“Halt!” he yelled, jumping to his feet and fumbling for his symbol of Vol. They ignored him.
“Halt!” he repeated, holding the symbol aloft. Still, they ignored him. This had never happened before. Cursing, he drew his longsword and clapped his skull-faced helmet on his head.
The zombies were heading for the guard room, which gave access to the other barrack blocks. Grabbing one by the neck, he tried to pull it out of the doorway. His eyes widened in surprise as a jagged sword was thrust through his back.
He fell to the floor, and the zombies stepped over him on their way out. The last thing he saw was an ancient-looking elf in a robe, following them out of the barracks. The elf turned and looked down at him.
“Bring that,” said Dravuliel. One of the zombies threw the dead bone knight over its shoulder, and followed the rest into the guard room.
The remaining guards were quickly overcome, and the zombies soon destroyed those of their fellows that could not be brought under the necromancer’s control. The alarm was raised only when the undead troops poured out of the barracks and began attacking the zombies on the walls.
Taken completely by surprise, the defenders of Fort Zombie were thrown back initially, but quickly rallied. Bone knights and living troops formed up in the fort’s central courtyard and began to cut down the undead with sword and spell. For a moment, it looked as though the undead revolt would be contained—but then more zombies entered the fray. These were the guards and others who had died in the barracks, and several of them wore bonecraft armor. As the skirmish continued, it became increasingly difficult to tell friend from foe; all wore the insignia of Fort Zombie, and the dead would rise up and attack the living. In the confusion many defenders were mistakenly slain by their own comrades.
No one saw the elf as he moved through the carnage, protected by magical invisibility. He stood at the edge of the melee, admiring his handiwork. Then he touched a nearby corpse and it, too, became invisible. Feeling for its skull, he gouged out an eye and pressed a black onyx into the socket; his chanted invocation went unheard in the din of battle.
“Open the gates,” he said. Unnoticed by the living, footprints appeared with no apparent cause, heading for the gates of the fort.
Haldin the gnome hurried into the cell block, flanked by his two half-elf guards, who were carrying the three prisoners’ belongings.
“Quickly,” he said, “the fort is under attack!” His habitual smile was missing; he looked grim and purposeful. He was dressed in well-crafted half-plate armor and carried a repeating crossbow. Brey saw with a start that the emblem of the Silver Flame was inlaid into its stock.
Mordan buckled his rapier to his side and donned his elven cloak. Tarrel rummaged through his sack and other belongings, and then cursed.
“The wand!” he exclaimed. Then he stopped short and made a helpless gesture.
“It was out of power anyway,” he said, half to himself. Mordan suddenly remembered that he had asked Decker to examine it; it was probably still with him in Flumakton.
“Here!” cried Haldin, tossing a wand to the Brelander. Tarrel studied it for a moment, and nodded.
Brey was already out of the cell and looking out of a window into the courtyard. Her eyes were wide with surprise.
“Something has taken control of the zombies!” cried the gnome, in answer to her unasked question. “We need everyone’s help, or the fort will be overrun!”
Weapons drawn, the six of them ran down the passage and out into the courtyard.
Everything was chaos; some of the bone knights had rallied the few zombies still outside the attackers’ control and set them against the waves of undead that poured from the barracks. Elsewhere, several figures wearing the distinctive bonecraft armor of the bone knights shambled along with the attacking zombies. In the darkness and confusion, it was not easy to tell living defenders from those recently raised by the attackers.
“Get me into the middle of them!” yelled Haldin, shooting his crossbow as he ran. His two guards flanked him, cutting a path through the slaughter with their longswords.
Brey grabbed the nearest zombie by the neck and pulled it from the fray, breaking its back over her knee and leaving it flopping uselessly on the ground. It could have been an attacker or a defender; she neither knew nor cared. Her powerful fingers were bent into claws, and she displayed her fangs in a feral snarl.
Taking careful aim with his wand, Tarrel loosed a point of red light into the midst of a group of zombies that were still emerging from the barracks. It blossomed into a cloud of fire, destroying several of them and setting the rest ablaze. They lurched onward, ignoring the fire that spread over their clothing and bodies. The fire cast an eerie, flickering light over the scene, making it seem more than ever like a nightmare.
