46.

Erak split the leech in half with a powerful swing, the pale creature burst apart in a shower of gore as the clouds of smoke began to lighten as the sun rose. Corpses were piled high in the alleyway as Erak had stood his guard for hours. The narrow passage had been one of the three entrances onto the street the Red Swan was located at.

Teams had been rotating to guard the other two entrances, but Erak had held strong by himself. He had piled the leech corpses up until the alleyway was thick and blocked with mangled limbs, the monsters climbing over their own dead to strike at him.

The sun rose higher and the grim shadows lightened enough that Erak could see easily. The leeches hissed and swiped at the weak sunlight before beginning to retreat. A burst of wind stirred the clouds and a ray of light pierced the cloud cover and set upon the pile of bodies.

A hiss rose as skin darkened and then burned, steam rising from the dead leeches as their bodies smoked, emitting a foul odor. Erak backed away, grabbing his spear out of a dead leech and leaving the alleyway alone. The slight cleaning he had done on his armor had been rendered useless in the newest round of fighting.

Streams of people were emerging from the taverns all around, filling the street until it was packed. Erak peered above them, half a head taller than the next tallest man. He saw Illyria emerging from the Red Swan with her squad of fighters next to her. She waved a hand at Erak and he headed toward her, trying to be gentle as he parted the crowds.

“Erak!” Illyria said as he got close to them. The crowd quieted under the woman’s booming voice. Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned to look at him as he towered above them.

“Are you ready to enter the sewers?” Illyria asked. Erak nodded and then pointed to the burning pile of corpses.

“That’s where that smell is coming from. How terrible.”

“The sewers smell just as bad!” Pomp said as he scrambled up the side of Erak’s armor. His claws scraped at the enamel as he scurried to the top of his shoulder. The dragon was heavy enough that Pomp’s weight tugged on Erak and made him step back.

“He’s just excited about having a sense of smell,” Illyria said with a grin. Erak looked at the dragon and the toothy grin he had.

“She is correct. All these sensations are quite…extraordinary. Your memories don’t do any of them justice. I don’t understand your obsession with peanuts though, they aren’t very good. Steak on…” Erak swatted him off his shoulder and to the ground. Pomp landed easily and bounced toward Illyria, running up her shoulder like a cat.

Erak nodded in appreciation. The spirit was irritating and him having a body now made it easier to rebuke him when he said blasphemous things. Illyria laughed and scratched Pomp behind his ear, getting him to purr like a cat in joy.

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“Enough games. It’s time to get moving. You have an entrance to get us into the sewers?” Illyria asked. Erak nodded and pointed to a sewer grate feet away. Illyria rolled her eyes.

“You know there are better entrances than just a regular sewer grate?” Illyria asked. Erak shrugged and walked over to the grate and reached down, grabbing the thick bars and pulling. Steel cracked and stone broke away as the small bar was ripped free. Two more of the grates broke away and he sank to his knees and slid down and back into the sewers.

Erak landed heavily, his armor rattling as he looked about. The dim light of the luminescent waters gave him enough light to see by as he started down the sewer. Feet landed behind him, more and more as people began to filter in through the gap. It would take them all a while to get down here, but Erak only cared that Illyria and her mantle made it.

She was two people behind him, talking quietly with Pomp with the old officer’s sword drawn and free. The squad of mercenaries around her were all heavily armored with tough leathers and some pieces of plate, their weapons at the ready as they watched the water.

“These smells are quite terrible,” Pomp said idly. Illyria chortled as they pushed into the depths. Erak really had no idea where he was going, just putting one foot in front of the other in the general direction of the Armory.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Illyria asked twenty minutes later. They had been walking at first in tense silence, but as nothing had happened they had started to chat amongst each other. Hundreds of people walking along talking quietly, the stress of the day boiling away as they crossed the foul corridors of the sewers.

Erak shook his head no. He hadn’t found a single sign so far.

“Of course you didn’t. Alright, Janus! Up front!” Illyria called out and one of the people in the back started to shuffle forward. An older man with gray hair and a singed mustache, his dark skin was lined around his eyes from smiling and laughing.

“He was a patron at the Silk Dancers, he’s been working the sewers for half a century. He knows the sewers better than anyone else,” Illyria said, patting the man on the shoulder with a broad smile. Erak motioned for the sewer worker to take lead. The old man looked around for a second and then turned hard left and the procession snaked behind him in a long trail.

They followed for another hour, twisting and turning in the pale green light. Erak kept his ears trained for any change in the ambient noise, but the rustle and talking of over half a thousand people made it hard to discern. So hard in fact that he almost didn’t hear the extra patter of feet slapping concrete.

He froze, cocked his head and cursed the thick steel of his helm. The muffled sounds were thin and dim, lost in the talking of everyone around him. He lifted his spear and the crowd slowed down and ground to a halt. The quiet whispers grew in strength as people asked what was going on, then slowly died down as Illyria asked for quiet.

The sound echoed down the tunnels, feet running on stone, flesh impacting with powerful effect. Erak looked down to where they were coming from and a frown split his face.

Shadows, illuminated by the pale green light, running with reckless abandon. They grew closer. Their shambling forms closed in. Hundreds of them, filling the tunnel from end to end. The water was rippling as bodies pushed through it, unrelenting in their charge. Erak broke away from the group as shrill cries began to echo down the stone passageway, screams of panic and fear.

Erak slapped his spear on his shield, the metal sound ringing clear as a gong. Illyria was roaring, her voice booming as she organized rapidly, fighters rushing forward to form a picket line as the horde rushed at them. Erak was looking past the swarm of undead, at the lean figure in a black cloak in the heart of the swarm.

Necromancer lvl. 24