The zombies moved very slowly, a thick, green smoke pouring from open cavities on their shoulders. Their methodical march toward Glissa and her friends was unnerving. It felt like a force of nature. It was so big, so slow moving that you knew it was coming, but there was little you could do to try to stop it. When they entered the ring of magical wards that Bruenna had set, they triggered a loud noise like a huge gong being slammed by a mallet. The alarm went off three times then fell silent.
Glissa pulled her sword and was relieved to see that Bruenna and her wizards were awake and alert. The elf chuckled to herself. Apparently their wards were loud enough to wake the dead.
To her right, Al-Hayat was on his feet. Slobad had taken to his shoulders, his vedalken pike held under his arm like a lance. To her left, Bosh towered over her, rubbing his hands together, the same somber look on his metal face that he always had.
The human wizards were the first to strike. A cloud of wisping blue smoke poured out over the edge of the swamp. It mixed in the air with the nims’ poisonous green gas then settled on the advancing monsters, engulfing nearly a dozen of the tattered nim. Where the smoke touched them, whirling person-sized tornadoes emerged, enveloping their victims in cones of spinning wind. The miniature storms lifted the swamp muck into the air, obscuring the nim from view.
As quickly as they started, the tornadoes disappeared, losing all of their momentum and simply falling away. The swamp muck spun on once or twice more before falling to the ground as well in great wet circles. The nim inside were gone.
“Where’d they go?” shouted Glissa.
“Returned to where they came from,” replied Bruenna.
“Will they come back?”
“Perhaps,” replied the wizard, “but that is something we can worry about when it happens.”
Glissa nodded. Better to spread them out, she thought.
Despite their slow march, the nim were now almost upon the group, and the elf gripped her sword tight. The sight of these torn, worn-out creatures unnerved her considerably, and the sooner she could cut them down, return them to their natural place of rest, the better.
Al-Hayat must have agreed because the wolf let out a tremendous snarl and leaped forward, grabbing three nim in one huge mouthful. The forest creature champed down, and Glissa could hear the harsh snapping of bones and the wet slogging of rotten flesh. The wolf shook his head as he had when they fought the vedalken. Only this time, his foe was not so sturdy.
Without a sound, the nim came apart under the assault. Limbs went flying. Arms came off at the shoulders. Legs came apart at the knees, and heads went rolling off into the darkness. Al-Hayat spit out the filth. A mash of rotten flesh and ruined organs covered the inside of his mouth, and he rubbed his tongue against his front teeth trying to dislodge the foul goo.
Meanwhile, atop his back, Slobad rode into battle valiantly, like a knight on a steed. Holding his pilfered vedalken halberd under his armpit, the goblin braced the weapon with both hands and all the muscle he could muster. As the wolf charged in, the goblin skewered a nim on the end of his pike. The magically charged head ripped through rotten flesh, coming cleanly out the other side. With a swift yank, Slobad managed to pull the weapon from the undead soldier’s body before it fell, once again lifeless, to the ground.
But when the wolf began shaking his head, the goblin had no way to hold on. Both of his hands firmly gripped around his polearm, Slobad slipped sideways. Refusing to give up his weapon, the little guy allowed himself to slide off of the wolf. Al-Hayat was so large that Slobad had time to gather his feet below himself before he reached the edge, and with a push he leaped, landing safely on the soggy ground, his halberd still gripped in both hands.
Glissa watched the goblin land, could see the streak the head of his blue, charged weapon made as it flew through the air. Then the elf had other things to consider.
The first of the nim made it to her. Having planted her feet, preparing herself for the charge, Glissa let out a whoop and swung down on the first of her attackers. Soft flesh parted, and a zombie came apart right in front of her. A sticky black paste clung to her blade, and she barely had enough time to shake it off before she was cutting into another of the shambling undead.
Beside her, Bosh was testing out the strength of the nims’ bodies, gingerly squashing them with his huge thumb. Their soft flesh must have passed the test, because the golem reared back and brought his fist down full force, sending a wave of liquid in all directions.
Glissa felt something cold hit her face. She hoped it was swamp water. The alternative was far too gruesome, and she didn’t have time to investigate or get the willies just now. Her blade flashed out before her again and again, taking off limbs and cutting out chunks of flesh.
Nothing short of cutting these foul beasts into tiny chunks stopped them from coming. If they had legs, they would walk. Without legs they would crawl. The squirming mass slowly made its way closer and closer to Glissa, Bosh, Slobad, Al-Hayat, Bruenna and all her wizards. And with each step, they crowded in, forcing the companions to step back.
Behind them was the sharp hill they had come down to reach the edge of the swamp. Moving back up it was difficult, but it provided height-an advantage in this battle. The nim reached out, grasping at the live creatures. Their bony claws were torn from their wrists by blades, halberd, and magic.
Still they came.
The ground turned quickly to a soupy mess of rotten entrails. Fallen nim hit the sloping hill, hydroplaning down the slime, slipping back into the swamp to be gobbled up by the liquid-only to be replaced by more just like them. It seemed as if there was a limitless supply.
Glissa took another step back up the hill. This wasn’t the direction she wanted to go. “What do we do?”
“What can we do?” replied Bruenna. “We cut them to shreds. Smash them to bits, but still they come.”
Even Bosh retreated against the onslaught. Though his fleshy hands were not harmed by the soft-bodied creatures, the flood of nim was too ferocious, and he fell back with everyone else.
Al-Hayat had taken to swatting the swamp monsters with his giant paw. His claws and fur were covered in filth. Between attacks, Glissa could see him still trying to work the rancid meat off of his tongue and out from between his teeth.
Slobad stayed beside the great forest creature, keeping nim away from Al-Hayat’s flanks but also keeping the wolf’s body to his back to avoid being surprised himself.
Never before had Glissa felt as if she had scored so many hits while at the same time she lost so much ground. Turning another nim into paste with the flat of her blade, Glissa took a moment to look over her shoulder. While the group retreated they had managed to climb nearly to the top of the sloping hill and back up onto the plains.
The first of the moons was beginning to rise, and the outline of the razor grass fields in the far distance came into her view. Something was not right. Though it was still mostly dark, Glissa could just make out long narrow lines in the fields, as if something had cut its way through, leveling the razor grass to prickly stubble.
Checking back briefly with the nim, Glissa allowed herself a long stare at the plain, trying to figure out what seemed so out of place. Was that a trick of the light or was something moving out there? Then her heart sank once again into the pit of her stomach, and a ripple of fear washed over her shoulders.
“Levelers!” she shouted. “The levelers have found us.”
* * * * *
Marek stood before the door to Pontifex’s chamber. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Little bubbles appeared inside his face mask, and he drew in air through the serum.
Forcing himself to relax his shoulders, the commander knocked on the door.