warfare in but a few moments. They knew how to ride, and that was my chief concern. If they could stay on their horses, most might have a chance of survival. Half to the left and halt to the right, I sent them off to be ready to initiate a flank attack when I called for it.
I was alone now, having placed myself directly in the path of the zombies, my dormant heart having climbed into my throat in anticipation. It had been a very long time since I'd felt the true heat of battle fever creeping upon me. One forgets what a potent tonic it can be.
The first of the creatures stepped into my land. It did not waver, and from that alone I knew that though Azalin was skulking back in his castle, he still followed their every step. His lordship of Darkon must have granted him increased powers for his Art, even as Barovia bolstered mine. Well, I could put an immediate end to that business.
The knowledge had ever been in me since Forlorn first appeared, but there had been no need to employ it. Eyes shut to concentrate, I reached forth with my will and called upon the power of the land itself to aid me. I felt a faint reaction and responded in turn, demanding more, raising my arms high to draw it up.
Mist.
It began seeping up from the earth, slowly, gathering in pools at the feet of the zombies, who paid it no mind. The mist grew thicker, uncannily holding itself in place against the wind. Thicker, more obscuring, rising ten feet, twenty, fifty, until it rivaled the great Mists that bounded this plane of existence. Its poison was useless against the dead, but let Azalin's Sight try to pierce that, if he could.
My troops saw this and looked on in fearful wonder, but soon had another wonder to take its place. I cast the last portion of the spell I had prepared with a flinging gesture. To them it seemed that a handful of very bright stars had dropped low from the sky to illuminate the whole of the field.
The lights danced like mad fireflies above the oblivious zombies, multiplying their shadows in a hundred directions. They plodded forward, the mind controlling them forcing them straight toward me. Whether Azalin could see or not, his will still drove them. I held my ground, drawing my sword. For nearly two centuries it had hung virtually unused on the wall of my bedroom, but its heft and fit were as natural to my hand as the feel of my own skin, the blade razor keen.
With a cry I kicked my horse into a gallop and raced toward the dead. They reached out for me, their mouths sagging wide in a parody of joy. I veered at the last moment to the left, my right arm swinging the sword like a scythe. In this manner I cut at least six of them in half in one pass, my blade slicing through the rotten muscle and soft bone. This was to show the troops how it was done. I shouted once to Aldrick and heard answering calls from him and the rest. They rushed in from either side, sweeping along in an uneven line, but making up for it with eagerness.
They cut and slashed, clumsily, but were sometimes effective, reducing the opposition along the edges by that much more. Their horses were not war beasts, though, and some threw their riders and bolted. When this happened the zombies would gather to attack whoever was unfortunate enough to not be able to run. One man was lost this way, and I saw Aldrick about to be similarly engulfed.
It would not do for this lot to lose their leader in their first fight. I shot forward to drag him out, but this only drew the attention of the zombies from him to me. He stumbled clear, but I was surrounded. It was too much for my horse, and under my influence or not, the beast reared, screaming in terror. Heedless of its slashing hooves the zombies closed in, and my animal went down, taking me along. I kicked free of the stirrups and rolled clear, but not for long. A stinking mass of cold flesh fell upon me, pulling and tearing. I gained my feet and cut at the creatures, calling up one of my partial castings, shouting the words to complete it, and let its force rip through the ranks.
That made for a show. The blast rolled upon them, their frail grave clothes catching flame, followed by the remains of their shrunken flesh. They were beyond feeling pain, but the element of fire was enough to severely interfere with the magic animating them. Some twisted and writhed, setting blaze to others brushing against them and they in turn passing it on. The flames were unnaturally hot, meant to turn the bones brittle and more easily prone to damage.
I took myself away from the worst of it and shouted for Aldrick and his people to withdraw. They eventually did so, with much disorder, for they were not immune to fear of the flames. I motioned for them to assemble upwind of the blaze, though Aldrick rode in on another horse and threw a hand out to me. I hooked a leg up behind his saddle and he hauled me up and away from there.
We joined with the others, who had paused to turn and watch. I dropped to the ground and surveyed the remains of the battle.
The small lights I had conjured were fading, but the growing fire more than replaced their illumination. The zombies faltered and dropped, their increasing weakness showing wherever I focused my concentration and threw off their master's hold on them.
Vaguely I became aware of a great uproar behind me and turned to see Wachter's people milling about, grinning and shouting, shouting my name. Once it had been used by my troops of old as a battle cry, now it rang across the field as a victory chant. Very gratifying.
There was a celebration at the Wachter house the following night, and already the tale had grown in the telling. What was in reality a minor skirmish was now a full blown battle which the house minstrel was already putting to verse. He left out the lesser details, such as how I ordered the troop in on foot after the fire had died to club the burned and scorched bones to powder, thus preventing them from ever rising again. Such work was too base for high verse.
I avoided the victory banquet and speeches, leaving it to Yersinia to congratulate the survivors and list the fallen as honored heroes all would remember. This went down well with the rest, many swelling with bright-eyed pride at their prowess. Aldrick especially looked much more a soldier now than he'd been last night. Perhaps it was an awakening of something long dormant in his blood, an echo of his ancestor's skill for fighting.
His mother had once said that he had always studied the deeds of times past, possibly nursing a secret desire to somehow match them. Well, he had gotten his wish, for good or ill. I would have to get to know him better, for I was in need of a lieutenant, and he had not lost his head, literally or figuratively, when things had gotten rough. Though he couldn't have known me capable of escaping the fire, he had still charged in to make a rescue, and I respect bravery.
What I did not mention to any of them was the fact that I could have taken care of the whole invasion on my own. I could have taken control of the whole lot had I desired, even as I had controlled Azalin's zombies on other occasions. It would not have been easy, but entirely possible for me. But winning this little encounter had not been my goal.
Azalin's sending of this mob had been but a test, to see how I would resist and what kind of a fight I would make. But if meant as a test for me, then I had turned it into a test for an undisciplined gang of novices. It was less a battle than a training exercise, but I let them think that they'd accomplished a great thing and helped their lord defeat a terrible enemy. It was just the sort of boost to their confidence they would need in the days and months ahead when the real fighting started in earnest. This was but the opening ploy, and it would only get worse.
Azalin's next army would be comprised of the living-alive and in control of their own actions, driven against me by their loyalty to his wealth and power.
I could do no less myself, though Barovia's resources were limited compared to the vastness of Darkon. There were certain important advantages on my side, such as my past experience as a military commander and my ability to learn new magic. Azalin would not dare train someone up to be a match in strength to his own skill; his pride and fear would not allow him to create any possible rivals to his power.
The fact that neither of us could personally lead a troop across the border, though restrictive to strategy and morale, would not curb the coming conflict. Unless I got very, very clever, then all was lost before anything had ever really begun.
CHAPTER TWELVE
