Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

Marak and the lords gazed over the top of the berm and saw the vanguard of the Motangan army exiting the forest trail. The Motangans halted when they saw the huge earthworks. After a short pause, a Motangan officer ordered his men to spread out across the cleared area. They made no attempt to approach the berm, although they were already within bow range. Marak grinned as he tried to imagine what must have been going through the officer’s mind.

“Let them spread out a bit,” Marak said softly. “We don’t want only the archers in the center of the berm to have targets.”

The berm and the clearing before it spread for over a league from the foot of the Three Sisters to the Khadora River. For many minutes the Motangans filed out of the woods and spread to the left and the right as they hugged the wall of trees before the clearing. Before long, thousands of Motangan soldiers stood staring at the earthen wall, waiting for the signal to attack.

“Now,” Marak said softly to the air mages behind the lords.

Dozens of voices spoke into air tunnels, and the air immediately sizzled with Khadoran arrows. Screams rippled through the Motangan ranks as red-clad soldiers fell to the ground. Some of the Motangans charged towards the mammoth berm while others retreated into the forest. Those who charged the Khadorans were quickly cut down, but other Motangans were still filing into the cleared area.

A Motangan black-cloak exited the forest and glanced at the massacre for only a moment before raising his arm and sending a fireball streaming towards the Khadorans. The fireball hit a magical shield and dissipated. His arm rose again and pointed at a different area of the berm, but an arrow pierced his chest before he could get the spell off.

“Did you see that?” Lord Jamarat asked excitedly. “Their magic is worthless.”

“Do not believe that,” retorted the Torak. “The magical shields can only do so much. None of the Motangan magical projectiles will strike our people, but there are other spells that the enemy can use. I fully expect them to cause the ground to tremble with earthquakes. Our shields will not save us against that kind of magic.”

“What will save us from such spells?” asked Lord Quilo.

“Killing the remaining black cloaks,” answered the emperor. “Our mages destroyed most of the Motangan mages at the third trench, but we must ensure that the rest of them die before they can summon up such magic. They are the highest priority targets for our archers and mages alike.”

“I will see to it,” offered Lord Kiamesh as he waved an air mage towards him.

“When the Motangans stop coming out of the woods,” Marak continued, “our cavalries must pursue them. That will be the deadliest time for our forces.”

“You expect them to halt the attack?” asked Lord Chenowith.

“Eventually,” nodded Marak. “I don’t suspect that Premer Shamal is in the vanguard. When he hears what is happening here, he will order the attack to halt. He will seek a way around the berm.”

“But there is no way around the berm,” frowned Lord Patel.

“He will not be aware of that,” replied the Torak. “It is at that moment that our other forces must attack. Be prepared for it. You will see my signal to our other forces. If the Motangans are still attacking here, there should be no change in your defense at that time, but if the Motangans have halted their attack, that will be the time to pursue them with vigor.”

“You are leaving then?” frowned Lord Faliman.

“I am,” Marak nodded. “I am taking Myka aloft to observe the battle from the sky. As long as I am visible, your mages will be able to contact me.”

The Torak turned and left the group of lords. He hurried down the embankment and climbed aboard the dragon.

“Fly high, winged warrior,” instructed the Torak. “Let’s see what the enemy is up to.”

“About time,” quipped Myka as she leaped into the air. “Waiting on the ground while the enemy attacks is not what I am interested in.”

Marak merely smiled as the dragon’s wings began to beat powerfully. In moments the berm had faded to a small line stretching between the mountains and the river. The Torak gazed down at the road through the forest. His eyes scanned the stream of red uniforms in search of the Motangan premer.

The Motangans had very few horses among their troops. Most of the horses were used to haul the supply wagons at the rear of the column, but officers also utilized horses to avoid walking with their men. Emperor Marak had little trouble finding the premer. With about one third of the Motangan army before him, Premer Shamal rode in a knot of other officers. Marak smiled and instructed the dragon to circle while he wove an air tunnel towards the premer. For several minutes there was no conversation to listen to, only the sounds of an army marching to war. Suddenly someone noticed the dragon high overhead. A few black-cloaks tried to send magical projectiles skyward to strike the dragon, but Myka was flying too high. She belched long flames in defiance, but the Motangan mages soon gave up.

“We need a way to kill that dragon,” came a voice through the air tunnel. “That is probably Emperor Marak riding it. Kill them both and this war is over.”

“You are correct as usual, General Chen,” came a second voce, which Marak assumed was Premer Shamal’s voice by the authoritative tone used to address the general, “but it is too high at the moment. I wonder what he is up to?”

“He is probably checking out the size of our remaining force,” offered General Chen. “He killed many of our men at Sintula and is probably hoping to do the same at Chantise. We must find a better way across the river this time.”

“We will,” assured the premer. “With Sintula behind us, we can safely report our progress to Vand. I doubt that he will quibble if we take a couple of days taking the city of Chantise. It will give our men some rest and lessen our losses.”

Marak smiled as the premer validated the Torak’s own thoughts about the Motangan strategy, but the smile faded as an officer arrived from the front. He listened carefully to the report.

“The Khadorans have not retreated to Chantise,” reported the officer. “We are being attacked well before the city. They have built a huge fortification across the road. Our men cannot reach it under the hail of Khadoran arrows.”

“What type of fortification?” asked Shamal.

“A large earthen berm,” answered the officer. “It stretches over a league with a swath of cleared area before it. The entire cleared area is within Khadoran bow range.”

“What are my officers doing about it?” asked the premer.

“We are attacking it,” answered the officer, “but the men are cut down before they can reach it. The entire berm is manned with Khadoran archers. I would like to halt the attack until we can figure a way around the berm.”

A long silence filled the air tunnel, and Marak was afraid that he had moved it too far from the premer, but the voices soon returned.

“We will need siege engines built,” declared Premer Shamal. “I want the attack to continue, but slow down the rate of soldiers pouring into the cleared area. I want to keep the Khadorans busy and make them think that we will just continue the attack. Build the siege engines beyond the sight of the berm. Also have every mage left moved to the front.”

“Our mages are ineffective,” reported the officer. “There is a magical shield protecting the Khadoran archers.”

“Instruct them to forget about the archers,” scowled the premer. “They are to concentrate on destroying the fortification. If it is made of dirt, let the mages return it to the ground.”

The officer acknowledged his orders and headed towards the front. Only a short silence followed before General Chen spoke.