Intent

His hand moved with an ancient grace as the old man penned
an entry into the tome that served as his journal. He no longer
had to think about what he was doing it was, to him, just another
entry of his days activities and a few personal complaints regarding
matters the annoyed him to no end. He glanced out the window to see
the sun setting. Most would consider the view breathtaking. To him,
it was the same view he had seen since the tower had been completed
seventy years past. He still enjoyed the view but after all of this time
it was of little comfort to him.

He knew what was on the horizon.

He shook his head and looked back at the tome. Reading his
most recent entry back to himself, he nodded satisfied. With
a long practiced move he slipped the quill pen back into it's
stand and took up his pipe. Sitting back he looked again out the
window and snapped his fingers and bright blue flame appeared
from his thumb. Lighting his pipe and dismissing the flame he rose
from his seat and moved to the window.

"Drats and bebothered", he grumbled. "An old man can't even
smoke in peace any longer!" He moved from the window with
his pipe clamped firmly in his mouth and moved to the chambers
doorway stopping only long enough to take up his ancient staff.
It wasn't for support , it was a weapon of no small power in his
hands. He exited the chamber muttering under his breath as he
moved down the hallway to the stairs. One hand gesturing with
practiced ease finishing with a sharp move that created a dim nimbus
around him. He moved down the stairs with the speed and ease that
belied his aged and was soon standing on the first floor moving steadily
toward the sole doorway to the outside.

He practically ripped the door from it's hinges as he tore it
open stomping outside to meet the rider he had seen far above
in his study. A much younger man had been riding fast and hard
for several hours to get here he started at the old man's sudden
appearance from the tower. Pulling his horse up short he dismounted
quickly and approached the old man. "Sir, It is time!", he exclaimed
breathing almost as hard as his mount. "Calm yourself boy!" The older
man admonished, "If they haven't arrived yet we have time for you to
catch your breath." "When I left the city we could see the dust from their
march!" "They couldn't have been more than a fifty miles away and it
took me at least three hours to get here, we must hurry!"

The old man sighed gently and puffed pointedly on his pipe.
"Lad, if they are on foot and that far away, we have plenty of
time to get back and tend to them." He snapped his fingers and
another larger doorway appeared on the tower's wall."Stable your
horse, we won't be needing it for the return trip." The younger man's
eyes widened at the sight of a doorway 'just' appearing from thin air.
He didn't understand the old man's art and was somewhat fearful.
And the notion of what the old man was suggesting disturbed him
more than a little. "Don't you have any other horses we could use?",
he queried. Rolling his eyes slightly the old man pulled the pipe from
his mouth, "No, I haven't ridden a horse in ages. Now quit acting like
a child afraid of the dark." "This will not have been the first time you
have seen magic in play.", He knew the city was home to other magi
and surely the boy had seen magic before. The younger man stiffened
somewhat, "Sir, I neve.." The old man cut him off with a gesture.
"Weren't you the one in a hurry a moment ago?", he asked. The young
man stammered and the old man again cut him short. "I have practiced
my art longer than your father has lived, boy, have some faith!" The
younger man couldn't really argue since he knew the need for haste
was greater than his own discomfort. (It didn't mean he had to like the
idea though!)

The aging wizard reached into a pocket and pulled out a disk
of polished quartz and tossed it into the air. "Let's see what
our 'friends' are up to.", he said. The disk stopped midway in
it's fall and began to glow gently. An image formed above it.
The horde had made quite a bit of progress since the young man
had set out. No more the twenty miles from the city walls. "Oh my
gods, How could they have gotten that far in only three hours?!",
the boy cried out. "Look at them, they seem to just shamble!". The
old man grimaced at what he saw. He knew this foe all too well.

Fifty years before they had first appeared ravaging the world.
No one knew where they had originated and it was doubtful any
would ever know for sure but a few like the old man had seen
them as more than a passing problem early on. Kingdom after
kingdon had been attacked by them. No matter what forces were
arrayed against them their numbers only grew. These were not
men, they were not alive. They had once been alive but now some
unknown force motivated them. These horrors were undead. Several
prominent sages had been consulted and none could explain them.
The more "common" undead were fairly straightforward in their
nature. Priests of the darker deities would reanimate bodies as well as
a few mad magi seeking power beyond mortal understanding. These
though were something different. No magic animated them. By
magical standards there was no logical reason for them to exist.
Their existence was like a disease. A highly contagious disease at that.
Soldiers sent against them had reported seeing their fellows merely
scratched by one of the things and within minutes turn against his
former friends and allies, a rotting, shambling horror. Worse still, they
bore an intelligence akin to the living. They didn't speak or communicate
their intent but they generally made their desires know. They seemed
to exist only to kill, destroy, and pass on their "disease".

The aging wizard had his suspicions about their origins but
in the time he had studied them he had still drawn no decisive
conclusion. Thirty years earlier he and other magi from the city
had created a magical wall to forestall what they all knew to be
inevitable. Finally the wall had failed and the hour was at hand.
The great city was not the last bastion of humanity though. Other
cities and towns had managed to survive The Horde. Every day
was a struggle for many but life went on as well as could be expected
under the endless threat of attack by a foe that needed no food and
had no need for sleep.

He spoke a word and the image vanished and the disk fell to
his waiting hand. "Come along, lad.", motioning the younger
man to follow him. He slipped the disk thoughtfully into his
pocket and slipped his pipe into another. Holding the gnarled
old staff he spoke a command and a circle of light appeared before
him. The circle swirled and twisted until it formed a ten foot tall
disk of silvery light. The younger man looked doubtfully at the portal.
He disliked the idea of stepping through that thing. He had travel
magically only once before and it had left him quite ill afterward.
Sighing and gritting his teeth he said, "After you sir, I insist.". The
older man smirked at his obvious discomfort. " No no, after you, I
have to stay here to maintain the gateway." Looking more than a
little green at the gills the younger man stepped into the silvery
portal. "I'm glad I missed dinner now.", he mumbled.

The portal appeared in a flash of light to the sound of a small
thunder clap. People scattered at it's appearance not knowing
what was about to happen. Their surprise gave way to curiosity
as a young man stepped through the surface into their midst soon
followed by the old man carrying his staff. The portal faded then
and people breathed a sigh of relief when they realized who had
come. At that moment the old man recalled something, "You did
stable your horse, no?", he teased. Looking slightly sick and taken
aback the younger man stammered for a moment, "No matter, my
stable hands will tend to the beast.", he assured him. Looking confused
it took a moment for the young man to realize what kind of stable
hands the wizard likely had as he lived alone in his tower.

Around the corner there came the rattling of arms and armor
as the watch ran to investigate the sudden unexpected disturbance.
At the head of the patrol ran a man most would have called too old
for such duties but he outpaced his younger charges with ease. He
pulled up short when he saw the source of the disturbance. "Must
you always make such a grand entrance when you come to town you
old fool?!", he bellowed in mock outrage. "Put your weapons away boys,
no need to dull them on his hard head... today!", he taunted his old
friend. "I hadn't expected you back so soon, Jerrad but none the less
we can use all the help we can get. This is going to be a long night I fear."
The younger man looked up from queasiness at the sound of his name,
"Yes, sir, I pushed the horse as hard as I dared.", he said. During this
exchange the older man reached into his pocket and extracted his pipe
again and puffed on it slowly and thoughtfully until he was sure he had
their attention. (The fact a rainbow of colors appeared in the smoke
rather helped to draw most peoples attention.) "How far away is The Horde
from the city, Wallace?", he asked the watch commander. Wallace
looked at the west wall looking for one particular man holding a banner
with the range on it. "Unless my eyes have finally gone, they are still
a good fifteen miles out." He gazed at the sky and saw it was finally
twilight soon it would be night, their time.

"Have they already called everyone inside the walls yet?"
The old man asked. "Yes, as soon as the rangers spotted the
unholy bastards after they broke through the barrier they sent
word." "All but a handful have made it to safety, now we had best
get you to tower of wizardry before Allister has a fit." He lead the
way to the tall slender needle of a tower that served as a central
meeting place for the magi of the city and surrounding area. "Jerrad,
I want you to stay with him in case he needs any help.", Wallace
directed the younger man. "But sir, don't you need as many men
as you can get to man the walls?" Jerrad asked, hoping to avoid
any more magic today. Fighting an undead horde seemed far
preferable to going into the tower to him. Wallace looked at the
young man oddly for a moment before replying, "Not right now
and besides we have plans to stop them before they get to the walls."
"Now get moving before I smack you myself!", He rested a hand
lightly on the handle of his silver warhammer. "Thor be with you
old friend.", He said to the old man in parting as he lead his men to
the wall in preparation for the battle to come.

The old man called after the watch commander, "Wallace, try
not to catch an arrow in the backside this time!", Upon hearing
this the warrior priest stopped dead in his tracks unable to walk
for the laughing fit that had overcome him. The old man sniggered
not at his old friend but the looks on his charges faces. "Come on,
lad, we have a meeting to attend." Jerrad looked at the tower and
sighed. "Yes, Sir." He followed the old man into the tower reluctantly
but steadily, his commander had ordered it and he would follow his
orders to the letter even if he'd rather be elsewhere just now.

In the tower's uppermost floor a group of magi and apprentices
carried out preparations for the long night to come. One in
particular, an older wizard in a brilliant golden robe look out the
western window studying the fast approaching horde with great
interest through a brass telescope normally used for studying the
stars late at night. Allister didn't like what he saw. Not all did he like it.
Rotting shambling corpses moved across the distance with a speed
that was as unnatural as their state was. He pulled back from the
telescope to rub his tired eyes when he heard his name called from
behind. "Allister, how does it look so far?", the older man asked.
With a sigh Allister gestured toward the telescope, "Have a look for
yourself Merridus.", Merridus walked to the telescope and peered
out at the oncoming horde.

He stood there for several minutes taking advantage of what
little light was left, of which there was precious little, He stood
straight for a moment, "What the Hells?!", he exclaimed.
Something at the very back of the horde had caught his eye but
he could make out no real detail. Allister looked at him and asked,
"What? What did you see?" The old man looked at Allister and ponder
his answer for a moment. "I'm not entirely sure but I saw one at the
very back moving differently from the rest.". "It moved with the
smoothness and grace of the living!", Allister looked taken aback at
this. He didn't think to question what Merridus had seen, even with
the fading light he knew the old man's eyesight was probably better
than his own. "A new kind mayhap?", he asked. Merridus pondered
this notion for a moment, "I am not sure but I think what I saw may
be what we have suspected for some time now.". "A living master of
The Horde.", he stated.

Jerrad was paying only scant attention to the old wizards,
this place always awed him. What he could never understand
is how this room at the very top of the needle thin spire could
be so huge, probably bigger than the first floor was! He still thought
to himself, could facing walking rotting corpses be any worse than
this place? He sighed. "You look worried warrior.", he heard a female
voice from behind him. He started a bit as he turned around to face
the young woman addressing him. He began to speak but his words
caught in his throat. She was beautiful! She stood several inches shorter
than Jerrad and had to look up to see him. Extending her hand in
greeting, "I'm Jennyth, apprentice to mistress Elwenn the Grey."
She smiled at the young mans obvious discomfort. He took her
proffered hand in greeting and managed to stammer out, "I-I-I'm
Watch of jer... Errr.. Jerrad of the watch." He flushed a wonderful
shade of red in embarrassment at his own awkwardness.

"Jennyth, I need your assistance here.", called an older woman
presumably her teacher. "A pleasure meeting you, Jerrad.", Jennyth
said as she made her way to aid her teacher. He smiled and waved
farewell. Well, maybe the tower wasn't so bad after all as he watched
her walk away. "Boy, you'd best watch yourself in here, she might
decide to keep you as pet toad if you misbehave and I don't mean the
girl." he heard from behind him. What was with the wizards sneaking
behind me, he thought to himself a bit dryly. When he turned to look
at the old man addressing he saw that he had produced the crystal disk
again. "Time to see if we can get some useful answers now that I know
what to look for!", he exclaimed.

Flipping the disk into the air as he had outside his tower the
old man waited for the disk to reach the right point before
speaking the command word. It stopped perfectly at five feet
off the stone floor and began to glow softly. A new image formed
as Merridus focused on what he had seen earlier through the telescope.
A figure walking with a steady purposeful stride followed the wake
of the oncoming horde. Allister approached the old man's scrying device.
"Do you recognize him?", he asked. Merridus studied the figure, dressed
head to foot in polished black armor and a flowing cloak, he couldn't see
the figures face since it was wearing a heavy helmet. He shook his head
in answer to Allister's question, "No but there is something... odd here."
Something about the figure seemed strangely familiar to him but he
couldn't say what just yet.

Suddenly the figured stopped in it's tracks and turned until
it was facing them. A look of shock crossed the old man's face.
No one was supposed to be able to sense his crystal disk's scrying!
The dark figure raised a gloved hand and clenched it into a fist.
Merridus noticed his disk was wavering in the air. His eyebrows
shot up and he cried out, "Everyone, down now!". Jerrad still
pondering the sway of Jennyth's hips as she moved didn't hear him
nor did he see the old man's mad dash as he ran to knock him the
floor. The disk flared with a brilliance that lit the room as bright
as day before exploding sending razor sharp shards around the room.

More than a little shaken the magi collected in the room looked
about to ensure that no one was seriously injured from the
explosion and resultant shards. One younger apprentice at the far
side of the room had been struck in the shoulder by one of the
deadly missiles. He lay there screaming in pain as one wizard
reached him to give aid to the wounded youth. "Easy, son, try to
be still and let me examine the wound,", he said in an effort to calm
the apprentice. "Someone fetch my bag!", he yelled. His bag was brought
to him quickly enough and he proceeded to treat the boy's injury.

Allister rose from the floor looking more angry than rattled,
"Merridus, are you alright?", he said a bit more sharply than
he intended. The old man rose giving Jerrad a pat on the shoulder
after he saw the younger man was uninjured save for be shaken.
"Yes, Allister, I'll be fine but I can show you one person that is
going to regret doing that.", he said in a deathly calm.

In the fields outside the city the dark figure stood laughing
mockingly. The night had finally come in full. His minions
shambled onward toward the last city untouched by them. The
figure held up a small crystal sphere and gazed into it's depths for
a moment. The city's defenders had already taken the field planning
to met The Horde and stop them before they reached the walls. The
defenders were at least half a mile from the safety of the city walls
and their numbers were much smaller than that of The Horde. One
to his ten, the dark figure laughed yet again, even if their feeble magi
were fielded his minions would overwhelm them and take the city
long before the sun rose. He lifted the sphere to his face and spoke,
"Merrrrridusssss, hear me old fool,", he taunted "Come out and play
old one, it is time for you to die. You will serve me as my personal
minion!", he lowered the sphere and walked with purposeful strides
toward the city.

"..for you to die. You will serve me as my personal minion!", the
apparition exclaimed in the tower's uppermost room. With a gust
of wind the image vanished. If the old man had looked enraged
before he now looked like he could rip the dark figure limb from
limb with nothing but his bare hands. Jerrad looked as pale as a
sheet, "S-S-Sir, who or what was that?", he asked in a terrified tone.
The old man took a deep calming breath and reached into his pocket
for his pipe. Drawing smoke from the pipe his demeanor seemed the
change from enraged to calm again ina matter of moments. He stood
there thinking, so you know my name do you? That voice, something
about it was familiar. He furrowed his eyebrows deep in thought.
Allister was busy getting the other magi ready to enter the battle.
He entered a circle in the center of the room and called the others to
him. He looked over at the old man, "Merridus? Will you be coming
with us through the circle?", he asked the old man. Merridus looked
up from his contemplations, "No, Allister, I have been sent a personal
invitation. I'll be meeting him directly.", he said calmly. Allister looked
concerned now, he knew what the old man had in mind now. And he
didn't like the idea of Merridus meeting that thing on it's own terms.
He also knew that the old man's mind was made up.

All but the injured apprentice and a handful of novices had
used the circle to teleport to the battle field. The old man
looked at Jerrad and asked, "Will you be going to the wall, lad?".
Jerrad thought for a moment, the watch commander had ordered
him to stay with the old man but gave no orders beyond that.
He was young, only twenty-two, and inexperienced in what to
do in an unexpected situation. "The commander told me to stay
with you in case you needed help, Sir. I don't want to met that thing
face to face but if you need me and I am not there...", he said with
uncertainty. The old man smiled kindly and sighed. "Come along
young Jerrad, we have an army of horrors and it's master to defeat
this night!".

A flash of light appeared in the fields behind the advancing
army of undead, the old man and his young charge looked
around carefully to ensure they hadn't popped in on a rear guard
of undead. Jerrad looked up into the night sky. Overcast, he thought
sourly, just great, now we will have to be on top of them before we
will even see them! He didn't stop to consider that the monsters
ahead of them while intelligent weren't the greatest minds in the
world. Only their master would know to be on the look out for his
"guests" arrival. Far ahead they could see flashes of light from the
city forces fighting The Horde's relentless advance.

The catapults on the walls were loaded with blobs of tar and
casks of oil waiting for what they hoped didn't happen. Men
watched the battle on the field with great anticipation and more
than a little anxiety. The walls didn't have all of the catapults
though, ten of them had been rolled out with the defenders to help,
"give their visitors a warm reception", as Wallace had told one of
his subordinates. As soon as The Horde had gotten within range
of the catapults they began sending out their "gifts" of flaming tar
and burning oil casks. The first few shots fell a few yards short but
that didn't matter the shambling corpses just marched through the
burning areas with little concern. Even flaming and "dying" they
marched on. The defenders stared in stark amazement at the sight
of the advancing army marching on aflame. After a short while they
would finally drop and not rise again thankfully. The catapult's loads
began to take a real toll the closer they got, entire swaths of the things
were covered in flames and fell within moments but The Horde marched
on.

Wallace paced back and forth waiting for the things to get
close enough for his archers to do their work. He would stop
and look every so often until he finally stopped and grinned
wolfishly. "Archers, ready you weapons and take aim!", he bellowed.
A few more steps, he thought. Raising his arm, "Loose!", he yelled. The
first volley of arrows tore into the first rank of foes. "Shoot at will!",
he ordered. Arrows launched into the oncoming army in well
ordered volleys, Wallace's men were well trained and some of the finest
archers anyone could ask for. The arrows weren't as effective as the
flaming tar and oil but they took their toll on the undead horrors.
Creature after creature dropped more often than not with multiple
arrows protruding from it's body. The watch commander noticed that
the ones that had caught arrows to the head dropped faster than others.
"Hmmm...", he looked to the nearest of his archers and said, "Harold,
try for a head shot on that one.", pointing at one wearing a red cloak.
Harold was almost as old as his CO and smiled, "Yes, Sir." He drew a
bead on the creature and loosed an arrow perfectly into it's left eye. It
fell dead with no other wound. Wallace grinned grimly, "Take aim for
their heads! They'll fall with one shot!", he commanded. The archers
quickly complied with the order and shifted their aims. More than a
few arrows missed their intended targets and struck creatures behind
them but the arrows that struck true killed their targets instantly.

The city's magi were fared almost as well as the watch did.
Bolts of lightening, balls of fire, bolts of pure magical energy hit
the oncoming army and tore into their ranks to great effect.
Allister pointed a slender wand at a section of the army and unleashed
a beam of green energy that vaporized at least a dozen with one hit.
He paused for a moment to consider the odds. There had to have
been at least ten thousand and between the catapults, the archers,
and the magic being thrown at the things , they might have destroyed
a thousand so far. How long could they keep it up? Could they stop
The Horde before it got to the walls? He glanced up into the night
sky trying to spot one of the other magi who had an idea about a shower
of magical acid on the oncoming horde. He couldn't spot them where
ever they were but he could see the effect of their spell, a section of
"zombies", for that is what he started calling them for want of a better
name, began to melt and bubble from the acidic "rain" that fell on
them. He took aim again and vaporized another dozen.

This was going to be a long night...

The old man and Jerrad stalked quietly after the advancing
horde seeking it's master. Then it happened. A ball of light
appeared suspended in the air twenty feet up, directly over the
dark figure. It bowed deeply, "Weeellcome to my parlor, Merrrridussss.",
it greeted. It stood at seven feet tall, Jerrad's mouth went dry
as he reached for his short sword and dagger. The figure raised it's
hand and shook it's finger at the boy. "Naughty naughty.", it taunted and
a group of his minions came into view. "Kill the boy, the old man is mine!",
it commanded. They shambled toward Jerrad and he felt a hand tap him
on the shoulder followed by what could only be described as something
akin to an electrical surge through his body. "A protection to aid you, lad."
, he heard the old man say.

The dark figure drew forth a sword of dark energy and raised
it in salute. "Make peace with your gods, old one, today you met
them.", The figure walked toward the old man with a menacing
determination intended to unnerve his opponent. The old man
tapped his staff against the ground gently and it stood there freely,
he removed his cloak and casually hung it over the staff as if he
fought battles like this in his spare time. He reached to his own
belt and drew a sword himself. Where the dark figure drew a
weapon of dark energy, this was an archaic blade of damascus steel.
He spoke a word and the blade began to glow with a strange colorless
radiance.

The dark one stopped dead in it's tracks at this sight. "You
still wield the Sword of the Damned, I see. It will not help you
here, fool!" The swords name was something of a misnomer, it
had once been carried by a holy knight a thousand years past. It
was related to the damned but not in the way the name might
imply, it's sole purpose was to free to souls of the damned from
their torment. "We shall see.", the old man said flatly. "Now remove
your helmet so I might see your eyes, if you aren't the coward you
seem.", he taunted the dark figure. "As you wish, old man.", Reaching
up one hand the figure slipped the helm from it's head and dropped it
to the ground at his feet. A mane of curly golden red hair hung limply
from a deaths head of rotting flesh. "You don't look overly surprised,
Merridus.", the figure commented. The old man looked at the figure
with sadness rather than disgust or shock. All he could get out
was one word, "Arnus."

Some sixty years ago Merridus had had a young apprentice
named Arnus. A promising youth with a great understanding
of magic and a keen interest in a alchemy. He had been more
than just an apprentice to Merridus, he had been like a son to
him but as Arnus' power grew something changed in him. The
old man had seen it happen before, some people couldn't control
the influences the art had on their minds and even their souls.
Arnus began acting secretively about some line of research he had
undertaken in his own time. For some reason he had become
obsessed with immortality and went to great lengths to attain it.
Lengths that Merridus could not condone. One night he had intended
to confront Arnus about his secret research demanding to know what
he was doing. He had barged into the small laboratory his student had
used and was overcome with the horrors that the chamber held. Parts
of freshly killed people, plants that were highly toxic and a tome that
he recognized as being a treatise on lichdom. Then he saw his student
across the room. A cold dead stare gazed out from under the hood of
his robe. They fought bitterly until Arnus, almost defeated, fled using
magic. Merridus had sought the aid of Wallace to lay the murdered to
rest and destroyed the research materials.

Now here he stood before him. Holding a blade of evil seeking
to destroy a city full of innocents with an army of the undead.
The old man raised his sword in salute.

Jerrad found himself hard pressed by a dozen rotting horrors.
Slash, stab, retreat. Slash, stab, retreat. He fell into a rhythm as
he had been trained to do. His sword struck one across the throat
half severing it's head and the creature fell. He spared a glance at
the old man and dark one. The old man wielded his blade with surprising
skill and ease. But Jerrad had his own problems at the moment.
Eleven of them to be precise. One of them tried to claw him with a
rotten hand but just before it's hand could make contact an arc of
electrical energy shot forth from Jerrad and struck the creature dead
with enough power to throw it's body twenty feet, the smoking husk
crumbled to dust on impact. Maybe I'll walk away from this alive yet,
Jerrad thought to himself with renewed hope. A voice sounded in his
mind, Don't get cocky, lad, that spell won't last all night. He shot a
quick glance at the old man who had locked hilts with the dark one.
Sweat covered the old man's face from his exertions and his opponent
wasn't showing any sign of relenting.

Then disaster struck.

In his moment of distraction sending the mental message to
Jerrad, Merridus lost a seconds concentration in his fight. Arnus
sensed his distraction and took advantage of it. Send his knee
into the old man's belly he knocked the air from his lungs and sent
him sprawling and his weapon flying from his grasp. A cry of victory
filled the night air as Arnus brought his dark blade down into the
stomach of the old man pinning him to the ground. Jerrad saw this
and screamed, "Noooo!", he redoubled his fights intensity knocking
two of foes to the ground. He tried to disengage himself to go to the
old man's aid but found himself cut off by his other foes. "Damn it!", he
cursed as he crossed blades with another one and was forced back.

The Horde had finally gotten close enough to engage the
defenders with weapons. Swords rose and fell, maces and
hammer swung with great fury. One hammer in particular
shone with a nearly blinding light. Wallace, a priest of Thor,
wielded his holy weapon with a fury this night. He struck
monster after monster sending them sprawling, often with
their heads turned to paste. An opening presented itself and
he raised his hammer above calling out to his god. He brought
the hammer down and released it. It flew into the horde and
struck several down before returning to his waiting hands. While
the hammer was in flight he took a moment to survey the battle.
Holding his returned hammer, he called out to his men, "Fall back,
orderly fighting retreat! Let's give some ground so we can regroup
some!", his men fell back fighting the entire way. The defenders could
still move faster retreating than there enemies could advance so
tightly packed as they were. When enough room opened Wallace
gave the order for the archers to loose another volley. Light was no
problem now, the catapults had been loosing a steady stream of flaming
tar and oil casks since the battle had begun. The Hordes numbers had
been greatly thinned since the battle had started, from ten thousand
to less than five thousand now. That was the bright spot of the battle.
Of a less happy note, the archers quivers were almost completed depleted
and the city couldn't risk send fresh supplies. The catapults were also
running out of things to throw into the mass. The magi were running low
spells and their wands and similar items were running low as well. Wallace
said nothing aloud but spoke a silent prayer to his god, Please, let Merridus
appear soon.

Arnus savagely twisted the blade making the old man writhe
in agony. Something was amiss though. The old man remained
alive still! "What is this?", he screamed in rage. Merridus looked
up and smiled grimly, "The end.", he spoke calmly. With a gesture
his sword returned to his hand. The archaic blade glowed with a fierce
light as he brought it up. Up into Arnus' unprotected neck. The blade
completed it's arc and Arnus' head dropped to the ground. The blade
glowed even more brightly calling on it's ancient power. The still
standing body quivered as something broke through the polished black
chest plate. The spirit of Arnus drifted above the toppling body. It was
the Arnus the old man remembered. It looked sadly at the blade
protruding from his old master and friend's stomach and gripped
the hilt with ethereal hands. Drawing the dark blade from Merridus
he tossed the blade aside and faded from sight mouthing a silent 'Thank You'
to the old man.

Merridus lay there in a pool of his own blood weakly summoning
his pipe from his cloak's pocket. He brought it to his lips and drew
on it, inhaling the vapors from it. He held them for a long time and
looked down to see the grievous wound closing. Another draw and
the wound healed more. He looked over at Jerrad to see the boy was
holding his own against the monsters. The wound was no longer critical
but it was still sore as hell and would be until he had a chance to rest.
"Off your arse , on your feet.", he muttered tiredly to himself. He stood
slowly and with great effort, looking over the fight Jerrad was engaged
he chose the simplest method he knew to end it. Twenty bolts of raw
power pounded into Jerrad's foes and all of them fell with their skulls
pulverized. Jerrad looked in shock at the old man. Not only was he still
alive but very much still in the fight! "How...", he started to ask but the
old man raised a hand to forestall the questions he knew were in the
young man's mind to ask. "Not now, lad. Maybe later if I feel up to it.
Right now we still have more work to do.", he said tiredly. He started
toward the rear flank of the undead horde puffing on his pipe gaining
energy with every step. A snap of his fingers and his staff and cloak
appeared beside him, he slipped his cloak on on the move as the staff
floated beside him keeping pace with his strides. Jerrad followed in their
wake.

Allister looked grimly at crumbled remains of the wand he had
used. It's power consumed it turned into little more than dust.
Them he saw it. Not his demise but a bright flash of flames at the
very rear of the horde. Merridus had joined the fray finally. Wallace
saw it too and smiled, We might make it to see dawn yet, he thought
to himself. His men were tired, nay, exhausted from the battle. He
now gave the order he knew they had all half hoped to hear. "Fall back,
full retreat, To the city walls!" The retreat was orderly but done with
as much speed as the tired defenders could manage. Wallace drew
from under his cloak a special torch, one that would burn a bright green
light that could have been seen ten miles easily. This was a signal to the
defenders on the wall to be ready to launch their attack as soon as they
made the wall.

His second in command saw the flaring torch almost immediately,
"Get the catapults ready!", he yelled. He knew what his commander
had in mind here. "Archers, flaming arrows as soon as our people reach
the wall! If it is shambling, I want to see it burning like a yule log!",
the order went all along the west wall and they waited. They made
the wall only a brief time later, panting a sweating but alive and safe
for the time.

The old man walked with a deliberation that would have made
even a dragon take a step back. Ever gesture and word unleashed
magical energy into the shambling corpses. The five thousand that
had remained at the time of the retreat had their number reduced
even further with every spell he loosed. Jerrad could do nothing to help
except walk behind him and act as an unneeded bodyguard. He knew
the old man had to be exhausted but he kept on moving and throwing
his spells into the enemy. He looked into the sky and saw the moon
finally, it was in the wesrten sky beginning it's decent. It would be dawn
soon. Then he saw the city's catapult launching their own deadly payload
into the horde. Casks of oil shattered and splashed those nearby spreading
the flames farther and farther among the undead army. Huge globs of tar
hit as well splattering and carrying searing flames into the walking corpses.
Flaming arrows picked off the front lines and fresh fighters charged out of
the city gates to meet the remaining horde.

The old man sat in his study finishing the latest entry in his
journal. "..and thus we survived the long night." He slipped the
quill pen back into it's holder and reached for his pipe. A snap
of his fingers and it was lit. He started to gesture for a glass of brandy
but changed his mind and got up to pour it himself. It was three days
after the battle and he was still tired from it. He sat back down at his
writing desk and read over the entry. Nodding satisfied he left it open
to allow the ink to dry. Amazing, he thought, out of the thousand men
who marched into battle only forty three had been killed. He mourned
for their families losses but he knew it could have been far worse had
the horde made it inside the walls. He finished his brandy and sat the
glass back beside the decanter and left the study. One finally piece of
business to tend to, he thought. He moved down the stairs at a much
more reasonable pace than he had three days ago.

He stepped outside and moved solemnly to a funeral pyre
he had constructed earlier that morning. He gazed at the bundle
that lay atop it."It was never your intent when your were my
student to become something evil in this world, Arnus.", his voice
cracked slightly on his last word. "The sword already released and
redeemed your soul, all I can do now is lay your body to rest.", he
said sadly. He reached down to the base of the pyre and took up a
simple torch and lit it with flint and steel. Using the torch he lit the
wood piled under the pyre and stood back watching as the flames
consumed the earthly remains of his former student and friend.

~Fin~