Richard Tuttle - Army of the Dead

“We are all going to exit the camp and take the fight to the huge spiders that you have heard about,” the leader announced loudly. “I want groups formed by specialty. The first group will be illumination. I want the jungle lit up as if it were high sun. Fire mages will be in the vanguard. When we find one of these spiders, I want it incinerated. Also, test the webs for flammability. They may try to trap us.”

“What about ground trembles?” asked one of the black-cloaks.

“I doubt that quakes will do much to the spiders,” frowned Cymelange. “Their webs will weather the spell. Perhaps ice or lightning might work, but we will try fire first. It may well cause fear in the other spiders and drive them away.”

The mages took the news well, and Cymelange sighed with relief as a thousand black-cloaks prepared for battle. He mentally vowed revenge on Premer Cardijja, but that was a matter that could wait until after the spiders were destroyed. Within an hour, ten separate columns of black-cloaks filed into the jungle like the spokes of a half-wheel.

Cymelange chose one of the center columns and joined the hundred mages as they started into the dark of the jungle. Bright projectiles shot skyward from the vanguard of the columns, and the jungle brightened somewhat. At first the magical spells only produced an eerie glow, and the long shadows gave the foliage an ominous look, but as more projectiles were sent skyward the glow increased to a daylight appearance.

Cymelange’s eyes scanned the dense foliage as he followed the column away from the Motangan encampment. The plant growth in the jungle grew with abandonment with only small paths meandering through the foliage. The narrow paths could hardly be called trails, but the leaders of the columns did their best to keep the groups separated. Cymelange nodded with approval even as it became difficult to keep the other columns in view as the mages spread out in a ever-widening arc. Small creatures made noises as they leaped or slithered through the undergrowth to hurry away from the invaders. Cymelange paid no attention to them. His eyes searched for the monstrous spiders that the soldiers had described.

Before long, Cymelange was unable to see any of the mages other than the column he was hunting with. He began to wonder how far into the jungle they would have to go to find the first spider. More bright projectile shot into the air and the mage gazed upward. He could tell from the wide arc of projectiles how far apart the columns had progressed. He smiled in appreciation of the discipline of his men. The projectiles were evenly spaced, which indicated that the column leaders were proceeding as they had been taught.

An hour passed by slowly as the columns drove deeper into the foreign jungle. The mages were starting to get bored with the expedition, and Cymelange wondered if he could merely return to the camp and declare that the spiders had been defeated. Premer Cardijja would have no basis to disbelieve him. Come morning, the mages could once again go searching without having to waste magical energy on the brightening spells. He was seriously contemplating issuing such orders when a scream was heard far to the right.

The column halted as all of the mages turned and gazed in the direction of the short scream. The other columns were no longer visible, and looking towards the right yielded no information as to the cause of the scream. Cymelange immediately wove an air tunnel and moved it towards the right of the column. He spoke his name softly into the air tunnel as he slowly moved the far end of it farther away from himself. Within moments another Motangan mage picked up the other end of the air tunnel and reported no problems other than hearing the lone scream farther off.

Cymelange continued moving the air tunnel from column to column, each of the mages reporting no problems. He frowned when no one from the last column picked up his air tunnel. He continued moving the air tunnel around in search of the missing column, but no one would answer him. That is when the scream was heard from the left. Cymelange spun around and extended his air tunnel far to the left. He did not waste time asking each column if things were alright. Instead he tried to make contact with the outermost column. He could not.

“We are being attacked on our flanks,” Cymelange announced loudly. “I want all spokes of the wheel to start converging so that we meet together within the hour. Each of you make contact with one of the other columns with an air tunnel. I want you to maintain contact until we all gather together. Report anything that sounds suspicious.”

“Are we turning around and heading back towards the camp?” asked one of the nearby mages.

“No,” answered Cymelange. “I want to converge deeper into the jungle. To return now is to have lost men without a victory. I will not yield to creatures that think that they can scare us. We will go deep enough to put the creatures between us and the camp and then we will attack, driving them towards Premer Cardijja’s men.”

The column remained stationary for several more minutes as mages called out to the column that they would communicate with. When all of the air tunnels were in place, the column continued onward. They had progressed for fifteen minutes before one of the mages spoke.

“I just lost contact with the column that I was monitoring,” announced the mage. “There was no warning or cry of attack. The other end of the air tunnel just dropped.”

“Reestablish contact,” advised Cymelange. “Perhaps he tripped over a root or something.”

“I am trying,” frowned the mage. “No one is answering.”

“I just lost contact also,” reported another mage. “Something strange is going on.”

“Do not start panicking like soldiers,” scowled Cymelange. “Air tunnels can be disrupted by many common occurrences. Remember your lessons.”

The two mages that had lost communications with the other columns stopped walking as the column continued onward. Cymelange looked back at them and shook his head in disgust. While he realized that the other columns might be in danger, he could not believe that any column could be lost without some type of alarm or notice. Even the first two attacks had resulted in screams that could be heard far off. Fifteen minutes later, two more mages announced that they had lost contact with the columns they had been communicating with.

“Halt the column,” commanded Cymelange as he stood staring at the two mages, waiting for them to report that they had reestablished contact.

Minutes dragged on as he watched the two mages desperately try to get someone to answer them. Neither of them had success. Cymelange turned and peered along the path behind him. Neither of the two mages who had previously stopped was in sight. A shiver raced up his spine as he realized that his mages were being deliberately and methodically destroyed, and they were being destroyed by a cunning enemy.

“Announce to the other columns that we are turning around,” ordered Cymelange. “They are to immediately begin converging on our path back to the camp. Inform them that they are in danger of attacks from the flanks.”

The chosen mages immediately relayed Cymelange’s orders to the other three remaining columns. As the orders were being delivered, Cymelange wove an air tunnel of his own. He directed it into the tent of Premer Cardijja.

“This is Cymelange,” the mage announced, knowing that Cardijja would not be able to answer him without a mage present. “We have come under attack and are returning to the camp. We have been unable to identify our attackers and have found no signs of giant spiders. I want your troops to penetrate the jungle and create a corridor for my returning men. You will know our locations from the bright projectiles.”