* * *
Emperor Marak was in the forest south of Lake Jabul. He stood with Lyra, Ukaro, King Avalar, and Princess Alastasia. As the sun broke the horizon he could just make out the long line of Khadorans advancing eastward.
“So it begins,” he said softly.
“Should we be advancing as well?” asked Princess Alastasia.
“No,” the Torak shook his head. “The Khadoran army is enough of a threat to make Vand show his hand. Let’s wait and see what surprises he has in store for us.”
“What is out there?” Lyra asked with a puzzled expression. “Thousands of flickers are reflecting the sun.”
“I see that, too,” nodded King Avalar. “Something is out there.”
The Torak’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the thousands of tiny flashes. It was as if the entire ground was littered with pieces of metal. The reflections appeared on both sides of the lake and stretched out far to both the east and the west. The only area that did not have any reflections was right around the distant temple.
“I have to go look,” declared the Torak.
“On Myka?” asked the Star of Sakova. “I thought you said you would not be riding her into battle?”
“I must know what is out there,” replied Marak. “There is nothing natural about those reflections. They are Vand’s surprise.”
The Torak turned and ran through the woods to the clearing where Myka rested. He raced right up onto her back with impatience.
“Going somewhere?” quipped the dragon.
“I have no time for humor,” replied the Torak. “Get me over the battlefield quickly. Something is wrong.”
Myka wasted no words in reply. She rose up and leaped into the sky.
“Head towards the Khadorans,” instructed Marak, “but keep low enough for me to see what we are traveling over.”
Myka skimmed over the trees of the forest and was soon flying over the baked soil of the wasteland. Marak looked down with a puzzled expression on his face. Thousands of skeletons littered the ground and it soon became obvious that the sun was reflecting off the swords that they held.
“An old battlefield?” questioned the dragon.
“I don’t think so,” mused the Torak. “Do you see any of the bones crushed? Each skeleton is fully formed. How could anyone ride or march to Vandegar without crushing some of the bones?”
“Maybe no one has ever approached the temple from this direction?” posed the dragon.
“Possible,” admitted the Torak, “but I will not accept that just yet. We have been expecting some surprise from Vand, and this is surprising.”
“We will know soon enough,” declared the dragon. “Your Khadorans are about to start crunching bones.”
Marak strained his eyes trying to see the progress of the Khadoran clansmen, but they were still too far away to make out the details. His eyes drifted downward and scanned the skeleton bodies.
“Did you hear that?” asked Myka.
“Hear what?” asked Emperor Marak.
“A horn,” answered the dragon. “It came from the Khadorans.”
Suddenly, the skeletons below came to life and rose to their feet, their bony hands brandishing swords.
“Mercy!” swore the Torak. “There are thousands upon thousands of them.”
“And not enough flesh on all of them put together for even a decent snack,” the dragon said dryly.
Marak dragged his eyes away from the skeletons below and focused on the blur of Khadorans in the distance.
“What can you see?” he asked the dragon as they sped across the wasteland.
“The vanguard is being encircled,” Myka reported. “The rest of the Khadorans are still moving forward as if unaware of the danger, but the horn is still blowing.”
“I can hear it now,” nodded Marak.
“The blue and green ones are falling from their horses,” the dragon continued. “They have turned around to flee, but there is nowhere for them to go.”
“Is Marshal Berman with them?” asked Marak.
“There is one in orange and yellow among them,” replied the dragon. “He fights valiantly, but his blows are wasted. The creatures do not fall down when struck.”
Emperor Marak turned his head to survey the rest of the area around the temple. He saw a large mass of red uniforms around the temple, but they were making no move to join the battle. Suddenly, swift movement caught his eye near the roof of the temple. He squinted into the rising sun and saw a large black shape leap off the roof. Its wings spread out, and it flapped hard as it headed straight towards Marak and Myka.
“We have a visitor coming,” the Torak said nervously. “I think it might be a demon.”
Flames shot out of the dragon’s mouth as her head turned towards the temple.
“Barrok,” spat the dragon. “Use your knife, Torak. This will be the type of ride you never wished for.”
“Perhaps you should put me down?” questioned the Torak. “I do not want to hinder your fighting.”
“I wish there was time to do just that,” replied Myka, “but there is not. I cannot afford to let the demon get above me. I would also lose too much speed by letting you off. Use your knife and hang on.”
Emperor Marak shoved his knife into the scale of the dragon. He wedged it in strong and gripped it with both hands. As Myka turned to face the approaching demon, Marak’s eyes returned to the battle below. They had covered enough ground so that Marak was now able to see clearly. What he saw was disturbing.
The Khadoran Emperor watched as Marshal Berman fell to the ground, his body cut and bleeding. The hornsman was the next to go, but the most interesting sight was that of Lord Marshal Stanton breaking the neck of one of the skeletons. The creature immediately crumpled into a pile of bones and did not get up again. He also saw Lord Faliman sliced open and realized that none of the vanguard would live. He hastily wove an air tunnel to the Khadoran mages behind the line of horsemen.
“You need to hang onto your knife,” warned the dragon. “I will not be able to stop you from falling.”
“In a minute,” replied the Torak.
An air mage picked up his air tunnel, and the Torak wasted no words.
“Tell Lord Marshal Yenga to assume command of the army,” ordered the Emperor. “Tell everyone that the creatures need to be decapitated. Order the cavalry to fall back and use the mages to blast the skeletons in any way they can to aid in the retreat.”
“Retreat?” asked the air mage.
“Yes,” snapped the Torak. “Get our people away from the skeletons. Notify King Avalar about everything I have said and try to contact the Fakarans.”
“Using air tunnels?” questioned the mage.
“The time for secrecy is over,” replied the Torak. “Vand knows that we have arrived. Our forces need to coordinate.”
“The knife, Torak!” shouted Myka. “Now!”
Marak dropped the air tunnel and quickly grabbed the knife. He looked up to see the grotesque creature streaking towards them. Its fangs were bared and long, sharp talons were stretched out before it. The two powerful creatures were on a collision course at a speed that the Torak could only imagine. He gripped the knife firmly with both hands and waited for the crash that was to come.
Suddenly, Myka rolled to one side, her claws reaching out to rake the side of the passing demon. Marak gripped the knife harder than he had ever gripped anything in his life, and his legs tried to press against the sides of the dragon to avoid being sent to his death below. The demon screamed as it passed, and one of its wings came perilously close to Marak.