Army of the Dead (33 page)

“I will go with you,” offered HawkShadow. “StormSong?”

“Without question,” nodded the healed warrior. “I owe my life to Lyra.”

The three Sakovans approached the tent, and LifeTender rushed to intercept them.

“You cannot go in there,” declared LifeTender. “Lyra has requested that no one enter.”

“Out of our way, healer,” glared HawkShadow. “We will not interfere, but we are standing at Lyra’s side until she is done.”

“She is done,” said a Sakovan warrior as he exited the tent. “I am the last of the wounded. Lyra needs rest. Go to her.”

LifeTender joined StarWind and the others as they rushed into the tent. Lyra was sitting on the ground in the large empty tent. Her eyes were glazed over as she stared at the tent wall. The four Sakovans raced to her side and knelt next to her.

“Are you alright?” asked LifeTender.

Lyra nodded woodenly and tried to rise. HawkShadow and StarWind each grabbed one of Lyra’s arms and steadied her.

“You need to rest,” advised StarWind. “Do not try to get up. Stretch out and rest here.”

“There are more to be healed,” Lyra protested weakly. “Have the others brought into the tent.”

“There are no wounded outside that the healers cannot take care of,” assured LifeTender. “Those beyond our capabilities were all in here. You are not needed. You must rest.”

“Listen to LifeTender,” pleaded StormSong. “The Sakovans need you alive. Listen to Kaltara. He is guiding you.”

Lyra turned in a daze and stared at StormSong. She smiled weakly and nodded.

“You are wise, StormSong,” Lyra said softly. “He was the hand of the healing, and you are correct. My healing time is over. I will rest, but not in this tent. Bring the other wounded in so that they will be protected from the weather.”

HawkShadow and StarWind helped Lyra to her feet and guided her out of the tent. They led her to an area under a large fargi tree while LifeTender used a warming spell to dry the ground so that the Star would not have to rest on damp soil. Lyra sat down, but she looked up at the spymaster and the assassin before reclining.

“This war must end,” she said to the pair of Sakovans. “There is too much death and destruction. It does not please Kaltara.”

“We will destroy the Motangans as quickly as we can,” offered HawkShadow. “We killed over three thousand last night without a single loss. We will attack them again tonight.”

“No,” frowned Lyra. “You are to arrange a truce with the Motangans.”

“A truce?” frowned StarWind. “You can’t be serious. The Motangans are tasked to destroy every single one of us. They must be killed before they decide to attack the Omungan cities. That is why we lured them into the heartland. Think of your people, Lyra.”

“I am thinking of them,” retorted the Star of Sakova. “We have lost over thirty thousand Sakovans in this war already. I want it to stop. You are authorized to halt the Motangans from leaving the heartland, and to defend our camp, but nothing else. I want a truce with our enemy. I demand to speak with Premer Doralin. Set it up.”

“You must rest,” countered HawkShadow. “We will follow your orders while you rest, but I suspect that you will change your mind when your body is refreshed.”

“Do not presume to understand me, HawkShadow,” frowned Lyra. “Set up the meeting with the Motangans.”

Lyra reclined and closed her eyes. The spymaster and the assassin stood silently over their leader and watched her fall asleep. When they were sure that Lyra was sleeping, they turned and left her side.

“How are we to approach the Motangans and ask for a truce?” frowned HawkShadow. “They are so nervous from our attacks that they are likely to skewer us as soon as we show ourselves.”

Goral approached the pair of Sakovans. It was obvious from one glance that the giant was anxious. StarWind and HawkShadow halted their conversation and turned to the approaching giant.

“Motangan soldiers have left the encampment,” announced Goral. “Around a thousand of them are marching eastward.”

“For what purpose?” frowned HawkShadow. “Are they trying to flank us?”

“Not with a thousand men,” StarWind shook her head. “It is also too many to be deserters.”

“They were marching in a controlled manner,” declared Goral. “It is not a desertion.”

“Alamar!” HawkShadow exclaimed with certainty. “They are trying to find out why their food is not being delivered.”

“And that excites you?” frowned StarWind. “Why?”

“Because it gives us what we need,” explained the assassin. “According to Lyra’s instructions, we are free to attack this group. Their defeat will also serve as our entrance to the Motangan encampment.”

“I do not understand,” replied the spymaster. “What do you have in mind?”

“I will tell you on the way,” answered HawkShadow. “Goral, find a mage and get some of the Motangan supply wagons that we captured. Have them meet us four hours march east of the Motangan encampment. StarWind and I will be organizing the war party. Join us when you can.”

“How large a war party are you planning on?” StarWind asked HawkShadow as Goral ran off to find a mage.

“How many chokas do we have?” grinned HawkShadow. “Every one of them will carry a Sakovan warrior to the spot that I am thinking of.”

* * *

Premer Cardijja paced the floor of the administration building in Meliban. His jaw was set rigidly, and his eyes were narrowed to slits as he tried to walk off the rage he felt boiling inside himself. General Luggar leaned against a wall and watched the premer carefully. He knew better than to interrupt when Cardijja was in such a mood. A black-cloaked mage entered the building, and Cardijja immediately halted his pacing and faced the new arrival.

“Well?” snapped the premer.

“The only place we can contact is Vandegar,” sighed the mage. “There is nothing wrong with the spell. Of that I am sure. None of the cities on Motanga are answering and neither is Duran. I do not understand it.”

“Get out of my sight,” bellowed Premer Cardijja. “And don’t come back until you have fixed your magic.”

Cardijja’s hands rolled into fists as the mage hurried out of the room. The premer exhaled deeply and flexed his fingers shortly after the mage had left. He sighed and shook his head, a sign that it was safe for the general to speak.

“Is it possible that something might have happened to the mages in Motanga?” the general offered softly.

“Anything is possible,” conceded the premer, “but it is hard to imagine that all of the mages on the entire island succumbed to some strange disease. Even if that was possible, how would you account for Duran?”

“Duran could have been attacked again,” shrugged General Luggar. “The Sakovans did it once before.”

“When it only had a handful of men defending it,” retorted the premer as he began pacing again. “I was told that we left an entire army in Duran this time. Ten thousand men are not easily crushed without at least some word traveling of its defeat. Yet we have heard nothing from them.”

“I have sent ships to gather more supplies,” declared General Luggar. “We will know within a few days what the problem in Duran is.”

“Are the ships armed?” asked Premer Cardijja.

“The ships carry only crews,” answered Luggar. “I saw no need to send troops with them.”

“Understandable,” nodded Cardijja, “although I now wish they had soldiers aboard. Something is going terribly wrong with this invasion. I have this gnawing fear in my gut that is trying to warn me of impending doom.”

“Are you sure that is not just a reaction to our losses on the plains of Fakara?” asked the general.

“Our losses?” echoed the premer. “You say that phrase so casually. We lost fifty thousand men to the enemy, and we have nothing to show for it. A few dead Fakarans and horses are precious little to gain from such a loss. I curse Vand and his orders.”

“Careful,” General Luggar softly warned his superior. “Such words carry a death sentence. You can never be sure who is listening.”

“I curse them all,” Cardijja said defiantly. “I begged and pleaded not to have my men stretched out over the plains of Fakara, but Tzargo demanded it. Demanded it! That fool cost me fifty thousand men for no reason. I hope that I live long enough to see him pay for that mistake.”

“Quiet,” urged the general. “I share your sense of frustration, but your words ill serve you. It is better that we concentrate on the future than dwell upon the past.”

Premer Cardijja nodded and halted his pacing. He turned and faced his old friend. “You are right, Luggar,” admitted the premer. “We must move forward. Send some ships to Motanga. Put troops on them this time. I must know what is happening abroad.”

“We are going to need food shortly,” replied the general. “If we load the ships with troops, we will have to leave them on Motanga to make room for the supplies. Perhaps we are better off sending some mages with the ships. Hopefully their magic will allow them to communicate what they find.”

“What they find?” echoed the premer. “You suspect something nefarious has happened?”

“That is how we must think,” nodded Luggar. “I am not well versed in magic, but spells do not suddenly cease to work. If our mages can communicate with Vandegar, then something is seriously wrong in Motanga and Duran. We should proceed cautiously.”

Premer Cardijja stood silently for some time, his eyes staring through Luggar while he thought about his general’s words. Slowly he nodded in agreement.

“Your words are wise as always,” Cardijja said calmly. “Put enough mages onboard the ships to keep a constant stream of communications open. I want to know precisely when the spell fails, if it does fail. Find out if we have any mages present that are capable of contacting Alamar or Raven’s Point. We need to get to the bottom of this problem.”

“I will see to it immediately,” promised the general. “What about the armies? Are we to stay in Meliban or hunt down the Fakarans?”

“We move tomorrow to hunt down the Fakarans,” declared the premer.

“It is my understanding that we were attacked from both the east and the west on the plains,” responded General Luggar. “Which direction are we going to pursue? Or will you divide the army and pursue both camps of Fakarans?”

“We are going to head eastward,” declared the premer. “The tracks leading out of Meliban were much too obvious. They wanted us to pursue them to the west. I will not play their game. In the morning we will march northward along the Meliban River. When we get to the southern fork of the river, I will decide which branch to follow.”

“A wise move,” nodded General Luggar. “Let Shamal’s troops deal with the western hordes after they are done with Khadora.”

“You think Shamal will have an easy time of it in Khadora?” asked Cardijja.

“I would not say an easy time,” Luggar shook his head. “The Khadorans are the most organized lot the enemy have, but the Khadorans will stand and fight. They will not run and hide, as the Fakarans are wont to do. Just finding the Fakarans will take up the bulk of our time.”

“That is a problem,” nodded Cardijja. “We are also tasked with finding Angragar, so the search for Fakarans will not be in vain. Our scouts also report that there are large forests to the east of the Meliban River. Fighting in such an environment will limit the capabilities of these Fakaran horsemen. They may charge swiftly on the plains, but they cannot do so in the woods.”

“I look forward to that,” smiled General Luggar. “What about the port of Meliban and our supply lines?”

“We will leave ten thousand men to secure this city,” answered Premer Cardijja. “They can spend their time fortifying it against the Fakaran hordes. Our supply caravans will be heavily guarded. That will be our weakest point and the most alluring target for the Fakarans. I would like to set up some traps for the enemy along our supply routes. It will be most demoralizing to them that they are not able to disrupt our supplies.”

HawkShadow waved a large white flag in the air and shouted for attention. The flag was crudely made from the white uniform of a deceased Imperial Guard and attached to a long branch. StarWind stood alongside the assassin and held her hands well away from her sword. They were quickly noticed, and nearby Motangan soldiers flowed out of their tents and unsheathed their swords. Ranks of archers soon appeared, but no one came out to meet the Sakovans.

“I didn’t think our flag of truce would be very welcome just yet,” HawkShadow said under his breathe. “They have not been sufficiently terrorized. I have learned to gauge such things rather well.”

“I have no doubt about that,” replied the spymaster, “but we will follow Lyra’s orders. She wants a truce, and we will get one, no matter what it takes.”

“Oh,” grinned HawkShadow, “we will have one before the day is out. Count on it. Look. A black cloak has managed to survive.”

StarWind gazed into the Motangan encampment and saw a mage and a general conversing behind the line of archers. Her lips curled with hatred as she watched the two men.

“His name is Zatho,” spat StarWind. “He is the one who captured me. His heart is dark, and I would love to liberate it from his body.”

“I would assume that is true of all Motangan mages,” shrugged HawkShadow.

“I have no way of knowing that,” replied StarWind, “but Zatho seems to delight in torture. I am sure that he was extremely disappointed to find me missing from the encampment.”

“They are waving us forward,” HawkShadow said. “I am not sure that we can trust them.”

“I will not trust Zatho,” declared StarWind as she raised her hand and waved for the Motangans to come outside the perimeter of the camp. “This meeting will be on neutral ground or not at all.”

The stalemate lasted for over ten minutes, as each side tried to get the other to come forward. Finally, HawkShadow shook his head in frustration.

“I am going forward half the distance to the perimeter,” he said. “You may remain here. If they attack me, flee.”

“I am going with you,” StarWind declared. “I will not show cowardice to the enemy, but we go no further than half way.”

“Agreed,” nodded HawkShadow as they started walking forward.