Hammerhold Tales: Thrallborn (13 page)

The one raising the dead must be getting closer for them to rise so quickly.

Sawain and Jatharr turned into a street that was littered with dead militia men. The corpses that killed them were still chewing on them, despite the dozens of arrows that pierced their bodies. When Jatharr saw his slaughtered comrades, he let out a grief stricken cry and flew at the hissing fiends with great fury. One of the undead sprang at him from the dead body it was feasting on.

Jatharr's whip lashed out with lightning speed, wrapping itself around the zombie's ankle. Jatharr yanked the whip with enough force to pull him forward while pulling the zombie's feet out from under it. He raised his shield arm above his head as he cleared the gap between him and his foe. It fell on its back as Jatharr's momentum brought him on top of the fiend. The edge of the metal buckler was brought down on the undead creature's neck, decapitating it in one deft movement.

The headless body continued to flail around under Jatharr's weight. Time and time again, he raised his buckler and slammed it into the flailing corpse. He roared like a wild animal as zombie gore soaked his armor. Finally, the corpse remained still, after being beaten to a bloody pulp. He stood over it roaring While Sawain charged in, slicing them down with his blessed dagger.

Several bludgeoned corpses later, the street was clear of the undead. Jatharr stood in the middle of the street panting and dripping zombie blood. Grief filled his eyes as he scanned the bloody battlefield.

“I knew many of these halflings, Deathsbane. Not just the militiamen, but the walking corpses too. They were my neighbors. My friends.”

Sawain's heart sank as he realized that Jatharr's sadness went deeper than he could understand.

“I'm sorry, Jatharr. I know it must be hard. We need to gather up the bodies and burn them, or the freshly fallen will rise again and there will be another slaughter. Right now, all you can do for them is spare them the atrocity of coming back.”

Jatharr sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve, “Aye, that's not a bad idea. Right, Hidefoot, Blimmin, take the rest of the men and start rounding up the dead. Start burning them as soon as possible.”

The two addressees saluted and started rounding up the fallen. Jatharr turned to Sawain and gestured to the barracks door.

“We'd best get inside. We have to get you ready for another fight, if you're still willing to help us, Deathsbane. There's a proper war hammer in the armory as well as some armor that might fit you. Not a full set, but some is better than none.”

Sawain nodded, letting out a weary breath, “I will do whatever I can to help. Lead the way, Jatharr.”

Jatharr obliged and knocked on the door, “Open up, you devils! It's Captain Jatharr!”

A voice, muffled by the oaken door, called out in response, “How do I know it's you, captain? Might be some undead impersonator!”

Jatharr began to turn red and scowled, furrowing his brow, “You half-wit! Have you ever heard of undead that can talk?”

The voice replied after a moment's hesitation, “No, sir, but come to think of it, we don't know much about these undead. You could just be tricking me.

The captain was frustrated at this point, “Troles, is that you? Open this door right now, or yer on bathroom duty for a month!”

There was a grinding of wood on wood and the door swung open. A sheepish halfling with curly blonde hair and blue eyes bowed to the captain. The doorman was wearing a chain mail shirt over his regular clothes and had a chain coif on his head.

“Beggin' your pardon, captain, can't be too safe, you know...”

Jatharr stomped in, pushing him to the side. Sawain followed behind him, ducking to get in. He shot a glance at the doorman who was unceremoniously shoved aside. He looked shocked and as if he was about to burst into tears. Sawain gave him a nod and a half smile as he passed, unsure of whether anything he could say would help or not.

There were only three other halflings in the main room, wearing similar garb to that of the doorman, Troles. They stood up and saluted the captain as he entered. The captain raised an open hand.

“At ease, boys. Is this all we have left? Have we heard from the other brigades?”

One halfling answered, “Aye, sir, this is all that's left of Lower Third. We have not heard anything from the other brigades, but Jomlin went out to make contact ten minutes ago. He should be back soon.”

Jatharr nodded grimly, processing the news, “Send him to the armory the second he returns. I need to know what's going on. Deathsbane, come with me, let's get you armed.”

Sawain nodded and followed quietly as the captain turned and made his way down a sloping hallway on the far side of the room. The hallway turned sharply to the left after about thirty feet and almost immediately turned sharply to the left again, taking them in the opposite direction they were going, but at a steeper slope. After another thirty feet, the ground evened out and Sawain found himself standing in a square foyer with three doors, one on each wall. The room itself was about fifteen square feet.

Jatharr walked up to the door directly in front of them and produced a key from around his neck. He used it to unlock the door and then pushed the door open.

“Here we are, Lower Third Brigade Armory.”

Sawain peeked inside and was impressed with what he saw. The walls were lined with spears and short swords. There were several crates against the wall labeled “Arrows” and “Bolts”. A six tiered shelf spanned one wall. It held a dozen neatly folded chain mail shirts and coifs as well as some halfling-sized gauntlets and shin guards.

Jatharr strode in and made for a crate labeled “Surplus Weapons”. He grabbed it with both hands and tipped it over. A mix of weapons clattered across the floor. It was a mix of daggers, clubs, long swords, and hammers.

“There we are. Try some of these on for size, Deathsbane. These are weapons we took from raiders over the years. These are probably much better than that thing you call a hammer that we brought you in with.”

Sawain walked over and picked up the first hammer. It was much heavier than the hammer he had been using. The haft was a foot longer as well, giving him more reach, but the head was a little loose. He dropped that one and looked for another. He did find one other that was even better. This one was heavy, but balanced. It glowed with a faint magical aura, like the ones he saw glistening off of the Dawnstar Company's weapons.

“Jatharr, this one is enchanted, any idea what kind of enchantment it is?”

Jatharr had already moved to the shelves of armor. He looked back over his shoulder and shrugged.

“I have no idea, laddie. If it's magic, it might be useful against those creatures.”

Sawain looked it over again. It was a really well made hammer with no flaws in it. The haft was three feet long and made of hickory. The head of the hammer looked to be made of a metal other than Iron. He wondered if this was the same as the dwarven steel he learned to make in Anvilheim.

As he was busy examining the hammer, Jatharr was busy scrounging through the armor reserves. He sauntered back to Sawain with armfuls of armor.

“Try these on for size, see if they fit.”

He dumped the armor at Sawain's feet and went off to search for something else. Sawain laid his hammer down and looked through the armor. There was a chain coif, a pair of shin guards and an iron buckler. He tried the coif on first. He was able to get it on, though it was a tight fit. The mail also did not properly cover his shoulders, but it did cover his neck. He picked up the shin guards and could tell they weren't going to fit. He was about to toss them to the side when Jatharr called out to him.

“Don't try putting them on yer legs, try strapping them to your forearms.”

Sawain frowned, but did as he was told. To his surprise, they fit fairly well and strapped comfortably to his arms, giving them ample cover. He grabbed the buckler next. It was a bit small to be very effective as a shield for him, but he strapped it on his right arm anyway.

Jatharr came back holding an armful of unlit torches. He grinned at Sawain, who looked more than a little silly in this halfling armor.

“Looks good on you, laddie. Well, it's better than nothing, I suppose. Help me with these torches. We will need them for lighting if something happens to the Sorcestone.”

Sawain took a few torches. He was curious as to what the Sorcestone was, but before he could ask, the armory door swung open and a halfling in militia armor and dripping blood came in. Jatharr dropped the torches and moved to the wounded soldier's aid, helping him sit down on a crate.

“Jomlin, you're bleeding all over my armory!”

Sawain hurried to Jatharr's side,. He knelt down to examine the wound on Jomlin's leg. It looked like something had taken a bite out of his calf. It was bleeding badly, though some clotting had slowed it. He could already see pus in it. He sighed and rolled up his sleeves.

“I want to try something. I don't know if it will work, but it's worth a try.”

Jatharr gave him a hard glare for a moment, then nodded, “Alright, do what ye can.”

Sawain placed his hands on the bloody wound, trying not to retch as the halfling's blood and infected pus trickled between his fingers.

Master Turin, if you have any divine energy left to give me now, please allow me to channel it into this wound, to purge the curse from it and close it shut.

A wave of electricity shot from Sawain's chest, up into his arms and through every fiber of his body. The holy energy poured out of his hands and into the open wound. The halfling screamed and tried to rip himself away from Sawain, but Jatharr reacted in time to pin him down. He continued to squirm and scream as his wound began to sizzle and smoke. The pus and infected edges of the wound melted away and the wound was seared shut.

Not exactly what I was expecting, but I guess that worked.

Sawain let go of the wound and tried to stand back up, but fell on his rear. Every muscle in his body ached and burned as if they were on fire. He cringed as the intensity of the pain increased sharply for a moment. Jatharr glanced nervously at him.

“What did you do, laddie?”

Sawain grit his teeth and waited for the pain to subside a little, “I saved his life, but I might have overdone it a little. Just let me rest a while, I'll be alright. In the meantime, worry about the other brigades.”

Jatharr nodded and turned his attention to the scout, who he could finally let go of. The scout was panting, staring at his leg in utter shock. Jatharr addressed him.

“Jomlin, I need your report. Are the other brigades still fighting?”

There was no response from Jomlin as he continued to stare at his leg. Jatharr took him by the shoulders and shook him violently.

“Jomlin! Look at me, not yer leg. Tell me what you found out about the other brigades.”

Jomlin snapped his head up and blinked at the captain as if he had just awakened from a dream, “Captain? The... the other brigades...”

Jatharr scowled, “What about 'em, laddie?”

Tomlin took a breath to stabilize himself, “I couldn't get to lower First, there was a wall of burning corpses in every alley way around their H.Q. On the way to Lower second, I noticed one brigade on the other side of the gorge using fire arrows to take down the dead. Seems they catch fire easily and can burn up fast.”

Jatharr nodded sagely, “Makes sense. Right, now we need more torches. What about Lower Second?”

Jomlin's countenance dropped, “They were all dead. I barely got away from them. One of my own cousins was the one who bit me. I put a bolt in his eye to get him off.”

Sawain's stomach dropped at the thought of the horrors this halfling must have faced. Jatharr was silent for a moment, then let out a breath he was holding and rose to his feet. Sawain thought the captain might have been doing everything he could to fight back his own tears. When he spoke, Jatharr's voice was steady.

“Right. Deathsbane, once you can stand, what say you and I go hunting? Maybe we can still save some of the other brigades.”

Sawain nodded. He took a deep breath and put weight on his arms. They burned fiercely, but he pushed through it. Every muscle in his body threatened to rip apart as he pushed himself back to his feet. It was agonizing, but being a thrallborn also gave Sawain a remarkable threshold for pain. He bent over and picked up his war hammer, a look of sheer determination on his features.

“When do we start?”

Chapter Twelve

Sawain and Jatharr made their way back into the chaotic streets. As soon as he opened the door, a horrible smell reached Sawain's nose. It was the smell of burning flesh. It was an old, familiar smell to a thrallborn. He had attended many thrallpyres in his lifetime, but the smell was unique, and he never could get used to it.

He shook off the sickening sensation in his stomach and followed Jatharr to the pile of burning corpses, where another halfling in guard armor stood watch. Sawain could not tell if the clean streaks on his dirty face were from tears or sweat. He had the same heart broken glaze in his eyes that his living comrades wore. When the captain approached him, he gave a salute.

“Captain, the bodies have been gathered and burned as you requested. What will you have us do now, sir?”

Jatharr laid a sympathetic hand on the guard's shoulder for a moment, sharing a silent acknowledgment of grief. He let his hand drop and addressed the guard.

“I want you and the rest of the Lower Third to make your way to the city gate. Kill any dead that should be dead on your way. Their weakness is fire, so keep it on hand. I brought up some torches from the armory, make good use of them. Deathsbane and I will cut our way through the enemy and try to unite the surviving militia. Take care of your brothers, Renell.”

The guard saluted again, “Will do, Captain. You two be careful, and best of luck to you both.”

Jatharr turned to Sawain, looking a bit worried, “Are ye sure yer up for this, Deathsbane? I can--”

Sawain lifted a hand to cut the captain off, “I'm fine captain. Wouldn't be my first brush with death. I can handle myself.”

Jatharr nodded, a more confident smile on his gruff face, “Very well. Lead us through this dark time and you will be a hero to my people.”

A hero to my people
.

The words repeated through Sawain's mind and brought new life into his weary limbs. He was finally going to realize his dream. This battle was no longer a fight for survival to him, but a fight to glory. He shouldered his war hammer and nodded grimly to Jatharr, trying to hide his giddiness.

“Very well, Captain. I won't let you down. Let's be on our way.”

Jatharr returned the nod then checked his buckler and pulled a torch from his pack. He held it to the bonfire until it ignited. His dark words would forever leave an impression in Sawain's mind of the true ferocity of the halfling people.

“This sacred flame burns by the blood of my fallen brethren. It is a flame of vengeance and I am its bearer. I fight with an army of many as long as my flame burns. Come, Deathsbane, let us find the source of this evil and put a stop to it.”

A chill ran down Sawain's spine from the base of his skull to the small of his back. It was an electrifying chill that strengthened him even more. He was beginning to see why Jatharr's men would stand and fight and die for him, even when the odds were overwhelmingly against them.

Without another word, the pair of warriors left the sad scene at the Lower Third headquarters and moved on to the sound of chaos. It did not take them long to find it. They emerged on the street that ran alongside the gorge and beheld a terrible sight.

Across the gorge, on every level, the dead overwhelmed the living. They feasted on fallen corpses in writhing masses while the death-screams of their still living victims echoed off of the walls. Jatharr pointed right from where they emerged.

“Lower First is in that direction. They may still be fighting, but we are going to have to cut our way through the Lower Second territory to get to it.”

Sawain looked down the street which Jatharr had pointed. A mob of undead were just taking notice of the two living beings. They let out an unearthly gurgling hiss and started limping as fast as they could, in a sort of unsteady gallop, toward them. Sawain raised his war hammer and poised himself to strike.

“Well, captain, shall we start cutting?”

Jatharr was not one for quips. He had already flung his torch at the nearest zombie, which caught fire like it was made of dry straw. It thrashed and screamed, losing its focus and crashing into another zombie that likewise combusted. The two fell, writhing in the flames as the others made a wide berth around them and the flames. Jatharr rushed the still advancing creatures. The first one he came across took a shield to the face with enough force to stagger it backwards. While it was off balance, he followed through with a slice of his blade that left the zombie headless. It began lashing out at him with its ragged nails, which were quickly dismembered from its body, along with its hands. Jatharr hacked away at this abomination as the others began to surround him.

Sawain did not waste any time coming to Jatharr's aid. He leaped into the fray, swinging his hammer with all his might. It struck a zombie whose back was turned on the shoulder. The resulting impact shattered the creature's entire upper torso. Sawain did not feel as if he had used enough force to cause the massive damage that he did. It was a shock to him.

Must be the enchantment that did this. That's useful. Doesn't look like he's getting up, either.

The zombies noticed Sawain too at this point and turned to swarm him. He met their assault with one of his own. When the first adversary came into range, he brought the hammer over his head and smashed downward, tearing through the unfortunate fiend as it it was made of dirt. Two more rushed him from the left. He stepped back to avoid their lashing nails and nearly tripped over one that was flanking him. Jatharr burst from a gathering crowd and trampled over the zombie that tried to flank Sawain. With that threat out of mind, Sawain was able to focus on the two that were advancing on him, gnashing their gore covered teeth.

They both pounced at the same time, lunging forward. Sawain swung in a wide arc and caught both in his path of destruction. His hammer tore the first one in half in a very brutal and bloody way. The second one caught the lesser impact, but Sawain felt its rib cage shatter like glass as the hammer exerted the rest of its energy into it. The limp, broken body of the second one flew through the air and landed near the two burning corpses.

Jatharr had recovered his torch and was busy shoving it into another zombie's eye socket when one caught him by surprise. It slammed him hard, throwing him off balance. He tumbled to the ground, landing on his face. He tried to recover, but two of the monsters quickly fell on him, ripping at his armor with their nails.

“Aghh! Gettoff, ye filthy beasts!”

Sawain pivoted around when his comrade's words reached his ears. He lowered his hammer toward the ground and ran at the attackers. When he was close enough, he pulled his hammer back, then swung in an upward arch. He struck the first zombie hard in the back. He felt its spine snap in half and its innards turn to mush as the momentum of the swing carried it off of Jatharr and sent it soaring into a nearby wall.

Sawain ran past Jatharr, then used his right leg as a spring board, caught his remaining energy and bound backward toward the captain again. He swung in a wide rightward arch. His magical cudgel smashed the remaining monster's sternum. It was thrown back, falling in a broken, motionless mass.

Sawain panted hard as he surveyed the defeated horde. His lungs burned and his muscles ached profusely. He was quickly becoming exhausted, but the attackers were vanquished in this area. Other parts of Underfell Town were not so fortunate. The dead still ran rampant in the streets, constantly adding more to their number. Sawain felt the crushing reality of hopelessness as he gazed across the great chasm.

Jatharr pulled himself back to his feet and stood beside Sawain, also panting hard. His gaze was filling with the same dread of hopelessness that was gripping Sawain. He let out a soft sigh that was laced with despair.

“Well, laddie, it looks like this battle is already lost. We may want to make for the city gate. There may be survivors there that need help getting out.”

Sawain racked his brain for a solution to save the city. All he could think of was to keep swinging until every last abomination lay broken at his feet. He grit his teeth and tightened his grip on the hammer that had served him well so far.

“I'm not running. Heroes don't run. I'll kill every last one of them.”

Jatharr grabbed Sawain's elbow and shook his head, “Yer no good to us dead, hero. Ye need to learn to pick yer battles, Deathsbane. Let's fall back for now. We can come back for Underfell some day, but it's lost to the enemy now.”

Sawain wrenched his elbow from Jatharr's grasp. He could feel the old familiar fire of rage building in his chest. He was tired of always being beaten, of always having to run. Turin saved him once already, he was not sure how many times he could rely on that happening. If he died here, it could very well be his end. He sighed and spat on the ground.

“Fine, let's go.”

Jatharr stepped back and gave Sawain a sympathetic look, “We will have our revenge, Deathsbane.”

“I am no Deathsbane. Just call me Sawain. I failed to earn your title today.”

Jatharr furrowed his brow and snorted, “Nonsense. You've saved many lives already today. You may not feel like it now, but you are a hero. To the survivors of this dark day, you will always be Deathsbane. Now, follow me. The gate's not too far.”

Jatharr's words lifted Sawain's spirits a little, but the rage still burned in his chest. He wordlessly followed Jatharr down streets and back alleys. He thought of his frustration for being too tired to keep fighting. He thought of the hundreds of halflings who died today. He thought of how infuriating it was that he had to let the city fall to the undead. Each thought kindled the fire inside until it was an inferno, ready to explode.

They met with little resistance along the way, the few packs of undead they did come across were easily dispatched with fire and magic hammer. Soon, they turned to a wide street with a cave-like ceiling. Ahead of them was a large iron double gate, about ten feet high and eight feet wide. It was barred from this side.

Jatharr and Sawain limped to the gate. At its foot, a small refugee camp had been set up. Camp fires burned in the street. Barricades of rubble and bonfires were set up along the perimeter to help keep the dead at bay. The guard at the entrance of the camp lowered his weapon upon recognizing Jatharr.

“Captain Jatharr! Glad to see yer alright, sir!”

Jatharr glared at the guard, then the closed gate, then back at the guard, “What's the meaning of this? Why is the gate closed? We should be moving the survivors out, not bottling them up in here! The city is overrun!”

The guard stammered sheepishly, “W-well, sir, the Mayor's orders. That is, the Mayor ordered the Gates remain shut, to keep the undead from spilling out onto the surface.”

Jatharr snorted, pushing past the guard, “Ridiculous! The undead already are spreading on the surface! We've already seen proof of that today. Where is the Mayor?”

The guard stammered, following far behind the captain, “He- he left. He and the delegates got out of the city before ordering the gates shut. Said if he didn't survive, then Underfell couldn't survive.”

Jatharr's countenance reddened deeply, “THAT COWARD! He left his people here to die to save his own hide! That no good-”

A scream of terror erupted from the street beyond the camp. Everyone in earshot turned to see a halfling maid scrambling to get away from a massive horde of undead that filled the entire street as far as Sawain could see. The sound of the horde was louder than any thunderstorm and twice as terrifying.

Fear gripped Sawain for a moment, cooling his rage. When the others in the camp heard the horde, a panic broke out. The refugees stampeded over one another as they rushed for the sealed gate. The noise of the chaos was as great as the noise of the horde. Jatharr managed to master his panic and stayed firm as ever.

“Soldier, get that gate open and get these people to safety. We will hold the horde off as long as we can. Get fire arrows on that horde now! Sorry, Deathsbane, looks like we are dying here today.”

Sawain raised his hammer to battle position and glared defiantly at the oncoming horde, “You can, if you want, captain. I'm done with dying.”

Jatharr grinned, preparing to throw his torch, “That's the spirit, lad!”

A volley of flaming arrows soared over their heads and struck the oncoming horde in several spots, causing mass mayhem on their front line. Jatharr and Sawain roared out in rebellious accord as they charged the horde.

They did not get far before an earth splitting boom and a small earthquake rocked the entire city. Sawain and Jatharr turned back to the gate in time to watch it buckle beneath another devastating force from the other side. A third explosion sent tremors through the city, causing pieces of rock from above to come crashing down on the heads of living and dead alike. A fourth and final blow to the gate sent it crashing to the ground.

When the dust cleared, the outside world was still blocked from view. A terrifying gray-skinned giant with tusk like fangs and glowing red runes carved into its face and arms was crouching at the door, grasping at the refugees nearby. its long white hair was matted with blood and dirt. It was roaring and slavering like a wild animal. The chaos of the panicked refugees was turned inward on itself.

When Sawain saw the new threat, his rage began to build again with renewed fervor. He thought of the death and destruction caused by this army of atrocities and it refueled the inferno within. He grit his teeth and prepared to break out into a sprint.