Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“We did not know who to expect,” replied Fisher. “Have you brought many with you?”

“Thousands,” grinned the elven king as he stepped aside to let his men pass by. “I trust that the Motangans are not far ahead of us?”

“Their tail is but an hour away,” replied Fisher, “but their column is long. They have been marching through Sintula since high sun, and that column is unbroken.”

“That is a large number of Motangans,” smiled Princess Alastasia as she stepped alongside her father. “I trust the Khadoran fields can use the extra fertilizer?”

“You have not changed, MistyTrail,” grinned Gunta. “Welcome back to Khadora.”

“I am known as Princess Alastasia to my people,” smiled the elven princess, “but I do not think they would mind your calling me by my old name.”

Gunta looked embarrassed, but Avalar smiled warmly. “As long as her name is held in respect,” he said in a friendly manner, “you may call her what you wish. I was told that the Torak would leave a map for me.”

Fisher nodded and pulled a map out of his black suit. He handed it to the elven king. Halman held the torch high as Avalar gazed at the map. He looked up at the city briefly and then back to the map. Alastasia looked over his shoulder.

“Direct our people to the western edge of the city, daughter,” instructed the king. “Once we are assembled, we shall begin the long march.”

Princess Alastasia nodded and ran to the milling group of elven archers. She led them away to the west and those still crossing the bridge followed. King Avalar watched in satisfaction for a moment and then turned to the three Khadorans.

“You are welcome to join my people for our part in this battle,” King Avalar said. “From what I have heard about the three of you, there are few Khadorans more likely to appreciate the elven ways.”

* * *

“You were supposed to ensure that he got away,” Rejji frowned into the air tunnel.

“He refused to leave, Rejji,” replied Mistake. “He is obviously free to send air tunnel messages out, but I dare not try to contact him. If one of the black-cloaks senses an air tunnel going into the encampment, I will jeopardize Bakhai’s life.”

“Why would he freely stay in the enemy’s camp?” retorted the Astor. “He has already found out that they do not know where Angragar is. That is all we asked him to do.”

“He thinks he can do more,” replied the elven princess. “He wants to guide which way the Motangans go. He has asked me to contact you and let him know what to say to Premer Cardijja.”

“It is too dangerous,” Rejji shook his head. “I want you to tell him to get out of there. If he needs a distraction, I will send the free tribes to attack.”

“I have already told him to leave,” sighed Mistake as she remembered trying to get Rejji to leave the Zaldoni encampment when they first met. “He refuses. He is stubborn like his brother.”

Silence followed and Mistake pictured Rejji pacing back and forth. She heard distant murmurs and realized the Astor was getting advice from others. After a long pause, Rejji’s voice came through the air tunnel.

“Does he know how to contact you once the Motangan army starts marching again?” asked the Astor.

“I have promised him that I would be exactly one league east of the camp each night,” answered Princess Alastasia, “but he cannot contact me when the army is on the move.”

“I am going to send out a Qubari shaman to take your place,” stated Rejji. “For now you are to tell Bakhai to guide the Motangans through the pass between the Bone Mountains and the Giaming Mountains. Warn him that the column will be attacked. I don’t want our people to accidentally kill my brother.”

“Why are you replacing me?” frowned Mistake. “I was responsible for him getting caught.”

“You did what was asked of you,” replied Rejji. “I expected both of you to return immediately, but that is not how things panned out. Now you need to return here to lead your people. Tell Bakhai of the change when he contacts you.”

* * *

The dragon flew low over the forest east of the Three Sisters. At the Torak’s command, she banked sharply and soared up the face of the middle mountain. When she reached the peak, she hovered momentarily as the people scattered to make room for her to land.

“They always remind me of dinner when they scurry about like that,” quipped Myka.

The Torak laughed and shook his head as he slid off of Myka’s back. He strode briskly towards the group of people and embraced his father.

“How is it going?” the Torak asked.

“The Motangans are not stopping for the night,” replied Ukaro. “It is like watching an unending river of red from up here. Come, I will show you.”

The Chula shaman led the Torak to an outcropping where several Chula shaman sat. Marak sat among them and peered into the river valley. Far below was a line of red uniforms marching north. He tried to follow the line of red back to the city of Sintula, but the moonlight was inadequate for that. Still, the armies of the Motangans were impressive.

“Your clansmen across the river are also ready,” remarked Ukaro. “We saw the black and silver arrive earlier today.”

“And the elves to the south?” asked the Torak.

“Of them we have had no word,” shrugged Ukaro, “but we are not likely to either. I suspect that the elves know how to remain unseen. I do not waste my time looking for them.”

“Are your people ready to play your part?” asked Marak.

“We are your people, Torak,” grinned Axor who was sitting nearby, “and yes we are ready. We assembled three days ago. Our time has been spent in prayer.”

“Then it has been time well spent,” smiled the Torak. “When do you estimate that the vanguard will reach the earthen berm?”

“High sun tomorrow,” answered Ukaro.

“If they don’t stop to rest,” interjected Axor.

“They will be quite tired if they don’t stop,” mused Marak. “Can Shamal really be in such a hurry?”

“Perhaps he thinks that the Khadorans have fled to Chantise,” shrugged Ukaro. “If you had planned a reception for him in Chantise as you did in Sintula, his men would have ample time to rest there while trying to figure out a way to cross the river.”

“Then Shamal has made a grievous error,” replied the Torak. “His tired men will be attacked from four sides simultaneously. Let us pray that his error is fatal.”

* * *

Xavo reined in his horse and turned to look out over the plain to the west. He stared at the distant dust cloud with curiosity.

“What is it?” asked Lady Mystic as she halted alongside him.

“It is a sizeable movement,” answered Xavo. “If it is a caravan, it is a large one.”

“Could it be soldiers from Meliban coming after us?” asked Lady Mystic. “They may have communicated with Vandegar and found out that we are traitors.”

“I do not think of us as traitors,” replied Xavo. “Only a fool would willingly follow Vand. Anyone who values life is obligated to work against him.”

“You forget that I am his daughter,” frowned Lady Mystic. “For me to go against my father is an act of treason.”

Xavo sighed heavily and reached for his lover’s hand. “Do not punish yourself for your decisions,” he said gently. “You had no control over who your parents were. It is far more important that you chose the right path than blindly succumbing to a madman’s commands.”

Lady Mystic smiled tautly and squeezed Xavo’s hand. Her facial expression showed her doubt in Xavo’s words, but her eyes twinkled with love. Xavo smiled broadly and returned the squeeze.

“In any event,” he continued, “whatever is coming this way is not on foot. The dust cloud is moving too fast for that. It is definitely horses, and that leaves only two possibilities to my mind. Either it is riders of the Fakaran tribes, or it is a caravan. Either one requires some action on our part.”