“What's a robot?” Nyssa asked inquisitively.
“It's like a zombie,” Joey asserted, “but it's made out of metal.”
“Wow!” the tiny fairy exclaimed. “How do you kill them?”
“They're not real,” Paul replied.
“They are!” Joey corrected.
“Okay, robots are real,” Paul conceded, “but not killer robots that go back in time, and we never have to kill them. Either way, we're getting a little far afield. What I want to know is: why, if the undead are so power mad, they don't kill each other?”
“They do,” Sarrac replied. “Keep in mind that Myra became a lich in order to help Lord and Lady Telraen kill Lord Kasric so they could take his place.”
“Well, sure,” the young man nodded. “But, that was more of a political assassination. I meant; why don't they kill each other on a grander scale?”
“They did before the great war,” the ogre answered. “For thousands of years, the undead were very much like the living when it came to politics. They fought against each other and against the living; just like the living fought amongst themselves and waged war with the undead. There were even treaties signed between living kings and undead lords.”
“You're kidding.”
“I'm not,” the ogre replied, shaking his head. “Unscrupulous rulers would often work with the undead to conquer their enemies, protect their own kingdoms, and terrify their adversaries. The history of Zanoth is replete with examples of the living using the undead to their own advantage.”
“So, what happened?”
“The undead united,” Alena replied. “They had the wisdom to see something the kings of the living never did; that, by working together, they would all be better off. So, they formed an alliance, conquered Zanoth, and then divided it up amongst themselves.”
“And the living didn't unite against them?”
“They did,” Sarrac answered. “But not until it was too late. They held on to too many old prejudices for far too long.”
“Like what?” the young man asked.
“Well, for one thing, ogres and humans were mortal enemies for almost a thousand years.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely,” the ogress nodded. “Neither race saw the value of the other. They spent centuries waging pointless wars, stoking an unnatural and unholy hatred for one another. Eventually, they decided to work together, but not before the undead had already gained too much power to be stopped. The peace between our peoples is one of the few good things to come out of the great war.”
“That is a good thing,” Paul agreed. “But, either way, it seems to me that if the undead were power hungry enough to kill their founding fathers, they wouldn't be willing to live at peace with each other now.”
“Since the great war, there's been a certain amount of equilibrium,” Sarrac said. “All of the undead lords have more than they're willing to risk losing. So, although they'll murder one another individually for power, they rarely wage war.”
“Of course, sometimes lesser lords will,” Nyssa asserted. “It was less than ten years ago that Lord Navron attacked the lands of Lord Kilfak.”
“That's true,” Alena replied with a nod. “But, Lord Kilfak's lands were infested with maruel at the time. They'd killed who knows how many of his subjects, not to mention his soldiers.”
“Which created an unbalance,” Sarrac added. “And, it was one that Lord Navron took advantage of. Lord Grathis must have thought Kilfak was incompetent or he'd have put a stop to it.”
“So, if the undead spot a weakness, they'll attack it?” Paul asked.
“Sometimes.”
“Well, we're weakening Grathis.”
“We are,” the ogre agreed. “But, not by enough to give his neighbors any ideas. Well, not yet anyway.”
“Maybe we can find a way to change that in time.”
“Maybe we can,” Darek agreed. “But, for the moment, we need to get back to my original question. Are we sure that Nyssa and I shouldn't go back and stay with the vault?”
“We are,” Paul nodded. “I don't believe the undead will be able to find it...”
“They won't,” Gregory interjected. “The only people who know where that door is are with us.”
“Good,” the young man replied. “That being the case, Nyssa should be able to sneak back into town in a few days and get the vault. In fact, Grathis may not be able to replace the garrison within the next four of five days, so there may not even be that many undead for her to avoid.”
“Of course, that brings us back to the other half-a-garrison that we don't know where is, at the moment,” Darek said.
“That's a fair point,” Sarrac replied. “The simple truth is that we could be heading straight for them.”
“Well, let's hope not,” Paul said. “The last thing we need right now is to stumble into a group of undead. Nyssa, can you scout a fair distance ahead of the party?”
“I can,” the fairy nodded before vanishing from sight. “If I see anything, I'll let you know as fast as I can.”
For the next few hours, the large company trudged on toward the dark lands. The decision had been made to head in the direction they expected Thaelen and his men would be coming from. It was possible they had been delayed for some reason, or that they had been discovered and killed. Whichever the case, it would be wise for the party to do their best to find out exactly what had happened to them.
It addition to this consideration, the path they had selected led toward one of Thaelen's regular places of refuge. Although it would take them days to reach it at their current pace, and they certainly couldn't stay for more than a single night, the Warriors had a small cache of food stored there. And, with their increased numbers, they would need every mouthful they could get.
Paul took a deep breath and sighed as he glanced over the slowly marching members of the numerous band. Even under normal circumstances, a group this size would be slow moving on foot - and the current circumstances were anything but normal. At the moment, their ranks were filled with women and children; many of whom had never stepped foot outside the city.
As they entered the very outskirts of the dark lands, the air was filled with the cries of frightened children, and the soothing, but powerless, voices of the mothers that sought to comfort them. Paul almost shuddered at the thought of these poor unfortunates having to spend the night in a half-dead forest without so much as a tent over their heads. Obviously, he had done it countless times, but he wasn't a four-year-old child who had been raised in the city.
The young man longed to offer his horse to one of the footsore women or the children who had already walked almost to the limits of their strength, but he couldn't. Alena had made the very valid point that all the Warriors who could had to remain mounted. If they were set upon by a force of undead, they had to be prepared to fight at a moment's notice. This truth almost made Paul heartsick. He would much rather have carried these little ones on his back than watch them stumble forward as he sat in the saddle gazing down at them.
As he considered the situation, he thought about how the fathers in the group must feel who were having to watch not just women and children - but their own wives, sons, and daughters - struggle onward. It was almost more than he could bear as a relative stranger. If these people were his kith and kin, he might have found the feeling overwhelming.
But, on the other hand, what choice was there? Their wagons were overloaded with food and every horse that wasn't pulling one of these was ridden by a Warrior. All too soon, the weight of their provisions would begin to lessen and the carts would be able to carry some of the younger children. However, that was a very small consolation considering the fact that the less they had to walk, the less they would have to eat.
Once again, the young man sighed. He had to admit that the situation seemed almost hopeless. One of the only advantages they had over the undead was speed. The Warriors had been able to strike and fade; attacking their enemies and the
n disappearing into the wilderness. They had also been able to break their raiding parties up after each assault in order to make them difficult to track, at best. Now, however, they were moving at a pace that would allow the slowest zombie in Zanoth to easily overtake them and they were leaving a trail behind them that a blind ghoul with no sense of smell couldn't fail to follow.
No matter which way he looked at it, he couldn't imagine this ending well. It was only a matter of time, and probably a very short time, before Lord Grathis's forces managed to hunt them down and slaughter them all. There was nowhere to run to and, even if there were, they probably wouldn't make it wherever it was before the undead caught them. All things considered, he could understand why Myra was somewhat depressed.
Still, no good ever came from worrying about what the future might hold. Where there's life, there's hope and, for the moment, they had life. If they were going to keep it, they needed to deal with the here and now. Paul didn't feel The Administrator, whoever they were, had sent him here to get a bunch of women and children killed. Saving them seemed impossible, but then again, his being in Zanoth in the first place was completely impossible; so, really, that wasn't anything to get discouraged about. Not yet, anyway.
As these thoughts ran through his mind, he came to several conclusions. The first was that the mounted Warriors who were riding in the midst of the group could safely carry a woman or a child or two behind them. If there was an undead attack, they would have time to let their passengers off before they engaged the enemy.
The second was that the men on foot would probably be better off carrying sacks of grain than trying to help carry children as they were at the moment. For one thing, sacks of grain could be thrown over your shoulder without complaining, they didn't squirm constantly, and they didn't ask non-stop questions about everything under the sun. And, with the load on the carts lessened, some of the children would be able to ride on them.
Finally, he came up with a possible plan to get all of these people to safety. He had no idea if it was feasible, but it seemed a lot better than the current everybody dies plan. Of course, any plan was better than that and having even an insane plan would give everyone something to focus on. Morale was at a very low ebb and all of them could use a good thought to cling to; even if it was pure fantasy.
Mere moments after these ideas came to him, Paul discussed them with Sarrac and Alena. They agreed that his suggestions would certainly make things somewhat easier on the women and children, as well as making everyone in the group feel better about the situation. While they were putting the first part of his plan into action, he and Joey rode to the very front of the band where Myra was riding point with a number of other Warriors.
“So, I've been thinking,” he said, as soon as his horse pulled up even with hers.
“So have I,” she replied with a sigh.
“Well, I've been thinking good things,” he smiled.
“I don't see how,” she said, shaking her head.
“I can understand that,” he nodded. “Things do seem a little hopeless at the moment.”
“No, they don't,” she corrected. “They don't seem hopeless at all. They are hopeless. Completely, utterly, and unquestionably hopeless.”
“Right!” he agreed excitedly. “I mean; it's totally impossible for us to save all these people.”
“Yes, it is,” she agreed solemnly. “And, I don't think that's anything to feel good about.”
“It's not! But what is, is the fact that magic makes the impossible possible!”
“No, it doesn't,” she disagreed.
“What?” Joey laughed. “Are you kidding me? Dead people are walking all over Zanoth, we caught a ride in a room that isn't... where it is... I guess... just yesterday, and even I managed to shoot lighting out my body earlier today.”
“None of those things are impossible,” she explained. “They just seem that way to people who don't understand magic. Things that are truly impossible are, by definition, impossible.”
“Like what?” Joey asked.
“All kinds of things,” she replied, a clear tone of frustration in her voice. “Like, saving hundreds of people from the undead without actually having to save them, turning back time so you can undo massive mistakes like angering Lord Grathis enough to wake one of the legions, or making you understand childishly simple concepts, for instance.”
“Cow,” Joey said softly to himself, gazing away in the opposite direction.
“I'm not actually talking about magical theory,” the paladin began.
“It's not theory,” she interrupted. “We can't just magic ourselves out of this, Paul. Don't you think that if I knew some save us all spell, I would have cast it by now?”
“I'm sure you would have,” he nodded. “But, that's not what I'm saying.”
“Then, what are you saying?”
“I'm saying,” he continued, “that we could use magic to do something that would be impossible under normal circumstances. Like escaping from Lord Grathis.”
“Alright,” she said, turning her face to his. “How?”
“By reversing the summoning spell that brought me here!” he replied with a wide smile.
“What?”
“I mean; instead of summoning someone here, we could use it to send us all to Earth.”
“A few things,” she replied, lifting her hand to her temple. “First, you can't reverse most spells. Especially not spells that are part of some prophecy which no one alive understands how they work.”
“We could try,” Paul interjected.
“Second,” she continued, “even if it were possible, it would be a terrible idea. How would your people feel if the undead found a way to follow us?”
“Some of them would probably love it,” Joey asserted. “There are millions of single men on Earth just waiting for a zombie apocalypse.”
“They're not all single,” Paul asserted, “and they're not all men.”
“Those that aren’t, are a statistically insignificant sample.”
“Either way,” Myra replied. “I think the two of you will agree that bringing the undead to your home world would be a bad idea. Even if it weren't, there's no way to do it. Trust me, I've spent a great deal of time thinking about how someone from Zanoth could get to Earth and, without the intervention of the gods, it can't be done!”
“So,” Paul said with a smile. “You've spent some time trying to think of a way...”
“Paul!” Nyssa interrupted, suddenly appearing a short distance ahead of them. “We've got a serious problem!”
Chapter 8: Hit and Run
“What kind of problem?” Paul asked, his eyes focused on the flying fairy.
“The rest of the garrison from Kafmara,” Nyssa replied.
“How can you be sure?” Joey asked.
“Their uniforms,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Plus their numbers. At least, I hope there aren't that many undead just wandering around out here.”
“How many are there?” Myra asked.
“I would guess close to four hundred.”
“We need to avoid them,” Paul pointed out.
“We can't,” the fairy replied. “They're drawing up battle lines against Thaelen right now. In fact, the battle may have already begun.”
“Where are they?” he asked.
“Straight up the path,” she said, pointing behind her. “Maybe a mile from here.”
“We'll ride ahead,” Paul replied. “You get word to Darek.”
In reply, the fairy merely nodded before flying quickly down the path behind them. Paul and his companions, as well as the few Warriors that were riding alongside them, kicked their mounts into a gallop. It was imperative that they come to their ally's aid as quickly as possible. At the moment, Thaelen's forces were likely outnumbered by more than four to one. With the addition of their men, the numbers would be closer to even - and the quality of their equipment would give them a definite advantage.
The small band brought
their horses to a halt on the summit of a hill overlooking a large clearing. Roughly an eighth of a mile from where they sat, several ranks of undead were readying themselves for battle. A group of ghouls and ghasts shouted orders at a forming phalanx of reapers and zombies who were preparing to march against their foes. Behind them, just over a hundred skeletal archers stood ready; bows in their hands and quivers at their sides.
On the far edge of the clearing, a large number of mounted undead suddenly appeared from the depths of the woods. Thaelen and his men were in the very center of the clearing, slowly moving away from the force of foot soldiers on the field. When the captain saw his enemies emerging from the forest, however, he brought his men to a halt.
“What's he doing?” Joey asked.
“I have no idea,” Paul answered.
“If I had to guess,” Myra replied, “I'd say he was getting ready to charge their cavalry. If he can break through their ranks, he and his men can retreat.”
“I wonder how they got on both sides of him like that,” Joey mused.
“If we manage to rescue him, we can ask,” Paul pointed out.
“It seems to me, he could make a dash for one side of the field or the other,” Joey said. “They've got him front and back, but it's clear side to side.”
“You would make a terrible field commander,” Myra asserted. “If they try that, they'll just end up cut off by the cavalry and closer to the foot soldiers. On the other hand, if his men can break through the riders, they'll have a clear path to the woods.”
“Maybe,” Joey replied. “But, I'd risk it.”
“Which is why you aren't in command,” the former lich said. “Well, that and a number of other reasons.”
“Either way,” Joey replied. “What do we do?”
“The first thing we do,” she said, “is wait for reinforcements. Ten of us can't take on hundreds of undead.”
“Well, obviously.”
“I think we should wait until there's a bit of distance between the archers and the zombies and reapers,” Paul said thoughtfully. “If we time it right we can get in amongst the skeletons before any help can reach them. Plus, of course, the melee troops will probably turn back after we flank them. That will keep pressure off Thaelen. We just have to be careful not to wait too long. We don't want him to end up within the range of their bows.”
The Fortress of Donmar (The Tales of Zanoth Book 2) Page 13