The Living Dead

9

The rat on his shoulder chattered into the wight's ear. A wicked grin spread over the leathery gray countenance, and red eyes flashed with fire. Wiry hair flew back behind his head and tattered robes flapped as the mine car sped down the long-abandoned shaft.

The tracks on the long tunnel would carry the wight underground, far north of his mountain prison. A thousand years ago, carts like this ran from mines on the south slope of Morsilath all the way to Dogmar. After his defeat a millennium ago, the tunnels had been sealed off several miles south of the town, but no one had bothered or dared to block the southern ends of the tunnels.

It had taken Cavadrec only a few centuries to learn that his imprisonment was not complete. His enemies had woefully underestimated the wight's patience, to say nothing of the power hidden deep inside Morsilath.

"Very good," Cavadrec told the hollow-eyed rodent. "You and your kin have brought the first generation of our wightling horde into being."

The last word whistled from the wight's hissing mouth in the strong wind. The rat squeaked a reply in rat-talk and scrambled down the back of the wight's torn rags to leap into the darkness.

Cavadrec twisted his head around one hundred and eighty degrees to watch the rat land violently on the tracks and roll like a furry sausage until it tumbled to a stop. Such a feat would have left an ordinary animal smeared on the floor of the long tunnel, but Cavadrec's pets were made of sterner stuff.

The wight stretched out a sinewy arm. A gnarled staff of black wood snapped from the floor of the cart into his open hand. He turned the head of the staff so that the empty sockets of the skull atop the staff stared into his own red eyes. Cavadrec hissed an invocation.

He felt his consciousness split. Half of Cavadrec's mind left his body and stretched south, racing through miles of rock and spreading into the roiling waters of the river Mormsilath. A primitive reptilian mind welcomed its master's presence.

Cavadrec settled into the brain of the creature and a dark, hulking shape left the floor of the riverbed in a swirl of green-brown silt.

The infestation of Silatham was only the beginning. Now, he needed just a few random travelers snatched from the busy road.

"Devis, the sun's past noon. What are you doing out there?" Mialee shouted into the woods. She stood along the dirt road that cut through the thick evergreen forest of Silath. She sighed and gazed with frustration at the sky. Only a few dozen yards to their south, a wide, wooden bridge arched over the river Mormsilath. The roar of rushing water filled the air, and cool mist twinkled with tiny rainbows in the sun. The clouds had burned off completely.

Zalyn and Diir stood packed and ready to cross the bridge, both as able as they'd been just a few hours ago. It was their second day on the road.

"Just a minute!" Devis whispered theatrically. Mialee guessed he was maybe twenty feet away. "And keep it down! Don't you know there are wolves in these woods?"

"I can barely hear you," the wizard called back. She briefly considered whether to send Darji after the bard to make sure he hadn't walked into a wolf trap.

Mialee sighed and shifted in her new clothing. She hoped it would stop pinching soon. The robe didn't fit yet, but it was getting there. The long branches of magically treated athel wood forming the ribs of the protective garment would slowly curve to fit her body, but needed a little more time.

The robe was over two thousand years old, Zalyn had told her, and belonged to one of the dozens of legendary heroes of the order. The outfit had been the first thing Mialee spotted when they ventured below the temple to the armory. She had seen a similar garment only once before, in a remote elf village far to the north where contact with other races was limited and metal was scarce. Curved plates of athel wood projected from the shoulders. The curious, lightweight fibers would supposedly bounce any blow off of Mialee and back at the attacker. The high collar, also made of athel, would block a blade aimed at her throat, while athel-sapling ribs in the corset-like lower section protected her below the neck.

The elf tested the string of her new longbow with one finger and released it. The bowstring twanged a clear musical note, a sure sign of the weapon's masterful elven make. Mialee accepted the bow only after Zalyn insisted. She didn't feel right taking so much from the temple, but Zalyn assured her that the weapons were there to fight evil.

Their mysterious amnesiac still carried his short sword, but had added a simple long sword, an intricately carved leather weapons belt, and a lightweight helm selected from the temple's armory.

Devis carried a dagger that looked extremely valuable, insisting many times that "the heft felt just right." More importantly, he also had a new elven crossbow and his old long sword and leather armor.

Zalyn had not overlooked herself when the weapons were parceled out. When the gnome proudly walked out in what she called "full battle dress," Mialee had been forced to stifle a laugh.

Zalyn gleamed in the afternoon sun. Her helm bore an upturned crescent and an improbable plume of blue feathers. Her silver breastplate carried the same crescent, and to Mialee's surprise, actually fit Zalyn like a glove.

Zalyn confessed that she'd had her eye on the armor for months, ever since discovering it in the armory. Mialee didn't ask why a temple serving elves would have such tiny armor. Zalyn seemed to think it was the will of Corellon Larethian, and the wizard was loath to contradict her. For all Mialee knew, it was.

The little raven flapped down from a nearby branch to settle on one athel wood flange next to Mialee's ear.

"Would you like me to scout the bridge, Mialee?" Darji asked.

"Not alone, Darji," Mialee said, shaking her head. "But thanks for offering. It's a good idea." Although she could not commune with Favrid's familiar, the little bird often seemed to be reading her mind.

The wizard peered toward the bridge and slung the longbow onto her back. She glanced back toward the tree line.

"Devis," she called, "Darji wants to scout the bridge, but I'm not letting her go alone. Catch up with us, we'll wait there."

"Sure, fine," the bard whispered loudly somewhere in the dark woods.

The trio set out down the road when a tremendous splash erupted ahead of them, loud enough to drown out the roar of the river itself. Mialee, Zalyn, and Diir broke into a run at the sound and Darji took flight.

"Hey, what was that?" Devis hissed from the trees, but his companions were already out of earshot.