“Master Vardock, the encirclement is complete.” one of the disciples reports. I don’t remember his name. Something that starts with L?
“Yes yes, good work disciple. Ready the zombies for assault, let’s wear them down.” I reply, not even bothering to hide my boredom.
“But master,” the anxious disciple sputters, “they have a geomancer. Won’t they just be able to retreat into the dungeon and collapse the entrance?”
“No, you blathering fool, they won’t. Them retreating into the Dungeon is a given, of course. But Dungeons require a steady essence flow. If they collapse the entrance, it will lash out and consume everything and then itself. You should know this, you hopeless worm.” I scold the quivering mess before me. I cannot help a smirk on my face as I notice his distress.
This disciple at least is better than the last three I had been given by the master, because he raises his head again and challenges my statement.
“If that is the case, Master Vardock, why don’t we simply collapse the entrances to dungeons instead of sending in suicide squads or agents?” he inquires.
Good. Inquisitiveness, and a backbone to boot. I like my disciples this way. I should probably learn his name.
“Excellent question disciple. The answer is simple, however. The master needs the shattered core of the dungeon for his purposes, and if the dungeon consumes itself the core will simply be gone. It is bad enough that the last disciple let a shard be stolen by those goblins. We are now behind on schedule. And that idiot Marcus just had to go ahead and die without reaching the objective, as well.”
“Hey! I’m right here!” the disembodied voice of my fellow cult member echoes out from behind me. “That dungeon is absurd. I was not prepared for the dungeon to have four rooms and neither were our superiors. It only had one adventurer encounter, how could it have progressed this far?”
“Yes, yes, I have no need for your excuses. Just sit pretty as we clean up your mess… again.”
I give his container a sneer. The fool has been granted the master’s blessing of undeath, so his soul has returned to its receptacle. Currently, he is no more than a soul trapped in a purple gem, cut in the image of a skull. It will take a while to find a suitable vessel for him. A tier two paladin requires a body with some radiance affinity, which is among the rarer types.
“Just make sure to not destroy the woman’s body. She is situated in a useful position under Aresmouth’s treasurer. Whether we raise her as a puppet or have someone possess her, she will be quite useful. A geas would be best, though.”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
The audacity of the lesser cult member, currently entirely at my mercy, to tell me what to do shocks me briefly. Does he not understand the difference between us? I am a tier three necromancer.
“Unlike you, I know what I am doing. Just relax and watch. Disciple, are the zombies ready yet?”
That question sends him out of his reverie of the master's blessing that is on display with Marcus.
“At once, Master Vardock!” he almost cries out before vanishing into the treeline, informing the lesser members of their duties.
That disciple might make it farther than I had realized. Attentive, Inquisitive, Ambitious. Excellent qualities. After this is over, I should make him my personal disciple. After the disappointment that his predecessor turned out as, he might be a surprisingly good addition to my track record.
Speaking of his predecessor… “Fetch me some water, minion.”
The skeleton of my former disciple obeys at once, the flames in the skull’s sockets flickering eagerly. Not the best of materials, evidently, considering the average wizard and necromancer both is less than muscular. However, it is about making a point. His mistake was quite costly… so trapping his soul in his own body and then raising it as an unintelligent undead is an appropriate punishment.
Maybe I will free him in a couple centuries or so…
While my skeleton hands me a goblet of water from our stores, the lesser necromancers have coordinated their servants. Just as we emerge from the treeline to lay our eyes upon the meager fortifications amassed against us, the shambling horde of zombies speeds up and begins ascending the mountainside.
Zombies are often thought of as the slowest undead, at least of the generic options. This is somewhat of an inaccuracy even then. They are capable of quite fearful speeds. It is their coordination that is holding them back. Zombies that need to walk on two legs expend much of their limited faculties remaining upright as their body crumbles with every step.
Manylegged zombies require an incredible amount less to keep their legs underneath themselves, and so they can actually sprint incredibly well.
This is on full display as our army of undead wolves, dogs and bears, with the odd feline sprinkled in, makes for the cave that is guarded by earthen walls.
I anticipate some resistance as they begin climbing the walls, a fighting retreat by our five or six opponents, possibly, yet nothing of the sort happens. The walls are ascended without a hitch, many of the better crafted undead simply clearing it in a powerful leap. They gather inside the fortifications, my skills detailing the positioning of all of my servants as I mentally direct them to search the area.
They definitely fled into the dungeon, but they might have left some nasty surprises for us.
This thought is confirmed as an explosion rocks the place, spewing rocks and debris everywhere and engulfing many of the beasts in a growing ball of flame.