Chapter 15d: Wellan Takes a Chance

The night brought with it a cool, damp breeze that blew over the sea from the south, filled with humidity and the salty smell of the sea. A full moon shone on empty streets, clouds occasionally blocking the shining orb. Renier sat quiet and peaceful. The silence uncommon for the large bustling city, the peaceful appearance decieving. Men paced back and forth along the palace walls, anticipating the return of Stiles and the group from the temple, dreading the return of the undead. The eerie quiet adding to their nervousness.

Wellan stood on the wall, looking down the road where the refugees would be returning any moment. A shadow moved within the trees and then another. Soon the forest came to live as swaying figured trampled into the open. The undead. They gathered on the Temple Way Road, just beyond arrow range. Their heads protected by hemets, guards and soldiers, even a few city residents wore battered helmets that appeared to have been keepsakes of someone's grandfather.

"The refugees will never be able to return if those things don't get out of the way." a guard grumbled.

Wellan couldn't disagree. This new move showed organization, thought, a planned of attack.

Further down the wall Duke Renier frantically discussed a rescue strategy with a handful of men. Each looked grim and determined as they nodded their heads and commented on his plans.

The wizard ignored them for the moment, studying the ghouls. Each stood still, gazing down the road, waiting on the refugees. They looked like soldiers formed up for an attack.

A large man stepped out of the woods wearing armor of frayed leather and rusted steel. He marched to the middle of the road and stood before the undead. Wellan gasped, not believing his eyes.

The man reminded him of someone he knew from centuries past, but it couldn't be him.

He closed his eyes and whispered an archaic phrase. When he opened them again the world stood out clearer as night became day to his eyes alone. He focused on the large man. There could be no doubt. General Faygen led the undead.

The ghouls behind Faygen shuffled their feet in excited anticipation. Further down the road dim shapes became clear as they sped toward the ranks of corpses. The refugees. They stopped several yards away from the ghastly line. The general stepped forward as an armored form detached itself from the group of refugees, Stiles. The two exchanged words, but Wellan couldn't hear.

He turned and walked to the Duke as the man mounted the stairs, preparing to go outside the city walls and rescue the refugees.

"Come to help us, Wellan?"

Wellan shook his head. "You can't go out there. It is a trap. He's trying to bait you to leave the safety of the palace walls."

The Duke smiled. "I know it's a trap, and a damned fine one at that because I can't just leave those people to die at the hands of those...things. Knowing it's a trap gives me the ability to avoid it."

"No, my friend. Did you see that large man that came out at the last, the one Stiles was talking to. That is Faygen, General of the Croshans."

Duke Renier gave Wellan a blank stare. The Croshan's hadn't existed as a people for seven hundred years.

"Faygen never lost a battle, even when grossly outnumber he would always find a way to win. If HE prepared the trap there will be no escape."

"How do you know so much about this General Faygen?"

"I'm far older than you think. Keep your men inside the walls. I will go out and speak with the General."

The Duke shook his head. "If the trap is so perilous, leaving no means of escape, why do you think you will get out of it any easier than my men and I would?"

"I know Faygen, we were friends once. He is a good man and I don't think he will harm me. Let me talk to him, find out what's going on, possibly talk him into letting the refugees through, maybe even leaving our city all together."

The Duke thought about it for a moment, hand on his bearded chin, then looked Wellan in the eyes. "I don't like this idea. I don't like it at all, but I trust you to know what you are doing," The Duke's serious expression broke into a mischievous grin. "After all you've been around for what seven, eight hundred years?"

Wellan's grin matched the Dukes as he replied, "If you only knew."

The duke turned to the men in the courtyard, just inside the gates, and roared, "Crack the gates open. Let the Wizard of Renier through." Then he turned to Wellan and in a softer voice said, "I hope you know what your doing."

Wellan smiled, but didn't say anything.

The guards had opened the gate just enough to let the wizard through by the time they reached the courtyard. As Wellan turned to slide through the crack the Duke grasped his forearm. "May the gods watch over you, my friend."

Wellan returned the gesture with a smile then squeezed through the opening.

Chapter 15c: The Obsidian Man

Something tugged her hand from behind. Her head throbbed. Her stomach churned in a nauseous battle. She ran her tongue across her lips. Blood. Something tugged her hands again, then pushed her back. Her eyes opened, two narrow slits letting in the pain. She shut them again.

"Ud est up?" A guttural sound, cracked and ancient.

Her eyes snapped open. A black face, inches from hers. Black orbs gazed into her brown eyes. The smell of compost and rot wafted across her skin, noticeable even through her blood-clogged nose, a familiar smell.

It all came back to her. Tomay flirting, his surprised face, the black hand...

She began to scream, but a filthy cloth filled her mouth. She tried to sit up and fell back. Her hands bound behind her.

The thing smiled, teeth as black as night. It pushed her flat against the wall. "Ud watch."

The obsidian man stood and pulled a thin black cloth out of his robes. She noticed Tomay lying on the floor behind her assailant in a pool of liquid. Blood? His chest rose and fell. He lived.

"Dis ud man? Ud watch." She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, not understand the message that the cryptic figure tried to convey.

He reached out, cupping her chin with his greasy palm, squeezing her cheeks until her teeth cut into the sides. He pointed her face towards Tomay’s prone figure. "Ud watch." You watch.

She nodded her head, but her eyes filled with rage.

He laid the thin black cloth over Tomay’s face. It stuck tight to his flesh, like a mask. A thumb-sized dimple rose and fell with his breathing. The thing reached into its robes and brought forth a dagger as dark as his flesh with runes that shone like emeralds. He turned back to Clowey. "Ud watch. Ud shee."

Oh gods! I don’t want to see this. Oh Tomay. Get up, please. Tears slid from the corners of her rage-filled eyes.

The obsidian creature straddled Tomay then raised the dagger and plunged it into his throat, jerking the blade to the side. Blood splashed over Clowey’s legs. Tomay convulsed beneath his killer then lay still. The cloth covering his face shimmered bright green then dimmed back to black. The killer rose over his victim and stepped to the side, his eyes never leaving the young soldier.

Tomay’s eyes opened and he sat up. Blood dribbled down his neck. His head turned to Clowey. She looked into his blank eyes and knew that Tomay’s soul had departed his body.

She screamed against the gag.

Tomay crawled to Clowey. She tried to scoot away, but the obsidian man grabbed her foot and drew her back. His laughter brought forth images of spiders and slugs. The man she had considered marrying jerked toward her on hands and elbows, legs dragging behind him. He grasped her shoulder and pulled it to his mouth. She tried to pull away, but her strength couldn’t break his hold. She screamed into the gag as his teeth tore into her flesh and ripped a chunk away.

"Ud go." The killer waved Tomay away. The soldier, now undead, withdrew to the far wall, chewing on his prize.

The monster squatted next to her injured shoulder. She moaned as he squeezed the wound. Red seeped between her fingers and dripped from her elbow. He brought his blood-coated hand before her eyes, wiped the blood on across her cheek and then brought the hand to his mouth and licked his palm. "Gud. Gud blood."

In a fraction of a second her fear turned to rage. The animal within her took over, instinct beat down her fear. She jerked onto her back and lashed out with her foot, planting her heal into his dark jaw. His head snapped backward, then fell back into place. She felt bile rise in the back of her throat. An egg-sized concave deformed the monster’s jaw. His hand rubbed the deformity, kneading it back into shape.

He reached into his robes and she kicked again. His hand flashed out and grabbed her ankle. He drove the rune knife into her thigh with the other hand. Blood gushed from the wound.

"Ud bith!" He yanked the knife free and fell on top of her, driving her flush with the floor. She heard a snap and pain flared from her wrist. Another scream threatened to tear through the gag.

He brought his rage-contorted face to hers, nose to nose. "Ud bith. Ud be fur me. Ud be mine." The words hissed from his mouth. His breath merging with hers, filling her mouth with sewage, even through the gag. The black cloth fell over her face, blocking out the murderer’s.

No. Not like this. Noooooo...

Pain sliced into her side. Fire stabbed into her body and withdrew, returning at her shoulder and withdrawing again. The slicing pain opened her bicep. Her clothes clung to her, wet and sticky as she wiggled and squirmed beneath the man, her strength slowly fading. New pains assaulted her body, but they weren’t as bad. She felt weak, drowsy. The pain faded as she tired. A green flash embodied her world, then nothing.

Chapter 15b: A Meeting in the Dark

"What do ya tink yer doin', Tomay Raish?"

"Just trying to comfort you a little."

She pushed him back. "Well, ye won't be confortin' me like tat, so ye jus keep yer hands to yerself. For gods' sakes, me ma and pa might be dead. Ye tink for one minute tat I'm wantin' to let ye have yer way wit' me r'now. Ye must be daft!"

They stood near the wall of a dark, seldom used corridor. For the past several months they had met here to be away from prying eyes. Not the most romantic place, but they could call it their own, one of the few easily accessible spots in the palace that offered privacy. The unlikely location had given them some memorable moments.

She could just make out Tomay's frown, his eyes narrowed.

"I'm sorry Clowey. It's just with all that's happened...well...I thought...I figured this might be our last chance. I just want to be with you one more time before the end."

She placed her hand on his cheek. "Tat be awfully sweet of ye, but I knows ye better tan tat. T'end of t'world ain't got a durn ting to do wit' it. Yer always wantin to rut, tis ere jus' gives ye an excuse." She pulled her hand away and gave him a playful slap on the cheek. "Now, ye needs to be tinkin' aboot soldierin' so ye can get us out o' tis mess. Ye do dat an' I promise ye tat ye'll be tired o' ruttin' before I's trough wit ye."

His teeth shown in the darkness, the first smile she had seen from him all day. "I guess I'm gonna have to start soldiering if I'm gonna make you pay up on that promise."

She placed her arms on his shoulders, locking her fingers behind his head as he held her waist. "Ye certainly will, Sir Raish. Ye certainly will."

He tipped his head down and gave her a passionate kiss, keeping his hands in the neutral area of her waist. She crossed her arms over the back of his neck, returning his affection and giving a final squeeze before breaking the kiss.

"We'd best stop tis now or yer gonna start gettin' ideas again."

A stench assaulted her nostrils as Tomay wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed. His lips went to her neck. "Yeah, I got an idea or two..."

"Stop it Tomay! Do ye smell tat smell?"

His breath tickled her neck. "All I smell is you Clowey and it smells damned fine."

She shoved him away. "Not me ye bloody stooge. Do ye smell it now dat ye got yer nose outa me hair? A rottin', mulchy smell. Like a compost pile."

He sniffed. "Yeah, I do smell someth..."

A hand, obsidian black, grasped his shoulder from behind as his eyes widened and his mouth grew into a silent 'O'.

Clowey stepped back, her mouth open to scream. A fist shot out of the dark. Instead of a scream she heard a loud crack as pain exploded in the middle of her face and bright sparks filled her vision. The force of the blow threw her backwards where her head slammed against the wall. She slid to the ground. Everything went dark.

Chapter 15a: Undead Ambush

“Walls of stone and doors of steel mean naught to the beings of the spectral world. How can thou keep out what has no substance? How can thou stop a spirit? Will you rely on ye ramparts and shields, or will ye build yerself a wall of faith?”

~Sermon of the Piet Logan

---

"I’m sorry I got you into this, Sis." Marchas whispered as he gazed into the cemetery through one of the rear windows of the Temple.

Ash, Arolyn, and Wolf stood by another window whispering in hushed voices, trying to decide on the best rout through the city. Owl stood in the shadows outside the door and looked for undead.

"It’s not your fault, bro." She gave him a lopsided grin to go along with her bro reference. Teasing him for calling her Sis. She hated to be called that, but she also knew he only said it to tease her just a bit, to relieve some of the tension. "We were just at the wrong place at the wrong time."

He cocked his head, angling his eyes toward her. No hint of teasing remained in his voice, "No, I’m not talking about us being in this city, that was purely bad luck. I’m talking about getting you to leave the Palace. That might not have been one of my better ideas. I just figured...hoped that the dead had left. Found themselves something better to do. I guess I was wrong."

Though fear, her new constant companion, crawled up her back with whispy spider legs, she still kept her voice light-hearted as she replied. "Well, it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve been wrong. Hopefully it won’t be the last."

He slapped her shoulder and started laughing. "Come on, Shannai. Give me a break. I’m trying to be serious here."

"Oh, and you think I’m not."

"Shhhhhh." Ash hissed. "This isn’t one of your damned tavern parties. That sort of noise will get us all killed. So either shut it up or get the hell away from me and my men."

Shannai grabbed Marchas, squeezing his forearm, trying to calm him. They needed the help of the soldiers and the last thing she wanted to see was a confrontation between her hot tempered brother and the equally dispositional Ash.

The door creaked open just enough to allow Owl’s thin frame to slide through. Marchas sat back down with a final glare at Ash. Ash returned the glare before turning to Owl. "Did you see any of them? Is the way clear through the graveyard."

Owl glanced at Marchas, his mouth drawn up in a frown and his eyes narrowed in suspicion, before answering Ash. "Yeah, the graveyard is clear of them. I saw a few milling around outside the fence, but the weren’t tryin’ to get in or nothin’. I still don’t like the idea of goin’ through the graveyard. It just seems like that would be the last place we would want to go."

"I can’t argue with you, other than there ain’t no reason to go through the front of the Temple and walk around the outside to get to the back when all we got to do is start back here in the first place. Plus, we won’t be going through the woods, where they can hide. It’s all open in the cemetery all the way to the first block of buildings. We can see them way before they can catch us."

Owl’s mouth drew up into an arched frown, making him resemble a fish. "I see the sense of it an’ all, Ash. That don’t mean I got to like it none."

"Yeah, I don’t like it any myself."

Ash strolled to the door, motioning his men to get ready with a wave of his hand. Shannai and Marcus stood, the spidery fear lightly crawled around the base of her skull. She shivered. Marchas put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. He would be there for her. He wouldn’t let her down.

With a last look at everyone Ash opened the door and stepped onto the rear porch of the Temple of Vaspar. The trees swayed in the wind, dark shapes dancing to the sound of the ocean breeze. The movement all around her didn’t help to shed Shannai’s fear. It would make the undead harder to spot, harder to hear. Maybe it will do the same for us, she told herself. She doubted her thoughts and tightened her grip on her bow.

The walked down the steps and onto the leaf littered ground of the cemetery. Headstones rose from the ground, crafted stones, reminding her of how death should be.

As she walked through the graveyard, near the back of the group, her imagination began to take hold. Her gaze fell to the mounds of grass-covered dirt, where bodies lay in eternal rest. Her mind began to create another scenario for those people buried beneath her feet. A scenario where mummified corpses pushed against the moldy cloth deteriorating around them, beat against the rotting lids of their coffins, trying to dig their way to the surface. In her mind she saw thin hands shoveling dirt behind them with slow determination, filthy skeletal fingers breaking through the ground. She imagined both hands coming up, pulling the undead from the ground like a baby escaping a womb, to be born again.

She almost stumbled and fell when Marchas whispered, "Are you okay?"

She nodded, looking over the graveyard and only seeing mounds highlighted in moonlight. Focus! Quit letting your imagination run away with you. This is bad enough without that.

Marchas grabbed her upper arm, bringing his forehead close to hers. His eyes questioning again, Are you okay? She answered with another quick nod and a tight-lipped smile. He gave her arm one more squeeze before releasing it. She wasn’t okay, and he knew it.

Within moments the cemetery gates stood before them. A waist high stonewall topped with spiked iron bars. Four undead stumbled back and forth before the open gate, slapping at the opening between the iron posts with pale hands, but not attempting to cross the invisible line that represented the soil of the graveyard.

Four bows sang out. An arrow fletching sprouted from each undead forehead. They fell to the ground in a bloodless pile. One twisted and twitched, a snake in its death throws.

Without slowing the guard put fresh arrows in their bows, Ash yanked his from the corpse he had shot, and walked on, towards the line of buildings across the road from the graveyard.

They had gone only halfway across the road when the blank eyed men and women began to stumble into view between the buildings. Dozens of people, the once peaceful residents of Renier, now a mindless mob of rotting flesh, their clouded eyes wide and fixed on the small group.

Ash veered toward an opening between two buildings, steering the group to one of the few alleyways that didn’t have undead pouring from it. When he got to the opening he stopped and fired his bow down the alleyway, then waved everyone on before entering the blackness between the structures.

Shannai followed him, her brother just behind her. The buildings to either side of the alley blocked the moonlight, forcing her to slow down and walk with care.

Her foot stepped on something soft. She looked down. Two silver, coin-sized circles shown at her feet, the white fletching of Ash’s arrow sticking up from a pale skull like a road sign. Her mouth opened to scream, but a rough hand slid over her mouth, arms drug her further into the alley, and then sidewise into complete darkness.