Chapter 14d: Race to the Palace

Piet Lithor stood near the front of the motley group, sword in hand. He glanced at one of the soldiers to see if he held the weapon correctly. The man saw his glance and smiled, crooked teeth shone through bristly beard, shaking his sword back and forth before him with bravado. Let’s go kill us some undead. The Piet gripped his sword tighter and decided to look somewhere else.

The survivors stood behind the double wooden doors, nervously waiting for Stiles to open them so they could begin their run for the Palace. A sad little group indeed. Bos Spielter stood to the side with a table leg in a knuckle-whitening grasp. A woman with an infant stayed in the middle of the group, holding the baby close to her breasts. Brother Cylus stood next to the Piet, a steak knife protruding above his cloth belt. The young man, Tollis Mayer actually looked excited about the prospect of leaving the temple in the company of the brave men. The Piet turned his head to the group of soldiers that milled around the outside of the group. City guards, not palace guards, real soldiers, or mercenaries. Just city guards. The fact that Duke Renier had sent city guards to rescue the Piet spoke volumes about the state of the Palace. The situation didn’t look good at all.

Stiles waved to his men to get ready, then turned to the dozen survivors. "Just stay grouped together. Keep up with us and don’t get out of the group. We’re going to go to the palace and a brisk walk, but we won’t run unless we have to, so just follow my lead and everything should work out fine."

He nodded to his men again before turning and opening the door. Stiles’ head disappeared around the corner of the door as he looked about, then pulled his head back and waved everyone on. "Okay, let’s do this."

One by one they walked through the door and into the night. The first thing Lithor noticed was the brisk breeze blowing in from the port, carrying the salty sea smell and dead fish. Tree limbs swayed back and forth, giving the surrounding woods an eerie life of their own. He looked deep into those woods as he set his foot onto the road, hoping to see the shadowed forest free of undead, but just as afraid not to see where they hid. He gripped the sword tighter in his pudgy grasp and followed Stiles over the cobbled road.

Everyone huddled close together, a mass of bodies moving forward. The guards remained on the outside perimeter, bows held ready and eyes constantly scanning back and forth over the floor of the forest. They looked as scared as the crowd they guarded. Their gazes didn’t burrow into the woods like a predator would. No, their nervous glances flagged them as prey, skittishly trying to get past the lair of a hungry beast. The Piet didn’t have much faith in this rag-tag group, but there weren’t a lot of other options. He tried to push the fear out of his mind by concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. The great Lord Vaspar would see him through.

A guard in the back of the group gasped. The twang of a bowstring followed by the thunk of an arrow splitting flesh brought everyone to a halt. Hundreds of dark figures stumbled from the woods onto the trail behind the group. The moon highlighted the tops of their heads, their shoulders, and their raised arms. Their eyes shined like crisp silver, coins for their voyage to the afterlife.

All the guards raised their bows, strings pulled into V’s.

"Lower your bows!" Stiles hissed.

Six bows lowered, but the strings remained pulled tight. Everyone turned to Stiles.

"Let's save the fight for when it’s necessary. If we speed up we should stay ahead of them." Without looking to see if anyone followed his order he turned and began jogging toward the palace. Everyone followed his lead, glancing over their shoulders to make sure the undead hadn’t caught up.

Lithor's confidence in the young commander rose as he struggled to keep up. The man had made the right decision, choosing not to begin a battle that would do nothing but slow them down. He just hoped that Stiles had enough skill as a leader to get them to the palace.

Bushes shook to the Piet's left. The undead spilled onto the road behind the rear soldiers as if the forest had decided to vomit their filth from its midst, to purge their vile flesh from its natural beauty.

His heart raced. Blood pounded in his ears and sweat burned his eyes as he looked ahead and saw the palace walls getting closer in the distance. His heavy form wasn’t made for such a long run and he slowly fell further toward the back of the group, almost to the rearguard. His side felt like someone had reached under his lowest rib and pulled. Sweat drenched his clothes, a combination of overexertion and fear. His heart pounded harder. He could feel each pulse as it thrummed against his temple. He wasn’t going to make it to the palace. The great Piet Lithor would die within sight of the walls, almost in their shadow. It wasn’t fair. He deserved bet...

He stumbled into the woman with the baby, causing it to let out a shrill wail then a cry that almost became lost in the panting group.

They had stopped.

He bent over, placing both hands on his knees, staring at the ground. The sudden stop made him feel feverish. His stomach clenched, his last meal rose up his throat and splashed onto the ground in front of him. He ignored the mess and looked over his shoulder. The undead had stopped.

He stood, wiping the filth from his half-open mouth and gawking at the undead. They stared back, pinpricks of silver against grisly silhouettes.

Stiles shout rose over the wailing baby and panting people. "Move aside and let us pass."

The Piet spun around; the sudden movement made his head swirl with dizziness. Stiles faced a large man in archaic armor. The armored form stood at least six and a half feet tall. The moonlight cut his face into blacks and whites, an older man with a stern face that seemed to be chiseled out of stone. His thick arms crossed over his chest, the skin rough textured, like parchment. A sad smile crossed his cracked lips. "I am truly sorry, but I can’t allow you to go any farther."

Chapter 14c: Meeting at the Temple

She let out a generous sigh when the temple came into view and still none of the undead threatened them. Though she had seen them throughout the entire trip, eyes shinning through the trees, they hadn’t moved. There stoic silence almost terrified her more than a blatant attack would. She realized that every step she made towards the temple put her one more step away from the palace and put more undead between herself and safety. She didn’t know what was going on, but she didn’t like it.

The temple stood out of the forest like a beacon of civilization in the middle of the wilds. Shannai had grown up in a city, spending most of her life walking down cobbled streets and only seeing forests from the safety of a city wall, so the woods, especially at night, put her in an unfamiliar environment that spooked her even without being full of undead. The stone and stained glass building, with its high porch supported by marble columns gave her a sense of security, of familiarity, after her short walk through the dark forest. She wanted to run up the steps, rush through the wooden double doors and lock them behind her. A glance at her brother told her that he felt the same way.

Stiles halted the group, taking a hard look at the temple before going any further. Dim light shown through a few of the windows. A silhouette crossed in front of a candle, a dark blue and red blur behind the colored glass. Stiles motioned everyone forward. They passed a well; the grass looked charred and covered with an oily film. A blackened skeleton protruded from the ground like the charred wood left over after a campfire.

They walked past the well and up the wide steps. Stiles rapped his knuckles against the wooden doors. She knew his knocking couldn’t have been very loud, but in the silence under the stone porch it sounded like thunder. It opened immediately, as if someone had been waiting behind the door. A portly man, with a robe designating him as a servant of Vaspar, stared around the door at them. A finely crafted sword held before him. Behind him stood an elderly priest and almost a dozen other people. Most looked relieved, some angry, but they all shared a deep fear. It showed in their wide eyes.

The priest lowered the sword and grabbed Stiles upper arm, drawing him into the Temple. "I’m so glad to see you. We’ve been waiting here all day to be rescued."

The other soldiers followed Stiles into the pew lined sanctuary. Owl took a last look into the forest before shutting the doors behind him.

Stiles bowed his head to the priest and said, "I’m sorry we couldn’t be here sooner, Piet Lithor. It’s been almost impossible to leave Palace Renier due to all of the undead piling up around the walls. When they retreated we came right out."

Piet Lithor? Even Shanai had heard that name; the high priest of Vaspar, responsible for most of the souls in Renier. The rumors described him as an arrogant and pious man, one who liked to get his boots licked and deemed himself only slightly less important than the Duke himself. The man she saw before her didn’t seem anything like the man she had heard of. The Piet seemed almost…humble. She reminded herself again not to listen to every rumor she heard.

Piet Lithor’s eyes widened in surprise. "They retreated from the walls? You didn’t scare them off or defeat them?"

"No, your excellency. They are all standing in the woods, a little ways off the road."

The Piet seemed to consider this for long moments before commenting, "How odd."

Ash stepped in beside Stiles and spoke, "What do you mean? Do you know something?"

Stiles glared at Ash then turned to listen to the Piet. "No, I don’t really know anything. I said it was odd because the undead have been standing out there all day, beyond the edge of the property, until just before you showed up. I just thought that you had scared them off."

Stiles rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "They left just before we showed up, and they never came any closer than the edge of the property?"

"Yes, it seems the holiness of our Lord Vaspar keeps them at bay."

Ash folded his arms over his chest. "Sounds like a trap to me."

"Yeah, me too. I just don’t see how or why. They could have surrounded us anywhere along the road between the palace and here. It just doesn’t make sense."

Ash walked to the window and looked out at the well. "Well, no reason in dragging this out. Who do you want to go with me to warn the Baron?"

A man pushed himself past the Piet and growled, "What’s he talkin’ about, warnin' the Baron? You have to get us out of here and it’s gonna take all of you to do it."

Stiles looked to the Piet as he replied, "Duke Renier gave us orders that once we reached the Temple we are to split into three groups. One group has the responsibility of seeing you all safely to the Palace. A second group is to try and leave the city through one of the main gates and warn Baron Milchev about the fate of Renier. Finally, the third group is to scout through the city and find out where the dead have gone." He looked to Ash before continuing. "I think we know where the dead are so the third group should be unnecessary."

Ash gave Stiles an approving nod before the soldier turned back to the Piet. "So, the group returning to the castle will actually be larger than the Duke anticipated."

Stiles’ explanation didn’t appease the man at all. "Trying to get to the outer wall is pure folly. I barely survived getting here, and I was only a few blocks from the Temple when it happened. Surely the Duke must have more sense..."

The Piet stepped between Stiles and the angry man. "Duke Renier is correct, Bos Spielter. The neighboring cities need to be warned. I’m sure the Duke knew what he was doing when he sent these men. I trust his judgment and thereby the judgment of this brave soldier."

Piet Lithor looked over his shoulder, towards Stiles as he continued, "I’m sure he won’t let us down."

Chapter 14b: A Trip to the Temple

Shannai walked in the center of the group of men with an arrow notched into her bow. Her eyes scanned the dark forest. An eerie silence filled the forest-lined road. Their footsteps and the occasional rustling from the woods were the only sounds that broke the quiet walk to the Temple.

She still couldn’t believe that Marchas had talked her into leaving the safety of the Palace. Her brother had made a good point when he said the palace had become a trap with no way out, and with the dead mysteriously gone from the walls they could easily escape. Besides, there just weren’t enough people left within the walls to fight through the ranks of undead she had seen. Still, the duke didn’t seem like a man who would let himself become cornered, and even if he were he still seemed to be smart enough to figure a way out of a trap like that, and if not him there was still the wizard and Wellan certainly wasn’t one to be brought down easily.

A noise caught her attention. Leaves rustling deep within the oak filled woods. Something ran parallel to the road. Trying to get ahead of them?

She stopped raised her bow and focused on the darkness between the trees, past the rough trunks. Shannai could just make out the outline of a figure standing deep within, a faint highlight on a cheek, the dark silhouette of a shoulder breaking up the vertical pattern of the tree trunks. The black woods made it difficult to tell if the shapes were real, or only her eyes playing tricks on her, and she had to be sure before she alerted the others. Everyone’s nerves were frayed and having false alarms was the last thing they needed.

"What do you see?" Her brother whispered in her ear causing her to jump and release her arrow into the forest.

She turned to scold him for scaring her when she saw a sight that made her heart race, the twinkle of eyes deep in the forest. Ignoring her brother she pulled another arrow from her quiver and notched it, never taking her sight from the small round disks.

Shannai whispered to her brother and pointed her arrow at a tree, "Look into the forest, just to the right of that tree. Do you see..."

Another set of eyes opened, and another. As she watched, pairs of glowing disks opened throughout the forest. She turned to face the other side of the road and saw the same thing. Hundreds of the undead stood in eerie silence, watching them.

Her brother croaked, "Oh my Gods!"

"Yeah, at the moment it doesn’t seem like such a good idea to be away from the palace."

The leader, a short blond fellow named Stiles, hissed, "Shut it up you two."

"But the undead..." Shannai tried to tell him.

"Yeah, I see them. There’s nothing to be done about it now, and so far they aren’t doing anything but standing there. We’re gonna keep moving forward like we have been. If something threatens us then we will do something about it, but for right now the best thing we can do is keep going."

Shannai nodded and followed Stiles as he walked down the road, towards the temple; her eyes never leaving the eyes that peered at her from the dark forest.

Chapter 14a: Convincing a Wizard

"Don’t ye be goin’ out in the forest at night boy. There be more than wolves hidin’ amongst those trees. The boogeyman lives in them woods and he loves to eat little boys."
~A Grandfather’s words to his grandson

---

Madame Rachelle stood and looked out the window of her small room, over the top of the palace walls, beyond the darkening forest and buildings in the distance. The rain had finally stopped and the moon floated in a hazy sky.

She had watched the soldiers gather around the front gate, saw the Duke and Wellan below talking to them, saw the colorfully dressed man and woman join the soldiers. Little of it sunk through the layers of her thought. Grief still skulked about in her mind like a melancholy guest, brushing against her emotions, pushing thoughts of her daughter to the surface, making her not want to do anything but stare into the dark heavens and think of nothing.

Knuckles pounded against wood floating up through her thoughts like bubbles in a pool. She looked around the room, not able to place the noise in her dreamy state. It came again, a loud rapping followed by, "Madame Rachelle, may I come in."

Whose voice? She recognized it, a voice she had heard very recently. Wellan?

She sighed, not wanting to be pulled from her inner thoughts. "I...I don’t feel like talking right now, Wellan. Maybe later?"

"I understand your grief, but we need to talk." A pause, then, "I need your help."

Why would the wizard need the help of a fortuneteller? Why can’t he just let me grieve for my daughter? She almost told him to go away whether he needed her help or not, but curiosity and common politeness won out. "Just a second."

She walked over to the nightstand and picked up a candle, the only light in the room, and used it to light other candles on her way to the door. When she opened the door the shadows still dominated the small room, but it didn’t look quite so glum.

Wellan’s awkward and concerned smile greeted her. "How are you feeling, Rachelle?"

How do you think I’m feeling? My daughter died this morning and them came back to life as a zombie, along with everyone else in the city. How am I supposed to be feeling? "Had better days, but I’m holding together."

He stepped into the room and put a comforting hand on her shoulder, "It will get better. I promise."

Emotions boiled up as his hand came to her shoulder. Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Tears she didn’t think she still had.

"I don’t mean to trouble you, but we need to talk."

She gave a single not and sat on the corner of the bed. Wellan took a chair from the small table by the door and sat facing her.

"I know this is a terrible time to do this, but I would like to begin your training as a wizard, or at least awaken you to the experience."

Her mouth opened, closed. She looked away from him, thoughts and emotions boiling to the surface, showing in her eyes and on her face.

"I need you, Rachelle. The city needs another wizard besides myself.” He patted her leg and continued. “I started thinking about our conversation this morning. The one we had before this mess began. I remember the look in your eyes while we talked. I remember seeing something there, quite suddenly. Almost terror. You quickly covered it up. What is it you saw? I think I know, but I want to hear it from you."

She didn’t hesitate when she answered. Her voice was flat, like someone else spoke through her, "You’re aura was black, Wellan. You’re going to die."

Wellan’s lips pressed together, forming a tight line under his bushy mustache. "I thought that may have been what you saw."

He leaned forward in his chair and took her hands in his. "My aura is just one more reason why we need you. If I die the city will need another protector, someone who can see things they cannot and use forces that others don’t understand."

She raised her head, her face twisted with sarcasm and self-doubt. "I couldn’t save my own daughter, Wizard, how do you expect me to save myself when the city has already fallen, much less the rest of these poor people. You need to find someone who still cares because I don’t."

"You have been hurt, Rachelle. I understand that, but don’t let the rest of these people suffer because of it. Help me save them."

She pulled her hands away from his. "Find someone else, Wizard. Everything I cared about has been taken away. I’m just an empty shell now. I have nothing to fight for."

Wellan’s voice rose with frustration, "There is no one else. Not just anyone can become a wizard. Not everyone has the inborn power, or sees the world in such a way that will allow them to become a wizard. You do. No one else here does, and they need a wizard. If...when I fall someone will need to step in and take my place. Only you can do that, Rachelle. Only you have that power, the insight, to be a wizard."

When she didn’t say anything he reached behind him and grabbed a candle off the small table and held it between them. "Let me give you a taste of what you can do. Just a small thing to be sure, but one that nobody else here can do."

He held the candle up to her face. "What do you see here. What do you really see."

She shrugged. "Wax. A wick. A small flame."

"No. Look harder. Use your sight."

She let out an exasperated sigh and looked again at the candle. This time she squinted her eyes and concentrated, focusing on the small flame, seeing it in another light. "Plasma. White light jumping with the air currents. Vapors rising above the light and little sparks bursting within the plasma like tiny exploding fire flies."

A small smile brightened Wellan’s face. "Now, will it away. Concentrate on it not being there. Think about the Plasma wilting away until it is gone."

She looked past the flame, to the wizard. Surprise furrowed her brow. She had looked at many things with the aura, flames being one of the most fascinating, but she had never thought of altering anything she looked at. It had never occurred to her that she might have the power to change anything, to alter it from what it was.

Wellan nodded to her, wordlessly telling her to stay focused and concentrate on the flame. Her gaze focused again on the candle. The tiny exploding sparks, white light and vapor flickering with the lightly swirling air. She squinted her eyes tighter and thought about the light diminishing, shrinking into the wick. To her amazement the light dimmed and pulled in tighter to the little strand of string that fed it. The tiny exploding sparks moved slower and popped less. She willed it to diminish even more, causing it to pull in close to the little wick until it disappeared all together.

With her mouth open in amazement she stared at the wizard’s smiling face.

"What you just did is the basis for everything magical. Understanding a thing, seeing how it works, and then having the will to control it."

Still amazed by what she had done she gawked at the cooling wick. "I’m just a fortune teller, not a wizard."

Wellan beamed like a proud father. "Oh, you are much more than a fortune teller. Perhaps you aren’t a wizard yet, but I can see you doing far more than I have done. I can’t see auras in the way that you do, and it took me almost a month of frustrating effort before I could extinguish a flame when I first began my journey years and years ago. You are what these people need. That burst of energy that you used outside the walls earlier today is a powerful force, and it might just be the edge we need to get out of here."

"But I have no idea how I did it."

"Yes you do. I just showed you. Desperation and anger powered that first burst of magic and with a little practice you should be able to do it again…only with a bit more control. Yes, I see great things in you, great things indeed."

He lifted her hand from her lap and placed the candle in her palm before closing her fingers around the cool wax. "Now, let’s see you light it."