by Rosie Scott
Kai had smiled that beautiful smile and looked away, somewhat embarrassed by her passion for war. “I meant general you, not you-you.”
“No,” I'd commented, finding the courage to hold her gaze once she gave it back to me. “I think you meant you.”
Kai had changed the subject. While she'd never outright said it, her passion for war and strategy spoke wonders of her dream of leadership, particularly of leading men in battle. Perhaps she wanted it so badly because she'd grown up in a royal warmongering family. Regardless, her combination of intelligence and ambition convinced me she would have been perfect for such courageous feats if only fate were so kind to offer her the lifespan for it. Hence why the idea of coming across her in battle was so intimidating.
I purged the latter thoughts from my mind and focused on Kai's unintended advice: use my strengths and limit weaknesses.
I can't sneak worth a damn. I'm alone. I have nothing with which to get through that gate. I'll need the orcs to open it for me. Only then can I swarm them with corpses. But how will I get them to open the gate? Are they ignorant enough to do it if I goad them to?
My mind chewed on these thoughts for a long while as I tried to imagine scenarios in my mind and come up with a plan. The lone orc in the forest eventually wandered back into the fort, unaware of my hiding spot behind the tree but also blocking my view by closing the gate behind him.
I turned and slowly traveled back the way I'd come, returning to the army of corpses I left buried beneath the trees. If I went about this the wrong way, I could end up hanging from a meat hook rather than having a dry place to sleep.
Undeterred, I rose my corpses from their rest, preparing to lead them as close to the stronghold as possible without being discovered. With the rustling of hundreds of minions in the brush behind me, it was sometimes hard to remember that I was truly attacking an orcish fort alone.
We attack in the morning.
Twenty-four
A pink and gold glow kissed the forest as the sun yawned with a new day. A soft mist hung low over the ground, obscuring most twigs and fallen foliage. Five hundred corpses gathered in the fog, their armor creaking as their chests rose and fell with the mimicking of breaths. Otherwise, they were silent. Expectant. Staring.
I mentally willed them to stay as they were. Then, I walked alone to the fort.
The morning was brisk, energetic, and perfectly tailored to the needs of a mage. This whole tribe of orcs had not one magical bone between them, so every bit of environmental fuel was mine to play with. The rest would come later when I convinced the orcs to meet me face-to-face in battle so I could harvest their life force. By sunset, this fort would be mine.
It is inevitable.
An ocean of copper and red foliage parted to reveal the wooden palisade I'd scouted the night before. The wooden towers were all manned with slave archers. Two humans, two goblins. They would likely be a nuisance. Ranged foes were often challenging for me to defeat because I had no long-range spells, and corpses could become confused when tracking the trajectory of arrows. Additionally, the slaves of orcs tended to fight to the death. Rather than be easily convinced to turn against their captors, they believed from experience that orcs would always be victorious. Why rebel when failure would mean a brutal death and cannibalization?
I glimpsed something else concerning in the fort just before turning and leaning my back against a tree near to the gate. As I mentally prepared to go on the offensive, I tried to understand what I'd seen.
It's taller than the walls, but the walls are at least twenty feet high. All I'd seen was a massive head that rose about ten feet higher than that. The only detail I could ascertain was that its flesh was the same muted green color of the pus of an infected wound. Clearly it was the creature that couldn't contain its gas the night before, and I hadn't seen it because the size of its shadow rivaled that of the trees and guard towers.
I have an army I can call to attention many times. That creature is big, but not impervious.
I took a deep breath, then two. I thought of how wonderful it would be to have a wall surround me while I slept. Most things worth having are worth the challenge, after all.
With my palms parallel to the ground, I harnessed the energy out of the air's chill, feeling its vibration through the magical barrier as it collected and turned black. Only when my hands trembled with the power of the spells did I release them. Black magic clouded out around my boots, mixing with the fog and searching for bodies.
Sss...
Hundreds of tendrils darted around the trunk I stood behind and slithered toward the fort. I turned against the tree, allowing myself a look past the edge of its bark. The cirri did exactly what I wanted them to; they found open crevasses and raised timber in the palisade, slithering into the stronghold like sneaky little snakes.
I waited silently. Through the wooden wall came muffled grunts of confusion, then gurgling hisses as all the corpses in the fort's food supply awakened.
“Meat is alive!” came a shout that echoed over the wall.
Pandemonium ensued. I kept hidden behind the trunk as the sounds of chaos kissed my ears. Blades mutilating already dead corpses. Body parts falling to the ground. Orcs scrambling for weapons. Bones collapsing in piles. The latter made me realize the orcs kept skeletons in their camp I hadn't seen while scouting. Perhaps they used bones to craft, or they might have only kept a large garbage pile. Regardless, that was in my favor.
The sounds of battle ceased, and only heavy breaths reverberated through the cracks of the palisade. Finally, “Why meat come alive?”
“Maybe enemy come to us,” another suggested. I assumed he meant me.
“If enemy come, where is he?” A silence. “Slaves see nothing.”
A heavy snort. “Now meat is tainted with dirt,” an orc complained. “Camp a mess. Slaves clean.”
“Slaves watch for necromancer,” came the reply, confirming my suspicions.
“Necromancer not here.”
I repeated the necromantic spell I last summoned and released it at my feet. Within seconds, black tendrils raced toward the stronghold a second time.
“Magic!” an orc roared. “Necromancer is here! Find him!”
“Unchain the ogre!” another ordered.
Ah. So that's what it is.
The sounds of yet another fort battle broke out as the corpses within rose, and this time my minions seemed to put up a better fight. Many of them must have been cut down from hanging on meat hooks, and I remembered the pile of weapons the orcs kept in the fort openly available for them to use. The ear-splitting roars of orcs going berserk as minions shed their blood shattered through the air. Then, wood scraped against wood as they opened the gate.
In the western forest, the ground trembled as my waiting corpses marched forth, following my mental direction. I waited against the tree until a few orcs ran past me in their search.
Zwip.
The life shield bubbled around me, robust and glimmering white. With my scythe still on my belt, I stalked toward the orcs as they turned after hearing my spell, and two black funnels zoomed in and attached to them like leeches.
Orcs snapped with anger and clashed weapons into my protection as I harvested their energy, seeking a leeching high. At first, they massively outnumbered me, for the corpses in the fort were defeated fairly quickly. The orcs looked to surround me, so I backed toward the west, getting out of range of their slave archers and goading them out of their camp. It wasn't long before my undead army broke through the brush behind me. As soon as my minions came within range of the orcs, they hissed and gurgled with unbridled hostility, charging forth with hobbling gaits to support me in battle.
BWAAAMMM!
Coarse orcish war horns blew in the fort as the brutes called all their comrades to battle. Adrenaline roared through my veins as the trembles in the earth grew more violent. Orcs spewed forth out of the gate like a rush of vomit. A breeze of sweet decomposition blew by as my minions clashed in
to the orcs like a malleable battering ram of flesh and bone.
I leeched just enough to get a high, and then I recycled that energy into providing shields for my decomposing loyalists. When protected, the corpses lasted much longer against the brutes. As usual, the orcs were stronger than my minions, but the numbers of undead were overwhelming.
BOOM. BOOM.
Amid leeching, I glanced up. The orc at the other end of my funnels finally dropped, depleted of her life force. Over the heads of corpses and brutes alike, the ogre loomed. Large black eyes scanned over the battle as two orcs beside it pointed at me and screamed orders.
I harvested a life in my left hand and formed a new spell with my right. Seconds later, death magic claimed the dead. Mercenary and recent orc corpses pulled themselves up for another battle. Berserk roars echoed through the forest as orcs previously unaffected snapped upon fighting their kin.
The ogre's eyes followed the magic's path back to me. For a few moments that became stuck in molasses, we stared at one another. The beast was at least thirty feet tall, bulky with both fat and muscle. Its massive head seemed uneven in bone structure, and its black hair was so sparse and wiry it would have better served in a pubic region. A quick glance down between its legs affirmed this, for it wore no clothes at all. Though it had dangling male genitalia, wide breasts settled along the top roll of its gut with nipples as wide as saucers.
The ogre was clearly strong, but it was nude and carried no weapons. What kind of danger could it possibly pose? Then again, I thought of its gas problems from the night before and figured that with a simple lifted leg and some determination, it could convince all of us here to evacuate the forest.
I smirked despite myself.
The beast grumbled like it'd only been wakened from a nice nap, then waddled over to the side, avoiding the battle entirely. It threw a muscular arm vertically through the outstretched branches of a fir tree, and they broke in quick succession. With one side of the tree bare, the ogre grabbed the trunk with both hands and pushed.
Crrk!
The tree broke near its base with an explosion of splinters. The ogre tugged it in the other direction, and another crack echoed out. With a grunt and some effort, it tore the tree from the ground, leaving only a stump so rough it appeared to be growing wooden blades.
The ogre turned to glare at me again, an entire tree in its hands like a club. Then it revealed mushy yellow and brown teeth and roared, raining grimy spittle over its orc allies.
Well, that's new. Sarcasm laced the words even though they never left my lips.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Orcs and corpses alike flew out of the ogre's way like shrapnel as it charged. Pine needles loosened from the trees and fell through the area like fluttering green and copper rain. I refreshed as many protections as I could for nearby minions as the ogre ran to me. Then I scrambled back, using another tree as cover once the brute came so close the vibrations of its feet threatened to dislodge my bones.
Whoosh! CRACK!
I tumbled forward when the tree I used for cover started to fall with one persistent hit of the ogre's favored trunk. Wood chips sprinkled to the detritus as I hurried to stand and face the brute. I fed my sharpened senses with its life force as my free hand pulled the scythe from my belt.
The ogre cranked its arm back for another swipe of the tree. I dodged to the right, avoiding the hit and running past the brute all at once. As the tree flew behind me I pivoted, tearing my scythe through the air, using the momentum of my charge as its force.
My vision blurred with movement, but my eyes caught on glimmering silver, then green, and then everything turned red as the blade clashed with the flesh of the ogre's left calf. Metal permeated my taste buds as I kept my scythe in the wound and jerked it deeper. I relied on my ears, for I could see nothing. So much blood erupted from the ogre's wound that it drenched me, obscuring my vision and weighing down my hair and hood. As I gritted my teeth, my gums tickled with excess moisture as its blood overwhelmed even my mouth. I spit to rid myself of the flavor and prepared to tear my scythe from the wound. Before I could, the ogre punted me out of its way.
I relaxed my mouth so I didn't crack teeth in the fall; instead, the lower flexible branches of a tree cushioned me, and I ended up still standing once I came to a stop, though my magical guard was one hit away from dispelling. It felt like something gnawed at both my eyes, for blood still overflowed them.
The ogre cried out with a mixture of pain and anger, and by judging the volume of its distant voice, I had a few seconds to recuperate. I released necromantic tendrils from one hand as I stumbled away from the tree's embrace, waking fallen minions from their sleep to keep the orcs occupied. Then I flipped my head back. My long hair unstuck from my face and flew back in an arc. The blood it had collected splattered over the forest debris in a line behind me with a sound reminiscent of a sudden downpour. Pinching my nose with my thumb and forefinger, I swiped at both eyes from the tear ducts out. Though red still tinged my vision, at least I could now see.
The ogre limped toward me, blood erupting from its left calf from a particularly angry severed artery. The wound still claimed my scythe, which was buried so deep its blade wasn't visible. Its black handle stuck by the ogre's leg just where I'd left it when the bastard flung me away like a pesky fly.
I glanced at the nearby battle. Though many orcs remained, my army had grown with their losses. The corpses on the frontlines looked the worst since they were the first subjects of ire. Many were mutilated, crushed, and missing limbs since the orcs shattered them beyond repair. The flanks of the undead were relatively unmarred, however; because my minions swarmed the orcs, many went unnoticed and thus unblemished.
I called a few of them to me, if only to serve as a distraction. Multiple minions turned away from clamoring to get to the orcs and made a beeline for the ogre. With its attention on me, it didn't notice them until a mace crashed into its right kneecap. With a confused wail, it stopped its pursuit of me to face its new contenders.
I broke out into a run, forest debris spraying away from my boots as I skidded to a stop beside the ogre's still-bleeding calf. I tugged my weapon free of the wound as the tree-club swept through my minions like they were merely granules of bony dust. It flung one corpse into a tree so hard its previously decapitated head separated once more from the body and flew through the canopies. It possibly found a new home there, for I did not hear it fall.
More necromantic tendrils released at my boots. As the ogre grunted with frustration and spun in a slow circle, I ran past it to give the rising corpses shields. The next time the beast tried bashing them with its tree-club, they stumbled but were otherwise safe.
The battle raged on. I fell into a pattern like I often did. Leech. Shield. Raise dead. Slice. Defend. Shield. Leech. Raise dead. I absorbed life force just to recycle it into spells or bursts of physical adrenaline. The morning crawled into early afternoon. Though my army grew with orc casualties, the ogre stubbornly refused to fall. For the first time in my life, I considered using the plague.
I'd wanted to avoid it. The Seran necromancy book had warned about the dangers of the spell, for the onset of a contagious disease could quickly get out of hand. It might even evolve to be a threat to me. Life spells existed to boost one's immunity to disease and infection, but I didn't know them because of my shortened education.
Using the plague was a risk, but one I would take to finish this battle.
Enflic le plague.
The air in the vicinity was stale and void of energy, but I allowed the spell to take from my life. After all, my blood hummed with excess from a long battle of harvesting. Magic the color of pestilence collected over my palm, brownish-gray and swirling with wisps of sickly green and vomit-yellow. I swore the energy even gave off a stench before I thrust it at the ogre.
The ugly spell hit the brute at the center of its chest and fanned out until the energy absorbed into its skin. As I waited to see it work, I focused o
n ironically protecting the dead with the element of life.
A deep gurgle rumbled in the ogre's gut. For the first time during the battle, it released a gust of gas that was followed with a spray of steaming waste. I switched to breathing through my mouth, unwilling to let the smell affect my prowess. My corpses continued fighting it, undeterred due to their lack of senses. Then, pus flowed freely from all the ogre's bleeding wounds, so clear and thin it appeared like water.
Green skin blackened in some places and distorted into open sores in others, bubbling and popping before my eyes just to leak infected fluids. I stayed back, refreshing the shields of my minions as they opened new wounds in the ogre like it was merely a pin cushion. Lethargy cursed the beast's movements until it became unsteady on its feet. An open sore erupted just below its left eye, splitting the skin of the lower eyelid until the organ protruded from its socket and dulled.
The ogre abruptly fell forward. The bloodied tree loosed from its grasp, severing an unprotected corpse in half with its crushing landing. When the brute landed in a cloud of disturbed dirt and debris, it forced such an aftershock through the area that the fighting orcs noticed. Their battle cries grew panicked.
When I raised the dead next, the ogre answered the call. Unwilling to fight in its near vicinity due to its festering disease, I simply shielded it and sent it to my army's right flank as I joined the left.
The longer we fought, the easier the battle became. The minions that turned to mush from repeated defeat crawled over the ground uselessly, but the new orc corpses more than made up for it. I found myself emboldened once my corpses flooded through the fort's gate at last. By protecting my minions and fighting by their side, I'd actually launched a successful assault. An overwhelming feeling of accomplishment washed over me as I entered the stronghold, clashing with orcs until leaving them in bloodied, mutilated piles. All my life, I'd been taught orcs were beasts to fear, yet here I was, slaughtering them.
