‘What is it we’re looking for, Denser?’ Richmond turned to the Dark Mage as they tramped across the dry earth, its crumbling texture crunching underfoot.
‘I haven’t a clue, to be honest. It’s information we need, not pieces of this, that or the other, if you see what I mean.’
‘So, some parchment, maybe?’ suggested Richmond.
Denser shrugged. ‘Maybe. Or another amulet. Perhaps even some sort of carved jewellery. Whatever, it ought to stand out amongst all the rubbish over there. It’ll be Balaian, of that I’m sure.’ He gestured again at the buildings. Collapsed though they largely were, it was plain that their design bore only nodding acquaintance to anything the races of Balaia might build. Many had openings that were probably doors. But they were oval and did not sit flush with the ground. And of those that were still partially roofed, all had a similar oval opening towards the apex of the domed structure.
In a way, they reminded Hirad of kilns, though they were wood and stone, not shaped stone like the Wesmen built. They were, or would have been, tall, each maybe twenty or more feet high. For a single-storey structure, that seemed high, although the absence of anything recognisable as a window meant he could be mistaken. There were other levels inside.
‘I don’t like this,’ said Hirad. He shivered.
‘So you’ve said, but I agree,’ said Ilkar. ‘It’s not right. I feel as if I might fall any moment.’
‘The less time I spend here the better.’ Hirad shook his shoulders to relieve sudden tension. ‘What the hell could Septern have wanted to come here for?’
A sheet of lightning flooded the night below the platform, illuminating everything it touched with a momentary mauve radiance. Shadows were plunged into even sharper relief and the after-effect lingered in Hirad’s eyes for a few seconds. It was then that he saw the movement. The Raven moved as one, dipped sword points suddenly at the ready.
From inside and around the edges of the buildings, walking and half stumbling, came the inhabitants of the village. In a few moments they had filled the space in front of the buildings and had begun a ponderous move towards The Raven. Hirad tried to make a count, but at fifty their movement fooled his eyes, and surely there were many times more than that.
From this distance, they looked thin and pale, a confusion of limbs, but within a few strides, what they were became plain.
‘Gods in the ground, I don’t believe it,’ whispered Hirad. The Raven, again as one, stopped.
‘ “Though death takes the breath from their bodies and the flesh from their faces”,’ quoted Denser, his voice a mutter.
There was something wrong with the way they balanced - or rather, didn’t. Not that there should be a right way for a dead creature to balance, thought Hirad. He shuddered. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but as the villagers continued their painfully slow approach, he thought he could see their backs twitching, almost with every stride.
One of the leaders stumbled over a rock and reflexively unfolded wings to steady itself. But they were nothing more than bone connected with shredded membrane, and it fell. The others moved on, now only seventy paces away.
It was impossible to take in. A force of dead avian people, rotted cloth covering bones, oval heads centred with huge empty eye slits, and all walking at the same dull pace. They were moving to fill the space to either edge of the plateau. And they were closing remorselessly.
‘Any suggestions?’ asked the barbarian, a cool feeling of panic edging around his heart. The dead would be on them in a couple of minutes.
‘They’ve got no weapons. What are they going to do?’ asked Talan.
‘Just walk on, I should think,’ said Denser. ‘After all, we’ve got nowhere to go except back through the rip and we can’t hope to stand up to that number. They’ll just keep on coming and eventually you won’t have the room to use your swords. And if you aren’t careful they’ll push you straight off the edge.’
‘But how can they be moving?’ demanded Hirad. ‘They’re just bones, they’re dead.’
‘Is it some sort of spell?’ asked Richmond.
‘Perhaps something that tied their lives and deaths to that promise they made Septern,’ said Ilkar.
‘Let’s worry about it later. We have to get behind them somehow, ’ said Hirad. ‘Whatever it is we’re looking for and they’re defending has got to be in that village somewhere.’
‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Denser. ‘Want to hear it?’ Hirad nodded. ‘Ilkar casts a ForceCone at them and punches a hole in the line. Me and you run through to search the village. Everyone else keeps them occupied as long as possible, then gets through the rip before they’re pushed off the edge of the platform.’
‘Why don’t we all go?’ asked Richmond.
‘Because they’ll just turn around. Or I think they will,’ replied Denser. ‘I’m hoping if there are people in front of them, they’ll keep coming and you can delay them, give us time to look. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?’
There was a brief silence, punctuated by the ominous dry brushing noise of the approaching dead, now only a minute away, their density increasing as the plateau narrowed towards its edge, forcing them closer and closer together.
‘It’ll do,’ said Ilkar.
‘Make it a good one,’ whispered Denser.
‘It’ll be nothing less,’ Ilkar said coldly.
Hirad came to stand by Denser and just to Ilkar’s left. ‘Talan, Richmond, when Ilkar’s cast the spell, make sure you all stand in front of the rip. At least when you get pushed back you’ll have the best chance of falling into it instead of down there . . . wherever there is.’
Talan nodded. ‘And what about you?’
Hirad shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just keep your fingers crossed, all right?’
‘Sure.’
‘Just a couple of things,’ said Ilkar. Hirad turned to him. ‘I’m going to put a colour in the Cone so you can see it, and when I cast it, get down there quickly. When I can see you next to the villagers, I’ll let it go. Then it’s up to you.’ Ilkar closed his eyes and began to shape the mana. An initial stab of alarm when he felt nothing was washed away by relief when a jolt shook his body as the base fuel of magic in Balaia breached the dimensional divide, drawing on the static power source that held the rip in place.
Ilkar wobbled on his legs, steadied and formed the ForceCone, adding speed and what he expected to be a swirling green to the spell’s innate power. A short intonation followed, then Ilkar opened his eyes and chose an area close to the left-hand side of the platform.
Speaking the command word, he jabbed his hands forward and the Cone crashed into the advancing villagers, shattering three on impact, their bones hurled in ail directions. It ploughed on, driving a wedge through the ranks of the dead, pushing bodies to either side and causing mayhem. Skeletons fell like dominoes left and right. Bone wings flapped uselessly as legs were swept away by falling comrades, and at the edge of the platform, some slipped over the edge and into oblivion.
The Cone held firm, Ilkar edging it back as the villagers slowly re-formed and advanced. Hirad turned to Talan and Richmond.
‘Don’t risk yourselves, don’t come back and don’t let him do anything stupid.’ He jerked his thumb at Ilkar. The warriors said nothing, inclining their heads in tight-lipped acknowledgement.
Hirad placed a hand on Denser’s shoulder. ‘Let’s go. Stay behind me.’ The barbarian hefted his sword and trotted off down the clearly defined Cone. As he closed, the sight of the villagers was shocking. Collections of bones shambling forwards, some with hands missing, others with ribs, hips or shoulders smashed, all with black streaks discolouring the white of their bones. But it was the lifeless heads which never moved that caused Hirad to flinch as he looked deep into the black caverns that were eye sockets.
Inside was nothing. No light, no life, nothing. Yet still they moved. Still they had purpose. If one had spoken, the barbarian would have turned and fled.