Stephan didn’t think—he threw himself forward.
Steel hissed through the space where his head had been. The sword scraped the heel of Stephan’s boot and slammed into the earth with a dull, brutal thud, rippling through the ground.
He rolled, came up on one knee, and turned, gasping in shock.
Lord Harrington’s burial clothes hung in filthy tatters from a withered frame. Brown-gray skin clung to bone like wet parchment. The corpse stood hunched, right hand gripping a mud-caked sword, the other dangling uselessly at its side.
Its mouth peeled back in a soundless sneer, its sunken eyelids blessedly shut. The monster’s breath stank of rot and damp earth and meat left out too long in the summer heat.
Then the zombie lunged. It was fast. Faster than Stephan could move, then swung the blade again. It came in sideways, wielded like a club.
Stephan barely raised his own sword in time. Steel collided, the shock numbing his fingers and jolting up his arm.
“Help!” Stephan shouted, then blocked another strike that sent him stumbling.
There was no technique. No feint. No stance. Just raw, battering force. The strength of a powerful warrior, weeks after passing.
A sweeping blow slammed into his guard and threw him backward over loose soil. The corpse advanced, boots squelching in the mud of its own grave.
“Bane of Darkness,” Stephan invoked.
Spirit surged from his heart, flowing through him and into his sword. The blade exploded with golden white, but the light that had scattered the mass of low-level skeletons and zombies only made the undead before him flinch.
Stephan used what chance he had. He stepped forth and slashed at the zombie’s arm, his weapon blazing gold. The searing blade hit the forearm, the monster catching holy fire where burning steel met the loose, dead skin.
The zombie howled. It sounded wrong, wet and hollow; its roar followed by a gust of cursed, rotten breath.
Stephan gagged and leapt away. The creature attacked, its arm jerking as flames bit into its flesh. The muddy blade swept past Stephan’s face as he leaned back.
“Help!”
He twisted and struck the monster on the hip, realizing too late that he had overextended. Zombie confirmed his fear. Its weapon came down, smashing Stephan’s shoulder with its flat side.
Bone cracked, followed by a burst of pain. Stephan tumbled to the ground and rolled, dodging another club-like swing. He hit the zombie’s calf, the burning sword setting its flesh ablaze.
Spirit moved through his body on reflex, flowing into his collarbone, knitting it together, dulling the ache while it forced the bone into place.
Stephan sprang back to his feet, breath ragged even as he assumed the proper stance.
Conserve spirit, he thought, sizing up his opponent.
The zombie limped now, dragging its burning leg. Flames gnawed at its elbow, but they were already shrinking.
Stephan feigned, darting in once more. The monster struck predictably, nothing but brute strength behind the blow. The blade was about to strike when Stephan pivoted. It whistled past his ear, and he slashed at the monster’s back.
Once more, the creature howled, vile miasma gushing from its mouth. Stephan jumped away, eyes stinging. The enemy was wide open, but it was so incredibly tough, he had no way of knowing whether his strikes were doing anything except slowing it down.
Boots pounded in the distance.
“Someone called for help!”
“... Sir Paladin!”
The jumbled and broken cries arrived from all around. A lot of men were sprinting, fast approaching.
If I can’t hurt it, neither can regular soldiers.
“Stay back!” he shouted as the undead swung at him again, but with hampered movement, it was easier to dodge. “The enemy is too powerful! I need Knights!”
The fire burning the zombie’s elbow flickered and died, the one on the hip guttering out too.
I still have more than half my spirit remaining; I can risk it. Instead of feigning, Stephan just made an opening for the undead to exploit. The monster struck, revealing a gap in its own defense.
Stephan ducked under the wild swing, wind shearing across his scalp. He smote the knee, then rolled away as the corpse staggered.
He rose outside the zombie’s reach and gathered his spirit the way he had practiced with Silas, guiding it into a blessing.
“Bless.”
The world sharpened.
Darkness eased its grip. Sounds separated. Zombie’s rasped inhale, made by its body’s movement rather than breathing. Distant clatter of armored boots. The beating of his own heart.
The increased awareness and reaction speed weren’t as impactful as when Clara cast it in Brighthollow, but that was a testament to Stephan’s growth, not the spell’s fault.
The creature swung again.
Stephan calmly stepped aside, hitting the blade to drive it into the ground or out of his enemy’s grip, like Anita had taught him. It plunged into the loose soil, but didn’t budge from the rotting creature’s hand. Still, the maneuver combined with two hampered legs threw it out of balance, and Stephan smote its neck.
Flames jumped; the zombie opened its mouth to scream, but holy fire jutted out of its maw. What raw strength failed, the pain achieved. The monster released its burial weapon and clutched its burning throat with both hands. Stephan struck it again, this time straight at the face, and golden fire consumed it.
The creature hurled itself to the ground, ramming its head into the upturned earth of its grave, as if dirt could smother it. Holy fire wouldn’t die; it didn’t burn the flesh, but the foulness trapped within.
Gnarled fingers dug at the soil, spraying it into the air. The monster rolled, moving too violently, exposing nothing but its steel-like back, and Stephan retreated. He drew a breath and observed the scene.
Then he noticed that there wasn’t one patch of overturned ground. There were two.
The warlock raised them both!
He spun around, searching for the second undead, but found no sign of it before the zombie dug itself out of the churned mud. The fire had died, but left behind charred flesh, forever removing what little resemblance remained between the monster and the man Stephan respected.
The creature lacked the intelligence to pick its sword again, and with superior reach and technique, Stephan hung on. He struck and slowly whittled away at the zombie, aiming for wrists. On the fourth strike a hand fell to the ground; another six and the second one was off. He moved to the elbows.
Disarmed, the monster only had its endurance to rely on. Then the Knights arrived. Ernest was first, Anita right behind him.
“Stop! Ernest—” she shouted, but it was too late.
Steel flashed, and the rotting head flew. In a single slash, Ernest decapitated the undead, and warmth flooded Stephan. Light flared before his eyes, then came again. Stephan staggered from the rush of power and took a moment to hear what Anita was screaming about.
“Dammit, Ernest, he could have gotten more levels had you not intervened!”
“That was a level thirty-five zombie, not a training dummy!” Ernest shouted back.
“And Sir Paladin rendered it into one, he could have killed it in a couple of minutes, and we would have been here in case anything happened.”
“Not worth the risk.” Ernest dismissed Anita and turned towards Stephan. “Are you all right, Sir?”
“Yes,” Stephan struggled for breath and to catch up with the overflowing power. Two levels were quite enough. “There’s one more of these things. We need to check the rest of the graveyard and find if anyone else is missing.”
The sound of panic and alarm didn’t stop, and Stephan realized more than a dozen guards were looking at him in awe. They had arrived in time to help, but obeyed his orders and stayed out of the fight.
The captains, Knights, and soldiers gathered and started a sweep. Stephan personally went from grave to grave and confirmed the only ones disturbed were the late Lord Marshal’s and that of Lady Anne.
Is this a message? Did the warlock do it independently, or was it a coordinated effort with Count Highglen’s army?
“Sir, we found it,” a young Knight whose name Stephan didn’t know ran over. He held a torch in one hand and had specks of mud on his clothes. “The undead attacked the kitchens. It killed a kitchen boy while the others escaped. Everyone’s shaken, but we only suffered a single casualty.”
Stephan nodded. Every bit of morale they had gained with the successful raid, the warlock stole from them, if not more. And they hit the kitchen after Cliffort’s forces burned their supplies.
He headed towards the kitchen to determine the damage himself.
It’s a message. The problem was Stephan couldn’t guess which. Was it related to the attack? Were they threatening Lacy? The warlock certainly hadn’t attempted to kill either of them; the undead rose while they were outside the castle.
Should I tell her to stop going to the kitchen? There’s no need for her to work, and the cooks must have learned how to make her cornbread. The problem was—Lacy liked it in the kitchen, talking and joking with the cooks. It was the last semblance of a normal life, and Stephan couldn’t deny it to her.
Then I need to consider the message I’m sending with my actions. If I were to remove her from the kitchen, it would signal fear.
Stephan part hated himself because he could see such things. No matter how much he had avoided it, politics had seeped into his skin.
I’m no Harrington. I’m not sacrificing Lacy’s safety for posturing.
By the time he reached the kitchen, he had a semblance of a plan.
The attack was an excuse enough to post guards outside the kitchen, not that under normal circumstances brave men and women weren’t gathering there, grabbing a bite after finishing their duties.
But with permanent guards, Lacy would remain safe; she would be free to socialize with whomever she wanted, and he would project an image of prudence and stalwartness.
Or at least what Stephan hoped would happen.
[Level 16 reached
Skill acquired: Blessing of Protection II
+1 Agility, +0 Charisma, +1 Composure, +1 Dexterity, +1 Endurance, +0 Intelligence, +1 Luck, +1 Perception, +1 Presence, +1 Strength, +1 Toughness, +1 Vitality, +1 Willpower, +1 Wisdom]
[Blessing of Protection II - Agility penalty imposed for wearing armor is halved.]
[Level 17 reached
Skill acquired: Inspiring Aura II
+1 Agility, +1 Charisma, +1 Composure, +0 Dexterity, +1 Endurance, +1 Intelligence, +1 Luck, +1 Perception, +0 Presence, +1 Strength, +1 Toughness, +1 Vitality, +1 Willpower, +0 Wisdom]
[Inspiring Aura II - Your presence shields nearby allies from magical fear and despair effects.]
[Stephan Cobblerson, Paladin level 17
Class skills: In Living Memory XVI, Blessing of Healing II, Blessing of Arms II, Smite II, Blessing of Protection II, Inspiring Aura II, Blessing of Conviction I, Blessing of Intuition I, Blessing of Health I, Bane of Darkness I, Mercy I, Chivalry I, Holy Magic I
Attributes: Agility: 24, Charisma: 23, Composure: 27, Dexterity: 21, Endurance: 26, Intelligence: 20, Luck: 24, Perception: 23, Presence: 24, Strength: 26, Toughness: 26, Vitality: 27, Willpower: 26, Wisdom: 24]