The Fortress of Donmar (The Tales of Zanoth Book 2)

by Aaron J. Ethridge

“They might,” Darek agreed, “which is why we stay on the move so much. Plus, for most of the last few weeks we had use of The Veil so, every time we moved the group, we were completely hidden the entire time.”

  “Alright, that makes sense,” Joey replied. “So, will I be able to learn to scry and hide things in time?”

  “Probably,” Myra nodded. “Considering the fact that you knew nothing about magic two days ago, I'd say you've already come a long way. Still, for the time being, stick with the front of the book. Eventually, you'll get more powerful; but you have to start small.”

  “I got ya,” Joey replied. “Speaking of getting more powerful: Paul, you really blasted those guys earlier. I've seen you do the whole turn undead thing a few times, but it was never like that.”

  “I noticed that myself,” Sarrac agreed. “I think you're learning to channel more divine energy at a time, Paul.”

  “I think I must be,” the paladin nodded. “I've done more turning and healing today than I've ever done in a single day before. And, you could even make the argument that that one turn was one of my best.”

  “The more you do it, the more you'll be able to,” Alena asserted. “The same is true of you, Joey. You need to start practicing some spells soon. As well as continuing to practice with the sword, I suppose.”

  “I agree,” he replied. “But, not tonight. Almost cooking myself and everyone around me with lightning was enough for today, I think.”

  “It was,” Paul chuckled. “And, anyway, we all need to get some sleep.”

  The entire party agreed with this assertion and stretched themselves out with their feet toward the fire. Paul noticed that Myra seemed to be feeling at least a little better. He believed this was probably due to the fact that, over the course of the day, they had killed somewhere around eight hundred undead and, thanks to the quality and quantity of their equipment - as well as their skill - they had lost fewer than forty of their allies between the two battles.

  Plus, the situation just didn't seem as dire as it had before. At least, to him it didn't. They had advantages he hadn't really considered earlier; and they were advantages their enemies couldn't counter. One of these was The Veil. If they could manage to throw the undead off their trail, then they would be able to hide, at least for some time. He thought that somewhere in this gods forsaken world there had to be a place where the living could survive that the undead wouldn't just stumble up on them.

  After all, Robin Hood managed to survive for years within walking distance of Nottingham just because the sheriff didn't know where to look for him. Maybe they could do something similar. He certainly couldn't bring to mind any Sherwood Forest type places he had seen in Zanoth, but his companions knew a lot more about the local geography than he did.

  And, really, they might be able to survive in the swamp of Fralmoor if they could find some way to deal with the Will-o'-the-wisps. More than likely, Myra could just tell them go away and they would. Of course, they would have to find a way to handle that hag. After all, she might still be out there looking for him. On the other hand, this time they had an army with them, so they would probably be able to sort her out pretty easily. And, although swamp roots tasted fairly horrid, there were plenty of them and they were certainly better than starving to death. The horses could probably feed on that long and lanky swamp grass. All things considered, it would at least be worth discussing.

  These thoughts swirled in the young man's mind as he fell asleep. His hope had never really collapsed, but being able to see a feasible way out of this mess certainly helped build it up. Paul couldn't wait to share his ideas with Myra in the morning. He felt certain that just having a plan would greatly improve her mood.

  For roughly an hour, the young man slept soundly, and even sweetly, as he dreamed of present escape and future safety. A vision of fields of wheat growing on the outskirts of a small village made up of cozy cottages filled his imagination. A smile spread across his face as he watched the golden grain fluttering gently in the breeze as wisps of smoke rose slowly from the many chimneys that filled the little hamlet.

  This scene slowly shifted and Paul found himself sitting before a crackling fire in a house that was both warm and snug with Myra at his side. He was doing his best to persuade her, now that they had found a way to hide from the undead, that they could resume their courtship. The fair maiden, however, remained unconvinced.

  She explained to him that the undead might discover them at any moment and that she would never risk having children until she was certain she could keep them safe. She then went on to point out that the cottage wasn't really ready for children anyway, as the many cracks in the walls - which he hadn't noticed until that very moment - let in a terrible draft. Plus, the roof was so full of holes that you could clearly make out the constellations in the night sky. As soon as she mentioned this, he realized he should have taken the time to fix the house up before having this conversation with her.

  She also felt he'd done a rather poor job building the chimney; asserting that, since it was open at the top, rain could just pour in and put out the fire. He tried to explain to her that chimneys didn't work that way and that, in the entire history of mankind, no fire in a fireplace had ever been put out by the rain, but she insisted that he was out of his mind and that it was just common sense that, if it was open at the top, rain could get in it. He countered this point by asking her how many camp fires she had ever seen put out by the rain.

  This seemed to strike her as his being argumentative, so she raised her voice quite a bit as she explained that, out on the wilderness, the rain didn't have a stone pipe to direct it straight into the fire. He then explained to her, rather loudly, that she was completely insane. While he was doing his best to make this point, offering up a great deal of questionable evidence, thick, dark clouds began to cover the sky. Suddenly, just as he asserted for the fourth or fifth time that she had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, the clouds burst - pouring rain directly down the chimney, putting out the fire, and leaving them in the dark; standing in ankle deep, ice cold water.

  This chain of events, which proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had been correct, elicited peals of derisive laughter from the fair maiden. As soon as she had caught her breath, she explained to Paul that, even if Zanoth were a paradise, she would never get involved with a man who was too stupid to build a chimney properly and that she was glad she had found out in time. She then suggested that he make his way back to Earth as soon as possible. There, she suspected, he might be able to find a woman foolish enough to have anything to do with him and his pathetic hopes and dreams.

  It was at that moment that the young man realized he was having a nightmare. Instantly, he opened his eyes and found that it was, in fact, raining. He glanced over at Myra, who was laying at his side, and found that she was still asleep, but quickly getting drenched - in spite of being wrapped up in her cloak. Immediately, he climbed to his feet before drawing his sword and sticking it in the ground by her head. He then took off his own cloak and draped it over Telseir's hilt; covering the former lich's head and upper body with it. It wasn't exactly a tent, but it was a lot better than nothing and would hopefully help her sleep.

  “You’re gonna get cold,” Darek asserted, glancing over at the young man from where he lay.

  “I already am,” the paladin replied.

  “Me, too,” he said, raising himself slowly from the ground. “This rain is like ice.”

  “Should we build up the fire?”

  “At least,” Darek replied, pulling off his own cloak and covering Myra's legs and feet with it.

  As the two companions went to gather more wood, Paul noticed that the parents in the band had had enough sense to place most of the smaller children under the wagons. This kept them mostly out of the unseasonably cold rain that was incessantly falling from the sky.

  The young man considered the fact that they were going to have to do more than just escape and hide. They were also g
oing to have to build some kind of shelter for the women and children, at least. He found himself wishing that they would have been able to bring the many bolts of cloth held within the vault with them. He felt certain that the magical material would have made excellent makeshift tents.

  In a few days’ time, Nyssa would probably be able to make her way back to Kafmara and retrieve the vault. They would just have to hold out until then, or find some other way to build temporary shelters. Of course, they still had to decide where they were going to move the vault to next. Whatever they did, they couldn't risk the undead getting it under their control.

  As the two young men stoked the little blaze, the rain letup slightly. This was some small consolation, but Paul still felt that it would likely prove a very long night.

  Chapter 9: A Long Road

  “I smell trouble,” Darek said suddenly as he sat staring at a group of Warriors gathered in talk on the far side of the field.

  Paul did his best to follow his companion's gaze with his bleary eyes in the pale light of the cloudy dawn. The young man had been right. It had been a long night. A long, cold, wet, dreary, miserable night. He believed he might have slept at some point, but that could have just been a day dream. Or night dream, as it were. But it probably wasn't a dream dream. Unless, of course, he had been asleep and simply dreaming he was awake. Which, in fact, might have been the case.

  Whatever the truth of the matter, he was glad to see that Myra still seemed to be sleeping. That made the fact that he had been chilled to the bone through most of the night worth all the effort. In his heart of hearts, he hoped the weather would clear up so they'd be able to continue their journey in the relative warmth of the pale sunlight that often managed to beat its way into the dark lands.

  “What makes you say that?” the paladin asked as it slowly dawned on him that Darek had spoken.

  “Do you feel anywhere near as bad as you look?” his companion asked with a slight smile.

  “Maybe,” Paul replied, brushing his damp hair away from his forehead, “but I'd hate to think I look that bad.”

  “Exactly,” Darek nodded. “So, how would you feel if your wife and children had just gone through the night you did?”

  “Bad...”

  “I think that qualifies as an understatement,” Darek said, slowly nodding his head.

  “Probably,” the young man admitted.

  “In the pale light of a cloudy dawn,” his friend continued, “the men's morale is likely to hit a very low ebb. And, unless I miss my guess, we'll hear something about it soon.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Build up the fire, get some breakfast, and wait and see what happens.”

  The two companions immediately put this plan into action; waiting to wake their sleeping allies until the fire was once again crackling merrily. They had no sooner finished their meager meal of roasted grain and dried meat than one of the Warriors, followed by perhaps forty others, approached and addressed the band.

  “We've had a talk, Gregory,” the man said, “We've decided to head back to Kafmara.”

  For a moment, Gregory said nothing; only taking a deep breath through his nose and letting it out slowly.

  “Look, Frank,” he said gently, rising as he spoke and turning to face the crowd of Warriors. “I understand how you feel...”

  “No, you don't Greg,” Frank replied. “I'm sorry, but you just don't. You don't have a family. You haven't dragged your wife and children to their deaths trying to play the hero.”

  “I don't believe any of you were trying to play the hero,” Alena said.

  “I appreciate that,” he replied, “but I'm afraid my wife doesn't agree.”

  “Even so,” Gregory said, a concerned look on his face, “going back is suicide. You have to know that.”

  “For some of us,” Frank nodded. “And, we accept that. Fifty of us have agreed to give ourselves up to Farren if he swears to keep quiet about the rest of us.”

  “If he doesn't?”

  “We believe he would. He won't have any reason to betray us as long as he can appease Lord Grathis. Being able to hand us over would serve that purpose better than having driven us out of the city.”

  “You may be right,” Gregory admitted, rubbing his chin. “But, you'll still be making a terrible mistake.”

  “And, you’ll be betraying our cause,” Alena snapped. “We need every Warrior who can lift a blade fighting against the undead if we're going to win our freedom.”

  “Win our freedom?” Frank asked with a dark chuckle. “You call this winning our freedom?”

  “It's a great deal better than crawling to those monsters!” she replied, gazing over the crowd of gathered Warriors. “I can't believe all of you are willing to throw your hands up and surrender after all we've accomplished! You've got a responsibility to Zanoth! A responsibility to the future!”

  “Maybe,” Frank said solemnly, “but we've got a greater responsibility to our wives and children.”

  “They're one and the same,” she barked. “You can't just...”

  “Alena,” Sarrac interrupted, putting his hand gently on her shoulder. “This isn't a decision you can make for these men. We don't have families...”

  “No, we don't!” she interjected. “The reason we don't is because of this cause! We've sacrificed...”

  “Yes, we have,” the ogre agreed, once again interrupting her, “but, these men made their own choices, not ours. They've been a great help to us and we owe them gratitude, not scorn.”

  In reply, the ogress simply clenched her teeth in silence.

  “That having been said,” Sarrac continued, addressing the crowd, “going back is clearly a mistake. If you do, Grathis will kill every one of your wives and children. He may take years to do it, but they will all be sacrificed to the hungers of the undead at some point or another. The only chance they have for peace and long life is for them to stay with us.”

  “And, what chance is there?” Frank snapped. “It's easy to stand here talking about peace and long life, but it's going to be a different matter once we run out of grain. What are we going to do once winter sets in? Last night was miserable, but it wasn't cold enough to freeze us to death. In three or four months, that's not going to be the case! We all hate the undead! We all want them dead! But, we're not willing to sacrifice our families to cold and hunger in order to fight some pointless war. There's no way we can win! It's only a matter of time before they hunt us down, or we starve, or we freeze! We have no choice! We have to go back!”

  “No, you don't,” Paul asserted, raising his voice enough for the entire crowd to hear him, “because we have a plan.”

  “We do?” Myra whispered.

  “And, what is that?” Frank asked.

  “Well, obviously, we can't keep running forever,” the paladin began. “At least, not with the women and children in tow. So, we've got to get them to a place of safety until...”

  “There's no such place,” Frank asserted.

  “There certainly is,” Paul retorted. “We just have to get there.”

  “And, where is it?”

  “We actually haven't made a firm decision on the best location yet,” the young man admitted. “We've got to discuss it a little more.”

  “No place in Zanoth is safe from the undead.”

  “It will be if you're with me,” Paul replied. “First off, I'm the it, man. On top of that, I've got The Veil. The undead can't see through it - even using magic. When we get where we're going, they won't be able to find us. We just have to hold out for a while and wait for opportunity to knock again. Just like it did when we overthrew Kafmara.”

  “How would we get food?” one of the men in the crowd asked.

  “We can forage some,” Sarrac replied. “The dark lands aren't completely devoid of life.”

  “And, we can steal a lot more than that,” Darek added. “With as many men as we have now, we should easily be able to raid some of Lord Grathis's storehouses.”


  “Even if you were right,” Frank replied, “and I'm not sure that you are, how are we going to get to wherever it is without getting caught by the undead? We're leaving a trail behind us they couldn't fail to follow.”

  “We're going to give them something else to think about,” Thaelen said confidently. “We've got more than two hundred horses and we just killed the largest garrison in the region. We can slaughter the undead in every village for twenty miles before reinforcements arrive. We can get more horses, provisions, and volunteers as we go. By the time the legion arrives, Grathis will have a lot more to worry about than a group of women and children out in the wilderness. It's a lot more likely to save your families than going back to Kafmara is.”

  “Well,” Frank said slowly, a trace of a smile on his face, “I have to admit that it's a lot better than no plan at all. But, give us some time to discuss it with our families.”

  “Of course, Frank,” Gregory nodded. “And take your time. It's a big decision. Just don't take too much time. We're already burning daylight.”

  The crowd instantly dispersed in order to talk things over with their families before coming to a concrete decision. As soon as the party was once again alone, Sarrac spoke.

  “So, when exactly did we come up with this plan?” the ogre asked, looking at Paul with a wide smile.

  “I came up with it last night,” the paladin replied with a smile of his own. “It's pretty good, isn't it?”

  “It would be,” Myra sighed. “If there were any chance of it actually working. Unfortunately, there isn't.”

  “Always the optimist,” Joey replied sarcastically.

  “Leave her alone,” Alena said, before turning her gaze to Paul. “The problem is that there really isn't any place to hide from the undead.”

  “Of course there is!” the paladin replied excitedly. “The swamp of Fralmoor, for one. There aren't any undead there.”

  “Are you insane?” the ogress laughed. “As soon as the sun goes down, the place is crawling with Will-o'-the-wisps.”