Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“Your gut feeling was correct,” interjected General Chen. “What are your orders, Shamal?”

Marak looked back towards the berm and saw the Khadoran cavalry surging over the earthworks. He nodded in satisfaction and dropped the air tunnel. The time for listening was over, for he did not intend to give Premer Shamal the chance to reorganize his forces. The Torak shouted terse instructions to Myka, and the dragon suddenly leaned into a steep dive.

As the ground came rushing up towards Marak, he focused on the black-cloak talking to Premer Shamal. The Torak’s arm pointed downward, and a pulse of power soared from his fist. Even before the magical projectile struck, Marak followed with a series of light blades. The force bolt slammed into the Motangan mage, splitting his body in two. Premer Shamal and the officers surrounding him looked upward a second before the light blades hit. The magical blades ripped into the clump of officers with deadly results, officers and horses reduced to mere fragments that flew in every direction.

Myka suddenly flared her wings and soared northward just over the heads of the column of Motangan soldiers. Flames shot from her mouth and scorched the mass of red uniforms. Marak scanned the roadway ahead and searched for black-cloaks. Whenever he saw one, he unleashed a light blade at the mage. Within minutes the dragon rose over the heads of the charging Khadoran cavalry. She banked sharply and prepared for another pass over the roadway.

On her first pass, the Motangans were taken completely by surprise. The soldiers never saw the dragon coming, but those who survived her flames saw the dragon after she passed over them. The second pass was more dangerous. Flying into the faces of the Motangan soldiers, Myka had to deal with hastily aimed arrows streaking towards her. The arrows bounced off the armor-plated dragon, but a lone mage managed to strike with a fireball shortly before Marak struck the black-cloak with a light blade.

Myka banked sharply to her right and skimmed over the trees. Marak jammed a knife into the dragon’s scales and hung on as Myka dove for the Khadora River. The dragon slid into the river, splashing water high into the air. She skimmed along the surface of the water for a short distance and then climbed into the air again.

“Are you alright?” the Torak asked with concern.

“I am now,” replied Myka. “That fireball hit me just right. It managed to slip under the scales. Did you get him?”

“He is dead,” answered the Torak.

“Good,” snorted Myka. “Let’s get the rest of them. Pay close attention to the mages.”

Myka swept over the trees between the river and the roadway, banking sharply to soar over the road once again. Motangan bodies littered the road, and the winged warrior dropped lower. She impaled two soldiers with her claws as her mouth belched fire. The Torak tossed light blades before the dragon’s path as Myka tossed the captured bodies to the ground. Motangan arrows flew out of the woods towards Marak and the dragon, but Myka sped by too quickly to be hit by anyone on the sidelines. After several minutes of flying over the road, they came to a section of the roadway where nothing lived. Motangan bodies still covered the roadway, but there were no survivors to aim at.

“This must be the center of the column,” shouted the Torak. “The flanking attacks have taken their toll.”

“Then it is time to aid the elves,” snorted the dragon. “You have a minute to rest yourself.”

The trees raced past the tips of Myka’s wings as she sped swiftly along the desolate road, her eyes focused far ahead at the figures still alive. Long tongues of flame shot from her mouth and her claws stretched forward as the Motangans came into view. Some of the Motangans saw the winged warrior coming. A few fled into the trees despite the presence of Chula and frontier Khadorans. Others stood their ground and raised bows to attack the dragon. Marak’s light blades preceded the dragon, shredding bodies and clouding the air with a red mist, and soon the Motangans were in a full-panic retreat.

The panic spread in a wave as the dragon flew into the fleeing soldiers, again impaling some and tossing their bodies aside. A haze of smoke began to appear over the roadway behind the winged warrior as the dragon’s flames ignited bodies and body parts. Within minutes Myka saw the abandoned wagons of the supply train and soared upwards. She was about to bank for another run when the Torak spoke.

“Take us high,” ordered the emperor. “I am feeling drained, and I wish to see the state of the battlefield.”

Myka responded without comment and flew upward, far beyond the reach of arrow or magical projectile. From his high vantage point, the Torak gazed down at the roadway of death. The road was covered in red. Blood flowed freely among the uniforms of the dead Motangans, but few soldiers moved along the road. It was a desolate graveyard for the invaders.

“Where are the surviving Motangans?” Marak asked as they flew over the road. “I cannot see them.”

“There are still battles raging in the trees,” replied Myka, “of course I would not expect a human’s eyes to see what I can see. The rats have cleared off the road for now. It is a pity. I was looking forward to another run along the road.”

“Can you see any problem areas?” asked the Torak.

Myka did not answer promptly. She flew the entire length of the road and turned over the berm for another run. When she reached the southern end of the road, she turned again and spoke.

“The battle is won,” the dragon declared. “The Motangans are seeking to flee rather than fight.”

“And there is nowhere for them to run,” nodded Emperor Marak. “Praise Kaltara for this victory.”

“And what comes next?” asked the winged warrior.

“Fakara and Vand,” replied Marak. “I wonder how things are going there?”

* * *

“There is a wide pass through the mountains,” Bakhai said to Premer Cardijja. “We will pass through it tomorrow.”

“And what is on the other side?” asked the premer.

“A wide plain,” answered Bakhai. “On the other side of the plain is a jungle.”

“And that is where Angragar is located?” asked General Luggar.

“I do not know,” frowned Bakhai. “I do not even know if Angragar really exists, but that is where I was traveling when the evil spirit began chasing me. She must be protecting something.”

“I agree,” smiled Premer Cardijja. “There was a fork in the road not long ago. Where does the northern fork lead to?”

“To the Valley of Bones,” Bakhai answered without hesitation. “It is a large valley protected by four great peaks. It is said that ancient armies used it as a fortress.”

“That might be where the free tribes are hiding,” General Luggar commented with excitement. “Perhaps we should go there instead.”

“The free tribes are not there,” Bakhai replied quickly.

“How do you know?” the general frowned with skepticism.

“Everyone knows,” shrugged Bakhai. “The free tribes are far to the south. Their homes are along the Taggot River.”

“Show me on the map,” ordered Premer Cardijja.

Bakhai walked over to the map and stared at it for a moment. He appeared to be confused by the strange symbols, but he finally pointed at the large peninsula that occupied southeast Fakara.

“The Taggot River runs down the center,” Bakhai said softly. “It starts in the center of the Giaming Mountains and empties into the sea. That is where the free tribes live.”

The premer smiled broadly and nodded in appreciation of the knowledge. He cast a smug glance at General Luggar.

“So which way do we go?” asked the general. “Do we search this jungle for Angragar? Or do we alter course and march on the free tribes?”