“That was a damn good song. Let’s sing it, for old times’ sake.”
D’Jenn smiled grimly and nodded at Dormael.
The two wizards opened their mouths to sing as the first corpse gained the apex of the hill, his legs pumping as he silently sprinted toward the opening in the wall. Dormael could see its face, slack and expressionless, eyes fixed on the two cousins. Dormael reached out to the magic, feeling D’Jenn’s power link with his own in a tumultuous harmony.
The rain came down in a sudden torrent as the gray morning was swallowed by the storm, and the entire southern face of the hill devolved into a chaotic tempest of its own.
****
Chapter Thirty
To Dance with the Dead
Rain plummeted to the earth in a turbulent downpour. The wind had picked up, and blew in great gusts over the hills, thrashing the grasses back and forth under the torrent of water falling from the sky. Pounding feet fell upon the ground, the subtle sound of them as they struck the dirt drowned out by the noise of the storm. The sky was a dark mass of roiling storm clouds flickering with lightning.
Dormael could feel every rain drop as a single entity in the charged air. He could feel the blades of grass waving in the torrential winds, and the roots that held them fast in the earth. He could feel the vibrations of the pounding feet through the soles of his own boots, and his Kai seemed to reverberate with the violent sound of it. With every flicker of unspent lightning in the clouds, his magic answered with a pulse of expectant, exuberant power.
He was the storm.
His voice rang out into the air, harmonizing with the rumbling bass of D’Jenn’s own. His melody rolled through the whipping wind, the falling rain, the thundering boots, and as it entwined with the magic that responded to his call, the song gained an intense and dreadful purpose. He reached out with his Kai and pulled as much power into the spell as he could from the energy of the storm.
The rain began to curve away from the cousins as the magic began to respond to them.
The spell had no specific purpose. It had no focused direction, no intended result. It was wild magic, formed with nothing but an instinctual desire to stay alive.
It was anger, given form and license to run amok through the ranks of the wizards’ enemies. It was the fear of death, given life and the desire to keep on living. It was the righteous frustration built up over the course of an entire season spent running from an unknown threat that had finally come to face them head on.
It was retribution.
The first corpse to reach the stone wall jumped toward D’Jenn, arms upraised, ready to attack him with an unfeeling, animal ferocity. As its feet left the ground, it floated upwards instead of forward, as if caught in some invisible wind. Its legs kicked and its arms struggled, though its eyes never left D’Jenn. It didn’t seem to register what had happened, nor did it seem to care.
The grass on the hill suddenly bent sharply and violently away from the two wizards, and some of it was even torn from the dirt to float upwards through the air. Other corpses were caught in the tempest of magic as they gained the top of the hill, their own feet leaving the ground, bodies flailing as they floated upwards.
There was a great crack that rang out, audible even in the blowing gale, and stones the size of a man’s ribcage suddenly tore from the wall to tumble haphazardly into the corpses and down the hill. The noise was vicious as they smacked wetly into flesh, thumped heavily into the earth, and flew down the hill before the force that the two wizards were wielding.
The dead bodies uttered no sound as they were crushed and maimed by the tumbling stones. Some were flung head over heels as the great rocks clipped them, gore spraying out from their torn flesh. Others were crushed underneath the stones completely and pounded into the earth with a gruesome finality. Most didn’t rise again, though Dormael caught sight of a few that stubbornly pulled their mangled bodies up from the earth to stumble as best they could up the hill again.
Dormael felt his brows draw down in anger, and he sang even more loudly and insistently. If the stones weren’t enough to kill these repugnant things, then he’d just have to reach for more. His eyes turned to the sky, and the flickering clouds above.
His power soared upward.
Lightning lanced down from the darkened clouds, tearing great furrows in the earth as it struck again and again. Corpses were charred as they were struck. Some caught fire, which seemed to affect them no more than the rain that just as quickly extinguished them. Dirt flew from the ground in wild, spraying clods from the points where the lightning hammered into the hill.
Though they’d carved out a tithe of the animated bodies, still they came on.
The song died on Dormael’s lips, his breath spent. He and D’Jenn had wreaked havoc with the wild magic, but such things could not be sustained for long. It was dangerous, and wild magic had a tendency to get out of control. Though he was elated at the feeling of tossing around that much destructive power, he knew that he must stop the display or risk unleashing his power completely.
He nodded to his cousin, who withdrew his magic from the link that they’d shared to work the spell and gripped his morningstar with determination. Dormael nodded back, and fell into a fighting crouch with his spear at the ready, his anger a cold and dangerous chemical that ran through his veins. He glanced to the side and saw Shawna send the horses back up the hill, spooked eyes rolling as they galloped into the ruins, then turn to face the remaining corpses who still came running toward the ruins. Allen screamed his defiance at the dead things, and charged down the hill directly at them.
Thumping boots were the only noise that announced the first corpse that came running up the hill at Dormael. He stepped forward, slamming his spear upward into the thing’s throat. The dead thing’s momentum drove the steel blade of his spear into its brain all the way to the crossguard at the base of the blade. The impact was jarring, and it almost tore the weapon from Dormael’s hands, but he was able to hold onto it as the corpse went suddenly limp.
It was a good thing. There were more of them coming.
****
Maarkov dove to his right, cursing vehemently as another huge stone came hurtling down the hill and almost took his head off. He felt the wind of the thing’s passing as he barely got out of its way, and was able to roll in the wet grass and come again to his feet. That had been close.
The rain seemed to be blowing directly into his eyes, and he had to squint them almost shut as he tried to make out what was happening on the hill. He could see the strega, blurred forms dashing up the slippery grass toward the ruins. No few of them had been crushed by the hurled stones, and their ranks were confused and jumbled now, as the ones who were either unharmed or hale enough to rise were still making for the ruins.
Lightning suddenly began to pound the hill with random, deadly strikes. It sent clods of mud flying into the sodden air and burned the strega if they were unfortunate enough to be nearby when it came down. If Maarkov had any hair it would be standing on end at the display he was watching. He’d seen his brother use his power before, but this…
White suddenly filled his eyes, and everything went quiet save for an even tone playing in his ears. He couldn’t feel his body for a moment, but he could smell and taste a burnt, scorched stench to everything. Slowly, everything came back into focus.
The clouds rumbled in his vision, and for a second he thought he was dead. The same tone played in his ears, and he couldn’t hear anything else. It made the world around him seem odd and detached somehow. He tried to move, and saw his hand rise up before his eyes. He felt his face, his head, patted his chest and checked to make sure his body was intact. Everything was in place, but when he looked at his hands again there was putrid, dark blood on them.
His stomach muscles protested as he sat up, and he almost over compensated for the motion and fell right back into the wet grass. The rain still fell on him in a torrent, and he saw that the leather he was wearing was covered in gri
me that was slowly being washed away by the water. There were spots on his vision and he felt dizzy and nauseous, but he was able to push himself to his feet and stand again.
The hill was devastated. Great trenches and craters dotted the once smooth face of it. There were scorched and smoking areas where the lightning had come down, though whatever had caught fire was being quickly put out by the storm. Broken and burnt strega scattered the hillside.
He’d been almost halfway up the hill before, he felt sure of it. Now, though, he was halfway again to where he’d started. He looked down at himself again and noticed a scorch mark across the shoulder and chest of his leather vest, and his skin was pink and slightly blistered. It was a stark contrast to usual grayish pallor.
Lightning, then. He’d been struck.
Maarkov caught sight of his brother striding slowly for the hill from where he’d been standing. It seemed that he was going to take a personal hand, then. Maarkov turned and took a step toward the temple – and almost fell on his face again. His equilibrium seemed to be off. That was either a good thing or a bad thing, considering the current situation.
His timing and stance would be off when he drew his sword to fight, and it was looking more and more that he would have to. Staying on his feet could prove difficult, and if he fell it would most likely be either fatal or greatly debilitating. Perhaps he was ready to die, though. It would take the correct strike to kill him, but if he could maneuver his enemy into taking it…
Maarkov reached down to his side and drew his slender blade from its scabbard. He didn’t even bother to check the blade as he turned and carefully began to make his way up the hill. He would make his decision when the time came, and if the situation presented itself to a skilled enough opponent.
He went in search of someone to debate the issue with.
****
D’Jenn charged into the roiling smoke of the ravaged hillside, chasing Allen. He and Dormael had killed – if that was even the right word for dispatching these dead things – just over half of the corpses attacking the hill, but their numbers were still formidable at D’Jenn’s best estimate. Allen would be swarmed by the things if he stayed on that hillside alone.
A face came out of the smoke and rain, eyes dead and staring. Hands reached for D’Jenn, but he’d been ready. He whipped out with his mace between one step and the next, connecting with the side of the thing’s head. The impact jarred his arm, and the head ruptured with a wet cracking noise. Gore splattered D’Jenn and the corpse fell, but D’Jenn was still moving.
His Kai sang around him in an excited whirlwind, touching upon everything. He could hear the tones of his magic reverberating through his Kai until it seemed that the entire world was made of torrential rain, thundering feet, and musical tones that filled the air around him with a buzz of wild music. It was an old tactic of his, and his magical senses seemed to merge with the rest, so he could perceive the world around him with greater clarity.
Another corpse came out of the rain, but D’Jenn had sensed it coming. He touched it with a whip of his magic since it was on his left side, and a flash of light exploded from the thing’s throat. Its head simply lifted from its body, which kept running for a few steps as the momentum carried it on past D’Jenn.
D’Jenn dodged another but was already past it, and something told him that if he turned to engage it and arrested his own path, he would be in danger of being swarmed himself. He trusted that Dormael was somewhere behind him, laying about with his own power, and he left it to his cousin. D’Jenn kept running.
He spotted Allen ahead of him, a blurred form with spear and shield facing down three of the corpses. He bashed one of them with his shield and put a quick thrust through the throat of another, but the blows didn’t seem to affect them. The corpses didn’t try to avoid injury; they just kept coming over and over again, taking blows that would have killed anything else. Allen’s feet were constantly moving, though, and that was the only thing that kept the bodies from getting their hands on him. D’Jenn came to a stop a few links away, concentrating as he divided his mind to unleash another magical attack.
“Down!” he shouted, and Allen instinctively rolled to his right.
D’Jenn pushed his magic at the things, and the ground suddenly exploded violently outward, throwing them into the air and away from his cousin. Their limbs flailed as they flew down the hill, tumbling chaotically over the wet ground. Allen came to his feet and ran over, tossing his shield to the side.
“Damnable things don’t feel any pain,” Allen grumbled.
“I noticed.”
“How do we kill them, then? I ran one of them completely through, and it just stumbled a little and kept coming. I tried for the throat, and nothing good came of it.”
“The head, I think,” D’Jenn answered, peering into the rain, “I hit one in the head, and it went down. Took the head from another, and it went down as well.”
Allen nodded and glanced to where another group of the corpses were dashing toward them, “Here they come.”
“Aye. Have you seen the Vilth, yet? He has to be here!”
Allen shook his head and said, “Just these bodies. On your guard!”
There were four of them this time, and Allen stepped forward, stabbing his spear upward into one of the corpse’s brains. It fell, body going limp immediately, and Allen was forced to backpedal and abandon his spear as another of the things reached for him. He whipped the short sword he carried from his side and reversed his momentum, slipping a little on the wet grass but keeping his stance enough to slash at the creature’s neck. His sword chopped into the cadaver’s throat and got stuck on the spine, but the body went limp and fell, the movement jerking the slippery wet hilt from Allen’s hand.
D’Jenn met the charge of one of the corpses head on, swinging his morningstar with every bit of strength he could muster at the thing’s forehead. It connected, and D’Jenn was afforded a close up view of the head as it was crushed into a misshapen, bloody mess. Gore sprayed into his eyes and he almost didn’t see the other one, which came at him only a fraction of a moment after he killed the first. D’Jenn was forced to duck away, and the cadaver’s sprint carried it past him. Its feet slipped on the grass, and D’Jenn seized the moment, turning and wrapping its feet in the grip of his magic and jerking it upwards with sudden violence.
The thing’s feet suddenly came off the ground and went straight up into the air, forcing the head forward into the ground. Its neck broke with an audible crack, and D’Jenn discarded the thing as it suddenly stopped struggling. It appeared that breaking the neck worked just as well as removing the head.
“There’s more! Get ready!” Allen shouted, and D’Jenn looked up to see his cousin pointing off into the rain at a spot where a sizable group of the things were dashing right for them. D’Jenn cursed and got to his feet, trying to think of something quickly. He hefted his morningstar and readied himself, and saw Allen pull the short hand axe from his belt to hold in his off hand, opposite the short sword.
He glanced to his right, and there, just a few links away, was one of the stones that he and Dormael had flung from the wall. It lay half buried in the mud of the hill, a dead arm sticking out from beneath it. D’Jenn smiled and reached out with his magic.
The rock cracked and splintered in response to the power he poured into it, shattering into a thousand pebbles held together by his will. He screamed as he pulled them up from where they lay with another pulse of magic, and the rocks began to streak toward the running corpses, tearing into their ranks with deadly efficiency.
A few of them fell, but D’Jenn wasn’t able to get them all. They kept on coming, and he quickly ran out of rocks to throw at them. Allen screamed out a challenge to the things, who didn’t respond as their feet thumped into the mud, bringing them ever closer.
There was an inhuman shriek from somewhere off to their right, and D’Jenn tore his eyes from the advancing corpses just in time to see a strange creature leaping stealthily
for his cousin. It had a ragged cloth wrapped around its head, twin burning lights peeking from the space it had left open for them. Its hands and arms were distended and clawed, and it was lean and sleek almost, like a hunting cat. Allen never saw it coming until it was too late.
“Allen!” he screamed, but the thing hit his cousin in a violent collision, and the two of them rolled away into the grass, Allen’s weapons flying from his hands.
Then the corpses were on him.
****
Shawna moved down the hill at a walk, watching for any advancing…whatever they were. She’d never seen anything more disturbing in her life than the things she’d seen today, and her heart pounded with a tightly controlled fear. She resisted the urge to vault into her saddle and ride away.
This…Vilth that Dormael and D’Jenn had spoken of had to be here, controlling these things. He was probably the most responsible party for the death of her family. She would repay him tenfold for every dream she’d had of her sisters, every pang of sadness she felt at her father’s murder. Her fear was slowly replaced by white hot anger.
She would have her revenge.
One of the mindless dead bodies came dashing out of the storm, arms pumping, eyes locked directly on her. She moved the weight forward onto the balls of her feet, adjusted the grip on her swords just slightly to make them more comfortable, and turned slightly to face it. It had no thought; it simply rushed directly at her.
This was going to be easy.
She fell immediately into Light Stance; a loose fighting method that her instructor had taught her was best for defending against multiple enemies. Her swords held tightly in her hands, she danced sideways from the thing’s path and flicked her right hand out, barely feeling the sword bite through the soft flesh of the corpse’s throat. It went past her and she didn’t even look at it. It wouldn’t be after her now, with the wound in its throat.
The Sentient Fire (The Seven Signs) Page 94
