Book 2 :Chapter 19 (Patreon)

On the road, Nussegrund

Mallorn the Elf

“They’re somewhere in the east, methinks.” Orrin the paladin declared with some confidence, looking at a map of the county with several red ‘x’ marks placed across it. “East and north- only one of the tombs on the south-westernmost end of the county has been raided. As it is only sensible to loot locally and then expand as needs must, they must not have gotten that far yet.”

“I’m not sure I agree with that assessment.” Lir, the other paladin of their group, was seated on the other side of Orrin. The map was unfolded out on a large flat stump between them, and the rest of the band surrounded the central point in a scattered radius. Dordi and the other beastwomen were cooking, Rayne and Marcus were seated off the back of the cart, Henry was seated near the paladins.

Mallorn’s ears twitched. And the elf woodsman was lounging in a tree, loomed above them. Heaven forbid he just lean back on the grass like the rest of them, like a normal person. No he had to climb up a tree and lounge like a lynx. 

Lir continued as he was taking stock of their position. “The cult operates throughout the empire mainland, and with cells beyond as well. From their activity near Sorriver, they seem to be establishing contacts with as many as they can. Subtly gathering large stocks of corpses from many sources as to not draw notice…”

“How many dead can they realistically gather in such a manner?” Henry asked with furrowed brows, leaning back on his hands. “I can’t imagine it's too many, right?”

Mallorn’s ears twitched again, this time noticing a distant sound that was distinct from the nearby conversation or local nightfall ambience. 

“It would depend on their reach and manpower.” Rayne chimed in from the side, waggling his hand. “One corpse every year from every midsized town in the Empire? That’s more than a thousand corpses a year.”

“Ten years and that’s an army that’s ten thousand strong…” Lir muttered direly. “It cannot be underestimated, such subtle means can quickly accumulate power with the eyes of the Emperor turned to the Darklands.”

“Issues of storage would arise.” Marcus the wizard shook his head with a frown. “I’m no necromancer, but keeping even a thousand corpses hidden away would be incredibly difficult. Ten thousand would be absurd. Besides, by their habit of necrografting I’d presume that most of their corpses would be stitched together, not used as-is.”

“So a thousand ‘improved’ corpse-warriors, rather than ten thousand shambling undead.” Lir tapped his finger irritably upon his thigh. “A smaller, more elite force would be worse for us, I think.”

The sound was two or three miles away, down the road and approaching them. It was hard to tell what exactly it was over the sound of evening insects, but it sounded like…

“But the fact remains that they have been looting tombs, going by the one we inspected last.” Orrin gave a partial refutation to Lir’s point, wagging his finger and wiggling his mustache, somehow. “For whatever reason being- they’ve started to pilfer the local tombs as well, but have yet to reach the ones to our west, which means they’re in the east.”

“What does that imply, if they’re suddenly starting to accelerate their corpse-gathering in such a manner?” Henry asked, raising a hand to his chin thoughtfully. 

“Nothing good, certainly.” Lir shook his head. “If this cult has decided to forgo subtlety for rapid accumulation of power, then chances are they feel confident they can survive a legion response afterwards.”

“Or they see being destroyed and scattered by legion response as worth accomplishing whatever goal they have.” Rayne proposed cynically, frowning at the paladin. Lir paused, drawing in a low breath and giving a shallow nod.

“Or that…” He muttered.

Hoofbeats, footsteps, and the creaking of wagons. 

Mallorn stood up, walking over to his own horse and removing his golden axe from the latch on the side of the saddle. The rest of their band turned eyes towards him as he moved and went to his axe, blinking and moving to stand themselves.

“What do you hear, Sir Mallorn?” Marcus asked with a wary look across his stern imperial features, hand going to his banded staff.

“I’m not sure yet.” Mallorn replied, ears rolling a bit. 

“...I hear it too. It’s at least a mile and a half out.” The woodself called out, perking up with a frown and narrowed eyes, ears rolling in uncertain patterns like some biological sonar dish. After a few more moments to assess the noises, he nodded shallowly. “It’s approaching, the sound of a caravan.”

Took him a mile and it being pointed out to start hearing it. So far, the elf they had picked up hadn’t done anything except point out shortcuts every now and then, hardly worth the need to tolerate his presence. Mallorn kept his disdain from his face and focused on the approaching noise instead.

“D-does it sound like a friendly caravan, at least?” Henry asked, pushing up and staring down the late evening road that wound through the region. A broad expanse of high grasses over rolling hills, interspersed with a frankly impressive number of stone slabs to indicate graves. Graves for a quarter-mile of the road, on both sides, for miles at a time. At least half of all land he saw while walking through was dedicated to some sort of grave, memorial, or death-god shrine.

Nussegrund certainly lived up to its name. 

“There’s not really any way to determine if a caravan is friendly or not by sound, I don’t believe.” Rayne commented in a conversational manner, reaching over to grab his crossbow and set it on his lap. Their current camp position was at one of the many imperial resthouses, just off to the side of the road and overlooking it a bit as the earth sloped down to a shallow river on the other side.

Last Chance took the opportunity to bite his pauldron like the ornery stallion he was. Mallorn idly smacked his head reproachfully as he focused on the approaching noise.

There wasn’t any talking from this caravan, not that he could hear at least, which meant that it was moving in late evening with silence. Perhaps they were stressed, rushed, or injured? He slowly moved to take a more defensive position near the road, putting himself between the rest of the group and the approaching caravan.

“They’re coming over the hills now.” The woodself commented, pulling up and retreating into the canopy, disappearing from casual observation. 

The noise was indeed a bit closer and strained with slightly more exertion, slightly slower, which would correlate to needing to go uphill- such as the other side of the hill in the distance. 

“What is it?” Dordi the half-spider called out from near the cookery and campfire, a note of worry entering her voice as she noticed them rising and looking to the distance. 

“The sound of a caravan, be ready.” Mallorn called back over his shoulder, keeping an eye and ear on the hill in the distance. Several long, tense moments passed as the sounds continued to approach, finally coming close enough for the humans in the group to start hearing just as the caravan crested the highest point. 

A random assortment of wagons, horses, mules, and people can over the hill in a rush. A group that numbered at least twelve wagons and fifty humans of various sizes. About half of them were exceptionally small, perhaps only three to four feet tall, but without the strange proportions that a midget might have. They came with whipping rat tails and broad ears, and were accompanied by men and women of more normal heights and a smattering of other animal features. 

The approaching caravan hesitated briefly to see their group parked at the rest house, but then quickly moved along down the road towards them, eyes fixed on the road ahead and waving arms in approach. Mallorn tilted his head, keeping the visor of his helmet pulled back.

Orrin moved forwards to take position next to him, prominent muscle-curiass gleaming in the evening light, hand on the book strapped to his side. Orrin raised a hand and waved it in return. 

Some time passed before the approaching finally got close enough for conversation to start, with one of the small men riding a small horse galloping up to them. A fellow with broad ears and a broad cap, with a small woman riding astride the pony behind him, nervously looking over his shoulder at them. 

“Hail! I be Orrin the Paladin!” Orrin called out. “What has you lot in such a rush so late in the day?” The caravan seemed to have no intention of stopping at the resthouse, moving right along the road past them as they talked. 

The small man on the pony took off his hat, pulling his steed to a halt a good ten feet away from them. “Sirs- we’re getting out of Nussegrund as quick as we can. There’s troubles over in the east- an army of the dead are besieging Jungfrau!”

“An army!” Orrin exclaimed. The rest of their band pulled up in alarm, with Rayne in the back palming his face in no small exasperation. 

“An army sirs!” The little man exclaimed with an affirming nod. “They have the city totally surrounded, and hammer her on all sides- we saw it on the horizon and immediately turned around to flee. We’ve got family over in Ohnesattel, so that’s where we’re going.”

“That explains your rush!” Orrin proclaimed with a sharp nod.

“How many dead did you see?” Mallorn asked sharply, raising a hand to his chin. The small man turned towards him and hesitated briefly, giving his armor a look up and down, then replying.

“I don’t rightly know, sir? At least as many as are needed to surround the town, at least.” The small man shook his head. “Some of us heard that the Chosen Heroine was there in the area, rallying an army to strike at the heart of some evil, but that’s the kind of heroism that leaves littlefolk like us in the ground.”

“By the Dogstar! That must be why they’ve accelerated their plans!” Orrin turned to the rest of them with alarm. “They mean to kill the Chosen Heroine- they’re in cahoots with the Demon Queen!”

“It’d be another fifteen to twenty years at least before another Chosen Heroine arises, if she were to die here.” Lir furthered the thought at once, mind rapidly making extrapolations of the enemy. “Twenty more years of an active Demon Queen- the empire would be strained to the breaking point. So long as at least some necromancers survive here they can rebuild the cult in better conditions later. They might not be cahoots directly with the demons, but they can certainly stand to benefit from helping them.”

The small man gave a nervous glance to the caravan, which was starting to pull away from them, the last cart moving past the resthouse and down the road.

“Where did you say they were- in Judgefell, right?” Lir asked, stepping forwards to regard the small man more directly.

“That’s right sirs, Jungfrau- maybe two days from here to the northeast. I don't know if the city stands still, but I’m not staying around to find out!” The small man pulled away slightly, clearly indicating his desire to leave the conversation and return to the safety of their traveling caravan. The small woman clung tightly to his back and nodded rapidly. 

“Very well then- be on your way, and sun on your back!” Orrin exclaimed, waving the pair off. Immediately the pony pulled away and started to ride along the road, rapidly catching up to the caravan and moving steadily out of talking range. 

“So we need to- Mister Mallorn?” Henry started to speak, only to cut himself off as he glanced over at him.

Mallorn was in the middle of loading his bags onto his horse again. Rayne immediately pushed up from the cart with a look of strong complaint on his face. “No- no elf, you’re not fighting an army by yourself!”

“I’m not going to fight an army by myself.” Mallorn replied in a matter-of-fact manner, pulling himself up onto the saddle of the annoyed looking horse. Last Chance looked downright displeased by the interruption to his resting and grazing. “I’m going to perform targeted harassment of the commanders of an army.”

“That’s semantic!” Rayne complained, waving his hand. “A dragon is one thing, but an army is a totally different kind of beast- you’ll be surrounded and dragged down, then you’ll be dead and where will I be left with my debt to you, huh?”

“He speaks wisdom, Sir Mallorn.” Marcus nodded with a stern frown. “Fighting the dead is not the same as fighting anything else- they do not tire, and the moment you retreat to rest they’ll come for you. Once you engage in a battle against them, there is no reprieve, only victory or death.”

“Then I’ll retreat to the walls of the city and rest among the defenders- and if the walls have already fallen, I’ll run back to you all and we can turn around and wait for reinforcements.” Mallorn waggled a finger. 

“The walls that are surrounded by an army of the dead- how are you going to get through them?” Rayne pointed out with an aggravated sigh. “Your horse will be tired from the marching- you’ll have exhausted yourself and your steed and by the time you get there and they’ll be tireless. There’s valor and there’s stupidity, elf!”

“Let him go- if such an elf is confident in his abilities, then there is good reason for it.” The woodself called out snippily from his perch in the branches. Mallorn’s ears went flat as he glanced to the twink in the tree boughs, who had a cool, sarcastic tone in his voice and a flat look on his face. 

“Don’t egg him on, woodself!” Rayne swiveled around and pointed sharply at the elf in the branches, the implication in his words obvious enough for even non-elves to register. Rayne sighed and turned back, raising both of his hands in a placating manner. “Listen- Mallorn- please just wait at least a day. A day of travel and we’ll be close enough for you to ride forwards and not completely exhaust your horse, meaning that you’ll actually be able to run away if the situation looks dire.”

“And if the Chosen Heroine dies in that time-?” Mallorn began with a growl in his voice, only for Rayne to interrupt him with a sharp verbal counter.

“And what if she’s already dead? You said it yourself back in Sorriver- there’s no way for us to know if she’s still alive and if getting to her faster will do anything.” Rayne smacked one hand into the palm of the other. “The best we can do is make sure we’re ready to fight when we get there, not rush in and die like fools.”

Mallorn hesitated, distinctly remembering that conversation, before huffing and sighing and glancing to the side. The road loomed ahead, and at its end an army of the dead and the objective of his quest sat. 

He wasn’t there.

“Besides- the Chosen Heroine might not even be in that city.” Rayne pointed out dryly. “You go there and save the day, killing the whole army only for her to be in a different city under siege by a different army of the dead- that’s entirely possible from what we know.”

“...That would be pretty sad, yeah.” Mallorn huffed, sliding down from the saddle with a shake of his head. “Alright. You have one more day from me, then I’ll be riding forwards while you leadfoots lag behind.”

“At least you’re not totally beyond reason.” Rayne sighed and shook his head.

“I’m rather eager to get to the part where I get to swing my axe.” Mallorn joked in a self-recriminating manner, turning to start removing bags and saddle from his annoyed stallion. 

Rayne was speaking sense, of course, but there was an itch in his spine and a warmth in his hand that compelled him to run forwards into the fight. A thousand corpses… he could kill them. He’d just need to lure them out in groups and cleave them thusly, and make sure to not be surrounded. His ears were sharper than theirs, surely, so that wasn’t impossible…

There was a voice of furious courage in the back of his mind, whispering that he would succeed in a most persuasive manner. 

It took a great deal of effort to ignore it, and heed his friend over it. 

“Was this one of the conditions that the oracle spoke of- is that why you’re so eager to run ahead, Sir Mallorn?” Henry asked, slowly settling back down next to the stump-table where their map was laid across.

Mallorn’s ears twitched as he thought about that for a moment, then a small smile came across his lips. “This situation actually meets all three conditions.” He replied with a mild humor, making the others rear back.

“Ho-hah! Well that explains your eagerness!” Orrin laughed bombastically, before reaching forwards and clapping him on the shoulder. “But your friend speaks sense, Sir Elf, there’s no need to rush into danger on account of prophecy- half of all prophecies are gibberish and goblintalk anyways!”

“Who delivered this prophecy to you? If it was an elvish diviner then-” The woodself began with a dry interest.

“Mannish.” Rayne interrupted flatly.

“Then it’s garbage.” The woodself waved off and twisted around to lay down against the branch. “The currents of fate are much too murky for even elves to parse at times- no younger race could hope to read anything with any legibility.”

“Your opinion is noted, femboy.” Mallorn replied with no small derision, making the elf pull back with a disgruntled expression. 

“Fembo-? what are you-? I'm not a 'femboy', you overlarge brute!” The woodself sat up to glower down at him. 

“Put some muscle on and maybe I’ll start listening to you.” Mallorn glowered back. “You look like a woman.”

“I’m wearing pants, you puffed-up sledgehammer!”

“And high heeled boots.”

“You’re wearing heeled boots too!”

“I’m a head taller and my shoulders are twice your width. You, meanwhile, have a belt around your waist and thighs like a girl.”

“They’re going to be at this for awhile, aren’t they?” Lir muttered, raising a hand to his chin. Rayne sighed and nodded despondently.