Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“They will soon,” answered the Torak, “If we wait until they attack the city, we will lose thousands of men. I am not suggesting that we evacuate immediately. Just that we start preparing now. My goal is to kill as many Motangans as we can as they try to cross the river, but retreat once they have troops on this side of the river.”

“We keep falling back whenever the Motangans threaten us,” frowned Lord Jamarat. “Our men are willing to stand and fight to defend Khadora. Why not let Sintula be the place to show our bravery?”

“No one questions the bravery of our men, Lord Jamarat,” the Torak smiled tautly, “at least not in this room. Tens of thousands of Khadorans have already given up their lives to halt this Motangan invasion, but that is not the measure of our worth. It is the number of dead Motangans that we need to concentrate on. Go down to the city docks and gaze upon the river. Thousands of Motangan bodies are floating past this city. Shamal is paying a terrible price to cross the Khadora River, but eventually he will succeed. We are not capable of denying him that small victory.”

“But they will destroy Sintula and march on to Chantise,” frowned the simple-minded lord. “Crossing the Charl River will be the only obstacle to stop him from reaching Khadoratung and the Imperial Valley.”

“No, Lord Jamarat,” smiled the emperor. “Shamal will never reach the Charl River.”

“You have a plan in mind?” asked Lord Quilo.

“I do indeed,” nodded Marak. “It is a plan that will require extraordinary planning and extreme secrecy, but it will crush the Motangan army.”

“Then let us plan it and get started on it,” urged Lord Patel.

“The planning is already underway,” confessed the Torak. “I apologize for keeping this council ignorant of the plan, but a single word to the enemy would be disastrous for us. I could not take the chance that one of our men might be captured and tortured, so I have kept knowledge of the plan to myself.”

“Does this plan require that we abandon Sintula earlier than we wish?” frowned Lord Kiamesh. “I am afraid that I agree with Lord Jamarat. The Khadora River is a natural defense for us. Even considering the loss of many Khadorans, we can inflict much more damage on the Motangans by refusing to yield the northern bank of the river.”

“I agree with your assessment,” sighed the Torak, “but my plan does require us to leave Sintula shortly. The Motangans must be in pursuit of us by high sun tomorrow.”

“High sun?” echoed Lord Kiamesh. “They will not be done sacking Sintula by then even if they cross the river right now.”

“They will not pause to sack Sintula,” assured the emperor. “Shamal’s moves shows that he is suddenly in a hurry to finish with Khadora. That haste will destroy him. I will explain my plan now,” he added after a moment’s pause, “but I must warn you that no one outside this room is to learn of it. I must have your vows on this.”

* * *

The Torak walked the deserted streets of Sintula, his shadows watching for friendly eyes as well as those of the enemy. North of the city, the cavalries of the Lords’ Council sat patiently waiting to provide defensive cover for the retreating archers. The Motangans had finally managed to cross the river just before dawn, and they were currently marching westward towards Sintula. Within the hour the vanguard of Shamal’s troops would reach the city.

The Torak turned into an alley and halted. Halman and Gunta scanned the alley looking for any signs of life. There were none. Marak moved cautiously along the alley and halted at a nondescript door leading to a warehouse. He knocked on the door in a cryptic rhythm and waited. Halman and Gunta concealed their curiosity as they flanked the Torak. The door slowly opened, revealing a large darkened room. Halman immediately leaped through the door, his sword held menacingly before him. His eyes scanned the dim room, searching for inhabitants. Emperor Marak stepped into the room and motioned for Gunta to follow. The Torak closed the door, dimming the light even further.

“Relax,” Marak said softly to his shadows. “There is no one here to harm me.”

Halman and Gunta reluctantly sheathed their swords, but Marak chuckled inwardly as he saw both of them fist Sakovan stars.

“Time is short, Fisher,” the Torak said to the silent room. “Come into view before my shadows cause you harm.”

A pile of hay in the corner of the room moved. Halman and Gunta tensed as they watch a black-clad figure emerge from the pile. They relaxed somewhat when they recognized Fisher, but their eyes continued to scan the darkness.

“You are early,” Fisher said softly as he brushed off the hay and approached the Torak.

“Not by much,” shrugged Marak. “Is this where you will hide the horses?”

“They are in the far corner,” nodded the spy. “They are sleeping.”

“I would not have noticed them,” smiled the Torak. “Are you sure this place is secure enough to avoid detection?”

“It is the safest place in Sintula,” nodded Fisher. “I have checked them all out. The Motangans will not find us here.”

The Torak turned to face his shadows, confusion evident on their faces.

“I am leaving you two here to help Fisher,” he said softly.

“Leaving us?” objected Gunta. “That is not wise.”

“It is necessary,” replied the emperor. “Fisher will explain the details, but he needs your help after the Motangans pass through Sintula. I cannot think of three men who could possibly have a better chance at avoiding the enemy’s scrutiny when they pass through the city.”

“We do not mind the task, whatever it is,” frowned Halman, “but we are loathe to abandon you. The enemy is far too close for you to be unprotected.”

“I will be leaving on Myka,” replied the Torak. “Rest assured in the knowledge that I will not be unprotected. Your task is of vital importance.”

“What is the nature of this task?” asked Gunta.

Marak sighed and smiled tautly. He had planned to let Fisher reveal it, but he understood the hesitancy of his shadows. Their lives were sworn to protecting the Torak.

“Simply put,” answered Marak, “there is a bridge across the Khadora River that has escaped the notice of the Motangans. The bridge rests on the bed of the river. There are concealed ropes attached to it on each side of the river. You three must raise the northern side of the bridge as soon as the Motangans pass through Sintula. Fisher has all of the details and will brief you when the time comes.”

“I have a winch set aside to help us,” offered Fisher. “The whole task will only take a few hours.”

“And who will raise the other end?” asked Halman.

The Torak grinned and turned to leave.

* * *

The Motangan general walked into the tent and saluted. He stood silently waiting to be addressed.

“I understand that you have a prisoner,” stated Premer Cardijja as he turned away from General Luggar to face the new arrival.

“A boy,” nodded the general. “I think he may have valuable information. He was being chased by an elf, which he thought was an evil spirit.”

“Are you sure it was an elf?” asked the premer.

“That is what was reported,” shrugged the general. “I expect that our men know what an elf looks like. She was a mage as well. She cast fireballs at the boy.”

“Have him brought here,” demanded the premer. “I wish for nothing to be lost in the interrogation.”

“As you command,” frowned the general, obviously unhappy with the turn of events.

The general left the tent and Premer Cardijja returned to the map on the table. General Luggar looked at the premer curiously.