Death's Paladin

by Christopher Donahue

  The racket of quietly moving Macmar warriors drew Karro’s attention to the main force. Yuromar and other tattooed clansmen didn’t waste time painting themselves with magic symbols. They hoisted the undead-warding banners made by Ervistellan at the Silver Temple, as well as some copies of their own.

  Karro moved ahead of the infantry and joined the Kulkas lancers preparing to screen the attack.

  Karro and Lokhaz pushed through the brush at the tree line, well-away from the only road leading to Blue Harbor. Due to the muscle cut from his ghoul-bitten arm, Lokhaz carried a small round shield on his right, his mace hanging from a lanyard around his left wrist. The black Kulkas cougar’s head on the shield seemed to reflect Lokhaz’s fierce determination.

  Holding a raised finger to his lips, Karro caught the eye of each leading lancer and received a nod of recognition. When their silent charge reached the first digging teams, shouts of alarm came from swampmen. Bellows erupted behind Karro as the Macmar footmen rushed closely behind the lancers.

  A white form shot past Karro. Bors flew over the work parties. After a sweep, he headed straight for Blue Harbor.

  Karro struck one swampman while Vision bowled a second screaming man to the ground. The charge didn’t slow, aiming for the cluster of sluggish ghouls and thin men working to connect the lake to the channel.

  “Auros, Auros!” The lancers shouted their war cry as the charge split the undead workforce in two. Karro turned to cut down more undead, leaving the living enemies for steel not backed by the blessing of Auros. At each blow, another undead wretch fell and stayed down.

  Vision leaped across the narrow ditch then Karro wheeled him around. Pulling up short of the ditch, the line of lancers drove Riverine ghouls down into the shallow mud with the impact of their war-trained mounts. Flashing swords struck the undead while Karro searched for the necromancer compelling the corpses.

  Instinct drew him to a ribbon-covered woman near a pile of tools. The rawboned Macmar jabbed her staff at Karro’s face. He blocked the strike with his sword, driving the blade deep into the knotted wood. So close to his face, he recognized a complex web of curse runes carved into the staff.

  With a twist of his wrist, Karro snapped off the end of the staff. The white-haired necromancer staggered back, gasping as if kicked. Vision lashed out a steel-sheathed hoof, throwing a ghoul backward to knock down the rest of his pack.

  For an instant, Karro only saw a tired old woman. The free farmers told him what kind of lives the runaway slaves suffered. She raised shaking hands to shield her head, despair on her deeply lined face.

  Karro hesitated and the woman fought to maintain her balance. Her cape fell open, revealing her belt. Tiny heads dangled from the tooled leather, hanging by wisps of hair. Riverine, Macmar, even an incompletely formed face with Tuskaran cheekbones, stared at Karro. Their cries rang inside his head.

  His blow split the necromancer’s head down to her jaw. With a collective sigh, the remaining ghouls sank to the ground.

  Heedless, Karro dismounted and pulled the necromancer’s belt free. The heads of the infants no longer seemed alive. As he watched, they turned into fine powder. He felt the rightness.

  Excited honking announced the entrumas pulling barges loaded with Temple troops. Unladed entrumas drove through swampman boats, overturning the larger ones and biting through the smaller.

  Splashing swampmen survivors seemed a special treat for the entrumas. The animals jerked screaming men under the brown water. The bodies surfaced as pulped sacks of skin surrounded by pinkish foamy water.

  The Macmar and chanting Temple troops swept up the swamp folk working parties, cutting down most and forcing the last few toward Karro and the lancers.

  While the victors dispatched the last of their enemies, Karro watched the channel. The Temple men’s Death March dirge fit well with the massacre of the swampmen workers.

  Frantic rowing saved a few boats full of swampmen. One boat followed the main channel back into Blue Harbor; the rest disappeared into the tangle of the swamp.

  Shortly after noon, nothing remained of sorcerer’s army before Blue Harbor. The Temple troops and Macmar beheaded the dead to prevent their re-use by necromancers.

  Men on the low-railed barges shouted with enthusiasm. Around Karro, Macmar danced on the bodies of the swamp folk while the Temple troops crossed the ditch, reforming ranks. Karro said a prayer for the undead, wishing them rest interrupted by sorcery. He didn’t know what drove the old woman to necromancy, but included her in the prayer.

  Bors circled Karro before carefully landing on an outstretched arm. “Voskov and the queen are in the city. Most of their forces are still in the Tuskaran Ward. But they’re scattered and enjoying themselves.”

  Karro fought a stab of pain.

  “If it helps, few Tuskaran women were taken alive,” Bors said. “Voskov’s men have only refugees from the Greens for their sport.” Bors rocked with eagerness. “If you move immediately, you can take most of the city before they leave the ward.”

  Two Temple officers rode up on an entruma, holding on behind Aruna. While perched on the entruma broad back, the mailed men looked like children on a warhorse.

  “Yuromar, victors. Do we finish this today?” Karro disliked using oratory, but it was a tool.

  Cheers from the Macmar and bearlike roars from the Kulkas lancers greeted him. The Temple companies stayed silent, but their eyes glittered with anticipation.

  “Aruna, bring the barges to the causeway connecting the Tuskaran Ward to the Western Market. Do you know where it lies?” Karro felt some uncertainty. His own knowledge came from a map of the city. The Riverine gave a wolfish grin and nodded.

  “Good. The rest of us will sweep through the city and kill anything that smacks of magical taint.” He kicked Vision to a trot and led the lancers forward. Swords and spears waving, the Macmar and Temple troops marched into the city through shattered gates.

  Karro took little time to marvel at the mixture of building styles. Networks of bridges and the types of foundations needed to build homes on solid rock, sandbars and poles sunken into the muck, he noted in passing. He let Bors lead, trusting the creature over his memory of the map.

  As they followed the widest street to the central market, they passed terrified and abused Riverines. Karro and the lancers showed no mercy to the bands of roving swamp folk falling into their path. He lost nearly a hand width of the sun while winding through the city.

  A flight of arrows met their entry into Market Square. Forty Shushkachevan dragon riders formed a line across the open square. It reeked of old blood and feces, but all wreckage and bodies had been cleared away.

  Karro and his advance party wheeled their horses around and back into the side street. He seated his shield and asked for one of the few remaining lances, while the others readied themselves. At a slow trot, they re-entered the square. More arrows met them. Karro’s shield bucked under the impact of powerfully driven missiles.

  Karro thundered across the square, lance leveled at the mercenary cavalry, while a volley of arrows passed overhead. He tried not to think about the target Lokhaz made with his fine armor and small shield. Screams of injured men and horses rang out behind him.

  A bold Shushkachevan accepted Karro’s challenge and met him lance to lance. Karro dipped in his saddle just before impact. The mercenary’s lance tip slid across Karro’s shield while Karro’s took the Shushkachevan in the throat. Twin peacock feathers on the man’s helmet fluttered as he fell. The dying man’s crimson dragon snapped, ivory teeth scraping leather from the surface of Karro’s shield.

  Barely breaking stride, Karro continued his charge. The Tuskaran line closed and the mercenaries fell into disarray. Too late, the mercenaries wheeled to trot away. Heavy lances and forward bent Tuskaran swords took a bloody toll on the fleeing dragon-mounted archers.

  A handful of Karro’s lancers followed the Shushkachevans in their headlong flight. The rest, scarcely more than twenty, gathered around Ka
rro.

  Lokhaz grimaced as he used a length of wire to close the damaged mail over his right thigh.

  Bors struggled to maintain a hover before Karro. “Your infantry is coming as fast as it can. Some Red Riverine fugitives have joined them―three hundred men, all told. Maybe a few less. Even the Macmar are ignoring loot as they come.”

  A stream of undead poured from the Tuskaran Ward. Karro and the exhausted lancers fell back. When the lancers were ready to fight again, the western side of the square had filled with undead. Hundreds of armed ghouls, a mix of Riverines, swamp folk, Shushkachevans and Tuskarans silently rocked from side to side. Empty, dead eyes watched the lancers. The hot, wet air carried their reek to Karro. Necromancers commanding the corpses were well-hidden among the dead.

  The thick stench of death made even the lancers’ war-trained mounts skittish. Karro looked back toward the city, but saw no sign of Temple or Macmar footmen. In the afternoon heat, his troops would be slowed. He could only wait.

  Fresh forces marched from the Tuskaran Ward. Many wore the armor of his people. Sickened, Karro looked away. A nearly faceless corpse wearing the surcoat of a Devoted of Auros carried a banner covered with sorcerous runes. Almost all the udead Tuskaran women bore self-inflicted wounds—they hadn’t been taken alive. Most of the men’s bodies were too hacked up to be effective fighters. The ward had not fallen easily. Karro wondered at the scattering of burned and headless serpents littering the square and causeway. Yet another reek in the soup-like Delta air.

  Beyond this newest draft of undead rode a block of horsemen in plate. The style of the armor was Riverine, but the blasphemous decorations daubed over it were pure Hykori. Brightly robed figures and more Hykori, living and ghouls, followed. Nothing moved through the blasted gates behind them. Bors fluttered over the end of the procession, darting and sheering away.

  Karro raised his arm for Bors to land. Before the white-furred creature could speak, Karro said, “I know. Voskov came out with the last.” He brought his arm level with his chest. “If we all die here, please find Kulkas Hold. Tell the widow of Lord Lokhaz that he died in the service of Auros. Their son will certainly grow with the blessing and protection of the True God.”

  Bors rose to his full height of less than two hands. “I understand. I swear by the East Win―no! I swear by your True God and my hopes for his mercy that I will do as you ask.” The entirely human expression fell from his face, a hungry leer replacing it. “But first, you have a sorcerer to kill. You know it’s what you came to do and so does Voskov. His bowels will be as water now. He fears you above all others.”

  Bands of Temple troopers and Macmar entered the square. The Macmar clansmen added a clear tenor to the bass of the Temple troopers’ dirge.

  Lokhaz smiled calmly. “Well, this is it.” He glanced up at the late afternoon sun.

  The undead spread across the square, a deep hedge of real and improvised spears and pikes. Gory corpses in black-mesh Tuskaran armor made up the front rank. Karro had seen the effectiveness of well-trained bodies when dead Riverine pikemen shattered the Sacred Band of Sivek and killed the Defender of Sivek himself.

  The Temple and Macmar officers organized the infantry with the spearmen in the front ranks. Bannermen and arquebusiers scattered through the formation.

  Karro waited until Aruna’s barges swept around the Tuskaran Ward. Tiny swamp folk boats scattered before the vanguard of hunting entrumas. Again, the beasts dove as they neared their victims, only to rise beneath the boats, pitching screaming men into the dirty water. The snapping of bones carried through the thick air, as satisfying as the screams of the mauled swampies.

  The pulled barges completed the curve and swung around to land Temple troopers on the causeway behind the Hykori array. Less than half of Aruna’s barges arrived.

  What happened to the rest?

  As the barges neared the causeway, Karro signaled his army’s advance. The undead surged forward against them and then staggered to a halt. Banners with warding symbols laid by the Scribe of Carranos had their impact. The undead stared at the swirling patterns on the banners.

  As Karro watched, the colors of the advancing enemy became flat. He felt a familiar chill.

  Why would Auros aid my vision unasked?

  Perhaps it was a trick of the thick, damp air but faint lines rose from the stalled ranks of the undead. Like reins of smoke, pairs of these lines ran from each ghoul and back deeper within the formation. The insubstantial lines were pulled from the center of their lengths and drawn toward the warding banners. As the plucked lines neared the banners, they swirled in patterns following the spirals of the wards, becoming hopelessly tangled. The undead stood mesmerized.

  Hykori arquebusiers hidden among the undead fired into the ranks of Karro’s men. Macmar archers and Temple arquebusiers replied, but the undead stopped most missiles without effect.

  Foul amulets flared. Karro’s skin tingled. Temple chants shattered some curses, but scores of faithful Macmar and Temple infantry fell. The survivors grimly closed ranks over the dead. Enraged Macmar and stolid Temple troopers gave ground slowly in the unequal exchange. Karro saw in their faces―his men expected to die here. But they would not break. It was the kinship of warriors.

  Behind the dueling masses of troops, Hykori magic men turned back up the causeway toward the Tuskaran Ward to meet the threat sailing in. Temple troops leaped from their barges and rushed at the sorcerers, the Hykori queen and Voskov. Once more, Karro felt the sickening lurch of evil amulets unleashing their energy. Temple troops fell by the dozen. Bors circled over the center of magic activity, hurling stones at a figure in silvered mail.

  Inept horsemen, mounted Hykori in looted armor and stolen horses, thundered up the causeway to check the Temple troop’s attack. As the Hykori tried to ride down the steady Temple warriors, they crashed into each other on the narrow causeway. Despite the punishing losses from Voskov’s cursed amulets, the Temple troops delivered a well-timed volley of fire into the charging Hykori.

  Riverine armor was no match for heavy Temple lead. The charge disintegrated into chaos under Temple marksmanship. A second Temple volley shattered the Hykori lancers. Survivors hanging desperately onto bucking mounts avoided crushing Queen Mallaloriva and her infantry guard as they fled the causeway and disrupted the back of the undead phalanx.

  The band of sorcerers advanced, striding through the wreckage of the Hykori charge. Silver-mailed Voskov led them on foot, a leather-armored woman trotting at his side.

  Despite checking the cavalry, the Temple troops faced the more devastating attack by the sorceries unleashed upon them. Brave men stood and died with burst hearts or melting flesh. The undead surrounding the Hykori sorcerers absorbed the arquebusiers’ fire. With each breath, the spells and curses of the Hykori queen and her sorcerers decimated the faithful.

  The surviving Temple troops broke for the imagined safety of the barges. One barge after another burst into unnatural green flames as the last men tried to escape. The panicked honks of injured entrumas added to the chaos.

  In the square, the undead pushed Karro’s men back a dozen paces. As his men fell, the others closed ranks and maintained their fire. The undead spread out to curl around the flanks of Karro’s dwindling, but defiant force.

  Karro called to three bannermen to join him at the center of the formation as he guided Vision into the looser Macmar ranks. At his command, they led the Macmar forward. With the approach of the banners, the undead fell into confusion. Karro directed the bannermen to face in ways to knot the largest number of “reins” to the undead.

  Symbols painted on the banners seemed to give off a soft glow. It could have been the sinking sun, but Karro knew it was the touch of the True God.

  In the midst of the undead, a brown-robed figure waved his arms furiously. Thick cables of smoky sorcerous control writhed around the necromancer. The white face peering out of the deep cowl looked more skeletal than that of a living man. That face screwed up in concent
ration and the ghouls regained their unlife and focus.

  Karro grabbed the twitching javelin from the neck of a dying Macmar and threw the cast-bronze weapon. It struck the brown-robed creature squarely in its chest. The skull face looked at Karro with wide-eyed astonishment. A slight smile twisted its lips and the necromancer crumpled to the bloody flagstones.

  A ring of collapsing undead spread around the dying necromancer. Within five heartbeats, the center third of the undead phalanx sank into the blissful sleep of true death. Their voices sang their relief in Karro’s head as their spirits scattered through the thick air of the Market Square.

  Hykori arquebusiers stood among the gratefully falling undead like so many sunflowers in a field of wind-blown grass.

  Temple bullets and arrows cut those Hykori down without mercy.

  The Song of Victory, from the end of the Manifestation ceremony sprang to Karro’s lips. He snapped up the visor of the helmet Kestran had given him and sang the powerful words. The men around him took up the song with a will.

  “Now, follow me!” Karro shouted to the remaining lancers. The mounted men and Macmar infantry pounded behind him, across heaped undead and into the fatal hole torn in the undead mass.

  Beastmen rushed to meet the charge. One lancer was prepared. An arm-long dart bearing a sliver of blessed bloodstone struck the lead beastman in the chest. The creature’s eyes widened with pure shock. It fell to its knees and then onto its back.

  Karro cut through the shoulder of a second beastman. It rolled away shrieking and clawing at the blue fire rimming the wound. The third dodged Lokhaz’s swing and toppled him from his mount. Karro wheeled around to chop the forward curve of his sword into the beast’s back as it tried to savage the Tuskaran’s throat. Ribs shattered beneath the edge of Karro’s sword. As the screaming beast coughed up bright red blood, it swiped at Vision then lurched away. Lokhaz scrambled to his feet to pound the fleeing beast with his mace.