“What in the hells is going on here?” asked a fully armored officer running up, the captain of the guard for this part of the camp. “Has something happened to the king?”
“The king is fine,” said Tengri, thinking of what a close thing it had actually been. “We got here in time to kill these vile creatures.”
The priest had knelt down by the mummy and started chanting a spell. Light spread from her fingertips, and she recoiled back in horror as a darkness fled from the body.
More people came each second, until the tent was surrounded by a crowd, talking, shouting, gesturing. If the camp had been attacked at that moment the enemy would have found most of the troops up and prepared. A few more senior priests arrived and got into a consultation with the one who had scanned the body.
“What is it, Sister?” asked a man wearing the vestments of a high priest.
“I’m not sure, Father. But it was the vessel of evil.”
“It was a vampire before we killed it,” said Tengri, pointing to one of the dust piles. “As was that. There’s another pile of dust in the tent, the one that was the leader.”
“His Majesty,” blurted out the high priest, turning and heading for the tent.
“Is fine,” said the king, coming out of the tent, the other two demigods following behind. “But if not for these three I would be dead by now, or worse.”
“We have never heard of these creatures, your Majesty,” said the young priestess who had scanned the mummified remains.
“I have heard of them,” said the high priest. “In legends, before the divine power of the gods drove them from our lands.”
“And because the gods are losing their power to Erlic,” rumbled Tengri, “they will be returning to these lands, just as these have.”
“We must have a meeting with the primate about this,” said the high priest. “There are things we must relearn, and the younger clerics must be told about this menace, and what we can do about it.”
“And you can have that meeting,” said the king, looking into the eyes of the high priest. “Once we have defeated this army of evil the has invaded this land. And not before.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
The sun was rising as the army prepared itself for what was hoped would be the final battle of the campaign. The infantry was arranged in four squares of just over ten thousand each, the corners of the formations pointing toward the enemy. Cannon were arranged along the forward sides of the two forward squares, where they could sweep the approaches to the squares without catching the other troops in the fire. Along the fronts stretched a double row of men with shields and smashing weapons, behind them four rows of pikes and halberds, while within the squares sheltered the musketmen.
They had been here for six days, resting, preparing, letting the undead army close with them. Light cavalry had kept the nomad scouts away, while also letting them know that the Western army was here. That was necessary, since if the nomads didn’t attack them, they would be free to range over the lands hereabouts, killing more innocents and raising more of their undead. That the king would not stand for. They must come here, they must fight, and his army must destroy them. That was the plan at least, and he had already seen how plans could turn in a second.
The units were arranged by national groups. One of the two forward squares, the right, was entirely Eirish, while the other was majority of the same people and the few surviving Latins. Behind and to the right were the Franks and Geats, while to the left were Norse and Iberians. Rory wanted people who were used to fighting together, for the most part, paired. He had hopes that it was a good idea.
There was a range of hills on one side of the field, where the heavier guns had been emplaced, along with all of the auxiliary bowmen. Several thousand infantry were also stationed here, enough to defend the artillery and bowmen, or at least it was hoped.
Rory stood at the head of the rightmost forward square in full plate, his heavy shield on his left arm, his ax in his right hand. Just behind him stood the mage Hemetre, the Aegyptian princess and the second most powerful of the wizards, chanting the words to the spell that she was casting over the square. There were fourteen mages in the square, all reciting the same words, synchronizing the magic so it would flow from them over the entire formation. Each of the other squares had fifteen mages as well, and a number of priests. Magic would win this fight as much as force of arms. The rest of the mages were with the artillery located far to the rear, ready to send their magic into the cannon to increase their range and hitting power.
The smell of corruption was in the early morning air, the sign that the zombie horde was on the approach. Rory looked to either side, to the knights that were his body guard, and could see the fear etched on each and every face. This was the one weakness in the plan as far as Rory was concerned. If any of the troops broke while the zombies were near, the illusion magic would not be enough to fool the nomad cavalry. And the undead were enough to terrify any man, even the bravest. It would be worse for many of the soldiers this time, since men they had known would be sure to be among the horde.
Rory let his ax dangle by its cord as he touched the amulet hanging from his neck. He knew this magic had worked for the nomads, but then every man jack of them carried one. He didn’t have enough for every soldier, so it was hoped that equipping the front lines of the squares would be enough to repel the zombies. The amulets really didn’t drive them off as much as they kept the disgusting things from entering the close space of the wearer. Of course, when they avoided the squares that could become a giveaway to the enemy, unless the mages’ spells worked as hoped.
A lot of hopes, thought Rory, shaking his head. He didn’t like going into a fight where so much depended on forces beyond his control. He barked a laugh at that thought, since he had never been in a battle where everything was under control. That was not the nature of the chaos that was battle.
“Here they come,” said one of the king’s guard in a hushed voice.
Rory held up his hand, glaring at the man, then realizing it was hopeless to try and silence forty thousand men. The zombies oriented to sound of course. If the amulets worked the zombies would still avoid the front line of men. If they didn’t, then they would attack whether the men talked or not. It was only when the nomads were near that they would need silence, or to be as silent as they could possibly get.
Still, it was hard to stand and watch the shambling undead walk by. The stench was enough to gag everyone in the formations. The sight of the undead was enough to unman everyone who could see them, especially when they saw someone they knew. There were many of the people who had fallen in the last battle among the horde, though not as many as he had expected. The young mage must have guessed correctly. It took time to raise an undead army.
Rory brought his hand up to his face to muffle the cry that threatened to erupt as he saw one of his own knights come into sight, sitting on an undead mount that walked sightlessly forward. That was the worst thing about fighting the evil bastards that controlled this undead horde. Those who fell against them were likely to rise again to fight and kill their friends.
I hope the assault team is getting ready to strike, he thought. He was missing his most powerful mage, one of his strongest priests, and all three of the demigods. His captains had argued with him that all five were needed at this point of contact. Rory had disagreed. They needed to destroy those necromancers, lest they be able to send the zombies back at them after they passed.
* * *
Conner O’Kelly found himself once again standing in the ranks, this time in the one just behind the front line. He was in his full armor, breastplate, pauldrons, leather skirting, greaves and helm. The round shield was strapped to his left arm in a manner that allowed him to also grab the eighteen-foot-long pike. That weapon was grounded butt first, held upright in his right hand, part of the steady forest of spears. The short blade by his left side was sharp. It had never had a chance to become dulled. The mace he had used in
the last fight hung by a strap from the right side of his belt.
“Steady, lad,” whispered the veteran to his left. “The king knows what he’s doing.”
Conner nodded, though he seemed to remember someone telling him that the king had known what he was doing before the route. And that had not turned out so well. Of course, the route had started with a poorly led army that was part of the overall force. And the evil necromancers who had sent the fear spells against them, and the summoning of monsters, had something to do with it as well. That was a good excuse, but there was no reason to believe those bastards wouldn’t do it again. And this time they would be surrounded from the start.
The zombies were passing by, endless ranks of them. The stench was awful, and the young man couldn’t help but shiver with fear. His heart was screaming at him to run, while his brain told him that doing so led to death, and not just for himself.
Why in the hells are they just passing by, he thought, not able to believe that they were hidden while standing right here out in the open. The blank faces of the zombies, those that still had faces, along with their white staring eyes, those that still had eyes, was about to drive him mad.
Then the ultimate horror stepped forward in the ranks of undead. Coahm, his friend, as dead as the others. Still in his armor, holding his short sword in his hand. Conner moaned softly, and several of the zombie half turned his way before moving on.
A hand patted his should from behind, one of the halberdmen trying to give him comfort. Conner nodded, his eyes filled with tears, and forced himself to stand still, hoping that it would be long before he could strike back at the bastards who had sent these abominations.
* * *
The undead horde continued by for minutes, hundreds of thousands of the dread creatures that used to be the people living along the path the nomad horde had traversed. Rory could recognize many of the varied peoples who bodies were animated. There was a Scythian, mostly rotted, bones showing, only recognizable by the remains of the lamellar armor the warrior had been wearing when death came. Here was a Slavic peasant, her once colorful dress dragging behind her as rags. There a Norse warrior, tarnished and rusted scale mail on ravaged torso. Several Franks were behind him, then a Geat and an Iberian. And a small group of Eirishmen that brought gasps from the guardsmen around him.
It seemed like a never-ending parade of the dead, a horrible force that appeared to be unstoppable. Rory knew that was an illusion. The zombies were actually much weaker than humans, especially strong warriors. They were slow, stupid, and though they couldn’t really be killed, they could be destroyed. One of their main weapons was the fear they engendered in the living. If men could overcome that fear, the undead horde could be defeated. The major problem was that the nomad horsemen were strong, swift and fierce warriors who could strike behind the screen of zombies, which was why he had decided his army needed to take them out first.
“Hes-ra says that the zombies seem to be tracking on the decoys,” said Hemetre when she had finished with her chant.
Rory nodded, then felt himself going back to looking at the horror of the undead. He was happy to hear the report from the young mage who was a master of illusion magic. There were actual people in that line, along with a score of heavy guns loaded with grape. There were horses well behind them, holders keeping them steady. The young mage was making the several hundred men look like ten thousand. Since they couldn’t be sure if the illusion would work on the zombies the real people were necessary. But the illusion was also necessary, to make sure that any nomad scouts who were looking would see the line of defenders, enough to make them think that the entire army was gathered there.
“The end of the undead horde is coming into sight,” said Hemetre, relaying the information from another of the mages who was on lookout on a hill a mile to the east. “He sees the first of the horsemen, following a couple of yards behind the last of the zombies.”
Rory nodded, happy that the mages brought this other resource along with them. One of their simpler spells was that of telepathy, letting them send voices and images to each other. And making them the perfect scouts.
“Any contact with Marcus?”
Hemetre closed her eyes, her brows furrowing in concentration. She opened them a moment later, her pupils growing as she turned to stare at the king.
“They approach their target. Marcus sends that he needs his concentration. All of his concentration.”
Which is the nice way of telling us to bugger off, thought the king with a smile. Fair enough. I just hope they can do what those damned once gods said they could.
* * *
The necromancers stood on the tallest hill in the region, one that gave them a view of the entire area. A dozen of the black robed men and women gathered in a circle. Below them were arrayed almost a hundred of the nomads, this time afoot, making sure that nothing interfered with the castings of their masters. The barbarian warriors were alert and ready, knowing what would happen to them if they failed in their duty.
Freya knelt in the shadows of the hills, still sheltered from the sun, waving the rest of the party forward. All of the walking gods could move almost silently for such large people. Even Freya was above average height for a human, very tall for a woman, and though she appeared to be a perfectly formed female, still massed almost three hundred pounds of bone and muscle. Being smaller than the two males, she could move even more quietly.
Now the two large males came up beside her, the shadows moving with them in an unnatural manner. Tengri turned and made a motion with his hand, and two more figures moved up to kneel beside them.
“I’m not sure how long I can keep us hidden from their mystic vision,” said Marcus, his glowing eyes, mage sight, looking up at the top of the hill.
“Their vision is all around us,” said High Priestess Kalli O’Rork, her eyes darting to cover every direction, anxiously alert to everything going on. “I am aiding the wizard at holding them at bay, for now. But Marcus is correct. The closer we get, the more likely they will be able to penetrate our cover.”
“And the army?” asked Perun, a worried expression on his face.
“The army is far enough away that the other mages should be able to hide them in illusion,” said Marcus, smiling. “They will still know that the army is there, or at least that it’s near enough to where it appears to be. And that’s all we need, since it works in our favor.”
“Can you get us through those sentries?” asked Tengri, his eyes locked on the bottom of the hill where the nomads were gathered.
“Maybe,” said Marcus, not sure if he could or not. “If I can’t, what will you do?”
“Then we’ll have to cut our way through,” said the big demigod. The two walking gods with him had looks of determination on their faces. They would not fail, even if it cost them their lives.
Marcus looked over at the priestess. “If we kill the necromancers, will the zombies die?”
“No such luck,” said O’Rork, shaking her head. “Once they are imbued with unlife, they will walk the earth until they are destroyed, either through physical force, or by breaking down with rot and decay. But if we take out the creator, the enemy will not have control over them. And,” she said with a slight smile on her face, “they will make no more of the gods damned things.”
“And that’s good enough,” said Freya, a cold smile on her face. “As singletons and small groups we can ride them down and destroy them much easier than if they are in a horde.”
“But it may be harder to find them all,” said Marcus with a grimace, imagining the creatures preying on the living of these parts for years, maybe decades. Still, they could be destroyed over time, and unlike vampires, they wouldn’t breed more of their kind.
“Just concentrate on what you need to do now,” said Tengri, pointing a thick finger at the mage. “We can worry about what to do about the damned filthy undead after we are through with those vermin up there.”
“You know I won’t be a
match for the lich,” said Marcus, meeting the intense gaze of the demigod. “I doubt myself or the priestess together will be, much less against him and the others combined.”
“Just get us there and we will destroy that monster,” said Tengri, a look of anticipation in his eyes.
He wants to hurt his brother, the god of death, thought Marcus, understanding the motivation of the being. I damn sure hope you can keep your head together, demigod.
Marcus said some words under his breath and gestured with both hands, then nodded at the priestess, who added her own spell to the mix. It was a deepening of the illusion spell, one that would make them even harder to detect. It still wasn’t perfect, and a very alert observer might notice some blurring around the edges. It being the early morning, still twilight really, made observing them even more difficult, but not impossible.
Tengri waved a hand and everyone stood into a crouch and started forward. Marcus kept mumbling the words that would keep reinforcing the spell, all the while wondering if this would be the last thing he would ever do.
* * *
The guns on the decoy line sounded, sending their spreads of destruction into the mass of advancing zombies. The monsters could only move at a slow walk, in some cases not more than a shuffle. Now hundreds of them went down as leg bones were shattered and limbs could no longer support their weight. The creatures couldn’t feel pain, in many cases their muscles were torn to the point of being barely useable, but without the lever support of the bones they were reduced to crawling forward.
The hundred musketmen among the line now fired, sending a hundred balls into the mass that did little except take away some of the upper body movement of a score of the monsters. It really hadn’t been much of a demonstration, but it did give the impression of a gun line to the living watchers. Now the fuses were lit on powder kegs along the line, and the gunners and musketmen ran for the horse holders, getting into the saddles and riding away, hidden under the illusion spell of the young mage, Hes-ra.
The Chronicles of the Eirish: Book 1: The Lich's Horde Page 28