A Tide of Bones

by Ben Stovall

  The dragon nodded. “Good,” he said. “Now, you end.”

  Tyrdun smiled and shook his head. “Not today, beast.” The dwarf let go of the dagger, catching another a little further down. He slammed his mace into its neighbor, and the Dark One’s maw lunged forward. It clamped shut in the air before him, saliva splattering onto his armor. He dropped again and hammered another dagger deep into the dragon’s side. With hate in his eyes the dragon snapped—

  CRUNCH!

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  “TYRDUN!” Ulthan yelled. The maw shut around his friend and tore him from the Dark One’s side. The dragon thrashed his head around, the dwarf secured tightly within its jaws. He threw him to the ground below. The dwarf landed with a sickening thump. The paladin stabbed both the swords he carried into the monster and ran to Tyrdun.

  The dwarf was in dire shape. Blood oozed out of him and he struggled to breathe. His eyes were barely open, and his armor was sundered.

  Joravyn knelt beside him. “Ulthan! Do something!” he begged. The paladin searched his eyes. The mage stared at him, sobs threatening to wrack his whole body. “Ulthan!” he shouted.

  Tears streaked the paladin’s face as he placed both hands on Tyrdun’s chest. Solustun, please, save him, he prayed. Please.

  Nothing happened.

  Solustun! I beg you! He’s my friend! Please!

  Nothing.

  Solustun I am your humble servant, do this and I swear I will carry your words to the end of the earth. Just … please …

  Nothing.

  “Ulthan! He’s dying!” Joravyn shouted. “Forget Solustun, forget all of it—YOU can do this. You can … Please.”

  Ulthan grit his teeth. He’s right. I can do this, with or without you. Anger echoed through his body as he pulled all the might he could muster from his power. His hands radiated gold light. Color returned to Tyrdun’s pale features as he drew in a massive breath, coughing and lurching upward. Ulthan and Joravyn exchanged looks, before embracing Tyrdun tightly.

  “I feel like I could go toe to toe with a skalvan in mating season,” Tyrdun said. Ulthan and Joravyn laughed.

  “We still have a dragon to fight,” Ellaria reminded them. Ulthan hadn’t even noticed her approach.

  “That we do,” Tyrdun sighed.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Ellaria grunted as the bowstring left her cheek. The arrow soared through the air and punched a skeleton’s skull. It was knocked from its shoulders, and the projectile fell to the ground alongside the bones. She fired without hesitating and every missile found its mark.

  The archers had been focusing their efforts on the black frames for some time. No matter how precise the shot seemed, none of the barbs could pierce the Dark One’s scales; the arrows that were shot at the dragon simply fell from his shape after doing nothing to punch through his hide. So, they’d been doing what they could to abate the boned soldiers from overwhelming their forces.

  It didn’t seem to be helping.

  Tyrdun shouted orders beside her. Despite now being in perfect health, his armor was ruined. His chest was visible through the sundered plates, marred with scars left from the dragon’s maw even after the magical healing.

  The dragon didn’t move much from his spot throughout the fight. Ellaria was certain at least one of the beast’s legs was broken from his crash landing. That didn’t do much to inhibit its ferocity, however. With sweeps of its massive claws and lunges with its colossal maw it was devastating the assault force. And, every so often it loosed its torrent of … whatever that energy was on the troops and snorted at the charred remains left by it. Ulthan’s group of soldiers were doing what they could, and it helped limit the casualties in its own way. Every blade they stabbed into the beast’s hide was another the skeletons couldn’t get their hands on, but with how many bony fists the invaders commanded, the onyx frames were still dangerous.

  Ellaria began to release arrows in quick succession as a horde of skeletons broke off from the bulk. They were closing the distance between Joravyn, Tyrdun, the other rangers and mages, and her. She cursed the Dark One and his minions with every breath. Every arrow that punched into a bony apparition only strengthened her anger and hatred. Tears flowed from her furious eyes as she thought of Fanrinn being turned into one of them, his honorable bones raising blades against his comrades and forcing them to strike him down again and again. Ellaria loosed her arrows as quickly as she could. Skulls, rib cages, and all other manner of bones flew from the enemies her arrows collided with, before rising again in a whirlwind of black.

  Joravyn released a torrent of arcane energy as the skeletons drew close. The wave crashed into the remaining frames and the bones were reduced to ash. The mage sucked in a gasping breath as he stumbled. Ellaria dashed to his side and caught him.

  She scowled at the mage. “Save your strength,” she said harshly. “You’re our only hope for taking him down.”

  “I have to do something!” he cried. “They’re dying out there and I’m just standing here! They need my help!”

  “If you collapse, no one will be able to finish the dragon! The blades haven’t done anything to him!” Ellaria’s voice was heated. She’d regret her tone later, but she was incapable of doing so now. “So, stop being a hero and do what’s needed.”

  Joravyn looked at the elf with tortured eyes. “You’re right.”

  The mage stepped away from her and stood on his own. For a fleeting moment, Ellaria wanted to apologize.

  But she turned around and released more arrows instead.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Inaru coughed as he sat unceremoniously on the ground. Alaka, Krolligar, and Rhu were beside him. They were bruised and bloodied, but they weren’t beaten yet.

  Though Inaru’s body certainly felt that way. They were next to the main gate, inside one of the tall towers where a few men and women knowledgeable in bandages and potions were working them over. Gorban led the defense outside.

  Inaru did his best to forget what he’d seen when he’d walked into the tower. Black fires had engulfed King’s Way, flames flickering on the edifices and the streets were littered with smoldering corpses.

  “Where does it hurt?” a scaleskin woman asked him.

  He pointed to his ribs and left arm. She examined them quickly with a few pokes and told him what he already knew. “You’ve got two bruised ribs. Maybe cracked. Your left arm, however, was only overextended. It’ll be fine soon but fighting with it will be difficult.”

  Inaru nodded. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll get some bandages for your lacerations,” she promised, and he acknowledged her with a nod.

  “At least we aren’t dead yet, brother,” Krolligar wheezed. Inaru had to agree with that. Krolligar wasn’t in awful shape. A massive cut opened his face, however, and his left eye was covered in gauze. He hadn’t lost it, but without the bandages blood covered his vision anyway.

  Everything considered, the defense was going well. Skeletons had hit mostly only the gates they’d been worried about, and the defenders were holding. Well, they were holding as well as one could expect against a nearly unstoppable tide of dead men. Even inside the tower the orcs could hear the dragon roaring in the distance. He hoped his friends were alright.

  The scaleskin woman returned as promised and covered Inaru’s cuts. He thanked her, and she nodded before she moved on to the next wounded soldier.

  Alaka’s fingers wrapped around his hand, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “We better survive this,” she said with a small smile.

  “We will,” Inaru replied with full confidence.

  Then, his ear twitched at the opening of the door. He turned to regard a man who looked like he’d been mauled by a bear.

  “Warchief,” he struggled to say. He fell to the ground, and a nurse rushed to him. Inaru rose and ran to his side.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “The gate … it was overrun. Gorban fell. The … the skeletons are inside the city.”

&nbs
p; Inaru’s eyes widened. He stumbled for a moment. “How?” he asked quietly.

  “Some men were going to come for medical aid,” he wheezed. “When we opened the gates, skeletons alight with black flames surged out and attacked our backs.”

  Inaru left the man to the nurse’s work. He turned to his comrades. They saw the worry in his gaze.

  “What happened?” Krolligar asked.

  “Skeletons breached the wall,” Inaru answered. “Krolligar, you have the gate. Rhu, gather some of the soldiers and take them to fight the Dark One. We need to get that dragon down, so we can reinforce the wall. Alaka, with me. We’re going to find the skeletons in the city.” They nodded. Krolligar and Rhu rushed out of the tower. Inaru turned around to regard the soldiers that were being bandaged.

  He cleared his throat, catching the attention of the gathered. “Skeletons have made it inside the city,” he said. “I know that many of you come from Aelindaas, or Aljorn. Daralton. The Lowlands. Torgas’hallan. Some of you may even be from Kual’apir, Auzix, Ulen, or the lands beyond.

  “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “None of it. Those skeletons are pouring into Souhal and you’re here. That means if the necromancers win, you’re dead. There’s no two ways about it. Those skeletons are running rampant throughout Souhal, killing the citizens who didn’t leave and the ones that came here for safety. And those they slay will rise again, fighting harder and harder until none are left.

  “So, if you can stand, if you can swing that sword for just a little bit longer, come with me. I’m not asking you to fight for your kings or some stones an idiot laid a thousand years ago. I’m asking you to fight for yourselves.” The soldiers were quiet. One by one they stood and grabbed their weapons. The defenders picked up bucklers and began to pound their metal with their swords, axes, and maces. Inaru nodded at the noise. “Let’s go.”

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Lytha covered her mouth. She took short, shallow breaths, hoping they were quiet enough for her to remain hidden. When the northwestern wall crumbled from the dragon’s crash-landing, the skeletons had surged onto the battlements, and she’d barely gotten away.

  Lytha ducked behind a house not far from the wall. She could hear the clattering bones of the skeletons as they explored the city’s streets. The apparitions were banging down doors and smashing windows, working their way inside of buildings and killing their occupants to increase their numbers.

  She actually thought they had a chance when that colossal dragon crashed. She couldn’t believe her naiveté. Lytha was just one woman with a sword and a crossbow. How could she have helped at all? She should’ve ran when she had the chance.

  But Lytha knew that she wouldn’t have. She could use the crossbow at least as well as her sword—which wasn’t saying much, but it was still something. No, Lytha wouldn’t have left Souhal then, and she couldn’t leave it now. All the same, she was still terrified of perishing in the battle. Even after her chat with the Watcher.

  She tried to calm her nerves. Piece by piece, she checked her gear. Her armor had only taken a single cut so far, shallow across the left arm. She had several bolts left but knew her sword was going to be more useful in the close quarter streets of Souhal. Still, she’d use her crossbow where she could, preferring when her enemies were not close enough to cut her throat.

  The woman from Vainyr rose and made her way out of the alleyway as quickly and quietly as she could. She looked down the street. On her right was the wall, not far, but she had put a bit of distance between it and her. Lytha assumed it was about a hundred feet from her. A few skeletons shambled about that way, and no doubt more were entering the city from the breach. The left side looked much more promising. Only three skeletons were stalking the street that direction, walking toward a small hovel. She could easily stay out of their sight and make her way into a safer position.

  But then Lytha heard a scream from the interior of the tiny house. A child’s cry for help. She scowled at the onyx frames and stepped out onto the road, crossbow ready. With a pull of the trigger, a rib cage went flying deeper into the city, and the bones fell to the ground. Lytha then drew her sword and let the leather strap catch her crossbow, the weapon bumping her hip and swaying from the motion.

  The skeletons tilted their heads at her as she approached. Their burning red eyes were as malicious as the first time she’d seen the apparitions, and she returned their gaze with her own vehement stare.

  She lunged forward with her sword. The first of the skeletons parried her strike with a small swipe and the second slashed sideways scoring a blow on her shoulder. But her armor held. She quickly brought her sword around on the skeleton who’d struck her, slamming into its elbow. The joint broke apart, and the frame’s forearm fell to the ground, sword in hand. It swiped its claws at her in response, the bony hand raking through the air as she moved from its path. The other skeleton lunged toward her and she instinctively held her sword out. Her blade knocked its sternum, and the skeleton’s sword wasn’t long enough to stab her in return. It clattered to the ground unceremoniously. The second assembly of bones now held its former forearm in its remaining hand. Lytha would’ve laughed, if her life wasn’t on the line. With a lucky lunge, she stabbed the skeleton’s cervical vertebrae, knocking its skull from its shoulders. It fell to the ground. It was over.

  She made her way to the hovel and knocked. “Hello?” she called. A frightened gasp sounded within. “I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Lytha. I live here in Souhal.” Concerned noises echoed off the interior walls. They didn’t believe her. She couldn’t blame them. “My home is near the Unruly Pony, run by Mr. Hatchet.”

  That was enough for them. The door creaked open. She smiled at the little boy within. “Are they gone?” he asked. He was no older than ten. A smaller girl sat in the corner. Lytha thought her eight.

  “They’re on the ground, for now,” she answered truthfully.

  The boy was relieved. “How did they get in? My father said he wouldn’t let them through …” he asked. His voice was despondent and worrisome.

  “Is your father fighting?”

  “He … he’s at the big gate. He wanted us to stay here, said he’d come find us if the skeletons got in,” the boy said.

  Lytha frowned. “Let me take you to the palace. You’ll be safe there.”

  “I want to wait for my dad,” the boy replied. “He’ll be here.”

  “It isn’t safe,” she said, almost begging the boy to see reason. “Your father will be able to find you after the battle if you let me take you to the palace. The skeletons aren’t going to stop coming any time soon. Please, come with me.” Lytha was struggling to hold back tears. The boy’s father was nearly certainly dead. And if the kids stayed here, they would join him all too soon.

  The choice was torturing the boy. Lytha caught him looking at the black bones that littered the street. The skeletons could reanimate at any moment. The boy finally nodded. He grabbed his sister’s hand. “We’re going to go with the lady, okay? She’s going to keep us safe until dad can find us.” The girl whimpered, her lip quivering, but she rose with her brother and they came back to the door. Lytha reached down with her left hand, and the children squeezed it. With purpose, she led them toward the center of the city.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Torvaas kept himself low to the ground. He took small, silent steps down alleyways and streets, his hands clutching his daggers with his thumbs rubbing the pommels. On Graal Wylan’s urging he’d reentered the city to help deal with the skeletons that managed to enter. Knowing his blade would keep the apparitions down, he made certain each of the invaders’ minions felt its steel.

  He had to admit, he wished he’d asked for some aid. He wished they’d had some to give had he asked. But the skeletons were overwhelming the defenders at every gate, and if the undead overran the city, it would only be a matter of time before the defenders were flanked and cut down to the last. He had to ensure that didn’t happen. The defenders had to hold ou
t until the Dark One lay slain, only then would the necromancers meet the steel of the gandari defenders.

  Torvaas crouched behind a half-smashed crate. Bundles of silk and linen were spilt onto the street. Skeletal feet clanked against the cobblestone road. Looking out from behind his chosen cover, he counted them quickly. There were nine.

  With soft steps, he moved from the standing half of the crate. Not a fan of his chances in a melee alone against that many skeletons, he thought it best to take some of them out from a distance. Running his hand over his belt, he found he had four throwing knives. He smiled as he remembered stabbing many of them into the wyvern. That encounter seemed so long ago.

  He returned his daggers to their sheaths and climbed onto a building, using a stack of crates as a staircase. He took aim with the lightweight blades. In quick succession, he loosed them all. The first punched into a skeleton’s collar bone with enough force that its bones lost their form. The skull’s eyes remained glowering, however, and the black pieces began to reform. The second knife caught a new target and punched it in the arm, knocking it from the skeleton, but not destroying it. His third knife hit the same target in the pelvis and it clattered to the ground. The fourth managed to knock a skull from a vertebra.

  Ripping his blades from their sheaths, Torvaas leaped into the fray. His daggers caught either side of an onyx clavicle and the skeleton fell instantly from the application of the darksteel. The remaining five surged forward. He dodged the two strikes of the first one, parried a pair of swings from the second and third skeletons, ducked below an arcing slice from the fourth, and managed to roll away as the fifth simply attempted to tackle him. They were on him again before he could mount an attack of his own. This time the apparitions met with more success. Three cuts were scored against him from a flurry of attacks. Two on his left forearm, and one on his right shoulder.

  Torvaas met their fury. He swung his darksteel blade into the skeleton on his right; it cut through with such force it slammed into a second, dismantling both apparitions. His other blade caught the carpals of the skeleton furthest on his left, breaking them and forcing its weapon, still clutched in a bony hand, to the ground. That skeleton busied itself with retrieving its blade as the other two struck again. With a duck, he dodged their blades and slammed both daggers into one of the frames. Then, he kicked the other in the patella, forcing it back. Taking advantage of the momentary peace, he reevaluated the combat.