Family can be more dangerous than the dead.
- Author Unknown, Whispers of Fate
The knight Eindond cooly stared down the four zombies as they milled about the entrance to the Black Prison. Arcadius, on the other hand, quietly stewed in his pre-battle jitters. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and his stomach churned. He knew that as soon as the battle started, he would be too busy to think about the terror.
“Ready then?” Eidond hefted his sword.
Arcadius swallowed and nodded. He gripped the borrowed axe tightly, its weight unfamiliar in his hands.
“Right. Remember, I’m going to start with the one on the right. Just keep them off my back,” Eindond grumbled, then charged in. True to his word, he charged down hill, shield up, sword ready to strike. Nearly 250 pounds of steel, leather and muscle crashed into the first zombie, knocking it off its feet. Eindond brought the sword down on its skull, crushing it.
Arcadius followed behind Eindond. This is not like fighter practice.
Clem held his practice sword steady in a firm, flexible grip. When Arcadius was younger, he would hang from Clem’s thickly muscled arm, solid and unmoving as an iron bar. Clem now used that strength to whip his sword around blindingly fast.
“You’re too scrawny t’use a proper fightin’ stance, Cady.” Arcadius couldn’t see Clem’s mouth move behind his thick dwarven beard, but the way the edges shifted up, he could tell Clem was smiling.
The practice yard was smooth, packed, flat earth. Untold generations of Dhur Maloc dwarves had trained here, and Arcadius could feel their gaze judging him, from footsoldiers and warders to generals and kings. The even floor provided sure footing for Arcadius as he danced back and forth, just out of Clem’s reach.
“That’s right, use those half-elf legs. Force me to move. Find an opening and then strike.”
Arcadius had heard this all before. Clem drilled it into him regularly. “Proper” dwarven fighting style capitalized on their low center of gravity and dense muscle. A well-trained dwarf was difficult to move and could deliver fast, powerful blows with their heavy blades. Arcadius was too thin and light to take advantage of that style, so Clem has been training him to fight with his agility.
Arcadius’ charge towards the zombies was definitely not a well-executed assault down a defensive ramp. More like a panicked, flailing dash down an uneven, slippery slope where every step threatened to break an ankle and launch him toward the gnashing teeth of the hungry dead at the bottom. Despite that, Arcadius successfully came to a halt a few steps behind Eindond, his ankles intact and only slightly out of breath. He turned left and raised his axe, ready for the zombies.
With the first zombie dispatched, Eindond turned to face the others… and froze. Keeping to Eindond’s left, Arcadius looked as they lurched towards them. Spattered mud and muck stained what remained of their clothing. The magic that animated them also slowed their rot, but their facial features had decayed enough that they were effectively anonymous.
“Eindond…” Arcadius warned. His companion’s shield slowly drooped. A full helm covered Eindond’s face, ending any chance of divining his emotional state. A gurgling groan from one of the zombies yanked Arcadius’ attention back to the immediate danger. Eindond let out a faint whimper. The gurgling zombie was the one in the back, and was dressed in the tattered remains of a… cloak?
“Eindond!” Arcadius stepped forward. With his companion frozen, the situation just became much more dangerous.
The nearest zombie turned toward Arcadius and raised its fists. Look for the opening. He leapt forward, striking with the axe. The unfamiliar weight led to a badly-timed attack. The axe glanced off the creature’s ribcage, tearing the rotting tunic and shearing off a large chunk of decaying flesh. The zombie swung, heedless of the injury. Arcadius danced back out of reach, once again even with the trembling Eindond. That’s right, they’re already dead. I have to finish them decisively.
The zombie was slow compared to Clem, and even with the heavy axe in his hand, Arcadius felt like he was floating through the battle, barely touching the ground. A dragonfly on the wind, ready to pick its prey. Arcadius struck again, this time on the zombie’s left shoulder, the heavy axe crushing bone and cleaving flesh. The arm flopped uselessly and the zombie stumbled, swiping ineffectually as Arcadius slipped past it and the second zombie that had grabbed Eindond’s arm.
Arcadius twisted around, his momentum driven by the axe. His gaze locked on the back of the second zombie’s head as the axe cleaved through the back of the skull. The zombie collapsed on the ground and Arcadius yanked the axe free. Arcadius centered himself as he planted his feet. His breath was coming in ragged gasps. This is not fighter practice. Breathe. The clang of Eindond’s sword on the ground drew Arcadius’ attention.
Eindond had dropped his sword and slid the mask of his helm back, revealing a human face wracked with sadness, tears streamed down his face. He whimpered as he stared at the third zombie, heedless of his surroundings. As Arcadius tried to figure out what was going on, the first zombie rose up behind Eindond, its good arm grabbing on his shoulder as it sunk its teeth into his neck. Eindond screamed as blood gushed out of the wound, soaking his tabard and coating the zombie's jaws. Eindond drew a dagger as he crashed to the ground, taking his attacker down with him.
Arcadius looked at the last zombie as it lurched closer. Beneath the spattered mud and stains, he saw the same coat of arms that Eindond was so proud of. This must be family. The creature raised its arms to attack. Heart pounding in his chest, Arcadius dodged to the side as the firsts swung down. Arcadius swung the axe at the creature's head, the heavy weapon dragging the blade downward. The blade connected with the creature’s neck, cleaving straight through and sending the head bouncing across the ground. The body stumbled for a second before collapsing.
Arcadius spun back towards Eindond to see his companion pushing himself up to his knees. The zombie’s face had been obliterated by Eindond’s heavy mailed fist and dagger. Blood still leaked from the wound in his neck, and he looked exhausted.
“Don’t worry,” Eindond breathed, “they’re not ghouls.”
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