General Quelgrum had stood watch many times in his long life. He had often felt the cold, leaden sensation of fearful anticipation in the pit of his stomach; at other times, he felt only boredom. The old soldier thought he had experienced the gamut of human feeling and emotion, but something seemed different about this watch: a sick sensation of unnameable dread. The stark, skeletal trees around the camp creaked in the evening breeze, and Quelgrum heard the eerie, intermittent cries of a screech-owl in the distance.
However, these sounds did not disturb him as much as the utter, cloying silence that clung between them.
At last, the owl finished its mournful ululation and the breeze died away; silence reigned, and the General shivered, as if the very stillness were seeping into his bones.
Something's coming, he thought, although he had never before believed in fortune-tellers, predestination or precognition. Something bad.
At the sudden rustle of fallen leaves behind him, his heart leapt in his chest and he wheeled, his finger taking first pressure on the trigger of his automatic rifle, which he held at chest height, ready to fire.
"Oh, it's you, Lord Seneschal,” he said, suppressing a relieved sigh.
"Who were you expecting, General? I am here to relieve you,” Shakkar rumbled, towering over the soldier.
"I don't know, Lord Seneschal,” Quelgrum confessed. “I just feel a little… jumpy tonight. If it's all the same to you, I'll stay on watch with you; I don't think I could sleep right now. Besides, I want to be ready in case Baron Grimm comes barrelling out of the Priory with a hundred screaming witches at his heels. I don't normally feel this edgy, but something seems-oh, I don't know. I suppose you think it's just an old man's addled imagination."
"Not at all, General. I, too, am concerned for the Lord Baron, Questor Guy, and Lady Drexelica."
"It's not just that,” Quelgrum said, trying to put his inner disquiet into words. “It feels like"What was that?"
Quelgrum spun around at a faint knocking, creaking sound that seemed to come from ground level. He shot a swift glance at Shakkar, wondering if he had imagined the sound, but the demon's lowered brows and bared fangs showed that he had heard it, too.
"Who's there?” he demanded. “Show yourself!"
Now, the General heard a similar sound from his left flank, a little closer.
"Everybody up, now!” Quelgrum yelled. “Something's happening!"
Another tapping, creaking sound, this time to the General's right. Quelgrum squeezed the trigger and loosed three bullets in the sound's general direction.
He heard another subterranean creak, and another.
"What is it, Sir?"
Quelgrum turned to see a breathless Sergeant Erik, his rifle in his hands.
"I don't know, Sergeant, but I don't like it."
Numal arrived, leading the blinded Tordun by the hand. Even in the campfire's dim illumination, his face appeared pale.
"Fan out,” Quelgrum ordered. “Whatever's coming, it seems to be all around us."
"It's probably just squirrels, General,” Tordun said. “Just throw-"
At that moment, the soldier heard a rumbling, tearing sound and the ground seemed to open up. A scant thirty feet ahead of him, Quelgrum saw a humanoid figure arise from the very earth, emitting a bone-chilling groan of hatred and anguish. The General felt the short hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. Flakes of earth dripped from the unearthly creature, and hot resolve replaced cold disquiet.
Quelgrum squeezed the trigger of his weapon and launched a trio of bullets into the being as it stumbled towards him. The creature staggered, but it did not slow in its advance.
Erik's weapon spat fire towards the advancing, shambling entity, cutting it in half. The two halves of the creature fell in opposite directions, each hitting the ground with a dull thump. However, no spray of blood accompanied the destruction.
"A zombie,” Numal said in a tremulous voice, “one of the Undead! And yet I don't see any sign of Necromancy; what's causing this?"
Quelgrum saw three more beings arising from the ground: one bore a mantle of grey-green slime and dripped a rain of pale maggots; the other two were bleached skeletons. This time, the General and the Sergeant did not wait for the creatures to find their feet before firing. Swaying their weapons back and forth in sawing motions, they bisected the undead monsters in an instant.
Another tremor rumbled, and more zombies appeared. Quelgrum squeezed his trigger again, and a scant five bullets emerged before he heard a dull click from his rifle. As the creatures advanced further, he forced down his rising emotions, ejected the spent magazine and pushed in another. He heard Erik's weapon run dry as Shakkar ran forward.
The monsters scored deep gashes in the demon's sides as he tore them apart, and the Seneschal roared, perhaps more in defiance than in pain.
"If you can give us any advice on these things, Necromancer Numal, I'm sure we'd all be grateful,” Quelgrum shouted, as he saw the mage swing his staff in a wide arc to decapitate yet another creature.
"This is outside my training and experience, General,” Numal said and moaned. “If you can protect me and leave one of the creatures intact while I try to gain control of it, I might be able to persuade it to attack the others."
The ground shivered again. “Here they come again!” shouted Erik. “I've only got three magazines left. I'm going to try a few grenades-let's see how they like that!"
Quelgrum swung his firing rifle in a wide arc-the damned things are all around us!-and he heard the dull thump of grenades exploding amongst the hordes of undead assailants. Only those creatures immediately next to the explosions seemed affected by Erik's grenades; any human within several yards would have been torn apart by the flying metal shards, but the zombies continued to advance. Some limped, some had lost arms, but the ghastly attack did not slow.
Tordun leaped into the middle of the forward group of attackers, knocking many away with his hammer-like fists but only slowing the advance. Quelgrum heard the now-familiar groans and rumbles on all sides, and he knew panic for the first time since his extreme youth. He looked behind him to see Numal flailing with his staff like some mad reaper, and he knew the group could not last long in the midst of this awful killing ground.
The General aimed single shots at the heads of the advancing horde, trying to conserve his ammunition; occasionally, he was rewarded by the sight of an exploding skull and a falling foe, but, more often, a shambling monster just ignored the damage.
"Get to the road and regroup, people!” Quelgrum shouted. He saw Shakkar swing around, as a group of seven zombies began to rip the cart apart behind them. “Forget it, Shakkar!” he screamed, his voice a counterpoint to the frightened, brutalised horses’ whinnying, as they were torn apart by the monsters’ claws. “Let's get to the road.
"Move it!"
He laid down what he hoped was a suppressing fire, joined by the reliable Sergeant, urging the small party down to the hard-packed road; surely nobody could be buried there. At last, they reached the parched thoroughfare, and Quelgrum breathed a sigh of relief; both Shakkar and Tordun had scarlet gashes on their bodies, but their wounds did not appear serious. At least the zombies moved slowly, and the road was well-lit by the bright, full moon.
"Let's hope the wagon keeps them occupied for a while,” Quelgrum said. “Necromancer Numal; is there anything you can do?"
"I'll try to take control of some of the undead creatures, General. Maybe I can persuade them to attack each other."
"Better make it fast, Lord Mage,” Erik advised. “They're still moving."
A large group of zombies now made its way through the undergrowth. They were still distant and their pace appeared leisurely, but Quelgrum saw more of the creatures emerging from the other side of the road.
"They're trying to outflank us!” the General said. “Let's pull back!"
"Look, General,” Shakkar rumbled. “Look!"
Quelgrum's eyes followed the direction of the pointing, taloned finger; shambling streams of the undead monsters had begun to stumble onto the road behind them. They were still at some distance, but the closing ring of zombies precluded any simple escape except towards the Priory.
Numal shook his head and his forehead crinkled. “Somebody has to be controlling them,” he said. “The Undead have no volition or desires."
"Well, find them!” Quelgrum commanded. “Sergeant, how many grenades do you have left?"
"A couple, Sir."
"See if you can take out the group behind us, so we can retreat back down the road. At least we could put some distance between us and them while we decide what to do next."
Erik raised his weapon and launched his remaining grenades to land behind the shambling group, which was now at least three deep. The explosions made a satisfying noise, tearing apart many of the undead assailants, but the whirling fragments had little effect on the others.
"We'll break through,” the General said, hearing the relentless tread of the approaching zombies on each flank. “Lord Seneschal, will you attempt an assault on the rear group while Sergeant Erik and I try to hold back the others?"
"I'll attack them head on, General,” Tordun said, his voice firm with resolve. “I can make out their outlines well enough. Perhaps friend Shakkar could fly over them and attack them from behind."
"Do it!” Quelgrum shouted, trying to contain his inner terror as he and the Sergeant fired at the flanking zombies, trying to pick their targets and aim for their heads.
Tordun launched himself at the mass of slow-moving creatures, screaming in rage as Shakkar surged into the air. Quelgrum heard the dull click of the hammer falling on the empty chamber, and he tried to remain calm as he ejected the spent magazine and slammed in his last. He concentrated on the left flank, trusting Erik to make his shots count on the right. The stuttering bullets felled scores of the creatures, but others seemed to fill the gaps as soon as their rotting comrades fell. Still no zombies appeared from the direction of the Priory, and Quelgrum felt sure that the unseen controller was trying to lure them towards it; he was determined not to rush into a trap.
The General slung his rifle over his shoulder as the hammer clicked on the empty chamber; he heard Erik insert what must be his last magazine. Quelgrum drew his pistol, a twelve-shot weapon, and began to fire anew. The line of creatures grew no closer as more zombies fell, but Quelgrum knew it was only a matter of time; the supply of undead seemed inexhaustible.
"It's no good, General,” Tordun said, and Quelgrum saw the albino was bleeding from many deep slashes and cuts on his face. “I tried to hold them, but there are too many of them."
"What happened to Seneschal Shakkar?” Erik asked, still firing single shots.
"I don't know, Sergeant,” the pale giant said, who appeared exhausted. “They hurt him badly, and he flew off."
Quelgrum felt a sharp pang of betrayal; if there was one member of the party on whom he had felt sure he could rely, it was the demon.
"I can't find the source,” Numal whined, as if in deep anguish, interrupting the General's thoughts. “This just cannot be thaumaturgy."
"It must be Prioress Lizaveta's witches,” Quelgrum shouted. His pistol clicked, and Quelgrum knew effective resistance was impossible. He wrestled with his emotions; only one course of action was possible; something he had done only once in his long life.
"Gentlemen, that's it,” he cried, as the flanking zombies began to spill onto the wide, moonlit road. “We'll have to surrender."
He turned towards the Priory and shouted, “Do you hear me? We surrender!"
Erik gasped, but the General knew that to resist further would mean death. Silence reigned for a few moments, and Quelgrum now smelt the encroaching horde; the sickly-sweet stench of rotting flesh made him gag.
It'll soon be over, he thought, steeling himself to accept death from a hundred slashing claws. I've not had a bad life, I suppose.
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Erik holding his empty rifle like a club, Tordun trying to assume a fighter's stance, and Numal holding his staff over his head, ready to strike.
Then the zombies stopped their relentless approach, a scant arm's length away from them. Quelgrum squinted down the road, and he saw a small figure, blue in the blazing moonlight, walking towards him. He felt no relief at the fact that he would not be torn apart by the zombies; just a dull, sick sense of despair. Baron Grimm had been merciful after his own victory over the General's men, after Questor Dalquist's persuasive ruse de guerre, at his desert base, but that had not lessened the pain of his capitulation.
He knew he could not expect such generosity from these foes.
The General dropped his empty pistol and raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender.
The approaching blue figure was a small, dumpy woman of middle years, dressed in a nun's formal, restrictive robes; not what Quelgrum had expected.
"I am Sister Judan,” the woman said, in a contralto that Quelgrum might have considered pleasant at a more auspicious time. “I am not alone. My least cry will bring the undead creatures down upon you."
With a heavy heart, Quelgrum said, “I understand, Sister Judan. We surrender; we have little choice."
"How true,” the nun said. Her voice was light and airy, but Quelgrum saw the steel in her expression; this was not a woman with whom to trifle. “You, warrior,” she snapped, turning towards Erik, “drop that metallic abomination at once!"
Erik glanced towards Quelgrum. The General gave a heavy, resigned nod, and flung his own empty rifle aside, raising his hands as he did so.
Judan nodded. “That's much better,” she said. “Come with me."
Tordun, swaying on his feet, growled, but Quelgrum quelled him with a shake of his head. “We've lost, Tordun,” he said. “It's all over."
"You may keep your staff, thaumaturge,” Judan said to Numal. “Just remember that the least attempt at bravado will mean the end for all of you."
Quelgrum and his companions followed the small woman down the road at a snail's pace, and the zombies followed them.
Just like sheepdogs leading lambs to the slaughter, thought the old soldier.
"Why haven't you just killed us all?” he asked the nun.
Judan laughed-a merry, tinkling sound, at odds with the grim situation. “Why, we have no wish to kill you, General,” she said. “We just wish to educate you. Questor Grimm will need a retinue when he returns to High Lodge. You will be proud to accompany him when we have finished with you."
Quelgrum could not guess what Prioress Lizaveta had in store for them, but he guessed it would not be pleasant. He considered ending it all by killing Judan; they would all die at the hands of the zombies, but it might be worth it. Only one thought stopped him from committing suicide and condemning his comrades to painful death:
Our only hope lies with Baron Grimm now. He's an impulsive lad at times, but resourceful. He wouldn't surrender without a fight. We've just got to hope he can win through.
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