Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“It shall be as you command,” bowed the black-cloak. “Should we send men to Khadora as well?”

“No,” the emperor responded tersely. “I will deal with Shamal in my own way. Go and spread the word.”

With a dismissive wave, the emperor sent his mages from the throne room. Premer Tzargo bowed and backed out of the room, leaving Emperor Vand alone. Vand sat silently for a few moments and then rose from his throne. He appeared to be walking casually out of the throne room, but his mind was filled with rage. He cursed Xavo and his daughter for their interference. He mentally berated Shamal for failure to keep him informed. He spat on the memory of Doralin who had failed him in the Sakova.

When the emperor reached the roof of the temple, he was in a particularly foul mood, which was quite appropriate for the company he was about to commune with. Located on the roof were six hideous demons, visages of harshly chiseled black stones. Their metallic sounding claws tapped the roof of the temple as they felt the emperor approaching. They turned as one to gaze at the doorway leading into the temple from the roof. Vand walked through the doorway, his face a mask of hatred. The demons’ angular lips parted in what some would mistake for a smile.

Vand ignored the demons at first, which he knew incensed them. He walked to the edge of the roof and gazed out over the plain stretching westward. The Fortung Mountains were visible far in the distance, and beyond them was Khadora. The six demons moved slowly as if with no direction, but they converged on the emperor. They surrounded him in a semicircle and waited to hear his words.

“Premer Shamal has proven to be a disappointment,” the emperor said so softly that it sounded like he was whispering to someone, but there was no one there except the demons. “He needs to be told the errors of his ways. Do not harm him, but bring him to me.”

The emperor turned and touched one of the demons. He looked the creature in the eyes and said, “Kill anyone who gets in your way, but bring me Shamal. Do it now.”

The chosen demon grinned at the others as they backed away. The creature stepped to the very edge of the roof and leaned forward, allowing his body to fall. Vand watched with curiosity as the demon plummeted towards the ground. Suddenly, long black wings unfolded and swung out from the demon’s body, and the fall turned into a glide. With a single flap of those powerful wings, the demon rose upward and soared towards the west. Vand stood silently and watched the black specter sail through the sky until the demon was merely a speck lost in the haze of the distant mountains.

Emperor Marak rode a horse south along the roadway of death. His expression was a mixture of victory tinged with a deep sadness as he viewed the carnage left from the battle. He passed several work crews and their wagons and paused momentarily to watch the men loading the wagons with bodies and body parts. He shook his head with disgust at the wasted human lives and continued southward. A few minutes later he came to the area of the road where he had attacked Premer Shamal and his officers. Again he paused as his eyes scanned the grounds. Blood soaked the road and little was recognizable, but he saw the head of the Motangan premer staring blankly up at the sky. The man’s mouth was open wide with what must have been his dying shout. Marak closed his eyes and offered up a prayer to Kaltara. He gave thanks for the victory over the Motangans, but he also prayed for an end to the continuing slaughter brought upon the world by Emperor Vand.

“I told you he would be alive,” Fisher shouted joyfully.

Marak’s eyes flew open, and he saw the Khadoran spy flanked by Gunta and Halman. The three faces grinned back at him as the Khadorans raced forward to stand before the Torak.

“You did it,” smiled Gunta. “You defeated the Motangans.”

“Not that we ever had any doubts,” Halman added quickly.

“We have had a great victory,” Marak replied softly, “but the war is not over. Fighting still awaits us in Fakara.”

“The Khadorans are going into Fakara?” asked Gunta.

“I cannot ask the Khadorans to go to war in Fakara,” declared the Torak. “They have already suffered much, and they have a country to rebuild, but we are going.”

“You have but to ask them,” frowned Fisher. “They will deny you nothing.”

“Their loyalty warms my heart,” Marak smiled tautly, “but it is their faith in Kaltara that I seek, not their desire to make me a deity. I will leave their actions up to their own hearts.”

“As you should,” King Avalar smiled as he walked towards the group with his daughter by his side. “You may urge a people to war, but it is worthless unless victory is in their own hearts.”

“Which is why the elves will be going to Fakara with you,” grinned Princess Alastasia.

“That pleases me greatly,” smiled the Torak. “The elves are always welcome wherever I may be. From the air I witnessed the results to those who would stand before the elves in battle. You make a formidable foe.”

“From what I have seen of this roadway of death on my way here,” replied King Avalar, “the Motangans had many formidable foes in this battle. The Chula are already forming ranks to head to Fakara, as are my people. You have no need to even ask them. We who travel by foot need the head start. The Chula and the elves will meet you on the other side of the Fortung Mountains.”

“You have spoken to the Chula?” Marak asked with surprise.

“Tmundo and Ukaro were searching for survivors as we passed by,” nodded the king of the elves. “I introduced myself. We agreed to travel to Fakara together.”

“Then you both will travel in good company,” grinned the Torak. “I will return to the berm and inform the Lords’ Council of my destination. Perhaps some of them will choose to join me.”

Emperor Marak nodded to the elves and turned his horse around. King Avalar and Princess Alastasia watched as the Torak rode northward, his three shadows on foot hurrying to keep up.

“He impresses me each time we meet,” King Avalar said softly as he turned to head back to his people.

“He has that effect on everyone,” smiled the princess. “I will not be surprised to find out that the entire Khadoran nation has followed him over the Fortung Mountains.”

“I agree,” smiled Avalar, “but they still have much work to do here burying the dead. Let us get our people moving to the next battlefield.”

The elves walked southward to join their people. They were unaware that their words had been overheard. Moments later a tall, stony creature slid out of the forest. Deep black eyes scanned the road in each direction before the demon bent over and picked up the head of Premer Shamal. The demon hissed and spat on the road, smoke rising from the acidic saliva as it ate into the surface of the road. The creature slid back into the trees and disappeared.

* * *

Smoke billowed upward over the foothills of the Fakaran mountains, creating a stain in the flawless blue sky. Xavo looked up at the smoke and frowned.

“Our position is too clearly marked,” he declared. “It is time to move on before the tribes come to investigate.”

“And where will we find the next caravan?” asked Lady Mystic as she gazed at the charred remains of twelve wagons.

Xavo blinked and stared at the corpses littering the road around the wagons. “There will be no more caravans,” he finally replied. “I took count of the wagons when we were in Meliban. The Motangans have no more to send.”

“They could build more wagons,” offered Lady Mystic.

“They could,” agreed Xavo, “but we are not going to sit idle and wait for them to do so. Besides, I do not think they would build more wagons without discovering what happened to the old ones first.”