The necropolis, like its residents, was a cursed undead place. Unable to find its death by falling into ruins, its towering structures would stand forever, empty of life, but never empty.

Commander Haylen rode through the foggy streets of the dead city, alert but relaxed, confident that there would be little trouble on their patrol. They weren’t far from the expeditionary camp, and this area had been cleared the day before. The sixty armed soldiers walking around her also guaranteed a decent warning before any danger got close.

Beside her, Paladin Corlo remained as vigilant as ever. As both an orc warrior and a paladin of the empire, he took any military action seriously. Unlike her, he was walking. He could ride a horse with ease, but mounted combat was useless in a place like this. While she wore the standard gambeson and breastplate as the rest of the soldier, he was covered head to toe in steel plates. She had seen him wade through crowds of the dead and come out unscathed thanks to that armor, and he could use it as a weapon just as effectively as he did the large sword strapped to his back.

He intimidated her sometimes, not due to his size or ability to unleash violence, but because he was a paladin and her teacher. To her, and likely many others, Corlo was one of the empire’s heroes. He was everything she aspired to be, and though her day would soon come, she was still only Haylen. Even once she became a paladin herself, she would still probably see him that way.

The company of soldiers under her command were spread out, working in pairs. They were unlikely to encounter anything larger than a small pack of the cursed, and instead were going about killing any strays or stragglers that they encountered. One person, properly armed and armored could fight several of the slower moving undead at a time without any great risk. The faster ones however, could be tricky, and were best fought in groups.

The patrol’s tactics resembled a large game of leapfrog. One pair would enter each alleyway or small side street to kill any undead lingering within. When they had finished, they would move to the front of the formation and start again, confident that the rest of the rest of their squad would not be far behind them.

Haylen watched them with a bit of envy. On the past three expeditions, she had been down there with them, but now she was an officer in the militia, and her company hardly needed any orders to carry out a routine task like this. She reminded herself that that was a good thing. On an expedition, orders were only needed when things went wrong.

At the moment things were quiet, and even the strange crow-like birds that came to feast on the remains made little noise. If not for the few corpses lying around, it would have seemed downright peaceful. This was Haylen’s fourth expedition, and experience had taught her that a necropolis was never peaceful. Even patrolling a cleared area like this should have had more encounters. More conflict.

The other veterans kept silent, probably feeling the same way she did. The newer soldiers chatted and told jokes. Some had even started counting their kills!

“If you can keep track of the number,” she thought, “then it means you aren’t killing enough.”

She gave a nod of approval when someone boasting of reaching one hundred received a whack to the head from his partner. As much as she understood the sentiment, there really were less of the cursed this year. Normally, everyone would be too busy defending the killing grounds outside their camp to send out a patrol like this on only the second day.

Despite herself, Haylen used the chance to take in sights around her. To most people, a necropolis was a place of nightmares and little more than legend. The imperial expeditions were the forces that helped them remain as only legends. To her, this city was a yearly battlefield, and having the time to actually look at it was a rare opportunity.

The miasma prevented her from seeing more than a block or two. The expedition limited itself to only the barest portion of the necropolis, but she had seen the old maps of this place, and knew that it was nearly one hundred kilometers wide in some directions. The logistics of how the ancestors were able to maintain a city this large, let alone feed a population of the size that it must have held, was more than she could imagine.

The buildings were towering things, with most being twenty stories tall or higher. Even the shortest were still large enough to overshadow all but the greatest of structures back in Orlis. Every one had large windows, and some even seemed to be entirely plated in glass. Closer to ground level, large signs with faded writing and pictures gave hints to the bright colors that had once girded the streets like an ever present rainbow.

The roads themselves were equally massive, often being large enough for six wagons to pass side by side, and even the smaller alleyways could easily fit one without trouble. Rather than the familiar dirt or cobblestone of her home, the streets seemed to have been hewn from a single massive rock, and while much of them were cracked, they were still smoother and more level than any she had seen before.

To the sides sat vehicles of more shapes and sizes than she could keep track of. The first time Haylen had come on an expedition, she had been amazed when her squad leader had told her what they were. Carriages and wagons that move by magic instead of being pulled by horses. Even though most of them were smaller than their modern counterparts, a glance through one of the windows was all it took to confirm that they were most certainly more comfortable. Three years later, and she still held the things in awe.

Along the wide stone walkways tall metal poles stood at regular intervals. She had seen similar streetlights in the wealthier parts of Orlis, but never in such numbers. Even at night, this city had likely been bright as day. What drew her attention though, were the trees. They were as dead as anything else in this place, more dead truthfully, but every street had them. In this city of stone and metal, there had once been enough green to fill a forest.

She heard a woman shouting as she stabbed one of the dead through its head with her spear. Her ears twitched uncomfortably in her helmet at the sudden sound, and she clicked her tongue in annoyance as she removed it to adjust the straps.

Corlo glanced over for a moment and spoke his first words since the patrol had begun.

“You should get that thing refitted. A helmet that doesn’t fit is about as useful as wearing none.”

“This one fits just fine,” she retorted, leaning over to wave it at him like a piece of damning evidence. “It’s the shape that’s the problem. They don’t make these things with half-elves in mind.” Her voice was slightly melodic, but still had the clipped accent of a native Orlisian.

The conical helmets were standard issue, and while they offered decent protection, they chafed at her ear tips. Half-elves were rare, and finding a comfortable helmet had been a difficulty of hers for several years now.

Corlo shrugged, and the motion was made larger by his armor.

“Put it back on then,” he said. His voice was largely monotone, but there were hints of exasperation and amusement to it. “You know adjusting the straps won’t help.”

Corlo had been mentoring Haylen since shortly after she had joined the militia, and was well aware of her headgear problems. While she had enough money to get one custom made, she was saving it for her upcoming pilgrimage and decided not to press the issue. She grumbled and put the helmet back on her head.

“You’ve been on more expeditions than me,” she said instead to change the subject. “Have you ever seen it like this before?”

She didn’t have to clarify what she meant by “this.” There had been no official announcement, but anyone who had been on an expedition before knew that the priests back at camp were probably throwing a fit while they tried to figure out why there were so few of the cursed this year.

Corlo shook his head and frowned.

“Nope. First time. Probably for everyone here, too. The only reason a necropolis goes empty is if there’s been a stampede. But we haven’t had any failed expeditions in… decades probably. So a stampede shouldn’t have happened. And if it had happened, there wouldn’t even be this many of them left. I’ve been thinking about it but…”

He shook his head again, not having found an answer.

There were many necropolis scattered around the world. Each year, the kingdoms and territories of the Arlonian Empire would send expeditions the ones along their borders and kill the undead in the tens, if not hundreds, of thousands. They had been doing it for centuries, and had become very efficient at it. There were only two possible results. Either the expedition came back victorious, or they were never seen again.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The Orlisian expedition had had a long string of success. They would spend a week in the city, killing as many of the cursed dead as they were able. For a necropolis the size of this one, it was only a small drop in the bucket, but even a single drop can be enough to keep a bucket from overflowing.

If the necropolis ever overflowed, if a stampede happened, millions of the dead would be unleashed on the world and entire kingdoms could be overrun.

Haylen shuddered at the thought. She hadn’t considered the possibility of a stampede and was glad that the orc’s logic had removed that fear as quickly as it had come.

“Do you think it’s a good thing or a bad thing?”

The paladin remained silent as he pondered the question and after a moment finally shrugged again.

“Dunno.” He paused again. “If it’s good, we probably won’t know until next year.”

The necropoli were always making more undead, but if they were lucky, next year’s population would be about the same as they had found it this time.

Haylen wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer, but asked anyway.

“And if it’s bad.”

Corlo didn’t wait to think of an answer this time.

“Then we should start praying.”

* * * * *

Kearse pulled his spear from the zombie’s head as the body fell to the ground, and left the alley to rejoin his cousin.

“What’s your score up to now?”

Like Chad, this was Kearse’s first expedition, and in spite the danger, they were enjoying the sense of adventure. Unlike Chad however, Kearse wasn’t counting his kills. He had seen the looks of disapproval that the veterans had been giving people that they heard counting.

“Not sure. I must have lost track.”

Chad frowned at the token response, but a soldier passing behind him gave Kearse a quick nod. Noting Kearse’s line of sight, Chad waited for a moment and looked over his shoulder before asking his next question.

“Anything good on it?”

Kearse shook his head.

“I didn’t check. Too many people walking around. Wait till we’re at the back of the formation and don’t get greedy.”

Officially, looting of the necropoli was forbidden under imperial law, and salvage rights were only given out under special circumstances.

Unofficially, it was an unspoken rule among the expeditions that, as long as you weren’t blatant about it, taking things from the bodies of the cursed didn’t count as looting.

Many a ring and bracelet ended up in the pockets of the militia, and more than a few merchants were waiting to see what passed their way upon the expedition’s return.

Patrols like this were considered the best chance to grab what you could, and Chad’s small purse was rapidly filling. Kearse, however was looking more for trophies to keep than things to sell. He had already found a pair of matching bracelets for his mother and sister, and was hoping to find something for his father before he would really start to think about taking anything else.

Kearse’s family lived in the poorer part of Orlis, and while his family was far from destitute, this was a chance to bring them things that they would never normally be able to afford. Chad’s family was of a similar status, and he seemed intent on changing that as quickly as possible.

Despite being cousins, the two hadn’t known each other very well until they realized that they had both joined the militia. They ended up getting along though, and together they had made a decent enough showing of themselves that they had been selected for this year’s expedition. They had even been placed on the same squad, and Kearse doubted that it was coincidence.

The two of them returned to the main street and their sergeant promptly called them over.

“Chadvid! Kearse! Get up to the front. You’re doing well for your first patrol, but you need to keep up the pace.”

Kearse could tell that Chad’s wince was just as much from disappointment as it was from the use of his full first name. Most likely, the man knew exactly what was tucked into Chad’s breastplate, and wanted to make sure his sticky fingers took a break.

Passing the rest of the patrol, they moved into the next side street. There were ten of the cursed in this one, but all of them were crippled, and easily dispatched. Among them was a pair of greater cursed, the faster variant of the simple undead, but even these could only crawl towards them and groan. It happened some times. The dead were stupid and frequently fell off the balconies of the tall buildings. If they fell from high enough, they would die on impact, but some only became too damaged to move.

A few of the necropolis’ birds had been tearing at the bodies that had died from their fall. They looked like a crows that were trying to disguise themselves as vultures, and Kearse hated the things. They hadn’t reacted at all as the pair had killed the crippled undead, and continued to eat as if the two of them weren’t even there. Except for one. There was always one that watched. The intelligence behind those eyes disturbed him more than anything else he had seen in this city.

Apparently the birds always showed up to follow the expedition around and clean up the scraps. They also seemed to be the only things that could actually live in this place. If subtle looting was an unwritten rule, not antagonizing the birds was a very clearly written one. Written in big bold letters and underlined several times just to make sure the point got across. Kearse had only needed to hear one story about what they did to people that drew their ire before he decided to stay clear of them.

At the killing grounds outside of the expedition’s camp, most of the bodies were burned. The people dragging bodies to the fire however, would always make sure that there were a few left aside for the birds.

“Stop staring at the birds, Kearse. You’re gonna piss them off. We need to keep moving or the sergeant will think we’re slacking on purpose.”

Kearse almost jumped at Chadvid’s words.

“Creepy little bastards,” he thought as he left the street.

Behind him, he knew the bird was still watching.

Row after row, street after street, they killed the undead. The necropolis was enormous. Even with limiting the patrols to the main roads, it still took nearly twenty minutes just to reach the end of a block.

Earlier, Kearse had overheard part of a conversation between Commander Haylen and Paladin Corlo. They seemed to believe that the number of cursed was unusually low. He had found it hard to believe at first, but the implications made him nervous once he started thinking about it.

“Compared to the horde we faced on our way into the city, this is nothing. Sure. But this area was declared clear, and we’ve still killed hundreds of the things. Then again…”

Kearse looked up at the buildings that towered around him. The mist made gauging distance hard, but the structures continued one after another for as far as he could see in any direction, and he knew they went farther.

“Just how many cursed can this place hold?”

The grim looks on the faces of the veterans took on a new meaning to him, and suddenly this patrol seemed less like an adventure, and more like an event that could lead to his imminent demise.

When Commander Haylen announced that they had reached the halfway point, Kearse’s tension eased a bit. They still had a lot of killing ahead of them, but at least now they would be killing in the direction of the camp.

“Hopefully, we won’t get back at the same time as a baiting party.”

Even while the patrol was out checking the perimeter, mounted groups would venture farther into the city to act as bait and draw in large hordes of the cursed to be killed by the rest of the expedition. Getting stuck outside of camp while they waited for the path to clear did not sound like a fun way to end his morning.

While imagining the hot food from the cookpots and the soft bedroll in his tent, Kearse turned the corner into one of the alleys.

A few paces ahead of him, a girl was in the middle of killing one of the cursed and thrust her spear through its skull in a single motion.

At first he thought he had followed another soldier by mistake. He was about to turn around and head to the next alley over when he realized what he was looking at. The cursed was between them, which meant that she had come from the other direction. When its body collapsed the girl seemed to take notice of him for the first time.

She was definitely not part of the expedition.

Her clothing was unlike any style he had seen before. She had on tight dark leggings, and a sleeveless shirt of the same material. Over that were short trousers and an equally short vest that failed to cover her midriff. They were torn and frayed in places, and whatever color they had originally been was hidden behind layers of stains and dirt.

Her hair was black with a blueish tint to it, and just long enough to frame her pale face. Two small horns grew from her forehead, and her eyes were open wide in shock.

The silence was broken by the sound of her spear hitting the ground. The girl took a step towards him, and almost tripping on the corpse in front of her. After another, her legs gave out beneath her.

Tears fell from her eyes, and she covered her mouth as she began to laugh hysterically.

“Who is that?”

Never at a loss for words, Chad had walked up just in time to ask the obvious. The question was simple, but his voice showed that he was just as shocked as Kearse.

“Go get the commander,” was all Kearse could think to say.

“But-“

“Go! Bring her and Paladin Corlo now!”

He didn’t look to see if Chad had left.

The girl began to cry harder at the sound of their voices.

Kearse stepped forward cautiously. He didn’t want to scare her, but this was a necropolis, and he didn’t know who she was. Or what she was. Kearse had met people of most of the different civilized races, but he had never even heard of someone who looked like this.

“She’s not a trog is she? They’re supposed to look rather strange, but…. No. If she were a trog, she’d probably already be trying to kill me. She wouldn’t be crying. What’s a girl doing all the way out here? She looks like she’s barely even as old as me.”

He continued to slowly approach her until she was just out of reach of his spear. Then he knelt down and put it on the ground beside him.

“Can you understand me?”

Everyone knew that people from faraway lands occasionally wandered out of the miasma, lost and confused. It was possible that she was from some race he didn’t know about, from a country undiscovered by the empire, but if that were the case, the odds of her understanding him were…

The girl nodded enthusiastically, but didn’t stop crying.

“Can you tell me your name?”

The girl took her hands from her mouth but anything she was trying to say was overpowered by a half sobbing half laughing noise, and she quickly covered her mouth again.

Kearse held out his hand to her.

“It’s alright. Everything’s going to be fine. Come with me and everything will be fine.”

He didn’t know what to say. His militia training hadn’t prepared him for anything like this. Life with a mother and sister hadn’t prepared him for anything like this. What do you even say to a crying girl you found in a necropolis?

Instead of taking his hand, she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around him. He almost reached for his spear again, but stopped when he realized that she was hugging him and crying into his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” he said again, while patting her on the back. “Let’s get you to the commander. I’m sure she’ll know what to do.

Putting one hand around her back, and another behind her knees, he lifted her up, and carried the mysterious girl out of the alley.