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Chapter 2
Southwestern United States
2,873 Years before
the Reign of King Tobias of Keesee
“Dr. Johnston, are all preparations complete? Do all systems check?”
Dr. Simeon Johnston double checked several screens, and observed the
nods of his lab assistants. “They are, Dr. Mindebee. We are ready to
proceed.”
“Excellent,” said Dr. Mindebee, struggling not to rub his
hands together in anticipation. “Initiate primary sequence.”
Several assistants sprang into action, tapping away at their console
keyboards.
Dr. Johnston wandered across the lab, examining screen readouts.
“Primary sequence initiated,” he said. “All readings are stable and
within normal range. Magnetic containment field approaching full
strength.”
Dr. Mindebee double checked the primary and backup recording systems. He
smiled. “Warm up the laser. Prepare to bombard the plasma with alpha,
beta and gamma rays.” He gave a thumbs-up to the military observer.
The Lt. Colonel acknowledged and, over a secured line, informed the
Pentagon, “Operation Alice in Wonderland is a go.”
One of the assistants leaned to his partner. “Draws on three nuke power
plants. Wonder if it’ll dim the lights in Las Vegas?”
* * *
“They stopped chasing us,” I said. Guzzy and Road
Toad stood on either side of me and stared across the gully at the mass
of undead bodies holding at the outer reaches of the bonfire’s
flickering glow.
Guzzy nodded. “This ain’t good.” He slid up his
helmet and wiped a sleeve across his sweating brow. “Mindless zombies
shouldn’t have stopped.”
“You’re right,” said Road Toad. “There’s some
souled zombies among them. Maybe even a necromancer of some skill.” He
nudged Guzzy. “That barrel you stumbled over crossing the stream.
There’s a cord wrapped with vines leading from it past us, and toward
the wizard.”
“Oil?” I whispered. We stood ready in the center of
the line with picket teams spread out to each side. I wondered if the
wizard had hidden an oil-filled barrel in front of each picket.
“Been nice if they’d mentioned it to us,” grumbled Guzzy.
“Wish I still had my father’s crossbow,” I said, again watching the
enemy.
“I’d rather tangle with that mess of undead than with your ol’
pappy,” said Guzzy. “Won’t matter to him that a zombie tore it from ya.”
Road Toad stared into the darkness across the gully. “That
bonfire’s showing us to the enemy too well,” he mumbled, interrupting my
thoughts about my father. “Krish, you some sort of marksman?”
“With a crossbow?” I asked, watching the captain send Vort and
Darnard to reinforce the scouts on our right flank.
“Best shot around Pine Ridge,” said Guzzy. “Except for Jotey.”
“Got an idea,” Road Toad said. He backed off the line and
approached our captain. After exchanging salutes, they conferred and
Road Toad sprinted toward the reserve ranks.
“Well,” said Guzzy, “that makes me feel better. Wonder what
he’d have done if I told’em you fancied yourself a healer?”
“Hush,” I said between clenched teeth. “They find out and you
know where they’ll send me?” I shot my cousin a short, nasty stare. I
wanted to look back and see where Road Toad had gone, but I was afraid
of turning my back to the enemy.
“Men,” shouted Captain Plarchett, “withdraw from the trench
five paces.” When we had, the captain ordered, “Gray Mule Company move
forward. Join Black Mule and reinforce the line.”
When fresh militia troops formed up with us, Road Toad
appeared among them. “Here, Krish,” he said handing me a crossbow
already cocked and fitted with a long bolt. “Our wizard’s going to start
some trouble.” He handed Guzzy a fresh javelin. “Sir Guz, help me spot
the organizer behind their line. We’ll toss these, along with a few
others behind us, and Krish, you be right on him.”
I looked over the crossbow as best I could in the flaring
firelight. It felt like oak, same as my father’s, but this one had an
iron prod, whereas my father’s had been wooden. “I can’t be accurate
first shot,” I said, wondering if Road Toad really expected his plan to
succeed.
A basket-sized, flaring ball of fire arced over our
heads toward the enemy line, then burst. Seven fist-sized flaming balls
dove like ospreys on fish. Seven zombies staggered forward as the flames
burned into them.
“There!” said Road Toad. “See?”
A dark-robed man observed the burning zombies and motioned
with a wave of his skull-tipped staff, summoning three hulking zombies
to him.
Guzzy grunted, “Right,” as I raised my crossbow and took aim,
elevating for distance while estimating wind.
As the necromancer strode further away, the three large
zombies retreated with him, covering his back. I estimated lead as Guzzy
and Road Toad hurled their javelins, along with a number of soldiers
behind us. I exhaled and firmly compressed the trigger. The hail of
seven javelins fell, taking down two of the three zombies. The third ran
on for several steps before dropping.
“Good shooting, Krish,” said Road Toad, patting me on the
back.
“I missed the necromancer,” I said, realizing I’d dropped the
third zombie.
“True,” laughed Road Toad, “but how often do you get to see a
necromancer run? And, Sir Guz, I think you pierced one with your
javelin.”
Guzzy grinned from ear to ear. “He won’t be up near the front
any time soon.” Then my cousin’s smile disappeared. “Here they come.”
I slung the empty crossbow across my back and gripped my
spear. Road Toad urged the fresh zombie picket team to our right to
stand firm. Guzzy, to my left adjusted his shield, and warned, “They’ve
got some awful big rocks.” About half the horde carried stones the size
of watermelons.
“Advance to the trench,” ordered the captain. “Javelin
throwers, salt and target stone carriers.”
The zombies had reached a shambling trot, even those hefting
stones. The horde now numbered at least three-hundred. Silent, except
for the slapping of feet in the damp ground, the horde spread out as it
closed. Captain Plarchett ordered javelins thrown an instant before the
zombies tossed. One nearby soldier fell, crushed by a hurled stone. With
frightening ease the zombies scrambled down and in mass began climbing
up the slick gully walls.
I steadied myself for the rotting stench. My first spear
thrust caught an animated corpse in the shoulder, knocking it back into
three horde members below. Guzzy hacked the arm off one before kicking
it in the chest, sending it tumbling back. It, like mine, would come at
us again, but crippled with painful, salt-filled wounds.
Road Toad’s sword flashed, severing the head of one
foul-smelling corpse, and a second he smashed downward with his shield.
Already, they’d dragged one of the picket team members to our right into
the gully and began pummeling him to death. I tried to ignore his
screams, thankful it wasn’t me and rammed my spear into the chest of a
new opponent.
It fell back in pain, but in less agony than the first. The
salt on my spear tip was nearly spent. A fresh javelin wave flew
overhead, answered by large stones and logs landing among our ranks.
The sound of combat was all one-sided. The zombies fought in
silence, except for the thuds their fists made when they
connected with shields, armor, or a soldier’s flesh. The living, on the
other hand, yelled warnings, shouted in anger and frustration, or
screamed in agonized terror.
I’d crippled three more zombies while Guzzy chopped down four
with his axe and Road Toad managed to dismember six. Few teams fought as
well as us. Most struggled to simply keep the enemy at bay, forcing
Captain Plarchett to order reserves into the line. Already the horde had
dragged a third of Black and Gray Mule Company into its midst.
Just as a second wave of zombies shambled into the gully, the sky flared
overhead, and balls of flame darted into the oil-filled barrels. The
streambed erupted in flame.
Some smoldering and others in flame, the zombies still strove
to reach us. One burning corpse emerged from the fire, and grabbed my
spear’s shaft as I drove it back. I yanked it free; the grease had
foiled its grip. I silently thanked Road Toad.
A solid weight slammed into me from the side, knocking me to
the ground. Guzzy quickly rolled off of me and away as a four-foot log
tumbled past where I just stood. I didn’t give a second thought to the
crossbow digging into my back. Road Toad stepped forward and cut down
the burning spear grabber.
Shrill death shrieks rose on our left. “Fall back,” called our
captain. Guzzy and the other surviving picket leaders repeated the
order. I followed Road Toad and Guzzy to rally near the bonfire. A
distant glow added to the cries on the left, proclaiming the hordes were
overrunning White Mule Company.
Captain Plarchett waved his sword high. “Companies
form up for quick march. Black Mule Company—” called the captain, but
halted his command as, to the southwest, a bursting flare of green fire
signaled in the sky high above the trees.
“Gold or White Mule’s been overrun,” said Road Toad, “or
retreating.”
We reached the bonfire and the remnants of our company formed
into paired lines as ordered. I didn’t want to count how few of us
remained. Instead I stared toward the gully where the flames had begun
to sputter and zombies, some battle damaged and others fully intact,
emerged.
Cradling a broken arm, Corporal Vort appeared from the
darkened woods to the rear of our line of march. “Ogres!” he yelled,
running. “They’re behind me.”
A few of our number broke ranks and fled. Half the militia
that remained looked about, considering it. I’d taken a step in retreat
but, scared as I was, stopped and faced front. I couldn’t abandon Guzzy,
Road Toad or our captain.
Road Toad and a few other mercenaries turned to face the new
menace. The closest I’d ever been to an ogre was an old dust-covered
head mounted below the rafters in the cooper’s shop. That ogre head
trophy was an undersized runt killed outside of Pine Ridge before I was
born. Still, it was big as any bull’s head I’d ever seen.
The captain called to the lesser wizard, “Do what you can to
keep the zombies off of us, then lead the men to the bridge.” He hastily
pointed to three mercenaries, including Road Toad. “With me.”
Road Toad looked at Guzzy and me. “Come on, Krish and Guz. I
think I see two ogres out there. Captain’ll need you.”
I gulped and looked at Guzzy. We’d been trained to
fight zombies, not ogres.
Without hesitation Guzzy said, “Come on. Let’s
help’em.” He tugged at my shoulder. “We came to fight.”
Road Toad flashed us a grin. We trotted to catch up
with the two mercenaries and Captain Plarchett as they strode the
direction Vort had pointed.
Seven soldiers hadn’t fled and stood ready as
Lesser Wizard Morgan finished his spell. A thin wall of flames six feet
high shot up, between us and the closing zombie horde. As the flame wall
extended, the bonfire’s flames weakened. “With me, men,” shouted Morgan.
“To the bridge.” They turned and ran. Rather than endure the flames, the
zombie mass chased after them.
A deep, guttural bellow shattered what had been a silent enemy
assault. Two immense figures emerged from the depths of the trees. The
ogres stood at least twelve feet tall, even hunched over. They were
built like men but far more twisted and muscular. One wore tattered
pelts draped over its body. The other, larger ogre wore thick hide
boots, crude iron gauntlets, and a skirt built of rusted iron rings of a
size that would fit around my wrist. Each carried a formidable spiked
mace. The larger ogre clutched Darnard’s broken body in a rusted
gauntlet.
The captain stopped and yelled, “Goll statch!”
The gauntleted ogre halted twenty feet away, puffed
out its chest and grinned, showing jagged yellow teeth. Their color
matched the single stubby horn that curled up from the flat, sloped
forehead. The ogre smashed its mace against a tree, causing it to
shudder. “Gaaff, da grull haw!”
Road Toad led us in line, ten feet to the left of
the captain, and commented, “Captain speaks the foul tongue,” before
taking position with shield in hand and sword ready.
One of the mercenaries stood, armed as Road Toad
with sword and shield. The other carried a battle axe like Guzzy. I held
my spear ready, struggling to keep the tip steady.
“How do we fight these?” asked Guzzy, nervously
running his hand along the haft of his axe.
“Cripple them,” said Road Toad. “Then go for the
kill. Avoid their attacks. Ogres are quicker than they look.”
I re-examined the behemoths in what remained of the
dying firelight. Their skin was mottled, cracked with patches peeling
away. It looked tougher than hardened leather. Did Road Toad mean they
were quicker than a man? Faster than me?
Captain Plarchett yelled, “Goll grull haw awhk!”
Road Toad let out a snorting laugh. “Our fair
captain just insulted them.”
With a roar the ogres charged. The one hurled
Darnard’s body at the captain, forcing him to leap to the right.
“Spread out,” warned Road Toad, as the smaller one
stomped toward us.
I threw my spear, punching through the ogre’s
tattered hides and into its right shoulder. The behemoth didn’t even
notice. I drew my sword and backpedaled as it charged, yellow eyes
intent on me.
Road Toad ducked under its mace as it stomped past
him. Guzzy hewed at its thigh and found flesh, but not deep enough. It
yanked my spear from its shoulder and flailed wildly at me with its
mace.
I dropped to the ground, under the blow and rolled,
avoiding its blunt-toed feet as it came to a stop. The ogre roared in
frustration and stomped, trying to crush me. I rolled right, and avoided
being smashed by inches.
I shot forward and scrambled to my feet behind the
ogre. Sword in hand I turned, preparing for it to come at me again. Road
Toad caught the ogre across its wrist, carving deep with his sword. The
brute bellowed as it lost its grip on its mace, sending the weapon
spinning into the darkness. Guzzy struck his axe deep into the ogre’s
left calf and spun away. But the ogre guessed right and thrust my spear,
skewering Guzzy through the chest. Encouraged by success, it drove the
spear up to the crossbars, and pinned Guzzy to the ground.
“Guzzy!” I screamed. My cousin’s plight stabbed an
icy shaft into my heart. Cursing myself as much as the monster, I
charged back into the fray. Road Toad sidestepped a kick and cut at the
monster’s leg, slicing deep just above the heel. The ogre reached back,
grasping for Road Toad. It came away with the mercenary’s shield and in
roaring frustration, crushed it with its thick-fingered hand.
The ogre’s right foot gave out when it tried to turn and pursue Road
Toad who backed away. The brute stumbled forward to the ground, allowing
me to leap onto its back. I stabbed my sword at the base of its skull
and missed, grazing its scalp instead. My momentum carried me tumbling
over its head and to the ground. Our wounded foe tried to rise but,
before it could, Road Toad drove his sword into one of its yellow eyes.
The ogre gasped, filling the air with its fetid breath while grasping
wildly at the mercenary. With a twisting wrench, Road Toad tore at the
ogre’s brain and killed it.
“With me, Krish!” called Road Toad, running to
assist the captain.
I ran to help Guzzy. My cousin lay pinned to the
damp earth with a pale, stunned look on his face. He couldn’t be dead, I
thought. Not yet. I wouldn’t let him die. Blood trickled from his nose
and mouth, but he was still breathing.
I reached into my belt pouch for a handful of
finely ground white oak bark. It was the only component to the only
healing spell I knew. I sprinkled the grainy bark dust around the wound.
I’d have to remove the spear before beginning and then work fast. The
magic required would kill me, but it might save Guzzy. In the depths of
my heart I knew I’d fail. But I had to try.
I began the only chant I knew, the only one my
older sister had taught me, while opening my mind to the maelstrom of
energy that raged beyond the reach of normal senses. I edged closer,
seeking a sliver of the swirling energy, a strand that I recognized. One
that I could direct.
I continued to chant while energies buffeted my mind as I
delved deeper, seeking to draw upon a strand broader than I could
survive. One that might mend Guzzy’s wound. Not completely, but enough
until Road Toad and the captain could get him to a Lain Healer. A true
healer.
Someone grasped my hands, attempting to break my
hold on the spear. I tightened my grip against the feeble tugs, but the
lapse in concentration caused me to lose focus on the energy strands. My
mind spun and I backed out before I lost my way in the whorl of
energies. I held back my despair, knowing I lacked the strength to try
again.
“Krish, no.”
The gurgling whisper tugged at my senses. It was
Guzzy! I forced my eyes open to see him with his hands on mine. I leaned
close and turned my ear to his bloody lips.
“You can’t...”
“I could’ve saved you.”
He feebly shook his head. “No. Fight,” he gasped.
“Don’t let them take me.”
“We won’t,” said Road Toad, standing above us,
examining the mortal wound. “What’s—” he started, but didn’t finish. He
looked from Guzzy to me. “We’ve got to move now, Krish.”
I let go of the spear and reached for my discarded sword. “We
can’t leave him!”
The mercenary stepped on my blade before I could lift it.
“Zombies are moving beyond the gully,” he said. He scanned the area
before removing his foot from my sword and crouching down. “Fire’s
almost out. So’s your time, Leader of our Picket.” He reached into a
salt pouch. “You know what I have to do?”
Guzzy nodded.
I looked from Guzzy to the mercenary. “I’ll carry
him.”
“One final minute, with him,” Road Toad said. “I
must do this before he dies.”
Then I remembered my drill sergeant’s dispassionate
voice. “Salt in a death wound will ward off a necromancer’s magic.
Either that or maim the body so it can’t walk or fight. Otherwise it’ll
become a zombie to march against you.”
I couldn’t sever the tendons in Guzzy’s legs and
arms. I wouldn’t let Road Toad do it either.
“Krishhh,” whispered Guzzy. “Tell my pappy...” His
eyes widened. “We slew an ogre...fight on for me.” His eyes rolled up,
showing their whites.
I held my cousin’s hand. His grip weakened. Tears
blurred my vision. “I’m here, Guzzy. I will. I promise.”
“Pops Weasel, over here,” said Road Toad in a
harsh, restrained whisper. “Pull the spear.”
The old mercenary placed his foot on Guzzy’s chest
and tugged the spear out. Guzzy’s body tightened. Blood flowed from the
open wound. Road Toad slapped a fistful of salt into the wound and
pressed it in with his fingers.
A few seconds later, Road Toad wiped his leather
gauntlets on Guzzy’s padded armor before adjusting my cousin’s body. The
mercenary rested Guzzy’s battle axe upon his blood-soaked chest before
sliding Guzzy’s sheathed boot dirk into my belt. He placed a hand on my
shoulder. “He’s gone.”
“We should be too,” said Pops Weasel after spitting a stream
of leaf juice through his rotting front teeth. “No shame in mourning the
loss of a comrade.”
I stood. “He was my cousin.”
“Even more reason to mourn,” the old mercenary said, handing
me my spear.
I didn’t want it, and pulled my hand back. “No.”
“Take it,” ordered Road Toad. “You fight best with it.”
“Here,” said Pops Weasel, handing me a quiver with a half
dozen crossbow bolts. Then he looked up to Road Toad and patted a
fattened satchel. “Rations. Didn’t have to do anything for the captain.
Took care of Bendell, and that damnable ogre too.”
I looked to where Pops Weasel had pointed. The ogre lay with
gauntlets removed and hands severed. Blood-stained gashes lined his
boots at the ankles. Its severed head lay two feet to the side.
The mercenary, Bendell, lay with his battle axe like Guzzy.
Captain Plarchett, or what was left of his crushed and mangled body, lay
heaped at the feet of the ogre. The sword that lay across the body
didn’t catch and reflect the waning firelight as I thought it should.
The sword wasn’t his.
I looked around, and noted Road Toad’s hilt. I interrupted his
whispering of plans to Pops Weasel. “You took Captain Plarchett’s
sword.”
My accusatory tone brought a surprised glance from Pops
Weasel, but not from Road Toad. “He was a brother,” Road Toad said, and
raised his leather-gauntleted right hand. “That is all you need to
know.”
A design in the shape of a dog, maybe a fox, leaping over a
rising sun showed on the worn leather. It appeared recently re-inked.
Twice I’d seen that design on soldiers who’d passed through Pine Ridge,
but tattooed on their right palm. I wondered if Pops Weasel’s leather
gauntlet bore the mark, and if Road Toad bore the mark on his skin.
Road Toad looked around warily. “We’ll make for the
bridge. Try to slip through the enemy lines and cross.” He led the way
into the woods, I followed and Pops Weasel trailed behind as we snaked
silently through the trees.
We made it to the bridge only to find a host of
zombies clustered in two masses eighty yards back, on either side of the
road. We might have made a run for it, except for the twenty or so
goblins. Their appearance surprised me. Both Road Toad and Pops Weasel
frowned, silently meeting each other’s gaze.
Most of the yellow-skinned creatures hid behind
large trunks, spying on activities across the river; watching with their
sinister cat eyes and listening with their pointed ears. A few goblins
had climbed into the trees. Most carried short bows and long curved
daggers or short, stout spears. They were no larger than a boy of eight
summers, but appeared far more menacing.
I began to sweat, wondering what we were going to
do with the goblins and zombie hoards between us and the stone bridge
that spanned seventy feet across the raging river.
“Goblin’s ain’t much,” whispered Pops Weasel, “but them arrows
would get us before we made it across.”
Road Toad nodded and I agreed. We were hidden forty
yards west of the bridge near the river’s edge. The water was high,
rushing by just below the bank. Four more feet and it’d reach the
bridge’s underside. A twenty-yard area around the bridge had been
cleared of trees years ago, and recently of brush.
Across the river, powerful lanterns backed by
reflectors lit the bridge. I spotted movement inside the narrow windows
of the two-story granite blockhouses that guarded the bridge’s far side.
Men moved in the shadows in the woods beyond.
Bellowing ogres sounded not too far away. Pops
Weasel asked, “What’re they saying?”
“Mostly cursing.” Road Toad nodded. “They say, ‘No
rock throwers. No cut trees to roll behind. Many puny men.’” He smiled.
“I have to agree with them.”
Road Toad led us a few feet further back into the brush and
bushes. “We’ll wait until morning.”
We watched for an hour and twice a patrol of goblins walked
along the river and past us, only to return ten minutes later. Each time
they came close I froze with my heart racing, prepared to run or fight.
Between the patrols I thought about Guzzy, and if he’d be dead if I
hadn’t thrown my spear. I gave the ogre the weapon used to kill my own
blood. When I tried to forget that, I worried that Road Toad knew I was
a healer. I wasn’t sure if Pops Weasel knew, but Road Toad did.
Pops Weasel had slid into the darkness after
consulting with Road Toad. He’d just returned to report, but refrained
as goblin voices approached. Pops Weasel’s wide eyes and anxious
movements told me that he’d found more than he’d expected.
A third goblin patrol marched along the river past our
position, when a deep growl from our side of the river, sounding like
continuous thunder, caught their attention, and ours. As the goblins
hurried back to the road we crawled to the edge of the brush.
The rumbling sound increased. Road Toad spotted its cause
first and pointed. “There, see that...” He stopped, at a loss for words.
“Some sorta siege engine,” Pops Weasel whispered. “Two more
further back on the road.” He nudged Road Toad. “Would you say that
looks like a long Crusader cannon?” He pointed. “There sticking out of
that slanted box on top of the metal wagon. Look at that row of wheels.”
Pops Weasel squinted and looked closer. “They’re metal too.” He rubbed
his unshaven chin. “With a belt around them. What it’s for?” He shrugged
and scratched his neck. “Saw more zombies back up the road than I could
count. And a couple companies of ogres.” He looked from Road Toad to me.
“Trained and armored for combat, not the wild type you fought.”
A bugle from across the river sounded, but our attention
remained on the siege wagon as it rolled to a halt. The zombies stood,
mindless and unimpressed, but goblins bearing torches approached the
rumbling wagon in hesitant steps, ready to flee at any second.
“No beasts pushing or pulling it,” said Pops in a low voice.
“Must be Crusader.”
I couldn’t believe the Reunited Kingdom would join forces with
the Necromancer King. In the added torchlight, I spotted a black cross
outlined in white on the side of the siege wagon. The enemy had also
painted an unusual black symbol emblazoned in a white circle near the
cannon. It reminded me of a cross with the ends bent to the right,
almost making it look to be rolling.
“It’s got a cross on it,” I whispered. “Must be
Crusader.”
“No,” disagreed Road Toad, shaking his head. “The
Crusader cross stands taller than its cross arms. They’re always
white on a green or orange background. Never black.”
“Maybe a new faction,” said Pops.
Road Toad shook his head again. “Crusaders are
sworn enemies of the Necromancer King. Even though they don’t work with
magic, this siege weapon is beyond them.”
“Then what is it?” I asked. “Whose is it?”
Road Toad shrugged.
“We’re about to find out,” said Pops Weasel, gazing
across the river at the moving soldiers and then back toward the goblins
who’d gathered around the metal contraption.
A hatch raised and a zombie stuck its head and
shoulders out. It looked about and addressed the goblins as only a
souled one could do. A second souled zombie appeared from within the
hulking, wheeled weapon and took hold of a swiveling, miniature cannon.
The goblins began to chant, slapping their weapons against their
shields. “Panzer! Panzer! Panzer!” Their eager, shrill yells rose in
strength with each repetition.
I asked Road Toad, “What does ‘panzer’ mean?”
“It’s a new word in the foul tongue.” He stared
intensely at the still rumbling metal wagon. “For that weapon out
there.”
End of Chapter 2
© Terry W. Ervin II. All Rights Reserved.
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