by Jena Rey
Darian assisted her in mounting again, his face no longer so pale as it had been. She murmured her thanks, certain that without his help she never would have managed. He offered her a wan smile, patting her leg. “We’re not too far out now.”
The wind whipped his words away, and Ephema shivered. “I am glad. It’s more tiring to ride than I thought.”
He moved to one of the saddlebags and produced a spare cloak. “Here. This will help block the wind. I agree it’s tiring, but just hold on a little longer, and we’ll be at the way station.”
Ephema nodded, slipping the cloak around her shoulders while he remounted. The weight of the thickly woven fabric was welcome, easing her shivers. The horses began to move again and she pulled her feet up to try to shift the draw on her aching muscles and held on. As the day waned, Ephema found herself almost in a trance, staring at the road in front of her horse’s ears and clinging to the reins with numb fingers. When they turned off the road, it was only the horse’s instincts and desire to stay with the herd that kept them with the group. They slowed to a walk, coming upon a low building which served as a way station between the towns as the last glow of day retreated.
The long building was stiffly made of thick wooden poles reinforced with stone and mortar. The windows were no more than slits and the roof was a flat, grim, slab of slate. The back half of the building served as a stable and was built just as solidly as the front. For all that the undead ignored livestock, there were still brigands to consider and those tending to the animals to keep safe.
As they came to a stop, Ianel stood in his stirrups, getting a good look around. “Looks like we’re the only visitors tonight, but I’ll go around back and double check while you take the building.” He made a clicking noise, and Star trotted around the corner of the station, leaving the rest of them to dismount and unload.
Ephema pulled her leg across the saddle and slid to the ground, or at least that was her intention. The results were much less graceful as her shaking legs gave way, and she ended up sitting next to her horse. With a heavy sigh, she decided it was a perfectly fine place to sit, and she stayed there, rubbing the feeling back into her calves while the horse nosed her hair.
Darian appeared with an open hand, an offer to help her to her feet which she took gratefully. Once Ianel returned with news that they were, indeed, alone, the men sent Ephema inside while they stabled the horses and unpacked the saddlebags. She was grateful, not trying to argue her ability to be helpful with those chores. They weren’t things she was familiar with, and there were other ways she could be of use.
She entered the low building and busied herself by getting familiar with what few supplies and amenities there were. The interior was very plain. Nothing hung on the walls, and the only furniture was a long, empty table and a line of stiff cots. A large fireplace was set in one wall and kindling sat in the center of it, awaiting flame. Her nose led her to a small closet where there was a bench with a hole in the middle and stained bucket under the hole. The last visitors had not cleaned the necessary very well, and she pushed the door closed again hoping not to have to use that facility. There were no other sundries or supplies left behind, save for a large stack of cordwood.
Once the horses were secured, the Knights brought the gear inside and barred the heavy doors against the deepening night. The sound of the heavy iron bar sliding in place seemed to bring a sense of relief to the men. Tabor assigned a night watch rotation, and they settled to wait, the sounds of night insects drifting into the hall.
Dinner was much the same as lunch had been, everyone too tired to bother with anything more complex. The men gathered together to apply cloth and oil to their armor and weaponry while Ephema curled up on one of the cots, covered by her borrowed cloak. Lulled by the soft whisper of conversation and evening prayer, she quickly fell into an exhausted sleep.
She woke only once during the night, a deep moaning and scratching pulling her out of the stillness of her dreams. Her gaze sought the door, but before she could panic, she saw Tabor sitting near the fire. His maul rested across his lap, tiny blue sparks fluttering across the weapon. He touched his lips, his voice a soft murmur. “Sleep, Daughter of the Mother. The door is thick, and your rest is guarded.”
Comforted by his presence, Ephema rolled over and returned to sleep.
Chapter Six
The next day began much as the first, with an early rise and cold breakfast. Darian noticed Ephema’s stiffness and empathized, but there wasn’t much he could do to help her with the pain. He wasn’t overly comfortable himself despite having ridden much of his life. He remembered his first week in the saddle had been much worse, but the only way to make it better was to keep riding. He wondered if stiffness was something which could be healed, but asking about it felt far too much like asking her to expend unnecessary energy to fix something that was simply inconvenient.
Despite the urge to get on the road, they took the time to leave the way station prepared for the next travelers: setting kindling for the fire, splitting logs, and hauling in wood to replace that which they had burned. The horses were in a fine spirit, and Darian helped Ephema mount, doing his best to ignore the thick new scratches on the way station walls. It was odd to see the new scratches; most way stations were rarely bothered by the undead. The thick walls and small numbers inside weren’t usually worth the effort, but the undead had come last night.
The feeling of being hunted put tension into Darian’s shoulders, and as they returned to the road, he had a hard time not resting his hand on his mace hilt. His horse, noting his rider’s inattention, continually set about trying to set its own path and speed, and soon enough Darian’s attention was back on the reins. He noticed that Tabor, too, seemed especially driven, pushing them at a faster pace toward Tallet. Everyone wanted to be behind tall walls before darkness fell. Even the horses sensed the urgency and stepped out at a much faster pace than the previous day, quickly putting the way station behind them.
Once again lunch was taken in the saddle. It felt like they were racing the daylight as they pushed quickly into midday. The clouds which had been chasing them from the mountains were thicker and darker now, blocking the pale rays of the sun and threatening them with the promise of wintery weather. The wind mocked them, whipping clothing and hair, and stealing warmth with a harshness that disregarded clothing and armor alike.
By late afternoon pale flecks appeared in the air, and the riders could see their breath. Darian opened his mouth to comment on the falling snow when the scent of woodsmoke hit him, and he took a closer look at the flakes as they landed on his hands. He paled and whispered, “By the Dark One…ashes.” He urged his mount forward until he drew up even with Tabor, the odor of pine smoke now clouding the wind. “Tabor! Ashes!”
“I know! Whatever is burning is big.”
Whatever is burning is big. The words hit Darian like a punch. Only two things were close enough and large enough that burning would create so much ash. Either the forest was burning, or Tallet itself was on fire. He fell back to his position in the group, caught between the instinct to ride forward and find out what was happening and to stay back to protect the scroll and Ephema. Tabor leaned forward, pushing Valor into a full gallop that other horses strove to match. As they continued toward the city, Darian let his mind go blank; too much depended on him having a clear head to be clouded with possibilities and conflict. He had to take each step as it came, and he prayed to Osephetin it would be enough.
Within an hour Darian could see a red-yellow glow on the horizon and the smoke grew thick enough that he pulled a fold of his cloak across his mouth. A man lunged out from the brush, nearly falling under Valor’s hooves, but the trained warhorse danced aside. The man’s eyes widened when he realized whom he’d bumped up against and hope flared in his expression where once only fear grew. “Knights! Thank Osepehtin! You have to help us! The Temple has fallen! The undead are in the city!” The words came out in a hoarse shout, tumbling over each other
like a panicked waterfall.
“Undead?” Ianel brought Star around, staring at the man from under the thick bones of his helmet. “You must be mistaken. It is still light.”
“By the soul of the Eternal Father, I swear it. Undead are ravaging the city as we speak.” With a shaky hand, the man gestured toward the brightness on the horizon. “Dozens of them. They’ve cut down the Knight in Residence, slaughtered the brethren, and routed most of the guardsmen already! The city’s been put to the torch!”
Darian frowned, having to spin his horse in a tight circle to stop it from fidgeting. “Who put it to the torch? Fire takes too long to destroy active undead. They’re not afraid of it, and they don’t wield it themselves.”
The man shook his head. “There was a man. I thought he was a guardsman, but I’m not sure now. He suggested that the undead could be brought to bear with a mixture of flammable tar and other stuff. It stuck to them, but it didn’t kill them, and they spread the flame. If it was only fire or the undead, we’d be fine, but not both! And these undead… Sir, I’m not a coward. I did my stint in the guard, and I’ve fought the walking, but these were nothing like I’ve seen before.”
Tabor frowned, glancing over his shoulder at Ianel and Darian. “Hunters.” His gaze went back to the frightened man. “Where were you going?”
He swallowed hard and gestured to the west. “We have a logging post on the river. It’s not far. If they haven’t been attacked, I thought it might be a safe place to evacuate whatever women and children we can.”
“Go then. Evacuate anyone you can, and hold through the night. We’ll join those in the city and bring an end to the undead. The fire will need the hands of your folk to be extinguished.” Without another word, he put his heels to his mount, and Valor leapt forward, drawing on new reserves of energy as he pounded down the road.
Neither Darian nor Ianel questioned their superior, but followed him down the road sweeping Ephema along with them. Snow mixed with the ash until the sky was spitting an odd muddy mash down on them, the wind biting and brutal. It wasn’t long before the road opened up to reveal the burning city. Thick stone walls etched with hand-carved images encircled the tall buildings within, though many were now crumbling and cracking under the heat of fire and age. The fire was mostly on the eastern side of the city, the containment a small mercy.
As they approached, a skeletal shape stood in the broken gate, backlit by the hell of the inferno beyond. Tabor didn’t slow his horse. With one smooth motion, he freed his maul from where he’d secured it and dropped his reins, trusting Valor’s training. He swung the massive weapon around, using the momentum of the horse to increase the power of the attack. The maul’s head slammed into the side of the creature, breaking it into two separate pieces and sending splinters of bone to the four winds.
“Ephema! Stay close!” It never occurred to Darian that they should send Ephema with the evacuees, only that if she stayed near enough, they could protect her. He drew his mace as he pulled his horse in close, letting the two Knights take the lead into the city. Tabor had used the word ‘Hunters,’ and the thought filled Darian with dread. He had heard of Hunter undead before, but only from his mother’s stories; undead that walked in the daylight, dangerous, powerful creatures that were rarely encountered, and even then, only in the great wastelands left by the Fall of the Gods. Older Knights told stories of the Hunters and the beasts that commanded them.
But for them to be here, in a random city on the edge of civilization? It made little sense. Unless…unless they were the undead who had chased him across the mountains. The thought hadn’t occurred to him until this moment, seeming too much a fire tale, and it filled him with dread.
“Darian! Ianel!” Tabor’s voice brought Darian from his thoughts, ringing through empty city streets, backed by the crackle of flames. “We’ll fight our way to the Temple and search for any survivors there first. Don’t get separated, no matter the temptation.”
Finding their way through the city was morbidly simple. All they had to do was follow the corpses. The undead had assaulted the front gates in broad daylight, when no one expected resistance. The slaughter of both guardsmen and innocents was savage and bloody, but it left a definitive trail for the Knights to follow straight to the burning Temple. There was no question this had been the undead’s primary goal.
It wasn’t long before they reached the stonework of a once proud Temple of Osephetin, though the damage here was done by attack and not by the power of time as had felled the temple in Aserian. Flame spread under two of the eaves, roaring with hunger. Darian heard the sounds of combat from within, and Tabor threw himself from the saddle, shouting a battle cry as he ran up the steps.
The thick doors were shut, and when he hit them with his shoulder, they held solid, wedged firm against his attack. Flames licked at the frame and he frowned, before bellowing, “Ianel! With me! Darian, Ephema, stay with the horses. Watch for survivors to come from the flame. Destroy the undead, do not hesitate!”
He growled a word, a deep tone that rang hollow and echoed in the air. His maul glowed a deep blue with the divine magic of the soul weapon. He raised the maul with both hands and brought it crashing down on the center of the door. Even stuck as it was, the door could not withstand the blow and folded inward, taking flame, wood, metal, and debris with it. He didn’t look behind to see if Ianel was following and charged inside.
As Ianel dismounted, another battle cry came from inside the building. A tremendous impact shook the ground and a section of wall shuddered. Ianel shot a snarky grin at Ephema and Darian. “I’d better get moving before there’s nothing left for me to fight!” He pulled the grinning skull of his helm down over his face and sprinted into the ruined Temple. “Osephetin! Guide me!”
Darian slid off his horse, shaking his head. “We’re not all insane, I promise.” He shrugged, waiting for Ephema. “Just most of us.”
Ephema shrugged, directing her horse to a safer spot before looking up at the burning building. “I am not in a position to judge.” She dropped to the ground, then blinked, her gaze narrowing. She gestured at the top of the building. “Is that a person?”
Darian followed her gesture to the roof, where a figure moved about in the haze and smoke. “It’s definitely something. If it’s a person they’d have to be desperate to be on the roof.” He put himself ahead of Ephema, his mace held at the ready.
The figure on the top of the temple staggered forward, even as slate tiles slid out from under its feet. It reached the edge of the roof and stepped into oblivion, landing near a patch of burning timber. Without hesitation, the creature rose back to its full height. It turned toward Ephema and Darian.
The creature had been human, once. Now, no trace of flesh remained, but tendrils of shadowy magical essence echoed motions once created by living muscles and ligaments. In skeletal hands, it gripped a large hand axe; its grip sure around the pommel. Pools of orange magic reflected from the empty eye sockets of the grinning skull as it stared at the pair. It shouldn’t have been possible to assign an emotion to the bony face, but Darian felt the hunger and rage the creature carried. A swath of burning pitch clung to the side of the creature’s skull, and flame licked across the side of its bony pate with each advancing step.
“Stay behind me.” Darian commanded, shifting his position to keep himself between the healer and the undead. As long as it was just the one, keeping her safe shouldn’t be a problem. He tried to remember what his Mother had said about Hunters. They were faster than regular undead and more cunning. She’d not mentioned they could use weaponry beyond their claws and teeth, but there it was. And they could walk in daylight. And chase him down a mountain at the pace of a grown man’s spring. He stopped thinking about all the things the stories didn’t tell and charged the creature instead.
The first strike of his mace bounced off the hand axe which the skeleton raised in defense. That was also different – the undead never defended themselves – and Darian shifted his
grip, driving his mace into his foe’s ribs as he continued past. He felt more than saw Ephema dart around the side of the building, well out of the range of the combat, but also too far for him to protect if she encountered another one. The rap of the hand axe deflecting off his shoulder armor returned his attention to the fight in front of him. Ephema would have to be all right on her own.
The skeleton lurched forward with a wide overhand swing, but Darian drove under the blow and shoved his shoulder into his enemy’s broken ribcage. They tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs and armor, the skeleton’s jaws snapping as it tried to bite him. Darian rolled away and sprang back to his feet. He smashed the mace onto the skeleton’s writhing body, shattering and splintering bone and evil magic. He moved to the rest of the body, tossing larger chunks of bone as far as he could, letting them fall where they might. Claws raked his shins, pulling at his greaves, but they were unable to penetrate the thick hide.
A few swings later, the Hunter’s skull cracked under the blows, and its motions came to a stop. Darian rubbed the sweat from his forehead on the back of his arm and took a deep breath. He turned to follow where Ephema had gone and a sword slid past his guard, biting into his arm, digging nearly to the bone. Darian cursed in pain and swung wildly, knocking the sword away from a second Hunter. He hadn’t heard it approach, but that came as little surprise. He’d been too intent on his first foe to remember to watch for a second.
The skeleton, its balance askew from loss of the sword, windmilled for a moment before it regained its balance. Darian’s hand felt numb, aching from his grip on the mace. He turned his body and rammed the skeleton’s sternum, sending it sailing toward the horses. Valor needed no other prompting; a warhorse of a Knight of Osephetin knew exactly what to do about the undead. A whinny and an avalanche of iron shod hooves fell, sending one more Hunter to an eternal rest.