The Living Dead

10

Devis was still buckling his sword belt as he burst from the trees onto the road. The others were already at the bridge, but at this distance he could scarcely make them out through the mist. The river was kicking up a lot more moisture than it had been when horrible indigestion forced the bard into the woods. He ran through the cold vapor to join his companions.

He arrived in time to see Mialee dive to one side and an arrow cut through the air where her head had been a half-second before.

"Ambush!" Zalyn cried, drawing her short sword.

"Ambush?" Devis shouted over the roar of the river, quickly scanning the roiling water. "What made that splash?"

None of his companions was in any position to answer, and within seconds Devis forgot the question. A volley of arrows shot out from the forest on the north shore of the river Mormsilath, forcing the party to scatter onto the bridge.

Devis heard Mialee whisper a spell as Darji took to the air. The bard saw a faint blue glow enshroud the elf woman for a moment. The aura soaked into the wizard's skin and disappeared.

A personal armor field, he guessed. Smart move. Mialee's skimpy, borrowed robe barely protected her from fatal sunburn, let alone a speeding arrow. He sung a quick refrain and felt a similar magical field surround his own body.

Diir already held both swords in his hands and was scanning the tree line.

The bard stooped to pick up one of the projectiles while keeping his eye on the north shore. He recognized the make immediately. He'd seen the like a hundred times in the tent city on Morkeryth.

Something inside Devis snapped.

The bard had tried to live a good life, if only on the fringe of polite society. He'd befriended the downtrodden. He'd never resorted to blood to settle a dispute unless he was given no other choice. And when he did dip into the odd temple treasury or innkeeper's cashbox, he always made sure to spread a little of the wealth to those less fortunate than himself.

Yesterday, all Devis wanted to do was impress the pretty girl and maybe coax her back into one of the private rooms at the Silver Goblet. He didn't deserve this final insult. The god of the open road had abandoned his balladeer. Devis was under attack by halfling highwaymen.

His companions could only stare as the bard stomped back the way they had come, an arrow clutched in his white-knuckled fist.

"All right, you idiots!" Devis shouted at the forest as he neared the end of the wooden slats. Another hail of arrows erupted from the trees, sending Mialee, Diir, and Zalyn running for cover that wasn't there. Devis continued off the bridge and strode with grim purpose to the tree line, ignoring the volley of deadly projectiles. By dumb luck, all the arrows missed him but one. That shaft should have struck him, but it deflected away as if by magic.

The bard stopped, placed one hand on his sword hilt, and shook the arrow in his fist at the unseen attackers. "Who's out there?" Devis hollered at the top of his lungs. The bard hurled the arrow into the trees and drew his sword. He raised the blade over his head like a pirate king and snarled, "YOU CAN ALL GO TO HELL!"

Water roared in Devis' ears. High overhead, Darji cawed. A wolf howled somewhere in the forest, far south of the river.

"Devis?" a small, hesitant voice called from the tree line. A tiny figure, only slightly larger than Zalyn, stepped from the shadow-ridden woods. The halfling held a short bow in one hand. He wore simple, homespun clothes, a quiver, a dagger, and a familiar cloak of not-quite-cured animal hides. One eye was covered by a thick leather patch made from a dog's ear.

"Hound-Eye?" Devis laughed.

Hound-Eye didn't answer, merely stared intently at Devis with one eye. Someone had reattached his foot, but the halfling stood at an angle that told the bard an expert had not done the job. Devis had never seen Hound-Eye look so deadly serious. Two more halflings emerged, flanking the man Devis had known as a petty thief. He recognized the two new arrivals.

The female in the wolfskin tunic was called Takata. She ran with a gang that fancied themselves wild bandits of the forest, but her base was in Tent City. She was a powerful figure in the community, bringing stolen goods and pilfered wealth into the makeshift village at an admirable profit. What most people didn't know was that Hound-Eye and Takata were married and had two young children. The male in the improbably bright velvet suit Devis knew only as Bloody Bill. He and his well-dressed outfit ran the other half of Tent City, specializing in blackmail, gambling, and assassination.

Something had drastically shaken up the status quo. These were pillars of the community, relatively speaking. Why had they taken to the open road like common bandits?

"Well?" Devis asked. "What are you doing this far south? Bill, you need a new suit?"

Hound-Eye looked to his left and right, then cleared his throat. "It's gone, Devis," he said with genuine sadness. "All of it. We're all that's left."

"What's gone?" Devis's voice trailed off as understanding intruded. His hunch had been right, unfortunately. "Oh. Oh, gods. Hound-Eye." He waved his sword and said more clearly, "All of you. I'm so sorry." The bard swallowed. "How did it happen?" he asked. He already knew the answer. "Undead?"

"Wolves," the one-eyed thief said. "Not normal ones."

"They devoured our families whole," Bloody Bill growled. "Nothing could stop them. They didn't feel pain."

"Or fear," Takata added. "I'd never met a wolf I couldn't scare off before today, or a wight I couldn't kill. We get both wandering into Tent City all the time. These were something else."

"Of course they were something else!" Hound-Eye barked. "They were both!"

"Excuse me," Zalyn interrupted from behind Devis. She strode fearlessly forward, oversized shoulder bag clanking against her shining armor with each step, and deliberately pulled off her leather gloves and dropped them onto the bridge. "I am a healer. Please, I can help your wounded." She raised her hands to show her empty palms. "I bear you no ill will, or, um, anything like that."

The last thing Devis expected to see next was an enormous, black crocodile with empty eye sockets explode from the river and charge onto the bank straight at the hapless halflings. But he did.

The survivors of Tent City screamed and scattered, but the croc-a thirty-footer, at least-moved with supernatural speed and it snapped up Bloody Bill in one gulp.

The bank of the river shook as the huge crocodile swiveled its massive body on the narrow beach. White foam shot high into the air as the creature's broad tail cut across the water's surface. The crocodile snorted, a curious noise that sounded less like an animal and far more like a disgusted three-year-old.

Devis had to be hallucinating. For just a moment, he actually thought the croc's empty sockets flashed twin pinpricks of blood-red light.

And had the crocodile just grinned at him?

Diir's voice cut through the roar of the river and snapped Devis out of his trance.

"Bridge!" the elf cried.

Devis just managed to avoid several collisions as he turned to run south onto the wooden span. The crocodile followed him with its nose. For a split-second Devis thought the creature might simply return to the river, but the bridge shuddered violently as the massive zombie crocodile heaved its bulk out onto the thick, wooden planks.

The crocodile took three steps onto the centuries-old span. Devis heard the ancient pylons groan under the reptile's weight. A crossbeam snapped with a deafening crack, and the east side of the bridge dropped a foot. Everyone on the bridge, Devis included, jerked violently to one side.

The crocodile lumbered closer. All four of its tree-trunk legs rested on the creaking structure, and its tail churned sand and spray into the air. Shockwaves shuddered through the bridge and sent everyone stumbling.

Devis lost his balance and landed hard on his solar plexus. The bard gasped for breath. He couldn't see a thing, and his ears felt stuffed with cotton.

He heard more beams and pylons cracking and dug into the wet wooden planks with the tips of his fingers. The bridge dipped like a swayback horse under the reptile's weight. Devis felt himself slipping toward the monstrous croc, plank by plank.

Then he felt a pair of strong arms hook him under the shoulders and drag him away from the monster. Devis raised his battered head and looked at Diir, who somehow maintained his balance on the crumbling bridge as he dragged the bard away from immediate harm. With a grunt, the elf heaved and tossed Devis to the south shore of the river with his free hand. The rough landing left him staring at Hound-Eye's fur-booted feet.

Diir shouted over the noise of rushing water and cracking timbers, "I've a plan. Hit it with everything on my word!"

Devis heard the ring of elven steel cut through the roar of the river. Diir, he guessed, had just drawn his magic short sword. He noted absently that his friend's vocabulary was growing by leaps and bounds.

The little gnome cleric scampered to his side with a clank of armor and loose vials. Zalyn helped raise the bard into a sitting position and knelt on the ground behind Devis to prop him up. As soon as Devis opened his eyes, he immediately wished Diir had left him to slide into the crocodile's belly. At least that would have been quick, and he would have known his friends had outlived him, if only for a few minutes.

He tucked his knees and pushed off with his palms, forcing his body forward, and rolled onto the balls of his feet. Zalyn grasped his hands before he could roll backward, and helped him stand.

Devis flicked a leather strap from his right shoulder. The battered lute dropped into his hand from the carrying strap he'd contrived from a "sling of protection" Zalyn pointed out in her non-stop travelogue through the temple armory. She promised it would deflect arrows, and apparently it had worked.

Devis winced as the convex body of the lute pressed against what was probably a broken rib, but he strummed a chord anyway. The sound was ugly and out of tune.

Without haste, Devis twisted a peg at the end of the lute's neck and plucked the offending string again, his focus on the crescendoing twang. He picked it twice, listened. Devis fretted the chord, hit each string in turn with his thumb. Then he picked up speed, plucking with flying fingers, now and then pausing to turn a peg or bend a lute string with his thumb, still in desperate pursuit of harmony.