Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“Come,” Mobi said authoritatively. “Your brother is waiting for you.”

Bakhai nodded silently and followed Mobi at a swift pace. They eventually reached Rejji, who was standing on a hill overlooking the Motangan encampment. Rejji silently embraced his brother and then returned to looking at the sprawling camp.

“It is much larger than I could have imagined,” Rejji said softly as he viewed the thousands of campfires that dotted the plain. “Even our attack tonight will not be able to crush something so large.”

“But tomorrow they will head for the jungle,” replied Bakhai. “Surely that will stop them.”

“Perhaps,” frowned Mobi, “but that is not guaranteed. The Qubari have never faced anything so large. The stories of the last invaders, led by Fakar, speak of many Qubari deaths. It is said that the Qubari barely survived as a people, and we were much more numerous back then.”

“The Qubari have allies this time,” smiled the Astor. “Let us deal with one battle at a time. Tonight the battle rests with the horsemen of the plains. Send out the word to attack when the moon rises.”

Mobi nodded and withdrew to speak with the shaman.

“What is going to happen?” asked Bakhai.

“Yojji will lead the attack from the north,” explained the Astor. “Adger’s men will charge from the south, and Harmagan will lead the Jiadin from the west.”

“No attack from the east?” frowned Bakhai. “Premer Cardijja will wonder why I am missing then.”

“There is to be no attack from the east,” replied Rejji, “but there will be more than enough death to cover your escape. We want Cardijja to think that the east is his only path to safety. If he avoids the jungle and discovers the true path to Angragar, we will not be able to defend it. He simply has too many men.”

The brothers watched the camp silently for over an hour. Mobi came back and stood quietly alongside them. When the moon finally appeared in the eastern sky, they watched and listened carefully. The first hint of battle was a low rumbling of the earth as thousands of hooves pounded the ground. At first no one in the Motangan camp appeared alarmed, but as the rumble grew louder shouts rang out and soldiers leaped to their feet, their movements silhouetted by the campfires.

Within moments the Motanga encampment sprang to life, soldiers grabbing their weapons and racing towards the perimeter. Few Motangans actually reached the perimeter before the Fakaran horsemen struck. Tens of thousands of Fakaran tribesmen charged into the camp from three directions, arrows from their horse bows reaching out to fell the enemy soldiers. As the Fakarans rushed past the perimeter, their bows fell to sway on leashes attaching them to the saddles. The Fakarans drew their swords and rode into the heart of the camp. Tents and soldiers alike were trampled by the war horses as the tribesmen slashed out with their swords.

The Fakarans rode completely through the encampment with the Jiadin exiting to the east while the free tribes crisscrossed each other. Motangans who were defending against a northern invasion were soon forced to turn around and face the threat to their south as the other prong of the attack came upon them. Confusion reigned supreme in Premer Cardijja’s camp. As the Fakarans fled from the battle, the screams of the wounded drifted on the air.

“Get me reports on our losses, Mobi,” instructed the Astor.

The Qubari warrior nodded and retreated from the hill. When Rejji made no move to leave, Bakhai began to wonder.

“Are they going to attack again?” asked Bakhai.

“That is exactly what the Motangans are asking one another right now,” smiled Rejji. “The answer rests on the reports of our losses, but another attack will not come immediately in any event. We will give the Motangans a chance to envision a peaceful night ahead of them.”

“They had no sleep last night,” Bakhai informed his brother. “I called upon the insects to attack them. If you wait a few hours, most of the Motangans will be asleep whether they want to be or not.”

“Excellent,” smiled Rejji. “Unless our losses were extreme, I think another attack tonight will be worthwhile.”

* * *

“I want damage reports,” shouted Premer Cardijja. “And make sure that the perimeter is well manned. They may come back for another pass.”

The Motangan premer gazed around at the trampled encampment and shook his head with a sigh of defeat. Tents were burning, and men were crying out for healing mages. Everywhere the premer looked, destruction was evident. For some strange reason, only his tent had been spared, just as it had been the previous night when the insects had invaded. The thought made him think of Bakhai. He gazed at the tent and opened his mouth to speak, but General Luggar read his mind.

“There is no sign of the boy,” the general offered softly, “but that does not mean anything just yet. He could be wounded, or he might have run away when the Fakarans struck.”

“He was near the eastern perimeter,” the premer said softly. “He must have been terrified. Send someone to look for him.”

The general nodded and signaled for a soldier to come to him. He issued terse instructions and sent the soldier to search for the lad.

“It is possible that he was a spy,” suggested the general.

“A spy?” balked the premer. “To what end? What could he possibly learn from his short visit? We always excluded him from important conversations.”

“True,” shrugged the general, “but who knows what goes through the mind of these savages?”

“You must not think of the Fakarans in such a way,” cautioned the premer. “That only makes us underestimate them. The attack tonight was well planned and flawlessly executed. We must be ready for the next wave.”

“You think they will attack again?” asked the general. “Their element of surprise will be gone.”

“I would attack again if I were them,” declared the premer. “Even without the element of surprise, we are fairly defenseless here.”

“Defenseless?” balked the general. “We have two hundred and fifty thousand men under your command. They could not muster half that many men if they had the whole nation of Fakara assembled out here.”

“And who is to say that they do not have all of their fighters here?” asked the premer. “Look around you. Show me a tent that wasn’t trampled when they passed through. I cannot imagine how many thousands of riders passed through this camp, but it was a lot.”

General Luggar did not bother to point out the premer’s own tent. He understood the point that Cardijja was making, and it was a valid point. There had certainly been tens of thousands of riders in each of the three prongs to the Fakaran attack. The thought of another attack sent shivers up the general’s spine.

“How do you think they found us?” asked Luggar. “The lad said that the tribes were far to the south.”

“I suspect that their scouts have been following our progress for some time,” answered the premer. “We cannot exactly hide our presence very well, not with the size of this army. They probably have scouts up on the mountain peaks.”

“Then we must gain the safety of the jungle quickly,” suggested the general. “Perhaps it is wise to strike the camp right now and start marching, especially if you expect another attack. Let’s be gone from here before they return.”

“I would agree wholeheartedly,” frowned the premer, “except that the men had no sleep last night. Curse those insects. That couldn’t have happened at a worse time. No, Luggar, the men can’t march tonight. Increase the perimeter by tenfold, especially in the areas where the Fakarans entered and exited the camp. Let the others rest, but with their weapons at their sides. As soon as dawn arrives, I want this whole camp up and ready to move out at a brisk pace.”