Death Mark

by Robert J. Schwalb

  Alaeda and Talara fought back to back. Alaeda’s blade claimed eyes, fingers, arms, and anything else in her reach. Talara proved almost as able. Her bone long sword rose and fell with shocking precision. Corpses littered the ground, but the undead still came, a flowing sea of filth and rot, undaunted by the death awaiting them.

  The situation seemed hopeless. There were too many enemies. Alaeda saw others fighting, criminals and tradesmen, maimed ex-gladiators and templars, all striking against the invaders. More things crawled from the ground, things dead ages earlier and awakened to join the slaughter.

  A great cheer went up from the defenders as one of the massive worms collapsed. There was still one more. Alaeda was astonished to see its maw forced opened and a man chopping his way free. The man’s flesh smoked from the thing’s corrosive fluids. His hair was gone and he was blind, but he hacked at the thing still. The worm tried to shake the ruined man free, yet he held on. And sliding out from the hole he created, he brought his axe down on its head with a tremendous chop. It split open and purple blood fountained as the thing fell.

  A black blade flashed before her, mere inches from her face. A wild-eyed desert raider, black robes making him look like shadow, slashed again. She caught his blade with her desperate parry. She deflected the strike, though in her weakened state, it was a near thing. The man sensed her weakness and pressed his attack, each strike coming faster than the last. It was all she could do to keep her shorter weapon between herself and the warrior.

  The warrior snarled in frustration and went high with his next strike. Alaeda fell for the feint, raising her blade, but he altered his weapon’s path, twisting down to strike at her injured leg. The blade bit deep, and the world heaved as she fell.

  Korvak found several hundred soldiers and Thaxos Vordon himself had followed him. They ran through the battered Tradesmen’s District, up through the Brickyards, and around to Iron Square, which was all in flames. Through the fires, Korvak could see the battle raging ahead and the countless undead overwhelming the defenders.

  “We’re too late,” panted Thaxos.

  Korvak bit back a retort. “There’s still time. We can still turn the tide. Come on!”

  Melech heard the battle’s din for many blocks, but it did nothing to prepare him for what he saw when he followed the wizards out onto Caravan Way. The fighting raged everywhere, pockets of living clashing against the relentless dead. In the center, Melech saw more horrors on the ground, thrashing.

  The wizards did not delay. Brilliant missiles streaked from their fingertips to clear a path through the defenders. Each spell they cast weakened them further. They seemed to age before Melech’s eyes, hair turning white and brittle, wrinkles appearing all over. They were killing themselves to power their magic. However, the spells they launched killed. The woman with the staff, whom Melech learned had been working with Korvak, threw a ball of golden fire at one knot of ghouls feasting on corpses, and nothing but ashes were left of them when the fire cleared. The balding wizard moved into the battle’s thick, fire swirling around him, protecting him from attacks. As he walked, he loosed lightning bolt after lightning bolt. He walked with purpose toward a crazed woman in black robes who stood in the center of the fighting.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do?” asked Melech.

  Kep had left his side. He dived into the crowds, attacking with his knives. Melech found a discarded bone sword and picked it up. “To hell with it,” he said and threw himself forward.

  Loren struggled to his feet. His back burned and he felt his injuries bearing down on him. Brilliant lights and explosions rebounded off the walls; corpses flew in every direction. He searched the battlefield. Aeris lay against the wall, a bloody smear showing where he had struck. Temmnya raised her hands, black energy crackling between her fingertips. She was going to kill him. After all they’d been through, after everything, she was going to kill him anyway. Loren lurched forward, chopping down one of the tribesmen who moved to block his path.

  Alaeda struggled to rise. The agony in her leg was too much. Unconsciousness tried to draw her down into the blackness. She called out for Talara. She was gone, carried off by the battle tide. She raised her head. The warrior grinned and said, somehow audible through all the noise, “Your life will please my mistress.” He raised the blade. Alaeda tried to lift her own. She couldn’t. The scimitar wavered. It didn’t fall. Instead, a bone blade punched through the man’s chest. Blood frothed on his lips. The scimitar fell from his fingers, and the man toppled, revealing a terrified and much-abused Melech. He gave her his hand and a lopsided grin not matched by the fear his eyes revealed. “I think we’re even.”

  The dying expired as Korvak harvested their dwindling life force to power his few remaining spells. Blazing red light shot from his fingertips, carving holes through the undead. Ruined faces and grinning skulls turned to face him and were at once bowled over by Thaxos and his soldiers as they crashed forward.

  Korvak stumbled after them. He loosed crackling death every few steps. Vordon’s soldiers were skilled. They had already been fighting for hours, though, and without stopping for rest, they had started to fight again. It was too little, too late. They would not be enough. The undead spilled into the city, coming down the walls and flowing through the ruined gate, spreading into the Noble Quarters, Warrens, and everywhere else. He breathed out. He had done his best.

  Thaxos’s blade left a pale arc as it slid through a slave warrior’s neck and deep into a stumbling zombie with gnashing black teeth. He moved with a dancer’s grace, his blade finding its mark with each strike. He shouted, “Vordon,” again and again as a battle cry to rally his troops.

  He dispatched a skeleton clawing its way toward him by kicking the skull away. In the brief reprieve, a gap appeared in the fighting. Then he saw his cousin Talara. She fought a ghoul. It was a desperate fight. Blood streamed from countless nicks and cuts, and the monster pressed its advantage.

  Thaxos stepped toward her, loyalty to his own blood propelling him. A gray-skinned, fanged horror with blazing eyes sprang at him, blocking his advance. He slashed and cut. His cousin faded from his thoughts.

  “We’ve got to find Talara,” Alaeda shouted. She hobbled forward. She lacked the strength to raise her sword. Standing took too much effort. Melech supported her and protected her with his own strikes and parries. He was not much of a swordsman, but the zombies showed even less skill.

  “There!” she cried. She saw Talara driven back by a ghoul. She struggled forward, smashing a skull and cutting free a zombie’s jaw.

  Melech and Alaeda slashed and cut, fighting their way through the press. Melech shouted something.

  “What?” she cried.

  “Look! Isn’t that your friend?” he shouted.

  She looked and saw Phytos and a handful of miners had joined the melee, crashing through the undead. The great host turned toward the new threat and gave Alaeda the opening she needed to reach Talara. Melech chased after her.

  A bone-jarring explosion and falling ashes told Loren the monster holding Kutok was down. Loren fought his way through the undead, cutting a bloody swath through Temmnya’s forces. He would reach Aeris. He would! He saw a portly wizard hurling death, scattering the undead. More flowed in to replace each he burned away. There would be no help there.

  A new force had come up from one of the side streets, a band of what looked to be miners. They were fresher than the other defenders and cut through the foes in their path.

  Loren searched out Temmnya. The witch blasted Aeris again, and he flopped on the ground. Smoke rose from his body.

  Loren screamed and threw himself through her defenders.

  Thaxos discovered Talara at his side. The ghoul she had been fighting broke her blade and was moving in for the kill. Thaxos stepped around his enemy and shoved his sword through the ghoul’s back. It fell to ground, dead before it struck the cobbles. Talara and Thaxos exchanged a look, each surprised by his sudden charity. He saluted with his
sword and turned around just in time to find a scimitar plunging through his innards.

  Talara had left her. She vanished into the chaos and would die. Pakka would be trapped forever. There would be no rest, no relief. She would wander and haunt until what good was left shriveled and died. She screamed and raged; the darkness welled up inside. She fled the battle, leaving the woman to the fate she deserved. Pakka howled with fury. She murdered and slew as she wandered the battle’s fringes, exulting in the hot blood warming her cold flesh. The more she killed, the more guilt crept into her mind. She cared nothing for her victims. Responsibility kept tugging at her, though, a duty to protect Talara at any cost.

  Pakka dropped a mangled Vordon guardsman to the ground and swung back around to the battle. Her black, soulless eyes sifted through the bodies until she found Talara. She fought. She was surrounded. She would die. Pakka screamed in frustration and rushed to help her.

  Loren almost reached Temmnya. He grabbed her robes. Something thick and muscled hit him from the side. He fell, sprawling. He looked up and saw Ger, Temmnya’s damned lizard. It advanced on Loren, low to the ground, golden eyes gleaming. Loren struggled to rise. The beast sprang at him again and sank its talons deep in his chest and its fangs into his shoulder. They rolled and fought. He heard Temmnya’s laughter ringing in his ears. The drake shredded his flesh.

  Alaeda saw Thaxos fall, and she struggled to reach Talara. She lost Melech somewhere behind her. She didn’t know what she would do if she got there, but she had to try.

  Melech fought for his life. A ghoul, stinking like an abattoir, knocked his blade from his hands and sent it clattering away. Melech backed up, hands raised. The thing was almost human, might have once been human. Leprous flesh, sharp fangs, and shining red eyes told him humanity was a dim memory for the monster. The ghoul advanced, drool spilling from its gaping jaws.

  The weight on Loren’s chest lifted. Burning meat’s stench filled his nostrils.

  Temmnya shrieked. It was a mindless sound, pure grief and madness. Loren clambered up and saw the lizard twitching. He looked to the witch and saw Aeris swaying as he stood. He was standing. He had also picked up the pulsing, black sphere and raised it with both hands over his head. Loren couldn’t hear him, though he could read his lips. “Kill the bitch,” Aeris mouthed, and he threw the black orb to the ground.

  Korvak saw Pakka. Shock made him stumble. He had seen her die! The undead fell away from her in fear. Talara lay on the ground, one arm still thrown up over her face. The dwarf stood over her mistress and blasted a ghoul with her gaze. A savage warrior attacked. The dwarf gestured and the wild man’s eyes went black. He turned and started attacking the undead, lending his aid until the horrors dragged him down.

  Pakka’s hands darted out and tore the undead to pieces. The battle raged on. Korvak lost them in the flow of bodies.

  Kep landed on a ghoul’s back. His blade dug deep into the creature’s sides, punching through its flesh and spilling black blood from the wounds. The ghoul clawed to dislodge the halfling, but it was to no avail. Kep hung on and stabbed and stabbed until the creature collapsed. Melech rushed to Kep’s side, noting he sported horrific claw marks on his arms, face, and sides. The halfling sagged against him. Melech took up the halfling’s knife and looked up. The dead closed in, hands reaching out.

  The black sphere exploded when it hit the ground. Temmnya screamed in rage. She hurled a killing hex at the half-elf, and his flesh burned away to nothing. A black stain on the wall behind him indicated he was ever there. Ashes swirled around the witch. Her grief-stricken face was monstrous, pale and slick with blood. Her eyes bulged in their sockets. Filth matted her hair. She rounded on Loren, her hands up to launch another lethal spell against him, but he was faster. He charged forward, dodging the spell and hammering her face with his fist. Teeth and blood flew from her mouth. He landed on top of her, raising his fists to strike again and again. She screamed. She cried. He didn’t stop. Her cheekbone collapsed. Her jaw shattered. He raised his hand to strike again but checked himself. He held his fist up, ready to strike. Her blood dripped from his knuckle.

  She glared at him. The wreckage of her mouth curled into a sneer. She tried to speak. He brought his fist down. It struck rock. She was gone, a wisp of gray smoke dispersed a moment later. Loren loosed all the rage, all the hatred, and all the guilt in a roar rising above the noise of the fighting. He closed his eyes to the devastation all around him.

  One by one, the zombies fell, the magic fueling their unnatural forms fading. The ghouls, filled with panic, quit the battle, running for the under-city whence they came. The flitting shadows stilled. The savage tribesmen ran. And Tyr’s defenders cut them down.

  Loren opened his eyes and looked out across the sea of corpses. Smoke and ash filled the air. The living picked their way through the dead. The fighting was done. His duty was done. He was done.

  breaking the sphere ended the spell. Most undead zombies collapsed at once, and we were able to destroy the ghouls with little trouble. We didn’t find any more of those worm creatures, and the other creatures fled into the under-city or flew off,” explained Alaeda.

  King Tithian nodded. “And what of those savages?”

  “Routed. We killed most of them. I don’t think they will trouble you again.”

  The king leaned back in his throne and turned his attention to Talara Vordon. “Your cousin?”

  Talara stepped forward. “He was injured in the battle. I was sure he had died. I searched for him after. I couldn’t find him among the dead. I spoke with a few of his men. I heard different stories. Some said he escaped. Others say he was dragged off by my … ahem … by a spirit.”

  “A spirit?” he asked.

  Talara spread her hands as if to say it was rumor.

  Tithian shook his head. “Korvak tells me your house was responsible for the attack against the palace, but it was also your house who helped save the city.”

  “It does seem my cousin understood where his loyalties should lie in the end,” said Talara.

  “Since your people created this mess, it seems fitting they clean it up,” he said. “As your cousin is nowhere to be found, I leave the work to your capable hands. You are the heir, yes?”

  “I am,” she said, bowing.

  “I imagine we can find the coin needed to pay for this reconstruction,” said Tithian, scratching his chin.

  When Alaeda left Talara to bargain with the king about the price for their service, she found Phytos waiting in the hall beyond. He nodded and fell into step at her side. The woman had some gall, expecting compensation after her house had a part in the attack responsible for bringing the city to ruin’s brink. The king didn’t have much choice, though. Vordon’s arrival at the Caravan Gate helped turn the tide, and the soldiers, under Talara’s leadership, drove out the remaining undead not destroyed when Shom’s spell failed. Vordon was more popular than ever for helping to route Temmnya’s horde, and Tithian needed friends more than ever. Reports from the Crimson Legion were troubling. Rikus had done well in the first engagements, enough to route the Urikite armies. Against all common sense, though he pushed on toward Urik.

  A litter carried Alaeda and Phytos from the Golden City to the Rat’s Nest, where she had hoped to find Melech and Kep. Repairs in the city were already under way. Workers had fixed the ruined gate and tore down the damaged structures to raise new ones in their places. Alaeda sat on the cushions and touched her leg where the halfling’s blade had cut her. It was tender, despite a fire priest’s magic. He had tended her after the battle, and the wound was not quite healed yet. She would walk again, though, in time.

  The litter-bearers moved her through the city, up streets with more ruined buildings than intact ones. After the initial battle, more ghouls and worse had emerged from Under-Tyr. The Veiled Alliance had dealt with them in the end, having come forward to defend the city. Their leader, Matthias, suggested there may be more below and had asked Alaeda to carry the warning to the king.
Tithian had listened and, for a moment, Alaeda thought she saw a glint in his eye, almost as if he were thinking how he could use those monsters. He covered himself well, though, and dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. The Veiled Alliance had not shown themselves since the fighting ended. It seemed they preferred secrecy.

  They reached the Rat’s Nest just as the sun reached its highest point. She dropped a few coins in the lead litter-bearer’s hand and hurried inside the tavern. Phytos came in behind her. Melech, Kep, and the stranger named Loren sat at a table. Several empty mugs crowded the space between them. A young woman tended the bar. She looked familiar. A pretty thing, long hair, and a hint of a smile.

  “You like the new girl, Alaeda?” slurred Melech.

  Alaeda blushed and took a seat. Phytos wandered over to the bar.

  “Her name’s Ashita,” he whispered. “Met her in the battle. I wouldn’t fool around with her, though. She’s”—he lowered his voice even further—“a wizard.”

  Alaeda recognized her from the battle at Caravan Gate. She was part of the Veiled Alliance.

  “What’s she doing here, then?”

  “Keeping an eye on things,” said Melech.

  Kep also slumped forward, eyes glazed from one cup too many of broy.

  Loren alone was sober.

  “You saved us,” she said to the ex-gladiator.

  He grunted.

  “Oh, and I did nothing, did I?” asked Melech.

  Alaeda ignored him. “z are you headed next, Loren?”

  “I’m thinking about Nibenay.”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  He looked her in the face. “I owe a very fat man a very short conversation.”

  She smiled. “Mind some company?” She would love a chance to talk with Mordis.