by Evren, S. K.
Cardalan stepped into the center of the circle. His face was concerned, almost worried. He looked for an instant as if he were considering jumping in to the fire, itself. The soldiers who had been talking around the fire grew quiet as they looked at their commander. Cardalan cleared his throat several times. He was stalling. He already had their attention.
“Most of you know,” he began, “that we are heading east to scout certain conditions that have recently been brought to our Lord’s attention.” He looked meaningfully at Vae. “We have guests with us who are vital to our mission. I expect them to be given every courtesy. His Grace, our commander, tells me that they are to be treated as his family. All of them. If anyone has a difficulty with that, I will deal with that man personally. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Sir!” the men replied as one.
“Very good,” he said. “Many of you have already noticed that Vae,” he pointed to the beautiful, armored woman, “is from Sel Avrand.” He watched his men closely for signs of dissention. “She escorted the Emissary who brought news of this situation to our Lord Ythel. She is vital to our mission. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Sir!” the men replied.
“You will also have noticed that we have a priest and another woman with us today. They are also vital to our mission. His Grace, himself, has asked them to accompany us.” Cardalan grimaced and stared hard at each of his men. “Do you men trust me?” he asked. His men, not expecting the question looked around at one another for a hint of what to say.
“Yes, Sir,” came the reply sporadically. The sergeant looked at them menacingly. “Yes, Sir!” they said in bold unison.
“Very well,” Cardalan continued. “I want you all to get a good grip on yourselves. Understand that I am aware of this situation and that I would not bring anything,” he paused looking for a word, “evil among you.” He looked into each man’s face. “Do you understand me?” The men looked from him to their sergeant.
“Yes, Sir!” they chanted.
“Would you come up here please, Sir,” Cardalan said to Drothspar. Drothspar got to his feet and stepped up next to Cardalan. Chance was slightly pale and staring hard at Cardalan. Vae eyed the standing pair curiously. The soldiers looked like children waiting for story time. “Once again,” Cardalan said loudly, “I ask you men to keep yourselves calm. Some of you will know this man, others will not. I guarantee you, none of you will recognize him.” He turned once again to Drothspar. “Will you lower your hood, Sir?”
Drothspar heard Chance gasp. His hand rose to the peak of his hood and he slowly pulled it down over his skull. The soldiers stared transfixed at the figure of death before them. Their eyes widened and their faces paled. It was a tribute to their discipline that none of them moved from their place.
“Drothspar?” one of the men said unbelievingly.
A sudden hiss and a scramble of feet and steel was all the warning they had. Vae leapt to her feet and her sword whistled out of its scabbard. She drew back her hand and swung her sword with all of her might straight at Drothspar’s neck. The sword sliced through his lowered hood as Chance caught the woman around the waste. Cardalan looked at his men who still sat motionless around him.
“Subdue her!” he shouted at them. “Gently!”
The men sat for a moment longer as Vae and Chance tussled on the ground.
“Now!” Cardalan barked.
The men jumped up and moved to separate the women as their sergeant kicked them forward. It took four men to hold Vae down and another two to pry the sword out of her hand. Two other men helped Chance to her feet. Once she was standing, Chance hurried over to Drothspar to see if he was okay. She pulled his hood around to show him the slice in the cloth.
“Close,” she said, breathing heavily.
“Get away from me!” Vae screamed at the men holding her down. “Kill it! Break it! Burn it! Why are you stopping me when you have an abomination before you?” Tears flowed freely from her eyes, but her teeth were bared in anger. “Get away from me or I’ll kill you all with him!”
Cardalan, who had been more concerned about his men’s reaction, looked at Vae as if seeing her for the first time. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked her directly.
“It’s an abomination, I tell you! They kill without mercy! This is why we came to you, why we came to the West! He’ll kill you! He doesn’t feel anything! They’re gone, all gone!” She screamed until her words became unintelligible. She struggled against her captors, but her efforts became weaker as she cried. Chance tried to place a folded blanket under the woman’s head, but Vae spit in her face as she came close. Chance stood up and wiped the saliva from her face with a look of distaste.
“Fine,” she said, and dropped the blanket on the ground.
Cardalan looked around the clearing. The men who weren’t holding Vae were standing warily away from Drothspar, their hands near their weapons. Cardalan shook his head.
“All of you, calm down!” he said loudly. He looked directly at Vae. “That means you, too!” She looked at Cardalan with hatred burning in her eyes. He shook his head with resignation. “Let’s get everything straight here.”
“Vae came with the Avrandian emissary to tell us that they were attacked by an army of the dead. Of course,” he said with a note of irony, “that would seem pretty farfetched if it wasn’t for Drothspar here.” He paused and watched as his men nodded in agreement. “Our mission is to ascertain the threat this army presents to the West and to see if there is any possibility to aid our… friends… in the East.
“Vae, as a witness to the aforementioned attack, is an invaluable asset to us in this mission. Drothspar, as he is what he now is, will also provide insights into the abilities of our enemies. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” a few of the men answered.
“I said, ‘is that understood?!’” Cardalan shouted at his men.
“Yes, Sir!”
“Drothspar, do you have anything to add here?” Cardalan asked.
“I am sorry,” Drothspar said in his deathly whisper, “to have startled you all. Believe me when I say that no one was more startled than I when I realized what I had become—”
“It speaks!” Vae shouted in disbelief. Her eyes widened and her hatred focused on Drothspar. He could feel her malevolence washing over him in waves.
“Are you saying that the creatures that attacked you couldn’t speak?” Cardalan asked quickly.
“What?” Vae looked at Cardalan as if he had just materialized before her. She looked away, hearing his words again in her memory. “No, nothing. None of them made a sound. There were no war cries, no cries of pain from them, nothing. They merely moved. The only sounds were the cries of the living and the clashing of weapons on bone and rotting flesh.”
“I assure you,” Drothspar said to Vae, “I have not been part of any army nor harmed any of your people.”
“Lies!” Vae spat in retort. Her eyes revealed the slightest trace of uncertainty.
“He is not lying,” Chance told her hotly. “I’ve been with him for more than a week now, and he has done nothing violent!” She pushed the memory of the attack in Arlethord to the back of her mind. “Drothspar has watched over me and been my companion since I met him. I admit that he does take a bit of getting used to, but he is a good man.”
“He’s an abomination!” Vae argued. “He is evil!”
“He is not evil!” Chance said. “I was with him when he entered the Cathedral in Arlethord! I watched him pray there at the chapel! I watched my own uncle, a priest, try to destroy him with a holy prayer!” Captain Cardalan and his men looked impressed at these words. “All the prayer did was restore his voice to him!” Chance felt her face flushed with fury. “He is a good man, he was a priest himself! All he wants is to find his wife—” Chance brought her hands to her mouth, worried she had said too much.
One of Cardalan’s men, a badly scarred rider, walked boldly up to Drothspar. He dropped to his knees before the skele
ton and bowed his head to his chest. Drothspar was as surprised as everyone else present.
“Forgive me, Sir, I beg you,” the man said in a broken voice.
“Why?” Drothspar asked softly in his hollow whisper.
“My Lord, I served her Grace, your wife, under that traitor, Troseth.” He spat the name out with distaste. “She was a good and kind woman, loved chastely by all who served her. At first, we were worried that a stranger was taking away our Lady. We came to know you as a good man and we were happy for our Lady. When Troseth returned and went into a rage, it was I who convinced the men to turn him out rather than kill him.”
“You ask forgiveness for mercy?” Drothspar asked.
“No my Lord,” the man replied, his voice growing thicker. “I ask forgiveness because if it had not been for me, you might still be alive.”
“What are you saying?”
“My Lord,” the soldier went on, “I killed you.”
Chapter 31 – Pendant
Troseth moved his horse to a hill overlooking the battle. He watched his Master’s forces drain the life from the city of Sa Kuuth. Silent masses shambled through the early morning hours. Oblivious to pain and fear, the undead army eroded the city’s defenders with an implacable, constant push. Many of the living were torn to pieces, left to quiver and bleed-out over the walls.
The attackers also fell. The Avrandians staged a heroic defense around the south gate. The air was thick with the clatter of weapons on bone. Troseth watched the desperate living hack and slash at the dead who clawed relentlessly at the dying. Entire skeletons were crushed, collapsing to the ground like faulty houses of cards. Piles of decayed and rotting corpses formed around the defenders. The citizens were doing their best to survive. Their skills increased with fear and desperation. Troseth closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He had seen it all played out before.
Troseth opened his eyes and focused on the mounds of bones lying around the living. The bones appeared to be quite dormant. The defenders moved forward over the remains to press the attackers back over the wall. As the living stepped over the dead, bones began to stir. The first time Troseth had seen it happen, he thought one of the defenders had tripped on a corpse. He knew differently now.
While the living concentrated on the animated corpses before them, those that had fallen behind them began to move. Crushed skulls rotated from side to side watching the progress of the battle. Dry hands reached for severed limbs, dragging them back into place. Skeletons that had fallen in heaps stood once more with a grating clatter. Broken arms dangled with jagged edges. Legs twisted to move the bodies as best they could. Hollow eyes focused on the backs of the living. The fallen dead reformed ranks while the living fought on obliviously. Troseth watched the outstretched hands of the dead reach for the living once more. He closed his eyes.
Troseth and his men had fought in the first engagement of this new war. Whatever his master had done to protect them had worked. None of them had been attacked by the undead. The men, however, and Troseth as well, had realized quickly that they were no longer necessary in battle. The small town that had been their first conquest, Sa Ruus, had fallen with an inevitable efficiency. The complacent defenders were shocked by the shambling attackers. The army had closed to within range of the defender’s torchlight before anyone had realized they were there.
Troseth and his living soldiers had not yet fought alongside their undead allies. They watched in amazement as the skeletons took blows without even trying to dodge. What had shocked them more was the way the corpses moved on with weapons still probing inside of their bodies. Defenders fell on them with axes, swords, hammers, shovels—whatever they could find. Time and again, the skeletons would fall, damaged beyond their ability to stand. The defenders would turn to another threat, leaving the shattered corpses lying still on the ground.
Troseth had let out an audible hiss the first time he saw one of the bodies piece itself back together. It didn’t take long to realize the bones weren’t moving because someone had tripped over them. With a sound that grated on his teeth, the fallen bones pushed themselves back upright and moved forward to attack. One of the skeleton’s arms had been shattered to a jagged point just above the wrist.
Troseth had stood, sword in hand, gaping at the black miracle he had witnessed. His men, too, had frozen where they stood, staring at the shattered corpse that had pulled itself back together. Their living heads swiveled on their necks as they met each others’ eyes in disbelief.
The skeleton, in the interim, had closed with its enemy. Putting one hand on a defender’s shoulder, the corpse shoved its broken arm through the man’s unguarded back. The citizen soldier arched backward. Bright, frothy blood erupted out of his mouth as he tried to scream. His eyes filled with panic as he turned to get a glimpse of his attacker. The skeleton drew its arm out of the dying body. Dark, red blood coated the jagged bone and glistened in the torch light.
Troseth opened his eyes and brought himself back to the battle at hand. He turned his head away from the surrounded defenders and scanned the outer regions of the city for his men. After that first engagement, Troseth had assigned his men to perimeter guard around the battle. Their fast, living horses allowed them to ride down any who might try to escape. His master had approved of the idea, and so Troseth and his men now watched the battle from the periphery.
The thudding sound of hoofbeats came to Troseth through the smoke of the dying city. He turned his horse to face the sound and saw one of his men galloping toward him. The man charged his horse directly at Troseth before hauling up sharply on his reins. The horse set its legs stiffly, sliding the last few feet before stopping.
“Captain Troseth,” the soldier said breathlessly. He saluted sharply.
“Yes, Nalfick. What is it?” Troseth returned the salute.
“Captain, there is something you should see,” the corporal said urgently.
“What?” Troseth asked.
“It’s one of the dead, Sir, it’s acting kinda funny,” the soldier screwed up his face as if unable to believe his own words. “I mean funny even for them. Sir, you should just see this.”
“All right, Corporal. Lead the way,” Troseth replied.
The corporal turned his horse and kicked the animal into a gallop. Troseth did the same and followed closely behind. They rode through billows of smoke that caught at their throats and dried them almost immediately. Troseth began to think the corporal was leading him to the other side of the city until they dropped to a walk.
“Up there, Sir, near the wall,” the corporal pointed.
Troseth nodded and looked to the city wall. There was a breach and several stones had tumbled outward. A skeletal attacker seemed to have fallen just outside the rubble. Troseth dashed his hands against his watering eyes and focused on the skeleton. It hadn’t fallen, it was kneeling. The arms were moving, hovering over something small wrapped in a blanket. Troseth slowly walked his horse closer. The skeleton moved the bundle slightly and it let out a piercing scream. The skeleton had a child! The skeleton jerked itself upright and stared at Troseth with hollow eyes.
Troseth, however, didn’t notice the eyes. He had forgotten about the child. His own eyes and his very being were focused on the glistening gold pendant that hung around the skeleton’s neck.
Chapter 32 – History
Drothspar stared hard at the kneeling soldier. He had no idea how long he had been staring and he could not put a name to the emotion he was feeling. He let his vision soak up the details of the man. The soldier was in his early thirties. His hair was a sandy blonde, touched at the sides with a premature gray. The man’s face was deeply scarred on both sides, though the scars had weathered with age. The scar on the left side of the man’s face was nearly horizontal, running from mouth to ear. The scar on the right traveled from the man’s temple, across his cheek, and down to his chin.
Drothspar marveled at the damage the human body could endure. He shook his mind free of that wonde
r and realized that the soldier was still kneeling on the ground. The man’s eyes were downcast, but his scarred face was a suffused red. Drothspar was certain the man was in pain. He reached his skeletal hands down to the man’s shoulders and urged him gently to stand. The soldier resisted.
“Please,” Drothspar whispered to the soldier. The cavalryman looked up and Drothspar saw two great streams of tears running down the man’s cheeks. The tears ran straight until they caught the course of the scars. “Please,” Drothspar asked again, trying to make his voice as gentle as possible.
The soldier nodded his head slowly and pushed himself painfully to his feet. He gratefully accepted Drothspar’s help to stand. When he was finally back on his feet, the soldier let out an explosive breath and smiled weakly through his tears. “It’s not as easy as it once was,” he explained.
“What’s your name?” Drothspar asked.
“Kelton, my Lord. Corporal Kelton.” The soldier stood automatically to attention.
“It’s okay, Corporal Kelton,” Drothspar said, setting his hand gently on the man’s shoulder. “You don’t have to stand at attention.” Kelton looked slightly uneasy but relaxed with effort.
“Thank you, my Lord.”
“You say that you killed me?” Drothspar asked.
Kelton nodded, his eyes reflecting deep pools of guilt.
“Is this dagger yours?” Drothspar asked, showing his rusted dagger.
“No, my Lord.”
“The man who killed me… this dagger was his.”
“That’s as may be, my Lord, but I should have stopped him.”
“What makes you think that, Corporal?”
“It was my orders, Sir.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” Drothspar asked.
“I will try, my Lord,” Kelton replied.