“Bah. Did I just hear the great and powerful Blackthorn say retreat?” Raene waved him off and stood straight. She reached out a hand and the shield flew to it. “I was just gettin’ started.”
“I enjoy a good fight as much as anyone,” said Dirk. “But we can’t take on an army. Chief and I have our limits, and so do you.”
“My target be the head o’ Zander. And it be thataway, north.”
“That army is heading south. He’s coming our way. Fall back and lie in wait. Only a fool flies headlong into the mouth of a dragon.”
“Mind yer tongue. There was a dwarf named Ro’Quon who done just that. Killed the beast, he did. Cut it from snout to forehead. Me cousin Roakore said it was the damnedest thing he ever did see. There be songs about Ro’Quon, even.”
Dirk rolled his eyes. “Let me rephrase that, then. If you don’t fall back, you’re going to get us and yourself killed for no good reason.”
She eyed him with annoyance. “Fall back and lay a trap, you say?”
“Yes.”
“What sort o’ trap?”
“We’ll figure something out. Come on, they’re getting closer by the second.”
They fell back a mile to an abandoned tower jutting out of the fog. It was the only thing left standing of a small fortress that had been sacked long ago, likely during the Draggard War.
Dirk could feel the necromancer to the north. He knew that if the dark elf got too close he would be able to sense him and Chief. Somehow he needed to get Raene and the figurine far from here.
“You need to summon Krentz and apologize.”
She regarded him over her shoulder. “She still mad?”
“Of course she’s mad. You’re becoming a bit of a tyrant lately.”
She stopped, aghast. “Wha… Them are some serious words for a small misunderstandin’.”
“You deceived our trust, went against the pact. We’re not your slaves. We have our own minds.”
Raene was flabbergasted, and it looked as though she was barely keeping it together. “When I’ve taken care o’ Zander, ye’ll have yer freedom.”
“We’ve voted to seek out the witchdoctor or—”
“Ye three be needin’ me. Without me ye’ll be stuck in that figurine with no one to summon ye forth. And I say we take out Zander.”
She took a step back from him and withdrew the figurine. Before she could speak, he turned to mist and shot forth, knocking her to the ground. The figurine rattled against a rock.
Dirk was closest.
Raene eyed him pensively.
He and Krentz had considered the possibility that they could share ownership of the figurine and summon each other forth in turns. It was time to find out.
As Raene sprang to her feet and bounded for the figurine, Dirk flew toward it and scooped it up.
At least he meant to. Instead, upon contact, he was pulled into it.
Raene leaned down and picked up the timber-wolf figurine. Chief cocked his head at her and gave a soft mewling.
“Don’t you be startin’ in.” She said, and stashed the trinket in her pocket. “Come on, let’s climb the tower and see what we can see.”
Raene crept slowly toward the tower. Thick fog swirled around the base, coalescing into thicker patches of wispy tendrils that climbed the sides like searching fingers. A shiver passed through her. The greenish hue of the fog was growing by the day, and it was beginning to act unlike normal valley fog. It seemed to be awakening like a sleeping blind man, reaching out curiously, gently touching the skin and searching. Soon she feared that it would open its eyes and become aware.
She thought to avoid the tower altogether, but then she heard the marching feet drawing near. The fight with the undead had tired her, and now she had only Chief. Dirk and Krentz no longer trusted her. She would have to wait until she was face-to-face with Zander before calling them forth, then they would have no choice but to fight.
Shield leading the way, she stormed the tower door. Her dwarven eyes were used to gloom. Growing up inside the dimly lit mountain halls had the opposite effect that such light deprivation would have had on a human.
She found no one lying in wait in the base of the tower, and promptly closed the door behind her. She thought to engage the lock, but finally decided against it, locking the door would only heighten intrigue and suspicion.
“Go on up and check the stairs and the rooms above,” she said to Chief.
He flew up the stairs and disappeared, and she continued on steadily but cautiously up the spiraling staircase after him. There was a window every few feet, with old wooden shutters sitting in their sills in varying degrees of dilapidation. Some were missing altogether, while others were closed against the elements, with broken slats letting in slivers of silver gloom. Every ascending floor held a large wooden door and landing built off the confined staircase. Chief would have already checked these hidings, so Raene paid them no mind as she climbed for the top.
She passed the fourth floor and continued on up to a trapdoor built into the wooden ceiling. She pushed it back and found Chief waiting for her. “What you see, eh, Chief?”
He gave a low growl and moved to the stone wall looking north. She crept up beside him and peeked at the foggy valley. A gasp escaped her. “There must be hundreds…thousands.”
Thousands of possessed eyes illuminated the valley with their glow. Many of the footfalls were like crashing stones, and Raene could just imagine the abominable undead dwargon lumbering forth. Zander’s army consisted of undead Shierdonians, dark elves, barbarians, dwargon and Draggard. She didn’t doubt that there were flying Draquon about as well.
The army progressed steadily down the road and soon came upon the tower. To her relief, none of the shuffling fiends paid it any mind. The hordes seemed to be under the control of dark horsemen cloaked in black upon undead steeds.
She watched the progression with growing dread. Dirk had been right; there were too many. Now she was surrounded. If one of those riders investigated the tower she would be doomed. Her excitement grew, however. As the army traveled by, she kept an eye to the north. The fog parted for the hordes, and she could see the long line snaking off to the distance. Off to the sides of the road, small lights moved through the gloom—the eyes of lookouts. Wagons were approaching, some led by giant dwargon, others by teams of undead horses.
Raene moved to where she could get a better view of the passing wagons. Many held barrels and sacks of foodstuffs. This was food for the living—the undead didn’t need to eat, as far as she knew. Zander, however, was very much alive.
She finally spotted him following behind the long wagon train. Zander sat upon a tall horse and held a long scepter with a glowing green gem set at the top. Beside him rode an elf who looked quite unlike all the others. They were followed by a fifteen-foot dwargon. Zander glowed as brightly as his scepter and his humming power could be felt vibrating through the stone beneath her feet. She thought about summoning Dirk and Krentz again. This was it. Now was her chance. She would likely die trying to kill him, but she cared not. This was her destiny.
Just as she reached for the timber-wolf figurine, Zander stopped his horse and glanced up at the tower. She ducked down quickly.
“What is it, my lord?” she heard the elf beside him ask.
Raene waited, cursing under her breath—the element of surprise was gone.
Zander didn’t answer the elf for a long time, and the silence swiftly became maddening. Her heart pounded in her chest and she clutched the figurine.
“Search the tower,” Zander said finally. “Whoever killed my soldiers on the northern road is nearby. I can smell their fear.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the elf.
Raene heard the sound of leather creaking and boots hitting the ground. She was about to summon Dirk and Krentz when she heard the wagon train start moving once more. She dared not peek over the side.
“Watch the door,” she whispered, listening to the sounds below.
&nb
sp; With a hand to the stone, she could make out the vibrations of a single person rummaging below. After a few minutes, the remainder of the army passed by. She peered over the top and found that one wagon had stayed behind and a half dozen undead were standing about. The elf who had been sent to investigate the tower was now searching the third floor.
Zander, however, was nowhere to be seen. Raene cursed herself that she hadn’t acted sooner. Had she been afraid? She wondered.
Raene quickly dismissed the thought and moved to the trap door, opening it carefully.
“When he pops his head up through, I want you to pounce. Got it?”
Chief gave a low growl and then smiled and wagged his bushy tail. Raene moved around to the back of the trap door and waited with her mace held high. Sounds could be heard coming through the open stair. The elf was now in the fourth room, just below her. He searched through for a few minutes before heading back to the stairs. Footfalls echoed deeply as he approached. Raene nodded to Chief, who lay in wait, ready to pounce.
The footsteps stopped. She imagined him seeing the open trap door. He progressed carefully, deliberately. Chief tensed, and the hair stuck up in a straight line across his spine, lips peeled back to reveal long fangs.
A head poked out through the hole and Chief slammed into the elf in a blur of motion. Raene hadn’t even had time to react before the two were tumbling down the stairs. Chief snarled and growled, and the elf growled right back. For a moment, it sounded as though there were a dog fight there in the stairway.
Then it stopped.
Raene leaned forward and listened closely.
“Chief?” came a voice.
She jerked back at the name. How did the elf lich know the wolf?
“Chief, is that you?”
A jubilant bark answered him and laughter floated up through the tower. Raene was profoundly confused.
“A dwarf lass, you say? Lead me to her.”
Raene scrambled back from the hatch and prepared herself with shield and mace. Chief shot out of the tower and spun a circle around her as the elf popped his head out of the door and looked around. When he saw Raene, he smiled. “Come, friend of Chief. We need to talk.”
Then he disappeared below.
Chapter 26
Attack on Volnoss
The dark waters crashed up over the hull and dowsed Aurora. Thick clouds covered the sky, and though it could not be seen, the sun was falling. By the time they arrived at the island, it would be night.
She rode on the lead ship of the small fleet of four, each one carrying more than a hundred undead. There were three death knights among them; they who would raise the villagers from the dead. The fleet would land in less than an hour. All that she could do was try and slow them down, and take as many of them as she could with her.
There were no death knights on her ship, so it would be easier to attempt what she had in mind. She couldn’t raise the dead from the grave like the death knights, but she had learned how to control dozens at a time. Being that she retained some semblance of herself as a lich, she was able to exert her will through the necromantic bond that animated them. The green gems embedded where their hearts had once been would answer the call of her strong mind. And with Zander moving farther away with every passing moment, the difficulty of the task lessened.
Aurora steadied herself, calming her breath and her mind, focusing on the hundred undead on her ship. The death knights’ touch was light on the minds of the undead, guiding them easily in their tasks. Below deck, the undead humans rowed with precision and tireless power. The ships were cutting through the waves with ease.
With a surge of will, Aurora took mental control of the lich steering her ship, forcing him to turn the wheel hard to the left. They careened to the side, coming in hard at the boat next to them. The two ships crashed into each other with a shriek of protesting lumber. The point of Aurora’s ship smashed through the side of the other and pushed it along with its momentum.
Aurora ran to the aft rail. The vessel directly behind them had veered to avoid a collision, and now passed by. She jumped onto the rail and leaped high off the curved horn, clearing the fifteen foot distance, and landing in a roll upon the other ship. Her sword sang out of its sheath and hewn a head as she sprang to her feet.
A death knight raced across the deck and produced two long scimitars that sparked when he slapped them together. They came together with a clanging of swords. His scimitars moved in a blur of green motion, but so too did Aurora’s long sword. She pressed the shorter elf, using her big frame and powerful strikes to keep him on the defensive. He turned as if to retreat and kicked off the rail, hard. Twin blades struck for her stomach but she slapped them aside with a growl and booted the dark elf in the chest. Her powerful strikes proved too much for the death knight, and she soon disarmed him and hewn off his head with her long sword. The knight was down, but he was not dead. She cut the glowing gem out of his chest and tossed it into the water.
The undead stood motionless, watching her. She extended her will, taking control of their collective consciousness. The only other remaining ship had veered away from hers, and was now far ahead. Behind her, the two boats that she had forced in a collision were slowly sinking.
“Faster!” she bellowed.
With a force of will, she pushed the rowers past their physical limitations and soon the ship was gaining. Volnoss loomed before them, however, and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to stop them from landing.
The other ship reached the beaches of Fox Tribe and the hordes unloaded and charged up the beach. When her ship hit a sandbar, Aurora leaped from the helm and charged through the water and up the rocky incline, bringing along with her all the undead that she could control.
Panting, she reached the top and looked out over a long valley with scattered copses of trees. Farther north, the edge of a forest began. Not far beyond, Fox Tribe’s village was nestled among the tall pines. The undead army was halfway across the field. She looked closer, noticing something strange—hundreds of fireflies dotted the distant tree line. A wave of panic washed over her. They weren’t fireflies. They were torches.
She had to get ahead of them and warn the villagers of their plight. They needed to evacuate. Somehow they had anticipated the invasion and were lying in wait with not a warrior among them. Aurora had seen to that.
As she and her undead caught up to the main horde, she ran wide, not wanting to be slowed with fighting. Her minions, however, she willed to attack the back of the group. Many of the other undead veered off to intercept her, but her power was great, and her determination unwavering. She had something that they no longer possessed: willpower.
Hundreds of barbarians—elders, and children alike—had gathered at the edge of the field. The Elders charged out into the field with furious war cries. They met the undead advance with brutal force, doing what they could to protect the children.
Aurora began to scream to them to retreat, to run for their lives. She charged into the fray, her sword cutting down all who stood before her. All the while she cried out for the barbarians to retreat. Then her voice caught in her throat as she saw the ancient-looking woman standing upon a boulder before an immense bonfire.
The woman’s voice rang out unnaturally loud and echoed through the valley like thunder. Aurora fought her way through the battlefield and watched, awestruck, as the old woman, clad in furs and ornamented in bone, began her spell casting. Her words were those of the old barbarian tongue.
“Spirits of the seven tribes, guardians of the children, watchers in the wood, I call upon you this night to throw back the unholy scourge set upon our shores. Spirits of the seven tribes, HEAR ME! Know my name and search my heart and mind. I, Gretzen Spiritbone, summon thee forth.” She tossed what looked like a skull into the fire and it went up in blue flames. “Ancestors of the fox, timber wolf, bear, hawk, eagle, dragon, and snow cat tribes. I SUMMON THEE!”
The undead horde was tearing through the brave elders, but
Gretzen didn’t relent. The children stood with raised chins and fearless eyes. They were chanting as well, echoing Gretzen’s every word. As the old woman continued in the face of certain death, Aurora found herself chanting the words as well, as she hacked and stabbed at the hated undead. Tears streamed down her face as she called upon the spirits.
The horde pushed past the defenders, cutting them down with glowing blades, and began to converge on the children.
Gretzen’s final cry rose up into the night and was answered by a gust of wind that nearly knocked Aurora off her feet. The enchantress was unaffected by the gale, but the fire roared, reaching out across the valley and lighting the grass and engulfing the front line of charging undead. The abominations ran through the flames screaming, with swords held high and green light burning brightly in their eyes.
There was a great roar and a rumble. Aurora turned in time to see the spirits of her barbarian ancestors erupt from the forest. They glowed in brilliant silver and flew through the delighted line of children.
The spirit warriors, armed with glowing swords, war hammers, spears, and axes, fell upon the undead in streaks of silver light. Tortured cries blended with the cheers and howls of the barbarians in a murderous song. Long glowing blades moved in blurs of motion, leaving mutilated undead in their wake. The elders found their strength once more and regrouped, cutting down the horde as it tried to retreat.
Soon there was nothing left to Zander’s little army, and the spirits of the ancestors flew off to the coast to deal with the others.
Aurora had fallen to her knees in the middle of the carnage and sat weeping with joy. The barbarians had come to see who the spirits had left alone. They now circled her. She knelt before her people, ashamed, and feeling more naked than ever she had been. Her eyes glowed with demonic green light. She was a hellish creation, an abomination.
The group parted and the one who had called herself Gretzen Spiritbone slowly walked to stand before her. She looked older than any barbarian Aurora had ever seen, but her eyes were bright and alert. A large bone held up her long silver hair, and another smaller one was stuck through the bottom of her nose. She stood before Aurora in timber wolf furs, with one boney arm sticking out between the fold to hold it in place.
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