by RW Krpoun
“You called it, they’re coming down the street you said they would use.”
“That is too easy.”
“You don’t kill a Death Lord with a sword, at least this one; she’s got wards stacked on top of defenses. Without a warder the locals would have to pull so many troops to get past the bodyguards that the perimeter couldn’t hold.”
“Can you take her?”
“In a fair fight, maybe. In this sort of sucker punch, definitely.”
“Let’s go,” Fred muttered from behind the pair. Using the rope that Shad and Derek had strung to guide them the Black Talons slipped out of the ruined shop and down the dark street to the overturned cart that was their planned stand, twenty feet from a four-way intersection. Shad leaned against the cart’s front while the other three carefully climbed atop the cart.
The four settled down to wait with patience born of training and experience, their breath misting in the cold night air. Within moments they heard the rattle of bones on the street to their right.
“That sounds like a lot,” Derek muttered as he carefully stuck the points of arrows into the tarred planks.
“We’ve seen worse,” Jeff checked the position on the arrows he had stuck into the cart by touch. “How long, Shad?”
“Weapons down.”
Derek and Jeff held down their bows and Fred his club as rows of faintly glowing orbs came into view like a cloud of cold-dwelling fireflies: the eyes of skeletal undead passing from the Talons’ right to the left.
Moving fast but without haste Shad slashed neon shapes on each weapon in turn; gripping the stick of chalk in his teeth he flipped a coin to create a ball of light which stuck to the cart where it rested on the cobblestone. Two more coins sent glowing orbs swooping forth to illuminate the intersection.
Their timing had been good: the orbs illuminated a ragged column of skeletal Undead filling the intersection, with two robed Human figures at their rear and another column further beyond.
Shad was moving even as he cast the light orbs, striding up to the rear ranks of the lead column as if he owned the parade. These were ordinary Undead, animated skeletons, as opposed to the arcane constructs of the Boneguard, and their reactions were visibly slower: they were just sorting themselves into a fighting line to their flank when the warder flicked coins to the ground and a purple-black sphere swept out. As bone fragments and weapons clattered to the street Shad was drawing symbols on the air in front of himself in green neon.
Drawing his bow, which was nearly as tall as he was, Derek sighted and released, the arrow smashing through one skull and transfixing the spine of a second enemy. His great bow’s off-center grip (two thirds of the bow’s length was above the grip) meant that he experienced little vibration at fall draw, although at this distance accuracy was hardly an issue.
The ground-level light orb made it difficult for the Undead to spot where their enemy were, and they milled uncertainly, several moving towards the warder only to collapse into inert bone as they entered the fields of arcane energy generated by the duel between warder and Death Lord. Meanwhile arrows, powered by bows charmed to do greater damage to Undead, whipped into their ranks. Finally the skeletons sorted out the direction the arrows were coming from and headed for their attackers. The rearward column spilled around the magical battle, losing a dozen of their number in the process, and pressed forward to join them.
The Undead attacked in silence, their passage marked only by bone and weapons jostling against each other and the clatter of a sundered warrior’s bones and weapon falling. Jeff and Derek drew and fired like automatons, every motion devoid of wasted effort, but two bows could not stop the thirty-odd survivors of the first column or the slightly larger number from the rear.
The first skeleton to reach the cart had its skull crushed by Fred, who was ready and waiting; the two archers continued to draw and fire without pausing as the big Talon swung his club with deadly finality.
“Last ready arrow,” Jeff grunted as he drew. “Shad better hurry up.”
“The apprentice is down,” Derek risked a glance as he plucked his second-to-last arrow thrust point-first into the cart planks. Shad was half-obscured by strange runic symbols in green, gold, and white hanging around him, each shifting to make room as the warder drew more; one of the two hooded Humans was down, their clothes smoldering and the other was surrounded by red and gray symbols writhing as if seen through highway heat shimmer.
“So is he winning?” Jeff drew an arrow from his quiver.
“I hope so.”
The Undead surged around the cart but the wheels limited the attack to only two sides; Fred covered the front, Jeff defended the rear after setting his bow aside, and Derek continued to send shaft after shaft through skulls, occasionally killing two with a single long arrow.
Fred sent his massive teak bludgeon through a vicious arc that smashed one skull and knocked two more Undead sprawling, and twisted away from a thrusting spearhead. They had to hold their position lest the skeletons figure out that they could actually reach Shad if they were willing to spend enough of their comrades. Caught by surprise the Death Lord couldn’t distract herself from her own fight, even if her command could be ‘heard’ over the arcane ‘noise’ of her fight with Shad. Or so Shad had advised. So far his epic battle looked about as exciting as a spelling bee.
Shad was sweating bullets as the struggle dragged on. His first attack had been to cut the Death Lord’s communication with her troops, and then to trap her within ever-increasing wards while raising his own defenses faster than she could direct negative energy drawn from her followers toward his own life force. His class was better at this sort of contest than hers, and he was optimized for exactly this kind of fight, but once again he found he had underestimated his foe in terms of power: she was much higher in level than he would have expected for a simple operation.
Derek set aside his bow for his katana, spelling Fred so the latter could catch his breath and heal wounds on himself and Jeff; none were serious, but they shouldn’t be ignored if they could avoid it.
There were very few of the lead column left, but the total number of remaining Undead were still sufficient for a bitter last stand if Shad lost. Or if Shad took too long and the trio were over-run.
As the Ronin worked his blade he was struck by the fact that their second fight in the Prison was with Undead, just a single higher level entity and a few scrub skeletons, and it had taken everything they had had to win it. Now they were mowing down full-fledged skeletons, albeit from a position of tactical advantage. The times had changed, but the fact that they were outnumbered and in terrible danger remained the same.
“We’re not winning,” Jeff advised Fred as the Healer relieved him.
“Shad better hurry up,” the big Talon grunted as he crushed a skull.
Too late the Death Lord realized what Shad was doing; she had assumed the intricate web of wards he had built up around her was to keep the area energized to such a degree that her minions could not easily interfere in the fight, and to silence her orders. But as the trap closed she realized that he was working to cut her off from the energy that kept her physical being intact, the dark power that fueled not only her necromancy but her own life. A warder shouldn’t be able to attempt that until mastering at least the tenth ring, more commonly the eleventh.
Slashing the finial runes into the air in violent strokes of electric blue light Shad ‘saw’ the Death Lord’s life force flicker and then wink out as his construct of wards collapsed ‘inward’, crushing her defenses and wards. A moment later the searing pain in his left arm dropped him to his knees, cursing bitterly.
Shaking his head, the warder staggered to his feet as the pain started to fade and limped towards the bodies of the two Humans.
The press of the Undead suddenly reversed itself as the skeletons staggered as if at the epicenter of an earthquake.
“Shad must have….ARRRAAGGGHHHHH!” Jeff dropped his swords and clutched his left arm.
“Sumbitch.”
“I hate that,” Fred mumbled sourly. “Even though it is a third of the ticket home.” Retrieving his club he systematically struck down a trio of dazed skeletons standing within reach; none of the three reacted to the attack except to expire.
“Let’s go,” Derek sheathed his katana with a flourish and grabbed up his bow and quivers. “They’ll revert back to independent operations at some point.”
“Crap, where is my empty quiver…here. There’s the half-full one, OK let’s roll,” Jeff stood.
Climbing down cautiously, the three men stayed close to the building fronts to avoid the dazed Undead. “Where’s Shad?” Fred muttered.
“Over there, across the street skulking along the wall,” Derek pointed with his chin.
“He’s the one who has the least to worry about,” Jeff whispered. “He can do that death-circle thing if they notice him. Crap, he’s killing the lights. Let’s move.”
The Black Talons met up at the rendezvous point without incident.
“About time you got here,” Jeff said to Shad as the latter limped up, even though the trio had only arrived moments before.
“Bite me. Everyone OK?”
“Pretty much,” Fred muttered. “Took you long enough.”
“Killing a Death Lord takes as long as it takes. This one was a lot tougher than those we faced in the Realm. We are in an entirely different war than we thought, in fact.”
“Where did you get a sack?” Derek asked as the four set off to where they had left the children.
“It’s not a sack, it’s the apprentice’s cloak. Got some loot off the dead.”
“What sort of loot?” Derek asked eagerly.
“Some money and a couple katari that I’ll sort out when we get back to Litam.”
“What do you mean it is a different war?” Fred steered the conversation back.
“The Death Lord was dead before we started.”
“What? You mean like a liche?” Derek’s voice climbed.
“Shhh. Sort of. Think of a liche powered by an arcane life support line, which was how I put it down: I walled it off from its umbilical cord. It thought I was doing something else until it was too late.”
“So this was an exceptionally tough Death Lord, right?” Jeff said uneasily.
“I don’t think so. High enough to have an independent command, but you don’t send a von Manstein out to clear away an outer barrier. I’m combat-optimized, but I’m still level eight. That Death Lord wasn’t too much higher than I am, relatively speaking.”
“What the blazes does that mean?” Derek wondered.
“I don’t know.”
“I was assuming these were just necromancers, and now I’m willing to bet most if not all full Death Lords are actually Undead themselves. Being undying means that their motivation is of an entirely different nature,” Fred observed thoughtfully. “That explains why they’re willing to do world-shaking stuff. Explains Cecil’s payoff, too: eternal life.”
“Great, even more Undead,” Jeff sighed.
“Dude, always assume life will suck,” Shad advised the Shop teacher. “That way you only get happy news.”
By dawn the battered Black Talons and their charges were making camp three miles from Boam; Denki was still with them, although whether it was by her choice or not was uncertain as the quiet little non-person didn’t dare look at any of the four.
“So do the Death Lords know who ganked their task force leader?” Jeff asked as the first meal of the day was consumed.
“If they care enough to check, then yes; they certainly know she is dead and who is responsible. Four more sunrises and they can’t track us, so the window on their response time is closing.”
“Maybe they’ll start taking us seriously,” Derek shrugged. “I don’t like being ignored.”
“Ignored is good,” Fred pointed his spoon at the Ronin. “It is easier to screw someone over if they don’t know you are coming for them.”
“That is true, but we had better plan on having the Death Lords’ attention. Cecil will have warned them about us and it won’t take much for them to determine that we axed their hit team in Litam. Eight days after we met with Midori we screw up their breaching force: that is something they won’t overlook. They’re evil, not stupid.”
“Makes you wonder what they know about Midori,” Derek observed.
“More than we do,” Shad frowned. “Just because they hate her doesn’t make her a good guy.”
“Why didn’t we think to hire a cook before now?” Jeff wondered. “This is really good, Denki.”
“I am a good cook,” Fred pointed out with dignity.
“Yeah, but she is great.”
“I miss your French bread pizza,” Derek sighed.
“Those are very good,” Shad agreed. “And he makes a pretty mean corn dodger.”
“Too late, I’m offended,” Fred grinned.
“A half day of sleep after a day’s march and night operations really sucks,” Jeff moaned as the Talons cached the rations for their return trip. “I though the Isle was going to be hot Asian chicks, silk clothes, and a lot of posturing.”
“Life in the field getting to you, Airborne Ranger?” Shad grinned.
“I want through Ranger School twelve years ago and it whipped six kinds of ass out of me. I’m an ageing Shop teacher on a young hero’s quest.”
“I’m hurting, too,” Shad admitted as Fred boosted Four into a tree to stash more bundles. “The spirit is willing but I’m feeling too many years and too many wounds.”
“We’re pushing this hero business hard,” Fred agreed. “Smarter guys would have cut their losses in the Realm.”
“We’re not smart,” Shad shrugged. “Why change the habits of a lifetime?”
“You think we’ll make it home?” Jeff asked, all traces of humor gone.
The warder lifted his hands in uncertainty. “Maybe. Some of us. But they’ll know us by the trail of bodies we leave behind, no matter how this plays out.”
“Is that good enough for you?” Fred scowled.
“I think it is all I will get,” Shad scratched his ear. “Maybe it’s all I deserve. You need to get home because you have a family. The rest of us aren’t much loss to anyone.”
“What are you guys talking about?” Derek swaggered over, hands on his sword hilts.
“Gen-Con,” Jeff grinned.
“Bite me.”
The Black Talons trudged northeast with long-practiced skill, bickering amongst themselves and re-living old stories as the miles dropped behind them. The four friends formed a small circle of hope that defied the nation of necromancers just as they had defied the Council and the machinations of the Realm.
The weather warmed slightly each day; by the second day noon reached above freezing and the snow and ice receded a bit more each day.
“It’ll be full-on mud about the time we reach Litam,” Jeff noted on the fourth day of the march. “If we stick to the schedule.”
“If my calculations are right we’re actually ahead of schedule,” Derek held up the map for emphasis. “We should reach the temple by noon tomorrow.”
“How are we making better time?” Shad frowned.
“Man, why does good news always make you suspicious?” Jeff grinned.
“How many good things have happened to us?”
“Point.”
“Denki and the kids,” Derek cut in. “They have speeded up making and breaking camp.”
“You know, that may be our solution,” Fred mumbled.
“To what?” Shad asked.
“The kids,” Fred kept his voice low. “Denki is really good with them. Settling up a woman with kids is easier than just kids.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. Particularly after a war, which is coming hard on the heels of a half-assed revolution. I bet there are a lot of openings in the Hiemin before all this is over.”
“He’s right,” Derek nodded. “We need to convince Denki
to stick around for the duration.”
“That is easy,” Shad shrugged. “We just tell her she is staying.”
“Dude, you do not have to be a hardass all the time,” Jeff chided the warden.
“Simplicity is the core element to my happy life.”
“Well, we just went off the Death Lord’s radar, if they were watching us,” Shad noted.
“Why?” Derek asked without much interest.
“We just entered into the temple’s residual effect.”
“Really?” Derek dug out his map. “Either it is larger than Midori’s documents suggest, or we really picked up some distance.” He traced the inked lines with a finger. “No, we’re not that close. The paperwork did say it fluctuated. Pretty big fluctuation, though.”
“Well, assuming everything works, by the time we come out from under the effect we’ll be past the twenty-eight day limit.”
“If we come out. We’re trusting our lives to someone else’s planning,” Fred muttered. “If we make it back home I’m never playing a role playing game again, of any sort.”
“Good idea,” Shad nodded. “It’s a stupid hobby for a grown man.””
“What? You play as many as we do,” Jeff was aghast.
“That proves I know what I’m talking about.”
“Bite me.”
“If we hadn’t been gamers we never would have been pulled into any of this,” Shad pointed out.
“How did they do that?” Derek wondered. “Grab gamers, I mean. We weren’t gaming at the time; in fact, we were all asleep.”
“The pseudo belief system, remember?” Fred shook his head. “Belief has power.”
“Besides, RPGs are just a structure form of story-telling,” Jeff pointed out. “No harm in that.”
“Have you seen some of Will’s games?” Shad countered.
“Dude, every hobby has its share of freaks,” Jeff waved off Shad’s point, “None of us are living in our parent’s basements or failing to bathe regularly. We just prefer a more interactive form of fiction.”
“Why do you game, Shad?” Derek jabbed a finger at the warder.