by Ben Stovall
The skeleton he’d landed a throwing knife into the collarbone of had reformed and regrouped with the two he was presently engaged with. The other two the knives had met with remained on the ground, thankfully. The trio pushed forward, thinking him unprepared for their assault.
A foolish mistake. His darksteel blade cut into one of their skulls as they rushed him clumsily. His other dagger bit into a carpal once more, and he laughed as he realized the same skeleton now possessed neither hand. The one with the knife lodged shallowly in its clavicle swung twice. Torvaas parried both, raised his daggers, and cut him crossways down the rib cage in a “X.” The handless skeleton leapt at him. To the frame’s credit, he knocked the scaleskin man onto the ground, and managed to slam him twice with his forearms before Torvaas’s dagger cut into him. Pushing the bones off his body, he rose, and slammed the darksteel into the two skeletons he’d not handled already.
He fell onto the ground, breathing hard. He ran a hand over his scaled head, closing his eyes tightly. The rogue rose and gathered his throwing knives, only managing to retrieve three. Then, he approached the smashed crate and cut off three rolls of linen. The scaleskin wrapped the open incisions the skeletons had scored on him with the cloth. He dusted himself off before continuing.
✽ ✽ ✽
Lytha kept the children close to her as they snuck through the city’s streets. A silver radiance shrouded the city now, the moon’s incandescence the only light available, as no one had lit the lanterns that lined the streets—for obvious reason. Even still, Lytha missed the warmth and the luminosity they provided.
She led them down a small street that cut through the Ironwood District toward Abbey Lane. From there, they should be able to make it to the palace unabated, as she doubted the skeletons had moved so far into the city. However, it was a long walk to the religious section of Souhal.
Thus far, the three of them managed to avoid being spotted by the onyx frames that roamed the alleys and roads. There were a few uncomfortably close calls, but they’d made it through. One of such times she’d had to employ the use of her crossbow, but luckily the other nearby skeletons didn’t hear their comrade’s bones clatter to the ground.
Lytha and the children were ducked behind a barrel in an alleyway at present. Several of the invaders’ constructs were making their way down the road they’d intended to use. They were silent as mice as the bones shambled onward. When Lytha dared to peek over the makeshift-cover, she counted nearly two dozen of the skeletons. No matter how long they hid, they would wait for this patrol to pass. There were too many for her to even consider fighting. It would be suicide, and she had to get these children to safety.
Then, she heard the cries of men and women charging in to battle with the undead. She dared peek again. There were just over a dozen soldiers, the squad made of all the forces present in Souhal, led by Inaru. She was elated to see her friend yet lived.
Though, it didn’t seem for long.
The men he’d brought were wounded. And they were losing. He’d rallied the injured behind the gate to help him fight against the skeletons within the city, and they had only earned more scars from the mission.
To their credit, the defenders fought on regardless. She bit her lip. Even with her aid, they may still all fall in this battle. The smarter choice would be to continue waiting and see the kids to safety.
But if there were even a chance she could save their lives as well…
“Stay here,” she whispered to the children. The young boy seemed to intend to argue, before he closed his lips tightly and nodded, clutching his sister’s hand. She took a deep breath and stepped out onto the street, crossbow high. With a click, a bolt flung into the back of a skeleton’s head. It ricocheted off the back of the cranium and only served in getting the skeleton’s attention. She managed to reload before it was upon her, and the second shot knocked its arm away; without its blade, the skeleton was easy work.
She drew her sword and ran into the fight. She swung into the backs of two skeletons with two quick strikes, throwing their bones to the ground. The elf they’d been overwhelming joined her as they rushed to the aid of the other soldiers.
Their blades bit into another of the frames, but they were too slow to save the scaleskin it had trapped on the ground. She did her best to push on, not letting the casualty slow her down. They saved a dwarf who’d been all but finished, his shield tossed aside and a skeleton’s wicked blade descending toward him. They pressed forward.
Then, Lytha heard Inaru scream.
The orc was on the ground, one hand clutching his side the other swinging wildly to dissuade the skeletons from pressing their advantage. Three of the black boned constructs loomed over him. Lytha rushed them.
Her sword punched through the spine of one and through a rib on the other side. With a flourish, she ripped the torso from her victim, sending its bones to the floor. Another spun to meet her, and she managed to lodge her blade between its radius and ulna. The skeleton’s joint was locked by her sword, keeping his own weapon from cutting her flesh. She pulled a bolt from her quiver and stabbed it into its clavicle. It didn’t fall from the strike and slapped her with a bony palm.
Then, a sword cut across her leg.
The third skeleton had taken the opening won by the second. While the wound was shallow, it still forced her to reevaluate. Employing all her might, she pulled her blade from the skeleton’s arm, breaking it apart at the elbow. Then, she struck its mandible and knocked the skull from its mass. She whirled on her third attacker to see Alaka rip it apart with her bare hands.
“Thank you, Lytha,” she said. “He’d be dead if not for you.”
She sighed with relief as Alaka knelt beside Inaru. “I’d be dead if not for him,” she smiled. “Just repaying a debt.”
Inaru laughed. “I’m glad you were here, friend. But, why were you?”
“I ran into the city when they got onto the battlements. I was nearby when it fell. I’m taking two children to the palace,” she explained quickly. With a whistle, the young boy and his sister came out from hiding. “What about you?”
Inaru grunted as Alaka helped him up. “We’ve been working our way toward the wall—trying to root out the skeletons who made it inside. Krolligar took some forces to stymie the skeletons that entered, but …”
“But we don’t have enough men. And the ones we do have were injured already. We can’t keep fighting like this. We’ve already lost two thirds our force,” Alaka finished.
Inaru sighed. “Yes,” he said. “Brokil,” he called to the dwarf. The man wore the tabard of Aljorn, and its heraldry was painted on his shield. Under his helmet a short beard of auburn curls covered the top of his chest. “See that Lytha and her charges make it to the palace.”
The dwarf walked over toward her and the children. “What will you do?” Lytha asked.
“Fight,” Inaru answered. “And die, if I must.”
Lytha narrowed her eyes. “Keep Brokil with you. I appreciate the offer, but you need him more than I do.”
Inaru smiled, then nodded. “As you wish.” With that, Inaru began to lead the troops toward the gate once more. Lytha frowned.
The young girl looked up to her. “Is mister Inaru going to be okay?” she asked.
The vainyri woman bit her lip. “I hope so.” The child frowned at the distance as they watched them walk a little further. “Come on,” Lytha said, “let’s go.”
After that, the walk to the palace was quiet, the peace more than welcome. They avoided King’s Way, and the still blazing buildings that seemed to cause the road to be darker than normal. The palace was a sight more welcome than any other, the red banners fluttering in the wind, as if unaware that the city was fighting for its life. At the steps, two of the kingsguard who’d been stationed to stay during the battle came for the kids. They were young, new recruits, and they served Souhal better at the keep than they would on the field. The pair took the children in their arms and carried them up the stair
s to the entrance.
“Thank you, Lytha,” the boy called out.
She didn’t know what to say. The boy and the girl looked at each other as they were carried up the step, but no words came from her. Lytha’s mouth hung agape, but she did not speak. A tear rolled down her cheek as she saw them disappear behind the doors, knowing she’d never see them again.
It was only then she finally whispered, “Keep them safe.” Then Lytha turned around and made for the western gate.
✽ ✽ ✽
Joravyn knelt behind a rock beside Ellaria. The Dark One had rebuffed all their strikes so far, and there weren’t enough swords stabbed into its hide for Joravyn’s plan.
And they were being overrun. Some of the skeletons had broken off from the assault on the wall and were attacking the soldiers as they battled the dragon. By the mage’s guess, only about sixty of the original three hundred remained. Bones littered the floor. Some cracked and broken, others whirling back into the form of a new skeleton. Twenty of the men were with Joravyn and Ellaria, but they were surrounded. The dark frames just shambled toward them relentlessly.
Then, Joravyn heard a roar sound over the melee around him. It started with a deep, bellowing shout, followed by a magnitude of octaves. Reinforcements. They cleared the skeletons out from around them, and an orc Joravyn had seen a few times but had not met formally stepped forward.
“What’s the plan?” the orc asked.
“Swords, daggers, spears—whatever you’ve got, stab it into the dragon. Get it as deep as you can,” Joravyn advised. The orc turned around and parroted the plan loudly. The men rushed against the dragon. “How’s the city faring?” he asked.
The orc turned back to the mage. “The western gate was breached. Warchief Inaru sent Krolligar with some men to defend it and he’s doing what he can to clean the streets. As for the other gates, I’m afraid I have no news.”
Joravyn shut his eyes tightly. He knew the soldiers needed to finish this beast off, so they could get back to the city, but nothing had worked so far. Their only hope was his foolish idea. He sighed. “We need to take this thing down.”
He began to make his way off, and Ellaria whispered, “Be safe, Rhu.”
The men did as they were told, prodding the Dark One with their blades, sinking them deep. A few of them were thankfully committed to fighting the skeletons who rose without pause from the dirt. Tyrdun, having found a breastplate on a dead dwarf, was one of them, his famous hammer crushing bones with his assault. Joravyn did what little he felt comfortable doing. He needed to conserve his strength. As such, he was only using very simple spells to help the soldiers in dire need of aid, not throwing lightning bolts and fireballs all around.
Ellaria seemed to be doing … better. The fight was giving her a good outlet for her rage, and something to focus on. Her quiver was beginning to thin, however. Joravyn hoped they’d be done here before it was empty, as he didn’t want to take the chance of her fighting up close. Not now.
With a quick glance, he checked the dragon’s hide. Sword hilts stuck out like trees on the horizon—seemingly uncountable. The soldiers were having to focus more and more on the skeletons as some of them fell from the Dark One’s counterattacks. The mage began to draw his power and hoped that there were enough.
Ellaria kept him safe as he did so. Arrows flew into the skulls of would-be assailants, affording him the time to cast the spell. He felt the magic flowing through him, all around him. He was part of it as much as it was a part of him. He drew in all he could, manipulated it into the form he needed, and then …
Release.
A lightning bolt surged from Joravyn’s outstretched fingers. It took nearly all he had to cast, but it was the most powerful blast he’d ever summoned. It struck the embedded hilt of a blade, electrifying it. The lightning bolt began to arc off the weapons as Joravyn had hoped, coruscating the fighting below. It danced against the Dark One’s scales, and the dragon screamed in pain, his maw a display of the flashing energy. It fell to the dirt, and the men began to cheer. Joravyn could tell the dragon was breathing, but the breaths were shallow struggles. Even the skeletons stopped rising from the dirt around them.
They’d done it. The Dark One was going to die.
Ulthan climbed onto a rock nearby. “Heroes of Gandaraar!” he shouted. Everyone waited expectantly. “We have our chance! The invaders’ dragon is dead, and we know how to stop them. With me brothers and sisters! With me and we will cut the necromancers down and save our homes and our people!” The soldiers cheered vigorously at his call to action and they ran with him southward into the woods. Eventually, only Joravyn and Ellaria remained near the Dark One’s side, watching, waiting for the monster’s dying breath.
Joravyn walked close to its wheezing maw. Ellaria was not far behind him, but the elf kept her distance. He knelt beside the dragon. The Dark One’s eyes shone with nothing but acceptance. He knew he was going to die. He didn’t even seem surprised. His gaze flicked to Joravyn.
“It’s over,” he struggled to say. His visage was focused on the mage. “My people … are saved …”
“What?” Joravyn asked. The dragon’s lips seemed to curl into a smile. “What do you mean?!” the mage implored. But it was too late. The Dark One’s eyes closed one final time, a last breath blew through its fangs, and then … nothing. “How are your people saved?” Joravyn shouted. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t.
Ellaria placed a hand on his shoulder, and the mage finally realized how much the spell had taken from him. “Let’s get back to Souhal,” she advised. Joravyn sighed. He reached down and plucked one scale from the dragon’s head. It still exhumed the dark essence, though it no longer seemed to writhe and wrap around the mage’s fingers. He put it in a vial all the same and stowed it in his bag.
With careful steps, he followed Ellaria out of the site of the Dark One’s crash landing. When they stood at the apex, he gave the beast one last look. The shadowy smoke that had hung about it seemed to seep into the earth he lay on, tainting the stone black. Joravyn shook his head, and the pair made for the marble walls of the city, resigning the mystery to another time.
Eighteen
Ulthan glanced around as they ran into the woods. The men were almost … jubilant. They were ready to end this. They knew they could.
The paladin only hoped they were right. This was the final charge, no matter what. The skeletons would crumble without their masters, or the city would be overrun and lost. Everything was riding on this last assault.
It wasn’t long before the defenders ran into their first group of necromancers. The invaders had been spread out in groups of five every thirty or so yards. The nefarious casters had moved closer together to better coordinate their spells. The first group the soldiers of the Gandari Kingdoms fell upon died easily – outnumbered and unaware as the necromancers were. Ulthan’s blade didn’t even bite into any of them; they were dead before he’d been close enough to strike. Many of the soldiers rushed onward. He stayed for a moment and looked over their corpses.
Each one of them emitted a low buzzing sound. A familiar noise. The sound of magic.
Anchors. Fanrinn had told him about Aldayn’s attack on Aelindaas. He couldn’t take the chance of any of these necromancers fighting them from beyond the grave. It was only then he realized twelve of the men had stayed by his and Tyrdun’s side. He looked them over. “Do any of you have any trilite?” he asked.
A dwarf stepped forward. Ulthan had seen him before—he worked at a forge here in Souhal. He couldn’t remember his name, but the paladin knew he’d lived in the city all his life. “I have a little,” he said. “Not much. Here.”
The dwarf handed Ulthan a small knife. The blue-hued blade shone in the moonlight and the paladin smiled up at him. “Thank you.” He stabbed it into the necromancer’s tabard, piercing the skull iconography and cutting down its length. The magic hissed as it was ripped from the cloth, dissipating forever into the night air. He cut again at the oth
er tabards in the same motion. Thank you, Fanrinn. Wish I could have said so in person.
“Listen at the corpses of the slain. If you can hear any buzzing, it means they’re not finished yet. Cut their tabards with trilite. If you can still hear it after that, keep cutting things until you don’t. We’ll stay together and check the corpses the vanguard leaves us,” Ulthan said.
He withdrew his bastard sword. “Make sure this ends tonight.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Inaru roared as smashed bones clattered to the floor. The warchief swung his axes, striking frame after frame after frame. Alaka matched his fervor, standing at his side with her greatsword. With wild strikes, they fought onward, black bones covering the street behind them as the soldiers pressed on. Only a few of the men and women remained standing, but they fought with all the passion and resolve Inaru and Alaka did.
To Inaru’s surprise, the bones stopped rising as quickly. Where before they had been unceasing in their onslaught, the apparitions had begun to slow. He allowed himself to hope that meant the necromancers were tasting steel. Before long, none of the frames rose from the bones on the road around them, due no doubt in part to darksteel and the soldiers’ commitment to smashing as many bones as they could.
Despite the revelation, Inaru didn’t feel a second wind, or the drive to fight any harder. He’d trade all the coin he’d ever earned, his fancy dragonscale armor, and even his left arm to just take a moment and rest. To just find the time to … sit down. Alaka’s arm reached around his shoulder and she rested against him for a moment, breathing heavy.
