Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“What in blazes is that?” asked Lord Sydar.

“It is a safety chain that stretches to the opposite bank of the river,” grinned Yenga. “There are times when the mine must close the river to navigation. The mine barges are so large that they present quite a danger to river traffic, especially with the sharp bend in the river at this point. Vessels coming downstream cannot see when the mine barges are being launched. If only one or two mine barges are entering the river, the chain is not used, but occasionally, the mine needs to send a dozen barges at once. When that happens, they close the river with the chain. The chain halts vessels coming downstream. It does not happen often, but it is preferable to the deadly collisions that occurred before its use.”

“So we are closing the river,” frowned Lord Sevrin. “Why? There is not likely to be any traffic this day. Everything upstream has already been destroyed to deny the enemy food. There is no reason for any barges to be coming along.”

“Quite true,” nodded Yenga as the chain to the opposite shore fully emerged. “We are not using the chain to close the river today. We are using it to cross the river. Watch.”

As the lords watched with curiosity, one of the huge barges was attached to the chain with large metal hooks. The crew of the barge pulled on the chain to move the barge across the river. Before the barge was even clear of the harbor, the next barge was attached to the chain and followed the first.

“They are crossing the river using the chain,” frowned Lord Sydar, “but why not take troops with them? I do not understand.”

“They are not just crossing the river,” grinned Lord Shamino as the third barge attached to the chain. “They are creating a bridge for our men to ride across.”

“Exactly,” nodded Lord Marshal Yenga. “When the last of the barges is attached to the chain, we will have a bridge of barges stretching from one shore to the other. Sheets of metal will bridge the gaps between the barges. All of our men will then cross over and prepare for a flanking attack on the Motangans.”

“Clever,” Lord Sevrin remarked with approval. “How long has this plan been in place?”

“It was discussed months ago,” answered Lord Marshal Yenga, “but we didn’t know that we would use it until last week. A lot depended on what the Motangans did during the invasion. Emperor Marak has alternative plans for each route the Motangans might take.”

* * *

High on the peaks of the Three Sisters, Emperor Marak sat with the tribal leaders of the Chula. He gazed across the valley of the Khadoran River and nodded in satisfaction.

“The frontier tribes are crossing the river,” declared the Torak. “It is time for the Chula to descend out of the mountains and take their place in the forests on the Motangan’s eastern flank.”

Tmundo, the leader of the Kywara tribe, nodded and rose to issue the orders. He walked over the peak and disappeared. Within minutes he returned and sat alongside the Torak. He gazed up at the clear morning sky.

“This signal that we are to await,” he asked the Torak, “is there any chance that we might confuse it with something else?”

“It will be unmistakable,” smiled Marak. “Everyone between Sintula and Chantise will know that the battle is to begin.”

“Including the Motangans?” asked Axor.

“Including them,” nodded Marak. “While they may not know the forces arrayed against them, they will know that they are expected to begin fighting.”

“Will we know when to break off the attack as well?” asked Ukaro.

“There will be no retreat from this battle,” stated the emperor. “This is the final battle for Khadora. At the end of this day, only one side will remain alive.”

“Isn’t that a dangerous statement to make?” frowned Tmundo. “If things do not go well, it would be foolish to continue making a stand here when we can regroup and try again.”

“It is dangerous,” agreed the Torak, “but it is also a confident statement. The Motangans will be surrounded and attacked without mercy. They must not be allowed to survive and endanger yet more of Khadora. We cannot afford to burn more fields to deny them food for we will have no food for ourselves. This is where Premer Shamal must fall.”

The Chula did not respond, and the Torak rose and stretched. He smiled confidently at the leaders and then walked over the peak. Myka was waiting anxiously when he arrived.

“To battle?” asked the dragon.

“Soon, winged warrior,” replied the Torak as he climbed the dragon’s back and sat down. “First we must visit the armies of the Imperial Valley. Fly hidden, for I am not ready for the Motangans to see you.”

The dragon leaped into the air and glided down the eastern slopes of the Three Sisters. She soared just over the tops of the trees until the Charl River came into view. Banking sharply, the dragon turned westward to skirt around the Three Sisters and approach the large defensive works from the north.

Marak smiled subconsciously as he saw the thousands of Khadorans assembled north of the giant berm. There were shouts and waves from the armies of the Imperial Valley as the dragon skimmed over their heads. At the base of the berm, a large clearing opened up as soldiers were instructed to create a place for the dragon to land.

“I could have created my own clearing,” quipped the dragon.

“You will have your fill of humans before this day is out,” the Torak replied seriously. “Conserve your energy. The battle will begin soon enough.”

Myka realized that the time for humor had not yet come. She remained silent as she landed in the improvised clearing. The soldiers surrounding the clearing looked on in a combination of fear and admiration as the Torak slid to the ground and walked towards the berm. Myka could not resist winking at the soldiers and then letting out a fiery belch. She laughed when the soldiers scurried backwards to put more distance between the dragon and themselves. Marak climbed the earthworks to one of the viewing places where the members of the Lords’ Council were assembled. He nodded appreciatively at the rows of archers manning the crude wall.

“Welcome,” Lord Chenowith called out as the emperor approached. “Has the time arrived?”

“Soon,” nodded Marak as he walked into the circle of lords. “The vanguard of the Motangan force will arrive shortly. Is everything ready for them?”

“We are ready,” assured Lord Patel. “Mages will erect a magical defense while the archers skewer the vanguard.”

“We have constructed catapults to turn the forest into a furnace,” added Lord Quilo.

“Do not use fire at the outset,” warned Emperor Marak. “This fortification was designed to be held for a long time. Let the enemy come to us and die before this bulwark. A forest fire could well endanger our own forces, but we will use it if we have to.”

“The area before this berm is well cleared,” frowned Lord Faliman. “The fire could not spread to our men.”

“We are not the only army attacking the Motangans on this day,” explained the Torak. “The clans of the southern frontier, the Chula, and the elves are with us. The Motangans will be surrounded.”

“Mercy!” exclaimed Lord Kiamesh. “You had not mentioned all of this before.”

“I was not assured that all of the pieces would come together,” shrugged the Torak. “Now I am. The southern tribes have crossed the river at Deep Bend, and the elves crossed at Sintula. The Chula are right now descending out of the Three Sisters. There will be many of our brothers in the forests before you. We will not use fire unless our position is about to be lost.”

“Here they come!” shouted a lookout.