One of them, moving surprisingly fast, landed a powerful arm swipe to the side of a grunt's head, knocking him senseless. Ignoring menacing blades, another crashed into an orc and encircled him in a crushing bear-hug. They pair of them collapsed struggling.
Coilla did as much dodging as fighting to get to Wheam. The creatures were noticeably gaining rapidity, though still reacted slowly compared to the living. But that wasn't an issue when a hulking specimen blocked her path with arms spread wide. She skidded to a halt. The putrefying figure instantly lashed out, cuffing her hard in the face. Coilla went down.
She rolled and quickly regained her feet. Spitting a mouthful of blood, she went on the attack, sword extended. Her opponent strode forward into her driven blade. It entered a little above his heart, or where his heart should be, and exited through his back. The blade met no resistance. Nor did it do any harm. Coilla tugged it out and switched from point to edge.
Her hacking caused more damage, cleaving chunks of rotten flesh, but didn't halt the advance. Then she cursed herself for not seeing the obvious solution sooner. Leaping to one side, out of the creature's course, she stooped and swung her sword. It sliced through the creature's leg, and the limb was so desiccated that one blow was enough. Amputated just below the knee, the creature lost balance and crashed to the ground. Coilla left it thrashing about.
When she got to Wheam he was still trying to get away. And Coilla saw that his captor was female. She had straggly, once blonde hair, and a hint of almost vanished comeliness in her gaunt features. One hand remained clamped to Wheam's wrist. With the other she had hold of his jerkin front, and was drawing him to her.
The corpse jerked Wheam close to her blotchy face. Her mouth gaped open, revealing a pair of unusually long, yellow-stained incisors. Darting like a venomous snake, she buried the fangs in Wheam's neck.
Coilla rushed in, yelling and brandishing her sword. The female pulled back, blood trickling from the corners of her rancid lips. Wheam looked to be in a state of shock, his complexion ashen, a seeping wound at his jugular. Keeping hold of his wrist, the creature turned. There was a large cavity in her chest that exposed the ribcage and viscera. Wheam's blood dribbled from it.
Carving a downward arc with her blade, Coilla cut through the creature's arm. Wheam fell away, the withered hand still attached to his wrist. Fangs bared, her features hideously distorted, the female let out a guttural hiss.
Coilla swung her sword again and sliced off the creature's head. It bounced away into the darkness. The decapitated body stood swaying for a second, then fell, crumbling to a heap of arid skin, dust and bones.
' Bloodsuckers! ' Coilla yelled.
They heard it at the wall. But Stryke and the others needed no warning. The undead they faced were also trying to target orc throats.
'What kills 'em?' Haskeer shouted, holding a ravenous corpse at bay with jabs from a spear.
'Beheading!' Stryke hollered, slashing at an opponent of his own.
'Right!' Haskeer yelled back. Discarding the spear, he brought out a hatchet to do the job.
'And fire!' Dallog added.
Having parted the head from his adversary's shoulders, Stryke barked an order. ' Use fire! Deploy your bows! '
A handful of archers peeled off from the fighting. Some already had tar arrow tips, and quickly attached them. The rest used windings of cloth smeared with oil. Flints were struck.
The night air was filled with fiery streaks. Incendiary arrows smacked into the bloodsuckers, engulfing them in flame. Turned to fireballs, the creatures blundered about, wailing.
Dallog tackled the problem more directly. Producing a flask, he threw a copious amount of brandy over the nearest undead. An applied spark converted the corpse into a walking blaze.
Stryke was impressed. 'Good thinking!' He dug out his own flask and drenched another of the creatures. Aflame, it collided with a fellow, igniting it too.
Haskeer looked resentful at his captain's approval of Dallog's initiative.
'Come on, Haskeer!' Stryke snapped. 'What about yours?'
'My brandy ration?' His hand went to the flask at his belt, protectively.
'Haskeer!'
'All right, dammit.' He took the flask and ripped out the stopper. Then he had an idea of his own. Snatching a scrap of clothing from a decapitated bloodsucker, he crammed it into the flask's neck. He used the flames from a burning corpse to light it.
Bringing his arm well back, he lobbed the flask at a group of three undead. It exploded in their midst, showering them with burning liquid. They staggered and fell, aflame. There were cheers from the orcs.
A further ten minutes of beheading and incineration put paid to the last of the creatures.
Stryke called out, ' Is anybody down? '
' Here! ' Coilla yelled back.
They ran into the graveyard. Wheam was sitting on the ground, Coilla bending over him.
'What happened?' Stryke said.
'He got bitten.'
'Trust him,' Haskeer muttered. 'Stupid little bugger.'
'I'm all right,' Wheam told them.
Dallog knelt by him. 'You don't look it.'
'I'm… fine. Really. What… what were those things?'
'They were humans to start with,' Stryke explained.
'Is that what… humans are… like?'
'No,' Coilla replied. 'They're vile, but not usually this disgusting. Well, not quite.'
'So what — ?'
'I think it's the magic,' Stryke offered. 'This land's steeped in it. Or it was until their sort came. Their greed and plunder let most of it bleed away. I reckon what's left went bad, got corrupted… I don't know; I'm no sorcerer.'
Coilla took up the notion. 'And when these humans died and were buried here the tainted magic brought them back like this?'
'Can you think of a better reason?'
'I don't know about that,' Dallog said, examining Wheam's neck, 'but I do know this wound needs binding.'
'It needs more than that,' Stryke replied.
'What do you mean?'
'We've run across vampyrs before. Not like these, but close enough. And they pass on the infection.'
Coilla was nodding. 'Stryke's right. If this isn't dealt with right now, Wheam's going to become like them.'
'What?' Wheam squeaked.
'The bloodlust's a contagion, and it's in that wound. It has to be purified.'
Dallog was rooting through his medical satchel. 'How?'
'Not with some herb or salve, that's for sure.'
'It needs the same thing that killed most of them,' Stryke added. 'Anybody got any brandy left?'
'I'm sure it'll be all right,' Wheam protested feebly.
'Here.' Coilla handed over her flask.
'Somebody get a flame going,' Stryke said. 'And hold on to him.'
Wheam's puny resistance didn't amount to anything and they got him pinned. Dallog poured brandy on the wound, which had Wheam yelping. With ill-concealed delight, Haskeer applied the flame.
Wheam shrieked.
He carried on doing it for a good half minute while they let the brandy burn itself out.
'He's fainted,' Dallog pronounced.
'Typical,' Haskeer sneered.
'Think it worked?' Stryke wondered.
Dallog surveyed the damage. 'Looks like it. But I suppose we'll know soon enough. I'll get him bound.'
