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Legacy of Blood
by Richard A. Knaak
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One of the
mummified corpses cut at Norrecs left arm. The
veteran used the torch in his other hand to ignite the dry flesh, turning the
zombie into a walking inferno. Risking his foot, Norrec
kicked the fiery creature into its comrade.
Despite that
success, though, the horde of unliving continued to
press all three back.
Norrec! shouted Sadun from
somewhere. Fauztin! Theyre
coming at me from everywhere!
Neither could help
him, though, both as harried. The mage beat off one skeleton with his staff,
but two more quickly filled in the space left. The creatures had begun to move
with more fluidity and greater swiftness. Soon, no advantage whatsoever would
remain for Norrec and his friends.
Separating him
from Fauztin, three ghoulish warriors pressed Norrec Vizharan up the steps and
finally against the dais. The bones of the Warlord of Blood rattled in the
armor, but, much to the hard pressed veterans relief, Bartuc
did not rise to command this infernal army.
A flash of smoke
alerted him to the fact that the sorcerer had managed to deal with yet another
of the undead, but Norrec knew that Fauztin could not handle all of them. So far, neither of
the fighters had managed much more than a momentary stalemate. Without flesh
for their blades to penetrate, without vital organs that could be skewered,
knives and swords meant nothing.
The thought of one
day rising as one of these and moving to slay the next hapless intruders sent a
shiver down Norrecs spine. He moved along the side
of the dais as best he could, trying to find some path
by which to escape. To his shame, Norrec knew that he
would have happily abandoned his comrades if an opening to freedom had abruptly
materialized.
His strength
flagged. A blade caught him in the thigh. The pain not only made him cry out,
but caused Norrec to lose his grip on his sword. The
weapon clattered down the steps, disappearing behind the encroaching ghouls.
His leg nearly
buckling, Norrec waved the torch at the oncoming attackers
with one hand while his other sought some hold on the platform. However,
instead of stone his grasping fingers took hold of cold metal that offered no
support whatsoever.
His wounded leg
finally gave out. Norrec slipped to one knee, pulling
the metallic object he had accidentally grabbed with him.
The torch flew
away. A sea of grotesque faces filled the warriors horrified view as Norrec attempted to right himself. The desperate treasure
hunter raised the hand with which he had tried to garner some hold, as if by
silently beseeching the undead for mercy he could forestall the inevitable.
Only at the last
did he realize that the hand he had raised now had somehow become clad in
metala gauntlet.
