Alliances

Hytanthas’s party slashed at the walking corpses, rending terrible wounds in the dead flesh, but the undead elves simply kept coming. The horror of their existence was evident from their faces. Some had eyes open; others walked with unerring accuracy although both eyes were closed or clotted with dirt. Samar’s warriors hit them again and again with arrows, to no effect. They carried no weapons, for none had been buried with them, but they would grapple with any living elf within reach. When they found a living foe, they held on with such an iron grip only dismemberment stopped them.

Even hewn limb from limb, the cursed corpses twitched and heaved.

There were fifteen walking dead. With Samar’s reinforcement, the elves quickly subdued them, but Hytanthas stopped the warriors from destroying the corpses. He explained why.

“They were lying in wait for us. Our fellows didn’t fight at first. We thought we’d made a terrible mistake—buried comrades who were still living. Then they attacked! They strangled four of us before we could fathom what was going on. As soon as a revenant had killed its victim, it collapsed, lifeless at last.”

Hytanthas said he feared the curse might work the other way, that if the undead were destroyed, then their intended victims might die as well.

Surveying the still twitching limbs and torsos, Kerian had no desire to test his theory. She wondered whether the attack was a horrible by-product of Nalis Aren, or an evil spell worked against the elves. Samar didn’t care. He ordered the dismembered undead scattered so the corpses would trouble them no more.

His words sparked an idea in Kerian’s mind. She told Hytanthas to find himself a horse; they were taking a ride.

“Where are you going?” Samar asked.

“If we are troubled by our own dead, I wonder how Grayden’s army is faring behind us.”

“A worthy question, but don’t take too long in your search. Orexas won’t wait for you.”

His warning ended with a grunt. A severed arm had crawled across the boggy soil and fastened itself to Samar’s ankle. He kicked it loose and flung it far out into the mire. Hytanthas protested his callousness. Kerian told the young warrior to get to his horse.

Leaning close to Samar, she muttered, “You’d best take care of those warriors who fell tonight too.” They couldn’t risk allowing the four who had died to return as undead. Their remains must be scattered.

“Dirty business,” Samar muttered, grimacing.

Kerian pulled a small leather-wrapped package from her waist pouch and handed it to him. It contained the venom Chathendor had collected from the giant serpent. Viper poison paralyzed the limbs and destroyed flesh. Perhaps a dose would protect the brave, lost warriors from whatever malevolent influence was disturbing the sleep of the dead.

“Don’t wait for us,” Kerian said. “We’ll be back as soon as we learn what we can.”

The two elves rode off into the dark. They had no idea how far back the human army might be. They proceeded at a trot. Kerian was so exhausted she felt as though she wore the heavy chains of slavery again. She’d been awake and on her feet (or in the saddle) for-how long had it been? Two days? Three? She’d fought a monstrous serpent to the death. At least Hytanthas had the benefit of rest during their journey.

“Commander!” Hytanthas’s hiss jerked her upright. She’d actually dozed in the saddle.

Hytanthas took over the lead. A few more miles and he reined up sharply. “Do you hear?”

The metallic clash of combat was unmistakable. It had to be Grayden’s bandits. Who else would be abroad in the Cleft?

They continued more slowly. Shouts and screams could be heard, and beyond a mossy knoll they spied flickering light. The elves had forbidden fire in their caravan to conceal their position. Until that moment, so had the humans. Dismounting, Kerian told Hytanthas to hold her reins while she took a closer look.

“Let me go,” he urged. “You’re done in.”

“I’m not that far gone.”

In truth, she wanted to spare him what might lie ahead. For all her disagreements with him, Kerian felt protective of Hytanthas, as she did all the young warriors under her command. His brief brush with the undead had shaken him badly.

She dropped into a crouch and moved toward a right-angle bend in the path. On the west side of the trail was a broad mire that stretched all the way to the lake itself. The elves had lost two Bianost townsfolk in it, plus a horse they could ill afford to spare. Kerian skirted the mire’s edge. The path had been rising slightly. She dropped nearly prone and inched forward to peer over the crest. The scene she beheld was drawn straight out of the Abyss.