are merely tools to acquire his personal goals. You must be aware of that.”

“I am,” nodded General Chen, “but I also wish to cling to life. If that means that the men must be sacrificed, I can play that game.”

“As can I,” agreed Premer Shamal, “but those same men are what protects us from the Khadorans. I will not throw my armies away needlessly to meet some arbitrary goal. So far our losses have been acceptable, but we are close to crossing that line. How do we cross the river quickly and still have an army when we are done?”

“There are only two ways,” answered General Chen. “We can backtrack along the river to find a ford, or we can build siege engines and obliterate the city of Sintula. Both options slow us down.”

Premer Shamal said nothing, but he began pacing. General Chen had known the premer long enough to understand that the pacing meant that Shamal was not happy with the alternatives. He held his tongue and let his superior pace in silence.

“There is a third solution,” Premer Shamal finally said, his eyes twinkling with victory over the mental exercise. “Send out patrols upstream along the Khadora River. They are to be covert inspections. I do not want the enemy to realize that our interest in the river is more than cursory.”

“You want them to look for a ford?” asked General Chen.

“They should act like they are looking for a ford,” smiled Premer Shamal, “but what I really want to know is how far upstream the Khadorans are watching. They know this river well, so if there is a ford upstream we can be sure that it will be guarded.”

“So you are more interested in finding out if we will be observed upstream?” questioned the general. “What do you have in mind if we are not being watched?”

“Rafts,” smiled Premer Shamal. “Simple rafts. The rafts can be created in the forest beyond the prying eyes of the enemy. During the night we will ferry our men across the river upstream from Sintula. When the Khadorans wake in the morning, our armies will be attacking the city from the east instead of being on the south side of the river.”

“An excellent plan,” grinned General Chen. “It is simple, yet ingenious. I will see to immediately.”

* * *

“They have backed away from the river,” reported Marshal Berman. “There do not appear to be any siege machines being constructed. They are just standing there.”

“Something smells,” frowned Emperor Marak. “They should be building siege engines to attack the city. Are you sure they are not building them out of sight?”

“I cannot be sure of that,” admitted Marshal Berman, “but I can see no activity at all in the enemy camp. We need a spy across the river.”

“If they had no plans to use siege engines as all,” interjected Lord Patel, “I would think that they would at least make the appearance of building some. Even if it was just to throw us off.”

“Perhaps,” replied Lord Chenowith, “but maybe not. Maybe Shamal is just letting his men rest before the attack. They covered the distance from the third trench in an amazingly short time. They must be tired.”

“They raced to reach Sintula,” frowned the Torak. “That alone indicates that they are in a hurry to conquer us. Perhaps the defeat of Premer Doralin in the Sakova has created some kind of urgency in Vand’s plans. I cannot believe that Shamal raced to Sintula only to rest his men. It makes no sense.”

“What can he do without siege engines?” asked Lord Quilo. “If he tries coming across the river, we will decimate his troops.”

“If he does it where we can see him,” mused the emperor.

“The closest ford is over a day away,” remarked Marshal Berman. “If he was planning on fording the river, his whole army would be in motion. They are not moving.”

“Nevertheless,” stated the Torak, “he is planning on crossing the river. It is the only thing he can do. Send horsemen upstream, Marshal. I do not want them on the banks of the river where the enemy can see them. Keep them inland a bit.”

“But then they will not be able to see what the enemy is up to,” frowned Marshal Berman. “What good will that do?”

“I am more interested in what they hear,” smiled the Torak. “I want to know if they hear any sounds of felling trees, or crafting wood.”

“Boats?” asked Lord Kiamesh.

“Boats, rafts, a bridge,” shrugged the Torak. “It doesn’t matter what their plan is, but where it is. Wherever we hear the sounds of falling trees, that will be where the Motangans plan to cross the river.”

“And what do we do when we find it?” asked Lord Jamarat.

“We deny them the chance to cross,” answered he emperor.

“So we move thousands of men to stop them from crossing,” pondered Lord Patel. “Meanwhile, they move their bridge building operation to another spot on the river. We cannot afford to watch the whole river. They will eventually succeed in crossing it.”

“You are correct,” nodded Marak. “We cannot possibly stop them from crossing. All we can do is to make them waste men and time. Both of those are important to Premer Shamal. Let us plan to make him waste much of both.”

Bakhai sat on a high ledge on the western foothills of the Bone Mountains. He gazed down on the Motangan encampment hundreds of paces below him. Tall sevemore trees stretched high from the massive encampment, and figures in red appeared in spots wherever there was not a tree. The red carpet below the green trees spread for leagues in every direction.

“It is massive,” Bakhai said with a tone of defeatism. “The camp goes on forever. There is no way that I can go down there and find out where Cardijja is heading. It is impossible. Why did Rejji choose me for this task?”

“Because he believes in you,” soothed the female voice next to him, “as I believe in you. No one else would stand a chance of getting close enough to learn their secrets. Only you can do it.”

“I cannot do it,” balked Bakhai. “I am not a spy. I have no special skills that will allow me to pry their secrets from them. I just can’t do it.”

“You do have special skills,” she insisted. “You grew up in these forests. You know them better than any man alive. Besides, you do have special skills.”

“What?” retorted Bakhai. “Talking to animals? A load of good that will do. These Motangans only have a handful of horses. I cannot bend the minds of humans, Mistake. That is not what I do.”

“Are you forgetting the thousands of friends that surround you?” encouraged Princess Alahara. “Surely they can help you accomplish the task.”

“How?” frowned Bakhai. “Will I call on the chipmunks to attack the Motangans? Will the river otters leave the creeks to come rescue me? This is just a foolish idea. I will not do it. We will rest the night here and return to Angragar in the morning.”

The elven princess frowned as she stared down at the Motangans. Suddenly a thought popped into her mind.