Plat hadn’t been hard to take. Most of its people had already retreated to the protection of the great wall Xwarda. There had been some resistance, and a score of men had died, but eventually, the Highwander troops that had been waiting for them there, retreated into the hills between Plat and Xwarda. Both generals agreed that they were waiting there to ambush the advance, an advance that wasn’t going to come, now that half of the army was pulling out to ride home.
The skin around the black tattoo on General Chatta’s bald head was bright, and splotchy, with flustered redness. The tattoo ran from the tip of his nose, where it made a fine point, up and over his head, widening gradually, until it disappeared, neck wide, into the collar of his ringed leather armor. Sometimes, especially when Chatta was angry, General Vogle thought that it looked like Chatta’s head had been split with an ax. Such was the case now, because underneath his civil demeanor, Chatta was fuming with rage.
A sharp rap at the door saved Vogel from Chatta’s hot disgusted glare. Outside the door, a muffled argument was cut short, and then the door flew open. An armored soldier strode in. He looked haggard, and road weary, like he had been riding for days. His normally bright red armor looked brown, due to the grime and dirt caked on it. The man showed no respect for the two Generals’ rank, and it was obvious he was at a point that was beyond that sort of triviality. Chatta stood quickly, and with the rage over Broderick’s decision in his bearing, started to voice his protest of the rude interruption, but the sound of the man’s raspy voice stopped him in his tracks.
“They’re coming,” Brady culvert croaked. “The dead are coming!”
“What?” Chatta asked incredulously. Then, to the soldier who had supposedly been guarding the door. “Is this man mad? Get him out of here before I have you flogged!”
“WAIT!” General Vogle shouted over the room. “He’s one of the Redwolf’s personal guards. Look at his armor!”
Vogel strode over to Brady, and wiped two fingers across his breastplate. Twin streaks of bright crimson shone through the dust and filth where General Vogel’s fingers had been.
“My King and a few others escaped the wrath of the Westland sorcerer.” Brady swallowed hard, and pointed at the table.
Vogel understood. He handed Brady the pewter goblet that he held in his hand. Brady downed it in one long swig.
“Fetch water man! And bring the food,” Vogel ordered the nervous guard in the doorway. When he hesitated, and looked at General Chatta, Vogel added a sharp “Now!” to the command. The soldier disappeared to comply, and Brady continued.
“King Jarrek ordered me to ride, and warn Dreen of Westland’s plan to march through the Wilder Mountains. Your King got out just in time. He went south to Stroud, I think. The Westland wizard blasted the red wall away, and then in the morning he raised the dead.”
Brady looked at the two Generals in turn, trying to make them believe with his eyes.
“They all march for the Westland wizard now. Westlanders and Valleyans alike. They’ve been a day behind me, maybe I gained a day, so it could be two now, but it matters not. They’re coming this way. I saw them cross the Southron River at the village called Tip, so I’m sure Kasta Keep fell as well. I – they are dead – walking, fighting dead men. I gave them warning, but they wouldn’t listen.”
He fell to his knees, with the clank of his heavy plate armor. He was emotionally overwrought and exhausted. Tears streamed down his dirty face, and he sobbed.
“I…I…I…did what I could…all I could do… What else…against the dead?”
“Well, General Vogel,” General Chatta started, in a somewhat satisfied tone. “So much for pulling out to go save Dreen!”
The next morning, the two Generals pondered what course to take. Over the night, Brady Culvert had escaped, stolen a fresh horse, and rode out toward Xwarda, leaving them to wonder about his tale. General Chatta suggested that it was a ruse, to stall their advance on Queen Willa’s palace city. Vogel sent out riders to see if an army was really coming from the west. In the meantime, he prepared his troops to make the long march back to Dreen.
Brady had to knock-out a Seaward watchman as he snuck out of town. He hadn’t relished the idea of assaulting an unsuspecting common soldier, so he rationalized his actions any way he could. If the man had been doing his duty, Brady figured, he wouldn’t have been able to sneak up on him in the first place. The knot on his head would remind him to be more vigilant when he was on guard.
Brady figured that when the sun came up, and his absence was discovered, he would have an insurmountable lead on any pursuers that might try to follow. The ride to Xwarda would be a short one for a single mounted man. With his midnight start, he could be there before anybody even knew to look for him.