Army of the Dead (61 page)

Minutes later, Myka thrust her wings straight and began circling over the southern pass. Marak looked down and saw the armies of the elves and the Chula. Warriors pointed skyward at the winged warrior, and excitement rippled through the armies as the warriors broke ranks and cleared a place for the dragon to land. The Torak gazed at Myka with a puzzling frown as the dragon broke out of her circling and glided towards the pass. His mouth opened to speak, but he halted before the words were formed.

As Myka landed in the pass, the elves and Chula bowed reverently to the winged warrior and the Torak. Emperor Marak slid off the dragon’s back as soon as they had landed. Marak’s father, Ukaro, strode towards the new arrivals with a grin on his face. He embraced the Torak with a smile and gently placed his hand on Myka’s scales.

“So,” Ukaro said humorously to the dragon, “you did not try to sneak up on us this time. You must be getting old.”

Myka did not respond, and the puzzled frown returned to the Torak’s face, but he did not have time to dwell upon the mystery. The leaders of the elves and the Chula quickly gathered around the Torak to hear about the reason for the visit.

“Will you be joining us for the coming battle?” asked King Avalar.

“Marak is a Chula,” declared Tmundo, chief of the Kywara tribe. “It is fitting that he join our ranks for the final battle.”

“Why have you come?” asked Princess Alastasia.

Marak gazed around at the gathering tribes and smiled broadly. It was the type of welcome he had come to expect, but it suddenly dawned on him that the extent of the warmth coming from these two diverse peoples was nothing short of love and admiration. It was not so much the thought that they were paying homage to the Torak, as they were embracing a true friend and family member.

“The elves and the Chula travel swiftly,” grinned Marak. “It would not do for you to beat the cavalries of Khadora to the battlefield. I have come to join you for the night while you rest your armies.”

“Then let us make camp here in the pass,” grinned Rykoma, the head shaman of the Kywara tribe.

Tmundo also grinned as he shouted out orders to make camp for the night. His boast of having to sit around and wait on the Khadorans was met with jubilation. Marak smiled broadly as he knew that the elves and Chula had marched long and hard to ensure that they did not miss the battle. He noticed the sighs of relief as the tribesmen began setting up campfires.

“You know that we would not start the attack without your armies,” Marak said softly as the elven king and princess joined the Chula shaman and chiefs in a wide circle around the first fire built.

“We understand that,” Ukaro nodded seriously, “but the first action may not be left up to us. It would be wise of Vand to attack us one group at a time if that were possible.”

“What of the eastern armies?” asked Princess Alastasia. “Will Rejji and Alahara be joining us?”

“They are coming,” the Torak nodded at the elven princess and then turned towards his father. “Premer Cardijja surrendered at the Valley of Bones. Your concern is valid, Ukaro. We must make sure that all of our armies are in position before the attack commences. Vand is only supposed to have fifty thousand men in his army, but I will not accept that as truth until after he is defeated. Vand has shown the capability of surprising us before. I do not intend to let him do that again.”

“What is the plan of attack?” asked King Avalar.

“I truly have not given it much thought,” admitted Emperor Marak. “That is one of the reasons for stopping your armies. We have been so intent on reaching Vandegar that we have not given sufficient thought to what might await us there.”

“We could send scouts on ahead,” suggested Tmundo. “A Chula shaman can travel swiftly without tiring.”

“Tonight we all rest,” Marak shook his head. “Let us take some time to discuss what we do know about Vand. In the morning it might make sense to send scouts out ahead of us.”

Everyone agreed and soon food was served. The conversation was light during the meal and many stories about the battle of the Khadora River were shared. After the meal the group began talking about Vandegar and Vand. Marak offered up the tales of old that he had read about in Angragar, but a feeling of unease hampered his concentration. He could not locate the source of his feelings, but he knew that something was wrong.

The talk continued for several hours before the group began to split up to go to sleep. After most of the leaders had left, Marak’s mother came over and sat down quietly beside him.

“What is bothering you?” Glenda asked. “While your lips move freely, your mind is not present.”

“I am not sure,” sighed Marak. “It is just a feeling that something is wrong. There is something that I have overlooked and I think it may affect us greatly.”

“When did this feeling begin?” prompted Glenda.

“On the way here,” shrugged Marak. “I cannot say for sure when I first noticed it, but I felt fine yesterday. What does it matter when it started?”

“Think, Marak,” urged Glenda. “If you can remember precisely when the omen began, you can locate its source.”

Marak frowned as he mentally traced his steps backwards in time. Finally he sighed and slumped. “I cannot tell when it first came over me,” he said. “I think I just need to force it out of my mind. I am probably tired.”

“Have you not slept at all?” asked Glenda.

“I napped on Myka’s back for a while,” admitted the Torak, “but there has been too much to do to actually spend a night sleeping. While the Lords’ Council was almost eager to follow me across the Fortung Mountains, many of the smaller clans required convincing. I could not afford to lose half of my army.”

“Could it have been a dream while you napped on Myka?” asked Glenda.

Marak pondered the question for a few moments before his eyes suddenly widened. He stood quickly and Glenda rose with him. She gently placed her hand on his arm and peered into his eyes.

“You have remembered?” she asked.

“It is a small thing,” Marak nodded, “but I must ask about it. I am sure that is why I am feeling this way.”

“Tell me about it,” urged Glenda.

“It is Myka,” replied the Torak. “The dragon and I have grown very close. I feel that I have begun to anticipate her moves very well, but she acted strangely today.”

“In what way?” questioned the Torak’s mother.

“Her flying skills are legendary,” explained Emperor Marak. “We almost crashed into a mountain on the way here, but I was not afraid. I know Myka well enough to understand that we were never really in danger. She flies like that for the thrill of it, but she also makes light of it when she does it. Today there was no cackle of joy.”

“And that causes you grief?” frowned Glenda. “I do not understand.”

“I don’t either,” admitted Marak, “but it is not normal for her. She also did not try to sneak up on the Chula and the elves when we arrived. She always delights in surprising people. Ukaro even taunted her about it, and she did not answer him with a quip or rebuttal. Something is wrong with her. I must go to her immediately.”

Glenda’s face showed her lack of belief, but she smiled and nodded as she removed her hand from Marak’s arm. “Go to your dragon,” she smiled, “but above all else, you need rest. Do not spend the night talking.”

Marak nodded distractedly and hurried out of the circle of light to where the dragon was sleeping. He made no attempt to be quiet as he walked up and stood before the dragon’s snout. Myka’s eyes were closed, but the Torak knew that she was aware of his closeness. He sat down before the dragon and waited for the quip that was to come. Nothing happened and Marak’s brow creased heavily.

“Aren’t you even going to threaten to roast me?” Marak asked softly.

One of Myka’s eyes opened and peered at the Emperor of Khadora. The eye closed again and the dragon remained silent.

“What is bothering you?” asked Marak. “I would think that you would share it with me.”

The eye opened and closed again.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” the dragon scowled. “Go away and rest. A great battle is soon upon us. You will need your strength.”

“Would you rest if something was troubling me?” the Torak persisted.

“Yes,” snapped the dragon. “Something is troubling you now, and I am trying to rest. Go away.”

“That is somewhat better,” grinned the Torak, “but I will not leave until you trust me enough to share your concerns.”

For several long minutes the scene remained frozen. Marak sat before the dragon’s snout and Myka’s eyes remained closed. Without warning, Myka’s eyes snapped open and flames belched from her mouth, narrowly missing the Emperor. Marak felt the heat sear his arm, but his lips smiled broadly.

“You missed,” teased the Torak, “and I am right in front of you. You must be getting old and feeble. How will you deal with Vand’s army with such poor skills?”

Myka growled loudly, causing many in the vicinity to jump to their feet. Marak waved to them and indicated that they should go back to sleep. He watched Myka intently and finally the dragon sighed heavily.

“You make light of this coming battle,” Myka said softly, “but you are unaware of what awaits us at Vandegar.”

For the first in their relationship, Marak sensed fear in the dragon’s voice.

“Tell me about it,” Marak pleaded softly. “There is nothing that we cannot face together.”

“There are things that I must face alone,” declared Myka.

“Alone?” balked Marak. “Never. You have always stood by me, and I shall always stand by you. Together, we will face whatever it is that troubles you.”

“Not this time, Torak,” countered the dragon. “You would only get in the way.”

“I am pretty good at getting in the way of Vand’s armies,” assured the Torak. “You forget that I have skills other than wielding a sword. If I can’t slice into whatever it is you must face, I will use magic to destroy them.”

“Dobuk’s demons are immune to your magic,” scowled Myka. “They will toss you aside to get to me. You must be nowhere near me when they attack.”

“Demons?” gasped Marak. “What kind of creatures are they?”

“They are the spawn of Dobuk,” replied the dragon. “They are creatures of great strength and are almost indestructible. They will slice through your armies with ease if I do not distract them.”

“I will concentrate our archers on them,” swore the Torak. “If magic will not fell them, I will make them succumb to shafts of steel.”

“Their skin is like stone,” Myka shook her head. “Your arrows will merely bounce off them. Only I can kill them.”

“How can you kill them then?” asked Marak. “They cannot be indestructible if you can kill them. You can kill them, can’t you?”

“I can,” nodded the dragon. “It is the purpose for my kind being created.”

“I don’t understand,” frowned the Torak. “Have you battled demons before?”

“Twice,” Myka answered softly. “The first war between Kaltara and Dobuk was never recorded. It was in the time before man. Hundreds of dragons and demons battled for the glory of their masters. Most died before Dobuk withdrew from the battlefield. It is said that the tears of the dragons flooded the world as they grieved for their lost kin.”

“I imagine the demons must have suffered even worse,” Marak said cautiously. “They must have added to the flood.”

“Demons do not grieve for their kin, or anyone else,” snapped Myka. “They are despicable beings that were born to kill without remorse. Do not attempt to draw parallels between the winged warriors and the foul spawn of Dobuk.”

“I am sorry,” apologized the Torak. “You said that you fought the demons twice. When was the second time?”

“The second battle was at Vandegar,” the dragon answered as she tried to compose herself. “There were only a few dozen dragons and demons left when Vand tried to crush the forces of Kaltara. The battle was fierce and both races almost became extinct. Now has come the time to finish it once and for all. When this battle is over, either the demons or dragons will cease to exist. It will be as if we never existed.”

“Do not concede the battle before it is joined,” Marak stated in an attempt to raise the spirits of the dragon. “I did not even know that other dragons still existed. How many demons are left?”

“There are six demons left,” answered Myka. “They wait for us at Vandegar.”

“And how many other dragons?” asked Marak. “When will they arrive?”

“I am the last dragon,” Myka replied as giant tears rolled from her eyes.

“Six to one?” gasped Marak. “Can you take on six demons at once?”

“No,” answered the dragon. “To fight a single demon is the fight of your life. In the olden days, the dragons would use clever strategies to outsmart the demons. Kaltara was wise enough to endow us with great intelligence, but Dobuk was merely interested in strength. The demons cannot match wits with a dragon, but their stupidity can only help a small bit.”

“How can you use their stupidity against them?” asked Marak.

“By challenging them to mortal combat singly,” answered Myka. “Their pride will force them to come one at a time unless Vand discovers what I am trying to do. If he orders them to attack in force, they will.”

“You will still have to kill all six of them to win,” frowned Marak. “If you are evenly matched in skills and strength, the odds are against you.”

Marak had merely been thinking out loud, but he realized his mistake immediately.

“But I am sure that you can do it,” Marak quickly added with a smile.

“Nice recovery, Torak,” sighed Myka, “but your words are true. My goal in the coming battle is to at least disable each demon before they get me so that they cannot hinder your troops. You must defeat Vand or all hope for the world is lost.”

“That is a defeatist attitude,” scowled the Torak. “Never give in while there is life in your breast.”

“I am not giving in,” snapped Myka. “I will do the best that I can do, but I am also keenly aware of my mortality. Why are we even having this discussion? The demons are no affair of yours unless I die before my job is done. Your task is to defeat the armies of Vand and end his miserable life. I will keep the demons busy while you do so. Just don’t dally once the battle is joined. Time will not be on our side once the fighting begins.”