The Living Dead

23

The day had been interminable. As the sunlight faded, making their little space even darker, Zalyn suddenly snapped out of her trance. Devis and Hound-Eye abandoned their efforts at teaching Nialma how to gamble, and they all gathered expectantly around the diminutive elf.

"Children, I apologize for leaving you," Zalyn said. "We have much to prepare for. The day of prophecy is close at hand."

"Says…you…banana," Mialee managed without looking up from her spellbook. She almost had the invisibility spell, she hoped. She wouldn't know until she tried, but it was the most useful spell she could think of that she could master in a short time.

"I admit," Zalyn croaked around another hacking cough, "I deceived you. But holy Ehlonna told me that she needed a millennium to recover, and I will not doubt her, capricious as she may be. We must act one thousand years to the day from that hour we sealed the Buried One beneath Morsilath. But Darji has just told me something chilling, something I needed time to cogitate on before I told the rest of you."

She composed herself, and Mialee and the others quietly shuffled around her to listen. For a split second, Mialee was reminded of the shambling movements of the walking dead. Even with a day of rest, the besieged group was showing signs of serious fatigue.

"What?" Hound-Eye blurted, shifting impatiently next to Nialma and her family.

"Just as we did not know of Cavadrec's transformation from elf to wight, we did not know that this day chosen by Ehlonna would allow Cavadrec to compound his betrayal."

"In Common?" Devis asked.

"Cavadrec has discovered a spell so terrible I am loath to describe it, but I must," Zalyn said sadly. "He has discovered a way to raise the bodies of all the fallen warriors buried at Morkeryth and turn them into a well-armed wightling army under his complete control."

"Why does he need a spell?" The bard pressed. "You said he used to do that all the time in the bad old days. He didn't need a special spell to do what he did to Silatham. You said he just sent in a bunch of rats."

"Never did he raise so many all at once, or such a pernicious group of corpses. Infectious wightlings are perfectly adequate to convert a living soul into the walking dead, but when I say the dead of Morkeryth, I speak of legends. The greatest of our elf heroes from the days before," Zalyn intoned. "Many of the most recent fell fighting his evil at our sides. Thousands upon thousands of Silatham rangers, dwarven battle clerics, human paladins lending the strength of their many gods, and the noble fighters of the Halfling Defense Corps." She eyed Hound-Eye knowingly, who nodded with a mix of horror and something like awe.

"There ain't no 'Halfling Defense Corps,'" Hound-Eye said. "My kind look after themselves, but we don't go in for armies."

"Not anymore," Zalyn said. "The Corps' ranks were decimated a thousand years ago. This region was forever changed by Cavadrec's ravages, from the southern desert to the foul stench of Dogmar to your Tent City, my friend."

"What does . . . exact dandeli-date . . . have to do with anytrout?" Mialee said with effort.

"The thousand-year mark is the crux of the spell, as it is the length of time Ehlonna demanded. Cavadrec must carry out the incantations and mix the appropriate potions and poultices. That, I fear, is why he has taken Favrid and, Favrid tells me through his familiar, the reason my thirimin yet lives. Cavadrec lacks only one element to complete the spell and raise his army of darkness. The Buried One must drink the freshly-drawn blood of one living being who witnessed the fall of all those he wishes to raise."

Mialee gasped. "Feather," she whispered.

"Cavadrec was not aware, I believe, that he had two choices," she said, touching her fingertips to her breast. "My blood, too, would have worked. But he did not know I still lived. I have been hidden in the temple of the Protector for a long time, and we allowed the Buried One to believe I had died of old age." She smirked ironically, now she really was dying of old age.

"I suspect that playful Ehlonna has seen fit to make my contrived prophecy truth. I hope so, for if we fail, she will suffer the most of all," Zalyn replied. "Life will be replaced with living death. The world will fall under his sway, and the Hater of Life will reign supreme." She sounded more than a little like the crone prophet.

"Oh, just that," Devis cracked, but no one laughed. He grimaced, then asked, "So what must we do, Zalyn?"

"Clayn," Zalyn nodded at the ranger and pointed at a dusty, forgotten chest bigger than Hound-Eye, tucked far beneath the battered and broken wooden table.

"Certainly, Elder," Clayn said, and dragged the chest so that it sat before Zalyn. She whispered a short prayer and sprinkled a bit of some green powder on the trunk's heavy lock, which disappeared in a magical flash. The lid popped open of its own accord, and the others stood and gathered behind the cleric.

Mialee's jaw dropped. She didn't' recognize everything in the trunk-planes, was that a lute?-but it looked like a small treasure trove of scrolls, weapons, and artifacts.

"Not all components of our 'prophecy' were turned to stone and buried on the battlefield," Zalyn said with a gnomish giggle. "Some have been here, in my home, for safekeeping."

Mialee blinked. She hadn't realized they'd been hiding in the house her teacher had shared with his thirimin. Looking around now, though, she saw that the place bore definite signs of Favrid's absentminded decorative style, if one could call it that.

"First," Zalyn said proudly, "is this lute." The little elf pulled the instrument from the jumble of objects. She turned and extended the elegantly engraved instrument, which looked worn with age, to Devis. "I hope you won't mind, Devis," she said with a grin.

Devis looked as if he'd seen a ghost. He goggled at the lute, but slowly held out his hands to take it. He slung the strap over one shoulder and picked a melancholy chord that rang throughout the room.

"Gunnivan," he whispered, gazing at the carvings in the golden wood.

"Yes, it was his," she said. "With this lute, Gunnivaris music helped us inspire Ehlonna herself to overcome her injuries and seal the Buried One in his prison. Tomorrow, you will use it to help me coax her into action with…" She rustled around amongst the objects, "this."

She held out an ancient scroll, which the bard accepted and unrolled. He gaped once more. Mialee guessed this was the bard's day for surprises.

"Gunnivan wrote this!" Devis gasped. The old bard had been dead for so many years, Devis thought he'd learned all of his mentor's secrets years ago.

"Indeed," Zalyn said, "with my help, and Favrid's. But I think you'll recognize the soul of the piece is his."

Devis plucked the lute, lost in the quality of sound produced by the masterfully crafted instrument. Zalyn returned to her trunk and produced two more scrolls.

"This," she said, shaking the tube in her left hand, "is the sacred invocation I must use soon after Devis plays Gunnivan's music. With Ehlonna's full strength at our backs, this spell will break through the Buried One's unholy protections. This, on the other hand," she said, shaking her right fist, "will nullify Cavadrec's arcane devices and methods."

"He's a wizard, too?" Devis asked.

"He had a thousand years to study, as I have. But he also relies on many arcane artifacts."

"Like a helm that lets him disappear?" Soveliss asked.

"Exactly, ranger," Zalyn said. "Unfortunately, I ceased most of my arcane studies long ago, even if I weren't required to read the invocation of Ehlonna. I can read the scroll, any wizard could, but to ensure success, it must be Favrid. This is where you come in, Mialee. Favrid is restrained from using his hands, and you know that he never bothered studying how to summon magic without them. You must free him from the restraints however you can, and get this scroll into his hands. Darji tells me that they are mundane shackles. I imagine Cavadrec gets special pleasure out of holding Favrid just out of reach of his powers.

"I think the rest is clear," Zalyn finished, though she did not close the trunk. "Once the invocations are made, Cavadrec is still a wight, albeit trapped in the body for the first time in a thousand years. That is our chance to strike. At the moment Favrid finishes the nullification spell, you, Soveliss, must put the Mor-Hakar in the bastard's stinking brain."