Chapter 7: That's Gratitude for You
“Citizens of Kafmara,” Paul began forcefully, lifting the head of Baron Dragmor as he spoke. “At last, the time has come to...”
“What have you done, you lunatics?!” a man in the crowd interrupted at the top of his lungs. “You've murdered the baron!”
“Excuse me?” the young man replied, a confused look on his face.
“Lord Grathis is going to butcher all of us for this!” the man continued. “He'll not show us mercy a second time!”
“Mercy?” Gregory replied with some heat. “You call this mercy, Farren?”
“I figured you were one of them, Gregory,” the man replied bitterly. “I almost shared my suspicions with the baron, but I didn't. All because I was afraid of getting an innocent man tortured to death. Gods help me, now I wish I'd told him what I know.”
“And, what did you know?” Gregory asked sarcastically. “If you'd've known anything at all, you'd have sold us out long ago.”
“Why not?” Farren replied. “All you've done is get innocent people murdered!”
“One way or the other, the undead...”
“Spare me, Gregory! We all know how you Warriors think. We're not responsible for getting anyone killed. They were going to die anyway. Believe it or not, that's not much consolation when your brother's being dragged from his home in the middle of the night.”
“I'm sorry about your brother...” Gregory began.
“No, you're not!” Farren said with a dark laugh. “Spare me your insincere sympathy, as well! All you care about is your life and the lives of these fools who follow you. You couldn't care less about the rest of us.”
There was a murmur of general approval from certain members of the crowd who filled the square.
“We can finish discussing this later, Farren,” Gregory said above the din. “For the moment, we're still busy killing the garrison.”
Having said this, he dispatched several groups of men to determine exactly where their party was most desperately needed. During the few moments they had while they were waiting for information; the children were reunited with their parents, Nyssa healed Alena's shoulder, and Paul helped Joey dust himself off.
“I don't know what went wrong,” Joey observed as he vigorously brushed the front of his robes. “I'm sure I read that spell right.”
“You may have,” Myra asserted. “But, there's more to it than that.”
“Like what?” he asked, glancing over at the fair former lich.
“Like being able to channel enough arcane power,” Nyssa replied, flying up to his face. “Show me the spell you were trying to cast.”
Joey promptly turned to a page near the center of the tome and pointed at a passage.
“You were trying to strike him with lighting?” she asked, bursting into laughter as she did so.
“I was,” he replied. “It seemed like a good way to kill him to me.”
“It might have been,” Myra said with a rising inflection, “as well as a good way to kill Alena, Paul, and anybody else who happened to be nearby!”
“Really?”
“Yes, of course!” she replied. “Didn't you read the spell description?”
“I read the title,” he said defensively. “I was in a bit of a hurry and I didn't think...”
“No, you didn't!” Myra interrupted. “But, you had better in future! Magic is deadly, Joey! You can't take it lightly.”
“You gotta treat it like a gun, brother,” Paul nodded. “Don't do anything with it until you’re sure that you know what you're doing.”
“A gun?” Nyssa asked.
“A weapon back home,” Joey replied. “You're right, man. I just didn't have any idea.”
“Well, now you do,” the fairy smiled. “We're just really lucky you didn't have the strength to cast that. Which is hardly surprising when you think about the fact that a children's spell almost made you throw up.”
“I didn't almost throw up,” he said defensively. “It just made me a little dizzy, that's all.”
“Well, either way,” she replied, rolling her eyes, “for now, you need to work on making flowers bloom and stuff like that.”
“You've gotta be kidding.”
“I don't know,” Paul chuckled. “That would go with your dress.”
“Funnier and funnier. I can hardly keep myself from cracking half a smile.”
“That's what fairies do when they're young,” Myra explained. “You'll need to work on other things.”
“Well, that's a relief,” Joey replied.
“Here,” she said, taking the book from his hands and flipping to a page very near the front. “If you stick with the spells in the first few pages, you'll be fine. Just be sure to read everything in the description before you try to cast any of them.”
“I got ya,” he nodded. “And, thanks for the tip.”
“My pleasure,” she smiled. “Just let me know if you have any questions.”
“I have a question,” Paul replied. “Why is it my turns keep failing?”
“What do you mean?” the maiden asked. “You just burned a small horde of undead to ashes.”
“I did,” he agreed, “but not the ones I wanted to. Both General Kass and Baron Dragmor basically just screamed at me when I did it.”
“They did more than that,” she asserted. “When you turn, Paul, you're pitting your will against theirs, as well as channeling the power of the gods of light. Some creatures, like famine ghasts, are simply more resistant to turning than other undead. Some individuals, like the general, have overwhelming willpower.”
“I turned Lord Telraen more than once,” Paul pointed out, “and he struck me as fairly willful.”
“That's true,” the maiden agreed, “but, vampires and insubstantial undead - like shades, shadows, specters, and wraiths - are more susceptible to turning than even zombies or skeletons.”
“There are a lot of weird undead rules in Zanoth,” Joey asserted. “It's worse than some of those stupid games you made me play.”
“I don't know,” Paul replied. “I'd say it was about the same.”
“Except here, not knowing the rules can get you killed,” Joey observed.
“That's certainly true,” Sarrac nodded. “Which is why it's a good idea to learn everything you can about them.”
After this brief conversation, a group of Gregory's men returned with news.
The Warriors had managed to keep additional reinforcements from arriving at the square, but several skirmishes had broken out near The Tottering Tankard. As a result, the establishment was effectively under siege. Not even half of the equipment from the vault had been dispersed yet; so, it was obviously there that the It and his companions would prove most useful. Without delay, the entire band headed to the relief of the Warriors who were besieged at their hidden headquarters.
The party managed to flank their undead adversaries, taking them by surprise and catching them between two groups of experienced and well equipped enemies. As soon as the vault was back under their full control, Paul and his companions turned their attention to the many small battles that were raging throughout Kafmara.
The band spent the next few hours fighting street by street and clearing out any trouble spots the Warriors couldn't handle on their own. By early afternoon, the party was exhausted, but the garrison had been completely driven into hiding; their remaining numbers huddling together in various strongholds throughout the city.
This victory was not as total as they had hoped, however. During the hours eaten by the conflict, Farren had convinced a large group of citizens that the Warriors of Dawn had done nothing but condemn them all to death. Subsequently, just minutes after the last street skirmish ended, Farren arrived at the head of a mob armed with whatever makeshift weapons they could lay their hands on.
“Gregory!” he yelled as his motley force neared The Tottering Tankard. “We, the people of Kafmara, want to speak with you!”
“I don't
see all the people of Kafmara,” Gregory replied calmly as soon as the group was within easy earshot.
“With our lord dead,” Farren replied with a smile, “they've seen fit to appoint me as their spokesman.”
“Alright. Speak.”
“We want all of the Warriors of Dawn to leave the city,” he replied. “We want you to take your wives, your children, and everything you own and get out.”
“Farren, you can't expect those of us with families...” Gregory began.
“Yes, we can!” he interrupted. “That's exactly what we do expect. With all of you gone, we can throw ourselves on Lord Grathis's mercy when his forces arrive.”
“He'll just kill you all.”
“He might!” Farren snarled. “Thanks to you and the other fools that struggle against him! However, it's our hope that, by forcing you out of the city, we'll have proven our loyalty to him.”
“You'd do better to kill us all,” Gregory smirked.
“Yes, we would!” Farren agreed. “Don't think we didn't consider it! There are more of us than there are of you. But, at the moment, your forces are somewhat better equipped.”
“And, if we refuse to leave?”
“Then, as soon as Lord Grathis's forces arrive, we intend to tell them everything we know.”
“I see.”
“I hope you do, Gregory,” Farren snapped. “Because leaving Kafmara as soon as possible is your only chance of survival.”
“If you drive the women and children out, you'll have murdered us all.”
“No, we won't have,” Farren disagreed. “You'll have murdered them. You and the Warriors of Dawn. This is all your doing. It has nothing to do with us. We're just trying to save our own families.”
“Alright, we'll leave,” Gregory replied after a brief pause. “But, we're going to take as much as possible with us when we do. Every horse, every cart, every sack of grain we can carry.”
“Take what you want,” Farren replied. “We'll not stop you. It's not that we take any pleasure in this. We're merely doing what we have to do to survive.”
“As are we,” Gregory nodded. “And, Farren, I truly am sorry about your brother.”
“Tell that to the gods,” Farren replied, turning away as he spoke. “Maybe they'll be able offer his soul some comfort.”
The crowd quickly and quietly dispersed as the Warriors of Dawn hastily began preparing to depart. True to his word, Gregory rounded up every horse and cart in the city. Even with this, however, many of his men would be on foot, not to mention their spouses and offspring. After which, they loaded the wagons with food - both for men and mounts - until their wheels groaned under the weight. They then grabbed every weapon they could lay their hands on.
By early afternoon, a wide column was marching through the gates of Kafmara. Close to two hundred men, and hundreds more women and children, made their way slowly away from the city that had long been their home. Many a mother, not to mention father, trudged forward with a heart filled with dread and a mind wracked with worry at the thought of what would happen to their families now that they were banished to the badlands.
Although most of the Warriors were less than pleased with the current situation, most felt they had done nothing more or less than what had to be done. In truth, many of the citizens of Kafmara agreed with this sentiment, but fear of the undead kept most of them silent and submissive. A few brave souls, however, decided to join the ranks of the rebels and leave the city with them; including the families of all the children who had been rescued.
“I wonder if we should stay with the vault,” Darek mused just before the party rode through the city gates.
“I don't think we can afford to,” Paul replied. “I’ve got the feeling that the Warriors might need us before we get all these people someplace safe.”
“And, where would that someplace safe be?” Myra asked rhetorically.
“I guess I just meant: until we get them to Thaelen,” the young man replied. “Either way, we can't stay here.”
“I was actually talking about Nyssa and me,” Darek pointed out. “Still, you make a good point. These people are going to need all the help they can get.”
“They're going to need more than that,” Myra asserted.
“I'm afraid I agree,” Gregory added with a nod. “We weren't ready for anything like this yet. Most of these people aren't going to be anything more than a burden.”
“And, what are we going to be to them?” Myra asked. “How long can they survive in the dark lands? How long will the food last? As far as I can tell, we're leading these people to their deaths; either at the hands of the undead, or by starvation.”
“What would you have us do?” Alena asked, her voice slightly edged.
“Nothing,” Myra replied, with a touch of heat. “Which is exactly what I suggested we do days ago. All we've accomplished, once again, is to make things worse.”
“I can't agree,” Gregory replied. “We saved a lot of lives today.”
“Maybe,” the former lich replied. “But, for how long?”
Having voiced her opinion, the maiden turned her mount and made her way toward the tail of the column.
“Sometimes, I really want to slap her again,” Alena said the moment Myra was out of earshot. “She goes out of her way to be negative.”
“I wouldn't say that,” Sarrac disagreed. “She's just gone through a great deal in the last few weeks and our current situation does seem somewhat dire.”
“That's no excuse for constant pessimism,” the ogress replied. “We just killed another undead lord and freed an entire city. That's going to significantly weaken Lord Grathis's position in this region. I know things aren't going exactly like we'd planned, but that's still a lot to celebrate. She seemed a lot more positive right after we killed her foster father.”
“Of course she was,” Sarrac asserted. “At that point, she hadn't had time to consider the enormity of our task. Nor had she been on the run from the undead for weeks. She also didn't know that Paul might vanish at any moment.”
“What difference does that make?”
“It makes a big difference to me,” Paul interjected.
“Obviously,” Alena nodded. “And, you're certainly useful when you're here. I just mean that we kept up the fight while you were gone and even managed to summon you back to Zanoth without your help.”
“It's more than just that,” the ogre replied. “It's everything I mentioned. We're fighting for the freedom of an entire world. On top of that, there's nowhere we can run, nowhere we can hide, nowhere that's safe. We don't have much food, and we don't have any sure way of getting any more. Our enemies are immortal and relentless. They don't even need sleep. So, I can understand why, at least for the time being, she feels the situation is rather hopeless.”
“You know,” the ogress replied, her eyes locked on those of Sarrac, “sometimes, I really want to slap you, too.”
“Now, now, Alena,” Paul chuckled. “Don't be a cow. He's just pointing out why Myra might be a little depressed at the moment.”
“Which raises a question,” Darek asserted.
“And, that is?” the ogre asked.
“Why is it that we shouldn't all be depressed, again?”
“Because the gods are with us,” Sarrac said solemnly.
“Mmmm,” Darek hummed. “Is that it or do you have some specifics?”
“To begin with, Paul is here,” the ogre replied. “His ability to use the divine power is proof that the gods of the living are still alive. When you couple that with the fact that we've survived this long against almost impossible odds, I think you'll have to agree that they're watching over us.”
“You know, I really respect your faith, Sarrac,” Darek said, turning his gaze to the ogre. “But, am I correct in assuming that the gods were with the living before the undead enslaved us all?”
“You are.”
“Well then, it strikes me as just possible that them being with us might not be
enough.”
“I suppose you could be right,” Sarrac replied thoughtfully. “That is to say, at least as far as this life is concerned. After all, the gods of light themselves have been cut off from their people by the gods of darkness.”
“Okay, hold up,” Joey said, moving his horse a little closer to the pair. “This is all too weird for me, man. You're saying that there are gods of darkness, like evil gods, in Zanoth?”
“Of course,” Nyssa laughed. “Where did you think all the undead came from?”
“I don't know,” he replied. “I hadn't really thought about it. I guess in the back of my mind, I figured there was some kind of Umbrella Corporation or something that was the cause of it all.”
“What?” the fair fairy asked, a look of confusion on her beautiful face.
“Nothing,” Joey said, shaking his head. “So, these gods of darkness created the undead?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Sarrac replied. “According to legend, millennia ago, a number of priests filled themselves with unholy power in order to gain a form of immortality. They became the first fathers of the undead who then created vampires, shades, ghouls, etc, to serve in their armies.”
“Where are these immortal priests now?”
“Dead,” Alena asserted.
“So much for immortality,” Joey chuckled.
“Actually,” Sarrac said, “we can’t be sure they're dead.”
“We can't even be sure they ever existed,” the ogress corrected. “It is just a legend, after all. And, even if they did, the undead killed them long ago.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Lust for power,” Alena replied. “The undead are the most selfish creatures in the universe. Each of them, from the most powerful lich to the lowliest ghoul, wants to rule over all of creation as the supreme god of darkness.”
“Okay,” Joey nodded. “So, these priests created other undead in order to take over the world and ended up getting killed by them.”
“That's what some people believe,” Sarrac nodded.
“Skynet,” Joey asserted.
“What?” the ogre asked.
“We have a similar story on Earth, but it's filled with killer robots instead of vampires.”
The Fortress of Donmar (The Tales of Zanoth Book 2) Page 12