The duke was still waiting for him to say something. But the only thing that came out of his mouth was: “What kept you?”
* * * * *
“A safe journey, Master Dunstan,” said the duke. “Words cannot express the gratitude of my people or the debt we owe you. Without your help, we would have been lost.”
Three weeks had passed since the battle, and the halflings were preparing to go home. There had been a lot additional work and a little fighting to do, but the Battle of Temple Square, as it was now being called, had broken the backs of the ratkin, and their resistance had been minimal. They had kept the river dammed up for a week, and Paddy had talked to some more rocks to divine where any ratkin might still be lurking underground. A bit of digging and a bit of fighting, and one more rather large explosion had done the job.
The cost had been shocking. A hundred and ninety-two halflings were dead and nearly that many more wounded. Twice that many humans had died, many of them civilians, and the damage to the city would take a year to repair. But compared with what might have happened, Dunstan supposed it was a bargain.
There had been some grumbling among his people about pulling human chestnuts out of the fire, but he’d reminded them that they’d found the human’s cavalry useful in driving off mounted raiders often enough in the past—something the halflings were ill-equipped to handle—and the grumbles had subsided.
Even so, the force that was marching home was a lot smaller than the one which had come to Norwood. Well, not exactly smaller, they were all still there, except a quarter of them were not marching. Paddy’s wagons were now carrying bodies instead of gunpowder, and the duke had lent them enough wagons and teams to allow the wounded to ride.
The good-byes were all said and they started out. As they crested the rise and looked back at Norwood, Dunstan said to Paddy, “I hope they keep a watchful eye and make sure those vermin don’t come back. I had thought that my rat-catching days were behind me. I surely don’t want to have to do this again!”
“Well, with the flooding and the lack of anyone to maintain ‘em, most of those tunnels and caves ought to collapse very quickly. I suppose I ought to offer the League my services as a rock tickler and check out all o’ their cities from time t’time.”
“That might be a good idea. And it certainly is a good thing you knew how to do that! Where did you learn it?”
“It’s dwarf magic. Learned it from one o’ them years ago in exchange for some favors I did ‘em. They use it for mining.”
“I guess it would be very useful for them.”
“Oh, it is, it is!” Paddy fell silent and then looked thoughtful. “D’you suppose I should tell the duke about that big silver vein I saw under their north wall?”
The Last Stand
By William Donohue
The horses pawed the ground nervously when the dragons were near. No matter how long they spent around the scaled beasts, there was a healthy fear in the hearts of the steeds. Sindfar Greenspar whispered to his horse to calm her. She bowed her head several times in acknowledgement, but he could still sense her unease. The morning was colder than usual for this time of year; a slight trail of steam rose from the horse’s nostrils, but it was nothing compared to that which he had seen coming from the dragon’s. What was even most disconcerting was the smell of decay that came on the crisp wind.
“Commander Sindfar.” Sindfar turned to look at the elf that approached and put his hand to his breast in salute. “Lord Greybar wishes you to approach.”
Sindfar returned the salute and followed the dragonrider’s aide. They passed by many of the dragons that his clan was known to ride into battle, and Sindfar could not help but stare at them in awe. For the most part, the dragons rested calmly with their eyes shut. One in particular shook its head and raised its long neck, towering high. Sindfar watched as its trainer stroked its paw gently, causing the beast to lie back down and rest its eyes once more. There was nothing more sacred within their clan than the bond shared between dragon and elf; they were not master and pet, but instead kindred spirits.
Lord Greybar’s command tent was next to his dragon, pens of sheep on either side to feed both mount and rider.
“Commander,” Greybar opened his tent flap and motioned the cavalryman in. “Please, come in. Drink?”
Sindfar nodded and went to pour the ewer, but the dragonrider waved him off and poured the nectar in two silver goblets himself.
“I am sorry to be brusque, Commander, but we need to move fast on this.” Sindfar followed Greybar over to a map hanging on the side of his tent. The latter moved his hands over several areas as he spoke. “We’ve located several large formations of the undead host moving toward our borders. They seem to be led by both a necromancer and a vampire lord, and their army will most likely go to old battle sites in the hopes of raising more troops. In the old days, the humans especially did not burn the dead, and there is still a potential for them to raise more skeleton troops. One in particular, here,” he jabbed a spot on the map, “we believe is a potential site of a great battle. If they get there before we can clean the area, they can produce a dangerous force.”
Greybar paused and circled several plains on the map past some of the large woods. “We have several mages trying to scourge the main areas, but these areas,” he pointed again with a stabbing motion, “need to be held to delay the enemy. Although our dragons are powerful, the necromancers have some formidable spells to use against them. By dividing their attention, we can pierce their defenses.”
Sindfar nodded again. “You can count on my troops to do what is necessary, Lord. But… there is always something else unspoken.”
Greybar turned from the map and waved his hand in a circular motion. “On top of that, our mages feel something else is happening.”
“Something else?” the junior officer put his goblet down before he had even taken a sip, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.
“Yes,” replied Greybar. He stopped and turned to Sindfar looking deep into his eyes, concern and anger waging with one another. “I have to believe that there are Nightstalkers within the undead ranks.”
“Sir.” Sindfar felt his eyes narrow as a chill ran down his spine. Their forsaken brethren, trapped forever between worlds, had started appearing more frequently in the past few years, especially with the agitation of the demons from the Abyss. They all knew that the time would come to face them, but Sindfar always hoped that he would be lucky enough to never encounter them. “Are you sure?”
Greybar sighed as he looked away from Sindfar. “Yes. I can feel it and so can the dragons. We’ve only just recently calmed them down, but while you and your troops have been scouting, the dragons have been restless; their eyes are constantly searching the woods, their tails ever wagging, and their flames ever in their throats. In all of the years I have ridden Esukha, she has never behaved this way. Beyond the trace of death and decay, there is something... darker. Something more sinister.”
“Lord Greybar, you have my utmost respect and confidence,” Sindfar narrowed his eyes, carefully choosing his words. “But, we have fought the undead before. Surely, whatever forces they have, should they even be the Nightstalkers, we will overcome and triumph, as we have in the past.”
“You suppose much, Commander.” Greybar tore his gaze away from Sindfar, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “I fear they will pose a much greater threat than shambling skeletons. I worry about what horrors await us.”
Sindfar did not know what to say. Weren't the undead bad enough? Necromancers, vampire lords – and now the potential threat of the Nightstalkers? His brain and his mouth worked several times as he thought through the questions that raced to his mind, but every time, he decided to remain silent, afraid of seeming ignorant. What he really wanted to ask was what sort of suicide mission was he being sent on?
Greybar must have noticed Sindfar's expression and gently led him by the elbow back to the table. He picked up the forgotten goblet and sipped his drink,
and then he paused and looked Sindfar in the eyes. “You, Commander, have to delay the necromancer and his minions as best you can while we deal with his forces and secure our rear. We shall bring the bulk of our army to bear on them, but we can’t let these flanking forces loose in our rear. They would devastate the countryside and that would only bolster their forces in the process. Get what supplies you can from the depot, as well as the maps that our flyers have been able to make about the terrain. We will give you some additional troops to help, but you are the far-left flank of our troops. No one can get around you; no one can get past you.”
Sindfar held the stare back, nodded, and then brought his hand to his chest. “Yes sir, my men will do their duty.”
Sindfar took the other goblet, downed the contents, and bowed. Turning on his heel, he exited the tent and headed back down the path to the camp area that his Silverbreeze cavalry was located. His assistant command, Lemar, was waiting with their horses where he had left them. Taking the reins of his steed, they started back to their post. Lemar looked at him with raised eyebrows and held a palm up.
“Well? What is it?” His female assistant chortled. “You look like they have consigned us to death.”
“Lemar, you might not be far from the truth.” Sindfar swallowed hard and turned to look at her. The slight humor that had been there was now gone, and she looked back at him, hardened. “We will need strategy and finesse to survive this task. I will need your council if we are to come out of this venture alive.”
“I stand by your side, no matter what, Commander.” There was no hesitation in her voice; only determination. “Speak of what we must do, and I shall do my all for our survival.”
*****
The dead walked in silence. Spread out for a hundred yards or more, the warriors moved as a collective guided by the wraith lord and the necromancer. Occasionally, the sound of old armor rang against bones with loosely rotting flesh.
“You will keep leading your forces toward the ford at Echo Springs. I will keep raising troops for you.” As if on key, the lesser necromancers hummed their incantations, and the dead warriors of the past started to emerge from their ancient plots like newborns to join the ranks of the undead herd. “Our new allies will be a great aid, but I do not trust them. Be ready for my signal should it become necessary.” The wraith lord gave a slight bow to the necromancer and moved along. Mounting his ethereal mount, he led his reverent cavalry forward.
The necromancer heard a commotion and turned to see the approaching vampire lord. He growled and looked skyward, knowing well that the vampire would have his list of grievances.
“Zar! Zar, you scoundrel! Where is this army going? I need to feed – all my kind need to feed – and all we have are these dusty bones and a few muskrats. Muskrats! Even the forest creatures run away.” He bared his fangs and threw his arm out to the side. “Zar! Are you listening to me?”
The necromancer pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at the lord. He could feel the bile rising in his throat. He could feel the anger welling up inside of him ready to unleash dark magic on this creature, but just as quickly it subsided. Even drained of energy, the vampire lord’s supernatural voice irritated the dark mage. “I hear you, Yarik. The whole valley hears you. Lower your tone – you’d wake the dead if they weren’t already rising.” Realizing that humor was not the vampire’s suit, he tried to calm him down. “We can’t make blood from stones. Surely you and your brethren can find some stray humans or elves to prey on?” Zar smoothed out his robes, his long nails catching on loose threads and forcing him to shake them free. He adjusted his gold headpiece and looked at the vampire lord.
Yarik made a grumbling noise that sounded something like a hiss. “I do not like these new abominations. They make me nervous and they claw at the inside of my head. You say they will help us to exterminate the elves and their winged beasts, but I don’t see how.”
“Yes, these creatures, these... Nightstalkers... will either be a blessing or a curse. They are the remains of elves and dwarves trapped in the path between worlds at the sundering. Many of them are mad – figuratively and literally. They want revenge on their brethren. We will soon see just what they are capable of.”
“What about the captives you have penned up?” Yarik pointed back to a pitiful group corralled near Zar's tent.
“You know I need them to sustain these spells. If I can spare one in a day or two, I will give you what I can.”
“Well, we must do something soon, or my kin may just take them.”
The necromancer did not acknowledge Yarik's last comment and headed back to his tent to rest; magic of this intensity took its toll heavily on his body. There were not the normal logistics when leading an undead army. There was no need for large amounts of supplies that a normal army would use, just fresh blood. The captives in his corral – both humans and elves – no longer put up much resistance. They seemed resigned to their fate, or perhaps the Nightstalkers had gotten to them. The look on the faces of some of the prisoners suggested at something going through their minds even greater, more primal, than the fear of the dead coming back to life – their eyes reflected something closer to hysteria.
*****
Commander Ulle stalked forward, leading his troops under the pitch of night. Their blackened armor did not reflect the slightest hint of the moonlight as they hurried under the hush of branches. Commander Sindfar had sent them forth to scout the territory ahead; his plan was simple – try to find where the enemy was going and stop them if they reached the Mogarth Valley. There was no time for elaborate camps – no fires or noise allowed until they knew where the enemy was located. Water, waybread, and short rest were part of the routine for the troops before they were back on the go; and they continued this way for three days before they came to the Mogarth Valley. There was a small fort at the entrance to the valley that the kings of old had kept as a border station to control the flow of goods and people. Sindfar felt if they could at least get there, it could be a base of operations, and Ulle was determined to make sure he carried out the will of his superior.
The old fort had seen better days. Large patches of stone were missing from the wall, and even at the base level, the fixtures and pillars were crumbling. The earth itself seemed to be clawing to reclaim the land at which the building sat on, as moss and vines ran up the side to the roof. As they grew closer, Ulle was surprised at the first sign of life; there were children and scrawny young adults, disheveled, dressed in rags, with a burning hunger in their eyes, hanging around the outside and doorway to the fort. As they grew closer to the plumes of smoke from scattered fires, older figures appeared from inside, wielding rusty blades they pointed aggressively at the elven troops. They ushered the younger ones inside as the elves halted, weapons raised defensively, before the group.
“Ho there, gentlefolk.” The voice was human in tone, booming and clear, and caused the scavengers in front to turn toward the fort. A rotund old man with a staff, much cleaner and better fed than the lot in front of him, shuffled his way forward. He pushed the weapons down of the vagabonds as he passed. “No need for trouble. We are of no bother to you folk, no bother at all. No one has been here for years, except our people. Come, let me offer some ale.”
Ulle's face tightened in disgust and he shook his head. “What in blazes is going on here? Whoever you folk are, you must leave. This fort is being commandeered by the elven army of Commander Sindfar Greenspar!”
Blades went up on both sides as Ulle's elves were ready to back his words with steel and the vagabonds before them readied to defend themselves.
“Please sir, it is not safe out there.” Again, the big man spoke in assuring tones. “There are foul things on the move. Some of my charges have made their way here through great peril. Don’t throw them back to the wolves.”
Ulle felt some of the rage fade away and he lowered his sword slightly. “What sort of peril?”
“They have spoken of the dead pulling themselves from the eart
h, ghastly remains reincarnated for nefarious purposes. They have seen former friends come back and draw steel against them.”
“The undead.” This caused Ulle to put his hand up to steady his soldiers. “Tell me, what do you know of necromancers?”
“I know they are capable of bringing worse things than the undead.” The man smiled and gestured to the fort behind him. “I am Brother Anselmo. I have created a refuge of sorts in this fort.”
“I’m sorry, Brother, but your refuge here is over. My commander will arrive shortly, and this will soon be a base of military operation – not a place for civilians.” Ulle looked uneasily at the younger members of the group. “Where did all of these children come from?”
“They seem to be from all over, like a moving herd of birds. Dawes, there,” he pointed to one small lad, “came from way up the plains. It was a small settlement. They attacked in the dark – overwhelmed the settlers. He escaped through the forest while his parents were being torn apart. They all have a similar story, they are all traumatized. If you just leave us here in peace, we’ll be alright.”
“I'm sorry, Brother, but this area is not safe.” Ulle's voice was stern; he felt sympathy for these humans, but there was naught he could do. Sympathy would only get them killed. “You must take your people and get far away from here. This area will be our last line of defense against the enemy. We must make sure they do not get past here. If you stay, they will slaughter you without hesitation.”
Anselmo frowned, studying Ulle’s armor. “You are of the Dragon Kin, are you not? Surely your people have dragons that can swoop in and stop the enemy before they ever reach this point.”
“It’s not as easy as that. Dragons can be outnumbered, overwhelmed, and destroyed like anything else of this world. It is our job to weaken the undead horde here.”
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