Princess Alahara and the Astor stood on the rim of the Valley of Bones. They stared down at the huge bonfire at the northern edge of the valley and the long line of Motangan soldiers marching by it.
“What are they doing?” asked Princess Alahara.
“They are piling their weapons next to the fire,” answered Rejji.
“It is as if they are doing it for show,” remarked Wyant. “They want us to see it.”
“So that we know that they are unarmed?” asked Princess Alahara. “Do they think that we will not attack just because they have no weapons?”
“That is exactly what they think,” nodded Rejji. “If I was not suspicious of the Motangans, I would suspect that they were surrendering.”
“That is exactly what they are doing,” announced Yltar as he approached the group. “Premer Cardijja has had enough of this war.”
“That is incredible,” replied Wyant. “I could not imagine so many men surrendering. I think it is a trap.”
“Then you do not have enough faith in Kaltara,” smiled the Qubari shaman. “One does not set a trap by disarming himself. Our forces could easily slaughter the Motangans without their weapons.”
“Why?” asked the Astor. “What would cause them to surrender when they have finally found a place to rest for the night? Do you think they know about the spider webs?”
“They know everything,” nodded Yltar. “They know about the poisoned meat, the webs, the elven archers, and the horsemen waiting to invade this tranquil valley. Why else would they consider surrendering such a large force of men?”
“How could they know?” scowled Princess Alahara. “Are you saying that we have a traitor in our midst?”
“Perhaps,” shrugged Yltar. “It depends upon your definition of traitor. Surely someone told them about our plans, but does that make him a traitor if the telling brought the Motangan surrender?”
Rejji whirled around, his eyes scanning the rim of the valley. “Where is Bakhai?” he demanded.
“He is in Premer Cardijja’s tent,” Yltar answered. “He told you of his desire to seek peace with the Motangans, but you refused him. It would appear that he valued peace over his own life.”
“And it would appear that he was correct in his beliefs,” nodded Rejji. “How long have you known he was in the camp?”
“I knew that he would go before he left,” replied the shaman.
“And you said nothing?” frowned Rejji.
“I said nothing to you,” replied Yltar, “but I prayed to Kaltara for Bakhai’s safety and success. You would have stopped him from going out of fear for his safety, but Bakhai has become a shaman in his own right. His closeness with Kaltara must be respected. You see him only through a brother’s eyes.”
“He is my brother,” snapped Rejji. “How am I supposed to see him? I cannot believe that he defied me, and that you let him endanger his life.”
“His life in not in danger,” assured Yltar. “While Bakhai may believe that he is alone, he is not. Kaltara drove your brother to the Motangan camp many days ago. You did not ask him to go, yet he acted as if you had. Did you not wonder why he volunteered?”
“Kaltara told him to volunteer,” Princess Alahara smiled, “but why?”
“To build a bond with Premer Cardijja,” smiled Yltar. “At least that is what actually happened. Without that bond, the Motangans would have never surrendered.”
Rejji stared at the shaman for a few moments and then smiled and nodded. “We need to arrange for food for the Motangans. See to it, Wyant. Yltar, accompany me down into the valley. It is time to accept Cardijja’s surrender. Vandegar awaits our armies.”
* * *
A heavy fog rolled across the sea smothering the city of Meliban. One moment the stars hung brightly in the black sky, and the next moment one could not see two paces in front of oneself. Simple sounds distorted and echoed through the city without direction. The ships in the harbor became enshrouded and impossible to see. The fog was so thick that the sentries could not even see each other. The Motangan sentries on the wharf could only hear the lapping of the waves and the distant jostling of the rigging of the invisible ships.
Fog was fairly frequent near the mouth of the Meliban River, and the Motangan guards had grown used to it. This particular fog raised no sense of alarm, nor did it seem unusual, but unusual it was. This particular fog was magical.
The main pier in Meliban was a long wooden finger that stretched far into the harbor. Water constantly lapped at the pilings as the waves rolled into shore. On this particular night, those gentle swells carried a dark shape under the dock. Where the water ended and the sand began, the dark shape exited the water, crawling under the wooden slats until there was no room to crawl further. The shape lingered for several long moments, ears perked to listen for nearby sounds. After a time, the shape slid out from under the dock and, hunched over, crept onto the wharf. Silent footsteps slowly moved in the fog until one of the sentries was in sight. With eye-blinking swiftness and a surety of purpose, the shape moved up behind the sentry and struck out. A black blade sliced the throat of the sentry while the other hand covered the sentry’s mouth. Lowering the body to the ground, HawkShadow moved off to hunt the other sentry.
Within minutes the other sentry was slain, and HawkShadow moved stealthily out onto the long finger of wooden slats. He emitted a sound that resembled the screech of a hawk. A like sound echoed back to him from the harbor. Three successive birdcalls brought a large shape into view, gliding slowly across the water. HawkShadow grabbed a coil of rope attached to the dock and threw it towards the bow of the ship. Someone caught it. The Sakovan assassin moved quickly to grab another coil of rope and toss it to someone on the stern of the ship. Within seconds the ship was tied to the dock and people began disembarking. There was no need for speech or hand signals. Everyone knew his task. HawkShadow stood to one side as the other Sakovans moved silently along the dock and into the city. When StarWind got off the ship, HawkShadow moved alongside her and joined the column of Sakovans. The last to exit the ship were the Sakovan mages led by the Star of Sakova and her uncle, Temiker.
The Sakovan mages walked off the dock and waited patiently on the fog-enshrouded wharf while the Sakovan warriors moved along the streets and into the city. Although fog typically dulled and distorted sounds, an eerie silence pervaded the city. Temiker listened intently as he counted numbers in his head. After an interminable delay, Temiker spoke softly.
“It is time,” the old mage announced. “Remember the Star’s instructions, and do not unnecessarily endanger yourselves. We can afford the time to stay in Meliban until the task is complete. There is no rush.”
A hundred Sakovan mages followed Lyra and Temiker into the fog. As they moved along the main street of the city red-clad bodies appeared on the ground, dead eyes staring into the mist. The mages walked around the corpses or stepped over them. When they approached the center of the city, mages began to peel off to each side of the street. Some moved silently into narrow alleyways, while others sought the safety of dark corners formed by adjacent buildings.
Lyra and Temiker halted in the park that occupied the very center of Meliban. The remaining mages split off in three different directions to hide themselves and await the proper moment. Temiker began counting anew, giving time for all of the mages to find hiding spots.
“If you are ready?” Temiker asked softly as the numbers ran down inside his head.
“I am ready,” nodded Lyra. “Where will you be?”
“At the edge of the park against the building,” answered Temiker. “You will not be able to see me, but neither will the Motangans. Be careful, Lyra, and do not let the power drain from you. If you get into trouble, shout, and I will come to your aid. I will lift the fog as soon as I see your blue cylinder.”
Temiker did not wait for a reply. He walked away from the Star of Sakova and placed his back against one of the buildings bordering the park. He quickly wove an illusion that made it appear as if there was a pile of crates in the spot where he stood. He hoped that no one would desire to climb up on the crates. Moments later a blue cylinder shot skyward from the center of the park. He knew that Lyra had invoked her spell of protection. Without delay, the old mage cast his arms upward. The fog that smothered the city instantly dissipated from the park and the nearest buildings, although the rest of Meliban remained enshrouded. Lyra’s blue column shone brightly and cast an eerie swath of blue light over the surrounding buildings. Shouts immediately came from windows surrounding the park.
The first to arrive were Motangan soldiers from the administration building. Officers shouted commands and horns blew. Soldiers began gathering from all quarters of the city, but not as many responded as should have. All around the perimeter of the city, red-clad bodies littered the ground, and the Sakovan warriors moved inward towards the park, silently killing soldiers as they exited the buildings. Within minutes of the first alarm, black-cloaked mages swarmed towards the park. A group of a hundred black-cloaks gathered around Veritago as the mage leader stared at the young woman inside the blue tube. The mages were but a black dot upon a sea of red as the park filled with Motangans.
“What do you make of it?” one of the mages asked of the leader.
“Undoubtedly magic,” reasoned Veritago, “but I have never seen anything like it. It bothers me that she calls attention to herself. Is she friend or foe?”
It was at that time the Star of Sakova chose to speak. “Motangans,” Lyra said calmly, her voice magically amplified throughout the city, “I am Lyra, the Star of Sakova. I have come to Meliban to demand that you lay down your weapons and disavow this invasion of Fakara. The armies of the Island of Darkness are defeated. Lay down your weapons, and you will be allowed to live. Defy me, and you will die.”
For a long moment the park remained silent. Suddenly one of the mages threw a fireball at Lyra. The fiery projectile sailed into the blue cylinder and disappeared.
“Kill her!” shouted Veritago. “Charge!”
The Motangan soldiers did not hesitate. With swords drawn, a ring of soldiers raced forth to be the first to pierce the body of the Star of Sakova. Lyra closed her eyes as the murderous mob surrounded her. Screams filled the air as hundreds of soldiers struck the blue shield. Arms disintegrated and legs disappeared, but the mob continued inward, pushed onward by those behind. Whole bodies disappeared into the blue cylinder, and tears welled up in Lyra’s eyes.
It took several minutes for Veritago to realize that something was wrong. Screams ripped through the air and died much too suddenly to be natural. He shouted for the soldiers to stop, but it was hard to be heard over the screaming. Another several minutes passed before the soldiers managed to back away from Lyra. The wounded surrounded the Star, rolling on the ground and screaming in agony. Veritago marched forward, the soldiers parting to let the black-cloak through. The other mages followed cautiously. Veritago surveyed the carnage and then his eyes landed on the Star of Sakova. He stared at her in disgust as he saw her crying.
“Your shield cannot protect you forever,” sneered Veritago as he looked for magical defects in the column. “Drop your protection, and I will promise you a swift death.”
Lyra wiped her eyes and glared and the mage. She spoke calmly once again, but her words were not directed at the mage. Instead she spoke to the soldiers who stared at her uncomprehendingly. By this time, thousands of Motangan soldiers had crowded into the park, and there was barely room to move.
“Do not let these black-cloaks destroy your lives,” Lyra said. “Lay down your weapons and leave the city. You will not be harmed. I implore you not to fight me.”
Veritago snarled and backed away from Lyra. “Ready arrows,” he shouted to the soldiers before turning to the mages. “We will weaken her spell of protection. Let the arrows weaken the tube and then strike with everything you have.”
The black-cloaks nodded enthusiastically as the Motangan soldiers began shooting thousands of arrows at Lyra. The arrows disappeared as they struck the blue shield, but the archers kept up a constant stream of arrows.
“There will be no surrender,” Lyra said, sorrow evident in her voice.
The Motangans had no reaction to the words of the Star of Sakova. They continued to fire at her as the black-cloaks focused their attention on the blue shield to watch for any sign of its weakening. The Sakovans however did react to her words. The Sakovan mages crept out of their hiding places and took up positions surrounding the park. Suddenly a hundred light blades whirled into the thick mob of Motangans, and bodies were sliced into pieces.
Temiker watched as wave after wave of light blades sliced through the crowd. He shook his head sadly, but he kept his eyes on the group of black-cloaked mages. It took several minutes for the attack to register with the black-cloaks, so intent were they on destroying the blue shield. When they finally did notice, it was because the light blades were ripping through their ranks. Veritago turned and tried to marshal his mages to defend against the Sakovans. Temiker did not give him a chance. From the concealment of his illusion, Temiker cast a light blade of his own. The bright projectile spun into the group of mages. Other Sakovan mages had also seen the attempt to use magic against them and had also targeted the knot of black cloaks. Veritago and his minions ceased to exist.
“Stop!” shouted Lyra as she saw the black-cloaks die. “I will give one more chance for the Motangans to surrender.”
The light blades from the Sakovan mages halted, as did the arrows aimed at the Star of Sakova. There was a tense moment of standoff as the Motangan archers thought about attacking the Sakovan mages. Lyra spoke quickly.
“Drop your weapons,” she instructed. “There is no need for you to die. The black-cloaks no longer rule over you. Drop your weapons and live to see your families again.”
Many of the Motangans lowered their bows and placed their arrows back in their quivers, but others did not. One of those who hesitated spoke loudly.
“Why should we believe you?” he shouted. “If we drop our weapons, you can just kill us easier.”
“Your deaths are not particularly hard to accomplish,” replied Lyra. “Look around you. The carnage sickens me. We arrived in Meliban on a great ship. I am prepared to let all of you board that ship, and the others already in the harbor, and return to the Island of Darkness. Once there, the elves and humans who now rule the island will meet you. They will return you to your families, and the war for you will be over.”
“And if Vand returns we will die,” shouted the skeptical soldier.
“Perhaps,” admitted Lyra, “but you will surely die here tonight if you do not surrender. As for Vand returning to the Island of Darkness, I doubt that he wants to. He has come here to conquer Angragar, but we will not allow that. Let me tell you the state of the Motangan army. The Island of Darkness has been conquered by the elves. Premer Doralin surrendered to me in the Sakova along with eighty thousand men. Perhaps you have already received this news.”
Many of the soldiers murmured and nodded.
“Premer Shamal and his army were destroyed in Khadora,” Lyra continued. “They refused to surrender, and there were no prisoners taken. Earlier this evening, Premer Cardijja and one hundred thousand of his men surrendered to the Astor in the mountains far to the east of here. Other than those of you here in Meliban, Vand’s personal army headed by Premer Tzargo is all that remains of your once mighty army, and we have no desire to allow him to escape. The Island of Darkness shall remain free of Vand’s influence. It can be your home once again, and you can live in peace. Will you lay down your weapons and surrender?”
Many of the soldiers looked to the protester for guidance, but others threw down their bows and swords. The move was contagious. Suddenly the air filled with the sound of discarded weapons. Even the protester nodded his head in defeat. He dropped his bow and sword.
The Sakovan mages faded back into the fog and found their hiding places. The Sakovan warriors, who had moved up behind the Sakovan mages, turned and headed for the wharf. They hurriedly unloaded the five hundred chokas and led them on a circuitous path towards the gates of the city, while StarWind and HawkShadow walked into the park.
“We will escort you to the harbor,” announced StarWind. “Each of the ships will be piloted by Sakovans, and mages will be aboard to ensure that you arrive safely in Vandamar. If you would form a line and follow us, we will get you underway quickly.”
Other Sakovan warriors lined the main street of the city to ensure that no weapons were being taken aboard the ships. Temiker dropped his illusion and banished the fog that persisted over much of the city. The Motangans marched quietly to the harbor and began filing onto the ship that the Sakovans had arrived on. When it was filled to capacity, it set sail for the Island of Darkness, and another ship was brought from the harbor to the dock.
The loading continued through the night and into the morning as seven thousand Motangan soldiers were shipped off to Vandamar. A few minor fights broke out during the process, but considering the magnitude of the evacuation, things went very smoothly.
“You should get some rest,” Temiker said to Lyra as they sat over a meal in the Kheri Inn. “It will be a long ride to Vandegar.”
“We all need rest before the trip,” nodded Lyra. “Have all of the buildings in the city been searched?”
“They are still searching,” answered Temiker, “but I feel confident that all of the Motangans are gone. You did well last night, Lyra. I am proud of you.”
“We killed close to three thousand men last night,” frowned Lyra. “That is hardly worth being proud of.”
“You concentrate on the deaths,” frowned Temiker, “when you need to focus on the lives that you saved. Did your cylinder weaken at all?”
“No,” Lyra shook her head. “At least not that I could feel. I felt smothered when all of those men charged at me. It was horrible listening to them die. I don’t want to do that again.”
“Hopefully, you won’t have to,” Temiker smiled weakly. “Only Vandegar remains to be defeated.”
* * *
Emperor Vand bowed to Dobuk and backed out of the great chamber filled with lava-spewing volcanoes. His smile was broad as he marched through the corridors of the Temple of Vandegar and out onto the roof. The six demons occupied the roof and they nodded respectfully as the emperor emerged. Vand halted and gazed at the black, stone creatures. They were beasts of legend and Vand swelled with pride to have been given charge over them.
Agad, Barrok, and Caliphia, the demons of the falling. Xero, Yunga, and Zarapeto, the demons of the resurrection. All were gifts from Dobuk, the Great Demon, and they were sworn to serve Vand. Beings mightier than the greatest armies, Vand gazed upon them and grinned with delight.
Also waiting on the roof of the temple was Premer Tzargo. All of Tzargo’s fifty thousand men had recently undergone the ceremony that transformed them into hellsouls. Their lives were now inseparably intertwined with Vand’s. The soldiers might die in battle, but they would rise again and continue to fight. Only the severing of their heads or the touch of a weapon blessed by Kaltara could permanently kill the hellsouls.
The twelve personal mages of Vand were also present. While those mages carried no particular blessing from Dobuk, they were twelve of the most powerful mages in the world. Vand himself had personally selected each of them for their power and skill.
“Do you think we are ready to meet the enemy, Premer Tzargo?” asked the emperor.
“As ready as we will ever be,” Tzargo nodded. “I would still like to call Premer Cardijja’s men here to supplement our troops. We can never have enough.”
“You are a greedy man,” snarled Vand as he fixed his gaze on the premer.
Premer Tzargo swallowed hard, but the emperor’s lips turned upwards in a wicked grin.
“I like greedy men,” chuckled Vand. “Cardijja must continue to hunt for Angragar, but I can still put your mind at ease. Come with me.”
Vand led Premer Tzargo to the northern edge of the roof. He waved his hand over the plain below and the great finger of water that swung down from the ocean.
“Do you see where that great body of water intrudes upon the plain?” asked Vand. “Do you know its story?”
“I see the water,” replied the premer as he gazed outward from the roof of the high temple, “but I know of no story connected with it.”
“Then I shall tell you the story,” Vand continued unfazed. “Thousands of years ago I stood in this very spot, battling the other gods. Millions of people worshipped me, and that made the other gods jealous. They conspired against me and joined forces to defeat me. I managed to kill them all except for one.”
“Kaltara?” asked Tzargo.
“Yes, Kaltara,” Vand hissed. “Never mention his name again in my presence.”
Premer Tzargo bowed meekly, and the emperor nodded in satisfaction of the premer’s submission.
“I could have defeated them all,” Vand continued, “but they tired me out. They were too cowardly to attack me singly, because they feared my power.” Vand pointed once again to the water, “That body of water that you see did not exist at the time. It used to be part of the Plains of Vandegar, and millions of my followers dwelt there. The great city of Vandegar rested upon that plain, and it was more magnificent than Angragar.”
“What happened?” asked Tzargo.
“The other gods joined their powers against me,” explained Vand. “They smote the city of Vandegar and the land that it sat upon. The land twisted and was swallowed up. The sea rushed in and killed the millions of inhabitants. I promised that I would return for them one day, and I have arrived. Behold.”
Vand stretched out his arms, and unintelligible words rolled off his lips. The mages and the demons gathered around, their lips curled with delight as they anticipated what was to come. Suddenly steam rose from the long finger of water, and great waves crashed about in a chaotic pattern.
Premer Tzargo’s jaw dropped as something poked up from the roiling sea. He tried to focus on it to identify it, but the sea was violent, and waves rose high enough to block the object from view. Vand continued chanting and other objects rose from the sea. Within minutes it was clear that a city was rising from the depths of the sea. Land rose with the city, and the water fled back to the northern sea, carrying buildings and debris with it. Eventually the entire plain was reclaimed, and the ruins of a once great city stood dripping in the sunlight.
“Vandegar?” gasped Tzargo.
“Vandegar,” nodded Vand. “The years have not been kind to it. Kaltara shall pay for this.”
Vand continued chanting, and his arms moved fluidly in a flowing pattern over the city. Tzargo squinted as he caught sight of something moving. No, not something, but many things were moving in the newly reclaimed city. Xero chuckled loudly and nudged Zarapeto.
As Tzargo watched with disbelief, thousands upon thousands of skeletons clawed their way out of the dirt and began marching towards the temple. Within moments the resurrected plain was swarming with skeletons and all of them were heading for the temple.
“There are your extra men, Tzargo,” grinned Vand. “I said that I would increase your army tenfold. Behold. Five hundred thousand warriors who will not eat a shred of your precious provisions.”