"We caught one. Take him below," the king said curtly.
*∆*Ω*≡*∏*≡*Ω*∆*
The next day was a scene of near martial law. Every knight in the royal guard, every watchman in the city watch, and every soldier in the army was put through the crucible. The watch commander was ceremoniously replaced, as were many of his sergeants. Every sword from footman to general was interrogated. Backgrounds were investigated. Histories were inspected. Anyone with the remotest connection to Maldraxia was put over the heat.
King Horace waited before a heavy steel door bound with locks and bolts. Two high level lords were with him and his mystical advisor Arius, as well. The narrow hall was more like a cave, dark and damp, with slime festering in the corners.
The door clunked and clanged. It took a full ten seconds for it to open. The man who emerged wore a leather apron mottled with untold layers of rusty stains. He was bald, lumpy, and misshapen.
He cackled to himself from a twisted mouth. "Him be a tough one!" He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "But thems all break sooners or laters!"
The royal entourage shuffled nervously.
"What did he say?" Horace asked, maintaining his kingly air.
"Well after we'd done his fingers in he started tellum 'the tale,' they all starts with the tale, they thinks they can tellum us this 'n that and we wun go believin it. So then we brought out the hooks!" he grinned, his teeth like broken tombstones, his eyes gleaming.
"What did he say?" the king repeated.
"Well, after in he gotten through with the tale, and the hooks, we started with the screws and the oil. Finally, he'd tellin us the names of six er so others around."
The king breathed. "There are six more spies?"
"Yep! And we gottem names!"
"Excellent." Horace's voice was cold. "We'll arrest them at once. Tell Lord-"
"-But that aint even the good part!"
"What else?"
"Once the oil was finished we brought out ol' Hestur's machine!" The warty man made a sound that passed for a giggle then lowered his voice. "Nuthin works quite like ol' Hastur!"
The king tried to hide a wince.
"And thats whenun he tellum us where they be commin next."
The king's eyes widened. "He told you where the army is?"
"Yessum! An army of the dead, he says," again the ghastly giggle, "thems often says crazy things to ol' Hastur, but I learned to listen!"
Arius and the king turned white.
"An army of the dead?" one of the accompanying lords repeated, "but thats impossible. Arius has the Necronomicon. Only that can raise the dead. Everyone knows that."
"He says what he says! And thems always tellum the truth to Hastur! An army of the dead! Haha!"
"Where?" the king demanded.
"In the grove, 'tween the twin hills, he says."
Horace turned to his companions. "Get the names of the remaining spies. Bring them here and confirm all this. Round up the guardsmen, call all the generals. Arius, how can we fight the dead? There must be some way."
Arius gnashed his teeth. "We don't know for certain, wars with the dead are few and poorly documented, but might be the clerics of Saint Anthony can dispel them with their faith. Arm the men with torches and oil. If we can't hack them to death we might be able to burn them."
"Good. Round up every able bodied soldier in our ranks. But leave the horses; we can't have our own mounts turning on us."
"Begging your pardon my lord, but why attack? Would it not be safer to let them smash against our walls?" a bearded lord asked.
"And risk a prolonged siege against an army that cannot starve? I think not. We will take the fight to them."
Assuming we can fight them. Arius thought.
*∆*Ω*≡*∏*≡*Ω*∆*
The army of King Horace took the field. The infantry lined up in ranks and files of brown leather, each armed with a tower shield in the left hand and an unlit torch in the right. Behind them stood the clerics, each in flowing white robes with a tall staff bearing the golden star of Anthony on top. Behind them were the lords, their ornate steel armor gleaming in the sunlight. They were furious about walking into battle without their trusted mounts. Among them were carts stacked with small clay pots. Each one was filled with oil and had a wick on the top. A handful of small catapults had been dragged along as well. If given the chance they would rain a fiery hell upon the undead, in hopes of ending the battle before it ever came to a clash of swords.
The wood beyond the field lay nestled between two hills. The trees were thick and ancient. Ravens flocked above, squawking with delight.
"Any word from the scouts?" the king asked.
"None sire. I fear they've all been lost."
Horace grimaced.
"Sire, we cannot attack them in the forest. They'd surely ambush us."
The king said nothing.
"Furthermore the fire could spread-"
"-Send in the first line of infantry." Horace commanded.
"At once," the lord bowed and made off.
Arius fidgeted uncontrollably. He did not like this one bit. They were out in the open with no horses. The enemy army was largely unknown; the scouts had been unable to ascertain its size or composition. Worst of all, they'd never fought the undead before. Come to think of it, no one could even confirm if it actually was undead. He could only watch helplessly as the line of troops vanished into the trees.
"What will we do if they don't come back?" he whispered to the king.
"Invade," he said seriously. "Or launch the oil and burn them down with the forest."
"You do realized that no one has actually laid eyes on this army yet."
"I realize. But look at the ravens. I've not seen that many outside a fresh battlefield."
"Quite right, m'lord," Arius admitted.
Minutes past in nervous anxiety. The lords muttered their displeasure to one another. Clerics prayed to themselves. Arius desperately tried to imagine what kind nefarious trap they were walking into.
Then, to their surprise, the infantry returned. Their commander ran back to the army, his line of soldiers behind. The ranks parted to let him through.
"Sire," he huffed upon reaching the rear, "there is no army! We found only corpses tied to trees."
"What?" The king was incredulous.
"Yes. We found only a couple archers, hiding among the bushes, or in the trees, but no soldiers."
The king darkened. Arius was dumbfounded.
Just then they heard the thunderous rumble of hooves. Shouts erupted from the men. All looked to the north. A tsunami of armored riders poured into the field. The horses were at least three hands larger than any warhorse. They were barded in mirrored silver with flowing crimson skirts.
The shouting of orders came fast and fierce. The infantry rushed to turn their lines to the flank. The oil pots were lit and the catapults fired but they were woefully ineffective against this new threat. The clerics turned and ran.
Arius' mind churned. There was no army. There are no undead. There never were. Did they even steal the book? Or was that all a farce?
The cavalry were only seconds away.
But why here? The spies. They led us here. This was their whole plan.
With a terrible crash the horses trampled the first lines of infantry. They had no spears to repel them, only their torches and short swords. The leather clad soldiers fell like wheat beneath the scythe.
They led us into the open, easy prey for the horsemen, with few weapons!
Now the lords joined the fray. They swung their steel with all their might. Some attacked the horses directly, some stood on the backs of the fallen, some retreated to defend the king, all fell before the unstoppable onslaught. It was like ocean waves reclaiming the crabs of the beach. The horses barreled through the ranks, their riders slashing at will, with little fear of retaliation.
The remaining lords formed a ring around Horace and were soon surrounded by the red on red ride
rs. The Maldraxians grinned, their rabid eyes bearing down from above. The attack came simultaneously, as if choreographed, and the stout lords of Horace had no hope. The blows were quick and sure, and it took only seconds for the ring to fall. Now only Horace and Arius remind of the entire army.
The horsemen circled like wolves, licking their bloody muzzles.
"We do not surrender," Horace hissed to Arius. The thin wizard had only his staff to protect him. His only hope was to die quickly.
But then the circle opened and the weapons raised. Another warrior approached. Horse and rider were jet black with fine lacquered armor, trailing wisps of white silk. The man removed his helmet revealing long white hair and an angular face. He smirked with insatiable malice. "Kill the king."
In an instant half a dozen spears impaled him like a piece of stew meat.
Arius found himself on his hands and knees, quivering. He heard the man dismount and saw the lavish black boots approach.
"My dear Arius. Look at me!"
Arius slowly raised his eyes.
Maldraxia squatted down. "I have a book I'd like you to translate."
The End
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