Crouched down low, Nizar eased his way toward Joelle behind a trio of burly Lelts in mail armor. His plan was simple. Once the witch was engaged and hard-pressed by the Lelts, he would slip in and skewer her upon his spear.
And he would truly begin to pay back all the slights and insults of his life.
Holding his “advance guard” back until the right moment, Nizar savored the moment of his first real victory in personal combat. Or was it the second? He glanced up at the sky, seeing no sign of a raven. Was Ashtar dead? Injured badly? Only time would tell.
A predatory grin split his dark face behind the veil. The witch was fighting for her life, bleeding from a dozen minor wounds already. Her prowess didn’t seem the least bit affected by her suffering, but that was about to change. Even a witch couldn’t survive a spear through the heart.
“Now!” Nizar barked.
His trio of zombie Lelts raised their swords and charged Joelle. She was frantic at the sight, still held in battle by another sword wielding zombie. For a brief instant, Nizar feared she would be killed by one of the Lelts before she could defend herself. But she proved adaptable and cunning.
The trampled brush at their feet suddenly came to life and whipped at the zombies’ legs. One fell hard immediately. The other two plowed onward. Nizar fell back a step, just in case. When the tripped up zombie regain his feet, Nizar followed him in.
“Craven...bastards!” Joelle cried. She cut her zombie foe down, and then turned on the trio rushing her. Just before she joined with them in battle, she saw Nizar. “You! I’ll skin you alive, you depraved cur!”
“What a pleasant thought,” he returned with a sneer. “One I rather like, except you will be the one flayed alive! Take her!”
Horror flashed across her face. It was enough. The three zombies leaped upon her during her instant of hesitation. She was seized and jerked well into the zombie lines. The other Vikon cried out in despair, frantic in his efforts to reach her.
Nizar tightened his grip on the spear as he stepped forward. Joelle was held firmly by two of the zombies, one on each arm. The third zombie stepped behind her, and then brought the pommel of his sword down hard atop her head. She managed to jerk her head aside enough to mute the force of the blow, but still sagged in her captors’ arms.
Nizar quickly unbuckled the straps holding her body armor in place, tossing the armor aside. Only a sweaty tunic, plastered tightly against her chest, separated them. He took a step back, both hands on his spear, and prepared to end her life.
Slowly coming to her senses, she cried out, eyes huge, as she struggled with all of her might and heart. Nizar caught and held her eyes.
“Victory feels so good!” Nizar said as he thrust for her heart.
Joelle jerked straight down, and then wailed in pain as the spear pierced her chest just above the left teat. Realizing he had missed the heart, due to her frantic attempt to escape, Nizar tried to pull the spear out for another try. But a heart-stopping battle cry halted him.
The other Vikon jumped amid them, wildly slashing and cutting at the men holding her. Nizar scrambled back into the safety of the zombie horde. As the witch fell away, he felt a moment’s regret that the last face she saw before life left her wasn’t going to be his. But she knew he had killed her. Her soul would know it, too, for all eternity.
Chapter 33
A piercing scream startled Tane. Joelle fell back through the lines, a spear through her chest. Quinn tried to go to her, but a trio of zombies attacked him. There was no sign of Armin. Once the zombies were dealt with, Tane forgot the battle and rushed to Joelle’s side, helping her to the shade of a giant oak.
Blood was pouring from her wounds, mouth and nose. Her eyes were glassy and her body trembled terribly. Tane felt the tears welling up as he saw his friend dying.
Gently lowering her to the grassy ground, “What can I do?”
“Pull...the spear...out,” she gasped. “Can’t work...my magic...too much pain, distraction.”
Tane recalled the spell that healed his wound. The spell she had cast just before the battle began. The spell hadn’t been activated until after he removed the dagger. But her wound was so much more insidious. It was a mortal wound if he had ever seen one. But...she was a witch and wielded great power.
The spear was an ugly weapon. A Leltic boarspear. Its head was a foot of leaf-shaped iron, honed razor sharp, and fastened to a thick wooden shaft seven feet long. It was thrust into Joelle up to the crossguard just below the spearhead. Tane saw no way to remove it without further injuring his friend. Joelle proved no help, for she had fainted.
“Kamain Protect!” Tane cried, doing his best to line up the spearhead’s blades with the wound, and then just jerked it straight back and out.
Joelle awoke screaming. Tane wrapped his arms around her when she started trashing wildly, fearing she’d hurt herself further. Then a plaintive wail rose up from the battle behind him.
Tane turned to see the Kestsaxian lines lurch backwards, then turn about and dash for the forest. Drum and bugle commands were ignored as terrified men and women broke and ran, many throwing down their weapons in their frantic attempt to escape. He saw unarmed zombies stop to pick up the discarded weapons, then charge after them.
Lifting Joelle up in his arms, Tane ran into the forest as well. She struggled weakly, only semi-conscious and delirious. Tane had little time for her mumbled words, fearing every footstep behind him might be zombies gaining on him.
“Tane!” Sergeant Gareth called from his left rear.
Tane turned to find the sergeant wending his way through the thick forest, a soldier thrown over his broad shoulder. It took a moment for Tane to realize it was Raven, and she was as limp as death.
“What happened?” Tane said.
“We got our butts tromped, that’s what!” Sergeant Gareth said, scowling. Then he grinned, patting Raven’s rump, “But the little priestess got herself knocked unconscious three kills short of my total. She’s lucky. If she’d been winning, I’d have left her behind.”
Wild crashing behind them sent both men to running north again. Soon they reached the village they had spent the night inside. Quinn was already there and arguing with Corporal Pendar over some horses the half-elf had in hand.
“This stupid elf won’t let me have the horses,” Corporal Pendar said. “He insists on waiting to ensure his friends make it back first, instead of giving them to men and women already here.”
Tane noted then he had five horses. Tane smiled gratefully at the half-elf, and idly wondered if he would’ve had the courage to risk such a thing. Likely, he’d have just mounted the first horse he found and rode for Kestsax. But, maybe not. How could he have lived with himself if he had deserted his friends?
“Raven!” Quinn cried, seeing her for the first time when Sergeant Gareth just dropped her on the ground at his feet. Before anyone could react, he had shoved the sergeant aside and knelt beside her, cradling her head in his lap. “What happened to her?”
“Got whacked on the head by a zombie,” Sergeant Gareth said, glowering at the half-elf. “I saved her life, not you. So I’m the one to gain by her gratitude, elf boy.”
Quinn growled low in his throat as he turned baleful eyes on the sergeant. Sergeant Gareth backed away a step, a hand dropping to his sword. Corporal Pendar also tensed.
“Joelle!” Armin called, rushing out of the nearby forest.
Before Tane could explain, Armin ripped his wife from Tane’s arms and fell to his knees, his face buried in her neck.
“It’s all right, baby,” he whispered. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you. No one will hurt you again. Don’t worry.”
“Rocking her like a baby won’t do any of us any good,” Sergeant Gareth said. “Get mounted, the lot of you. We’ve got to get back to Kestsax as fast as possible and warn them to be ready.”
Armin said nothing. He just climbed to his feet and claimed the largest horse for himself and Joelle. Tane held the mare steady
while Quinn took Joelle from Armin so he could mount up, then he found the next largest mount for Quinn and Raven. As Tane lifted Raven up to Quinn, she let out a pained groan, but didn’t open her eyes.
“Mount up, boy,” Sergeant Gareth growled to Tane, though eyeing Quinn murderously, “or be left behind.”
“What about Disa’s squad?” Corporal Pendar said as he reluctantly claimed the last horse. “As their sergeant, it’s your duty to ensure their safety.”
“Damn you! I’m not a God!”
“The zombies aren’t mounted, so you should be safe enough if you but waited a while,” the corporal said from between clenched teeth. “If you want, I’ll stay here with you. I’m sure Quinn can lead the others back to Kestsax.”
Fear and anger warred on the old sergeant’s ugly face. Tane waited, fascinated by the scene unfolding. He had never believed any of those brutes who had pitilessly trained them could show any sign of honor and duty. Corporal Pendar was a surprise indeed.
“Fine, we’ll both stay,” Sergeant Gareth said. “Elf, you have command of the squad.”
“Follow me!” Quinn said, kicking his mount into a canter.
Tane and Armin never hesitated, and never looked back.
~**~**~
“Damn me for a fool!” Nizar cried, watching the last of his command fade into the forest.
The ground was littered with bodies, everything splashed with wet crimson. The cries of ravens and other carrion eaters pulled his eyes up. For a second, he feared Ashtar had returned. But his magical senses detected no other forces at play. The Arisen were as vanquished as Their devotees.
Nizar turned from the carrion eaters and the carnage of the battlefield. What happened to the bodies of the dead was not a concern. They were zombies and enemies, and now they were just the lowest part of the food chain. Nizar’s only concern was the absence of Tane Kyleson, or his body.
Failure was unacceptable.
Failure meant a trip to the altar, and a brutal death.
Moving to the last spot Nizar had seen Tane; he found the bloody dagger lying in the dirt. Lifting it up, he closed his eyes and centered himself. His prayer was answered, thankfully wiping a terrible fear away. He prayed for the blood to seek out its owner, and felt the dagger turn slightly in his hand.
The dagger was pointing toward Tane Kyleson.
Chapter 34
The ride to Kestsax was nothing less than hellish for Tane, who had little experience ahorse. Quinn was like Tane, a devout pedestrian, and seemed as strained by the grueling ride as Joelle. The half-elf was also holding tightly to Raven, who remained unconscious, to spare her limp form the worst of the jarring. Thankfully for both men, they had to stop repeatedly for Joelle, who was quickly growing in strength but violently ill at times. She claimed the queasy stomach a result of too much spellcasting, and the effects of self-healing, and that she’d be all right soon enough.
“I’m puzzled,” Quinn said during their first rest stop. “I thought only mages could heal battle wounds. I have always been told, by witches no less, that they could only heal the most common of injuries, and that anything flesh wounds was beyond Witchcraft.”
Joelle nodded agreement, but Armin spoke for her.
“What you say is true, Quinn. But Joelle is a Gifted One among our people,” he said, eyes shining with pride. “A very few Vikon are blessed by our Goddess, Blessed Maag. They are given special Gifts, and Joelle’s Goddess-given Gift is Healing Magic. She’s fully as powerful as any mage in magical healing.”
“Self-healing is a little more difficult,” she whispered. “Especially healing such a deadly wound as I received.”
“Magic requires an expenditure of energy,” Armin said. “Life energy. Few witches need to store as much energy as needed for healing magic. It’s very difficult to find and store.”
“That’s true. I had a very large supply of energy magically hoarded,” Joelle said. “But I decided to place healing spells on everyone in our section before the battle, and that depleted my reserves dangerously. I barely have enough for myself.”
Tane’s hand went instinctively first to the place she had touched him, then to his own battle wound. The wound was healed over now, with bright pink flesh. He could just denote a sensation of heat under it. He could well imagine such a powerful spell draining her.
“That was a dangerous thing to do,” Quinn said. “If I understand right, you in effect magically winded yourself just before the battle began.”
Armin was just as grim as Quinn, if not more so. Joelle was obviously avoiding his eyes, even as she winced at Quinn’s words. Tane felt his breathing quicken. Such unselfishness! When everyone about him seemed preoccupied with themselves, Joelle reminded him that soldiers fought, and all too frequently died, for the lives and happiness of others.
“She not only winded herself magically, but the spellcasting takes a definite toll of the wielder,” Armin added. “She was affected physically as well.”
“Quinn’s right,” Tane said. “You shouldn’t have risked so much for us, though I for one am grateful.”
He touched his leg wound, drawing everyone’s eyes to the pink flesh framed by torn cloth. Joelle smiled tiredly, and even Armin nodded in approval.
“It’s wasn’t for naught,” Quinn said, well-pleased. Then he turned worried eyes on Raven, who had only regained consciousness twice, and then only long enough to vomit before passing out again. “Why hasn’t Raven recovered? Why does she seem so deathly pale?”
“Raven took a hit on the head,” Joelle said, struggling to sit up and look the Tyrian’s way. Raven lay shivering under a blanket between Quinn and Tane. “My spell was cast to deal with open wounds. I’m too weak to cast a spell to see what’s wrong with her, and head injuries are baffling even to the most powerful wizards. It may take a priest of Sharel to heal her.”
Tane grimaced. Everyone knew the Goddess of Healing and Medicines required stiff “donations” before She blessed anyone with Her healing touch. Or more specifically, Sharel’s priesthood demanded the payments. Still, they were cheaper than mages and more reliable, too. Tane started wondering what he could get for his sword back in Kestsax. Bearclaw was a fine blade, and siege prices might bring him a hefty sum. The army would issue him a shortsword, though he never really liked them. He noticed Quinn stealthily palm his purse, as if weighing it for possible use.
Raven lay unmoving at his feet. It very well might be her that they take to the Temple of Sharel. Raven had a heavy purse, too, but it would take all of them pooling their purses together to pay for a priest’s help.
Tane couldn’t help but grin. Quinn’s generous act would earn him Raven’s eternal gratitude, and most likely her playful pursuit of the half-elf would intensify into something serious. He could already hear their banter, and see a desperate Quinn trying to fight off a love-struck Raven. Then he remembered the zombie horde rolling toward them and Kestsax.
Quinn turned his way and smiled. “Don’t be so grim, my Leltic friend. She’ll be fine. I promise.” He gave Tane a comradely pat on the shoulder.
A thunderclap reminded them of the fast approaching army. Looking around, Tane could see refugees and the occasional mounted soldier scurrying across open fields and along the road. The approaching cloud bank was beginning to darken the daylight, giving everything an otherworldly yellowish-gray cast, like just before a terrible storm.
Quinn swung up into his saddle before Tane handed Raven up to him. Tane took note of the gentle way the half-elf cradled her in his arms, resting her head between his shoulder and jaw so her neck wasn’t injured. He treated her with the same gentle concern Tane had seen fathers carry a cherished child. And considering how old Quinn was, Tane didn’t think that entirely an unlikely sentiment from him.
Armin and Joelle continued to ride double, with Joelle in the saddle and Armin taking the less secure position behind her. The horse was large and strong, if not particularly fast. In fact, all three horses were draft beasts, un
used to being saddled and ridden like so many palfreys. Despite that, Tane thought them holding up well.
Armin, of course, had nothing nice to say about their prodding ways.
Night fell before they reached Kestsax. Tane was in terrible pain from the long ride, and wanted to stop for the night. Quinn, who was ghostly pale himself, was hesitant. He agreed with Armin, that it was too dangerous. They didn’t know if the zombies needed sleep and had to bed down at night. No one wanted to take the chance, so they rode on through the huddled refugees.
It was almost midnight when they reached Kestsax. A sentry challenged them from high atop the walls, but refused to open the gate until daylight showed that they really were who they claimed to be. They joined a growing group of soldiers, all survivors of the battle. Mostly, the other survivors were nobles and senior officers, and other mounted men and women. No one had arrived on foot. Tane was heartened by that, since he hadn’t noticed any mounted zombies before or during the battle.
Try as he might, Tane couldn’t get any sleep. The second he closed his eyes – nightmares! They were the worse yet, with Dakar demanding Tane serve Him. Raven, Quinn, Armin, and Joelle were one by one killed by the terrible God, all the while demanding in a thunderous voice that Tane serve Him, worship Him. Then with a wave of Dakar’s hand, Tane’s murdered friends rose up and attacked him. Undead slaves, they savaged Tane with clawlike hands and rusty swords until he woke up.
So Tane stood guard with Quinn, while the others slept.
Chapter 35
The putrid stench of the nearby river and swamp fouled the air as Nizar picked his way through the forest. The lights of Kestsax could be seen at times. Also, the steady tread of feet filled the rainy, night-shrouded forest of refugees.
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