Army of the Dead Page 5

  “Aye,” nodded one of the sailors, “there are more skimmers in Fakara. It would be nice to tell them of our errors.”

  * * *

  The night was dark and foreboding as Formone piloted his skimmer towards the armada. Clouds had gathered overhead and were blocking the moon. Even the behemoths from the Island of Darkness were almost impossible to see. Formone stared ahead into the black of night, straining his eyes to determine if there was a ship in front of him. He couldn’t tell for sure, but the sea was alive with the sound of hulls cutting through the water and the occasional chatter of a seaman carried on the wind.

  Formone felt his stern rise high in the water and quickly turned his head. He nearly gasped out loud when he saw the huge bow pushing his tiny skimmer aside. He pulled hard on the tiller and braced himself for the wake of the large ship. With sweat pouring down his brow in the cool night air, Formone adjusted his course to take him deeper into the pack of leviathans.

  A short while later, Formone had to jerk the tiller around as one of the wooden whales appeared right before him. He brought his skimmer through a hard ninety-degree turn, his sails falling limp as his starboard rail banged into the hull of the Motangan ship. He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled deeply. His partner used an oar to push the bow away for the leviathan, and Formone manned the tiller. Air filled the sails as the skimmer reversed course.

  Formone turned again to port to pass behind the Motangan ship. The skimmer bounced wildly as they ran into the wake of the large ship. They rode out the turbulence and then Formone adjusted his course to the west so that he did not fall out of the armada.

  For a brief moment, the moon peeked out between the clouds. Formone’s eyes widened with fear and excitement as he saw half a dozen leviathans around him. It was like seeing something on a dark night when a bolt of lightning flashes around you. Unfortunately, the brief glimpse provided by the moonlight also afforded the Motangans the chance to see the skimmers. Shouts immediately rang out from several directions. Formone wasted no time. He immediately pulled on the tiller to point the bow towards the closest behemoth.

  “Fire,” he said softly, but urgently.

  Formone’s partner did not hesitate. He fired his bow harpoon into the darkness. A tremendous crash of broken wood thundered in his ears as Formone immediately spun his craft to port to avoid the soldiers who would be jumping overboard.

  Sounds filled the night as men shouted and hulls burst throughout the armada. Cargo shifted on the decks of tilting behemoths and eerie creaks drifted on the air like the sighs of dying whales. Splashes in the water came from every direction as Motangan soldiers abandoned their sinking ships.

  Suddenly, the dark night sky blossomed with the brightness of several suns as intense white projectiles streamed into the sky. It was suddenly as bright as daylight, and the carnage that had only been visible as sounds in the night, became apparent to every set of eyes. Motangan ships all around were in various stages of sinking. Formone gasped as he saw that he and a behemoth were heading for the same spot in the ocean, their bows on a tangential collision course.

  Formone fought the tiller as fireballs crisscrossed the sky. Arrows rained down from every angle and the Sakovan heard familiar cries as his friends were cut down. Formone barely won the race with the leviathan, the Motangans’ bow nearly clipping the stern of the skimmer. He exhaled his held breath and let go of the tiller long enough to fire his aft harpoon. He watched in amazement as the metal head burst through the side of the Motangan ship. He was so close to the Behemoth that he saw the smoke rise up inside the hull from the acid that was released by the impact. He knew that within seconds a large hole would burst in the hull. Formone tore his eyes away from the damaged ship and grabbed the tiller.

  “Get us out of here,” shouted his partner.

  “I am trying,” Formone shouted back. “Load another harpoon in the bow just in case.”

  His partner nodded as Formone adjusted course towards the tail end of the armada in hopes that he could escape out the back. He was way too deep into the armada to sneak out the way he had come in. More bright projectiles shot into the air to replenish the light from the dying ones. That was when Formone noticed the behemoths sailing towards him. Not only had he managed to get deep into the armada, but he also managed to strike at its leading edge. Sneaking out the back was no longer an option. Formone turned once again to the south, but the wind was not favorable. Within moments Leviathans were all around him.

  “This is it,” Formone said to his partner. “We have one more chance to strike a blow. Let’s make it good.”

  His partner nodded silently and manned the harpoon. The huge Motangan ship bore down on them and arrows started to sail through the air, but the Sakovan did not fire the harpoon. He waited patiently until he was sure he would not miss. Formone looked up at the deck of the large ship and saw the archers firing at him. He also saw the black-cloaked mages running forward.

  “It has to be now,” urged Formone. “The mages are coming.”

  The Sakovan fired the harpoon just as an arrow pierced his skull. Formone watched in rapt fascination as the harpoon blasted through the wooden hull. He felt the arrow hit his chest, but he was not surprised. He smiled as the smoke billowed out of the hole in the behemoth, and then he fell face first to the floor of the skimmer.

  * * *

  “I want to know the amount of damage,” Premer Doralin shouted. “Get some more of those lights into the sky.”

  One of the mages cast a spell and sent a bright projectile screaming into the sky. The premer turned slowly in a complete circle viewing the catastrophic damage inflicted on his fleet. There was not a single quarter where some of his ships were not sinking. He cursed under his breath.

  “I want mages to contact every single ship in the armada,” demanded the premer. “Make a list of those who answer and those who do not. I must know the strength of my armies.”

  General Valatosa hurried across the deck of the ship and halted alongside the premer. For a moment neither man spoke as they surveyed the devastation around them.

  “I would estimate a third of the fleet is gone,” the general said softly. “That still leaves us with two hundred thousand men. That should be more than enough for the task at hand.”

  “It should be,” snapped the premer, “providing those nasty little boats don’t return for another bite at us,”

  “The ones that attacked us will never be returning,” replied the general. “It was a suicide mission. None of them survived. They didn’t even try to escape like the last time. They kept firing those harpoons until we killed them. You have to admire their courage.”

  “I do admire their courage,” nodded the premer, “as well as their cunning in coming back after dark, but this episode makes me more determined to see those people annihilated. We have lost a tremendous amount of good men before this war is even started. I am now anxious to seize Alamar and show these Sakovans what ruthless cunning is meant to be.”

  “We will have to slow the fleet soon,” commented General Valatosa. “We are getting close to shore.”

  “We will slow,” nodded the premer, “but not before we change our formation. As soon as I get a list of functioning ships, we will guarantee the end of such surprise attacks. I want the fleet tightened up with a column of ships on each flank a distance off from the rest of the fleet. Those columns are to maintain a constant watch for enemy vessels. If an enemy ship passes the column into our fleet, I will hang the captain of the column ship who allowed it to pass.”

  “A clever plan,” smiled the general. “We should pass that strategy back to Motanga.”

  “I am not ready to report our losses to Vand,” Premer Doralin said softly. “Let us have a victory under our belt before we report in. That will soften the blow of our losses. In the morning we will crush Alamar. Tomorrow evening will be soon enough for a report.”

  Chapter 4

  Alamar

  Emperor Marak walked into the Lor
ds’ Council chamber and found the members of the council leaning over a large map. He walked over to the group to listen to the conversation.

  “The trenches are the lines that I have added to the map,” explained Lord Quilo. “They are narrow enough that a horse can jump them, but too wide for a man.”

  “Then you are assuming that the Motangans will use only infantry?” asked Lord Chenowith.

  “That is what has been passed on to me,” shrugged Lord Quilo.

  “He is correct,” interjected the Emperor. “The information that we have is that the Motangan cavalry is minimal. With a million men they do not need to rely on speed. Besides, they would have needed three times as many ships if their armies were primarily cavalries. The width of the trenches is excellent for our needs. Our cavalries can buy time for our infantry to retreat and destroy the bridges and then the horsemen can leap over the trenches. The Motangans will be slowed down.”

  “Welcome back, Emperor,” smiled Lord Chenowith. “I understand that you have been out of the city.”

  “I visited Alamar,” nodded Marak. “The Sakovans need our help.”

  “What do they need?” asked Lord Patel.

  “I am not sure yet,” sighed the Emperor, “but at the very least we must house thousands of their people here in Khadoratung. I have ordered my fleet to begin bringing the Sakovans in by ship.”

  “How many thousands?” asked Lord Faliman.

  “A lot,” shrugged Emperor Marak. “Alamar will probably be attacked in the morning. Right now the only road out of the city is clogged with evacuees. They are going to use fishing boats to ferry the people to Tanzaba. My ships will pick them up there and bring them here. We must create a temporary city for them.”

  “I have thousands of people working on the trenches,” frowned Lord Quilo. “I do not know how much time we have to finish the work, but I would hate to lose any of them. Can we afford the manpower to build a city? Can the Sakovans help with the labor?”

  “The Sakovans will be mostly women and children,” Marak shook his head. “The male citizens are staying to fight.”

  “We could use the armies of the clans in the Imperial Valley,” suggested Lord Chenowith.

  “Not for long,” replied the Torak. “Those armies will constitute the bulk of our defense. I want to leave the frontier armies on the frontiers in case Vand has surprises in store for us, such as landing in Zaramilden and bringing his armies over the Kalatung Mountains. Our first line of defense will be the clans inhabiting the eastern coastal region. The armies of the Imperial Valley will be the second line of defense. By that time we will know what Vand’s strategy is, and all of the clans of Khadora will join in.”

  “Do you still plan on holding to a scorched retreat policy?” asked Lord Kiamesh. “Because if you do, food is going to become scarce, especially with thousands of Sakovans relying on us.”

  “The Motangans will be the ones starving to death,” countered the Emperor. “If we start starving, we will have lost the war.”

  “We could open up the Imperial Palace to the homeless,” suggested Lord Jamarat. “I also have room on my estate. Other lords must have space as well, now that our mages have left.”

  “He has a good point,” shrugged Lord Patel. “The palace will hold thousands. Also, many lords have homes in Khadoratung. They can be used as temporary quarters until suitable housing is built, on a voluntary basis of course.”

  “All of those ideas are acceptable to me,” smiled the Torak. “I have two homes in Khadoratung and will allow them to be used for the Sakovans. Lord Jamarat, your training days are just about over. I would like you to handle the Sakovan people coming to Khadoratung. I think you have the right ideas to deal with it. Will you accept?”

  “Gladly,” beamed the Neju lord. “I will make them happy.”

  Marak smiled at Lord Jamarat. The man had suffered from brain damage as a child and his thinking processes and speech often reflected that of a child, but Emperor Marak had noticed a distinct improvement since his marriage to the mage Latril.

  “Where will the Chula figure into all of this?” asked Lord Chenowith.

  “I am going to speak to them tonight,” replied the Torak. “Their style of fighting is rather unconventional. I am tempted to ask them to help the Sakovans, but I worry that we may need their help up here in Khadora.”

  “What are the Sakovans facing?” asked Lord Patel.

  “Three hundred thousand Motangans are on their way to Alamar,” answered Marak. “They should be attacking in the morning.”

  “Three hundred thousand?” echoed Lord Kiamesh. “That is far greater than the combined armies of Omunga and the Sakova. Didn’t the Omungans only have forty thousand men?”

  “They had forty thousand men in four large national armies,” nodded the Torak. “They also had city garrisons of several thousand each, but your point is well taken. The Sakovans are badly outnumbered. I should point out that there are still seven hundred thousand men on the Island of Darkness. A portion of those will be coming to Khadora. I suspect that four to five hundred thousand will be allocated to fight against us. We will also be badly outnumbered.”

  “The largest armies that we have are the Fakarans,” frowned Lord Kiamesh, “yet there is nothing there for Vand to plunder. Still, he would have to allocate at least three hundred thousand to Fakara to be assured of victory. That means that we are more likely to face four hundred thousand in Khadora than five.”

  “I cannot fault your reasoning,” nodded Emperor Marak. “The real danger is even worse. If Vand can quickly crush either the Sakovans or the Fakarans, his armies allocated to those countries can flank us by coming over the mountains.”

  “Which is why you want the frontier estates left intact,” interjected Lord Quilo. “That makes perfect sense now. They are our buffer against a surprise flanking movement.”

  “Precisely,” nodded Marak, “but there will come a time when we are forced to use them.”

  “Thus your conflict with sending the Chula to aid the Sakovans,” nodded Lord Faliman. “In essence, they will be helping us no matter where they fight, but we must decide where they will be the most effective.”

  * * *

  The Star of Sakova had a fitful night that was not very restful. Besides the nightmares, every strange sound awakened her. She knew that her nerves were on edge with the impending invasion, so she decided to give up on sleeping. She wandered out of the Imperial Guard headquarters where she had been given a room. The streets were empty and the city was quiet. She saw solders upon the wall that surrounded the city and assumed that others were patrolling the waterfront.

  Lyra wandered the streets of Alamar with no particular destination in mind. Her mind wandered as erratically as her feet did. Images of her youth flashed through her mind, suddenly replaced with the sights and sounds of ancient Angragar. She remembered her first journey into the Sakova with her friends Syman and Antello, who had grown to become full-fledged Sakovans. Visions of her entire life passed through her head, but her thoughts always returned to Marak. No matter how much she tried to put him out of her mind and concentrate on other things, his smiling face always ended up stuck in her mind.

  “You are going to wear those boots out,” came a friendly voice from the shadow. “Can’t sleep?”

  “Uncle Temiker,” smiled Lyra. “I guess there is too much on my mind to sleep this night.”

  “Uncle?” chuckled the old mage. “I haven’t been called that in a while. I thought you would be thinking about the coming battle, but it sounds like your mind is in the past. What is bothering you?”

  “I’m not sure,” Lyra admitted. “My mind has been wandering all night, but it always comes back to Marak.”

  “You like him a lot, don’t you?” asked Temiker.

  “I love him,” smiled Lyra, “but that hardly matters. It is a love that can never be. Perhaps if we had met in another place or another time, we would have a happy life together, but this war will tear
us apart.”

  “The odds are against any of us living through this war,” shrugged Temiker, “but those are just odds. People have beaten the odds before. Besides, you have Kaltara. You haven’t lost your faith, have you?”

  “Certainly not,” Lyra shook her head vigorously.

  “Well,” smiled the mage, “you are special in Kaltara’s eyes. If anyone survives this war it will be you and Marak.”

  “That is where you are wrong,” frowned Lyra. “We have been chosen by Kaltara and given positions of great responsibility, but we are merely tools of Kaltara. We are the instruments to revive the people’s faith in God. Our task is almost over.”

  “You think Kaltara is using you?” frowned Temiker.

  “Of course He is,” nodded Lyra. “Do not take my words in the wrong sense. I am not feeling abused by God. I am thrilled to be His tool for the betterment of the world, but I also understand and accept my place in that world. The Three are to rid the world of Vand and to bring the people back to Kaltara. We will succeed in doing that, although I question how much of the world will survive the destruction that is coming to us. My thoughts go beyond that day of final triumph. Marak, Rejji, and I will be held up by the people of the world as saviors. We understand that we are not special, but the people will not understand that. They will want to worship us instead of Kaltara. That is not right, and it must not be allowed.”

  “So what will stop that from happening?” asked Temiker.

  “What else could cause it not to happen?” Lyra shrugged as tears welled up in her eyes. “Can’t you foresee what must happen? We must be sacrificed for the good of the world.”

  “Preposterous,” scowled Temiker. “Put that nonsense out of your head immediately. Kaltara would not kill you for being His faithful servant. What kind of reward is that?”