by Logan Petty
“He’s gone. We lost all of them.”
She looked up and noticed Sawain. Her face was red and puffy. Tears streamed down her cheeks which she simply allowed to fall. The others followed her gaze. Sawain expected the shock present in their stares, he did not expect them to turn hostile as fast as they did.
One nurse yelled, “What is he doing here? He shouldn’t be in here!”
Another replied to the yell, “This is your fault, you know!”
Yet another, “No, let him in! Let him see the death he brought to our door!”
Tilly broke through their barrage of threats and cruel words, “That’s enough from all of you! This is not Sawain’s fault. A darkness is spreading over the land that only he understands. It didn’t follow him, it would have come with or without him.”
Sawain’s eyes stayed connected to Tilly’s as he half whispered, “What happened here?”
Tilly looked more confused, “Don’t you know? You’re the one that told me about the great army that was spreading out across the Fells. How is this a surprise to you?”
Sawain shook his head as if he were waking from a dream, “I have never seen wounds that refused to heal like that. Gnolls are evil creatures, but not that evil. What did this?”
Tilly’s eyes filled with terror. The others in the room all looked as if they knew the answer, though Sawain was still out of the loop. Tilly spoke one word, and it seemed to take great effort for her to get the word out.
“Undead.”
The word left Sawain’s head spinning. Axel had mentioned them before, but only fleetingly. Syd had taught him that these possessed abominations made of animated corpses could only go as far as their creator’s power could allow them to spread, usually bound to a radius of an evil aura put off by a cursed artifact.
“Th-that’s not possible. An army that size can’t be undead. It would take an overwhelming amount of evil power to control something that size. Only a god…”
Sawain’s words trailed off as a thought came to mind. Maybe it wasn’t a god, but the champion of a god, like himself, but fully realized. Was this why Turin had chosen him now?
He snapped out of his musing, “If what I’m thinking is right, we could be in for a hard fight. I need to talk to your mayor. Underfell Town is in grave danger.”
Tilly nodded, “I believe you’re right. Let me get cleaned up first, then I will take you to him.”
Sawain nodded, turning out of the gore soaked room, the sights and smells of it getting to his stomach. He was not entirely sure what he was going to say to the mayor, but he had a feeling that he was the only one who could stop the onslaught that was about to pass through Underfell Town.
Chapter Eleven
Sawain waited in the crowded lobby for Tilly. While he waited, he thought of all he knew about the undead. He remembered Axel telling him about their resistance to normal weapons and how deadly their wounds were. There was something else too, but as he thought of Axel’s words, he thought of Axel himself.
He really missed his old mentor and wondered if he and the others had survived the trap the Goretusk clan laid out for them. He thought of Syd, and how he probably took down a few score of gnolls by himself with his enchanted archery. What Sawain would not give to have his magic bow right now. It would really come in handy against these abominations.
Rylie’s holy short sword could cut through these undead like butter if he was there. Sawain was not as in tune with his deity as Rylie was, but perhaps he could channel enough of Turin’s divine energy to deal some damage in the fight to come. It was worth a try. Sawain missed the arrogant little paladin as much as the others. Except for Kyra.
Kyra. Just hearing her name run through his mind comforted and grieved him at the same time. He really hoped she was safe. There was so much he wanted to tell her still. If only she had stayed behind on that mission, maybe she would be with him now. Then again, Hilmr might have just killed her in Turin’s temple and that would have been the end of their journey together. Perhaps it was a blessing that she went out against the gnolls. Her magic was powerful. He was sure she could handle the toll of battle.
Screams of terror erupted from the hallway attached from the lobby. They started off muffled as they came from the back, then grew louder as the ones producing the screaming ran down the hall. Soon, three halfling nurses busted through the doors at full tilt, absolute terror stricken on their countenances.
“The dead! They’re attacking everyone in sight! Get out of the building!”
A moment of shocked silence as the crowded room processed the horrifying news quickly erupted into mass panic. The halflings scrambled to the doors, yelling and shoving their way through the packed exit. Sawain had other plans. He looked around for any sort of makeshift weapon. There was a halfling sized oak table in the lobby with a few chairs around it.
Sawain trotted over to the table and flipped it on its side. He grabbed one of the legs and wrenched it from its position. It took a little work, but with some kicking and twisting, he was able to break it loose. It was made of thick, solid oak and was about three feet long. The nails that held it in place were still protruding from the base of the leg. This would have to do.
He rushed to the open door and peered down the hallway. He saw two of the dead halfling soldiers limping down the hall. They hissed at him when they sighted him and broke into a loping run. Now was the perfect time to test his theory. He hoped it would work. He closed his eyes and prayed hard.
Turin, god of the Sturmforge, please give me some of your divine might so that I can strike down these abominations and save Underfell Town.
Sawain opened his eyes again. He felt a strange energy ripple from his chest to his arms and into his makeshift weapon. The powerful energy felt like living lightning. It burned his muscles as it reverberated through him.
The first of the undead halflings closed in on him fast. He put all of his might into an upward swing that made contact with the halfling’s chin. The nails pierced its jaw, giving him extra torque. He followed through with his attack, knocking the halfling’s head clean off. He watched in amazement as its head exploded into a cloud of ash. Its body fell to its knees and crumbled in a like fashion. It looked as if his prayer had finally been answered.
He did not have time to celebrate. The second zombie reached him and lashed out with ragged fingernails. Sawain was quick enough to twist away and avoid the scratch, but it threw off his torque on his swing. He was able to slam the table leg into the halfling zombie’s shoulder, staggering it, but it was not enough to do much harm. It did give him time to step back before it recovered and charged again, teeth gnashing.
Sawain wound up and delivered a solid blow to its mouth this time, turning it to ash as his swing busted its head. He stared down at the dusty floor as he realized there were three dead militiamen but only two piles of ash. He also realized that he did not see Tilly flee from the scene.
In a panic, he ran along the corridors, listening for any sounds of commotion. All was silent. The magical sconces that lit the halls threw a pale blue light over the area. It was unsettling to Sawain. He worked his way to the stair well and flew up the first flight of stairs, stopping as he heard a sickening sound just above him.
He rounded the next flight and saw a sight that actually make him vomit where he stood. The third halfling zombie was hunched over Tilly’s fallen corpse, ripping out her kidney with its teeth. It looked like it had been chewing on her for a while. Flayed skin lay everywhere. A waterfall of blood ran down the stairs, pooling up at Sawain’s feet.
Sawain wiped the bile from his chin as a blood thirsty scream erupted from his chest. Rage filled him faster than it ever had before. Red filled his eyes as he launched himself up the blood-slick stairs, oaken table leg ready to destroy the fiend before him.
It only had time to look up and hiss through a mouthful of organs before Sawain’s makeshift weapon came down on its skull with such great force that it was smashed like an egg. I
t happened so fast that Sawain was actually spattered with the monster’s blood before it could evaporate into ash. The oaken table leg shattered on impact.
His rage ebbed as the monster disintegrated on top of Tilly’s desecrated corpse. Sawain peered helplessly at her, feeling tears well up in his eyes, washing away the red that had filled his vision while in his rage. He couldn’t leave her here like this, or she would turn like the others did. He had been able to channel Turin’s divine energy once already, maybe he could do it again to save the only halfling in this village who showed him kindness from the curse of undeath.
He knelt over her small body and bowed his head. He placed his hands on her. He closed his eyes, thinking of the kindness she showed him and the help she gave to him when everyone else would have left him out in the cold. He thought of how the one that killed her may have been one of the very ones that dragged him to her doorstep. These thoughts flashed through his mind as he prayed again.
Master Turin, god of Storms, send to me a holy bolt to free this halfling… my friend from the curse of undeath. Please give her a peaceful rest in the world beyond.
Sawain felt another burst of electric energy run from his chest to his fingertips, this time manifesting as electric arcs that ran through Tilly’s body, igniting it. Sawain stood back up and stepped back down a few of the steps, stunned by the fiery display. As he watched the flames consume her body, he felt significantly more tired. He was not sure if it was the rage that wore him down or calling on Turin’s blessings that put a strain on his body. Either way, he determined that he would need to train more to hone his skills and not rely as much on his powers.
He wearily made his way back to the lobby, his hands and pants soaked in Tilly’s blood. His heart was heavy, but his job was far from over. He would need to find a weapon if he was going to be any use in a fight. He was sure that his gear was still at Tilly’s, but that was a long journey back. He hoped he could just pick something up on the way to wherever he was going.
When he stepped out into the street, mass chaos had already erupted. Screams and the sounds of battle echoed across the gorge. Sawain could see militiamen fighting a losing battle against a mob of risen halflings. He also noticed that the elevator nearest to him on the other side was on fire. Several of the lines were being cut to prevent the undead from crossing over the gorge.
Sawain ran along the street that followed the gorge, hoping to find a still working trolley. To his relief, there was still one running not too far from the hospital. Half a dozen guardsmen crowded around it, firing arrows at the dead that were trying to shimmy along the length of the cable. He saw one of the guards wielding a torch preparing to ignite the trolley that had just crossed over with a load of frightened passengers.
“NO! Wait! Let me over there! I can kill those things!”
The guard held the torch back, glancing at Sawain with disbelief, “You actually want to go over there? That’s suicide!”
Sawain bounded onto the platform, swiping one of the guards’ swords as he went, which was not much longer than a dagger to him.
“I can handle myself. I’m Turin’s champion!”
The guard looked perplexed, “Turin? Turin who? Well, suit yerself, lad, but we’re burning this trolley once yer across, so its yer funeral, or lack thereof, since they’ll likely turn you into one of them.”
Sawain didn’t heed the guard’s doubtful words as he boarded the trolley, “Just get me over there.”
Without another word, the guard threw all of his weight onto the trolley control lever. It lurched violently as it whirred along the line at a breakneck speed. Sawain held on for his life as the trolley cleared the gorge in record time. It was not slowing down as it reached the opposite station. Sawain had to make a jump or be crushed in the wreckage of his vehicle.
Master Turin, bless my blade, so that I can strike down these undead and save Underfell Town.
He leaped from the carriage just as it struck the wooden planks, tearing through them as if they were twigs. He hit the platform on the balls of his feet and crouched, using his legs like springboards. He absorbed the impact and bounced off of the planks just as the careening trolley plowed through the place he landed.
Sawain tucked his right shoulder in as he dove to the ground, executing a perfect roll, just like the ones he practiced on the farm. He came up from the roll with a dead halfling running at him. He used his momentum from the roll to sweep low with his dagger, slicing the zombie’s sternum and getting behind it at the same time as it flailed at thin air.
The zombie grasped at the smoldering wound in its chest, forgetting about the one who caused it. Sawain rebounded and turned on the creature again, this time impaling it from behind. It let out an unearthly scream as its flesh burned away from the stab wound in a quickly widening circle. Sawain wrenched the blade from its crumbling back. It took two steps forward and collapsed into a pile of cinders.
Sawain did not waste time as he pivoted in the direction of the screams. He dashed along the body-strewn streets, worried about the fallen corpses riddled with bite marks and torn flesh. He splashed through numerous bloody puddles and turned down a street that led away from the gorge. He had to duck as an arrow came whizzing by his ear.
The street ahead of him had been barricaded with the surviving militia men secure behind it, pelting a growing mob of undead with arrows that did not seem to be doing much good. Sawain ran head long into the fray with a ferocious roar that halted the zombies’ forward drive.
Undead limbs and heads soared through the air as Sawain cut a path through the mob with the bloody fervor of an angry bull. He hacked and stabbed through body after body. He felt their claws rake his skin and their teeth clatter near his ears, but still he fought on, matching their hunger with a righteous fury that allowed him to sunder their numbers.
This display of heroism revived the guards’ fighting spirit. They drew blades and charged into the fray to assist Sawain. Though their blades were less effective, together with this holy warrior, they were able to destroy the undead mob relatively quickly.
Sawain stood amid the ashen mound, dripping with blood. Adrenaline and holy fire coursed through his veins, purging any traces of the curse that tried to work its way into his bloodstream. He felt a pride swell up in his chest that worked its way up to his throat and burst off of his tongue.
“UNDERFELLLLLLL!”
The cry echoed off the tunnel’s walls and lit a fire in the hearts of the militiamen that had nearly been snuffed. They puffed up and let out their own battle cry.
“DEATHSBAAAAAANE!”
A halfling in scale mail strode from the midst of the militiamen. He was wielding a steel buckler in his right hand and a whip in his left. His shield was soaked in zombie blood as well as his thin blonde beard. He bowed to Sawain, tucking his left arm in as he did so.
“Hail, Deathsbane, savior of Underfell Town! I am Jatharr, captain of the Lower Third Brigade. I am glad you came when you did, or we might not have had a militia left here.”
Sawain was stunned when he realized that he was the one being called Deathsbane. He tried not to let it show as he bowed in kind to the halfling captain.
“Hail, Jatharr. This fight is far from over. This is just the calm before the storm. The real threat will be at our door any minute now. Can you lead me to the city gates and maybe find me a hammer while you’re at it?”
Jatharr nodded, grim determination etched into his features, “Aye, I can do that. The barracks aren’t far from here. The boys there could probably use our help anyway. We could pick you up a war hammer or two and maybe some protection while we’re at it, though I dunno if we have any bigfolk armor on hand. Worth a look in the surplus.
Sawain nodded, “That’s good enough for me. Let’s be on our way.”
Jatharr led Sawain and the remaining militiamen down a series of back alleys, cutting down any undead that rose in the way. Those who had been killed by the undead were already rising.
&n
bsp; The one raising the dead must be getting closer for them to rise so quickly.
Sawain and Jatharr turned into a street that was littered with dead militia men. The corpses that killed them were still chewing on them, despite the dozens of arrows that pierced their bodies. When Jatharr saw his slaughtered comrades, he let out a grief stricken cry and flew at the hissing fiends with great fury. One of the undead sprang at him from the dead body it was feasting on.
Jatharr’s whip lashed out with lightning speed, wrapping itself around the zombie’s ankle. Jatharr yanked the whip with enough force to pull him forward while pulling the zombie’s feet out from under it. He raised his shield arm above his head as he cleared the gap between him and his foe. It fell on its back as Jatharr’s momentum brought him on top of the fiend. The edge of the metal buckler was brought down on the undead creature’s neck, decapitating it in one deft movement.
The headless body continued to flail around under Jatharr’s weight. Time and time again, he raised his buckler and slammed it into the flailing corpse. He roared like a wild animal as zombie gore soaked his armor. Finally, the corpse remained still, after being beaten to a bloody pulp. He stood over it roaring While Sawain charged in, slicing them down with his blessed dagger.
Several bludgeoned corpses later, the street was clear of the undead. Jatharr stood in the middle of the street panting and dripping zombie blood. Grief filled his eyes as he scanned the bloody battlefield.
“I knew many of these halflings, Deathsbane. Not just the militiamen, but the walking corpses too. They were my neighbors. My friends.”
Sawain’s heart sank as he realized that Jatharr’s sadness went deeper than he could understand.
“I’m sorry, Jatharr. I know it must be hard. We need to gather up the bodies and burn them, or the freshly fallen will rise again and there will be another slaughter. Right now, all you can do for them is spare them the atrocity of coming back.”