Army of the Dead (14 page)

* * *

The fleet of skimmers rose and fell on the heavy swells, salt spray covering the two sailors in each craft. Kruffel, a crusty old fisherman from the Fakaran city of Ghala, led the fleet of a hundred small, fast, attack vessels. The heavy seas had been unexpected and had resulted in the force missing an opportunity to attack the Motangans before they unloaded in Meliban. Kruffel was determined to strike a blow against the Motangans, but not by sinking empty ships anchored outside Meliban. He led his group further westward in a relentless dash to reach the Motangan fleet heading for Khadora.

“This is mad, Kruffel,” complained his partner. “We have no idea where the Khadora-bound fleet is. You cannot drive these men like this. You will exhaust them.”

“They are between here and Raven’s Point somewhere, Dasra,” retorted Kruffel. “We will find them.”

“If any of our men survive,” scowled Dasra. “These boats were not built for heavy seas. We have almost lost one already, and the seas are getting worse. Give it up.”

“Give it up?” balked Kruffel. “How can you say such a thing? And your being from Raven’s Point yourself. It is your home that these Motangans will be invading. How can those words come out of your mouth?”

“If I thought we had any chance of success,” replied Dasra, “the words would not have been spoken. This is a hopeless gamble that will only result in the deaths of our men.”

“Our men are already dead,” snarled Kruffel. “We failed to attack the Fakaran-bound fleet. Three hundred thousand foreigners are already on Fakaran soil. I will not let this opportunity escape us completely.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dasra sighed with compassion. “We left port as soon as the word was given. No one expected these heavy seas. Do not blame yourself, and do not kill our men just because the weather conspired against us. It just was not meant to be.”

“I should have pressed the men harder,” replied Kruffel. “We might have been able to catch the tail end of the Motangan fleet.”

“No, Kruffel,” Dasra shook his head. “We were far too late for that. There was nothing that you or anyone else could have done. Turn the fleet around and take us home.”

“Home is where I am taking you,” Kruffel replied defiantly. “We are much closer to Raven’s Point than we are to Angragar. You are from Raven’s Point, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Dasra sighed with frustration, “but my home will not exist by the time we get there. No one expects anything to be left standing in Raven’s Point after the Motangans pass through. It will not even be safe for us to land there. Our men will be killed for sure.”

“We all understood that we would probably die in this endeavor,” shrugged Kruffel. “Death will not be what defeats us. Do not fear it. Failure is what must be feared, for our failure to strike a blow against the Motangans will doom thousands upon thousands of our countrymen. I will not turn back as long as there is any possibility of catching the other Motangan fleet.”

“Nor would I,” conceded Dasra, “but this is ridiculous. The Motangans would have to have stopped the fleet in the middle of the ocean for us to catch up to them. Why can’t you understand that?”

An excited shout from one of the other boats interrupted the discussion. Kruffel waited impatiently for his boat to top the next swell. When his boat finally rose high on the sea, Kruffel swore with excitement.

“Drop your sails,” Kruffel shouted loudly to the skimmers around him. “Do not let the Motangans see us. Pass the word on.”

“I don’t believe it,” Dasra said in amazement. “Why would they do such a thing? They are sitting limp in the water. It makes no sense, no sense at all.”

“Perhaps there is more to Kaltara than you are willing to admit,” grinned Kruffel. “They sure looked like Motangan ships to me. Nothing else is anywhere near that size.”

“They are definitely Motangan,” agreed Dasra, “but it still makes no sense. Do you really believe in Kaltara?”

“I haven’t until now,” admitted Kruffel. “Oh, I admit that I get to thinking about it, what with everyone speaking so much about it, but I have had trouble believing in miracles. Now though? It sure is strange that the Motangans stopped and waited for us. It certainly is not something that I would ever have done. It is as if God is intervening to make our lives worthwhile.”

“What will we do now?” asked Dasra. “We cannot just sit here with our sails down.”

“The Sakovan skimmers got in trouble because they were sighted early,” replied Kruffel. “I will not make the same mistake. We will wait until nightfall before attacking.”

“What if the Motangans leave before then?” frowned Dasra.

“I reckon that we are still a day out of Raven’s Point,” answered Kruffel. “Even if the Motangans left right now, we could catch them before they make landfall. We will wait for the darkness. Throw lines to the nearest skimmers. We need to raft together, or we will become too separated without sails to maneuver.”

The skimmer rose on another swell, and Kruffel gazed once again at the Motangan fleet. The four hundred leviathans were only a smear on the horizon without their sails on display, but it was a sight that sent shivers of excitement up his spine.

* * *

The Wound of Kaltara was an enormous gorge through which the Kaltara River flowed. Ancient Sakovan scrolls told the story of its creation over a thousand years ago. It was said to have been blasted out by the hand of God in a fit of rage following the murder of the Star of Sakova. A priest witnessed the event and was sent by God to inform the Sakovan people of Kaltara’s displeasure. The priest was given the Scroll of Kaltara to guide the Sakovan people in the rightful ways of the future.

The canyon was over a league wide and half a league deep, and it stretched for hundreds of leagues from west of Zaramilden to the Wytung Mountains. It was a desolate, uninhabited gorge of enormous proportions that travelers avoided. Usually.

On this particular day, there were over a thousand travelers on the floor of the canyon. Heading south towards the Wytung Mountains, a long column stretched along the banks of the Kaltara River. They were unconcerned about being observed by anyone, as the Wound of Kaltara was fairly inaccessible. Nor were they worried about anyone noticing evidence of their passing, as they left no human footprints. The loin-clothed men rode on the backs of large ferocious cats.

Kyata, tribal leader of the Zatong tribe of the Chula, raised his hand in an unspoken command to rest. The Chula warriors silently dismounted their beasts and gathered in small groups to refresh and eat a meal. Ukaro, head shaman of the Zatong tribe, sat next to his brother Kyata.

“Your words about the Wound of Kaltara are true,” smiled Kyata. “No one has appeared on the rims of the canyon since we entered it. It is easy traveling and yet unobserved. You have done well.”

“The peaks of the Wytung Mountains can likewise be traveled in secrecy,” smiled Ukaro, his long mane flowing fluidly as he stretched his neck. “It is along the coast of the sea that I am concerned about. I am not sure where the Motangans might position spotters.”

“Perhaps your son could be tempted to fly his winged warrior over the area?” posed Kyata.

“The Torak has much to worry about,” Ukaro shook his head. “I will not trouble him for a such a trivial matter. The Chula know how to move unobserved, even if it is in a foreign land unfamiliar to us. We will reach Alamar without giving notice to the invaders.”

“Do you have any knowledge of the strength of the enemy in Alamar?” asked Kyata.

“Nothing accurate,” replied the shaman. “We will send scouts before us, but I think that the Motangans would not leave the port city unsecured. They have sufficient men to leave five or ten thousand to guard the city without concern for the troops. Alamar is needed by the Motangans to unload supplies. Without it, they are cut off from their Island of Darkness.”

“Then we shall remove it from their hands,” grinned the chieftain.

Kruffel could barely keep his eyes open as he piloted the skimmer westward. He had gone for days with only short naps to refresh his body, and the tension of the battle had drained his energy. The old fisherman turned his head to scan the seas around him in search of any other skimmers that might have survived the battle. Dawn was still hours away, and Kruffel could not see any other ships around them.

Unexpectedly the boat slewed sideways as the swell picked up the skimmer and carried it sideways. Kruffel’s eyes jolted open as he fought the tiller to correct his course.

“You are falling asleep,” Dasra said groggily as he woke up. “Let me take over for a spell.”

“I accept,” Kruffel quickly replied. “Check our friend first and see if he is still alive.”

Dasra moved to the man that they had fished out of the sea during the attack. The man was a skimmer pilot from a small village in Fakara that neither of the men knew well. His skimmer had been sunk in the heat of the battle, and Kruffel had hauled the man aboard.

“He is still alive,” reported Dasra, “but he is burning up. How long to Raven’s Point?”

“I have no idea,” sighed Kruffel. “I am not sure how long I dozed off for. I am glad that you woke up, although I know you have not had much more sleep than I have. I must rest my eyes at least.”

Dasra moved to the stern and grabbed the tiller, allowing Kruffel to move to the bow and close his eyes, but as tired as he was, the old fisherman could not fall asleep right away.

“I cannot get the battle out of my mind,” Kruffel said, his eyes still closed. “On one hand I am elated at the number of Motangan ships we sent to the bottom of the sea, but on the other hand I think of all the men we lost. They were brave men, and they will be sorely missed.”

“Their lives were not lost in vain,” Dasra replied. “I have no idea how many behemoths we sunk, but it was a lot. The losses were certainly large enough to be severely felt by Vand’s armies. I can only hope that it will be enough to make a difference in the battles to come.”

“I must sleep,” Kruffel replied after several moments of silence. “Wake me if you see any other skimmers.”

* * *

StormSong nudged Lyra, and the Star of Sakova opened her eyes. Lyra sat up and gazed around, but it was too dark to see very far.

“You wanted to be notified when the armies were in position,” StormSong said softly. “We just received word that they are all set. We need to pull back ourselves now. Sorry to wake you.”

“Thank you, StormSong,” smiled Lyra as she rose from the ground. “What time is it?”

“A few hours before dawn,” answered the Sakovan warrior, her voice soft and hushed. “It took longer than expected for the armies to position themselves. They are unfamiliar with the terrain of the heartland.”

“Let’s hope the same can be said for the Motangans,” replied Lyra. “Have they moved at all?”

“Not a bit,” StormSong shook her head. “They have not even sent out scouts this night.”

“After last night,” Lyra said, “I cannot blame them. They must be getting tired of losing men every night with nothing to gain for it. Will there be enough of a trail for the Motangans to follow in the morning? We don’t want them getting lost.”

“We will blaze a trail that even the simplest of trackers can follow,” StormSong assured the Star, “but we need to start doing that now. The people are nervous with you this close to the enemy.”

“Then we shall leave immediately,” promised Lyra, “although we are not that close unless they have moved while I slept. We have caught every one of their scouts in the past. They do not move as quietly as Sakovans.”

“We will take no chances,” shrugged StormSong. “I will gather the others while you get ready.”

Lyra grabbed her pack and put it on. She retrieved her rapier and dusted the dirt off her clothes. She stretched while she waited for StormSong to return with the chokas.

Suddenly, a horrifying scream rent the air. Lyra did not recognize the voice, but it was obviously female. The only female Motangans that anyone had seen were mages, and they were not known to scout out enemy positions. Sakovans emerged out of the darkness and began encircling the Star of Sakova.

“Who was it?” Lyra asked softly.

“HawkShadow and DarkBlade are checking now,” replied StarWind. “StormSong and the others will be along shortly with the chokas.”

Loud growls emanated from the dark forest and were immediately followed by the sound of a struggle. Lyra stared into the darkness as she listened intently. She saw something large moving, but she could not identify it.

Unexpectedly, light flared in the dark night as LifeTender threw a fireball in the direction that Lyra had been looking. The light illuminated a ten-foot-tall creature that resembled a hairy ape. The fireball slammed into the creature, and it howled hysterically. The creature was soon engulfed in flames, and it illuminated the woods around it.

“There are more of them,” shouted SkyDancer as she drew her sword.

“Those must be the kruls that MistyTrail described,” Lyra said in shock as she stared at the dozen pairs of illuminated eyes staring at her from the sevemore forest.

HawkShadow and DarkBlade burst into the clearing, their swords dripping blood.

“Get the Star out of here now!” shouted HawkShadow as he took up a fighting stance between Lyra and the creatures in the woods. “It is not safe here.”

DarkBlade moved to HawkShadow’s side, leaving enough room between them to avoid cramping their fighting space. StormSong and a dozen other Sakovans arrived with chokas. StormSong quickly handed the reins to another Sakovan and drew her sword. She moved forward and took up position on HawkShadow’s right just as the creatures charged. Lyra threw a force bolt at one of the charging creatures while several of the Sakovan mages threw fireballs. The force bolt slammed into a krul blowing a hole clear through his body. The creature toppled to the ground as two others burst into flames.

“Move the Star!” DarkBlade shouted angrily. “This is not a fight for her to stay for. There are hundreds of these things in the forest. Get her out of here now!”

StarWind needed no further encouragement. She forcibly picked Lyra up and placed her on the back of a choka. She quickly mounted her own choka and shouted commands.