Sea of Death

CHAPTER FOUR

Ghaji wrinkled his nose as a horrid stench curled its way up his nostrils. He tried to ignore the churning in his gut and the splash of hot bile at the back of his throat-tried hard.

"Karrnathi undead stink bad enough as it is, Kirai." His voice was strained, and he fought to keep his gorge from rising any further than it already had. "Why make their stench worse by spreading that foul-smelling glop all over them?"

Aligned in rows of six and positioned less than a hand's breadth apart, a squadron of zombies clad in half-plate armor, two dozen in all, stood motionless upon the arid grassland of the Talenta Plains. It was only mid-morning, but there were no clouds in the sky to filter the punishing rays of the sun here on the edge of the Blade Desert, and it felt as if they inhabited a vast, open-air blast furnace. Ghaji wore a white cloth over his head tied in place with a black headband to ward off sun-poisoning. The rest of his uniform-if you could call it that-consisted of a white loin-cloth, a vest of boiled leather, sandals, and a belt beneath which he'd tucked the handle of his war-axe. Though he was a mercenary and not an official soldier in Karrnath's army, he was currently employed by them and therefore required to wear the army's standard uniform. But it was simply too damned hot for the half-orc to bother with such a foolish technicality, and whenever anyone tried to remind him of it, he just bared his teeth and growled until they left him alone. It never took long.

Kirai knelt before the zombies, a clay jar sitting on the ground at her right. Periodically, she reached inside the jar and brought out handfuls of thick, greasy paste which she rubbed liberally onto the zombie's skin. At times, for reasons Ghaji wasn't clear on, Kirai would look at the paste on her hands, frown, then reach into a satchel sitting on the ground next to the jar. She'd pull out a few ingredients-a root, a vial of greenish-blue liquid, or perhaps a cylindrical object that resembled a spice dispenser-and add a touch of this, a sprinkle of that, presumably to adjust the formula's potency. Right now she tossed in what Ghaji would've sworn was a dried spider carcass before continuing to rub unguent on a zombie's left leg.

Kirai was dressed for the heat, but their commander allowed that as the woman was an alchemist and not a soldier. She wore a white robe made of light cloth that covered her arms and legs, and while the clothing helped keep her cool, it did little to accentuate her appearance-much to Ghaji's disappointment. Kirai kept her raven hair cut short because of the heat, but she didn't wear a hat to shield her head from the sun. Instead she used a salve of her own making as protection against the sun's rays, which she rubbed daily all over her body, including the top of her head. She'd gotten Ghaji to try it once, but he'd broken out in a painful rash that had lasted the better part of three days, and so he stuck to his trusty cloth head-covering and otherwise took his chances with the sun.

Kirai smeared unguent on an undead knee-cap. "We've been here for the better part of a month, and you've complained about the smell ever single day. You should've gotten used to it by now."

Ghaji tried breathing through his mouth. It helped… a little. But inhaling the hot dry air made his throat feel as if it were caked with burning sand. "Some things you never get used to," he said in a queasy voice.

Kirai laughed. "Have you been taking that potion I mixed for you? It's supposed to help keep your stomach settled."

Kirai wasn't what most humans would deem beautiful. She was tall, lanky instead of thin, small-breasted, with bony elbows, knobby knees, and overlarge hands. Her face was plain, but when she smiled her green eyes shone, and she had full lips that Ghaji never got tired of looking at.

"I drink a dose every morning without fail," he said. "That's why I finally stopped throwing up every time I guard you."

"Are you saying that I induce vomiting?"

Ghaji felt suddenly flustered. "No! I meant-" He broke off when he saw Kirai grin. "Very funny."

Kirai continued smearing the greasy unguent on the zombie's leathery brown flesh. The undead creature remained completely motionless, displaying no sign that it was even aware of Kirai's ministrations, let alone that it felt them.

"You know I have to do this, Ghaji. Stink or no stink."

Ghaji understood quite well. He just enjoyed hearing Kirai talk — and not only because their conversations helped keep his mind off his roiling stomach. He enjoyed the sound of her voice and the way she laughed when she teased him.

Karrnathi zombies were more durable than ordinary undead because of the alchemical treatments they received. Those treatments not only prevented further decay, they kept the zombies functioning physically, though the undead warriors didn't move as swiftly as their living counterparts. But the zombies more than made up for their slowness in durability and savagery, as Ghaji had witnessed numerous times in battle since he'd signed on with the Karrnathi army.

But the harsh conditions on the Talenta Plains took a great toll on the zombies, further drying their already leathery skin and tightening their muscles and tendons. Because of this, they required almost daily alchemical treatments to continue functioning. That was one important advantage warforged had over zombies, Ghaji thought. The artificial constructs could operate in any environment-not to mention their scent was far more tolerable. They smelled of stone, metal, and wood… natural things. Zombies smelled like death. No, worse than that, for death was a natural part of the cycle of existence, but there was nothing natural about raised corpses. They stank of undeath, and to an orc-even a half-orc like Ghaji-there could be nothing more unnatural.

Though no one had ever come out and said so to his face, Ghaji knew he'd been assigned to this unit not only because he was a mercenary, but because he was half-orc. Who better to work with zombies than a half-blood like him? That way true Karrnathi soldiers-human soldiers-would be freed up for more important and less odious duties. Ghaji told himself that he was a mercenary, and a job was a job, even if it did literally stink at times. But this assignment had its positive side: he'd gotten to know Kirai well during their time working together. She was quite talkative, and he'd learned a great deal about her-more than he'd ever learned about any human, as a matter of fact. At first he'd been annoyed by how chatty she was, but he'd soon come to appreciate their often one-sided conversations and, in a strange way, to even need them.

The other soldiers, about a dozen in all, remained inside the stone tower that lay several hundred yards to northwest-upwind of where Ghaji and Kirai worked. Because of their stench, the zombies were permitted no closer to the Karrnathi outpost, and while Ghaji couldn't blame the humans, tending to the maintenance of the undead would've been marginally less unpleasant if they could've done it in the shade provided by the tower's shadow. Instead Kirai and he had to stand out here in full sunlight, rivulets of sweat pouring off of them.

A faint scuttling sound came to Ghaji's ears from off in the distance, and he drew his war-axe.

"Halfling riders," he warned Kirai. Without waiting for the alchemist to respond, Ghaji whirled about to face the direction he judged the sound had come from. A group of halfling warriors wearing hunting masks and sitting astride clawfoots raced across the plains toward them, the man-sized two-legged lizards kicking up a cloud of dust as they bore their riders onward. The Talenta Plains were home to tribal halflings, fiercely proud hunters who'd domesticated the savage clawfoots, one of the breeds of giant lizards that roamed this land. For years, Karrnath had sought to extend its territory into the Plains-hence the outpost where Ghaji was stationed. But the halflings-understandably enough-were reluctant to allow their ancestral homeland to be conquered piece by piece by the Karrnathi. Ghaji didn't blame the halflings for their reluctance to roll over and submit to Karrnathi rule, but they didn't pay his salary; the Karrnathi did.

Ghaji did want to leave Kirai, but it was his duty to alert the human soldiers within the outpost. Besides, he knew from experience that the alchemist could take care of herself. Ghaji ran toward the outpost, shouting back over his shoulder, "Kirai, get the zombies ready!"

Karrnathi zombies possessed a rudimentary intelligence that allowed them to fight with little to no instruction, but they were most effective when given specific, direct orders.

"Arm yourselves and defend the outpost against the halflings!" Kirai commanded.

Ghaji didn't look back to see if the zombies obeyed her. He knew they would, for they had no choice: it was how they were made. The zombies normally carried wickedly curved scimitars and shields that they never put down, but because they'd been receiving alchemical treatment from Kirai, the undead warriors had been instructed to discard their weapons. Two dozen scimitars and an equal number of shields lay on the ground in two neat rows, precisely where the zombies had put them. Ghaji knew the animated corpses were even now moving stiffly but deliberately to reclaim their weapons to fulfill Kirai's order. As soon as the zombies were armed once more, they would move toward the outpost as fast as their desiccated limbs would allow and engage the attacking halflings in battle.

But Ghaji had no intention of waiting for the zombies to catch up. After all, the halflings weren't going to rein their clawfoots to a halt and politely give the zombies a chance to reach the outpost.

The half-orc warrior drew in a breath and bellowed in the loudest voice he was capable of. "To arms! To arms!" He hoped he'd shouted loudly enough to rouse the soldiers in the outpost. The fort grew so hot during the day that they usually left the main entrance open to permit air to flow through the tower. A necessary step to make the atmosphere within the stifling tower walls bearable, perhaps, but one that seemed awfully foolish now. If the halflings reached the outpost's wide-open entrance before the zombies got there, the warriors would dismount, run inside, and attack the Karrnathi soldiers with the spears they carried and which they could wield as well in close quarters as they did out in the open while seated on the backs of their clawfoot mounts. The Karrnathi were skilled fighters, but the punishing heat sapped their strength, while the halflings, being native to this region, weren't bothered by the temperature in the least. The Karrnathi would be lethargic and clumsy, and once inside the halflings would make short work of them. But if Ghaji could reach the entrance first and seal the iron door shut…

He ran faster.

As he ran, he gauged the halflings' strength. Ten riders armed with spears, each riding a clawfoot with mottled gray-green hide, a wide maw filled with sharp teeth, and a sickle-like talon on each foot that could disembowel prey as easily as a white-hot dagger could cut through lard. Clawfoots were savage beasts, but their riders controlled the animals with almost supernatural ease. Before signing on with the Karrnathi, Ghaji had heard rumors that the Talenta halflings had some sort of mystical bond with their monstrous mounts, and after serving on the Plains for the last month, he believed it.

The halflings resembled elves after a fashion, though they were of shorter stature and possessed deeply tanned skin. They wore ritual hunting masks fashioned from clawfoot jaws, tunics made from animal skin, and armored vests constructed from clawfoot hide. They were beardless, and their long hair trailed out behind them as they rode full out toward the Karrnathi outpost.

As Ghaji drew near the outpost, he noticed one thing more. He'd been mistaken in his first assessment of how the halflings were armed. Of the ten riders, only nine carried spears. One halfling rode in the middle of the group, and instead of a spear, he carried an ivory bone-staff with runes carved deep into its surface. This halfling appeared older than the others, his hair white, skin wrinkled and leathery.

He's a shaman, Ghaji realized, and he felt a sudden unease. He'd never heard of a halfling shaman riding into battle before. Maybe the halflings hadn't come to fight, but rather were here for a different reason.

Yeah, right.

Ghaji put on a last burst of speed and reached the tower's entrance. One of the Karrnathi soldiers-a woman who normally refused to look at Ghaji, let alone speak to him-was already standing inside the doorway.

"I'll bar the entrance, half-blood" she said. "You and the zombies can deal with the halflings." She gave Ghaji a smirk before slamming the iron door shut in his face. A second later he heard the sound of an iron bar being slid into place.

Fury surged through Ghaji, and he felt like pounding his fist on the door and calling the woman a few choice names. But he didn't have time to give in to his emotions. Not if he wanted to survive the next few moments. War-axe gripped tight, lower incisors bared in a snarl, the half-orc spun to face the oncoming riders-

— and saw that they had stopped.

Not a dozen yards from where Ghaji stood, the halflings had formed a semi-circle behind the shaman. The shaman wore the same animal-hide tunic as the other riders, but without the extra protection of a clawfoot-scale vest. Bone-staff held lightly in his left hand, the shaman sat relaxed but alert in the saddle of a clawfoot whose head was marked with a patch of deep red that might or might not have been natural. The shaman regarded Ghaji for several seconds with the confident, unconcerned air of a man who was completely in control of the situation.

The shaman spoke with the lilting accent of the Talenta halflings, his voice surprisingly deep for one of his diminutive stature.

"You are not Karrnathi. Why do you stand guard before their outpost?"

Ghaji glanced sideways and saw the zombies, scimitars and shields grasped in their undead hands, lumbering toward them. The halflings couldn't have been unaware of the approaching undead, but they appeared not to notice, let alone care. Ghaji wasn't sure why that was so, but if he could keep the riders distracted for a moment or two longer, the zombies would arrive and the half-orc just might be able to take to his sleeping pallet tonight with the same number of limbs and major organs he'd started the day with.

"Because the Karrnathi pay well and they pay on time."

The shaman's lip curled upward in distaste. "A mercenary. You fight for profit. We fight to repel invaders from our land."

Ghaji didn't know this man, didn't have any reason to care what he thought. Yet the shaman's blunt assessment of Ghaji's motives cut through him as sharply as any blade ever had, and he felt ashamed.

Ghaji intended to say something bold and equally cutting to show the shaman that his words hadn't bothered him-even if it was a lie. But before he could speak, the shaman raised his bone-staff high and spoke a series of rapid syllables in a strange language that hurt Ghaji's ears to hear.

Ghaji risked another glance to check on the zombies' progress, and he was gratified to see they had closed to within half a dozen yards. Another few seconds… then he realized the zombies had stopped. The undead warriors stood motionless, seeming to stare at the shaman's upraised staff, their heads cocked slightly to the side in the manner of confused hounds. Ghaji then noticed something almost as disturbing. Instead of hanging back and remaining out of harm's way, Kirai had followed in the zombies' wake. She stood not ten feet behind the last of the zombies, her satchel of alchemical supplies slung over her left shoulder. She probably thought she could help somehow, and Ghaji admired her courage, but this was a battle in the offing-a far cry from smearing goo on undead flesh as part of daily zombie maintenance.

The zombies straightened their heads, their momentary confusion gone. Their full attention was focused on the halfling shaman, and Ghaji thought they seemed almost eager to hear his next words.

"Slay the Karrnathi-every one of them." And then, almost as an afterthought, the shaman added, "And slay the half-orc as well."

Two dozen leather-fleshed heads swiveled to look at Ghaji, two dozen scimitars were raised high in the air, and two dozen pairs of dry dead lips stretched into wicked, blood-thirsty smiles.

Ghaji sighed. It looked like it was going to be a long morning.

He lifted his war-axe, bellowed a battle cry, and rushed forward to meet the first of the oncoming zombie horde.

In the mouth of an alley across the street from Diran, Ghaji, and Asenka, a man sat with his back against the cold stone wall, knees drawn to his chest, hands wrapped around his legs, hugging himself for what meager warmth his body could provide. He was garbed in a tattered cloak that provided little defense against the late autumn winds, but though his clothing marked him as a man whose fortunes had taken an ill turn, the brown hair that hung past his shoulders had recently been washed, and his thick beard and mustache were neatly trimmed. Around his neck, concealed by his ragged clothing, a silver arrowhead hung from a chain. Lying on the ground next to him rested a longbow and a quiver full of arrows.

The man watched as the seven companions on the other side of the street spoke for several moments before going their separate ways. They were an interesting lot, but his gaze remained fixed on a single individual: the tall man garbed in black. Grim-faced, cold-eyed, he was the sort of man that exuded an almost palpable aura of danger, and yet there was gentleness about him as well. It was in the easy way he smiled at his friends, how he focused his full attention on them as they spoke, and the fondness in his tone of voice as he replied.

But despite his obvious kindness, at his core the man in black was a stone-cold killer. The man in the ragged cloak knew this. It was, in fact, why he had gone to such lengths to seek Diran Bastiaan out.

Images flashed through the cloaked man's mind: moons blazing bright and full, a shadowy form emerging from the darkness and bounding toward him, growling low in its throat, mouth opened wide to reveal sharp white teeth-

Shuddering, the man thrust the images from his mind. His breath now came in ragged gasps, and sweat rolled down his face despite the cold.

Diran moved off down the street, accompanied by the half-orc and the blond woman. The cloaked man waited several moments until he'd collected himself, then he gathered his bow and arrows, rose to his feet, and followed.