Unified Dead

by M B Reid

  The door was locked.

  That wasn’t the thing that surprised Azoth the most. The priestesses of Animasto were vigilant in their efforts to lock doors and keep secrets. What caught Azoth completely by surprise was the sword that seemed to materialise from nowhere and point itself at his throat. A brown leather glove held the sword, and attached to that was the blue-grey tunic of the guard.

  “I knew you’d come back” Duncan sneered.

  “I -”

  “You are under arrest for the murder of a priestess of Animasto.” The captain of the guard said, glaring down his over-sized nose at Azoth.

  “I didn’t -”

  “Drop your shield on the ground. Then unfasten your sword belt. If you try to draw your sword, I will cut you down.”

  Azoth looked at the sword and gulped. He could get his shield up in time, he was certain of that. But he had no idea how good of a fighter Duncan was. The man certainly held himself in high regard. Was Azoth really willing to get into a duel with the captain of the guard, in the middle of a church? He reached for the shield strapped to his arm very slowly.

  “Don’t go doin’ nothin’ stupid” Duncan warned.

  Azoth considered his options as he pretended to struggle with the buckles of the shield. If he surrendered he’d be at the mercy of a man who hated him, and who had pushed for his execution once before. Azoth had barely escaped from that, there was no way he’d survive a second encounter.

  “How did you -”

  “Killers come back to the scene, can’t help themselves. Everyone knows that” Duncan said with an air of self-appreciation. He had puffed up his chest. One had to maintain a regal pose when gloating, Azoth supposed. That action had shifted his balance though, and Azoth could see he was no longer ready to strike.

  Azoth activated Shield Bash, his shield glowed bright for half an instant as it smacked the sword away from him. In the moment before Duncan could react, Azoth triggered Chameleon Cloak and shimmered out of view. Instead of sprinting for the main hallway he dropped to a crouch and stayed still, hoping he wouldn’t be hit. Duncan swore once, took a wild swing that connected with nothing but air, then swore again. He took off toward the main room, running with his sword extended in front of him. Azoth contemplated trying to trip him, maybe the old ‘don’t run with knives’ mentality would be the end of the captain. But he decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

  Instead, Azoth turned away and ran full-speed toward the bath house. There was a large window there, big enough to sneak out of. The danger of his situation began to settle on him as Azoth closed the door of the bathroom and let his invisibility fall away. Azoth had been accused of murder, and had now resisted arrest. He thought that most of the guards liked him, but he doubted they would be willing to help him after such a blatant flouting of the law. Azoth might just have turned the entire city guard against him.

  On the other hand, Duncan had been here alone. He had no one to corroborate his story, and it was well known that he didn’t like Azoth. Maybe the guards would conclude that their captain was spreading lies to discredit the man who’d helped them fight against the ratkin. Azoth’s goodwill from killing the abomination might just be enough to keep him safe.

  He opened the frosted glass window and started to crawl through it. He might have escaped from Duncan, but he hadn’t achieved anything by coming to the church. He was no closer to figuring out who the killer was, or where they had gone. He could only hope that Trent had been more successful. Azoth shimmied through the window, and fell to the ground with a thump. Finesse had never been his strong suit, that much was clear. He slowly got to his feet and brushed off his shoulders. There was one last person he wanted to talk to before leaving town and returning to the hunters camp.

  Azoth made it two steps in the direction of Dora’s bar when a voice rang out through the still air.

  “Freeze!”

  Here’s the thing: Duncan could never be the kind of efficient, calculating, and inspiring leader that Rudy had been. The problem was that the new captain of the guard had inherited men who had trained under Rudy’s watchful eye. And those men were damn good at their job. Specifically, five of those damn good men were running towards Azoth.

  He activated Chameleon Cloak, using the invisibility to turn and run from the oncoming guards. A second group were coming up the street towards him, fanning out as they ran. Rudy had trained them to do that specifically to deal with invisible enemies that might try to slip by them. There was no gap wide enough for Azoth to pass through without bumping into somebody. That left him two options - back through the window, which would be devastatingly obvious when the glass swung wide open, or straight at Duncan again.

  Azoth’s blood was beginning to boil. Duncan had branded him with a bullshit accusation, and was definitely not going to offer a fair trial. Azoth activated Shield Rush and sprinted towards the leader of the guard, holding his shield high. If that bastard was going to try and kill him, Azoth would at least make sure it hurt. His shield crunched against Duncan’s nose, causing a waterfall of blood to cascade into his scraggly beard.

  As the captain of the guard staggered backwards Azoth shimmered back into view, the attack having ended his invisibility.

  Azoth ran past his bleeding victim towards the river gate. The group of guards chasing him were shouting orders as they ran, but Azoth didn’t pay any attention. He had a single goal - to get across the river to the hunters camp. His decision to flee meant that they were definitely at risk now, Duncan would love to arrest them all on some trumped up charge of aiding and abetting.

  Azoth poured another chunk of his mana into the Bull Rush ability. Horns sprouted from his skull, and the magic of video-games made his legs carry him ever faster. Combined with the speed buff from his new boots, he sprinted like a madman through the streets of the city, quickly out-pacing the guards. It was a shame that he was losing friends among them. He was certain several would resent him for making them run. Maybe bloodying Duncan’s nose would take the edge off their misery, Azoth knew the new captain wasn’t particularly popular.

  Up ahead he could see the river gate. The guards on the wall were facing out away from the city, and those on the ground were too busy talking amongst themselves to notice his approach. Azoth passed through the gate as the chasing guards screamed for it to be closed. The men on the bridge, however, were much more alert. One of them wedged his spear into the ground, and angled it toward Azoth.

  Azoth was leaning forward, running as fast as he could. He was unable to change his course or slow down before he hit the trap. The spear pierced him through the stomach, bursting out of his back as he came to an abrupt halt. Azoth lost his footing, falling deeper onto the spear. His health bar started flashing furiously as eighty percent of his life dropped out of it. A bleeding icon flashed for a moment before being stamped out by a red cross. His undead body didn’t pump blood, so there was no risk of bleeding out. It was the only silver lining in this situation.

  Azoth groaned and grasped at the slick shaft of the spear. He tried to open his mouth to scream for help. He could see the hunters milling around in their camp. But it was as if he were living in a nightmare - his cry for help came out as a hoarse whisper. Azoth coughed, and agony rippled through his torso as muscles contracted around the spear.

  “Oh shit” The guard muttered, drawing a short sword from his scabbard. His companion was looking between him and Azoth with shock, almost disbelief, but still he hoisted his spear into position. If Azoth tried to fight them he would die.

  “You -” Azoth began, then coughed again. Pain racked him, and his health fell by another five percent. Apparently holding a spear with your intestines caused ongoing damage, even without bleeding.

  “Pull it out” Azoth begged. He tried to shift the spear himself and hissed with pain. Azoth realised he could actually die right now. This could be the end of his real life. Panic gripped him.

  “Pull it out” He shrieked, his voice high and whining. The
guard who’d impaled him looked around in panic, as if he’d not been prepared for the possibility that his spear might have actually worked.

  “Please” Azoth whined. He coughed again, and groaned in agony. He had just ten percent of his health left now. That spear had been a critical hit if he’d ever seen one. Curse his supernaturally enhanced speed.

  The guard grabbed hold of the spear, taking the blood-slicked end that was protruding from Azoth’s back. Azoth had settled halfway along the shaft, making it an equal distance to pull in each direction.

  “Wait” The second guard said, putting his spear aside and drawing his own short sword. He approached Azoth from the front, holding the sword high.

  “Please -” Azoth wheezed.

  The guard slashed down, cutting through the spear shaft. It broke off a foot in front of Azoth, the jerking motion knocking a few more percentage points off his health. Azoth’s mind was a fog of panic and pain.

  The guard behind him hauled the spear out through his back. It felt like Azoth was suddenly empty, and a ravenous hunger settled over him. He was desperate for something to eat, something to fill the hole in his stomach. His health was flashing with just three percent remaining. Darkness had begun to cloud the edges of his vision.

  As he sagged to the ground he could have sworn he heard someone shouting his name.

  The darkness continued to grow until it swallowed him whole.

  Chapter Twelve

  Logan thanked the old man for all of his help, and excused himself. Logan practically skipped out of the hunters camp, and an enormous smile split his skull in two. The old man had given him the gloves, just given them to him as a gift. As far as Logan could tell there was no scam here. It seemed like the old man was just being practical - giving allies good gear made the whole party stronger.

  He crossed the bridge, keeping his eyes trained on his feet as he passed the guards, and stepped into the town centre. His glee started to fade as he made his way further and further from the gate and the open safety beyond them. The old man had sent him to fetch Trent from a bar named Dora’s. Logan couldn’t help but wonder if it was named after the children's cartoon that had become a staple in his house. That thought helped strengthen his determination. He would do whatever it took to get out of this game and back to his family. How hard could walking through a town be?

  He’d barely been walking for two minutes when a group of guards sprinted up the road towards him, yelling for him to stop. Logan froze instinctively, torn between a lifelong habit of obeying authority, and terror at being captured. He tightened his grip on the wand hidden by the long sleeves of his robe and prepared to fight.

  To his surprise the guards barrelled past, paying no attention to him. Logan heaved a slow sigh of relief that caught in his throat as he saw who they were chasing. Azoth was running toward the river gate, faster than Logan had ever seen him move before. It was clear he was going to make it, the guards chasing him were falling further and further behind.

  Logan made a snap decision and started back towards the gate. If there were problems in town, he wanted to get out before the gates were locked. Besides, he couldn’t do anything to help Azoth from back here. He broke into a jog, and had made it a dozen paces when his heart froze in place.

  A guard on the bridge impaled Azoth on a spear.

  Logan stood still. He watched as the two guards on the bridge surrounded Azoth. Logan’s feet wouldn’t obey as he mentally screamed at them to run. He could see that Azoth was badly wounded - that he’d collapsed to his knees. Logan needed to get there right now, he needed to help his friend escape.

  Instead, Logan stood as still as a statue as he watched his friend dying. The guards had drawn their short-swords. Logan watched as one of them slashed at Azoth’s chest. The other tugged on the spear that protruded from his back. He watched in horror as Azoth collapsed to the ground, terrifyingly still.

  One moment he was frozen like a statue and the next he was running in the opposite direction. There was a gate on the other side of town - he and Azoth had seen it when they’d first logged into Liorel. He could leave town through there, then follow the river upstream. It wouldn’t be pleasant but he could swim across. They’d done it before, him and Azoth. He could do it again. He had to do it, he had a family to get back to. He was going to follow the plan he and Azoth had discussed when they’d first learnt they were trapped in this hell hole. He’d lock himself in the dungeon, with traps and minions everywhere, and wait until some suicidal idiot saved the world.

  He had to survive. For his family. For Azoth.

  Logan skittered to a halt across the street from a dilapidated looking building. The windows had been broken long ago, and were gaping maws of darkness in old wood. All the glass had long since been cleared away. Saloon style doors hung crooked in their frames. All of that was inconsequential, what had caught his attention was the crude sign above the door.

  Dora’s.

  Logan realised he had a choice. He could return to the dungeon, he was sure he could make it. He could lock himself away until someone saved the day. Or he could do what he’d come here for. He could find Trent and help the hunters destroy the amulet. Together they could wipe out the big bad threat, and he could retire safely as a hero. He wasn’t going to save the world, that was a job for someone else, but he could do more than just hide away in a dungeon until someone rescued him. His choice was between hiding and fighting, and he was going to fight.

  Logan crossed the road, and stepped into the mysterious bar.

  The outside of the building strongly hinted that Logan was walking into a medieval dive bar.

  The inside screamed upmarket brothel. The tables were free of sticky smears, and the barkeep was serving what looked like ale in relatively clean mugs. Logan spotted the man he was looking for immediately. Trent sat alone at the furthest edge of the bar. He was facing the room, and downing a mug of ale. There were no other patrons downstairs, but Logan could hear the occasional giggle of a woman at work up above.

  “Waiting on anyone?” He asked Trent by way of greeting.

  “Just taking a break.” The man replied, staring off into nothingness. Logan felt a sudden urge to slap him.

  “We need to go, now. Azoth’s - “ Logan trailed off as he glanced at the barkeep, who was watching them impassively. He realised he shouldn’t say anything more, not where strangers could hear.

  “We just need to get back to the camp” He finished.

  Trent tilted his head back and downed the last of his mug in one smooth motion. He turned and clanked it on the bar, then stood there for a long moment as if he’d forgotten what he was meant to be doing. Eventually he slid the mug along the bar toward the barkeep.

  “Alright, lets go” He announced, and made for the door.

  Logan followed him like an obedient puppy.

  The streets were eerily still as the pair left the bar. Trent strode purposefully toward the river gate, oblivious to the congregation of guards there. Logan tightened his grip on his wand, and double checked that it was hidden in his sleeve. Trent had fought well against his minions, Logan was hoping the man would fight just as well if they had to battle their way through the guards to leave. There was always the other gate, Logan thought. He dismissed that as cowardice, and increased his pace so that he was walking beside Trent. The two of them could fight their way out, especially with his new skill to even the odds.

  “Look, the guards up ahead, they’ve -”

  The guards chose that moment to lift Azoth off the ground, and Logan trailed off as he watched. Two burly men took an arm each, and carried Azoth. His legs hung limply, the tops of his boots scraping across the ground as the guards marched forward. A guard with an over-sized beak of a nose followed the carriers, a plump feather in his cap marking him as the man in charge. The rest of the guard fell in behind their captain.

  Logan and Trent passed by the procession of guards, careful not to make eye contact. Logan struggled between looking at
his dead friend, and studying his own feet. He decided he owed it, as a mark of respect, to look at his friend. To see what could happen if he wasn’t careful in this world.

  Azoth’s head bobbed forward, and Logan almost jumped out of his skin. Had that been the guards jostling him, or was he somehow alive? A low groan burbled from Azoth, and Logan’s heart started beating again. Azoth was alive!

  Trent bumped against Logan’s shoulder, pushing him away from the group of guards. Logan realised he’d been drifting closer while he’d been studying his friend. Azoth being alive changed everything. Logan couldn’t flee back to the dungeon, not now. He needed to focus on getting Azoth away from those guards. He couldn’t help but grin at the realisation he wasn’t alone.

  The hunters would help free Azoth, he would make sure of that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  This was bad.

  That was the first thought that filtered out of the darkness of unconsciousness. Azoth was in serious trouble this time. His health had stopped with just two percent left, and it wasn’t restoring. That was a puzzle his fuzzy mind couldn’t quite undo right now.

  Instead, Azoth opened his eyes.

  The light stabbed directly into his brain like a knife. He groaned at the sudden headache. Azoth was definitely alive, and he seemed to be moving. That couldn’t be right. He inched one eyelid open again. The ground slid by underneath him. Azoth fought the urge to vomit.

  Yep, definitely moving.

  His shoulders chose that moment to announce their protest. He was being carried, both his arms were wrapped around something. He forced his eyes open again and saw that he was being carried by two burly guards. His feet dragged along the ground, forcing him to feel like he could face-plant at any moment. He belched. It didn’t help his need to vomit.