Michael Manning - The Line of Illeniel

A shout from Joe McDaniel interrupted their conversation, “David Tanner what the hell do you think you’re doing? Stop! Have you gone insane?!” Royce looked over and saw what had caused the commotion. David Tanner was standing behind the gate and he had already lifted the heavy bar that kept it shut. The heavy wooden doors were starting to swing open.

“That’s not David anymore! He’s been turned!” Royce yelled, but it was far too late. Every able bodied man was on the walls, it would take them far too long to reach the gates and shut them. The enemy would be inside within seconds. Royce started to head down the stairs but Dorian shoved him aside.

“Stay alive old man! We’ll need your skills if we survive this night.” Dorian ran down the steps, jumping the rest of the distance when he was still six feet from the bottom. Several more giant strides and he reached the gate, hoping to shut it before their foes realized the opportunity. He was too late. Before Dorian could stop them hands curled around the insides of the wooden doors, pulling them wider and one of the creatures stepped through.

Dorian switched tactics without missing a step. His sword was out and in his hand; the one that had stepped through fell back, missing its head and a large part of its left shoulder. The enchantment Mordecai had put on his sword made it impossibly sharp and it cut through flesh and bone effortlessly. “Someone shut the gate!” he bellowed as he waded into the undead that surged toward the opening.

The ones climbing the walls gave up and dropped down, to join those rushing at the now open gate. Hands reached out to grasp at Dorian but could find no purchase. Enchanted mail covered him from head to toe, preventing their touch from sapping his strength. Like a wave on a rocky shore the broke against him, giving way before his sword. They might have borne him under by sheer weight of numbers, but for the sword. With each stroke it swept limbs and bodies in twain. Driving forward he cut and sliced, reducing the undead bodies of men, women and children into helpless twitching pieces.

A fierce minute followed as he cut and slashed and eventually even the undead drew back. Unfortunately the gate itself was fully ten feet wide, and some of them would be able to get past him with the next rush. They gathered around him, ten, then twenty, then more, till at least thirty stood gathered silently around him. “Shut the goddamned gate!” Dorian was frantic, when they rushed him again he couldn’t possibly keep them from getting in, and it would probably only take a few to make a shambles of the lightly armored men inside. The wall was their best defense… but only if the gate was closed.

“I’ll be damned before I shut you out there lad!” That was Joe’s voice, “Get back in first.”

Dorian knew the moment he wavered or turned they would be on him, and pressing against the doors. There would be no way to close it against such a press. “Joe you shut that fucking gate now or you’ll wish you were damned! Do it!” As he spoke he saw a glimmer of eyes at the edge of the light, beyond the enemy facing him. A small boy stood there, hanging back from the fight… watching.

The enemy wasn’t waiting for Joe to decide and they rushed back at Dorian, now with strength of numbers. He saw one or two pass him, even as he cut at the others and he almost despaired, till he heard the heavy thud of the bar dropping down behind him. No longer tied to one spot he began to move, making it harder for them to mass themselves to bear him down.

Fighting wildly it seemed for a minute that they would be unable to stop him. Sweeping slashes removed reaching hands and sometimes whole arms, but no one could fight so many for long. His enemy had no natural fear and they pressed in, surrounding him. At last a hand caught him from behind, pulling at his shoulder and throwing him off balance and within seconds he was down, thrashing under a mass of foes he could not hope to defeat.

The only flesh Dorian had exposed was his eyes and jaw, where his helm didn’t cover. He struggled but hands and arms made contact at last and Dorian felt his strength draining away. I don’t want to wind up as one of these things, he thought to himself, but it seemed that would be his fate after all. He managed to pull his head away for a moment and put his face to the ground, trying to keep their deadly touch from his skin. There were so many on him that he never heard the gate opening.

“Alright boys! Now!” Joe’s voice rang out as the men of Washbrook pushed the gate wide and stepped up. Two held casks of lamp oil while the rest carried torches and swords or axes. The two small casks were thrown forward smashing onto the ground a few feet to either side of where the mob of undead held Dorian down. Lamp oil spilled out, washing over the ground and splattering on those nearest where they struck… then the torches landed and the world went up in flames.

Burning bodies thrashed as the flames blinded the undead. Dorian fought his way free of the ones holding him as the militia men waded in, hacking and cutting at the enemy with axes, swords, and in a few cases scythes. Parts of his legs had burning oil on them but it hadn’t burned long enough to get through the padded gambeson underneath his mail yet. “Over here Dorian!” Royce called to him, holding a heavy wool blanket soaked with water.

He staggered through the press of men and undead to reach the blacksmith and let him throw the blanket over him. Royce wrapped it around his legs, beating to smother out the flames there. “What the hell is going on?” he shouted.

“We just pulled your bacon out of the fire boy,” Royce laughed.

“They can’t hold them!” Even now Dorian could see some of the men had already fallen prey to the unnatural creatures. Without enchanted armor such as Dorian wore, it only took a hand on an arm to quickly render a man unable to fight.

“Then you best make sure we do!”

Dorian stopped arguing and went back into the fray. He moved carefully to avoid the worst of the burning bodies, picking his targets. He moved back and forth, hacking away the monsters that had gotten ahold of townsmen before they could drain them utterly. A large number of their enemies were just wildly thrashing bodies, burning silently on the ground now. The rest were soon reduced to helpless body parts.

It finally dawned on him that they had won. This is what strength is Mordecai. This is the power of the people you are entrusted with, he thought to himself. He wished Mort could see them now, faces flushed with excitement as fear turned to the thrill of victory. Almost all of them had gotten a taste of the undead touch, and now they understood better what they faced. Having survived, and won, they were full of life. Someone began to shout, “Dorian… Dorian… Dorian…!” and soon they had all taken up the chant.

Long minutes later he finally calmed them down, “Enough! This was your victory, and don’t forget it! Now you know what your lives are worth, and more importantly, the enemy knows we won’t sell ourselves cheaply.” Some of the townsfolk nodded at this, but in their hearts they knew they would have lost but for the burly warrior in shimmering mail.

Dorian turned on Joe, “What were you thinking opening the gate? Everything could have been lost…”

Joe didn’t let him finish, “It damn near was, but I wasn’t gonna let ‘em have you dammit. I’d do it again too and not think twice about it!”

Dorian stared at Joe. He didn’t have an answer for the man’s stubborn pride. Instead he switched subjects, “whose idea was the lamp oil?”

“That was old Royce there. He’s a quick thinking son of a bitch!” Joe slapped Royce on the shoulder, drunk on adrenaline.

Dorian leaned over to Royce, “What are we going to do with him? I thought he was level-headed but he’s crazy as a hatter.”