48. Dayton
Dayton
The trident materializes in my hand in a gleam of turquoise, the only other color down here besides the green flames. Just our luck. They may have emptied the city of goblins, but I guess the dead don’t enjoy a party.
This army of undead is as horrific as the one we fought outside Coppershire, if not more so.
They’re not frozen like Perth Quellos’s wraiths.
These look like true corpses, their skin sallow and bloodless, limbs hanging at awkward angles.
Their golden Autumn armor is dull and covered in blood.
They shuffle forward, green flames flickering in their eyes and in their chests.
I assess our surroundings as I would the arena. What do I have to work with…and what’s going to be working against me? The menagerie is a narrow causeway with jagged stone on either side. Behind us…
A steep drop into stars know what.
That means there’s one way out of this, and that’s through.
I twirl the trident in my hands. Fine by me.
Beside me, Dom draws his hand axe and Billy his falchion, their faces grim. “Dom, you and I will cut through the left flank,” I say. “Billy and Farron, push the right.”
“Yes, sir,” Dom and Billy say in unison. But Farron says nothing. I turn to him for confirmation.
Farron has drawn no weapon nor taken a stance beside us. His eyes are wide and unblinking as he takes in the approaching army.
“Come on, Fare, wake up,” I growl. “We’ve got to cut through this army—”
“My army,” he whispers. “My soldiers. My fault.”
There’s no time to consider his words as the first of the undead approaches us. I charge into it, driving the trident through its rib cage with a yell. Then with a spin, I shuck the corpse off, knocking it into three more approaching soldiers.
At my action, Dom and Billy spring forward, diving into the army, their weapons flashing with deadly purpose.
We move as a unit, ducking their attacks, breaking their defenses, and slicing through their ranks.
My arms strain with each rapid swing and strike of my trident.
I need to go faster. There are so many of them.
Each time I lay one out, another takes its place.
Then I catch sight of why. Just like Perth Quellos’s wraiths, these damned things don’t die.
I watch with sickening horror as Dom relieves one corpse of its head.
The body slams to the ground…then clambers around until it grabs its skull, tendrils of flesh reattaching like two squids’ tentacles reaching for one another.
Breath surges from my throat. The smell of rot and congealed blood clogs my nose. If we’re not careful, we’ll get surrounded. “Pull back!” I yell to the boys.
Farron’s still standing by the edge of the cliff, staring at the army blankly.
I use my trident to block a corpse’s spear blow.
He abandons the spear and attempts to claw me, gnashing his teeth right in my face.
One of his eyes has been ripped out, and there’s only a bloody, messy hole.
I shove him away and yell “Get behind me!” to Dom and Billy.
Then I look at Farron. “Fare, you’ve got to do something. They don’t die!”
“They’re not dead,” he mumbles. “Not really.”
“You need to do the spell!” I roar. “The one you performed at Coppershire that made the wraiths pass on!”
Farron’s expression breaks. “No. No, that would mean their deaths are permanent. I can still save them. I can bring them back. They’re my people. I have to bring them back…”
“Cover me,” I grunt to Dom and duck behind him.
I grab Farron by the tunic and shake him hard.
His feet stumble, and I realize how close we’ve been pushed to the cliffside.
Pulling Fare away from the edge, I stare into his golden eyes.
“Farron, listen to me. You can’t control this. You’re not meant to save them.”
“Don’t say that,” he growls, pushing away from me.
“They have to die,” I yell.
“No!” Farron screams, but he leaps into the fight, a torrent of red flames erupting from his hands. The corpses shudder, their skin charring, hair going up in embers. But they keep coming, walking through the fire as if it were cool rain.
I take a heaving breath, staring at the back of Farron’s head. He doesn’t understand.
They’re not his soldiers anymore. They didn’t choose this. They don’t want to be this.
But I can’t make him understand. So I rush to his side, protecting his flank as he changes to a steaming wind, trying to push a path through the chaos of bodies.
“Dom! Billy!” I scream. I see a thatch of red hair to Farron’s right and yank on the shirt, pulling the twin tight to me, out of grasp of a corpse. It’s Dom, who immediately gets his hand axe up, buying us some time with three quick swipes at the crowd.
“Where’s Billy?” he gasps. “He was next to me.”
“Billy? Billy!” Farron screams.
I spin in a circle, blocking with my trident, and peer through the horde. In my peripheral, I spot another flash of red. Billy, walking backward, falchion gleaming as he defends against a charging corpse.
“Billy, stop!” I scream.
But it’s too late.
Billy blocks a sword strike, then takes a step back. There’s no ground beneath him.
His other foot slips, and he tumbles over the cliff’s edge.