There were three men standing at the table’s edge. Gareth recognized the man on the left as Lord Bertham. Berthram gave Garreth a slight smile as they looked at each other. He was fit, his large arms stuck snugly in a white silk shirt. The top was unbuttoned and paraded a muscular chest. His hair was white and sat thin and wispy at the top of his head. His tanned skin formed creases and pock marks across his sun-weathered face. They had fought together many times when he was a younger man. Berthram had served as the king’s primary military advisor for almost a decade but Garreth reasoned that he could still handle himself with a blade.

Old. Garreth’s mind reeled at the thought. It was an uncomfortable inevitability to him. While the marks of age and battle clouded Garreth’s skin, he did not recognize his own age in the way another man his age might. To Garreth, it was a source of experience. Another source of power beside his strength and prowess as a knight.

The man on the right looked shrewd. Thin and soft, he had the build of someone that made their coin with a quill and ink instead of on the battlefield or bringing in the harvest. His eyes were intense and they bore deeply into Garreth. His clothing was simple yet refined. A brown tunic rested on his shoulders. A double braided rope fastened it around his waist. It wasn’t unlike the typical garb of a monk or a priest. His bald head reflected the candlelight that danced weakly on the edges of the room. This man was the king’s right hand man. His wise advisor.

The King himself, Caelum, was standing in between the advisor and Berthram. Upon meeting his gaze, Garreth immediately dropped to one knee.

“My liege,” he said.

Mathias quickly mirrored Garreth’s posture and said nothing. He kept his eyes lowered to the ground. It would have been funny if anyone there was in a joking mood. Caelum nodded and Mathias and Garreth rose to their feet.

Caelum was tall, half a head taller than Lord Berthram and almost two heads taller than the shrunken wiseman. Although he was of average build, he had the rippling undercurrent of strength, slightly softened from the curses of age and endless mead. He wore a light chainmail shirt over his purple tunic and a fine pair of pants. They were brown with immaculate stitching up the inseam. His posture was tight, no doubt the unconscious shaping from his days being trained to be king.

“We have a problem,” Caelum said. His tone suggested worry tinged with irritation.

Garreth said nothing and let the king continue.

“As you know from the fighting, we are trapped,” Caelum said. He pointed at a small lead figure of a castle that sat on the map in front of them. There was a group of five lead soldiers next to it. A group of five more, facing them, sat on the other side. Three other groups sat evenly spaced out around the castle. They clearly represented the enemy.

“There is no way out, and the dead from the battlefield keep reanimating along with the ones we fight every day,” Caelum said.

“It’s some sort of terrible magic,” the advisor spoke. He did not apologize for his interruption nor looked like he had any intention of doing so. “Only a powerful magic user is capable of something like this but it requires great concentration. There must be someone else, a group of people perhaps, keeping them fed and taken care of.”

Garreth knew little of magic, just that he developed a deep distaste of it in his battles. He saw magic users as cowards. Using enigmatic power to cheat and do what they were not willing to do with a blade or an arrow. While his sword had cleaved many a witch and wizard, he knew they were not to be taken lightly. Magic, especially the magic used in battle, was incredibly dangerous. Bolts of fire that slowly boiled the armor of a knight around them, rays of light that caused sudden blindness and then unreliable visions of enemies or giants in the heads of those affected. There were others that commanded their targets to do unspeakable things. It was too unpredictable to be resisted.

For how dangerous it was it was also incredibly rare. There was no formal school of training for witches and wizards, at least not one that Garreth knew of. One was born able to use those types of powers or not. It was something that was on the individual to train and hone. Some never did. These magic users were the worst of them all. Often unable to control their magic from making the distinction between friend and foe.

“We have reason to believe this magic user is channeling this somewhere in the mountains to the east,” Caelum circled an area east of the castle with his finger. It was a great distance away from the castle. Garreth’s estimation put it around four or five days on horseback.

“We cannot spare the men to send a formal battalion. We also cannot risk them being seen before they reach the mountains,” Caelum continued. “We need someone to break the concentration of the caster.”

Garreth nodded.

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“We are honored,” he said.

He spoke for the squire. Refusal was not an option. Knights were sworn to do all they could to protect their kingdom. An oath that every squire was intimately familiar with, as they took a similar one.

“Talk to the Lamia, they will tell you how to reach the mountain pass undetected,” the advisor spoke.

Each man looked at the advisor, waiting for him to continue.

“The Lamia,” he said, “Are masters of knowledge, it is said they were given the power of knowledge by their Goddess, Serpitha.”

“This is just a legend, they like to keep tabs on the surrounding areas, spying, listening for secrets in taverns and from whispered conversations on village roads.” the advisor said.

“We will send you two with a gift of silver. Give this silver to the Lamia in exchange for information on the caster’s whereabouts.”

“What if they do not know?” Garreth questioned. While it was not his place to question the motives and policies of his superiors, he considered it a matter of preparation. Due diligence was something that would be required for an important mission such as this.

The advisor grinned. It had a hint of smugness to it.

“They will not refuse the gift,” he said. “The Lamia are like humans, driven by greed.”

“Lamia?” Mathias questioned.

“Snake women,” Garreth answered. “They have the heads and bodies of snakes but slither upright, like people.”

Garreth thought about the proposed plan. He was not keen on negotiating with the Lamia, but figured it was their best course of action. If needed he would convince them with the edge of his sword. It had sliced Lamia before and he would be happy to do it again.

Mathias’s reaction was not so collected. He looked nervous, and Garreth noticed his face was flushed. His mouth was slightly open and he appeared as if he was potentially going to fall ill.

“We won’t be able to get you outside of the castle directly, so you’re going to need to be disguised,” Berthram said.

“Disguised?” Garreth questioned. “How can we disguise ourselves from an enemy too simple to distinguish friend from foe?”

“Ah, but they can distinguish friend from foe,” the advisor cackled. “Think, what do these reanimated corpses have in common? How do they know to stop shredding a soldier so the soldier may further swell their army after death?”

Garreth thought about the question and opened his mouth to respond. He had an idea as to where this was going and he didn’t like it.

“They identify each other as dead,” Garreth said. “Probably through smell.”

“Yes,” the advisor replied. “They recognize each other as corpses by the scent of rot and musk.”

“What we are going to do,” he continued, “Is cover the two of you and your horses in gore and viscera from the butcher’s block.”

Mathias still looked ill. The idea of guts and offal from the livestock corpses was too much for him to consider. Garreth hoped he could make peace with it. He knew it would not be the worst thing that was going to happen to them by the time they returned.

* -

Garreth and Mathias sat perched on the backs of their horses. Mathias was doing no better than he had been before. Red and pink pieces of tissue clung to his nose and cheeks. Flecks of viscera touched the corners of his mouth. Garreth wrinkled his nose. The smell assaulted his senses. It was rotten, an indescribable rot. He reasoned this must be what the corpses outside smelled all the time. To be reanimated was truly a tortured existence, even if they were not sapient.

He imagined what it would be like to be one of them, his teeth sinking into flesh and bone. Fat and gristle sliding across the tops and bottoms of his jaw and across his tongue, greedily being pushed down his throat and into his stomach. The taste of crimson strong on the backs of his teeth, giving them a rust colored hue after the liquid dried. The thought made him sympathize with Mathias’s illness.

Lord Berthram was standing beside them. He approached Garreth. If the smell bothered him, he didn’t make a show of it.

“Leave out the front of the castle gates,” he said. “You have the map, so make sure to follow it to the East. There is a stream there where you can wash off your disguises.”

Garreth turned and looked at the saddle bag that hung down by his left foot. The silver was in there. It was an amount that was truly a king’s ransom to the Lamia. He gave Berthram a quick nod in response and gently squeezed his heels into the horse’s side. Mathias followed behind on his farm mare and off they went to the front of the gates.

The cries of the dead and dying swelled as they got closer to the medical tents towards the front of the courtyard. Some of the soldiers that passed by stared as they realized the guts and blood that covered the duo. A man lay dying in front of one of the tents. His tunic was stained deep red, slashes and bites covered the deepest part of his belly. His hands, cupped just under his chest, held what appeared to be a small tube. The tube was flexible, and sat sopping wet against the man’s arm. It was tinged red from the blood that surrounded it and Garreth realized he was looking at a man that was holding his own guts.

Short gurgles emanated from the back of his throat. His short, brown beard was flecked with blood. It was a dark red, almost black. It ran out of the corner of his mouth, splattering his face as he gasped and moaned.

Garreth knew this is what they were fighting against. If the threat was defeated, the entire castle would soon reflect the condition of this man. He imagined the chaos. Men yelling as they charged through the castle. Children barricading themselves in the castle rooms as the shambling corpses slowly broke down the door, their excited eyes focused on rending the flesh from their bones. He motioned to his horse to move faster and said a silent prayer for the dying soldier. They were almost to the outside of the castle.

The scene outside was chaos like it had been the day before. Carts that transported the wounded rushed back towards the gates while other carts that carried supplies like shields and arrows went frantically the other direction. Screams and battle cries sounded from the field ahead of them. As they passed further into the fray, the groupings of undead became larger. Although Garreth and Mathias passed close, none of the abominations gave any indication that they were threats. Most shambled by with the occasional straggler giving a brief glance.

Garreth turned quickly and looked at Mathias. He couldn’t see his entire face due to the flecks of offal that decorated it but could tell his squire was on edge. Mathias glanced quickly from side to side and his breathing was frantic and uneven. Garreth hoped the squire stayed calm. The undead hordes were fierce and Garreth figured they would have to wade through them for at least a few miles.

As they pressed on the open field in front of them turned to foothills. Small bushes and saplings littered the slight rise in elevation. The creatures that here walked unevenly. Their shambles affected by the stones and lack of path. The sun, high in the sky earlier was covered by clouds. Their thick black covering suggested the one thing critical to the failure of their attempt to get out of the horde; rain.