At the center of the defenders’ line, Mordan found himself in command. No officer from the fort had challenged his authority, and the defenders looked to him for orders. Keeping the line tight, he advanced against the mass of zombies, enveloping them and pushing them back. To his left, Haldin was pulling back the lever on his repeating crossbow. Judging by the effect his bolts were having on the undead, Mordan guessed that the silver flame symbol on the stock was more than mere decoration. To his right, Tarrel was using the gnome’s wand of fireballs to break up the zombies’ ranks, disrupting their formation and making the combat easier for the fighting line. Haldin’s half-elf guards stood shoulder to shoulder with the fort’s troops, wielding their longswords to deadly effect. The battle had been hard, but it had finally turned in their favor.
On the parapet, Dravuliel watched with surprise as the vampire shrugged off his spell. She had become more powerful than he had expected. Still, no matter. From the corner of his eye he saw a line of pale riders streaming toward the fort, whose defenders, still intent on destroying the last few zombies, had their backs to the gates. He moved to a good vantage point, his smile as invisible as the rest of him. He was going to enjoy this.
The Vedykar Lancers came through the open gates of Fort Zombie at full gallop, four abreast. Without slowing their pace, they shifted to a wedge formation and couched their lances, striking the rear of the defensive line like a thunderbolt. Troops perished beneath the hooves of their skeletal horses, and writhed on the points of their weapons. Fully half the surviving defenders were mowed down by the first charge.
With an eagle’s feather tucked into his belt, Dravuliel threw himself off the parapet, soaring like a bird above the melee. The defenders were wavering; their line was disintegrating from the force of the lancers’ charge. Reaching into a belt-pouch, he pulled out a small, smooth brown object about the size of an olive. He squeezed it in his fist, and drops of blood dripped out of it and sprinkled onto the defenders below.
Mordan had turned an instant before the charge struck, alerted by the sound of galloping hooves. Knocking a lance aside with his rapier, he dodged the thrashing hooves of an undead horse and struck out, severing a leg and bringing it crashing to the ground. Haldin whirled with him and loosed a bolt at one of the riders, knocking him—it?—backward out of the saddle. Tarrel aimed his wand, but the attackers were too close—a fireball would do as much damage to friend as to foe. Transferring the wand to his left hand, he drew his shortsword and waited.
Slinging his crossbow, Haldin raised his dragon statuette again and began to chant. Mordan stood behind him, his rapier flickering like silver lightning as he deflected lance-points and hooves from striking the gnome.
The riders looked very much like the creature that had attacked them in the attic in Karrlakton, and then again in the Mournland with the help of the ghouls. They looked as though they had once been human, but their parchment-pale skin was stretched tight over shriveled muscle and bony faces. Their teeth were sharp, and glittered in the light of the several small fires that had broken out in the courtyard. Most noticeable to Mordan, though, was the badge each of them wore on its shoulder—the V and crossed lances of the Vedykar Lancers. With the fury of their charge spent, they had dropped their lances and were drawing longswords.
They did not waver in response to Haldin’s chanting, and Mordan wondered if he had failed—but then he noticed that several of the undead horses were bucking and rearing, as if trying to turn and flee. Their riders struggled to control them, and for a moment the attack wavered.
The break might have come too late. The defenders were shaken by the unexpected charge, and several zombies were still fighting; they were beset on two fronts. As Mordan began shouting orders, he saw panic in the eyes of some. A few defenders broke and tried to flee, only to be cut down by lancers on one side or zombies on the other.
“Do something!” he roared at Haldin. If the gnome could turn undead, he could probably cast a spell to rally the troops. Haldin nodded, extending a hand in the direction of the most badly affected troops. A few words, and they shook off their fear, falling back into line.
Then something dark flew through the air, landing in the midst of the zombies. By now, the defenders had them pinned against the wall of the barracks complex, with barely room to move. Lithe as a cat, Brey landed on her feet in front of them, signaling Mordan to turn his troops around to face the new threat. He waved an acknowledgment and issued the order. Brey would take care of the zombies.
