Royce tried to stand and for a brief moment he considered attacking the girl, but his left leg failed to hold his weight. Old age, always knew it would be the death of me, he thought as he saw the one he had been fighting crawling toward him. He raised his sword, wondering if he could take off another appendage before it got to him when a mailed boot swept out and kicked the creature away.
Dorian Thornbear stood over him, his enchanted mail sparkling in the lantern light, “Sorry it took me so long to get here.”
“Better late than never.” Royce answered as he eased himself up on his good leg and hobbled inside the gate. Dorian was methodically hacking the bodies of the two creatures limb from limb. He was efficient at the task but despite his thoroughness the body parts continued writhing on the ground.
He might have kept at it longer, to see just how many pieces you needed to cut one into before it quit moving, but Royce called to him from the gateway, “Get inside there’s more coming!” Looking up Dorian saw several dark shapes approaching in the lantern light. He grabbed Tanner’s limp arm and dragged the man back with him, while Royce and Sam shoved the gate doors closed behind them. They all breathed a sigh of relief when the bar was finally in place.
Royce leaned over and checked Tanner, to see if he was alright. David had been alive and healthy only minutes before but he wasn’t breathing and there was no pulse. “He’s dead,” Royce said.
“How? He doesn’t have a mark on him!” Sam shouted. The normally reliable craftsman was close to panic.
“When that one touched me a minute ago I could feel it drawing the life out of me. As soon as one of ‘em touches you you start to feel weak. I’d guess he got a bit more of that than I did,” Royce answered.
“We need to get up on the wall and see what they’re doing. The rest of the men will be here in a few minutes,” Dorian stated calmly.
“What do we do with David?” Sam asked.
“He might turn into one of them,” Royce replied.
“He’s dead!”
“So were they, unless I miss my guess,” Royce answered flatly. “We probably need to cremate him or something but there’s no time right now. We’ll figure it out later; if he does turn it probably won’t be right away... I hope.” He turned and followed Dorian up the stairs to the top of the wall. Not knowing what else to do Sam went with him.
“Dammit!” Dorian said as he looked down from the top of the wall, “They’re climbing up.”
“How? I cut a foot and a hand off one of ‘em,” Royce was incredulous, until he looked over the top himself. A crowd of people had emerged from the darkness, gathering at the base of the wall near the gate. Three of them had started climbing the wall, gripping the rough stones in their hands. The walls weren’t smooth, and everyone knew an agile child might manage a climb of some distance, if he were foolish enough. Generally though most adults were simply too heavy to manage it with the small handholds the rough stone afforded. That wasn’t stopping these things; they clung to the stones with amazing finger strength, pulling themselves steadily upward, hand over hand.
The rest of the militia had finally arrived and began spreading out along the top of the wall. Many carried hunting bows and began firing into the shapes climbing up the twenty foot wall, which had no visible effect. “Stop shooting! It doesn’t do any good. Use your spears to knock them loose when they get near the top,” Dorian shouted.
Joe McDaniel had reached the wall as well and began organizing the men. “I need five men to return to the other gate, and ten more to spread out along the wall... that way!” he pointed in the direction he wanted them to go. “You... you... you...,” he singled out men and sent them out to keep watch along the rest of the wall. “The last thing we want is more of them climbing up while we’re all over here.”
Within minutes he and Dorian had a good quarter of the militia spread out to watch the rest of the walls, while the rest did their best to keep the things climbing the walls from getting to the top. For the most part it worked; though the creatures were strong even they couldn’t maintain a grip while someone with a spear was poking and prodding them loose. The only casualties so far were a few lost spears, whenever one would grab at a weapon before falling.
Royce walked over to where Dorian was watching the progress at one portion of the wall, “I’m damned glad they’re too stupid to use bows. They’d be a hell of a lot more effective against us than they were against them.”
Dorian’s brows went up as he thought about it. After a moment he answered, “I don’t know that they’re stupid. From what I’ve seen so far they’re more effective without weapons, one touch and they have the advantage. Not to mention they don’t seem to fear bodily harm. If we hold them off tonight though... I wouldn’t be surprised if they return with bows. I think they were hoping to get through the gates before we could stop them.”
A shout from Joe McDaniel interrupted their conversation, “David Tanner what the hell do you think you’re doing? Stop! Have you gone insane?!” Royce looked over and saw what had caused the commotion. David Tanner was standing behind the gate and he had already lifted the heavy bar that kept it shut. The heavy wooden doors were starting to swing open.
“That’s not David anymore! He’s been turned!” Royce yelled, but it was far too late. Every able bodied man was on the walls, it would take them far too long to reach the gates and shut them. The enemy would be inside within seconds. Royce started to head down the stairs but Dorian shoved him aside.
“Stay alive old man! We’ll need your skills if we survive this night.” Dorian ran down the steps, jumping the rest of the distance when he was still six feet from the bottom. Several more giant strides and he reached the gate, hoping to shut it before their foes realized the opportunity. He was too late. Before Dorian could stop them hands curled around the insides of the wooden doors, pulling them wider and one of the creatures stepped through.
Dorian switched tactics without missing a step. His sword was out and in his hand; the one that had stepped through fell back, missing its head and a large part of its left shoulder. The enchantment Mordecai had put on his sword made it impossibly sharp and it cut through flesh and bone effortlessly. “Someone shut the gate!” he bellowed as he waded into the undead that surged toward the opening.
The ones climbing the walls gave up and dropped down, to join those rushing at the now open gate. Hands reached out to grasp at Dorian but could find no purchase. Enchanted mail covered him from head to toe, preventing their touch from sapping his strength. Like a wave on a rocky shore the broke against him, giving way before his sword. They might have borne him under by sheer weight of numbers, but for the sword. With each stroke it swept limbs and bodies in twain. Driving forward he cut and sliced, reducing the undead bodies of men, women and children into helpless twitching pieces.
A fierce minute followed as he cut and slashed and eventually even the undead drew back. Unfortunately the gate itself was fully ten feet wide, and some of them would be able to get past him with the next rush. They gathered around him, ten, then twenty, then more, till at least thirty stood gathered silently around him. “Shut the goddamned gate!” Dorian was frantic, when they rushed him again he couldn’t possibly keep them from getting in, and it would probably only take a few to make a shambles of the lightly armored men inside. The wall was their best defense... but only if the gate was closed.
“I’ll be damned before I shut you out there lad!” That was Joe’s voice, “Get back in first.”
Dorian knew the moment he wavered or turned they would be on him, and pressing against the doors. There would be no way to close it against such a press. “Joe you shut that fucking gate now or you’ll wish you were damned! Do it!” As he spoke he saw a glimmer of eyes at the edge of the light, beyond the enemy facing him. A small boy stood there, hanging back from the fight… watching.
The enemy wasn’t waiting for Joe to decide and they rushed back at Dorian, now with strength of numbers. He saw one or two p
ass him, even as he cut at the others and he almost despaired, till he heard the heavy thud of the bar dropping down behind him. No longer tied to one spot he began to move, making it harder for them to mass themselves to bear him down.
Fighting wildly it seemed for a minute that they would be unable to stop him. Sweeping slashes removed reaching hands and sometimes whole arms, but no one could fight so many for long. His enemy had no natural fear and they pressed in, surrounding him. At last a hand caught him from behind, pulling at his shoulder and throwing him off balance and within seconds he was down, thrashing under a mass of foes he could not hope to defeat.
The only flesh Dorian had exposed was his eyes and jaw, where his helm didn’t cover. He struggled but hands and arms made contact at last and Dorian felt his strength draining away. I don’t want to wind up as one of these things, he thought to himself, but it seemed that would be his fate after all. He managed to pull his head away for a moment and put his face to the ground, trying to keep their deadly touch from his skin. There were so many on him that he never heard the gate opening.
“Alright boys! Now!” Joe’s voice rang out as the men of Washbrook pushed the gate wide and stepped up. Two held casks of lamp oil while the rest carried torches and swords or axes. The two small casks were thrown forward smashing onto the ground a few feet to either side of where the mob of undead held Dorian down. Lamp oil spilled out, washing over the ground and splattering on those nearest where they struck... then the torches landed and the world went up in flames.
Burning bodies thrashed as the flames blinded the undead. Dorian fought his way free of the ones holding him as the militia men waded in, hacking and cutting at the enemy with axes, swords, and in a few cases scythes. Parts of his legs had burning oil on them but it hadn’t burned long enough to get through the padded gambeson underneath his mail yet. “Over here Dorian!” Royce called to him, holding a heavy wool blanket soaked with water.
He staggered through the press of men and undead to reach the blacksmith and let him throw the blanket over him. Royce wrapped it around his legs, beating to smother out the flames there. “What the hell is going on?” he shouted.
“We just pulled your bacon out of the fire boy,” Royce laughed.
“They can’t hold them!” Even now Dorian could see some of the men had already fallen prey to the unnatural creatures. Without enchanted armor such as Dorian wore, it only took a hand on an arm to quickly render a man unable to fight.
“Then you best make sure we do!”
Dorian stopped arguing and went back into the fray. He moved carefully to avoid the worst of the burning bodies, picking his targets. He moved back and forth, hacking away the monsters that had gotten ahold of townsmen before they could drain them utterly. A large number of their enemies were just wildly thrashing bodies, burning silently on the ground now. The rest were soon reduced to helpless body parts.
It finally dawned on him that they had won. This is what strength is Mordecai. This is the power of the people you are entrusted with, he thought to himself. He wished Mort could see them now, faces flushed with excitement as fear turned to the thrill of victory. Almost all of them had gotten a taste of the undead touch, and now they understood better what they faced. Having survived, and won, they were full of life. Someone began to shout, “Dorian... Dorian... Dorian...!” and soon they had all taken up the chant.
Long minutes later he finally calmed them down, “Enough! This was your victory, and don’t forget it! Now you know what your lives are worth, and more importantly, the enemy knows we won’t sell ourselves cheaply.” Some of the townsfolk nodded at this, but in their hearts they knew they would have lost but for the burly warrior in shimmering mail.
Dorian turned on Joe, “What were you thinking opening the gate? Everything could have been lost...”
Joe didn’t let him finish, “It damn near was, but I wasn’t gonna let ‘em have you dammit. I’d do it again too and not think twice about it!”
Dorian stared at Joe. He didn’t have an answer for the man’s stubborn pride. Instead he switched subjects, “whose idea was the lamp oil?”
“That was old Royce there. He’s a quick thinking son of a bitch!” Joe slapped Royce on the shoulder, drunk on adrenaline.
Dorian leaned over to Royce, “What are we going to do with him? I thought he was level-headed but he’s crazy as a hatter.”
The old blacksmith grinned, “Can’t fix stupid son, and maybe you shouldn’t try.”
They spent several hours after that, gathering up the bodies and pieces of bodies. They discovered that the still moving flesh was dangerous yet, but luckily Royce had a surplus of tongs and iron bar-stock in his smithy and they used those to move them. When they had finally created a single pile they used more lantern oil and some deadwood to create a funeral pyre. Nothing would be left of the things that had attacked them.
Once all was said and done the town of Washbrook had lost two men, David Tanner being the first. The second man, Seth Colburn, had gone down during the rush to save Dorian and had died before he could be rescued. From the rough count they made of the enemy it appeared they had dismembered and burned almost twenty eight of the undead. Several had escaped at the end when the fight turned against them.
It was a victory, but a small village like Washbrook could hardly afford to lose anyone and the families of those lost would be mourning for a long time to come.
Chapter 11
I rose early the next morning, anxious to check the books in the library once more. I knew I had little time before we would have to return to Washbrook and this would likely be my last chance to examine the writings left here... unless I learned to create a matching teleport circle when we got home.
I started searching the shelves for anything I might find regarding the creation of such circles and by chance I got lucky. A slender volume proclaimed itself to be ‘A Definitive Guide on the Creation and Maintenance of Teleportation Waypoints’. It looked to be just the thing, although the author seemed a bit self-important. I set it aside to bring with me on the trip home.
Having accomplished my primary goal I rewarded myself with some time reading ‘The History of Illeniel’:
Those powerful enough to speak to the earth came to be called ‘archmages’ and the arts they employed were fabled to be so great that no modern scholar can rightly credit the truth of the stories about them. The ‘shining gods’ of humankind were young and weak in those days and wizardry so common that few sought to worship them. The gods of the She’har, now called the ‘dark gods’ were powerful but malignant to humanity. The loss of their people left them estranged from the new world and they descended into madness.
The wizards of those times learned to be wary of the dark gods even as they shunned the new gods. None would treat with the dark gods and few paid heed to the shining gods. Mankind controlled its own fate. Things might have remained so had not one young wizard, Jerod, of the line of Mordan given into greed and lust for power.
Jerod had been born to power but was not strong enough to speak to the earth. His jealousy of the existing archmages is part of what led to his downfall and his betrayal of humanity. At that time two archmages were alive, Gareth of the line of Gaelyn, and Moira of the line of Centyr. There were rarely more than two or three archmages alive at any time in history, so this was not uncommon.
Jerod had fallen in love with Moira of the Centyr, but she had eyes only for another, an unremarkable mage from the line of Illeniel. The details of their unfortunate love triangle did not survive the dark times that followed but it is known that Jerod gave in to the temptations of the dark god, Balinthor. Promises of power beyond that of the archmages seduced young Jerod. Believing that greater power might woo the archmage Moira he summoned the dark god and opened his mind to him.
I paused for a moment, thinking, until yesterday I had never heard mention of ‘archmages’ and I couldn’t help but wonder how they differed from the other wizards of the time. The repeated ref
erences to the ‘voice of the earth’ also intrigued me. I could sense Penny approaching so I set the book aside, in the stack I planned to bring with us on our journey.
“Good morning,” she said from the doorway.
“Morning,” I replied. “I guess we should start getting ready to leave.”
“Breakfast first.”
That sounded like a wonderful idea, except we didn’t have any food. If there was anything left in the pantry I wouldn’t trust it to be edible after so many years. “Hmmm, I wonder how we should manage that?”
“There is someone at the door,” announced the disembodied voice of the house. I really needed to learn the rules regarding how the enchantments built into the house worked.
“Who is it?” I asked. There was a short pause before the voice replied.
“He says his name is Marcus Lancaster,” the voice supplied.
“Wait until I get down to the front door, then let him in.” I hurried downstairs. Not long ago I would have simply let him in immediately. Now that my friend was a vessel for a goddess I wasn’t sure of his motives. The door opened up as soon as I approached. “Good morning Marc,” I said as soon as I saw his face.
“Mort this house is amazing! The door just talked to me,” he responded. He looked and sounded like the friend I had always known.
“Yeah I know. I’m still getting used to it myself.”
“Can I come in?” he asked.
I suddenly felt a bit bad. I had unconsciously remained in the doorway, my body language relaying the message that he might not be welcome. “I’m sorry, right this way. I’d offer you breakfast but we don’t have any food at the moment. We were just sorting that out actually.” I stepped back and motioned him inside.
The Line of Illeniel Page 11