Chapter 17 Journey to Redmoth #3
Morfran began scrambling away. “All with me, get back!”
The small berry that Bronwen chucked at Ravana’s men ruptured the ground where it struck. It sent half a dozen men flying, and Morfran had traumatic flashbacks to his farmhouse and the grass he’d littered with bolts dipped in boomberry juice.
Somehow, she’d found a legitimate boomberry bush. Likely by trying hard not to find one.
“Shoot the witch!” a man near the front screamed. Morfran squinted, recognizing the voice. It was General Killian, here in the flesh.
What archers remained turned their bows on her, but as they let arrows fly, a strange power seemed to alter the arrows’ course.
Many flew off-kilter by just inches. Some seemed to crack off an invisible field surrounding her and came back to imbed themselves in the men who’d shot them.
Others actually froze midair just to fall pathetically to the ground.
Bronwen’s expression remained fierce, triumphant, and Morfran had to admit, beautiful. A prick of pride rose within him for her. See? You’re not useless, he wanted to tell her. You’re quite spectacular, actually.
General Killian looked horrified at the rebel woman in her skivvies. He’d halted commands when he watched his men’s arrows fail.
Morfran took that moment to raise his sword up high. “Behold!” he shouted, attracting the attention of the enemy soldiers. “She is but one example of my dark work! She is unable to be killed, for she has been given a resurrected form that will not suffer harm.”
“Ah jeez, it’s the Necromancer,” one of General Killian’s men murmured in horror.
“Heard about this guy,” the soldier beside him said. “He eats live rats to sustain his powers.”
That’s gross, Morfran wanted to say, but they still seemed to regard him with fear, so such stupid rumors couldn’t hurt.
He gestured roughly at the rebels behind him who’d been shot.
“And behold again!” He stopped in front of Bill.
“You think you can kill my army? You cannot kill what is already dead. Watch with your own eyes, watch as this dead man rises!”
He gave Bill a covert kick, trying to get him to commit to the bit. Bill grunted in annoyance, and as he rose to his feet he moaned a moan that was only half-fake, for he really had been shot in the stomach and looked quite dead already. The army just blinked.
Do you want to be full-dead? Morfran shot him a sharp look when the moan didn’t budge the soldiers. Act like a corpse starving for the living already!
Bill rolled his eyes and groaned louder, waddling forward like a lethal creature from hell.
Killian’s army let out screams of horror, backing away.
“Rise, my army!” Morfran shouted to his men behind him.
Invigorated by their enemies’ screams, those who’d been thudded with arrows slowly shambled to their feet, letting out true groans and wails of pain that sounded terrifying to their enemies.
In the midst of the triumphant chaos, Morfran even saw a horse dragging itself forward, its tongue lolling out of its agape, bleeding mouth.
It blew a raspberry at a nearby archer, who dropped his bow and leapt into his nearest neighbor’s arms for safety.
“It isn’t possible.” Killian was still in denial. “Lord Morfran wiped all necromancers out of the kingdom. I was there with him as he did it.”
“Yes, well.” Morfran rubbed his neck. “He missed one.”
Meanwhile, Bronwen continued chucking boomberries at the army, their explosions rattling the ground. Enemy soldiers continued to go flying. Their arrows fell wayward.
Sandwiched between the walking dead and a half-naked woman making the ground go boom, Killian was forced into a corner. He gritted his teeth, yanked his horse’s reins, and finally gave the orders. “Retreat! Retreat! Your miserable lives depend on it! Retreat!”
His men didn’t need to be told thrice; they had already turned to flee on the first retreat. Morfran kept his sword held high, whispering to the groaning men behind him, “Don’t die just yet, you bags of flesh. Some are still watching.”
Indeed, there were. The majority of the army was thundering away on their horses.
Some were fleeing on foot. Two or three kept looking back, so Bronwen tossed another berry in their general direction to get them to pick up the pace, and the moment the ground exploded, they had vanished in a plume of debris and smoke.
Only Killian continued glancing back, glowering at Morfran, to the point that he began to worry he recognized him.
But no. Morfran’s hood was still up. His hair was shoulder-length now, and he had a beard. And he wasn’t in his black leather pants. Killian was just shooting him death glares because Morfran had beaten him and he was a sore loser.
The army quickly cleared away. Cheers arose from the rebel caravan. Two of the nearest men slapped Morfran on the back in gratitude, which made him groan himself in pain due to his shoulder wound, but also made him feel…
Good. He felt like he was floating, and he realized he didn’t find the rebels who were cheering and pumping their fists in the air quite as annoying as before. Especially when Bronwen swung off her horse, rushing to him with bright eyes.
“Did you see me? You saw, right?” She spanned out her arms and turned for him, beaming. “Not a single arrow hit me! Not one!”