Book of The Dead

General Crow watched as the battle continued to play out before him.

“Our Mages have been unable to bring down the orb,” one of his officers reported.

I can see that, he thought to himself.

Hanging over the battlefield and raining down what he was told was concentrated Death Magick, the spell was definitely a threat, but not an imminent one. All along the front line, skeletons continued to engage with the soldiers of the Golden Legion, and in that contest they were hopelessly outmatched. With every passing minute, the numbers tipped further and further against the Necromancer, forcing him to unveil his tricks one by one.

He watched with interest as more advanced undead, with burning purple light in their ribcages, pushed out of the miasma and engaged along the front. It only took a few moments to see what the difference was—these new undead, much like the heavily armed and armoured leaders of the horde, were able to utilise their skills, making them more formidable opponents.

Would it be enough to match up to level seventy-nine Soldiers with impeccable training and equipment? He doubted it very much.

“Have the archers concentrate their fire on just one of the giants,” he instructed one of his officers, who saluted and ran to see that it was done.

Of all the undead they had seen so far, the giants had proven to be the most annoying. Able to strike over the heads of the smaller skeletons, they were difficult to get at, and being actively protected by the Necromancer and his skeletal mages made them hard to bring down from range. Even so, they were accruing damage over time, chips and cracks showing in their massive skeletal frames.

After a few moments, a massive volley was fired from behind the general, arrows spearing through the air with incredible force and accuracy. As expected, magick flickered around the target instantly, but against this level of concentrated fire, they weren’t enough, and many punched through to strike the skeleton itself.

However that black, smoking bone was made, it was damned tough. Crow had seen arrows from his archers punch through steel from a kilometre away. Despite being struck dozens of times, the giant did not break, but reeled back from the force of the impact, shards of bone flying through the air.One more volley might be enough.

Except, the voice rang out again.

Powerful enough to ripple the air around the gathered officers, even from such a distance, the Necromancer’s voice rolled like thunder every time he cast a spell. What it was like for the men and women in the front, Crow could only imagine.

Before the second volley could be launched, red light began to creep out of the miasma, sinking into the skeletons fighting along the front and concentrating around the giants. After a few seconds, the General frowned as he realised what was happening.

They were being healed. That upstart heretic was able to heal his undead.

“Can I get an analysis of that spell?” he asked, not paying attention as another of his men ran to see it was done.

That voice cracked once more with the force of a titan’s whip, as if Orthriss the Shieldwarden was working the forge of the heavens. Soon after, ethereal, ghostly light surrounded the forms of the skeletons and giants, shielding them from harm.

Watching carefully, General Crow saw everything, every detail, every minute shift in the ebb and flow of battle. Pressed hard at the front, he saw one of his Soldiers push into the skeleton in front, using his shield as a battering ram to create the space needed to execute a textbook thrust. He also saw the undead twist with unnatural agility, inhumanly light on its feet, parrying the blow with skill no mere skeleton should possess while those behind it crowded forward, hacking and slashing to try and take advantage of the miss.

All along the battle-line, these scenes played out over and over again, each one registering to the General. Whenever a skeleton fell, cut apart by an enchanted blade, he saw. Whenever one of his own Soldiers went down, somehow isolated and set upon by swarming undead, he saw.

Despite the Necromancer’s best efforts shoring up the line, the Golden Legion still had the advantage, inflicting far more casualties than they were taking. The front ranks were being peppered with spells as the heretic’s words continued to rock the foundation of reality, lances of bone and hands formed of black clouds coming in an unending tide, but the Mage Corps was up to the challenge, holding the line and firing back with their own spells.

If this continued in this manner, the inevitable result was an overwhelming victory for the Golden Legion.

Once again, General Crow leaned back and looked up at the sphere overhead, still raining down liquid death. None of the drops had touched a single one of his Soldiers, as the entire army was enveloped in the Golden Dome, protecting them from harm, yet he was still perturbed by the way they hissed and sizzled as they burned away.

Why cast this spell? Why protect it?

Initial reports had informed the General that it was sucking in magick and pumping out death-aligned energy at tremendous volumes, effectively providing an unlimited supply of power to the undead, but was that all it did?

Every time they fired counterspells at it, shields flickered to life, absorbing and cancelling out the magick. Clearly it was important to the Necromancer, otherwise why go to the trouble of defending it so thoroughly?

“Report for you, General!” one of his officers snapped, running up to him and offering a quick salute.

“Speak.”

“We believe the Necromancer is sacrificing his own vitality to heal the undead. Similar spells exist that give succour to the living at the expense of the caster, but not usually on this scale.”

Crow grunted in acknowledgement, still watching the battle, unblinking, but his thoughts churned.

If the Necromancer was burning his own vitality, perhaps there was a way he could replenish it as well. Sacrificing his own life to preserve those of his minions made sense, the undead were the ones fighting, after all. Yet that logic only held true to a point.

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Everything the Necromancer was doing suggested he was hoping, and expecting, the battle to drag on. Was he just delaying the inevitable? Or did he have some strategy in mind?

Again, General Crow’s eyes were drawn upward, almost against his will, to the shuddering orb of darkness overhead.

“I want that orb destroyed,” he said, coming to a decision. “Every reserve mage is to commit to the task. Bring it down, and bring it down fast.”

“It will be done, General.”

“Find me the Mage Captain, I wish to speak with him.”

“Yes, General.”

“Pass word to Captain Hollin. She has my permission to push harder on the front.”

Surrounded by lieutenants, captains and other officers, General Crow knew his orders would be obeyed, he didn’t need to look around or question anything. If he was patient, he would see the results with his own eyes.

Soon enough, that was indeed the case.

Overhead, counterspells and other destructive magicks flew up to the orb with more than double the frequency as before, battering into the shield that defended it. Soon enough they would have exhausted the defensive measure and begun to break apart the spell itself; it was only a question of when.

At the same time, he saw the light of skill activations exploding along the line as the Soldiers became more active, responding to new orders filtering down from their sergeants. Blades flashed, shields glowed and the men and women in armour moved faster, hit harder and endured more as they pushed themselves.

In response, Words of Power boomed out once more, more magick flooding into the undead as they desperately held the line.

What are you going to do now, heretic bastard? Crow mused, watching with his hands folded behind his back. Show me another card.

Blows continued to be exchanged back and forth, and—for a moment— it seemed as if there wouldn’t be a response at all. Then there was a shift in the skeleton formation and things changed in an instant.

Hidden within the miasma, it was impossible to see what machinations the Necromancer might be up to and even the General’s eyes couldn’t penetrate more than a dozen metres in. When the skeletons parted with unnatural coordination, creating a thirty metre wide corridor right in the centre of the line, Crow couldn’t understand why. Then, a beat later, the undead cavalry became visible through the darkness.

Heavily armoured, trailing black mist and burning with purple light, they charged in a triangle formation, ten wide, dark lances already levelled.

“BRACE!”

Up and down the line, sergeants roared out their instructions, and the front line of Soldiers did just that—setting their shields, digging in their feet, counting on those behind for their support. Against the Golden Legion, Crow had seen hundreds of rit-kin charges falter and crumble, unable to drive them back a single step. Even kin struggled to muster the strength to break this shield wall. Skeletons would surely be insufficient.

A moment later, he was proven badly wrong.

Thundering over the ground, the horses lunged forward, perfectly in sync with their riders, who aimed their lances and braced. With a shattering collision, the cavalry battered through the first line of soldiers, momentum carrying them straight into the second. Men and women screamed and cried out in pain as smoking black weapons bit into their flesh and pierced their armour, spreading Death Magick with every touch.

Skeletons swarmed into the breach in the line, surging behind the still-rampaging cavalry and bringing an influx of miasma and mist with them.

Ever disciplined and professional, Crow counted on his Soldiers not to panic, and they didn’t. Orders were barked out across the line, voices rising above the chaos of battle, and the troops responded. Those who had been flanked by the skeletons rushing into the hole created by the cavalry fell back, flattening out the line once more.

Momentum bled out from the cavalry charge until finally they were stopped. Laying about themselves with blades of midnight bone, the undead horsemen were still a menace, but now they were at risk of being cut off and denied a path of retreat.

Wise to the risk, the wight in charge was already leading the rest of the minions back in a fighting retreat. Skeletons moved to support, sacrificing themselves if necessary to ensure the cavalry were able to disengage safely.

Seeing all, General Crow studied the fallout of the charge intently, but one thing caught his gaze in particular.

There had been casualties as a result of the charge, an inevitable part of warfare at this scale. That was expected. What wasn’t expected was the skeletons dragging the dead bodies back into the mist, prioritising that over even fighting back against the Soldiers who were pushing back against them.

A dozen Soldiers’ remains vanished into the miasma before the cavalry retreated and the lines reformed once more. Now the front line had to be more cautious, not knowing where the next charge could come, yet knowing that it would.

“General Crow. Mage Captain Elinon reporting.”

Thin-faced, with light hair and almost grey eyes, Elinon looked surprisingly tired, considering the battle had been underway for less than an hour. Crow glanced at him for a moment, taking in every detail, before looking back to the front.

“How long does it take to create an undead?” he asked.

Not expecting the question, the Mage Captain blinked.

“Uh. That depends on the type of undead, General.”

“Skeletons.”

Elinon felt stupid. Obviously he was asking about skeletons.

“I am no expert, General, but I believe it would take days to create a powerful undead. The process is, as I understand it, quite difficult.”

“Could the Necromancer create new undead while casting magick in the battle?”

Elinon shook his head firmly.

“I highly doubt that, General. It would take… he would have to be…” the Mage Captain trailed off, a concerned expression flicking across his proud features.

He would have to be the greatest Mage you had ever seen, Crow finished the thought for him. Which he is.

“It may be possible,” Elinon said finally, certainty returning to his eyes. “We must proceed with the understanding that it may be possible.”

You absolute bastard. My Soldiers are being turned into undead minions as we stand here with our thumbs up our backsides.

Perhaps it was a matter of hours for the Necromancer to create a brand new undead. The longer the battle dragged on, the more members of the Golden Legion would return to the field fighting on the other side.

The very thought filled the General with unspeakable rage and disgust. He would enjoy killing Tyron Steelarm. Slowly.

“Mage Captain,” he said, pushing his anger to the side. It would do no good for him to lose his calm here. “Do you believe, or have you detected, any negative or debilitating effect clinging to yourself or the Soldiers along the front as a result of the Necromancer’s magick?”

Again, Elinon frowned, but not because he was surprised, rather, the same thought had occurred to him as well.

“It has been difficult to look, General, given I was contributing to the battle. However, I suspect there may be something, though I have no evidence right now.”

Crow nodded. Those cavalry had been impressive, but the Golden Legion were not sent flying like that, not ever. Something was wrong.

Perhaps the Necromancer had come with a plan after all.

“Do not return to your post,” he told the Mage Captain. “Investigate this possibility as your top priority. I need an answer and I need it soon.”

“Yes, General,” Elinon said, snapping out a salute.

Within the darkness, Tyron cocked his head to one side, as if listening.

“They caught on quickly,” he muttered to himself, a little surprised. He looked up at the Grave Moon overhead and nodded. “Not quickly enough.”