The Land of the Undying Lord

by J. T. Wright

  Oh. Trent was dealing with a third Skeletal Corpse which had, presumably, been hiding behind the open door. If the Sergeant or Corporal were here, he would probably blame this situation on her. Good at charging, bad at teamwork and foresight. The Sergeant would probably phrase it more colorfully, but that was what he would mean.

  Trent’s opponent had a short sword. Rusty, with a jagged edge, it nonetheless looked like it would hurt if it hit him. If anything, its poor state of repair made it look more threatening. He ducked as it swept towards his head.

  Sorrow lashed out as the blade passed over. He meant to push the arm away, keep the Corpse off balance, wear it down with a series of blows, and then finish it with Purifying Fire. Sorrow cut clean through the Skeletal Corpse’s arm. Bone and blade fell to the floor.

  Trent had run into this before. Sorrow and Strife were good axes, great weapons against creatures of a Level similar to his.

  They were much better than Tersa’s mace. It was just that he hadn’t been fighting in his own weight class since entering this Trial. Even the first group of Fleshlings that had spawned hadn’t gone down this easily.

  Trent stared at the severed arm, bewildered, and Skeletal Corpse rewarded him with a boney fist to his face. His mask blocked most of the damage, but he still felt it, and he stumbled back. The Skeleton was stronger than it looked. He brought his weapons up as the one-armed Corpse rushed him.

  Strong and fast, how was that even possible without muscle? He let go of extraneous thoughts as the Skeleton punched and kicked at him. Unconsciously, he fell into the style of combat he’d used fighting alongside Kirstin. He didn’t meet the attack, he avoided it. He dodged and circled his opponent, lashing out with his weapons.

  Sorrow and Strife made quick work of the Corpse. His next blow to the Skeleton’s arm wasn’t enough to sever it, but the third strike did the trick. Legs quickly followed, and the disarmed Undead lay squirming on the ground, teeth clicking as it bit at him. He started to cast Spark but hesitated.

  His Mana was limited. Did you need magic to finish the Undead? Sorrow and Strife rained down a series of blows on the Skeletal Corpse’s skull, rendering it into powder and revealing a Beast Core. No, no magic needed, the Corpses were reclaimed by the Trial, leaving a few coins and a bag behind.

  Trent quickly moved to assist Tersa. As she drew their attention, he moved in behind. It was over in seconds; soul-bound weapons were more than a match for this variety of the soulless Undead.

  Trent quickly collected the drops. Two Beast Cores, coins, a bag of dried meat, and a Mana potion. Tersa wasn’t impressed by the loot, though she took her share of the meat and wolfed it down quickly enough. Meanwhile, Trent chewed his own mystery ration and considered the Mana potion.

  This encounter had gone smoothly enough despite a few hiccups that could mostly be blamed on inexperience and over-eagerness. His inexperience and Tersa’s over-eagerness. The next encounter, though…

  Trent didn’t know much about this Prison of the Undying Lord they had found themselves in, but when he and Tersa had been with the rest of their group, each fight had been harder than the last. It was reasonable to assume that pattern would continue now that it was just the two of them.

  They needed to be careful. They needed to use what Abilities and Skills that they had available between them. They needed a plan.

  Chapter 24

  Lightning struck a nearby hillside as the enemy formed up in front of the fort where the group had chosen to make a stand. Inside Corporal Francis screamed, though outwardly he remained calm. Everyone else leaped or flinched at the lightning strikes. It was only natural.

  This Trial never let up. Once you thought you were used to the heavy, hot, humid air, a cold wind swept through to chill you to the bone. When you thought you were accustomed to the lightning, it faded into the background only to return fiercer when you’d forgotten it.

  The worst was the silence of the Undead. A living creature would scream and howl as it sought to kill you. The Fleshlings just reached and grabbed and bit in endless waves of quiet horror. Now these horsemen had arrived.

  To the living, the perfect formation of five rows and six columns would be called discipline. The unwavering, unspeaking armored figures would be admired for their dedication to detail and training. Frank didn’t know what to call this behavior in the Undead.

  It was bad. With a solid wall and the proper weapons, he had no doubt he could defeat an enemy that outnumbered him two to one. Here, and now? The wall and gate would hold for a while, but their equipment was lacking.

  With enough Archers and Mages, he’d swear the enemy would never even reach the wall. With spears and shields, he could keep them from setting foot inside, but he had none of those. Two Mages, if you really wanted to count Arisa, one Archer, because Bailey, with Trent’s short bow, did not count, and one Defender with a shield.

  Dirk was Heavy Infantry, now, wasn’t he? If he had two or three squads of properly equipped and trained Heavy Infantry, the Corporal could lead them onto the field to face the horsemen in the open, and he would guarantee victory with few injuries and no losses. But one? One wasn’t going to cut it.

  And the enemy was Undead, Skeletal Knights, from what Frank could see. Knights were bad news. A balance between offense and defensive Knights could wreak havoc with an opponent that wasn’t specially prepared for them. Add in the Undead’s absolute resistance to pain and fear, and you were looking at a fight that you didn’t want to get involved with.

  Not that they had a choice. They couldn’t run. There was no hiding. Frank flinched visibly at another lightning strike. There was no choice at all.

  The Skeletal Knights rode slowly forward. Soon they were within range of Spell and arrow, but none met them. With a complete lack of haste and in perfect unison, all but two of the armored Undead dismounted. They formed three groups.

  Six formed a line to the side of the horses. Bows appeared in their hands as they evenly spaced themselves on the flat terrain. They waited.

  The rest of the dismounted Knights formed up. Seven ladders appeared. If the Knights had been living men, Frank would have said the ladders were taken from a storage device or Ability. Could the Undead use spatial devices and magic, or was this a trick of the Trial? Either way, seven ladders carried by fourteen Knights, left eight Knights to form a shield wall for protection. They marched forward in perfect step.

  The strategy was obvious. The Archers would keep the defender’s heads down while ladders were put into place. Seven ladders meant seven breach points. The defenders had no poles or spears to push the ladders back, and the Knights would climb uncontested to be met on the wall. No choice.

  “Matthias!” Frank called. Matt kept low but lifted his staff. “Light up the archers first!”

  Matt started chanting and shaping his most powerful Spell, Flame Wave. The Spell formed at the top of his staff, a visible display of power. He stood and chanted the trigger, directing the Spell at the six archers.

  Matt dropped back down as his Spell was cast, just in time as three arrows passed where his head had been. It didn’t matter, Flame Wave didn’t need constant direction. Once it was cast, only a counter-Spell could stop it.

  The Spell sped from the wall, picking up intensity and spreading out as it went. Soon it was a howling storm of fire. It headed unerringly towards its targets, its fury echoing that of the defender’s. It swept over the Skeletal Archers like a blazing typhoon, leaving scorched earth in its wake.

  Scorched earth and six unharmed Skeletal Knights that continued to send arrows at the wooden fort. The Spell had been ineffective. Frank thought that they were just lucky that the arrows didn’t catch fire and bring the destruction back to the wall. The Corporal ordered Matt to repeat the Spell but direct it at the advancing attackers.

  The same results. Fire-resistant Undead. That was…

  “Utter Fucking Bullshit!” Frank shouted. “Matthias keep it up, vary your targets, and move around so those arc
hers can’t pick out your location. Conserve Mana, smaller spells. Arisa, same goes for you!”

  Fire-resistant didn’t mean fireproof. They were doing damage, just not enough. Were the advancing troops moving slower? Undead didn’t mock the enemy, did they? Unintelligent, unfeeling bastards! They didn’t care about morale, theirs, or the opponents!

  Except those two, the mounted two, did. They weren’t unintelligent. Frank could feel their amusement, their mirth, from three hundred yards away. Not Dread Knights, Frank was sure of that. If they were Dread Knights, they’d have swept all resistance aside already. Less than Dread Knights, but more than Skeletal Knights, the Trial wasn’t pulling any punches anymore.

  Whatever they were, they were just sitting there watching the dismounted troops, some distance away from the archers. Frank thought quickly.

  “Joel, you got any arrows that will really reach out and touch those sons of whores?” Frank yelled.

  Joel shook his head. At his position near the corner, he didn’t even have his bow out but held his sword instead. “Common and poison only, I’m a long way from crafting anything that could touch a Knight, much less these assholes.” Joel made his own arrows, and his Skill wasn’t nearly high enough for the fight.

  “Alright, new plan!” Frank looked down where Lyra and the recruits were waiting. Their job was to provide support and healing where and when they could. “Lyra, I need you here. If fire is out, then Purification is our best bet. You stay close to me; I’ll run interference and get you close to them.”

  Lyra paled and gripped her staff tightly but nodded. She was afraid, but she would stand. That was all Frank could ask.

  “I need two volunteers who can do some damage and run, really run!” Frank called for volunteers, but his eyes were on Keller and a stout looking Guardsman named Merrill. The two looked at each other wryly, neither one was trained for that kind of duty, but they knew they’d do as Frank said.

  “You’re looking for us then, Corporal!” Kirstin had spoken up when Frank called for volunteers and slapped Dirk's shoulder as she did. Dirk lifted the visor on his helmet and gave Kirstin a pained look, but he nodded his head.

  Frank shook his. “Lady Kirstin, I appreciate the offer, but…”

  “It’s Kris, Corporal,” Kirstin interrupted. “We're all soldiers here. We'll get the job done. We’re both over Level 20, and both have two Classes. And I've learned Holy Strike from a Skill Stone I found.”

  Frank looked at the longsword in her hands. “You found a Skill Stone with Holy Strike, and you’ve gotten a new Class?” His face twisted with a dissatisfied expression that Kirstin didn’t understand as he asked that.

  Kirstin nodded firmly. “Warrior Level 3, but I’ve been there before, I’ve got the Skills of a Level 15.”

  Frank’s lips twitched, but he made up his mind quickly. “Holy Strike and Heavy Infantry, you’ll do!” He led the two into the courtyard and took a token and a long cord out of his pouch.

  “Here’s the plan. You go over the back wall. You sprint to the hill line to the west. You stay low. When you’re across from archers, you break this token. Only I will see the signal. Once you do that, I'll have Matt create a distraction. There’s no sneaking up on the Undead, but hopefully, they'll concentrate on the Mage long enough for you to get close and take them out.”

  “Hopefully,” Dirk muttered. He didn’t object or complain. There were no choices, and Kirstin had volunteered. Dirk wasn’t the volunteering type, but Kirsten was the group’s leader, and he was the party’s Shield. Where she went, he led the way.

  “Stay away from those two mounted fucks!” the Corporal cautioned. “I don’t know what they are, but I know the two of you don’t want to tangle with them alone.” No argument there. “Move fast and hit hard.” He put a hand on their shoulders. He didn’t say stay safe. It would have seemed like a joke. “Go!”

  The two Adventurers sprinted for the rear of the fort, and Frank watched them go. Two gone to face six. Thirteen left to face twenty-two. Only it wasn’t thirteen, Matt and the five recruits would be little use in this fight. The Fire Elementalist might be able to cause some damage, but he wasn’t suited for close combat.

  That left seven. No, six; Lyra would be working with the Corporal. She might be their heaviest hitter against the Undead, but she couldn’t hold on her own. Six defenders, over twenty attackers, and seven breach points. Had he really thought making a stand in the fort was a good idea? If Kirstin and Dirk didn’t take out those archers quickly, this was going to be a short fight.

  Kirstin and Dirk ran as fast as they could over the uneven ground. They moved as quietly and as stealthily as possible over the wall, and rushed to the hills, keeping low. They weren’t spotted and were soon behind cover. Normally stealth wasn’t a tactic you needed against the Undead; if you were outside the range of their life-detection aura, they’d never notice you. However, those two Knights, wearing their ornate armor proudly as they sat and supervised the Skeletal Knights from the backs of their fleshless steeds, were uncanny.

  They made your skin crawl just looking at them. There was more to them than there was to the other Undead. Confidence and intelligence radiated from them. Kirstin winced as Dirk’s armored feet pounded the ground, kicking stones and ringing like a bell. With that racket, they were going to be heard.

  But they arrived at their destination undetected or at least ignored. Kirstin crawled to the top of the hill and peeked over to verify. They were directly across from the archers, only a hundred feet away. That was as close as they could get unnoticed.

  Kirstin clutched her scabbard in her left hand. She could only carry it since she hadn’t taken the time to remove her rapier and replace it with the longsword. A stray thought about rigging up a way to carry it on her back crossed her mind as she looked at Dirk.

  “Can't you be a little quieter?” There was an edge to her voice that she didn’t really mean. It was just nerves. “I thought you were investing in Agility.”

  Dirk chuckled under his breath, not taking her words to heart. “It’s heavy armor, Kris, it’s loud. Agility has nothing to do with it.”

  “I've seen men sneaking in heavy armor,” Kirstin retorted.

  “Sure, experts can,” Dirk replied. “I don’t have the Skills or the expertise in Heavy Armor, yet! Are we going to do this?”

  She was stalling. They both knew it. Not fear exactly, just nerves. That was what she told herself.

  “You’ll need to cover for me.” Kirstin gestured at her own lack of protective equipment. Why had she insisted that a Duelist was best with little to no armor? “Holy Strike is powerful. I might be able to take one out with each hit. But it costs, and it’s slow to charge. Thirty seconds between hits, eight hits tops, or I won’t be able to run back.”

  “I'll carry you if I have to.” Dirk pushed up his visor so she could see him wink exaggeratedly. He did the math in his head. Thirty seconds between hits, six targets, three minutes, if everything went perfectly. Three minutes seemed like an awfully long time.

  Kirstin drew her sword. She fished the token that the Corporal had given them out of her pouch. She took a deep breath and crushed it in her hand. Nothing happened. Frank had said only he would see the signal. Either that or something had gone horribly wrong.

  On the wall, seven ladders slammed into place. The Guardsmen tried to push them back but, weighted and anchored, the ladders refused to budge. Skeletal Knights started to climb.

  In the distance, Frank felt, more than saw, the green light of the signal go off. He'd bound the token and connected himself to it, so he wouldn’t miss its destruction. “Matt, Flame Wave on the archers now!”

  Matt complied, and the Spell was away, splashing against the enemy archers but seeming to do little good. Six arrows flew back along the Spell’s path towards its caster. Matt was already behind cover as the missiles screamed overhead.

  Frank peered out and watched Kirstin and Dirk break from cover and rush the archers. They moved q
uickly, but the archers were fast as well. Turning as one, arrows nocked, they faced the charging Adventurers.

  “Arisa, Now!” Frank shouted.

  In the courtyard, Arisa sat, legs crossed, concentrating, and murmuring. At the Corporal’s command, her eyes popped open. She spoke the trigger of the Spell she’d been holding, with great relief. “Minor Cyclone.”

  Arisa's face paled as the Spell drained nearly all her Mana. It was a second-tier Spell, and one she could barely manage under normal circumstances. To prepare it and then hold the trigger word, while visualizing her target, and without being able to see it was almost beyond her. Almost, but she’d done it. And that was all she’d be doing for some time. She didn’t even have the clarity or energy to stand after that bit of magical aerobics.

  Frank didn’t have time to see if his plan to deal with the archers would work. Seven Skeletal Knights had reached the top of the wall. Frank and his men were hard-pressed to push them back. The wall was too long, the defenders too few. Soon the Knights were standing on the wall, wielding axes and swords with tireless arms.

  There were no arrows flying at them now. Whether Kirstin and Dirk succeeded or not, they bought the men on the wall a bit of breathing room to sort out the invaders. Frank took full advantage of it.

  He was a Level 39 Warrior. He doubted he would ever get an Advanced Class. Normally, that would be a sore point with him. He'd never been able to specialize, which would have given him unique skillsets. Today, he didn’t mind. A basic Class was versatile. He preferred a spear personally, and, if the option to specialize as a Spearman had ever presented itself, he would have taken it wholeheartedly. Today, he was glad it hadn’t. He would have lost the twenty levels he had in the Short Sword Skill; much the way Kirstin had lost her Longsword Skill when choosing Duelist.

  The Guardsmen only had their short swords and were at a clear disadvantage. They were barely able to hold ground. All the defenders struggled to stand. There was little room to dodge, no option to retreat, and injuries were inevitable. Death was approaching.