Book of The Dead

It had been some time since Richard had been able to go out into the field. With Master Steelarm away, he’d spent more and more of his energy teaching, leading classes, giving demonstrations, working with the Bone Shapers, the Corpse Handlers, helping to raise the overall level of Necromancy amongst their growing community. Georg and Briss had done the same, but not to the extent he had. The end result was that his growth had somewhat stagnated, but his knowledge and expertise had broadened.

Now, out in the wastelands outside the city, he had an opportunity to flex his muscles, so to speak, and receive feedback from his teacher directly. He refused to waste this chance.

The three students had moved their hordes to the front of the column, fanned out in a loose arc, with the zombies in the middle. Compared to the vast army behind them, it was a rather pathetic sight. Richard couldn’t help turning around every now and again to see the enormous undead legion of his teacher and grimace. Despite coming a long way, moving into the bronze ranks as Slayers would consider them, he still couldn’t imagine having enough power to maintain so many undead.

Don’t worry about it, Richard, he admonished himself, focus on the things you can control.

He had a hundred skeletons under his control at the moment, the connection between him and the undead a constant presence in his mind. So far, he had concentrated his efforts on the quality of his undead, following in Tyron’s footsteps. How many sleepless nights had he spent labouring over joints, trying to perfect the weave, or on the intricacies of conduit magick? Too many to count.

“Whoever gets the most should win something!” Briss shouted from her position in the centre of her undead.

“Gets the most what?” Georg wondered aloud.

“Rift-kin!” Briss replied as if it were obvious.

“Who’s going to keep count?” Richard demanded, rolling his eyes. “This is pointless.”

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Richard,” Briss called. “It’ll be fun.”“We aren’t here for fun,” he grumbled to himself, sensitive to the fact that he very much sounded like a stick in the mud.

“I don’t think we’ll have the time,” Georg called. “It’s surprising we haven’t seen any kin yet, but so–”

As if summoned by his words, the crystal and sand a dozen metres in front of Richard’s frontmost skeletons erupted, spraying into the air as several monstrous forms shook themselves loose. Reacting quickly, Richard raised his hands and began to cast while also ordering his skeletons to close ranks. Focusing hard, he spoke the words of power while attempting to micro-manage his troops to receive the charge. It was still incredibly difficult to split his focus like this, but he gritted his teeth and persevered, forcing his hands to complete the precise motions necessary to cast his spell.

Three spiked, crystal-coated lizards emerged from the sand and rushed forward, snarling wildly. Richard braced his frontline, the skeletons linking shields and widening their stances. It helped, but not much. Dependent on his magick to fuel their strength, there was only so much they could do to hold against the monsters.

Richard didn’t panic as the first row of undead went down. He was a Necromancer; he counted on numbers to win the day. Before the three lizards could even begin tearing into the skeletons they had knocked over, more undead were stabbing down, trying to skewer them with blackened bone-swords.

Straining his mind, Richard puppeteered his undead while he finished the cast, not wanting to rely on their weak artificial minds. Stifling a grunt of effort, he snapped out the final words and sigils, completing the Death Blades cast and causing black smoke to begin rising from the weapons of his skeletons.

While only the size of hounds, the kin were strong, and they deflected several strikes with the purple and blue crystal growths sticking out of their backs. As the monsters tried to savage the skeletons they’d pinned, Richard focused and directed his undead to strike at their sides, stabbing or swinging their blades upwards from below.

Despite their savagery, these were lesser kin, so with a dozen skeletons piling onto each, they weren’t able to resist for long. When the final monster had breathed its last and collapsed into the sand, Richard manipulated his undead to shift the corpses, freeing the skeletons who had been pinned beneath.

Hurriedly, he ordered them back to his side so he could inspect the damage. Several bones were cracked, which led to fairly extensive damage to the weave in those areas. These minions wouldn’t be able to perform at anything like their best. It was frustrating. Three weaker kin against a horde of a hundred skeletons, and already he was down several minions. Unlike his teacher, Richard lacked the means to repair the damage quickly. To fix them, he would have to work through the damage, piece by piece. A time-consuming process, time he couldn’t afford in the wasteland.

He ordered the damaged minions to the back of his formation and brought healthy ones forward to replace them. He had to be more alert, more reactive. Once he had settled his minions, he widened his focus, looking to see what Georg and Briss were up to. Georg was currently engaged in a fight, his zombies falling onto a beast and trying to tear it apart with their crude weapons or bare hands.

It was an ugly sight, causing Ricahrd to wince. Zombies possessed much of the brain matter, muscles and tendons that a living person had, but all of it was constantly rotting. Unlike a skeleton, who’s ‘tissues’ were formed of magick, zombies were in a state of constant degradation. As it turned out, it didn’t take long before a rotting corpse began to lose motor function. Which meant, in the end, zombies were ungainly and uncoordinated, only getting worse over time. No clean swings of a sword, none of the speed or grace possessed by Master Steelarm’s undead, just vicious, wild swings using crude weapons that were closer to butcher’s cleavers than proper blades.

Ignore that. Focus on your own horde. Don’t get caught off guard again.

Determined to have a better showing next time, Richard took a pull from his canteen, letting the water refresh his mouth. After that, he performed simple hand exercises to keep his joints loose and warm while he vocalised, keeping his voice ready. Once the fighting was done, the column began to advance again, Richard even more keenly aware of his teacher’s gaze on his back.

Despite the regular and repeated patrols of the Slayers through this area, sweeping the wasteland clean of kin over and over again, there were still hundreds of them roaming wild. Some would burrow into the blackened, granular sand, while others ran in packs, seeking out prey to devour with the vicious ferocity of their kind.

Find this and other great novels on the author’s preferred platform. Support original creators!

It didn’t take long until they were engaged again. When the fighting was done, they dusted themselves off and began moving once more. This cycle repeated over and over again, the kin throwing themselves into the undead, battering the minions even as they were brought down. After two hours, Richard had dozens of damaged skeletons, with nine broken beyond repair. Still, his horde limped forward, still in the fight.

Georg had suffered the most damage, but his minions were the easiest to repair, whereas Briss had taken the least. Her fights seemed to last longer though, which Richard found confusing. If they were fighting longer, then wouldn’t they take more damage? He would have to ask her what she’d been working on; clearly it was effective.

He turned back to catch the gaze of Tyron, who only flipped a hand, urging him to continue onward, so he did.

After another four hours, the damage was much, much worse. The closer they got to the rift, the larger and more common the kin became. The downtime between fights was almost nothing, giving the three students little time to recover. As a consequence, they weren’t moving much any longer, locked in place and unable to advance.

Richard’s horde had suffered greatly, less than twenty of his skeletons had no damage whatsoever, and those had been the ones tasked with protecting him. A full quarter of his undead were lost completely, while the rest had suffered serious damage.

Drained of magick, his throat raw and hands aching, Richard was at his limit. He’d resorted to crunching on mage candy hours ago, but he knew any more would push his body into a dangerous state. He’d gained a lot of experience, likely a decent number of levels, and most importantly, found out just how much he could tolerate. Once there was a break in the fighting, he raised his hand and turned around, pulling his horde close around him.

Briss and Georg were already standing next to Master Steelarm, watching him. The big farmhand clapped appreciatively while Briss waved at him. Even his teacher gave an approving nod and Richard felt himself flush red, from embarrassment or pride, he couldn’t tell.

He brought his undead back, keeping them tightly grouped as Tyron’s army began to flow around him, moving to the front and forming disciplined ranks.

“Well done Richard,” Master Steelarm said. “You were able to last the longest. You fought well out there.”

With his throat so raw and his tongue practically numb, Richard didn’t trust himself to say much. Instead, he nodded and said: “Thank you, Master.”

“Now,” Tyron said, folding his arms across his chest, “I suppose you’ll be wanting feedback.”

All three students nodded eagerly.

“Briss, I like what you’ve done with your skeletons. A more dense weave around their legs and hips has made them faster, more manoeuvrable, but you saw for yourself that they lack punch. Also, you need to consider the mental strain of manipulating so many undead yourself. Your focus is not unlimited.”

She hung her head a little.

“I know,” she rasped. “I thought it would help preserve more of my horde.”

“It did; you succeeded in your objective,” their teacher praised her. “I am simply asking you to consider how viable a path it is going forward. You don’t necessarily need to change course, but you must make a considered and informed decision.

“Georg.”

The burly student looked up at the sound of his name.

“I feel your tactics are sound, but your deployment of support magick is lacking. You are taking too long to utilise your spells and curses to help your undead fight.”

“I know,” Georg sighed. “I’m either not fast enough, or hoping the zombies will take care of it and spare my magick reserves.”

Master Steelarm shook his head.

“By holding off, you are draining your magick faster. The zombies are expending more effort to kill the kin without your help, and even zombies need some of your energy to move. Faster casting and better decision-making will end the fights faster and more efficiently, along with giving you more rest time. Working on your undead is important, but you need much more practice with your other spells. I know you struggle with it, but that merely means you have to train twice as hard.”

Georg nodded wearily, acknowledging what he’d been told as Richard braced himself.

“Richard,” Tyron stated. “You’re cautious and deliberate with your undead, but you don’t hesitate to sacrifice when the situation calls for it. Your spellcasting is solid, and you chose the timings of your interventions well. I can tell you’ve worked hard on raising the quality of your skeletons too.”

“Thank you, Master,” Richard said, elated with the praise.

“However… I feel you are trying too hard to copy my methods.”

This statement immediately sent Richard for a spin. What did he mean?

“Aren’t your methods the best ones? Haven’t you carved out the best possible path?” Richard asked, confused.

“I have carved out the best path for me, with the information I had available, which was very little. If I were to start over again at level one, would I make the same selections? Would my process and methods turn out the same as they are now?”

Tyron stared hard into Richard’s eyes.

“No,” he said firmly. “They wouldn’t. Rather than emulate me, you should take the lessons I have learned and find something that suits you better. You have created a solid foundation for yourself to build from. Use it.”

It felt like a rebuke, but Richard could see the encouragement within. Master Steelarm had noticed that he was effectively copying him, and was giving a stern warning that it wasn’t the right way.

“I understand,” he said, bowing. Unfortunately, he was so fatigued he stumbled to the side and had to catch himself at the last minute.

“You three are exhausted. Take your undead towards the back of the column. We’ll be meeting with the army I sent ahead in another few hours. We’ll set up a defensive position and camp there for a time.”

The students all nodded with relief, issuing the mental commands to direct their minions.

“And the students are waiting for you. I’m sure they have a lot of questions.”

Master Tyron smiled, slightly viciously, and the three groaned. They did not have the energy to be teaching anyone right now.

“Go on,” he said, waving them away, “I’ll take it from here. Go rest.”

After dismissing them, their teacher strode forward, the entire column moving along with him. Soon enough, Richard, Georg and Briss were at the back, their undead gathered together, limping along, while five of their brightest students pestered them with questions.

Considering he taught them the most, Richard was asked the most, something he didn’t appreciate in the moment.

“You did so well!” Shelli said. “How were you able to hold out for so long?”

“How did you manage to cast for so long? My voice is gone after twenty minutes,” Lyle wondered.

Richard tried to answer them, but eventually grew tired of it.

“Why are you asking me these questions?” he rasped, then pointed toward the head of the column. “Someone a hundred times more powerful than me is about to start fighting. You should be watching Master Steelarm!”

At that exact moment, as if by design, the world around them rocked, causing them to stumble.

Words of Power rolled like thunder, and Richard could feel reality warp, like a twisting in his guts.

Magick boomed like a wave as a rain of bone spears fell on the wasteland. All around them, a vast army of undead marched, all controlled by the will of a single person. How was it possible? Even to Richard, well on his way to Silver Rank, Master Tyron seemed like another existence entirely.

“You’ll see something inhuman,” he assured the students.