Pael didn’t have the patience to wait until dawn when the mass resurrection spell he had cast would take effect. Sluggishly at first, then slowly growing into his full strength, Lord Brach regained himself. Where the tiny, white glimmer of life had just been in his eyes, there was now an ember, a little red sparkle of evil instead.
As soon as Pael flashed away, Brach ordered his men, all of them, to storm the breach. It was an alarming order for the captains to swallow, but none questioned their commander. As they formed, and pressed their way in, those waiting to squeeze through, were left exposed. The Valleyan spearmen outside the wall were left to pike them apart at will.
Long after sunset, when the last Westlander had gained entry into the city, the Valleyans found that there was nothing else to do, but follow them in. It was a strange scene they found inside. As battle upon battle played out in the city streets, handfuls of Westlanders, at the command of their leader, were dragging the corpses from both sides back into the buildings and alleyways, as if trying to protect them.
The Valleyan fighters didn’t stop to question this occurrence, as they were still outnumbered considerably. It was all they could do to stay alive and find a way to keep the Westlanders from getting deeper into the city, where most of the innocents, and the horse herds were.
Eventually, the Westlanders found some of the fenced pens where the precious animals were being guarded. Lord Brach ordered that the horses all be killed, and several more groups of his men broke loose from the main body, and started running them through with brutal efficiency.
The surge of anger this action sent through the ranks of the Valleyans, caused a resurgent rally of their defense just before dawn. But when the sun finally did break the horizon, the sounds of battle died away, and were replaced by shouts and screams of utter terror. The battle resumed then, but it wasn’t Westlander against Valleyan anymore. It was the dead against the living. The corpses were rising and engaging those still alive with a jealous fervor.
Dead horses stampeded through the streets, and broken bodied soldiers limped, or crawled with determined expressions on their faces, each trying to kill or maim the living men that mocked them. Before long, only the dead and the undead could be found in the red city of Dreen, and they were all forming up, following the orders of Lord Brach, to begin the long march directly to Xwarda.
A few men made it out of Dreen alive. One of them was King Jarrek’s elite Redwolf guardsman, Brady Culvert. Wearing his red plate armor like a shroud, the son of Marshal Culvert had warned King Broderick of the coming of Westland’s forces, then dutifully stayed on to lend his sword.
He fought beside the Valleyan soldiers all night long, but when dawn broke, and the dead started rising, it was every man for himself. He battled like a cornered animal and eventually won free of the encroaching death, and wild necromancy that was taking place inside the walls of Dreen. He had witnessed firsthand the awakening of the dead, and now found himself terrified and fleeing eastward ahead of them, as fast as his still living horse could carry him.
The idea that the evil force, that had destroyed his homeland could have grown stronger, was beyond the grasp of his reason, but it had. These soldiers couldn’t be killed, because they were already dead. They probably wouldn’t need rest or food, and they would fight on mindlessly, while arrows and steel tore apart their lifeless flesh. What was worse was that they were going to Xwarda next.
Knowing that was where King Jarrek had gone to seek aid gave Brady reason enough to get there and warn them. He would warn those along the way as well. As much as he wanted to put his steel to use against them, he understood that it would be a waste of effort. He had to get to Xwarda and give testimony to the insane magnitude of the evil that followed him. He only hoped that he could stay ahead of the undead army, and if he could get to Xwarda in time, that they wouldn’t think him a lunatic for his tale.
Chapter 46
“How far away is it, Hyden Hawk?” asked Vaegon.
“Not very far,” Hyden answered grimly.
Grrr’s hackles rose and he darted into the thicket, beneath the forest canopy at the northern edge of their camp. He growled, and then peeled into a series of savage barks. The other wolves wasted no time going to him.
“Someone – no – a group of people approaches,” Hyden spoke the feelings that Grrr’s warning conveyed to him and the wolf pack.
No sooner were the words out of his mouth, then the sound of jangling tack, and the nervous whinny of a horse, come to his ears. Oddly, Hyden heard Grrr’s growling tail off into a whimper of confusion, before it ceased all together.