Richard Byers: Undead

Bareris's lips drew back in a snarl, for Vengeance had been a good mount, steady and loyal. The bard rose, readied his mace, and started singing.

The slithering, clattering wall that was the serpent's body slid past Malark, and he considered how best to attack it. He despised the undead for the abominations they were and fought them at every opportunity, always hopeful that this time, his foe might kill him. Death was a gift-one he had long ago spurned by armoring himself against the ravages of age and becoming an abomination in his own right. Since that time, he sought to atone for his folly by honoring the greatest of all powers. One day, perhaps, the multiverse would deem his service sufficient. Then, despite the formidable combat arts he had learned from the Monks of the Long Death, a blade or arrow would slip past his defense, and he could pass into the darkness.

Striking with one hand, then the other, swinging his batons like a demented drummer, he battered the creature's flank. Bones cracked and snapped with every stroke, but he couldn't see if the creature was weakened. Sorcery might be the only thing that could destroy the snake. If so, the best tactic might be to hold the serpent's attention, buying Aoth and Bareris the chance to cast their spells without interference.

He scanned the wall of bone, found his bearings, and sprinted toward the creature's head, bounding over open graves on his way. Armed with a scythe, a surviving skeleton rushed in on his flank. Malark broke stride, leaped high into the air, and kicked to the side, driving his heel into the creature's neck. The attack shattered the skeleton's spine and its head tumbled free. Then the spindly figure fell to pieces, and its bones flew through the air to integrate into the snake. Malark ran on.

As he neared its head, he heard Bareris singing. The tune was mournful, dirgelike, but it sent a thrill of fresh vitality through Malark's limbs.

Bareris had managed to lay an enchantment on himself, and he flickered in and out of view. Malark knew his friend was solid one moment, but not the next. With luck, he'd be safely intangible if the snake's fangs slammed shut on him. But that was not a certainty, so he dodged when his colossal adversary struck at him, and pounded back with his mace.

Mirror was intermittently visible as well. Taking advantage of his lack of a solid foe, he was trying to attack the interior of the serpent's body, and was alternately inside and out as the creature's mass writhed back and forth.

Aoth chanted the words of an incantation, spun his glowing spear through mystic passes, and the snake's head swiveled toward him. Plainly it was intelligent, but then, Malark had already guessed that, because it had laid a trap for them. It had lured its foes into striking distance before manifesting, and had chosen ground where the yawning graves might keep them from maneuvering to their best advantage.

Aoth leaped backward, evading the attack and carefully preserving the precise cadence his chant required. A sphere of bright white light shot from the luminous head of his spear. It struck the snake on the snout and exploded into twisting, crackling arcs of lightning.

The attack charred the serpent's head, but caused no noticeable injuries. It reared for another strike.

Completing his dash, Malark interposed himself between the creature and Aoth. "Get up in the air," he called out. "Bareris, stay away from it. Mirror and I will keep it occupied."

Aoth shouted Brightwing's name, and the griffon, who'd already taken to the air and had been wheeling overhead, maneuvering to make an attack, furled her pinions and dived toward her master. Bareris scrambled backward, his head twisting as he sought to keep his eyes on his foe without falling into one of the graves.

Malark lost track of his allies after that, because the snake spread its jaws wide and lunged at him. He had to hold his attention on his adversary. It was his only hope of survival.

He forced himself to delay his dodge, lest the serpent adjust its aim. He waited until the last instant, then spun to the right. The creature's jaws smashed shut beside him.

Malark bellowed a war cry, slammed the serpent as hard as he could with a baton, and bashed a substantial breach in the weave of bones beneath the jagged-edged eye socket. Apparently, Aoth's lightning had weakened the tangled lattice, allowing the baton to inflict significant harm.

The serpent finally reacted almost like a living creature, jerking its head away as though the strike had caused actual pain.

"That's right!" Malark called. "I'm the one who can hurt you the worst! Fight me!"

The snake obliged him with a few more attacks, which gave Bareris time to sing a spell unhindered. A shuddering ran down the length of the snake, breaking certain bones and shaking others loose from the central mass.

The serpent's body twisted around as it oriented on Bareris. Malark had to move quickly to keep the bony coils from knocking him down and grinding him beneath them. The movement left him yards away from the creature's head, with little hope of diverting it from the bard.

Then Mirror flew up from the ground to hover right in front of the serpent's face. His ghostly sword sliced back and forth.

The snake tried to catch him in its teeth, while Bareris sent shudders and convulsions tearing through it, and Malark battered it with his cudgels. At first, Mirror either dodged the creature's bite or oozed free unharmed. But then the colossal jaws clamped down again, and the malignancy of the snake's own supernatural nature finally overcame the protection afforded by the ghost's phantasmal condition. Mirror fell from the gnashing teeth tattered, fading, dwindling, and incapable of continuing the fight. Bareris cried out in dismay.

Overhead, Aoth chanted words of power. For the first time, Malark felt truly confident that he and his companions would prevail. War magic won battles more often than not, provided the war mage positioned himself out of reach of the foe and conjured unimpeded.

With a great clatter, the serpent arched itself and hurtled up into the air. Malark had forgotten their earlier guess that their quarry might be capable of flight.

Aoth and Brightwing had evidently lost sight of the possibility as well, for they were flying low, and the griffon took a heartbeat too long to start swooping out of the way. It looked to Malark as if the serpent would snag her in its jaws.

Bareris gave a thunderous shout. The noise jolted the snake, and its strike missed.

Aoth bellowed the final words of his incantation. An orb of mystical force, glowing a dull blue, flew from his outstretched hand. It struck the serpent like a stone from a trebuchet, and with a prodigious crack, broke it entirely in two. The sections collapsed, and Malark raised a hand to shield his head from the rain of bone.

He watched to see if the serpent would reassemble, but couldn't detect even a slight twitch. The thing looked utterly destroyed.

Aoth and Brightwing glided back to earth. The rents in Mirror's substance began to mend, and his vague form took on definition. He was going to be all right.

"What's the proper term for that thing?" Malark asked. "A living bone yard?"

"I don't know," said Aoth. "I've never heard of such a beast before. The necromancers' creations grow stranger every year."

"Well, the important thing is that we won."

Aoth's mouth twisted. "Did we? The peasants are dead. Will anyone else come and work this isolated, poorly protected patch of land and feed us in the coming year?"

"They'll dare it if someone in authority orders them to. What ails you, friend? I thought Bareris was the gloomy one." Malark gave the bard a wink, which he didn't bother to acknowledge.

"I just…" Aoth shook his head. "Mirror isn't the only one. We're all ghosts. Ghosts of the men and lives that ought to have been."