Chapter 3

In the darkness before dawn, Saraca opened his eyes. A knock at his door came a moment later. He sat up from his litter, untangling himself from the mess of limbs that had developed overnight.

“What is it?” He said.

“A runner from Rana Kizurra,” Girika’s voice came through the door. “The Undead conducted some attacks overnight.”

“Of course they attacked overnight,” Saraca yawned as he reached for his garb. “It’s not as if they sleep.”

There was probably more to it. Rana Kizurra didn’t seem like an excitable idiot.

In the corridor outside of the room, he found his escort awaiting him with a skinny Singh lad a few years shy of adulthood. He looked up at Saraca with wide eyes and swallowed.

“Spit it out, kid,” Girika said.

“Th-the Undead,” the runner licked his lips. “They attacked.”

“I already said that.”

“Rana Kizurra is in the great hall,” the runner gave them an insistent look.

Was there some great need for secrecy? It wasn’t as if the Undead used spies.

They followed the runner to the keep’s great hall, where they found Rana Kizurra at the table with a half dozen Lords with a grim air about them. The map that had been unfurled over the table the previous afternoon was still there. A few of the markers that Saraca placed upon it had been adjusted.

“Saraca,” Rana Kizurra rose upon his approach. “Hmm…I’m still not sure if it’s appropriate to address you as such.”

“Saraca is fine. My political station back home has little bearing on our current situation.”

He examined the map for a moment longer. The southwestern ‘corner’ of the Undead encirclement was under attack.

“What did the warriors from the front say about this?” Saraca asked.

“An amphibious assault,” Rana Kizurra answered. “The Undead came ashore not far behind the front lines.”

“Our forces had sentries posted, I assume.”

“We did. However, the Undead came out in force and they weren’t interested in attacking the new lines that we drew up to resist them.”

That wasn’t good. The Undead had dropped all pretence of being a mindless horde and were now openly acting as an organised force that employed effective tactics against their opponents. Perhaps the sole upside was that tactical and strategic thinking incorporated elements of reason that could be interpreted and countered.

“How recent is this information?”

“Lup and Gao runners take roughly two hours to arrive from that far,” Rana Kizurra replied. “If they sent them to report right away, it should have started about four-and-a-half hours ago.”

“What are our losses so far?”

“The clan stationed there had roughly twenty thousand Ocelo warriors. We’re not sure how many are still fighting. The clans nearby are trying to assist, but the Undead dividing them are holding their ground.”

“Shall I take a look?” The Sacred Claw in his escort spoke up.

“How are you for mana?” Saraca asked.

“About two-thirds full,” the Sacred Claw answered.

Saraca’s claws tapped on the stone table as he stared down at the beleaguered position. A conventional army division in the Beastman Confederacy’s armed forces usually had two companies of divination specialists that conducted reconnaissance and information warfare. Here, it felt like the dozen divine casters in his entourage were being tasked with an entire army group’s worth of work.

Was it worth checking? He could already imagine what would happen if the Undead ambushed an unsuspecting division from the river in force.

“Did you investigate the use of Ritual Magic?”

“Yes,” the Sacred Claw replied. “We asked while we were going around instructing the local mystics. None of the clans appear to be familiar with its use, just as it was in the east.”

“I see. Well, let’s take a look. Make sure you conserve your mana accordingly after this.”

Even a standard thing like Ritual Magic is missing here…

Pretty much every magic caster in the central powers could participate in Ritual Magic, or ‘Circle Magic’ as it was more commonly called. It was an invaluable tool for maintaining liquidity in complex mana economies. Not everyone had the capacity to become a powerful magic caster, but every magic caster could learn how to participate in Circle Magic.

By doing so, they made their mana available to the leader of any circle that they participated in, meaning that powerful magic casters could tap into the collective mana of the entire caster population instead of being limited to their personal mana pools. The Confederacy’s most powerful casters never ran out of mana so long as there were other casters around with mana.

Of course, that didn’t apply in Rol’en’gorek, where the local caster population had no idea what Circle Magic was.

The Sacred Claw completed her spell and started moving her scrying sensor around the area indicated on the map. Saraca’s lips drew back in a snarl and a low growl filled his throat at the projection in the water.

Ocelo corpses were strewn across the landscape. A number of Elder Liches could be seen here and there organising the bodies like quartermasters might arrange supplies. No signs of continued resistance could be seen: it was a place of the dead and the Undead. At least he had managed to convince the Clanlords to move the Humans beforehand.

The sensor moved eastward, following the highway along the river. A sigh filled the air as the Sacred Claw stopped at a line of piled corpses that seemed to extend to the horizon. Just past that line was the new position of the Undead encirclement.

“I don’t understand,” Rana Kizurra breathed. “How could our defeat be so complete?”

“This is the true power of the enemy that we face,” Saraca told him as he updated the markers on the map. “It is as I said yesterday: the Undead have been playing us all for fools. They could have done this at any time during their advance.”

“Then why did they even bother with this…deception?”

“To understand that, one must first understand the nature of the Undead. They are akin to a primal force that thrives off of everything that we, the living, abhor. Negative actions and emotions; suffering; decay; death…there is a list of very specific things that would probably take a day or two to recite. The Undead do not only inflict negative physical conditions upon their victims, but they can also inflict negative mental states upon entire populations.

“This…‘horde stance’ that they assumed from the beginning was the optimal method of generating what they desire, which is the propagation of negative energy. I believe that your mystics should have some knowledge on that topic.”

“Negative energy?” Rana Kizurra said, “Yes. But the way they treat it is more a matter of conservation, ensuring that our actions don’t taint the land…I see. So what these Undead are doing is the reverse.”

“Exactly,” Saraca nodded. “But that ‘stance’ only worked up until this point. One might argue it stopped fully working when they ran into Clan Torokgha. Now, however, the will that drives these Undead understands that their old approach will not work on Rol’en’gorek’s defenders.”

“I see what you mean now by being ‘played’. Everything so far has gone the way that the Undead have wished, and we have been ignorant of it the entire time, making them stronger with each passing hour. But…how do we fight this? Their physical might aside, you imply that even our mental state can empower the Undead. We all have our fears. Fear is what often keeps us alive. How can we not hate what is the foe of all life? I see these images in the water and I am already compelled to strike them down with all of my might.”

“It’s not wrong to feel that way,” Saraca replied. “All living things have an aversion to the Undead. The stronger one’s instincts, the greater those feelings are. The strong are compelled to strike them down because it is the right thing to do as living beings. As you say, the Undead are the foes of all life. Fortunately, as Lords, we have the ability to steel our people against fear and instil resolve. It is not much different than facing any other enemy: much depends on your personal state.”

Rana Kizurra nodded at his words. Saraca had paraphrased things greatly, and he could only hope that their own experience and lore would fill in for what was left unsaid.

“Sorry, I was out in the camps. What’s going on?”

Rana Saj entered the hall, his fur damp with rain. His eyes narrowed a moment after glancing at the map.

“Just like that?” He said.

“Just like that,” Saraca replied.

“We’re still in the middle of reorganising our forces to fight these ‘Death Knights’,” Rana Saj said. “How much time do we have?”

“That depends entirely on the Undead,” Saraca said and turned to the assembled Lords. “Whoever is commanding them seems a bit ‘greedy’, however.”

“Greedy?”

“It’s just the general feeling that I get from what we know of them so far. The entire time, they’ve been trying to generate as much negative energy as possible. Those Elder Liches we saw just now are handling corpses like goods. That successful assault wasn’t followed by a general rampage: the Undead simply tightened the encirclement like a noose. ‘The Hunter’ is trying to squeeze every drop of dread out of us before sending in its minions for the kill.”

“I’m not sure if that was meant to help us or scare us,” Rana Saj muttered.

“Sorry,” Saraca chuckled. “That was probably a bit too melodramatic. What I mean to say is common sense to any Lord that commands warriors in battle. We should be doing what the enemy does not want us to do. Face the enemy, not with fear and doubt; but with courage and confidence. To build up that confidence, we must fight. Fight and learn. That’s one thing that often goes unstated when fighting the Undead: the living learn much faster than any Elder Lich, and the vast majority of the Undead never do.”

Certainty had to replace uncertainty. They had to start inflicting losses upon their foe. Though it was an army formed out of an unprecedented number of powerful Undead, it was absurd to think that something like a Death Knight or Elder Lich could be so easily replaced once they were destroyed. Once Rol’en’gorek’s forces learned how to fight them, the Undead could be overwhelmed and they would also know how to deal with any threats that arose from the Katze Plains in the future.

“Report!” A Lup runner shouted as she came up the stairs, “Our forces in the furthest northeast are under attack!”

“What happened?” Rana Kizurra asked.

“The Undead came out of the river,” the runner answered. “Before we knew it, they cut off the villages where Clan Ujin’s forces were stationed.”

Saraca’s eyes went to the area being reported as the runner relayed what he knew. It sounded identical to the attack on the banks of the Rol’en’gorek.

First one corner, now the other…what are they up to?

Another worrisome question presented itself as he stared down at the map, which was whether there were multiple Undead commanders present and not just some single will dominating them as was characteristic for massed Undead forces. The distance between the two corners wasn’t impossible for a tireless Undead being to cross in time to direct both offensives, but he couldn’t quite picture an Undead being scurrying back and forth like that. The more powerful they were, the prouder they became and the more likely they were to delegate ‘menial’ tasks such as trivial research or logistical concerns to their minions.

“We can’t just let them take bites out of us like this,” Rana Kizurra said. “A counteroffensive should be conducted to make up for our losses and keep morale afloat.”

“I don’t disagree,” Rana Saj said, “but how do we start? They are just standing there presenting themselves as targets, but that in itself makes one wonder whether there is some scheme in play. I’d be more confident about slipping past all those gaps in their lines to flank them if we had some idea of what they’re up to.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Maybe it’s just a blunder on their part?” One of the other Lords said, “Saraca noted how they aren’t accustomed to strategy and tactics like the living are.”

“If that’s the case,” said another, “we should make our actions count for as much as possible while we inform the Undead of their errors.”

“This is stupid,” Rana Kizurra snorted. “Is it possible for anyone to commit blunders like these?”

“It may seem strange,” Saraca said, “but it’s not unique to the Undead. Every race has natural blind spots and ‘holes’ in their thinking. The Undead are shackled to the entropic nature of death. The living grow, change and evolve. Thinking and behaving like the living is not so simple a thing for the Undead. Not that they care to.”

“Still, assuming that the enemy is conveniently committing errors is–”

“Report!” A Nar runner burst into the hall, “The harbour…the river…it’s terrible!”

The assembled Lords waited expectantly.

“It’s…it’s…just look!”

Saraca exchanged glances with Rana Saj before they followed the runner back down the stairwell and out of the keep. Mitra, Karuvaki, and their escorts joined them in the corridor along the way.

“What’s going on?” Mitra yawned.

“I have no idea,” Saraca replied. “Something about the harbour and the river.”

“Isn’t Devi there?” Karuvaki said.

His steps picked up. She probably was. The Merchant’s daughter had a Merchant’s habits, rising well before anyone else to catch the early markets and see that her goods were on their way. There wasn’t anything like that for her in Eastwatch, but she was applying her expertise to help organise the logistics of Rol’en’gorek’s clans.

Warriors and hunters rushed past them on the way to the waterfront. Even after exiting the city’s lower gates, however, he couldn’t sense any signs of battle. There was only a tense uncertainty that filled the atmosphere.

“Over here.”

Saraca’s ears swivelled toward Devi’s voice. His wife was standing at the foot of one of the harbour’s stone piers with five bodyguards.

“We were called out here,” Saraca said, “but we didn’t get much of an explanation.”

“I could see that,” Devi said. “I’m not sure if I could accurately describe it myself. It’s something straight out of a horror story.”

He peered out into the darkness, but there was nothing to be seen and little else to sense but the currents of air and water. His steps took him out onto the pier as he tried to get away from the interference on the wharf.

“Help…!”

A thin cry drifted over the water through the incessant sound of the rain.

“Help!”

“Over here!”

“Someone, help us!”

As the commotion behind him grew distant, more voices joined the first.

“Help!”

“Someone do something!”

“N-no! They’re here – abandon ship!”

“Damn it!”

『What’s going on out there?』

The panicked cries stilled at the question Saraca cast out over the water. He leaned forward, ears straining for a reply.

“It’s the Undead! They’re–eyaargh!”

“Swim for it!”

“Why isn’t anyone doing anything?!”

What the hell?

Saraca turned to the crowd along the shore.

“Get some bonfires going! They can’t see which way they’re going!”

People scurried about looking for fuel to pile up. The city had a bit of lighting, but the downpour likely obscured it. Saraca scrutinised the features of Eastwatch in his memory.

『Kasturi, there’s no way this city doesn’t have something like a lighthouse. Take a few Gladestalkers. Split up and find it.』

“Girika, can you see anything at all?”

“Not yet,” the Inquisitor replied. “So far, it just sounds like the Undead are in the river sinking shipping.”

“Why would they be so far out on the river, though? Eastwatch is the terminus of their transportation network for now.”

He couldn’t imagine that they were just lost in the dark. Since they were being attacked by the Undead, they should have been trying to get to shore as quickly as possible.

The prow – no, the stern? – of a river barge appeared at the edge of his Darkvision. As the rest of the vessel drifted into view, it became evident that it wasn’t on a course to the pier. A handful of Lup stood on the ship’s deck, but they didn’t seem to be doing much else.

“Hey!” Saraca called out, “The harbour’s this way!”

“We’ve lost control!” Came the reply, “The Undead broke our rudder and paddlewheels!”

“Get us a rope!” Saraca called over his shoulder. “We’ve got a ship adrift!”

A line of dockworkers came forward, carrying a long mooring line between them. One of Saraca’s Gladestalkers came forward to make the throw. The sturdy rope went high into the air, landing across the leading end of the drifting vessel. Its crew immediately jumped to secure their lifeline and the workers on the pier started to pull them in.

Several seconds later, a black blade surfaced from the water and cut the line.

“Seriously?” Girika said.

The barge, which was still drifting toward the pier, suddenly stopped. Its crew lost their footing, falling to the deck as they were pushed back out into the river.

『Karuvaki.』

“ 「Summon Monster V」.”

Nothing appeared when she cast the spell. Saraca assumed that she had summoned a Water Elemental. The crew of the barge fell over again as their ship abruptly reversed direction and headed back toward the pier. Nearby, the river started to churn.

“There’s a Death Knight down there,” Karuvaki said.

“Can you beat it?” Saraca asked.

“It shouldn’t be a problem.”

The water’s surface continued to churn as they awaited the unseen battle’s conclusion. Death Knights were terrestrial combatants, and, while the Undead didn’t need to breathe, it didn’t mean they were meant to fight underwater. Against a Water Elemental, it likely had no chance.

Water arced into the air and the approaching barge split in half. Its crew went into the water with a shout of collective shock. Before he could say a word, the head of one of the crew members hurtled out of the water at him. Saraca and Girika ducked as it flew past and into parts unknown.

“You bastards!” Rana Saj shouted, “Come out and fight like true warriors!”

The Baagh Lord’s challenge echoed over the water. That type of taunt only worked if the target noticed the user, however.

“What happened to the Death Knight?” Saraca asked.

“Reinforcements,” Karuvaki shook its head. “They withdrew. Even if we won, we can’t cover the whole river with summons.”

“Can we save our people, at least?” Rana Kizurra asked.

“You saw what happened just now,” Saraca said. “They seem intent on running their little horror show here. Since they are, we could probably lure them into more fights, but it comes at a cost. The more mana we spend here, the less we have for when they attack in earnest.”

“In other words, a diversion.”

“An atrocious one, but something entirely expected of the Undead.”

Saraca squinted as a flash of brilliant cerulean burst forth from Eastwatch’s nearest battlement, sending a column of light lancing into the overcast sky. It was followed by another, and then another, forming the points of a triangle over the city. At the formation’s centre, from the pinnacle of Eastwatch’s central keep, a fourth column of light, brighter and wider than the others, illuminated the land.

“Huh,” Girika said. “I didn’t expect to see one of those here.”

“What is it?” Rana Saj asked.

“It’s a light that the Humans always use,” one of the Lords nearby said. “It helps them at night more than it does us, so our mystics deactivated it when we conquered the city.”

“It’s more than that,” Saraca said. “It’s a navigational beacon. For land, sea and air traffic.”

The beacon was a concept from an epoch lost to mortal memory – a world that was essentially alien from their own. That being said, they didn’t fall out of use. The great ports of the world all used them, or at least an imitation of them. Rumour and fancy asserted that the real ones were driven by some unfathomable technology for equally unfathomable applications. That no one could figure out how they worked only served to encourage those lines of thinking.

“Whatever it is,” Rana Kizurra said, “I welcome it. The light seems to drive away the creeping darkness that the Undead have brought with them.”

“You sure ‘bout that?” Girika said.

Rana Kizurra turned to look at Girika, who jerked his head toward the river. The beacon illuminated the Rol’en’gorek, and a veritable fleet of drifting river barges was now visible for all to see. Occasionally, a ship was broken apart and its screaming crew was dragged under. Those few closest to the shore that thought to swim to safety met identical fates.

Saraca growled as the flame of hope ignited by the beacons was just as quickly quenched. A diversion the Undead’s actions might be, but he couldn’t just leave it at that.

“Karuvaki,” he said. “Let’s do this again.”

“Shall I call for the others?”

“No. Bring in that barge over there before it gets too far.”

He pointed to a ship that was just crossing the line of the pier. Karuvaki summoned another Water Elemental.

“What’s the plan?” Girika said.

Saraca opened his mouth to speak, then paused. He had intended to do it himself, but…

“Rana Saj.”

“Hm?”

“Get ready to taunt this next one.”

Rana Saj furrowed his brow in confusion, but he readied himself anyway. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, sheathing and unsheathing his claws.

The boat passing the pier a few hundred metres away suddenly stopped as if bumping into a submerged obstacle. It pivoted in place until its bow pointed toward the shore and swiftly glided in their direction. Twenty metres away, it slowed down to line up with its prospective moorings.

“Jump!” Saraca told them.

“But–”

“Do it!” Rana Saj roared.

Splashes followed one after the other as the crew jumped into the river. A second later, an undulating black blade hacked into the barge’s hull. It stopped halfway and withdrew.

“Karuvaki…”

“I got it.”

“How far?”

“About ten metres upriver.”

“Vortex it.”

A swirl of water formed nearby, growing into a surging whirlpool. The vortex swelled and rose above the river’s surface, and a Death Knight suddenly shot up into the air.

“You’re mine!” Rana Saj roared.

The Death Knight topped out at about ten metres over the water, where it hovered for a moment before flopping back into the water with a loud splash. Rana Saj exchanged awkward looks with Saraca.

“I thought I got i–woah!”

Rana Saj twisted to the side as the point of the Death Knight’s flamberge exploded out of the water. An unearthly howl pierced the air as the rest of the Death Knight followed through with the thrust. Beastmen nearby backed away cautiously as Rana Saj faced off with the Undead monstrosity.

“I guess it did work,” Rana Saj said as he stepped back from a vicious diagonal slash.

The Baagh Lord stepped back from the Death Knight’s relentless assault, deftly dodging its hate-filled strikes. Shouts of encouragement rose from the Beastmen as they passed. The fight advanced up the pier and onto the wharf.

『Keep an eye on the water. If any other Undead show up, knock their heads off.』

His bodyguard turned their attention to the river while Rana Saj’s fight moved up the shore. A ring had formed around the two combatants and neither had appeared to make much progress against one another. The cheers of the spectators had only grown in intensity.

“How old-fashioned,” Girika said.

“It is,” Saraca agreed, “but I don’t dislike it.”

It was a society where an individual warrior’s prestige and honour still meant something. Before a stage of advancement where they were replaced by cold calculation and duty in the name of sweeping institutional imperatives. What they witnessed now was something that usually only existed in flights of whimsy and fantastic tales.

The Death Knight’s flamberge moved in a series of black blurs as the Undead warrior tried to draw blood. Its motions abruptly ceased when Rana Saj finally decided to test one of its strikes with a parry. The undulating blade stopped against the Baagh Lord’s bracer. Rana Saj narrowed his eyes.

He threw his arm out, sending the pulsing black weapon to the side. A vicious slash of his claws raked against the inside of his opponent’s exposed arm. Sparks trailed in the attack’s wake. With the force put into the strike, the Death Knight’s return stroke came uncontested into Rana Saj’s side.

A deathly hush fell over the crowd.

Rana Saj’s chuckle rose over the steady patter of the rain.

“Pathetic.”

His paw went down to grasp the black blade resting against his enchanted green dragonscale armour.

“Pathetic!” He laughed, “If all you can do is receive attacks, then you can never prevail against us!”

Rana Saj sent his gaze across the gathered warriors.

“Tear this tortoise apart!”

As one, the crowd pounced. The Death Knight jerked to the side for a split second before Rana Saj drew its attention back to him again. Warriors of all of Rol’en’gorek’s races set upon their foe, ripping, tearing and biting. The biting probably hurt.

Eventually, pieces of black plate armour started coming off. Then, all at once, the Death Knight crumbled into pieces.

Saraca looked out across the river, then up at the sky.

As expected…

Cold, calculating, and single-minded, the Undead held absolutely no qualms about discarding a liability. They knew neither love nor loyalty; friendship nor faith. That fact was not lost upon Rol’en’gorek’s warriors, and he could feel their disgust for their enemy escalate all the more.

“They feed on your fear,” Rana Saj’s voice carried over the wharf. “They desire your despair. They wish for your wails of grief and anguish! But this is all that they are.”

Rana Saj’s foot came down to crush the pile of debris at his feet.

“This is all that they will ever be! Give them nothing that they want; remember everything that they have done. Let their atrocities fuel your righteous fury as you rend these abominations into dust!”

A tremendous roar shook the harbour and carried up through the pillars of light overhead. Saraca nodded in satisfaction. Now, they were ready to fight.