“I’ve got a big lizard all right, asshole,” I roared back, “but you’re gonna be choking on it before this beautiful day is out, while I suck your fucking soul out through your eyeball!”
“Big words, pretty boy!” He raised his battle-axe high above his head. “But they not save you, or you women!” He shouted something in his barbarian tongue to his fellow warriors, and together, they let out a crashing roar.
My harpy would have been useful in this situation; I’d heard that northern barbarians, for all their bluster, were quite afraid of harpies—or anything large and menacing that was able to fly, really. It would have been great to have struck some fear into these louts’ hearts before crushing them like insects. But crushing them like insects would be satisfying regardless. My harpy was currently hundreds of miles away, searching for Rami-Xayon, homing in on her location using the piece of the broken artifact.
Well, that left more barbarian brawn for me to deal with, and I didn’t for a second doubt my ability to take all these cocky fuckers on without Talon. This fight was an exciting opportunity for me; I’d get to try my kusarigama’s restored wind powers in battle. I wish I’d had the chance to try out my new full plate armor, with its skeleton theme in gleaming black, too, but there would be plenty of opportunities for that in the future.
“Isu, you take the right flank,” I yelled, “Elyse, you take left! Rollar, bring your bear over here; you and I are gonna punch through their center like a titan’s fist! Drok, you run right behind us and finish off whoever we leave alive!”
Everyone shouted in agreement and got into their respective positions.
I shot strands of my consciousness into the minds of the skeletal cavalry division that was right behind me, and, at the very rear of the train, the skeletal infantrymen, led by Sarge, along with the division of zombie crusaders led by Captain Jandor. I maneuvered the skeletal cavalrymen into a wedge behind me while I directed the skeletal infantry to advance in a square behind Isu, and Jandor and his zombies to take up another square behind Elyse; this would prevent the barbarian direwolf cavalry from being able to smash through either my left or right flank; they’d be facing a wall of bodies, and even with their size and weight advantage over my troops—which was, admittedly, significant—they’d have a tough time plowing through us.
If the barbarians had any trepidation about facing a force of undead troops, though, they didn’t show it; instead, they formed up into a solid line, three ranks deep, and bellowed curses and insults at us while their direwolf mounts growled and snarled, flattened their ears, and bared their fangs. Most of the barbarian cavalrymen were armed with battle-axes, flails, and large morning-star maces. While any of those weapons would quite easily smash one of my skeletal cavalrymen into a pile of shattered bones with one good hit, they were giving up a lot of reach. If they were impaled by one of my cavalrymen’s long lances before they could hit him with one of their massive weapons, their weapons’ crushing power advantage would be completely negated. These fuckers were going to taste the razor-sharp tips of my lances.
In the last couple of months, I’d practiced commanding large numbers of my undead troops simultaneously. I wasn’t sure if it was all the practice or all the new power coming in from the souls my many Temple of Necrosis followers had been taking for me, but I’d become much better at directing large groups of undead soldiers with individual commands instead of having them all perform identical actions.
It was a mental challenge, to be sure; observing through the eyes of dozens, if not hundreds of troops, at once was something that would very quickly fry every circuit in your brain if you weren’t prepared for it. After all the practice, it had become more instinctual than anything, really. I didn’t have to consciously think about it or analyze too much of what was going on; instead, it was almost like I was mounted on my harpy, flying high above the ground and observing whatever maneuver I was doing as if I was a boy again, playing battle board games with my father, moving little carved pieces around while taking in the totality of the action all at once. All this I felt while simultaneously experiencing the battle through the eyes and senses of every individual soldier.
In this way, I positioned my skeletal cavalrymen into a wedge, with their long lances couched. Rollar and myself on our huge mounts, with Drok directly behind the pair of us dual-wielding two huge battle-axes, formed the arrowhead of the wedge.
“Leave red-beard for me,” Drok said. “He rape Drok’s wife. Now, Drok rape him!”
“He’s all yours, my friend,” I said. “But I might ‘tenderize’ him a little before I hand him over to you.”
Drok’s gaze locked on the red-haired barbarian. “As long as Drok kill him.”
“Fine by me.” The immense pressure of a Wind Magic tornado built inside my kusarigama as I raised it above my head. “I hope you’re lubed up, assholes, because ready or not, here I come! Charge!”
With a howl and a rattle of bones, my troops and I charged, and with whoops and curses and wild screams, the red-haired asshole led his direwolf-mounted cavalry into a wild, undisciplined run, thundering down the broad road to meet us head-on.
I had to admit, as I kicked Fang into a thundering charge, that the sight of these massive barbarian warriors in their armor of furs, rusty steel, horned helmets, and leather, with their billowing hair and beards and tattooed faces, sitting atop equally massive direwolves, was an awe-inspiring sight. I decided there and then that I was going to resurrect every single one of
