The Sword of Retribution

Fort Battleaxe - Part 3

     Thomas was shocked. What in the name of Hell are they doing? he wondered as the soldiers lumbered after terrified, fleeing civilians, one of them catching an old man and splitting his skull in two with a savage downward stroke of his sword. They’re Shadowsoldiers! he thought. Shads in Beltharan uniforms, but that doesn’t make sense. Why are they just attacking anybody? They should be searching for officers to assassinate or kidnap, or heading for places where they can carry out acts of sabotage. This random, indiscriminate slaughter just doesn’t make sense. Also, he didn’t like the way they were moving. They didn’t run after their victims, but just shuffled along, walking like clockwork toys, so that the people around them were easily able to evade them, and something about it awoke unpleasant memories that he’d been trying to keep safely buried at the back of his mind.

     As one of the soldiers got closer, he saw that his fears were correct. The soldier wasn’t an enemy in disguise. He was a genuine Beltharan soldier, or rather he had been. The broken shaft of an arrow was protruding from his neck. His eyes were staring straight ahead without moving or blinking, and a cloud of flies was buzzing around him, crawling around on his pallid skin and going freely in and out of his open, slack jawed mouth. The man was dead, probably having died just a few hours earlier, and in a few days time he would be a walking nightmare of maggots and decay, but the Shadowwizards who had raised him and the others to a hideous kind of quasi-life wanted him to be recognisable to his friends and family in the city, spreading even more panic and terror among the civilians.

     There had been armies of zombies pressed up against the city wall for days now, climbing ladders or stepping through holes blasted by Shadowwizards to attack the city's defenders, but they could only be seen by the highly trained, professional soldiers on the walls who had been thoroughly briefed on what to expect. This was different. Many of the dead men now marching the streets of the city had been laughing and drinking with their friends in taverns and public houses a few days before, and Thomas heard many terrified screams of recognition from civilians who’d never seen a zombie before and had had no conception of the horror the mere sight of them could cause.

     The zombie coming in Thomas’s direction suddenly seemed to see him, or at least sense his presence, since its eyes never seemed to fix on him. It came in his direction, raising its sword high over its head. Thomas pointed his finger at it, but then remembered that he had no magic left so he turned and ran, memories of the terrible Maze of Samnos flooding back into his head.

     After running about a hundred yards, he stopped and looked back. He’d left the zombie far behind, but it was still plodding along after him, intent on its chosen target and ignoring all the other people in the street it passed. Some of them were a lot closer to it than he was, popping out of their homes to see what all the fuss was about and then running screaming back inside again, and Thomas guessed that the Shadowwizards who’d reanimated the poor man had instructed it to attack wizards and priests in preference to anyone else, since they were currently playing the most important part in the city’s defence. He turned to run again, and sighed in relief as a platoon of soldiers, proper, living ones this time, arrived to deal with the undead invaders.

     It took a long time, since zombies, being already dead, couldn’t be killed again, but eventually, after a great deal of grisly swordwork and the suffering of several casualties, the foul creatures were hacked into an awful pile of twitching and writhing body parts, no longer capable of doing any more harm. The worst harm had already been done, though, with dozens, maybe hundreds, of civilians in a state of terrified shock. This wouldn’t be an isolated incident, either. He imagined groups of zombies and other creatures even worse being teleported into every part of the city, spreading panic and terror wherever they went, along with the knowledge that strong city walls were no guarantee of protection against the invaders.

     Why in the name of the Gods don’t we withdraw to the protection of the second wall, within range of the Orb? he wondered in puzzled anger. What was the point in us getting the damned thing if we’re not going to use it? Just the knowledge that they were safe from more zombies being teleported in, and immune to all the other forms of magical attack as well, would do wonders for morale and help to buoy up people’s flagging spirits. It’s madness for us to go on trying to defend the outer wall! It’s just not defensible!

     He was hurrying towards the place where the archers were grouped again, picking up another couple of enemy arrows as he went, when a young, freckle faced man dressed as a messenger came running up to him.

     “Are you the wizard, Thomas Gown?” he asked breathlessly.

     “Yes, that’s right,” answered Thomas, and he felt a surge of pride at the way the youth’s eyes widened in awe and fearful reverence. No-one had ever looked at him that way before. It made him feel like a real wizard for the first time. A wielder of arcane powers. A possessor of knowledge and abilities that set him above ordinary people who would speak his name in whispers and look up at him with fear and respect. He drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest. “What do you want?” he asked imperiously.

     “Captain Resalintas wants to see you, right away. In the tower.”

     Thomas came down to earth again with a crash, and now it was his eyes that widened in fear. “Resalintas? Wants to see me?” he gasped. “Why? What have I done?”

     “Dunno,” said the messenger, “but I’d get over there quick if I were you. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Report to the chief gatekeeper.”

     “Right, yeah,” said the wizard fearfully. “Er, can you take these up to the archers, up there on the wall?” He held out the arrows.

     “Sure, no trouble.” Thomas turned to go, sweating nervously and his heart beating madly. "Good luck."

     “Thanks,” said Thomas, and he set off at a run.