CHAPTER 1: AT WORLD'S END
A long and echoing cry of a horn wailed. A great silence then fell over the endless city of Haganhalt. The absence of sound lingered in the air, the only distraction from it was the battering of winter winds against the large stone walls that surrounded the maze of stone buildings contained within.
From the shadow of the woods that stood beyond the gates marched out an army. The army was disorganised but contained numbers beyond counting. No cries of war were shouted overhead. No orders were barked. They simply walked a wordless march.
“Ready yourselves!” cried the hefty middle aged voice of a helmetless knight commanding on the walls. “Light the firepits and quiver your arrows!”
A double line of archers all along the city’s tall walls arranged their arrows. They picked up their bows and set ablaze bowls of fire that stood within reach.
“Knot!” cried the knight again. Pale and shaky hands lit the tips of arrows before placing them upon bows.
“Draw!” Subtle grunts was follow by the sound of flexing wood and stretching string.
“Fire!” The knight’s spittle disappeared over the battlements. A few thousand arrows were launched into the sky. They appeared as blazed wights against the black of night. Many of them found a target out of chance rather than aim. Those hit would stumble to the ground, but it was not the arrows that had downed them. That which is dead could not be killed, but could be burned.
The arrows lodged themselves into either tattered armour or the bones of the marching dead. Whatever magic that animated them also left them vulnerable to fire. They tumbled over as their bodies were turned to ash and bonemeal.
The army broke against the wall as an ocean wave on a rock. Some attempted to climb. Others simply swung blunted weapons at the wall, chipping away at it crumb by crumb.
“The gates! Kill the ones at the gates!” commanded the knight. He knew that even the thickest of wood could not withstand a million cuts. Lines of archers did their best to thin the ranks attempting to squeeze through the portcullises. The undead that managed to climb to the top of the wall had their skulls split by greatswords, axes and maces by soldiers prepared to meet them. Hundreds of the walking dead were being returned to their graves by the minute but it was not enough. Every skeletal body that shattered was followed by a hundred more.
The defenders however fought on and on in wordless fashion. They were calm and focussed. That night was clearly not the first of the like that they had faced. It continued on as such for the next hour. An endless mass of undead stopped at the walls by well drilled defenders.
Dietrich von Falkhoff was looking over the battlements alongside Captain Hans. Falkhoff heard shouting behind him and turned around to see a group of soldiers fleeing along the city street that lined the inside of the wall. He met with Hans’ glance of confusion before the pair made their way down the battlements by way of nearby stairs.
“Halt!” demanded Falkhoff “I said halt!” Falkhoff growled with frustration as the soldiers sprinted past, ignoring him. He then grasped the nearest soldier by his red tabard and pulled him to attention.
“Where are you going!?”
“It’s over! All is lost!” screamed the soldier.
“What do you mean; 'all is lost'?” asked Captain Hans calmly from behind Falkhoff’s shoulder.
“The west gate is breached! Undead roam the city! We are doomed! We are all doomed!” The soldier broke from Falkhoff’s grip and fled into the darkened alleys of the city. Falkhoff stood silent for a moment. His heart drummed and he felt a cold sweat beneath his gloves.
“Rally the men and meet me the gate,” he quietly said.
“Aye,” Replied Hans.
Falkhoff then rushed along the street. He dodged his way through fleeing crowds before arriving at the courtyard of the west gate. The fountain that marked the city entrance had been destroyed and a number of walking skeletons was flailing at fleeing townsfolk and panicked soldiers. His quivering hands reached under his black cloak and he drew his longsword.
“Stand your ground! Fight for your lives if not for the city!” he shouted to the soldiers before rushing into the courtyard.
He cut through the first walking skeleton he came across with his sword, ripping through tattered armour, shattering bone and cartilage with ease. The skeleton fell to pieces. He then rushed toward a scared and cornered city girl and swung overhead and downwards in a single mighty strike, splitting the skull and spine of the abomination that stood over her.
“Run! Get indoors!” The girl gave a barely noticeable nod of thanks and scattered.
Falkhoff’s initiative gave heart to some of the soldiers who’s panic turned to desperation. They began to fight hard, cutting down skeleton after skeleton. Captain Hans then arrived with more men wearing the yellow and black colours of house Falkhoff..
“We need to hold the gatehouse!” shouted Falkhoff.
“You don’t say!” replied Hans. “Guarded pikewall, face the gates!”
Falkhoff’s men formed a line with greatswords on either side to protect their flanks. The formation slowly moved forward with pikes at the ready. More and more undead found themselves either pinned away by pikes or cut down by greatswords waiting to meet those that attempt to circle around. The remaining city guard joined the line when the opportunity arose. Falkhoff parried a blow before countering with a wide swing of his blade. He then swung again and again until his target was finally rendered unable to move. He then sprinted to the center of the pikewall and stood just slightly in front of his men. As the line advanced, Falkhoff cut down any stragglers that managed to find their way between the pikes.
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“Forward!” he cried unnecessarily. The line of pikemen continued their slow march forward, pushing the wave of endless dead back into the gatehouse. They then stood at the breach at fought shoulder to shoulder. Pikes snapped at the weight of the horde and hard men began to feel the weight of their swords as the minutes soon turned to hours.
“We can’t hold like this!” shouted the seasoned Captain Hans, recognising the signs of a collapsing line.
“We have to,” replied Falkhoff coldly.
Falkhoff’s men were grunting, wailing and gasping. Falkhoff nearly had his sword knocked from his hand by the blind swing of a walking corpse. He mounted one of the few surges of strength he had left and cleaved through creature’s ribs in kind. His sword however embedded itself in the pelvis of his foe, rendering him disarmed by his own efforts.
Just as the pike line began to give way, a sudden flash of yellow light blinded Falkhoff for but a moment. When his eyes recovered he saw that more flashes followed and with each flash a few dozen skeletons disintegrated.
“Step aside!” commanded a high pitched voice with a thick Frankish accent. Falkhoff turned to see a women dressed in shapely black and white silk with a partial head covering.
“Fall back!” ordered Falkhoff and his men gave way to the priestess. She conjured beams of radiant light from her hand that shot forward and seared the undead that dared to stand in the gatehouse passage.
Falkhoff and his men did their best to stand ready for when they were needed again, but many collapsed from exhaustion while others only retained their balance by against upon their weapons.
Falkhoff watched the priestess in awe as she performed miracle after miracle with the power granted to her by her god. He could not help but recognise the woman’s beauty. The breeze made her long golden hair flow elegantly. Her soft face was given form by her lip’s natural red and dark lashes. Falkhoff had not seen a member of the church’s sisterhood before and wondered if they were all as beautiful and shapely as her.
As the hours passed, she too began to tire. Her miracles slowed in occurrence and Falkhoff along with some of his men had to conjure up their own miracles and find second winds with which to aid in keeping the undead at bay. The horde of corpses that beset the city had however begun to dwindle in number. They stopped pouring from the surrounding forests and the sun began to rise. All that was left to do was to destroy those that remained in sight.
By the time the sun’s rays touched the battlements, the battle had ended. Thousands of shattered and burned corpses had joined the tens of thousands that lay in the grassy farmlands around the moats of the wall.
The priestess closed her eyes and leaned on her gold staff to catch her breath. Falkhoff was trying to think of what to say before she vanished in a small explosion of light, denying him the opportunity.
“Another night survived,” stated Captain Hans between gasps.
“Just about,” replied Falkhoff with what little breath he could muster. Hans gave a raspy chuckle.
Falkhoff then heard the canter of hooves on the paved road behind him and turn to see who approached. He recognised the helmetless armoured knight atop the tall brown horse as Sir Roland. he decided that Roland did not look happy.
“What in Tyr’s name happened here!?” Roland’s voice was course and accusatory. His grey beard was sharply contrasted by his red middle-aged face and bald head.
“The gate was breached.” said Falkhoff between breaths
“I can see that, How!?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t here.”
“Then who was?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know!?”
“I know that me and my men just saved the city.”
“Saved the city!?” The aged knight adopted condescending tone. “Around a hundred undead wrecked havoc in the outer city. If it wasn’t for the church of light’s swift response, they would have made it to the inner keep!”
“Perhaps if you informed me of this gate’s meagre garrison, me and my men could have been here to prevent it.”
“Your men are nothing but common mercenaries. They can’t be trusted with the defence of a gate!”
“Yet they stood their ground while your sworn protectors of the city ran like spooked deer.”
Roland glanced to Falkhoff’s exhausted men and sighed. “I suppose you played your part. Don’t expect a title for it. I’m assigning the defence of this gate to you. You say you can do a better job; prove it.”
Roland turned his steed and rode away with haste.
“Someone ought to give that man a swift kick to the inbetweens,” remarked Captain Hans.
“He’s responsible for protecting what may very well be the last city in the world, and it was very nearly lost tonight. I think we can forgive him of his stretched nerves. Especially considering that he has to give account of this to von Reikmark”
“Good point, as always.” Hans turned around and faced the gatehouse. “Now comes the question; Did Loki himself open the gates, or did the wind blow em open.”
Falkhoff smouldered in confusion before turning around himself. He took a moment to observe the gates and caught Hans’ meaning. The gates were not battered down but instead stood open and intact. He approached them. His empty gaze lingered on the intact wood. By instinct his focus then shifted to the outer portcullis. It had been lifted.
“They were opened from the inside,” he muttered softly. Disbelief was apparent in his voice.
“Tis’ what it looks like.”
“I doubt the guard let them in.”
“Maybe some of the undead made it inside and opened for their comrades?” Hans’ words left his mouth as more a joke than a statement.
“I have yet to see a walking skeleton intelligent enough to do such a thing. Besides, if they made it over the wall and somehow managed to get past the hundreds of men stationed on the wall, they would have been seen doing so.”
Hans turned and faced the endless maze that is the city streets.
“A small party approaching the gatehouse from the city on the other hand,” Hans paused ponderously, “the men on the battlements wouldn’t have seen em'. Only a few stood guard at the gate itself. Few enough to kill or maybe even sneak past under the right circumstances.”
“But why would anybody open the city to the dead?”
“Good question.”
Falkhoff and Hans observed the gatehouse, lost in thought. The very idea of there being a traitor willing to bring about the end of what could be the very last of humanity was beyond them. Surely there was nothing to gain by opening the gate for the dead other than your own death. The army of the dead were but mindless sowers of destruction. There was no reasoning with them. Perhaps someone grew tired of waiting for death and decided to end everything then and there.
Perhaps there were more sinister forces at play. A possibility that made Falkhoff shudder.