Large chunks of stone and masonry were coming free from the building and falling to the ground, landing with heavy thuds.
“Get back,” Karus shouted at Amarra and Si’Cara, who began to run.
Karus and Dennig dragged the injured elf several yards away from the entrance, well clear, and into the brush. Behind them there was a deep, angry final rumble that was quite deafening as the keep collapsed in upon itself. The trees and brush around them shook and swayed. Then, the tremors became so violent that both Karus and Dennig were thrown from their feet as the ground beneath them seemed to shift and jump. A cloud of dust washed over them and then, a moment later, everything was still and quiet.
Karus rolled over onto his back and sat up. Everything around him was white, as if it had just snowed. The brush, leaves, everything. A gust of wind carried away the dust that was airborne. He, like everything else, was thoroughly coated in white dust. Where the keep had been, there was nothing now but a massive pile of rubble from which a dust cloud swirled.
Karus coughed and spat the dust out of his mouth.
“That was close,” Dennig said, coughing and hacking out the dust.
“Too close,” Karus agreed and then remembered Tal’Thor.
Covered in white, the elf was lying limply between the two of them, face down. Karus rolled him over. The dust made Tal’Thor look dead. The elf had been hit on the head and was bleeding badly. The blood flowed out from a wound on his scalp and over the sides of his forehead, some of it down his right cheek. It was a shocking contrast set against the white of the dust.
Karus quickly found the wound and examined it. Tal’Thor had a thin laceration about an inch in length on the very top of his head. Karus felt the skull, pressing his fingers over the wound, and was pleased that he didn’t feel any breaks, softness, or sharp bone fragments. Just to be safe, he also checked for gray matter or white bits around the wound, which might indicate the skull had broken in some way. He did not see any of that. Lastly, he checked Tal’Thor’s pupils to make sure they were equal sized. If they weren’t, it meant a serious injury had occurred and death was a distinct possibility. He breathed a sigh of relief that they weren’t too big either, for that was a sure indicator that life was leaving the body.
Karus knew from experience that head wounds bled profusely. They could also be tricky. Though the skull might not be broken, he might have been hurt on the inside, his brains mucked up enough to eventually see him die. Karus had known men to take a blow on the head and simply not wake up. He hoped that elves, like humans, presented the same injury signs and he wasn’t misreading things.
“Tal!” Si’Cara rushed over and knelt down next to her husband.
“He lives,” Karus said. “I don’t think his skull is broken, either.”
Tal’Thor’s eyes fluttered open, which Karus took to be a good sign. Si’Cara gave a shuddering sob at the sight of him awake. Tal’Thor asked her something groggily in Elven. She replied and caressed his face with the palm of her hand. A moment later, his eyes rolled back and he passed out. Si’Cara checked for a pulse. After several long moments, her shoulders relaxed slightly. Si’Cara examined the wound herself, then leaned back.
“It is as you say,” Si’Cara said. “He is lucky.”
Karus looked up to find Amarra gazing down on the injured elf with concern. Then her eyes flicked to Karus and they widened in alarm.
“It’s all his,” Karus said, realizing that his hands and chest were covered in the elf’s blood. He checked himself over to make certain he did not have an injury, then stood and dusted off his hands. “I am whole.”
Amarra let out a breath of relief, then looked back to Tal’Thor. “How is he?”
“He’s got a bad knock on the head,” Karus said. “That’s for sure. I don’t think anything’s broken, just had the sense knocked out of him is all.”
“Can you heal my husband, mistress?” Si’Cara asked Amarra. “Like you healed me?”
“I believe that will be possible,” Amarra said and started to kneel next to Tal’Thor. She abruptly froze halfway down as something caught her attention. She stiffened, her gaze fixed toward the gate. Karus looked and blinked in astonishment. He stood there, just as frozen, staring in disbelief. His brain was having difficulty believing what he was seeing.
“By my grandmother’s beard!” Dennig exclaimed in barely a whisper. “That just cannot be.”
With those words, Karus’s momentary paralysis broke. He was rapidly learning that what a few weeks before would have been impossible was now very much probable. Karus knew that nothing should surprise him, and yet there was a lot that still did. He scrambled to his feet and dragged out his sword.
“You … have … got … to be kidding me.” Dennig pulled himself to his feet, hefting his axe. He looked over at Karus. “I knew I should have listened to my mother and gone into the family business.” Dennig faced back toward the gate. “Instead, no, I thought I knew better and became a soldier. This just proves the gods hate me.”
Karus shook his head slowly from side to side. It hardly seemed possible. Shuffling and shambling through the gate and working their way through the brush were the skeletal warriors they had passed on their way up the hill. The dead had unbelievably come to life. Karus could hear their bones grinding as they advanced. It was a sickening grating sound that made Karus’s hair stand on end.
Si’Cara unslung her bundle of arrows, opened it, rapidly picked out a handful of the missiles inside, and dropped the rest. She chose one with red fletching and nocked it, holding the rest against the bow. In a smooth, rapid motion, she pulled back, aimed, and loosed at the nearest of the skeletal warriors. The arrow impacted the warrior’s chest plate with a loud crack, followed by a deep whumpf sound and then a flash of flame.
Fire exploded over the skeletal warrior, within a heartbeat completely engulfing it. As if in physical pain, the warrior began to dance about as the intense fire burned and ate away at it. Another warrior brushed too close, bumping the one on fire. It, too, burst into flames. This one began to dance, like it was a real person suffering terribly as it burned. So hot were the flames that the rusted breastplates of the warriors turned red, then white, before completely melting. The liquid metal ran like water to the ground. The fire continued to eat hungrily at the bones, until, several heartbeats later, the skeletons ceased to be, turning to nothing more than ash carried away on the wind.
Si’Cara fired a second arrow, with the same result. The arrow impacted the warrior, a dwarf, and he also exploded into flames. The deadly fire did its work, rapidly eating away at the bones. Like the other two, in mere moments the skeleton was nothing but ash, another gust of wind carrying most of it away, the rest falling to the ground. The fire had spread to some of the brush, sending dark, greasy smoke skyward.
“Got enough for all of them?” Dennig asked, sounding hopeful as more shuffled closer.
“I just loosed the last one of that kind,” Si’Cara said as she released another arrow, this one with blue fletching. It passed clean through her target’s chest cavity, missing the spine by an inch and only taking a bit of rib bone with it. The skeletal warrior barely missed a step. Si’Cara gave a frown. “I don’t believe any of my remaining arrows will affect the undead. They are meant for the living.”
Just fifteen feet away now, the warriors continued to shamble closer, working their way through the overgrown brush. Their feet and legs caught on the low-lying vines, slowing them down ever so slightly as they fought their way through.
“You wanna play, do you?” Dennig placed himself between the undead and the injured Tal’Thor. He tapped the shaft of his axe into an open palm. “It’s time to make my friend here sing.”
Karus had fought the living, but never the dead. He studied them carefully as they worked their way closer. He watched as one became tangled in the undergrowth. It stopped struggling against the vine that had caught its foot. Then, it bent down and slowly extricated the foot from the vine. Th
at told Karus the skeletons were not simply mindless, but capable of thought.
“How do we stop them?” Karus almost said, “How do we kill them?” but as they were already dead, he figured they couldn’t be killed twice.
“We must hack them apart, sever the spine, break them,” Si’Cara said, dropping her bow and arrows to the ground. She drew her long-bladed daggers, a determined glint in her eyes and a grimness to not only her voice but her manner. “I have seen and fought the undead. Do not, under any circumstances, let them touch you.”
“What will happen if they do?” Dennig asked, glancing over at her.
“Their touch,” Si’Cara said, “can be enough to kill, if contact is prolonged.”
“That just warms my heart,” Dennig said and took a couple of steps toward the nearest skeletal warrior that had reached them, coming within five feet. It was carrying a badly rusted sword and its attention was focused on the dwarf. The jaw opened and closed several times, as if speaking.
“Come on, you beauty,” Dennig said. “Let me introduce you to my new friend.”
Dennig swung his axe in an arc and neatly took off the warrior’s head, which sailed off into the air several feet, as if he’d batted it away. The dwarf jumped hastily back, for the headless warrior did not go down, but instead remained upright and swung its sword in return, nearly skewering Dennig. It had not been slowed in the slightest.
After barely managing to block the strike, Dennig recovered quickly. Shoving the rusted sword away, he chopped, aiming for the warrior’s chest. It was a powerful blow. The dwarf’s weapon cracked loudly as it impacted the rusted chest plate. The axe cleaved straight through with a crunching sound as it shattered, smashed, and sliced apart the bones underneath. The skeletal warrior collapsed, the magic that seemed to have driven it shattered as the bones all fell apart.
“Get behind me … get behind me,” Karus shouted at Amarra as another warrior reached them. It swung a sword at Karus. He met it with his own blade, and the ring of steel upon steel sounded in the air. The warrior’s sword was badly corroded and rusted. Upon the impact, bits, flakes and pieces of rusted metal sprayed into the air. With a shocking rapidity, the skeletal warrior struck again, stabbing out toward Karus. He met its blade with his own, and there was another loud clang. He felt the blow communicated solidly to his hand as the attack was powerfully driven. Karus gritted his teeth. Despite his opponent being dead, he knew this dance only too well.
Karus fended off a series of strikes. Then the skeletal warrior lunged. Karus had been waiting for it and knocked the blade aside, then kicked out with his foot, using the bottom of his sandal, specifically the hobnails, as a weapon. The blow connected solidly with the knee of the skeletal warrior, which shattered under the impact with a loud snap. The warrior tottered on one leg a moment and then fell backward into the brush. It started to sit up. Before it could, Karus stepped forward and chopped downward at the creature’s arm that held the sword, aiming for the elbow joint. The bones crunched as the sword sliced right through and the arm snapped off.
Separated from the rest, the arm fell to pieces, the bones losing whatever cohesive force had held them together. Karus kicked the sword away. Then he hammered downward at the breastplate with his foot, stomping on it as hard as he could. There was a sickening crunch of bones. Like the arm, the skeleton fell apart, moving no more.
To his right, another warrior reached them. Si’Cara attacked, moving in a near blur and too quick for the warrior to strike her. The spear it held punched out and only found air as she easily ducked under the intended blow. Karus had never seen anyone move so fast. She spun around behind it, striking out with her daggers. Karus heard the crunch and snap as her daggers tore into the undead creature. A moment later, the skeletal warrior crashed to the ground, just a heap of bones, its spine severed in multiple places.
Then the mass of warriors were on them, perhaps twenty in number. Dennig waded forward amidst the warriors, swinging his axe this way and that. He cried out dwarven oaths as he attacked. With each powerful swing, there was a crunch of bones as the axe landed.
Then Karus had no more time to think. He was in the thick of it, confronted by another warrior. This one carried a rusted one-headed axe. It chopped at him, swinging a vicious cut at his side. Karus blocked it, his sword catching the axe along its shaft and slicing the weapon in two. The head of the axe glanced off of Karus’s side armor but thankfully caused no injury.
With his sword, he shoved the shaft of the axe back, then hammered his sword forward, striking the skeleton in the chest plate. He had been hoping to knock it off balance, but the metal was so rusted that his sword punched clean through. The warrior smacked him on the side of his head with the shaft of the axe, connecting with his helmet. The helmet saved him from being incapacitated or killed. Still, the blow hurt.
Karus pulled to draw the sword backward and out. To his horror, he found the blade was stuck fast in the rusted breastplate. He only succeeded in jerking and pulling the skeletal warrior closer toward him. Its jaw opened wide, as if silently screaming an oath or curse at him.
Karus jerked the sword again with no luck. No matter how hard he tried, he could not free it. The warrior hit him again on the helmet, then dropped the axe handle and grabbed Karus’s sword arm in its skeletal grip.
Karus screamed as pain lanced up his arm. It was agony unlike any he had ever felt, burning red hot and frigidly cold at the same time. He struggled to pull free of the grip, but it was too strong, too solid, too unshakable. Death had a hold upon him and did not want to let go. He was unable to free himself. The pain of it was incredible and growing by the moment. He was beginning to lose feeling in his hand.
Desperate, he punched out with his other fist, striking the skeleton a hard blow to the side of the head. Then he grabbed at the rusted chest armor, yanking the warrior closer to him. Karus delivered a head butt from his helmet. The skull crunched as part of it caved inward.
The warrior stumbled back, almost as if the blow had hurt. Karus was suddenly free. He took two steps back, gripping his arm, which stung terribly. A thin sheen of ice had formed along his hand and forearm.
“Ah,” Karus groaned, flexing his fingers. The ice shattered and fell to the ground, leaving his arm steaming in the air. The feeling slowly and painfully began returning to his hand.
The warrior lurched forward again. Karus gave up on the sword, which was still stuck fast in the chest plate. He scrambled backward and pulled out his dagger as the warrior and another two joined it, advancing upon him.
Karus quickly glanced around as he retreated several more steps, attempting to give himself room. He found he was cut off from Dennig and Si’Cara. There would be no help from that quarter. Dennig was engaged with several warriors. Si’Cara was fighting three and shielding Amarra at the same time. Karus could see nothing of Tal’Thor, as the brush concealed the unconscious ranger from view.
The three skeletal warriors continued their advance upon him, one beginning to circle around to his right and another to his left in an attempt to surround him. He could hear the painful grinding of their bones as they moved closer and prepared to attack. Karus continued stepping backward, increasing his pace, his eyes on the warriors, hoping he didn’t trip over the ivy he was moving through.
He needed a weapon beyond his dagger, and fast. His peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the guardhouse and he recalled the armory of rusted weapons. It was fewer than a dozen paces away. He turned and made a dash for the guardhouse. He could hear the skeletal warriors chasing after him, crashing through the brush. There was a clatter from behind. He glanced back. The warrior that had attacked him with the axe had tripped and fallen.
Then, Karus was at the door to the guardhouse and through. He contemplated attempting to shut the door, but discarded the idea. It might not even close, let alone hold. He needed a weapon and to get back into the fight. He recalled the short sword he’d seen—rusted or not, a weapon he was intimately familiar
with. Karus passed the first few swords, a spear, and then spotted the weapon he sought. A warrior entered the guardhouse behind him, bones scraping across the cement floor as it moved toward him.
He considered going for the mace farther down the rack, but decided he might not have time to make it, as the warrior was close on his heels. So he grabbed the short sword’s cord-grip handle. It was old and decaying, the blade hopelessly rusted. He ripped the weapon away from the rack and turned in one motion.
At that moment, Karus felt a strange butterfly sensation in his stomach. Time slowed to a crawl, if not having stopped altogether. It was a very odd feeling. Dust upon the air seemed to hang there, frozen for what seemed like an eternity. Then there was what he could only describe as a concussion, or really an explosion without sound. Dust, which had been lying in a thick carpet all around, was kicked violently up into the air. Karus was effectively blinded. Yet he felt like something had been awoken within him. He was not quite sure what. He hacked, choking and coughing as he attempted to draw in a breath.
Karus could hear the skeletal warrior’s boney feet scraping along the floor. He took a couple of steps backward, seeking to gain room. Then the dust cloud thinned a little as it began to settle. The warrior was silhouetted by the light from the door. Sword raised to strike, it advanced, then hesitated and took what Karus thought was an uncertain step back from him, as if it were suddenly afraid. It took another step backward, rusted sword now held defensively.
Karus was not about to pass up an opportunity when presented with one. That was one thing service in the legions taught. He advanced to meet it.
The second warrior entered the guardhouse and it too hesitated, stopping in its tracks. Karus paid it no mind as he struck at the first one. Careful not to jab the breastplate, he instead slashed toward the chest, an unforgivable sin amongst the legions, where one was trained to stab. Karus wanted to batter it back, perhaps knock it off balance and then off its feet.
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