"Conspiracy of the Dead - 03" by Timothy Pontious

"Herman?" Laurentama could see the vague shape of the wizard as he sat on his horse to her right. In the night up ahead Wolfstone still swung the darklight around to make sure there were no Dead on the road.

"Yes milady?" Herman sat up a little straighter in the saddle.

"Tell me of your magic. How do you do it?" Her voice was low, but enough to carry through the calm night air above the noises of the horses.

"Ah. A pleasure." Laurentama could hear Herman rubbing his hands together. "Magic flows through the world, much like the wind and weather. It has dry spots and storms, currents and eddies. An elder wizard, it is said, can almost see it because he can feel it so deeply in his bones. Acht, but that will be years away for me." Herman paused and sighed. "I summon that magic through a shard of the Holy Anvil that Narvad smote when he created the world. So, in a way I guess you could say that magic is a religious exercise as well."

"Ah, that's interesting. I didn't know that wizards still considered shards as religious objects." Laurentama was alternating between looking in the dark toward Herman and following the bouncing darklight beam.

"Right. Not all wizards do, of course. As long as I know where it is and it is close by, I can use it. I draw some energy through and then manipulate it with my mind. Unless of course I hit a dry spot or there is a strong magic storm - that's when things get unpredictable. Bad things can happen then." Herman leaned back again, perhaps as much to relieve the sore spots on his body as it was to indicate he was done speaking for the moment. "And for you, milady Priestess? I know your power is from the goddess. But what do you know of the walking dead?"

"Well, necromancers have arisen before, and they have been able to raise smaller groups of walking dead. The Sisters were troubled by the reports that there were so many walking dead this time. I am under strict orders to find out what I can. It may be there are several necromancers working together. I need to verify that if I can."

"It is not the walking dead I fear so much as what may be behind them." Laurentama sat back in her saddle, her eyes following the darklight. "I may be able to learn more if we can battle a small group of them. I just don't know."

"Fair enough." Herman rummaged through his sack and found a couple of apples, and shared one with Laurentama. "I have no love of battle, but I have no doubt it will come to that before long." Herman also reached into a pocket and pulled out an eardangle, and he fastened it in his left ear so that the small bluish feather that hung from it was behind his ear. "Very fashionable in the southlands. This is my shard."

Laurentama contained a giggle. "Perhaps I can see it better in the morning light, mister wizard."

Herman and Laurentama chatted through the night - sometimes nervously - until the first few streaks of the false gray dawn gave enough light for Wolfstone to cap the darklight and return it to Herman.

"We'll rest up here for a bit." Wolfstone pointed up a hill on the left side of the road. "There is a slight southerly breeze, so if you must build a fire make it dry and smokeless, and do not make it on the top of the hill itself, lest somebody see the flame."

Captain Zurn rolled his eyes at the helpful tip, but Wolfstone didn't see it. Zurn nodded to his men to endorse the ranger's suggestions, and the group broke from the road.

Wolfstone's Journal 24 Kronos. morning
We traveled all night and did not find any of the Dead along this road. There were a couple of small abandoned villages, but nothing else. We're all exhausted and so we've called a halt for a rest. We're on a hill almost within sight of the crossroads where we should turn back south again. I hope to be back on the road by mid-morning. Herman has an enchanted device he calls a 'Darklight' that was of great help through the night. It casts either a beam of light or dark when you take a cap off one end or the other of a scrollcase. He says it has crystals in it or something. I don't understand magic, but this sort of utility for it makes sense to me.

"Horsecabbages!" Rort wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Who fouled the air up here?" He pulled a cloth around his nose to help mask the odor. "I didn't do it, Kit, I promise."

Kit playfully slapped his brother on the back of his head for good measure and scanned the hillside. "You sure about that, Rort? Maybe you just need a bath." Nothing was visible amid the trees.

"No! I took a bath just before marketday." Rort was still trying not to breathe the odor. "Phew! Like a dead spraycat."

"Aye something dead. Let the Captain and Mister Wolfstone know what we smell. And get you some breakfast while you're down there. We've still a long road, maybe."

Tork and Granid went up the hill to take their watch since they were done feeding and watering the horses at the small creek not far from the foot of the hill, and Feaboen tended to a bubbling pot of taleafa and a skillet with some eggs. Captain Zurn and Wolfstone were discussing something in a low voice while Laurentama quietly sang her morning welcome to the sun as it rose in the east.

Herman was absently putting small bits of meat into his shirt. Eventually a small head bobbed up to his collar and his pet pulled himself out of the shirt completely and unfurled his wings. He was a beautifully colored lizard with leathery wings and a barb on his tail. His body and wings were mostly deep red, but orange and brown were mottled around, melting into brilliant yellow on his underside.

Rort arrived near the fire just as the beast unfurled his wings and beat them slowly in the morning air to dry them. "Oy! That's not a badger you got there, is it?" Rort looked disappointed it wasn't a badger but captivated by something he had never seen before all the same. "Is it a dragon mister Herman?"

"Ah, no, not a dragon. This is a small Falsedrake. He's a good friend of mine, and I think I've talked him into a hunt this morning." Herman looked even thinner now that his shirt was emptied of its hidden load.

"Well he better be careful because we can smell somethin dead up from the top of the hill." Rort seemed pleased he remembered to report his caution as he helped himself to some food and taleafa.

"Perhaps he can help us find those dead guys, eh?" Herman whispered to the falsedrake and it changed its color to a dull gray to match the morning sky. "You see? He's a color-changer too." The leathery wings stretched about as far as from Herman's fingertips to his opposite elbow. The body was long and slender with four legs that ended in delicate claws meant for perching rather than tearing.

"Now that's impressive." Wolfstone was eyeing the creature closely. "Quite a good friend you have there Herman. When can he take off? If Rort reports correctly that it smells as if there may be Dead nearby perhaps he can find them faster than we could."

"Aye. I've told him to fly low and fast and follow his nose. I'll see what he sees." Herman whistled a low sound and scratched the falsedrake under his chin.

"Is that magic?" Rort was fascinated by everything at the moment. "And what's his name? What does he eat?"

"He has a name for himself that I cannot pronounce, so I call him Kedzrik which is close to part of that name. Falsedrakes can send images of what they see to a human as long as they stay bonded. We've been bonded several years now."

"And what of that stinger in his tail?" Captain Zurn asked. He was done giving orders for the moment, and had joined the group around the fire.

"That's a terrible painful poison. It might kill a man if he's weak. If you're strong though, it still burns like fire for days and makes your body swell up like a pufferbird at mating season. But don't be afraid, he hasn't stung anybody unless they were trying to hurt him. Or capture him." Herman rubbed his shoulder and winced.

With a hoarse cough, Kedzrik awkwardly hopped onto Herman's head and balanced with his wings so that he looked like a big leather hat for a moment, before he lifted silently into the sky, circled around and headed off into the growing morning light.

Herman sat down near the fire and crossed his feet under his knees. "Now we wait."

"There is a group of five, just south of the crossroads a bit. They just stand there. Not much for armor, and only simple weapons." Herman made a foul face and continued, "And they reek and are quite decomposed."

"Do they face north? Are they on guard? Do they move or patrol?" Zurn leaned in, quite interested in what Herman had to say.

"No. They just stand there, facing north, I think."

"That's all odd. But then if they're dead I guess they don't need to move much." Wolfstone shrugged. "Can we make sure it is just those few?"

Herman nodded slowly, and stared into the fire for a few minutes while Kedzrik made slow, lazy circles around the entire area. "Nobody else that we can spot."

Wolfstone turned to Zurn. "We need to see how they react, how they fight, and how aware they are. I propose that you take your men with Laurentama and Herman down the hill, and take a position down the road behind the dead. I"ll come down the road apparently by myself, and I'll try to bait them into a little battle. Then you guys move in and we finish them off."

Zurn shook his head. "It seems to accomplish the mission, but I do not like the idea of anyone going off alone. We're not sure how many the falsedrake may not have seen."

"Aye. But I would also rather not divide our forces further in that event. We can spare to lose one, not more than that."

"I take your point. Then let's get ready, men! Collect your wargear and be ready to move quietly down this hill toward the south road. Leave the horses and all else behind for the moment."

Wolfstone came out onto the south road at a point about a very long bowshot from the Dead. They stood near the side of the road, and their reeking odor was much stronger here. One was dressed as you might find a farmer, in baggy dirt-stained clothes with large pockets. Another was still in a leather apron as if he had just come from the butcher shop in a village. A third was a matronly female who was dressed befitting a village elder's wife or better. The fourth was a lad, barely in his teens but carrying a scythe - perhaps from his father's farm. The last was the only one that could be mistaken for a warrior - with many rends in his armor and dried blood and nicks evident in his drawn bronze sword.

Further down the road Wolfstone could see some movement in the shrubs behind the Dead by a few dozen paces. The falsedrake landed on one of the shrubs and disappeared, indicating where Herman and the rest of the group were. It was a comfort to know they were ready.

The Dead had made no moves, not even so much as raising a hand to ward off the many flies. Wolfstone drew his sword slowly from its scabbard. The sword was large enough to wield with two hands, and was made of a fine tempered steel that now glinted brightly in the midmorn sun. He hefted its weight in one hand and tapped the blade against the other hand. Steel was rare, and only the wealthy or well favored could afford it. Many of the weapons Zurn's men had were bronze or weaker iron. Hopefully their fighting spirit would make up for the rest, and with the help of the goddess and her emissary, and the wizard, this would work.

He strode toward the five Dead, whistling a little tune as he went. He knew Laurentama would recognize it as the morning blessing-song the Sisters would sing this time of day.

Captain Zurn watched as Wolfstone strode slowly toward the Dead, tapping his large sword against his hand and whistling a tune. Nothing he did seemed to interest the Dead in the least. They stood there and stank, and naught else. Behind Zurn, Laurentama had whispered prayerful blessings on the entire group, and had been meditating quietly while clutching her staff close to her heart. Herman was fishing for something in his bags that was making more noise than Zurn would have preferred. Kit and Rort were ready with shields and bronze spears. Tork and Granid were armed with smaller shields and bronze axes. Feaboen had his long daggers out at the ready and a wicked grin.

When Wolfstone was about fifty paces from the Dead, he stopped and carefully put his sword in its scabbard and then leisurely strung his bow and nocked an arrow. Captain Zurn and the rest of the group watched and waited, ready to spring when the time was right.

There was an audible twang when the arrow released, and the head of the warrior jerked back with a wet-sounding impact as the arrow lodged in an eye socket. Nothing happened. The Dead warrior stood there with an arrow calmly sticking out of his face. There still was no response from the other Dead in the road.

Wolfstone shrugged so that his friends could see he was puzzled. He switched back to his sword, roared a battle cry from a throat that sounded dry and hoarse, and charged.

Nothing happened until Wolfstone was about ten paces from the Dead, and then they shifted into defensive stances, as if they were only just then aware of his presence. Perhaps as if they were blind and deaf outside of a certain small circle around them.

As Wolfstone reached the Dead warrior, swinging and making lots of noise, Kit and Rort locked their shield edges together with spears ready, with Tork and Granid's shields on either side with axes ready. Captain Zurn gave his own little grunted command as he lead his men at a run toward the Dead. Feaboen dashed along the side of down the road and was quickly flashing his daggers and trying his best to distract some of the Dead from concentrating on Wolfstone. Laurentama followed with her staff swinging above her head, and Herman followed her, peeking around the friends in front of him so that he could see what was going on.

Wolfstone had rent several wounds into the Dead, which would have killed mortal men. He was nearly surrounded by the time the others arrived, and was laying about with his sword in wide defensive sweeps. When spears, daggers and axes met the Dead from behind there were many more wounds, but it did not seem enough to put any of them down. The Dead fought on, missing limbs did not impede them. Kit bashed the leather apron-wearing Dead, and knocked him down temporarily but the butcher rose again and began to swing determinedly at Kit.

"You will have to cut them to pieces!" Laurentama paused her fighting and backed out of the fray. "Separate them and cut each one to pieces!" Then she began to sing some kind of prayer as Wolfstone and Zurn pushed what was left of the Dead warrior toward Tork and Granid's axes.

When Laurentama stopped singing, the Dead lad with a scythe burst into flames and crumpled to his knees. His scythe had done a little damage, but it was unwieldy and a slow weapon. She began chanting as Kit and Rort concentrated their attention on the leather apron. When she finished chanting the butcher dropped to its knees and feel over as if the false lights in his eyes had been extinguished.

In this way the Dead were singled out and dispatched. Though they were not very effective with the weapons they had, they absorbed incredible amounts of damage without giving up.

"Well, that was a good exercise." Wolfstone was poking the remains in the road with his sword. "They have a lot of fight in them. I can see where they could wear people down."

Laurentama tended a wound Granid had suffered on his leg so that it would not get infected, and checked everybody else over for any cuts or scratches. "They are strong, I agree. I have heard of such as these, but have not seen them before for myself. If there are many they will be formidable just by how much fight they have." She looked around at what was left of the Dead. "These are not sentient as you and I. They follow strict orders or sets of rules. They have no reason or mind for themselves or their safety. They have no sense of self, nor a sense of remorse, passion, or memory of life. They can't be talked to, reasoned with, or swayed. They are utterly bent on whatever purpose they are set for."

"Aye." Zurn was looking a bit despondant. "If there are many, and each needs to be completely defeated by two or three men, it would be a tough battle indeed." Zurn kicked at the remains as he held a clean cloth to a cut in his arm. "Build a fire. Let's get rid of what's left of all this mess."

It was a grizzly task to build a cairn and move the remains of the now twice-dead onto it in the growing heat of the mid-day sun. These men were soldiers of experience though, and the priestess had seen death before. Herman stayed a bit away - if for no other reason than to get fresher air - and kept a nervous eye southward down the road.

The smoke sprang into the early afternoon sky as the wood caught fire and began to reduce the corpses to bones and ash. With little wind it went straight up, an unfortunate beacon.

"I didn't ever have to hurt a lady, Kit." Rort was trying to brush the crumbs of the battle off the road with a large leafy branch.

"Aye. Me neither. But we're new at this war stuff and there's going to be firsts." Kit looked thoughtful, trying to find something to say to comfort his brother. "You've never killed a dog with rabies either, have you?"

"No, Kit. I've not done that to a sick dog or nothing." Rort wrinkled his brow as he worked.

"Well, you'll have to think of her as not being a lady, but sick like a bad dog with rabies. She wasn't a lady no more, she was dead Rort, and still moving. That just ain't natural, is it?" Kit put a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"I guess. But still she was a lady, not a soldier or nothin'. It ain't normal to hit ladies, neither." Rort sighed and threw his branch onto the fire.

"Perhaps we're just not in a normal time, Rort. You did nothing wrong here today. She would have hurt you if she could have." Kit gestured toward the flame, "That's where she belongs, good and proper. The gods will have to make sure she gets where she belongs on the other side."

"Ya, that's right, Kit. You're always right." Rort stared into the flames. "Just like a sick dog I guess. Poor lady."

"That's right. She couldn't help it. Not her fault."

With wounds tended, gear cleaned, and corpses sizzling, the group started moving back up the hill toward the camp. But not Herman. He remained where he had been for some time, watching down the south road.

"Herman? Coming? Or are you going to watch for us from there?" Laurentama leaned on her staff, but still posessed enough reserves to try to snap the mage out of his reverie.

"We're not going anywhere just yet." Herman didn't move his gaze from the distant road's horizon. "Kedzrik sees them. They're coming."

"Oh? I didn't know he was out. You should have said something. How many are coming?" Laurentama rested on her staff squinting down the road.

"I see five more on this road. They will be here very soon. And then all of them far behind that. Do you see the birds?"

"How many is that? How many is all of them?" The smile faded from Laurentama's face waiting for Herman's reply.

"I don't know. Kedzrik shows me they are like trees in the forest. Thousands. You can mark them by the birds. Falcons, hawks, vultures, they all are circling." Herman shook his head. "There is a smaller group not far off, coming up the road quite slowly. The others are quite some ways away."

Laurentama thankfully could not see the birds from here. She tried to get the attention of the others, who were occupied with cleaning up the area or moving back up the hill. She fondled the stones on her necklace nervously for a moment, and then let out a shrill whistle and ran toward the others. "They are coming!"

It took a bit to get everybody rounded back up, and another to decide to hold a position in the road. It was better to face them where Zurn and Wolfstone supposed they were marching - and get it over with. Withdrawl to the hilltop meant playing a very different sort of game where the Dead could call in reinforcements perhaps.

So Kit and Rort took the middle of the road with Tork and Granid completing the line. Zurn and Wolfstone on either end of the line with Feaboen content to be in reserve for the moment with the priestess and the wizard. By this time the Dead were near, much nearer than a bowshot down the road. Laurentama hummed a prayersong that bouyed everyone's spirits, refreshed their energy, and let them forget their wounds. "The Goddess is with us. Have no fear."

These Dead were clearly armed and wore armor - they were members of some military unit in life. Their armor was heavy leather with bronze rings and studs. This fight would be undoubtedly tougher.

There was a crashing noise off to one side, and everyone turned to look into the woods on the west side of the road. Another group of Dead were clumsily working their way down the hillside toward the road. These were also armed and armored like the group in the road.

"Our own tactic turned against us." Wolfstone was looking around to make sure no other groups were arriving.

"Aye. Nicely played." Zurn spat into the dust of the road. "They have a small edge by their numbers this time. Not good."

"Perhaps I can help." Herman pulled a dagger out of his shirt and began drawing a circle in the road.

"We'll need more than drawings in the dirt, mister wizard." Zurn looked nervously past the wizard at the Dead warriors very near now.

"Just another moment." Herman finished his circle and started chanting something while absently stroking the eardangle behind his left ear. There was a rumbling sound, and the earth began shaking so hard it was difficult to keep one's feet. "Ramparts!" Herman yelled above the sound of the earth grinding itself apart. When the road's movement stopped there was a chest-high breastworks of stone that was pulled up out of the road itself, and bent around the group like a horseshoe.

Everyone looked around, surprised. Wizards were rare, and to finally see this one do something besides feed his falsedrake had momentarily stunned the group.

Zurn looked approvingly at the defensive structure and ordered, "Wall defense!" Zurn's men spread out more around the inside of the wall's perimeter as the Dead approached the wall. "Bring one of them in here at a time and we'll finish it. Just keep the others out as you can."

"My turn." Laurentama had been fondling her necklace, and now she raised her staff with both hands. She smote the road with her staff so hard that the road rippled, the shock going out in all directions, knocking only the Dead off their feet. Some of them did not get back up as the wave passed through the ground and up the hills. When she raised her staff above her head in victory, one of the three stones of the necklace was dull and gray, evidently consumed in her spell. "The Goddess is with us! Do not fear these walking corpses. Return them to the grave!"

"I like these odds better." Wolfstone gave a sly grin and began to swing his sword at a dead warrior trying to crawl over the wall in front of him.

The Dead clawed their way to the top of the breastwork only to be shoved back by Zurn's men or dragged inside to be dispatched by axes and daggers. Laurentama expertly flashed her staff about, bashing in corrupted faces and breaking decaying bones.

Herman positioned himself in the gap between the horseshoe ends of his breast works. His face changed often - sometimes showing concentration as if preparing a spell, broken by wide smiles and heartfelt shouts of encouragement as the battle progressed. From this vantage he was able to see the battle without getting underfoot. Most of his magic skills were not necessarily of help directly in a battle. It is probably this small separation from the action that let him hear the approach of two horsemen, riding hard. Herman spun around and looked back up the road. There were two Dead warriors on rotting steeds. Each of them held a huge hammer-like maul and were wearing armor that dimly glinted of glorious days past.

"Riders! Horse from the north!" Herman's jaw dropped for a moment before he began chanting. His eyebrows narrowed in concentration and his fists balled in front of him. Laurenthama was singing a song of blessing as Herman finished his incantation with a shout, flinging his arms into the air. As he did so one of the two riders rose into the air as high as the peak of a roof of an inn, with his horse. Herman made a stirring or mixing motion with his hands and the horse and rider together were spun heels over head, with their momentum still carrying them forward. Herman pushed with his hands to one side and the horse and rider moved slightly to his left.

As that horse and rider crashed into the battlements, Laurentama came to herman's side, and readied her staff as if it were a spear or a lance to set against a charging mount. Laurentama's staff nearly burst as the second horse and rider arrived at the opening of the breastworks. But as the second rider met Laurentama's staff, the rider had already swung his maul - sending Herman reeling to the far end of the battlement, where he collapsed limply and did not move.

With Herman's alert and Laurentama's help, the cavalry assault had failed - but at a price. The rest of the men moved quickly to finish off the dead cavalrymen and the rest of the Dead soldiers.

Laurentama only had eyes for Herman, however. "Herman! No! I am sorry friend." She moved her hands over his body and frantically tried to mend his flesh. "He's gone."

"Looks like it. Damn nice trick he had with that horsed rider though." Zurn began directing his men to clean up the mess and start a fire as they had before.

Circling overhead, Kedzrik swooped in low and circled around the road for a few minutes letting out shrieks and chirps. It was sad to see the poor creature bereft of his friend, and it was plain for all to see the pain the creature felt as it flitted from tree to tree. Kit and Rort made an effort to capture him, but his tail lashed around with its painful stinger, and they decided to let him go.

Kedzrik's cries grew more distant slowly as he wailed into the distance. Wolfstone kept looking around nervously, anticipating another group of Dead. Laurentama's eyes closed in meditation a moment, but they flew open again when the battlements began to crack and split and soon they rumbled into nothing but piles of dust in the road, as the last of Herman's spirit departed.

"No! I will not let them take you!" Her eyes focused far away in concentration in the middle of that dusty road, with Herman's head cradled in her lap. Her thoughts, however, were very far away. She closed her eyes in prayer or concentration, her brow knit for a moment in deep concern. Then she fell backward to the road's dusty surface without so much as a moan as if she had been slain with Herman's body draped across her lap.