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

by Aaron J. Ethridge

  Paul certainly hoped they were right. Hiding the fact that hundreds of mounted soldiers were riding through an area seemed difficult, to say the least. Especially since the roads were the likeliest place in Zanoth to run into patrols of undead at the moment. Still, for all its drawbacks, the dark lands did have some advantages to offer their current plans. For one thing, in many places the earth was completely bare, and the fact that it rarely rained made it almost as hard as stone. It was still soft enough for overloaded wagons to leave a clear trail; but it would be hard to tell from the hoof-prints whether a group was made up of ten riders or a hundred.

  Of course, they still had to worry about being spotted by scouts; but, even this was less likely under the current circumstances. It seemed that Grathis believed they were miles away and had no idea what direction they were heading in. The Warriors had made their last attack almost a week ago before fleeing full speed into the wilderness. As far as their enemies could tell, they could be anywhere in a hundred-mile radius or more. As long as they didn't make their presence known they might be able to remain hidden for some time.

  Grathis was served by tens of thousands of undead but, they weren't limitless; he could only afford to spread his forces so thin. He also had to deal with the fact that the Warriors' rebel army was now a few hundred men strong, that they were all mounted, and that they were very well armed. Keeping his forces in large enough groups to ensure victory if they encountered their foes would limit both their speed and the amount of territory they could effectively cover.

  All things considered, their plan did seem to have a decent probability of success. All they needed to do was take out a small garrison and get several wagon loads of grain several miles down the road. Fortunately, the wagons they needed would almost certainly be at the storehouse. At least, they hoped they would be. Under normal circumstances, the undead kept both horses and wagons at the granaries. They had no reason to think this case would be any different but, on the other hand, they also had no way to be sure one way or the other.

  Still, even without wagons, they would probably be able to carry a good bit just using the horses. They only had to get the grain as far as the cell of the mad monk; which meant they might even be able to risk making more than one trip. Nyssa would be able to scout the road for them and make sure they knew about any enemy forces well in advance.

  At least, she could if she were there. The plain truth was that what he had asked her to do was somewhat dangerous. But, what choice did he have? What choice did any of them have? They had to get the provisions and, in order to get them, they had to have the vault. It was as simple as that. There was no question that she was the only one who could get it. Of course, that wouldn't make him feel any better if she ended up captured. Or, even worse; ended up dead.

  On the other hand, they could all end up that way. This wasn't some video game and they weren't characters in some fantasy novel. They were in Zanoth and, in Zanoth, people died at the hands of the undead constantly. At the moment, it was easy to believe that attacking the storehouse would be easy; but the fact was that a single stray blow could bring any of their lives to an end during the most insignificant skirmish. The only way to really keep themselves safe would be to avoid their enemies and, under the current circumstances, they just couldn't do that.

  The undead were wise to limit the living's access to food. That limitation was like a noose strung around the neck of their revolution. If they slipped up just once, it would hang them. They had to find a way to cut the cord; but, as the living had very little choice but to eat, it wouldn't be an easy thing to do.

  It all came back to the living lands. They might be able to steal food for a while, but it wouldn't be long before the undead realized it was the most precious commodity in their possession and they would begin to defend it accordingly. No. If they were ever going to have a chance to succeed, they were going to have to find a way to grow their own food. That meant destroying dark shards, finding a way to shield land from their power, or a combination of the two. As things stood at the moment, it really was only a matter of time before they were starved into submission.

  These thoughts looped endlessly through the young man's mind over the next day and a half, as well as creeping constantly into his conversation. His companions shared similar concerns for the future and they all agreed that, as soon as they had accomplished their current task, they would have to turn their attention to coming up with a more long-term solution.

  On the afternoon of the second day, however, their thoughts were brought back to the immediate present by the sight of one of Lord Darril's patrols. Four mounted ghouls led a pack of six reapers and over twenty zombies along the road through a narrow valley between two rather steep hills.

  “Darril seems to be taking the threat of our little revolution rather seriously,” Myra asserted, gazing down at their enemies from where they were concealed in the very-living underbrush. “Normally, his patrols aren't anywhere near that size.”

  “It won't be enough,” Darek said confidently.

  “No, it won't,” Alena agreed with a smile. “As we don't want any of them getting away, I think we should attack them from both ends at once.”

  “A sound idea,” Sarrac nodded. “Which end shall we take?”

  “You, Darek, and I will take the front,” she suggested. “The zombies wouldn't offer us much of a challenge and Paul and Myra can kill them almost instantly.”

  “A good start,” he replied. “Then, we can come in together to finish the reapers?”

  “Absolutely,” she agreed.

  “What do I do?” Joey asked.

  “Hide in the bushes,” the ogress suggested, “and do your best not to get spotted.”

  “You seriously are a cow sometimes,” he replied, shaking his head. “You know that, don't you?”

  “What?” she asked sarcastically before smiling mischievously. “I was just trying to keep you safe.”

  Their plan was quickly formed and then put into action. Paul and Myra rode quickly down the far side of one of the hills to come up behind their enemies while Alena, Sarrac, and Darek prepared to charge them from the front. After less than a minute, the paladin appeared; flying down the road with the former lich at his side. As soon as the ogress saw them, she kicked her mount into motion; leading her allies against the ghouls at the head of the column.

  For his own part, Joey did not take Alena's somewhat insulting advice. Instead, he stepped from the bushes; his staff held high and his spell book in his hand. He read words of power from one of the pages near the front of the tome and turned his eyes to the undead captain as he brought his incantation to an end. Instantly, a ball of blue light flew from the tip of his outstretched staff; striking the young man's target squarely in the chest.

  Although it wasn't enough to end the undead's unholy life, it did distract him long enough for Alena to hack his head off. Sarrac and Darek were equally successful; the dexterous young man killing one, while the two-handed-sword-wielding ogre cut the remaining two down in an instant. The paladin turned the moment he was within range of the zombies; instantly destroying two thirds of them. As this burned away their clothes as well as their bodies, however, he resolved not to do it again during this encounter.

  Myra commanded several of the remaining zombies to attack the reapers as another ball of magical light struck one of them in the head; meanwhile, Darek, Sarrac, Alena, and Paul all pushed in on their enemies. The battle was over in a matter of seconds; the road filled with the bodies of their fallen foes.

  The allies instantly dismounted and immediately began the rather unpleasant task of undressing the deceased.

  “I'm afraid I didn't do very well,” Joey said as he approached; his gaze on the ogress. “I think they spotted me.”

  “It's not your fault,” Alena replied, glancing up at him from where she knelt beside one of the dead ghouls; a wide smile on her face. “That dress kind of makes you stand out.”

  “Funny,”
he chuckled.

  “You did great, man,” Paul assured him. “You seem to be getting more powerful.”

  “I'm trying to,” Joey replied, staring down at one of the undead corpses. “So, we really have to wear this stuff?”

  “We do,” Myra nodded, a look of repugnance on her face. “It will identify us as Lord Darril's soldiers.”

  “What if we catch some horrible disease?”

  “We probably won't,” Darek asserted. “And, even if we do, Paul will probably be able to heal us.”

  “Oh, right,” Joey nodded, before kneeling down beside the ghoul he had attacked. “The whole cure disease thing. My paladin could do that in that game.”

  As he said this, he opened a pouch hanging from the dead ghoul's side.

  “What are these?” he asked, reaching into the bag.

  Instantly, Darek caught him by the wrist.

  “We have got to remember that you don't know anything!” he said, vigorously shaking his head. “Those are capture stones! If you had touched one, you'd have instantly been transported into some dungeon where you would have doubtlessly been interrogated slowly to death. You can't just go touching things when you don't know what they are, Joey; not in Zanoth.”

  “Got ya,” he replied. “And, thanks. What should we do with them?”

  “Keep 'em,” Paul suggested. “Maybe they'll come in handy.”

  “I'm not sure how,” Myra replied. “They only work when they touch the living and we don't have any living enemies.”

  “Not yet,” the paladin replied, “but, who knows what we may find ourselves up against in the future.”

  “I guess,” she replied. “Either way, we don't want to leave them here. We may as well take them.”

  “Score,” Joey smiled, closing the bag before hanging it from his own side.

  Just minutes later, the members of the band were all dressed in the rather disgusting clothing they had collected from their former foes. The one difficulty was that the only thing that would completely cover Joey's robe was one of the reaper's uniforms and, as they didn't ride, he would look conspicuous on horseback. In the end, they decided to simply let him wear one of the officer's cloaks instead in the hopes that the garrison at the granary would take him for an undead spell caster.

  “Are undead magic users rare,” Joey asked as they climbed back on their horses and set out for the storehouse.

  “Not so rare as to attract attention,” Myra asserted. “Why do you ask?”

  “I just haven't seen any since I got here,” he replied. “Well, except for you, I guess. I mean; we haven't fought against any.”

  “A lot of the lords can use one form of magic or another,” she explained. “For instance, Lady Telraen is a sorceress. On the other hand, what you might consider rank and file undead spell casters aren't so common that their lords are willing to risk them on the front lines. There are plenty of them around; we just haven't run into any yet. Of course, you can be sure we will in time.”

  “Well, that's something to look forward to, I guess,” he replied with a chuckle.

  The party fell silent as they made their way toward the granary. Fortune had been gracious by leading them to an enemy patrol hours before sunset, just over a mile from the border between the lands of Lord Darril and those of Lord Renald. If everything went well, they would have close to two hours before reinforcements could hope to reach the storehouse. That being the case, it would certainly be worth attempting more than one trip. They had no idea when their next opportunity to get food would appear, so they had to make as much of this one as they could.

  “I wonder if this smell will ever come out of my robe,” Joey mused after a few minutes of silence.

  “It will,” Myra assured him. “I've had worse than this on my clothes before.”

  “I don't know how you could have,” he replied. “Well, not without throwing up.”

  “I was undead at the time,” she said. “I didn't really notice it all that much.”

  “Speaking of which,” Darek interjected, “we need to become undead soon ourselves.”

  “I know,” the maiden said with a nod, “but, I want to wait until we're closer. The spell only lasts so long. If Renald manages to send troops after us, we'll still want to look like Darril's men when we face them.”

  “That's a fair point,” he conceded. “I think the deception angle of this plan is almost as important as actually getting the food. Which brings me to another point, actually. Paul, you shouldn't turn or anything like that if you can help it during this next battle.”

  “Obviously,” the paladin chuckled. “I think my using the divine power to burn them all to dust would make it fairly obvious that I'm not undead.”

  “I just thought I should mention it,” Darek smiled. “Also, I don't think you should use Telseir. A flaming holy sword would also be a bit of a giveaway.”

  “I agree,” Paul nodded, before drawing a sword from a scabbard tied to his saddle. “Which is why I asked Gregory for this before we left.”

  “Good,” Darek smiled. “It seems I underestimated your forethought. Either way, Myra, I suppose it'll be safe for you to use the dark power.”

  “Perfectly,” she asserted. “I'm certain they'll just assume I'm a lich.”

  “What do we do if none of them run away?” Joey asked.

  “At least one will,” Paul replied. “I'll jump whoever's in charge and scare the life out of them... Well, maybe not scare the life out of them, but you know what I mean. Either way, they'll run away. Even if I have to stab 'em a few times before they do.”

  “What do we do if Nyssa's not there when we make it to the mad monk's cell?” he asked.

  “She will be,” the paladin replied confidently.

  “I still think I should have gone with her.”

  “Well, you're still not fast enough.”

  “Myra,” Joey said, turning his gaze to the fair former lich, “is there a spell that can make a person fly? There doesn't seem to be one in this book.”

  “There is such a spell,” she replied, “but it's beyond your skill level and it usually only lasts a few minutes.”

  “Even so, I think I should try to learn it.”

  “In time, you may be able to,” she said with a smile, “but, I can't teach it to you. That happens to be outside my area of expertise.”

  “Then, how can I learn it?”

  “Get a different book.”

  “Where from?”

  “A number of places,” she explained. “But, we can talk about that later. We're close enough to the granary that I may as well start getting us ready.”

  Having said this, Myra began chanting softly. In mere moments, she had enchanted each of her companions, as well as herself, to look like undead. Just minutes after this, the party climbed to the top of a hill, near the bottom of which, sat the storehouse they sought.

  A number of undead guards stood watch over the storehouse; including a block of twenty skeletons which Paul assumed were legionnaires. Myra assured him that such was the case and speculated that Renald had likely dispatched most of the regular garrison to swell the ranks of Lord Grathis. Even under normal circumstances the granary would likely prove an easy target for them; but, as things currently stood, the coming conflict could hardly be called a battle.

  These observations made, the party charged down the hill toward their intended targets. Myra would use her power to take control of a number of the legionnaires and turn them against the others. Sarrac, Alena, and Darek would focus their attention on the few ghouls and reapers the current garrison contained. Joey was on the lookout for any archers their enemies might have. He wasn't sure how much more arcane power he could channel, but he was determined to make as much use of it as possible.

  Paul's goal was equally straightforward. He intended to engage the commander of the guard. Before he could do that, however, he had to determine which of the undead was their captain. As it happened, this proved a simple task; just second
s after the party began their charge, a ghast stepped from the interior of the structure and started barking orders at the garrison.

  Instantly, the legionnaires rushed toward their oncoming enemies in a pack of skeletal fury while the regular troops fell back; drawing together into a second, and more deadly, formation. At the same moment, a number of archers marched out of the storehouse onto a narrow battlement that ran around its roof and began firing at the members of the band.

  In response, Myra commanded the legionnaires to destroy one another. Over half of them immediately obeyed this command, turning their mindless rage on their fellows. A ball of blue light shot from the top of Joey's staff; bringing the unlife of one of the arches to an end. Sarrac and his companions rode around the battling legionnaires and crashed into the ghouls and reapers that were marching to meet them.

  “Kill them all!” Darek screamed above the din. “Lord Darril wants no survivors!”

  For his own part, Paul had his gaze locked on the undead commander. He watched as the ghast leapt into the saddle and maneuvered his mount into a position just behind the line of battle. The paladin was able to move his own beast around the melee in order to charge directly at the enemy captain. Several arrows rattled off his armor as the distance between the two combatants quickly closed.

  As the paladin drew nearer, the captain turned his mount and kicked the beast into motion; rushing toward his enemy's oncoming assault. The two came together in a clash of fury that sent sparks flying from the blade of each. The pair were more equally matched in both strength and skill than the young man had expected. He was still confident that he could overcome this foe, but felt certain it would prove somewhat more difficult than he had originally imagined.

  One of the difficulties he faced was using a blade other than Telseir in battle. Although his own skills had become quite impressive, they were even more so with that sword in his hands. It wasn't merely a weapon; it was an extension of himself. It was his wrath, his fury, his righteous rage lashing out as his enemies. In comparison, he was currently wielding little more than a stick made of metal.