The Necromancer & The King

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The panic along the secondary perimeter was tangible in the cold morning air. The farmers, militia, and field workers scrambled to reinforce the shuddering fences. The blackened, rotted hands of the undead gripped the metal lattice and shook it savagely. The big steel pylons that held the mesh in place were still upright despite the softening of the earth by the seasonal rainfall. The activity of the humans only riled the undead more. Hundreds, maybe thousands, were trampling the soybean field beneath their putrid feet as they slogged toward the fence.

“You shouldn’t be here, Miss Aura,” a field worker said, stumbling across her hiding place behind a tangle of brush against one of the granaries.

“I just want to see,” she answered, shrugging.

The man with the sweaty face and vivid freckles on his tanned skin was about to answer when a cry went up. He darted away, clutching his pitchfork in his hands. Medics in their white and red jumpsuits scrambled to carry away several wounded men and women from the fences. Aura scaled up the side of a tree, hoping to get high enough to see what was happening. As her bare feet and fingers found traction and she pulled herself up, she heard more screams coming from below. Finally perched near the top of the oak tree, she was able to see that a part of the fence was dangerously close to collapse. Both militia and farm workers beat back the howling undead creatures with electric prods, farming tools, and spears.

Meanwhile, Commander Christophe growled out orders at the militia as they scrambled to erect mobile turrets. The stench of death, human sweat, and fear drifted on the cool morning breeze. Aura wedged herself into a crook of the tree and gnawed on her nails while anxiously watching.

Trucks bearing large metal sheets rolled into view. People from the Ironworkers Guild clung to the sides of the vehicles, their heavy protective gear making them appear alien and frightening.

“All workers back from the fence!” Commander Christophe ordered through a bullhorn.

It was difficult to see exactly what was going on in the churning mass of frightened humans below. As the crowd thinned, Aura saw the ironworkers carrying the large metal sheets to the sagging fences. The turrets whirred to life and then spewed hot metal bullets into the undead masses, shredding rotting flesh and bone.

Biting her lip with excitement, Aura’s fingers dug into the branches of the tree so she could lean forward and witness the ongoing slaughter. While the militia held the horde at bay, the ironworkers began bolting the metal sheets to the pylons.

Below her perch, Crofter Morgan and Crofter Louise rushed toward the Master of the Ironworkers Guild.

“Will it hold, Master Teresa?” Crofter Morgan shouted above the ruckus.

The large olive-skinned woman gave him a thumb up, her arms rippling with muscle. “It’ll hold for now. But if this horde grows, we’ll be in trouble. We don’t have the resources to reinforce all the fences!”

“We need to call in the necromancers,” Crofter Louise declared. “We can’t wait!”

Watching the adults below her, Aura sighed with relief. If the council demanded the necromancers come, how could her father ignore it?