Army of the Dead (43 page)

“The emperor cannot always get what he wants,” the general replied softly. “If we move too quickly, our losses will be great.”

“And you think the emperor cares?” Shamal asked with raised eyebrows. “His armies are merely tools to acquire his personal goals. You must be aware of that.”

“I am,” nodded General Chen, “but I also wish to cling to life. If that means that the men must be sacrificed, I can play that game.”

“As can I,” agreed Premer Shamal, “but those same men are what protects us from the Khadorans. I will not throw my armies away needlessly to meet some arbitrary goal. So far our losses have been acceptable, but we are close to crossing that line. How do we cross the river quickly and still have an army when we are done?”

“There are only two ways,” answered General Chen. “We can backtrack along the river to find a ford, or we can build siege engines and obliterate the city of Sintula. Both options slow us down.”

Premer Shamal said nothing, but he began pacing. General Chen had known the premer long enough to understand that the pacing meant that Shamal was not happy with the alternatives. He held his tongue and let his superior pace in silence.

“There is a third solution,” Premer Shamal finally said, his eyes twinkling with victory over the mental exercise. “Send out patrols upstream along the Khadora River. They are to be covert inspections. I do not want the enemy to realize that our interest in the river is more than cursory.”

“You want them to look for a ford?” asked General Chen.

“They should act like they are looking for a ford,” smiled Premer Shamal, “but what I really want to know is how far upstream the Khadorans are watching. They know this river well, so if there is a ford upstream we can be sure that it will be guarded.”

“So you are more interested in finding out if we will be observed upstream?” questioned the general. “What do you have in mind if we are not being watched?”

“Rafts,” smiled Premer Shamal. “Simple rafts. The rafts can be created in the forest beyond the prying eyes of the enemy. During the night we will ferry our men across the river upstream from Sintula. When the Khadorans wake in the morning, our armies will be attacking the city from the east instead of being on the south side of the river.”

“An excellent plan,” grinned General Chen. “It is simple, yet ingenious. I will see to immediately.”

* * *

“They have backed away from the river,” reported Marshal Berman. “There do not appear to be any siege machines being constructed. They are just standing there.”

“Something smells,” frowned Emperor Marak. “They should be building siege engines to attack the city. Are you sure they are not building them out of sight?”

“I cannot be sure of that,” admitted Marshal Berman, “but I can see no activity at all in the enemy camp. We need a spy across the river.”

“If they had no plans to use siege engines as all,” interjected Lord Patel, “I would think that they would at least make the appearance of building some. Even if it was just to throw us off.”

“Perhaps,” replied Lord Chenowith, “but maybe not. Maybe Shamal is just letting his men rest before the attack. They covered the distance from the third trench in an amazingly short time. They must be tired.”

“They raced to reach Sintula,” frowned the Torak. “That alone indicates that they are in a hurry to conquer us. Perhaps the defeat of Premer Doralin in the Sakova has created some kind of urgency in Vand’s plans. I cannot believe that Shamal raced to Sintula only to rest his men. It makes no sense.”

“What can he do without siege engines?” asked Lord Quilo. “If he tries coming across the river, we will decimate his troops.”

“If he does it where we can see him,” mused the emperor.

“The closest ford is over a day away,” remarked Marshal Berman. “If he was planning on fording the river, his whole army would be in motion. They are not moving.”

“Nevertheless,” stated the Torak, “he is planning on crossing the river. It is the only thing he can do. Send horsemen upstream, Marshal. I do not want them on the banks of the river where the enemy can see them. Keep them inland a bit.”

“But then they will not be able to see what the enemy is up to,” frowned Marshal Berman. “What good will that do?”

“I am more interested in what they hear,” smiled the Torak. “I want to know if they hear any sounds of felling trees, or crafting wood.”

“Boats?” asked Lord Kiamesh.

“Boats, rafts, a bridge,” shrugged the Torak. “It doesn’t matter what their plan is, but where it is. Wherever we hear the sounds of falling trees, that will be where the Motangans plan to cross the river.”

“And what do we do when we find it?” asked Lord Jamarat.

“We deny them the chance to cross,” answered he emperor.

“So we move thousands of men to stop them from crossing,” pondered Lord Patel. “Meanwhile, they move their bridge building operation to another spot on the river. We cannot afford to watch the whole river. They will eventually succeed in crossing it.”

“You are correct,” nodded Marak. “We cannot possibly stop them from crossing. All we can do is to make them waste men and time. Both of those are important to Premer Shamal. Let us plan to make him waste much of both.”

Bakhai sat on a high ledge on the western foothills of the Bone Mountains. He gazed down on the Motangan encampment hundreds of paces below him. Tall sevemore trees stretched high from the massive encampment, and figures in red appeared in spots wherever there was not a tree. The red carpet below the green trees spread for leagues in every direction.

“It is massive,” Bakhai said with a tone of defeatism. “The camp goes on forever. There is no way that I can go down there and find out where Cardijja is heading. It is impossible. Why did Rejji choose me for this task?”

“Because he believes in you,” soothed the female voice next to him, “as I believe in you. No one else would stand a chance of getting close enough to learn their secrets. Only you can do it.”

“I cannot do it,” balked Bakhai. “I am not a spy. I have no special skills that will allow me to pry their secrets from them. I just can’t do it.”

“You do have special skills,” she insisted. “You grew up in these forests. You know them better than any man alive. Besides, you do have special skills.”

“What?” retorted Bakhai. “Talking to animals? A load of good that will do. These Motangans only have a handful of horses. I cannot bend the minds of humans, Mistake. That is not what I do.”

“Are you forgetting the thousands of friends that surround you?” encouraged Princess Alahara. “Surely they can help you accomplish the task.”

“How?” frowned Bakhai. “Will I call on the chipmunks to attack the Motangans? Will the river otters leave the creeks to come rescue me? This is just a foolish idea. I will not do it. We will rest the night here and return to Angragar in the morning.”

The elven princess frowned as she stared down at the Motangans. Suddenly a thought popped into her mind.

“I will get you into the premer’s tent,” grinned Princess Alahara.

“How?” asked Bakhai. “They would not hesitate to kill an elf if they saw you, Mistake.”

“They will see me,” smiled Princess Alahara. “I want them to. Come on. We need to hurry. I want to get you in before the daylight is gone. I will tell you about my plan on the way down.”

* * *

Princess Alahara peered past the tree at the nearby Motangan sentries. She turned back to Bakhai and smiled.

“More ragged than that,” she shook her head as she reached and ripped Bakhai’s tunic. “Rub some dirt on your face.”

Bakhai dug his fingers into the dirt near the base of the tree. He drove his fingers deeper until he felt moist soil. He pulled out his fingers and slashed them across his face. Mistake was busy ripping small tears in his clothes.

“Are you sure this will work?” asked Bakhai. “I am not afraid to take a chance, but this seems so outlandish.”

“It may be just that,” Mistake said truthfully. “We cannot know for sure how the Motangans will react, but even how they react will tell us much.”

“What do you mean?” asked Bakhai.

“If Cardijja is intent on finding Angragar,” she explained, “he will question you about it. If he has no desire to question you then he probably already knows the location. That is what you have come to find out.”

“So if they kill me on the spot,” frowned Bakhai, “you can go back and tell Rejji that they are heading for Angragar.”

“You are not going to die, Bakhai,” promised the elven princess. “I will not allow that to happen. If I have to charge into that encampment to save you, I will. Are you ready?”

Bakhai sighed deeply and stared into Mistake’s eyes. He nodded slowly.

“I am ready,” he said, “but you are not to rescue me. I do not want that on my conscience. If they kill me, I will just go to Kaltara earlier than I had hoped.”

Princess Alahara opened her mouth to object, but Bakhai was already on his feet. He screamed loudly and dashed around, letting the sentries get a good look at him. Eventually he ran towards the sentries, seemingly falling to the ground as if he had tripped over something. A fireball soared through the air and smashed into the ground a few paces from Bakhai. The sentries shouted in alarm as they sought cover to protect themselves from the magical attack. Bakhai called out to the Motangans for help, but they ignored him. Princess Alahara stepped into the open and sneered at Bakhai. The sentries shouted for mages and archers.

“Die traitor!” spat the elven princess as she tossed another fireball at Bakhai.

Bakhai quickly rolled to one side as the fireball struck the ground where he had fallen. Mistake turned and fled into the forest as the archers arrived. Motangan arrows chased the elven princess into the woods, but she was too quick for them to hit. A squad of soldiers raced past Bakhai and gave chase to the elf. Bakhai looked towards the camp and saw an officer approaching him. A dozen soldiers accompanied the officer, and Bakhai shivered with genuine fear.

“Help me,” implored Bakhai. “Don’t let her kill me.”

The Motangan soldiers surrounded Bakhai, their swords drawn and pointed towards him. They appeared to be awaiting the officer’s command to shove their swords into his flesh.

“Who are you?” demanded the officer.

“Help me,” pleaded Bakhai. “Don’t let her kill me. She is an evil spirit.”

“Evil spirit?” smirked the officer. “She is nothing but an elf. Who are you?”

“I am just a village boy,” Bakhai replied timidly. “I am called Bakhai. She is an evil spirit. There are no more elves. She has been following me ever since I entered the jungle.”

“Jungle?” questioned the officer. “What jungle?”

Bakhai started crying. He buried his head in his hands and let tears stains his cheeks. The officer shook his head with disgust. He raised his hand to give the soldiers the signal to kill the captive, but he paused for some reason. His hesitation gave enough pause for another officer to arrive.

“What is going on here?” asked the newly arrived general.

“I am not sure,” admitted the officer. “An elf magician tried to kill this boy, although he claims that she is an evil spirit. He said something about a jungle. I think he is crazy. I will have my men dispose of him.”

“No,” countermanded the general. “Is he armed?”

“Not that I can see,” replied the officer. “He is barely dressed.”

“What of the elf?” asked the general.

“She escaped into the forest,” answered the officer. “I have men tracking her down.”

“Good,” the general nodded satisfactorily. “Have some of your men bind the captive and bring him to my tent. I want to interrogate him. Perhaps he can tell us something about this land. There is no mention of a jungle on my maps.”

“As you wish,” saluted the officer.

* * *

The sky was clear, and the waxing moon was only days away from being full. The star-studded sky reflected in the smooth flowing water of the Khadora River. It was an idyllic scene, for the moment. A short distance beyond the sevemore trees that lined the northern bank of the river, three thousand Khadoran archers stood silently, waiting for the order to approach the riverbank and open fire. Across the river the distant telltale sounds of hatchets striking wood drifted in the still night air.

Marshal GeHert of the Nordon clan turned to the air mage next to him and whispered softly, “Inform the Lords’ Council that we have found another spot on the river where the Motangans plan to cross. Notify them that I have three thousand archers ready to counterattack.”

The air mage nodded silently and wove an air tunnel to Sintula. At the other end of the air tunnel, a mage called for Lord Patel. The Nordon lord took the report from Marshal GeHert and hurried into the meeting room where the Lords’ Council was meeting with the emperor.

“Another one,” sighed Lord Patel as he entered the room. “This one from GeHert. He is about six leagues to our east.”

“Have the Motangans started crossing yet?” asked Lord Jamarat.

“Not yet,” answered the Nordon lord, “but they will soon enough. Our men are too spread out.”

“Shamal is no fool,” sighed Emperor Marak. “Even after he knows that we have detected his plan, he is wise enough to know that we cannot foil it completely. With the amount of men that he has, he is capable of extending the front for hundreds of leagues. That is exactly what we have been trying to avoid. We cannot afford to spread ourselves that thin.”

“The only alternative,” countered Lord Quilo, “is to let the Motangans cross the river. I do not see how that aids us.”

“It does not aid us to let them cross,” replied Lord Kiamesh, “but we cannot stop it from happening either. If Shamal succeeds in getting men across the river, our defenses of Sintula are worthless.”

“Worse,” interjected Lord Chenowith, “if his men cross anywhere other than the farthest eastern spot we have detected, he will have some of our archers cut off from Sintula. Those men would die quickly as they tried to get back here.”

“There is no pattern to the spots he has chosen to cross,” added Lord Faliman. “At first they kept going further eastward, but that has changed. This latest attack shows that any spot along the river is a likely crossing place.”