Army of the Dead (72 page)

“What was the skirmish south of the lake today?” asked Pakar. “I see no campfires in that direction.”

“That was the Jiadin,” answered Tzargo. “For some reason they charged in from the east and then into the forest to the south of the lake. Hours later we saw them head back to the east, but they avoided contact on the way back. Perhaps it was just to test the mettle of the skeletons.”

“Perhaps,” mused Vand. “I have learned to take nothing for granted with these people. Maybe they were planning on rafting across the lake to get closer to the temple, but could not defend their position.”

“Whatever their purpose,” smiled Tzargo, “they left a fair amount of dead on the plains. That gave us a victory in the east as well as the west.”

“What do you think they will try tomorrow, Premer?” asked the Emperor.

“I am not sure,” admitted Tzargo. “They have no real options in terms of strategy. They have to get through the skeletons before they even reach my force. We have a complete ring around my men and the temple. There is no weakness in that structure. All they can do is charge and throw bodies on the ground. By the time they reach my men, they will be but a tenth of what they started with.”

“And they will not expect your men to rise from the dead,” cackled Vand. “Tomorrow will be a glorious day. I want the boy taken alive.”

“The boy?” asked Tzargo.

“The one they call the Astor,” nodded Emperor Vand. “He is not to be harmed. Make sure that everyone hears that message. That goes for you as well, Pakar.”

“Understood,” frowned the head mage, “but why?”

“He is the only one that I can be sure of that has the right knowledge,” smiled Vand. “He absolutely knows the location of Angragar, and he will lead us to it.”

“He won’t want to,” stated Tzargo.

“I know,” the Emperor grinned evilly, “but he will lead us just the same.”

When the Emperor turned to leave the roof, a furtive figure just inside the doorway moved stealthily away. The black-cloaked figure moved swiftly through the dimly lit corridors and slipped through a doorway that hadn’t been visible moments before.

“You are back soon,” Xavo said as he cast the spell to hide the doorway.

“It was only a short gloating meeting on the roof,” replied Lady Mystic.

“And what did you learn tonight?” Xavo asked.

“That Marak and the dragon died today,” answered Vand’s daughter.

“No,” frowned Xavo. “That does not bode well for the attack. Will the Khadorans turn around and go home?”

“They have not done so,” shrugged Lady Mystic. “I also heard my father order that the Astor is to be taken alive. Vand wants the location of Angragar and he knows that Rejji has it.”

“So they will be trying especially hard to kill the Star of Sakova,” frowned Xavo. “We must save my daughter if we can.”

“If we can,” nodded Lady Mystic, “but our mission is in another direction. We cannot afford to spend much time protecting her unless you have changed your mind.”

“No,” frowned Xavo, “my mind has not changed, but if Lyra is dead, she cannot fight Vand.”

“And that is when we are supposed to confront Dobuk,” Lady Mystic nodded in agreement.

“The Three were supposed to be our diversion,” stated Xavo. “Dobuk will be lending his power to Vand for that battle. It is when the Great Demon will be at his weakest.”

“Which makes losing Marak very bitter,” sighed Lady Mystic. “I was hoping that the two of them would gang up on Vand and prolong the fight.”

“Two?” Xavo asked in confusion. “There are three of them.”

“What I have heard,” Lady Mystic replied, “the boy Rejji is not much of a fighter. He doesn’t even carry a sword, and he is not a mage. I really can’t see him being much help in the battle.”

“It does sound like his only purpose was to unite the Fakarans,” nodded Xavo, “but he can also be a distraction, especially if Vand needs him alive.”

“There is that,” shrugged Lady Mystic, “but is your daughter strong enough to take on my father alone? Personally, I find that thought ludicrous. Vand is more powerful than you can imagine.”

“After seeing Lyra in action,” smiled Xavo, “my imagination can be rather wild. I do not know where she gets her power from, but it is unlike any that I have ever seen.”

“We shall see,” Lady Mystic sighed as she eased into a chair. “Vand is expecting a full charge from both the Fakarans and the Khadorans tomorrow. He expects ninety percent of them to die before reaching Tzargo’s hellsouls.”

“Marak would not sacrifice his people that way,” scoffed Xavo. “That is Premer Tzargo’s dreams you are listening to.”

“But Marak is not around any more, is he?” retorted Lady Mystic.

* * *

The Fakarans were the first to arrive. Thousands of horsemen, guided by the signal fire, flowed into the forest and followed the path of destruction to the wounded dragon. Many of the Fakaran horsemen had elves riding double with them, and Marak’s spirits lifted when he saw that Princess Alahara was one of them.

“Mistake,” shouted Marak.

Princess Alahara leaped off the back of the Fakaran horse and rushed over to Emperor Marak. She took one glance at Myka and hugged the Torak, burying her head in his chest. Her tears flowed freely, and Marak remembered that Mistake also had a personal encounter with the dragon a long time ago.

“Is there any hope?” Mistake’s muffled voice asked.

“If Kaltara is the true god,” affirmed Marak, “then Myka will live.”

Princess Alahara pushed away from the Torak and gazed into his eyes.

“Are you saying that you will denounce Kaltara if Myka dies?” she asked. “Do you blame Him for her injuries?”

“No,” Marak said quickly. “I blame no one but myself for her injuries. What I meant is that Kaltara would never give up on a winged warrior. As long as she has breath, He will watch over her. She will recover. Trust me.”

“You do not sound as if you believe those words yourself,” the elven princess noted. “I must go to her.”

“I will go with you,” offered Marak. “Why have the elves come with the Fakarans? Some of them are not mages.”

“All of my elven mages are here,” answered Princess Alahara as they walked close to the dragon, “but I also brought many warriors. If Myka is to need blood, it will be elven blood that flows in her veins.”

“Why?” asked the Torak.

“A couple of reasons,” answered the elven princess. “First of all, the elves are an ancient race as are the dragons. If there is much of a difference, it seems reasonable that elven blood would be a closer match. Secondly, the Fakarans will need all of their strength in the coming battles. We cannot afford to have them weakened while they are hacking the enemy to death, whereas the elves will play a less strenuous part in the battle.”

“You have turned into a wise woman, Mistake,” smiled Marak. “I find that hard to believe having known you a long time ago, but I now feel privileged to have known you.”

“Now I can see why Lyra loves you,” chuckled Princess Alahara. “You do have a way with words, Emperor Marak.”

When they walked up next to the dragon, Lyra looked up briefly and smiled at Princess Alahara. She rose and suddenly noticed the clearing full of Fakarans and elves.

“What is all this?” she asked. “Why are so many people here?”

“You did not know?” laughed Princess Alahara. “Your lover ordered tens of thousands of people to rush here to offer their blood and magical expertise. We are but the first to arrive.”

The Star of Sakova looked questioningly at Marak, who did his best to avoid looking at her. Princess Alahara placed her hand gently on Lyra’s arm and smiled.

“It was actually a rather smart move, Lyra,” she said. “The attack for tomorrow has been cancelled, and everyone wants to help in any way they can. I thought elven blood would be a better match. Don’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” Lyra said distractedly. “Do you know how many hearts a dragon has?”

“How many hearts?” Princess Alahara repeated. “Do you mean they have more than one?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Lyra, “but I think I am hearing four hearts beating. Is that possible?”

“She is a big creature,” shrugged Princess Alahara, “but you are asking the wrong person. I know nothing of dragons, and I doubt that anyone else does. What can I do to help?”

“That’s right,” Lyra suddenly perked up. “You are a mage now. Come and help me. Marak, send the other mages to us when they arrive.”

“I brought some with me,” Princess Alahara said as the two women walked around the dragon.

Marak shook his head in wonder and went to summon the mages that Mistake had brought with her. As the area got crowded, Marak started issuing locations where the people could wait. The Fakarans went back out on the plains and set up camp, while the elves found a clearing not too far away from the dragon. The mages all clustered around the giant creature, and Marak walked back out to the signal fire to await the others.

The wait was not long and soon a long column of chokas arrived. The Torak directed the Sakovan and elven mages towards the dragon and continued waiting. Less than an hour later the Chula arrived with more elven passengers. When he saw King Avalar he waved him down, and the elven king dismounted and walked over to the Torak.

“I see others have arrived before us,” commented King Avalar. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Your daughter was among the first to arrive,” replied Marak. “She has grown into a wonderful woman.”

“They both are extraordinary,” smiled Avalar.

“Do you know how many hearts a dragon has?” the Torak blurted out.

“I have no idea,” confessed the elven king, “but I may be able to find out.”

“How?” asked Marak.

“I can ask my uncle in Elvangar,” answered King Avalar. “Elvangar has a massive library of ancient tomes, and the winged warriors were revered by our people. I have to believe that some time in the past, elves have had occasion to heal the creatures. Is the use of an air tunnel acceptable to you?”

“Absolutely,” Marak nodded vigorously. “Anything that can help save Myka’s life is acceptable to me.”

King Avalar placed a comforting hand on the Torak’s shoulder and smiled at him.

“She will survive,” promised the elven king. “We will do everything in our power to ensure that. You should also do whatever you can to help.”

“I have no knowledge of healing,” frowned Marak. “What can I do?”

“Pray,” answered King Avalar as he turned and walked away.

By the time King Avalar reached the dragon, the creature was swarming with mages. They crawled over the dragon like bees on a hive. Every little tear in the skin was being closed up with healing spells, and a long line of elven warriors was waiting to donate blood. For all the activity going on, the dragon still appeared dead.

The elven king opened an air tunnel to Elvangar and sent Garl to find the information he needed. He passed the time talking to Queen Alycia and finally Garl returned with the information. The elven king dropped the air tunnel and went in search of the Star of Sakova.

“Only one heart,” declared King Avalar when he had found Lyra.

“Yes, I know,” Lyra smiled distractedly. “Or rather I should say that it doesn’t matter now. I thought I heard four hearts beating when I first examined her and that caused me confusion, but her heart is beating stronger now and it is obvious that it is only one heart. How did you find out?”

“I contacted Elvangar,” answered Avalar. “Marak was very concerned.”

“He should have asked me,” smiled Lyra. “That question was answered hours ago. At least it gave him something to occupy his time.”

“He is very worried,” Avalar said sympathetically.

“I know,” Lyra sighed compassionately. “Why don’t you tell him that Myka will live? It will ease his mind quite a bit.”

“Are you sure of that?” he asked.

“Fairly sure,” nodded Lyra, “but I cannot say what condition she will be in. Her heartbeat has strengthened a great deal since we have started giving her blood, and her breathing is much more robust now. I have not had time to check with the other mages regarding her injuries, but you may if you wish.”

“That is good to hear,” remarked Emperor Marak who had come up behind Avalar unseen. “I am sure that she will be as good as new when you get done.”

Lyra shook her head and returned to her duties while King Avalar wandered off to talk with the other mages. Marak stood watching the healers work. At times he was called upon to organize work groups to move parts of the dragon as broken bones were mended and parts of the skin that had been inaccessible were healed. Eventually, he wandered off and visited the elven campsite. His mind wandered and exhaustion finally claimed him. He fell asleep and when he woke up, sunlight was filtering down through the trees.

The Torak rose quickly and walked to the clearing where the dragon rested. He was surprised to see that no mages were crawling upon the huge creature. Only a single elven mage sat near the dragon’s snout. He walked up to the mage and sat down next to him.

“How is she?” he asked.

“She is alive,” answered the healer. “All of her bones are solid, and all of her internal organs appear to be functioning, but not much more.”

“What do you mean?” Marak asked with alarm.

“I mean that technically, she is alive,” answered the mage, “but she is not awake, and she is not exactly sleeping, either. I am afraid that is the best we can do. She will never fly again. In fact, I doubt that she will ever wake up.”

“Where is Lyra?” Marak asked harshly as he rose swiftly.

“She went to sleep over there a couple of hours ago,” answered the mage. “There is nothing that she can do. Let her sleep.”

Marak left in the direction the mage had pointed and found Lyra with several dozen other mages. The Star of Sakova was fast asleep. Marak bent over and gently shook her. Lyra’s eyes creaked open, and she stared up at the Torak.

“I am sorry,” Lyra said when she realized why Marak was there.

“Come with me,” commanded the Torak.

Lyra sighed and rubbed her eyes. She dutifully rose and followed Marak back to the dragon. The Torak dismissed the attending mage and sat Lyra down in his place.