Paul Kemp: Realms of War

As Bareris had warned they would, the autharch's force approached the walls after sunset. Across the temple complex, horns blew the alarm, and Kemas rushed up the stairs to his assigned place on the wall walk.

When he squinted out over the parapet, it certainly appeared as if the autharch's entire company stood in battle array before the main gate. Supposedly the noble's mages had cast subtle illusions to foster that impression, and the darkness likely aided as well.

In any case, it steadied Kemas to know that he was looking out at a diversion, not a committed assault. A hurtling arrow could still kill him just as dead, but still, for the moment at least, the danger seemed limited and endurable. He strung his bow, nocked a shaft, picked out a murky figure on the ground below, and let fly.

He continued that way for a while, shooting steadily and ducking down behind a merlon whenever it seemed that an archer or crossbowman on the ground was making a concerted effort to hit him. Twice, scaling ladders thumped against the parapet, but not near him, and the defenders who were closer dislodged them expeditiously.

Then, his kite shield and surcoat emblazoned with the ram shy;pant fire-breathing wyrm that was the emblem of the order, Zorithar came striding along the wall walk. He scowled at Kemas. "Rathoth-De thinks the real battle is about to begin. Find a place among those who are going to fight it."

Kemas swallowed. "Me?"

Zorithar snorted. "Of course, you. We've determined that you're a fearless hero, remember? Now, move!" He hurried on, no doubt deciding who else he could pull off the front wall without the enemy realizing that the defenders knew what was about to occur.

Kemas scurried down the stairs, ran across the temple grounds, and found a place to stand. After that he had nothing to do but wait. He strained, listening for some warning sign of what was to come.

He never heard it. Rather, the decaying section of the north wall exploded inward all at once, and men ducked and averted their faces to shield their eyes from flying gravel. By Bareris's reckoning, the autharch's wizards weren't especially powerful adepts, but even so, the crumbling stonework had been too weak to withstand them.

Beyond the breach, men howled like banshees, and charging feet pounded the ground. The autharch's troops meant to penetrate the opening before their foes could shake off their surprise and move to defend it.

It was only when the first attackers had scrambled inside, and were attempting to find their bearings amid the darkness and choking dust, that they perceived their counterparts hadn't been surprised. The Fire Drakes had expected their enemies to enter how and where they had, and had spent the day transforming the immediate area into a killing box. Carts, benches, piles of brick, and anything else that could be incorporated into barricades shielded ranks of warriors standing poised and ready for slaughter. Archers perched on the sections of wall to each side of the breach, and on nearby rooftops.

The priests of Kossuth cast their most destructive spells, and blasts of flame ripped through the mass of the enemy. The temple bowmen shot. Kemas caught himself nocking, drawing, and releasing as fast as he could and forced himself to slow down and aim.

Though it was scarcely necessary. The autharch's men were jammed so tightly together that any arrow was likely to find a mark, and the flying shafts and bursts and sprays of fire did such grievous harm that surely the attackers' first impulse was to turn and flee.

But they couldn't. They still had comrades, oblivious to the slaughter erupting just a few yards ahead, pushing through the breach behind them and bottling them in.

Their officers and sergeants realized it, and that the only possible way out of the trap was forward. They bellowed commands and their soldiers rushed the barricades.

Kemas dropped his bow and snatched out his sword just in time to parry the thrust of a spear. The Fire Drake on his left swung his mace and bashed in the spearman's skull.

Kemas returned the favor mere moments later, dispatching an axeman who was pressing his comrade hard. Up and down the line and on all three sides of the killing box, men roared and screamed, struck, defended, and fell.

A moment came when Kemas didn't have a foe within reach. It was then that, panting and wiping stinging sweat from his eyes, he spied Bareris.

True to his word, the bard was fighting alone in the midst of the foe. His sword was bloody from point to hilt, and a sort of haze shrouded his body. The blur no doubt made him more difficult to target and was evidence that he wasn't entirely suicidal. But it surely couldn't protect him from the foes driving in from every side, and Kemas was certain he was about to die.

But then the opponents in front of Bareris faltered as though abruptly afraid to engage. That too must be the result of one of his songs. He ran at the men he'd cursed, and they recoiled. The unnatural terror evidently hadn't caught hold of the soldiers to the rear and on his flanks, and they struck at him but missed. He reached one of the barricades, and recognizing him for an ally, the Fire Drakes behind it helped him clamber to the other side.

At that point, Kemas glimpsed motion from the corner of his eye and remembered that his own safety was likewise at issue. He hastily faced straight ahead and beheld the zombies shambling toward him.

From the moment the wall burst open until then, he hadn't been scared, perhaps because he hadn't had time to think. But it was as if the brief respite he'd enjoyed had given dread fresh purchase on his spirit, or maybe it was simply the withered, decaying faces of the walking dead that stabbed fear into his heart and loosened his guts.

He reminded himself of what Bareris had told him. A living warrior could defeat a zombie. He just had to cut it to pieces.

Somewhere overhead, a priest chanted a prayer, and three zombies burst into flame before they could reach the barricades. Unfortunately, the creature stalking straight at Kemas wasn't one of them.

It moved slowly, though, and that enabled him to strike first. His sword bit deep into the zombie's neck. Had it been alive, the stroke would have killed it, but its black, slimy lips didn't even twitch, nor did it falter. Reeking of corruption, it heaved its axe over its head, then swept it down in an awkward but powerful blow. Kemas twisted aside to keep it from splitting his head in two.

He pulled on his sword and it stuck, possibly caught between two vertebrae. Its head flopping on its shoulders, the corpse-thing lifted the axe for another try. Kemas gripped the hilt with both hands, heaved with all his might, and the blade jerked free.

He cut at one of the zombie's upraised hands. His sword lopped off fingers, and the axe fell out of the dead man's grasp. He took another swing at its neck and hacked deeper. The creature toppled forward and wound up draped over the barricade. Kemas was reluctant to touch the filthy thing, but it was in the way, and so he gripped its shoulder and shoved it off onto the ground. It was only then that he felt a surge of elation at having bested it.

He started to smile. Then, hunched forward, gut-tentacles writhing and lashing, the vilewight appeared among the autharch's troops. Despite the press, the legionnaires scrambled to clear a path for it.

The undead's sunken eyes burned brighter, and its fanged mouth sneered. It extended a gnarled, long-fingered hand, and a shaft of darkness leaped from the tips of the jagged talons. It blazed across a portion of the barricade, and the men it washed over collapsed, their bodies rotting.

Priests chanted. Fire leaped up around the vilewight but guttered out instantly, leaving it unburned. Archers loosed their shafts. Some pierced the dead thing's flesh, but the creature didn't even appear to notice.