Chapter 2:  Revenge

Gregor whistled to himself as he watched the slaves work.  The dull thuds of pickaxes were music to his ears.  This year’s haul had been exceptionally good.  A worker had discovered a new vein of hestus.

There was only one thing that could have made his day better.  His loins itched as he thought back to the black-haired girl who had killed herself three years ago.  He should have taken her when he had the chance, he lamented.

After making sure the slaves were following directions he headed towards his quarters.  After he entered his home, he poured himself a glass of ale.  Life was pretty good, he grinned.  Most people would look down upon a mine foreman, but it was an easy job.  He got to boss people around all day and he didn’t have to pay the slaves a single copper. 

He took a long sip from his glass.  He was about to set it down and take a nap when he heard multiple screams resound throughout the mine.

“What now?” he thought, furrowing his brow.  He grabbed his sword off the desk to his side and made his way towards the direction of the scream.  He approached one of the guards in charge of overseeing the workers. 

“What’s going on?” he asked in gruff voice.

“I’m not sure boss,” the guard replied, “The slaves just started going crazy.  I think they’re trying to escape.”

“A rebellion!” Gregor grinned.  Rebellions were fun.  Unarmed slaves versus armed guards.  The result was obvious.  It was the perfect opportunity for Gregor to have some fun.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, the ground began to tremble.  He looked down the ramp that led deeper into the mine and went pale.  Thousands of slaves were charging towards him.

“All of them?” he panicked.  This was the first time he had seen so many slaves rebel at once.  Usually they were so cowardly that only a handful fought back at any given time.

It was then that Gregor noticed something strange about their behavior.

“It doesn’t look like they’re trying to rebel,” the bizarre notion filled his head, “It looks like they’re running away from something.”

Deep dread filled the eyes of the running slaves, they trampled over one another in their haste.  Gregor’s heart grew cold, he had never seen them behave in such a fashion.

“Seal the gate!” he roared.  A massive portcullis stood between the mine and the outside world.  It was reinforced.  Once it was shut no one could get in, and more importantly no one could get out.

The gate rumbled as it began to descend.  The running slaves panicked.  Their speed increased as they bolted towards the exit.  Gregor’s guards stood in their way with swords drawn.  They slashed at the incoming thralls, doing everything in their power to combat the surging tide.

Some slaves successfully made it to the other side of the gate and continued on to freedom.  The unlucky ones were crushed beneath the weight of the gate or were trapped on the other side.

“Stop this instant!” Gregor bellowed.  The slaves were slamming their bodies against the gate in an attempt to break it.

Just as he was about to personally go and remove the slaves pounding against the gate, he noticed movement in the distance.

“Why are those slaves moving so slowly?” he wondered, bewildered.  He couldn’t understand why some people were rushing towards the gate while others were slowly shambling towards it.  It wasn’t until they got closer that Gregor understood.  Dread immediately filled his heart.

The undead!

The lumbering figures were decayed.  Some were missing limbs and others were complete skeletons.  He instantly turned towards the men operating the gate.

“Open up!” he howled.  His men looked at him in confusion.  Didn’t he just tell them to shut it?

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“It’s the undead!” he shouted, “It’s the undead!”

The men operating the gate immediately went pale.  Their hands trembled as they rapidly began turning the switch that controlled the gate.  Just as the gate was about to rise, an arrow streaked through the sky and caught one of the men in the throat.

“Dear gods,” Gregor whispered.  The undead had weapons!  Gregor immediately changed his plan.  He knew there would be no escape.  They would have to fight.

“Get into formation!” he cried.  The veterans among the guards obeyed instantly.  They immediately lined up, shields and swords at the ready.

Armed skeletons made their way to the front of the horde.  They wore rusty armor and had equally depreciated weapons.  However, they held an overwhelming advantage in numbers.  Gregor’s band of one hundred guards would not be able to hold out for long.

Just as the undead got a dozen feet away, they abruptly stopped.  Their formation split in half, creating a long aisle down their center.  Gregor blanked at their strange behavior.  His hand gripped his weapon until his knuckles turned white.  He wasn’t sure what was happening, but it unnerved him.

The mine turned deathly quiet.  The slaves huddled against the gate, trembling in fear.  Gregor’s men waited with their breath held, not sure what to expect. 

After a few minutes of waiting, the sounds of footsteps rang out.  Someone was walking through the corridor of the undead.

When the figure made its way into view, Gregor’s heart immediately lurched.

The figure had long black hair that reached towards the floor, and pale white skin that looked as if it had never seen the light of the sun.  More importantly was the aura the individual possessed, deep hatred seemed to seep out from her very core.  Her eyes contained a baleful light that caused Gregor to quake in fear.

With a voice that grated against Gregor’s nerves, the woman spoke.

 “Hello Gregor.”

Gregor trembled.  The woman knew his name.

“I-I-I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting you before, o’ mighty necromancer,” he stuttered.  He immediately knelt upon the floor in submission, casting his gaze towards her.

“You really don’t remember me?” the figure frowned, “No matter.”

Deidra cast her gaze amongst the slaves, causing them to back away in fear. 

“Where’s Martha?” she sent Gregor a questioning glance.

“Who?” Gregor asked, confused.  There was no way he could remember the names of all the slaves that worked in the mine.

“Useless,” Deidra sighed.  She closed her eyes and began to sense the element of death.  Her grandmother was old.  She should be a hair’s breadth away from leaving the mortal realm.  After a minute of searching, she found who she was looking for.  Cowered amongst the center of the slaves, sat an old woman with white hair.  A cruel expression was etched into her very being.

Deidra snapped her fingers.  Two skeletal warriors immediately walked forward and grabbed Martha.  They dropped her in front of Deidra.

“Hello grandmother,” Deidra said, hate-filled eyes glancing downwards.

Gregor’s mind reeled.  He recognized the old woman.  It was the grandmother of the girl that died three years ago.  He grew faint.  The last thing he had done to Deidra was whip her.  What would be in store for him?

“Stupid girl,” Martha spat, “Can’t even die properly.”  Deidra’s face grew cold.

With the assistance of her skeleton helpers, she hoisted Martha into the air.

“An eye for an eye,” Deidra muttered.  She dragged Martha to the edge of the abyss.

“Goodbye Martha,” Deidra said with a frown.  She threw her into the pit.

Gregor felt a wetness in his pants.  He had pissed himself from fear.  He slowly backpedaled, trying to escape from Deidra’s notice.

“Don’t move.” Deidra ordered, without turning her back.

“I still haven’t carried out your punishment.”

Gregor grew frenzied.  He ran in attempt to escape from Deidra’s wrath.  He was too slow though.  With speed unbefitting the undead, Deidra’s skeleton army dashed forward and grabbed him by the arms.

Deidra slowly walked towards him.

“Twenty lashes for failure to obey orders,” she drawled.  She reached his side and pulled away his whip.

With the flick of her wrist she sent the scourge directly into Gregor’s back.  He howled in agony.

She slowly counted aloud.  However, when she reached nineteen she stopped.

“What number was I on again?” Deidra asked her skeletons.  Naturally, they didn’t answer.

“I guess I better do a hundred more,” she grinned. 

An hour went by as Deidra carried out Gregor’s punishment.  His back was a mess of blood and gore.  He had fainted long ago.

“Maybe this will wake you up,” she said, pulling out the rusty dagger she had retrieved long ago.

She held it towards his crotch.  Then, with a slash, she severed Gregor’s member from his body.

He jolted awake, howling in agony before passing out once more.

Deidra still wasn’t satisfied.  Her hatred ran too deep.  With a thrust of the dagger she inserted it into Gregor’s neck, causing his blood to spread onto the dirt.

She then closed her eyes, gathering her magic into the air.  With a snap of her fingers the death elements surged through the air and entered Gregor’s body.

“Don’t think I’ll let you go that easily,” Deidra smiled, a crazy look in her eyes.

“You’ll serve me for the rest of eternity.

With a laugh, she turned towards the remaining slaves. 

“Kill them,” she ordered.  Her hatred had consumed her long ago.  She would not stop until the world itself was destroyed.

Her undead army surged forward.  Rotten teeth sank into human flesh.  Rusted swords bit into bone.

Deidra’s nostrils flared, taking in the smell.  Her smile grew wider in satisfaction.

Now there were more corpses to add to her legion.