(continued from Ch 14, The Noble Jaws of Death)

The Chronicles of Rapina
Chapter 15, Death Battles The Living

The pain was excruciating. Doanthalas could hardly breathe because of the smoke and his eyes were gunked up with ash and smoke and tears. Needles of pain shot through his back as the flames continued to burn. Soon the flames would die out; Doanthalas could feel the pain lessening by the moment. After the flames died out it would not be that long before he started bleeding.

It was time to get to a safer place, and quickly too. The elf tried tearing off a piece of his clothes to wipe his eyes with, but his charred clothing just crumbled in his hands. There had to be something in the room somewhere he could use to wipe out his eyes with. Otherwise he'd have to fight through the remaining zombies and find a way out while still blind. He did not think he could do it. Not in his already weakened condition.

The remaining ghoul and a few of the zombies had been reduced to walking torches. A few remained relatively unharmed. These few closed in on the prone form of Doanthalas. They were unaffected by the smoke and advanced steadily on the elf.

Doanthalas' keen hearing picked up the sound of the zombie's shuffling feet approaching. It was getting harder to breathe and a fit of coughing seized the elf. At least nearer the floor the air wasn't as filled with smoke.

A slight breeze blew across the elf's face. The fact that there was a breeze meant one thing: There was a way out. Doanthalas began crawling towards the breeze. He had to hurry. The fire was almost out and that meant that his time was almost up.

The remains of his clothes crumbled to nothing as well as the other items he carried that were flammable. The elf's knee nudged something as he crawled. Reaching down his hand closed around the hilt of his sword. The blade scraped against the ground as he lifted it.

The sound of shuffling feet was very close now. With great effort Doanthalas swung his sword. He felt it chop though something solid and then stop as it hit something else solid. There was a loud thump as something heavy hit the ground.

One of the zombies lay on the floor struggling feebly to stand. The other paused its progress impeded by his fallen companion. Darkness had descended upon the room as the last of the fires burned themselves out. The zombies continued in their pursuit of their prey unaffected by the darkness. Their minds understood nothing other than their hunger for flesh...their thirst for blood. The scent was getting stronger. Their quarry was near. Bits of rotting flesh dropped off their arms as they reached out to feast.

The sound of shuffling feet and something sharp scraping across the stones sounded very close behind him. Doanthalas blindly dragged himself towards the source of the breeze. If he could reach it he might be able to escape. Whatever he did, he would have to hurry. His strength was fading fast. Doanthalas' hand closed over a metal grate in the floor. It was small. Most likely, it was a drain. It had to lead somewhere. He hoped it was large enough for him to crawl through.

Wiping his eyes with his grimy hand did little to improve his situation. The elf turned and tried to see through the sweat, blood, and grime that had found its way into his eyes. He was able to see very little, but did notice two still slightly warm forms moving in his direction. One was crawling and the other was walking.


Clutching his sword the tattooed elf sat up and prepared to meet his foes. The zombies closed before Doanthalas could stand. They pressed their attack. The crawling zombie lost an arm right away. The other arm was next followed shortly by his head. Each time he swung his sword Doanthalas felt it slipping out of his hands. He adjusted his grip before turning to deal with the remaining zombie.

This zombie had the advantage. It held the higher ground and did not tire. Doanthalas on the other hand was so weak that he could barely lift his sword. The sword went clattering to the floor after being easily batted away by the zombie. Things were getting worse by the second. Doanthalas' head began to swim. "I cannot die like this," he thought as he backed away from the advancing zombie.

The smell of iron reached his nostrils. "Not now!" he thought as his hand slipped in the fresh blood that had begun to flow from his fiendish tattoos. Doanthalas crawled back as far as he could. He stopped with his back to the wall and the zombie practically on top of him. It seemed like it was to end there. Fortunately for Doanthalas the zombie slipped in some of his blood and went toppling to the floor. The sound of nails scraping the floor was audible through the darkness.

He could not see the zombie anymore; the heat from the fire that had threatened to consume it had long since dissipated. It seemed like hours that the zombie lay there scraping at the floor. Doanthalas did not take time to ponder this turn of events. He just crawled around the floor until his hand closed over the hilt of another weapon. With every ounce of strength he could muster he crawled back towards the sound of scraping.

Unable to comprehend its situation the zombie struggled to scrape the flesh off its victim. It could smell the blood, but could not seem to scrape the flesh off its bones. It struggled on fueled by its hunger. Doanthalas ended its struggles a few moments later as he dismembered piece by piece.

The weapon clattered to the floor. Doanthalas did not have an ounce of strength left. He slumped to the ground and drifted off into unconsciousness. A cool breeze blew through his hair as the blood from his tattoos flowed through the grate in the floor.

-----------


Pike scowled. His luck in battle had never been so sour. The day had not gone so badly at first, but now depression was settling on the Norseman's shoulders like the globe on the shoulders of Atlas. He had fought his way out of a diabolic trap loosing half his men only to have his favorite wench stolen and probably killed by a ghoulish Kent. The armored skeletons Kent triggered killed Buck and cost his party in both wounds and precious time. Skitch had figured out the secret door and slide in the sarcophagus, but that too had cost time. They had broken through the door in the room at the base of the slide and found the lower corridor. Thumper had led them North instead of South and that had cost time. The wily ghoul must have left a false trail.

Skitch had found the ladder that led up into the hollow statue. After he had come down from there he found and quickly un-jammed the mechanisms for the stone doors in the rooms above, but that hadn't helped them find Rapina. They had gone North when they should have gone South. When they did go south, Pike had lost strength and sustained an annoying wound to his left shoulder. He had been too hasty about demolishing the four skeletons in the room at the top of the staircase and had not noticed the three shadows until after they started feeding on him and his men. Drake had sustained wounds and lost some strength to the shadows and so had Gape.

Thumper had tracked the ghoul South along the cliff tops and along the base of some cliffs higher than the ones Pike and his men were walking on, but then the dog had inexplicably lost the trail. It cost more precious time before Rage found a hidden fissure. There Thumper had picked up the trail of the ghoul again. It led to a blank wall when the fissure forked. Skitch had correctly identified a secret door in the wall. The door led to a narrow, low-ceilinged staircase mined through the granite. The staircase twisted down and down endlessly before it and finally let out at a secret door in a warren of confusing tunnels. The tunnels went through the dirt of the valley Pike and his men had seen from high above on the cliffs near the entrance to the fissure. Thumper had started tracking in circles and the party had become hopelessly lost in the maze of tunnels. If anything, they were farther from finding Rapina than when she had first been abducted.

"Pike, I hate ta say it, but we're lost an' wounded, 'an if Rapina ain't dead by now, then she's a prisoner o' the dark lord o' the isle. Thumper ain't doin' us a bit o' good, an' we can't go back ta where we were without startin' over at the tombs. My bid is that we jus' try ta find a way outa here before yer ghouls an' things start wakin' up."

Pike glared at Brackston. "I hate it when yer right. Okay, lets try to find a tunnel that goes up."

A few minutes later Rage called out

"Hey, where's Gape, he was behind me just a minute ago."

"Damn it! Ghouls, I'll wager. Demon or not, I sure as hell wish we had an elf to take up the rear. My bet is that Thumper might be able to smell 'em. Brackston, take the rear. Rage, you make sure to look over your shoulder a lot, understand?"

"Gotcha."

A more couple hours passed, but, although they had gained some elevation and had gone a good distance in a roughly northerly direction, an exit from the warrens still eluded them.

Suddenly Thumper growled.

Ghouls! Brackston shouted.

Thumper grabbed a ghoul's hand as it tried to strike his master and ripped at it.

Brackston lunged, his usual sword techniques were worthless hunched over in a cramped dirt tunnel. He ran his sword through the creature's chest and twisted it but the creature did not die!

A second ghoul erupted from the floor of the tunnel and attempted to grab Drake's leg.

Drake yelped, jumped back against the tunnel wall and cut the ghoul's hand off at the wrist.

A third ghoul burst through the tunnel wall behind Drake and grabbed him, claws ripping into his sides -immobilizing Drake with magical fear.

Skitch whipped two throwing knives into the chest of the ghoul on the ground.

Pike's axe came down on the floor-ghoul's head, splitting it like a melon.

The Norseman grabbed Drake's legs just as he was disappearing into a hidden side tunnel behind the ghoul and heaved.

Brackston's ghoul cut into the yellow dog's head with his free hand leaving deep bloody furrows, but the ghoul's magic was wasted on the mean yellow dog. Thumper's simple mind did not fear death.

Brackston lunged again half gutting the ghoul who'd hurt his dog.

Near pike, the skulless ghoul reached up in its death throws and sunk its claws savagely into the Norseman's calf.

Pike bellowed as he felt the ghoul's magic sizzle up his nerves. Every ounce of the indomitable courage bred into the Norseman fought the ghoul's magic...

Blood an' Bones! Pike roared as he heaved Drake out of the side tunnel with the ghoul still attached to him.

The ghoul let go of Drake, setting the Norseman off balance and then dove for Skitch.

"Ulp!" Try as he might, once the ghoul had grabbed him, ripping into his ribs with its claws, Skitch could not move a muscle. His whole body seemed to freeze in horror.

Rage drove his gladius into the ghoul's side as it began to make off with Skitch.

Pike grabbed Skitch's legs just as they were disappearing down the tunnel and heaved once again.

Brackston's ghoul hissed as Brackston skewered it a second time and opened the wrist of Brackston's sword arm with its hideous claws. Blood gushed from the wound.

Brackston froze. He struggled, but the magical fear had him firmly in its unyielding grasp.

Thumper jumped knocking the ghoul on its back. The dog growled ferociously ripping flesh from the monster.

The Ghoul from the wall lashed out at Pike's arm with its toe nails, tearing furrows through his skin.

Pike bellowed, his great muscles flexed... and released as he pulled Skitch and the ghoul back into the tunnel.


Rage jammed his short sword into the side of the ghoul's chest and twisted it, Killing the foul thing at last.

Thumper ripped out the ghoul's throat as one of the creature's claws sunk into the dog's eye socket. Blood flooded from the dog's wound. He curled up at the paralyzed feet of his master whining ever more quietly as his life's blood drained away.

"Damn ghouls, Pike snarled as he bandaged Brackston's wrist. Rage, let's move Drake, Skitch an' Brackston up there and get some bandages on all the wounds before we bleed ta death. There's a boulder forming one wall of the tunnel. There's no way we're going to be able to move with three of our guys out. We'll just have to wait. Poor dog. I'd bandage the eye, but the wound's too damn deep, I can see his brains in there. He'd just bleed into his skull."

Pike, them ghouls hit ye twice, but ye didn't freeze.

"Courage mate, it's bred into the bones 'o every Norseman."

It was well over an hour before the party could move, and it was another hour before they emerged into the open air. The sun was low in the sky when they saw it again at last. They were in a forested canyon dotted with piles of bones marked by various stone markers.

"I'm namin' this place the valley of the dead, any objections? Looks like these various heaps o' bones were from the loosing side of old battles. You don't get good graves when ye loose."

Pike looked at his men. "If we were fresh, I'd say let's double-time it back to Red Jack's fort, but we wouldn't get there before night fall. Plus we'd have to fight our way through the enemy to get in, but I'm limpin' like a club-foot, an it's easy ta see Brackston's dizzy from lack o' blood. Skitch winces ever time he takes a big step 'an whenever Drake bends over I see the pain in 'is eyes. We're ripped ta shit. Tryin' to fight our way through to the fort would be simple suicide."

"Here's my plan, there's one other gate to the water besides the cove - the box canyon. Right now we're on the edge of this valley. We're going up hill, the trees are starting to thin, and the terrain is getting a little rockier. Let's take some trees, about four straight medium-sized fairly long ones. This valley and the area around Jack's camp are the only two places on the isle I've seen good timber. Look at that tree right over there, it's still standing, but it's dry and dead. We find four trees, clean off most of the branches and attach ropes. Once we're out the valley we turn East an' scramble up the steep hills and cliffs and into more open terrain. It'll be tough because just about every one of us will have to drag a tree an' we're not in the best o' shape, but I think we can do it."

"We'll be dead beat once we reach the plateau South of the tombs and the burial mounds. We can rest there. Visibility is good up there even in moon light because there are no trees an' few bushes. We've got to be up the cliffs by the time that sun sets, an' we don't have long if we're going to get our timber and drag it up. After we have a rest an' a meal, we start dragging our trees over to the box canyon. Skitch, you'll be gathering something ta use for oars an' haulin' them. It's going to be one hell of a tough time given how beat up we are, but just remember. If we get timber to the Box canyon, we can build a raft usin' the rope we have for climbing to lash the trees together. Then we can get the hell out while the undeads an' their lord are still too preoccupied with the battle to be keeping track of us. "

Pike cut and stripped four trees with his battle axe and the group laboriously headed North, then East and up. Thankfully they knew the terrain, for they had seen from the cliff tops, while tracking Kent and Rapina, that North was the only way out of the pit that Pike called the valley of the dead.

-----

Rapina was escorted through a stout oak door and up a long circular stair that wound its way around a central shaft. At the top of the shaft, beneath a domed stone roof, hung another large whicker elevator-cage. About 50 feet below the cage there was a landing in the staircase that wrapped from the North side of the shaft all the way around to the East and South. It ended on the South face of the shaft before continuing up as a staircase. Off the landing there were several oaken doors, the first one led to the necromancer's chambers. As the door was opened, her nose caught the scent of myrrh. The necromancer's abode was well-lit with white mage-light from clear crystals suspended from the ceilings. The rooms were spacious, if stark and a bit dusty. Rapina was shown to a small guestroom.

"You'll be staying here for now. If you prove a difficult guest, then perhaps you would prefer to stay with Kent instead of me?" The necromancer raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Try to get some sleep. I usually sleep in the morning and early afternoon. It is more convenient to deal with my minions that way, as they are normally quite sluggish during the daylight hours."

"There is a chamber pot behind that door, a basin there, and a desk. This room was designed for an acolyte, but the church has not seen fit to provide me with one in all the time I have been here. Kent said you read. There are books there on the desk. Treat them well and ask nicely and you will be given replacements if you tire of them."

"Let us get one thing straight, young lady, you have been rescued from the pirates and their fait because war is not a woman's place. You are as much a criminal as they are no matter what they might have done to you, and if you do not behave yourself, you will face the king's justice or mine, understood?"

"Yes Sir," Rapina said, hanging her head. Rapina could sense hardly a whit of lust from the necromancer. At the moment she was being treated like a child and she felt at least as helpless as one. She knew the necromancer's left hand was animated bone, but his robes hid anything beyond that and she had no idea just how much of the necromancer was man, and how much was animated skeleton. At this point she was feeling as if there were more skeleton than man.

The necromancer locked the door to her room as he left, and Rapina flopped onto the bed with a sigh. -----

As the last Rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon, Pike's men pulled their timbers up onto the plateau South of the tomb and burial mounds.

"Damn iv we dild id." Brackston blinked. The sky was twirling overhead.

Pike winced as he saw Brackston fall. "Damn is right." The Norseman limped over to Brackston. "You okay?"

"Heey, wad habbent?" Brackston asked.

"Drink this, man, you're in bad shape. You got dizzy an' fell down, but we made it. We're on the plateau, and none too soon. Let's sit down, and have something to eat. Skitch, you un-jammed the door mechanisms to the tomb, do you think the entry door opened?

Skitch puffed as he set down some oars he'd made from the crusts of a couple old hollow logs. "Hard to say. How'd you get out the first time you got caught in the entry room?"

"If there's weight in the top coffin-like side-tunnel in the Southeast corner of the room, the entry slab opens."

Well, if there was weight there, then the door will be open. If not, it'll be closed. Why do you ask?

"Two reasons," Pike said between mouthfulls of hard roll. "We left some dead in there that the necromancer might be able to use unless we chop 'em up. That an' those men had weapons, valuables an' so on we could take. Once we reach land we're going need to live."

"We can check on the way by, I'd give it about a fifty-fifty chance of bein' open. Could be we could pry the entry slab up a ways with one of these timbers too. If we can, I can get in and open it up. Seems ta me if we pry those gems off the coat of arms in the one room we already tripped the trap in, we'd be set fer years."

"Good thinking." ----

A perimeter had been set up and the pirates had taken up their positions in anticipation of attack. Torches and bonfires illuminated the area as well as casting ominous looking shadows on the edge of the camp. The centerpiece of Red Jack's defensive arrangement was a fortified hillock. On the top of the hill was a couple small tents and a large shallow, flat-bottomed depression where the pirates' many wounded were resting. There was a ring around the hilltop with a three-foot high, stockade-style log wall. Behind it, the pirates' archers took cover.

On the outside of the short stockade wall that ringed the top of the hill was a dirt embankment. Starting from the embankment and going all the way down the sides of the hill and beyond were row upon row of stout wooden spears planted into the ground so that they bristled toward the enemy. Pikes and small trees positioned around the top of the hill could be used to pierce or bludgeon enemies trying to squeeze between the rows and approach the fort. Twenty yards away from the base of the hill a ditch had been dug to stifle the approach of battering rams that might rapidly break the spears protecting the fort. The ditch that ringed the fort had a ring of spears planted on the near side to slow the enemy and make them easier to hit for the archers of the fort.

In anticipation of undead shadows not directed by the isle's lord, because of having been spawned only last night, a field of bon-fires and torches had been arranged. These sat between the base of the array of spears on the hill and the ring of spears near the ditch so that the archers might spot and fire on the shadows. This plan would only be good for as long as the fires burned brightly, but Red Jack expected these uncontrolled undeads to come to feed as soon as night fell. Some of the heartier pirates stood near the start of the spears not far from the base of the hill. The archers could fire over their heads with ease, but these men were present to kill any shadows the archers missed before they started working their way through the spears to the fort.

As tired as they were from building the fort all day, none of the pirates was able to sleep. Their fear was too strong to allow that. It was fortunate that they were all awake. Had even a few of them been sleeping the undead that surged forth would have overwhelmed them in minutes.

The half-elf was one of the first to spot the shadows trying to slip into camp. A silent hand signal from Arzeal was all it took to spur the other archers to action. Flaming arrows flying overhead alerted the pirates on the ground to the shadows' presence. The shadows had lost the element of surprise.

The pirates on the ground took up their positions holding their weapons at the ready. Arzeal smiled as one of his resin-arrows engulfed a shadow in its fiery embrace. The pirates were ready this time. He let fly another flaming arrow as he spotted another shadow working its way around the left flank.

The archer's arrows lit up the sky alerting Logan and his men to the shadows' approach. Torch in one hand and sword in the other he took up his position with his men. The front line was a dangerous place to be. Yet, how could Logan expect his men to die for him if he was not ready to die for them? He might not live to see the light of another day, but at least he would die fighting. Three dark forms surged around the sharpened stakes and at Logan and his men. They rushed forth to meet their foes with fearsome battle cries.

From the hilltop fort, the captain surveyed the scene unfolding before him with his spyglass. Arzeal and his archers were doing quite a number on the shadows. The fact that they picked their shots wisely and didn't madly fire all their arrows away said something for the master archer's training of his men. Logan and his soldiers were doing well so far at keeping the shadows that slipped through at bay. He shivered as he remembered the chill touch of the shadow. "Good luck my friend," the captain said aloud.

Movement at the perimeter caught Jack's eye. A joint force of skeleton's and zombies was emerging from the darkness. The zombies were in front and the first rank of them carried shields. Behind the zombies were skeletons bearing a bridge of planks covered in a layer of mud. Behind and flanking them were skeletons wielding bows. As they walked forward, the skeleton archers let fly arrows over the heads of the soldiers in front of them. "Damn! He's got a small army of tha walkin' dead an' some of 'em have bows! I was wonderin' where are dead from last night got to, damned zombies!" Jack bellowed.

If it weren't for the archers, his men could have held the skeletons off with only small losses. At least Jack was pretty sure they could have. Unfortunately the men who were gathering to meet the zombies when they crossed the ditch were being filled full of holes.

"Jump the spears an' into the ditch, Logan, them arrows are decimatin' ye!

Arzeal and his archers let fly trying to cut down some of the skeletons firing on Logan's men. Unfortunately, many of the shots that hit went right through the skeletons. Damn! shoot for the pelvis and use broadheads if you've got 'em, it's our best bet! Arzeal yelled.

"Arzeal, unveil yer little monster. I don't want these hair-cuts ye gave us ta be in vain. That bridge they're carryin' could be are doom, knock it out o' their hands. Archers, concentrate on tryin' ta blast through th' zombies in front o' the right side o' the bridge they're carryin' that's are target," Captain Red Jack ordered.

A couple of archers pealed back the supply tent revealing a small catapult with a torsion spring made of the men's shorn hair.

Arzeal released a flame-arrow that turned the zombie walking in font of the right side of the earth-covered bridge into a walking torch. This lit the way for his archers' arrows. That accomplished he put his bow back on his back and unveiled his little monster, a catapult.

Arzeal aimed the little monster he had worked on all day and let fly. The first stone went long and to the right. Arzeal made a couple of adjustments as four of his men worked to cock the catapult again.

The Zombies in front of the right side of the portable bridge fell down in a hail of arrows.

Without the zombies in front of them, the skeletons were not as well protected, but they were able to move more quickly. The archers behind them rained arrows on any of Logan's men not already in the ditch.

The second shot of the catapult was short, but centered nicely. Crank it with everything you've got, men, if you're quick enough, that bridge will be passing though the area our last stone hit. The men redoubled their efforts. "Just as soon the catapult's arm hits the stops, release it. I'll see if I can soften 'em up for you," the half-elf said.

Arzeal took his bow up again and pulled arrow after arrow from his quiver. He had almost no time to aim, but many of his shots were superb. One by one the Skeletons along the right side of the bridge began to fall. Oddly, other skeletons from farther back dropped their weapons and took the places of their fallen comrades, though not nearly as quickly as would have been the case had the army been a little less deficient of intelligence. Arzeal suspected someone was giving orders, but all he could see was an army of skeletons. He and his archers kept up a heavy rain of arrows.

The men released the catapult. The stone arced up and slammed onto the right side of the portable bridge, the one weakened by the concentrated fire of Arzeal's archers. That side of the bridge dropped and a great deal of mud loosened from the surface of the bridge.

Arzeal dropped his bow and made the slightest adjustment to the aim of the catapult. His men cranked it back so fast it seemed that they knew their lives depended on it. The bridge was dangerously close to the ditch, and this would be their last, best shot.

Arzeal grabbed his bow and crouched at the edge of the stockade wall, releasing arrow after arrow.

Zombies began pouring into the ditch. Logan and his men fought hard, hacking at the unyielding zombies with energy born of terror.

"Fighting withdrawal men, fighting withdrawal! There are too damn many reachin' the ditch at once! Let's fall back to the opposite side of the ring to hole up in the fort if necessary. We're outnumbered, those damned unexpected undead archers hit too damn many of us.

The impromptu artillerists released the catapult arm again and the stone slammed into the left side of the bridge. The shock shattered the wrists of many of the skeletons.

There was a moment when it seemed as though the one side of the bridge would remain up. That moment passed as Arzeal took out two of the skeletons whose wrists had held and the second side of the bridge fell to the ground. "Keep firing! Arzeal screamed.

There was a moment of hesitation as arrows poured down at the skeletons, and then the remainder of the undead army ran forward and took cover in the ditch. The skeleton army began to fire on the pirates behind the stockade wall of the fort, but few shots were telling on either side because both sides had good cover.

Logan and his men fought bravely, but even with support from the better pirate archers, it was a loosing battle against superior numbers. ---

Rapina could not sleep. She just lay on the bed curled into a ball. So much had happened and it was all so horrible. Rapina did not even want to think about it. The room and the rest of the Necromancer's chambers were a bit chilly owing to the fact that they had been carved inside a granite cliff. Deep underground temperatures stayed around fifty degrees, and Rapina estimated the chambers of the Necromancer were no warmer than sixty-five degrees. Rapina hardly noticed, because she had dressed for underground temperatures owing to the mission she had been on. She wore baggy drawstring pants, a loose long-sleeved tunic and a baggy sir-coat pillaged from some soldier on the blockade Red Jack had recently destroyed.

After a time she looked at her surroundings. The room was lit by two tiny mage-lights, one on a plaque-like arrangement just above the head of the bed, and the other similarly attached to the wall above the desk. Both lamps had a cap held by a loose ring and chain that could be screwed on over the lights. The one over the bed also had a red glass cap that could be used instead of the metal one. The walls were rough, and showed the mark of both chisel and pickaxe. Rapina guessed that tireless undead workers had mined the room out of the stone.

Rapina got up to look around. On one side of her room were two doors. One opened into a tiny room containing the chamber pot, the other led into a small room with a decanter, basin and dressing table, and the entrance to a walk-in closet. Rapina decided that if this room had been designed for an acolyte, the church of Mortaebius must be wealthy, or the necromancer and his servants had too much time on their hands.

Rapina sat down at the dressing table. She was a mess, her hair was tangled and she smelled like smoke. Her face was covered with a mixture of soot and dried slime from Kent's hideous tongue. The closet was mostly empty, but a few garments hung from hooks and hangers, and there were a few more in the chest of drawers at the far end of the closet. Rapina did not know where the Necromancer had come by women's clothing, but she tried not to dwell on the obvious conclusion that the garments had been "borrowed" from someone too dead to miss them. At least they seemed clean. Rapina used nearly all of the water in the decanter washing herself. She needed a bath but she did the best she could using the basin. When she was done, she put on the petticoats, dress, and sweater within the closet. The dress was actually a little big for her, except in the bust where it was too small, but at least she could get it on.

There were three books on the shelf beside the desk, two were storybooks, and one was a holy book concerning the god of the dead. Rapina quickly read the first chapter of one of the storybooks and then got into bed with the book on Mortaebius. She needed to find out everything she could about the necromancer and his god.


At some point, Rapina must have fallen asleep. The horrors of the previous night and morning had taxed her severely. She slept like the dead for a few hours and then began having horrible nightmares as her mind tried to cope with what she had been through. She woke in a sweat when there came a knocking on her chamber door.

"Rouse yourself. "

Rapina flew from her bed and replaced the Mortaebius book on the shelf.

"Come out and follow the guards I have assigned to you. They will escort you to the kitchen where you are to prepare breakfast for us both. Do not attempt to take any knives out of the kitchen, or the guards will kill you. I will return shortly after a conference with my minions."

Rapina scowled. She had only been here a few hours and already she was being put to work.

Once in the kitchen, Rapina cooked a breakfast consisting of eggs and oatmeal. The necromancer did not have a great deal in his kitchen. There were large crocks of various grains and beans, and a loaf of bread. The iron cook stove was small, but modern. Rapina served the priest in the great hall when he arrived. It would have been easier to serve him in the breakfast nook off the kitchen, but not as safe for the necromancer since knives were close at hand.

When the necromancer arrived, he placed a board on the table before him. There was a model of sorts built on top of it, a little hillock fort with a ditch around it rendered in clay and twigs.

"You may serve breakfast now, Ripina, I have arrived."

"There wasn't much here so I fixed oatmeal and eggs," Rapina called from the kitchen.

"Splendid, I am used to simple fare. We are too far away from a town for better, and up until now I have always had to cook for myself. The skeletons are too simple for such tasks. They can scrub floors adequately, but they have no sense of smell and tend to burn anything they attempt to cook.

Rapina brought the tray of food in from the kitchen. "Did Kent tell you my name?"

The necromancer raised his eyebrows as he saw Rapina, "Indeed."

Rapina's nose tingled as she sensed lust. "It's Rapina, actually, he doesn't pronounce things very clearly anymore."

"Yes. I am Guardian Thane of the Mortaebian order of Death's Peace."

"A priest?" Rapina wrinkled her nose involuntarily.

Thane chuckled, "You don't like priests?"

"I've had a little experience with priests, all of it bad. One was a lecherous 'celibate' priest, and well, the other turned one of the only friends I had into a terrifying undead monster who recently ate the cook I worked for when I was first taken by the pirates."

Thane laughed. "My order is not known for its kindness. Most of the priests of Mortabius are nothing more than undertakers - morticians. They conduct funerals, build caskets, embalm, dress and beautify the deceased, serve feasts in honor of the dead, that sort of thing. It strikes most as a ghoulish profession, but many of Mortaebius' priests are married in spite of that, for the business of the church provides a good living. Those of us who distinguish ourselves as powerful guardians of the dead often take on more serious duties. We are a little less... naive of our god's strengths."

"A little?" Rapina asked.

"Every church has its strong arm. Some have orders of knights or militant orders of monks. Mortaebius' church is no exception. We are the guardians of the dead when our more peaceful brethren find the enemies of Mortaebius too difficult to best. Our order generally grows during times of war, and gets swept under the rug during times of peace, but we are an old and powerful order. The church has always needed us. Few priests enter the order directly. Most are recruited from other orders. I am also a member of the order of Death's Peace, a common funereal order that specializes in the maintenance and protection of burial sites. It is not so uncommon for priests of my order who have distinguished themselves in combat or magic to receive a secret invitation to join a hidden order."

Rapina sat down to eat, "You were a mortician?"

The necromancer nodded.

"A family thing?" Rapina asked.

"No, actually my father was a clothier who catered to the wealthy. His life was an endless series of social events with people above his station who lauded his design sense and depended on him to keep them in up-to-date fashions. He knew just how to play them, just how to appeal to their vanity. I found it intolerable. Thankfully, one of our good customers died and I had the chance to work with a priest of Mortaebius on the clothing for the deceased."

"And now you make them walk instead of dressing them?"

"That is another story. Now how did you happen to become a member of the crew of the infamous Red Jack?"

Rapina was about to make up a tail when she realized that Kent had probably told the necromancer everything he knew. At least she could not rule out the possibility of Guardian Thane checking out her story with the ghoul. "How did I become a crewman? A priest, of course, my luck with priests is hideous. He was a powerful man with the town wrapped around his finger. Very like your father in some ways, he knew just how play them, and he loved it. The townspeople hung on his every word, he was a holy man among holy men, and during his off-hours, he was a lecher and a rapist who preyed on the town's young women. If a woman talked or refused to cooperate, she sickened or had an accident.

I escaped his clutches and ran from the constable who he controlled. Kent and his friends fished me out of the river onto their stolen fishing boat. I was nearly drowned, but the river had delivered me from my priestly troubles. The boys wanted to join Red Jack's crew; they had a romantic vision of piracy. I knew the priest would get the law after me. Therefore when the pirates found us, before the boys could give me over as a gift to the captain as they'd planned, I told the pirates that the boys and I wanted to join the crew."

"And they let you join just like that?" the necromancer asked dubiously.

"It was sometimes a horror, sometimes not so bad, but it was probably better than a damp cell under a church with a man who, for all his vaunted holiness, was meaner to me than Captain Red Jack."

"Meaner than a notorious pirate captain? No wonder you mislike priests," Thane chuckled. I suppose you know his better side, but your captain is infamous up and down the river Augustana. Even I know about him, and I do not get out much. He has brought so much business to my church I almost feel like thanking him. He and his men are cold-blooded killers, criminals of the first degree, and tonight I will crush them like bugs under Mortaebius' mighty boot."

"Is that?" Rapina pointed to the clay hillock on the board.

"A model of the fort they built. You told Dominic you did not know whether they would go or stay, evidently they have decided to stay. Now I must figure out how to best them with what remains of my resources."

"You're wearing a glove today?" Rapina asked.

"Only because I was painting," replied the necromancer.

"You're an artist?" Rapina asked.

The necromancer laughed. "I am if you count painting ghouls and skeletons black. Actually, I did paint white bones on a ghoul painted black so he would look like a skeleton. Does that count?"

Rapina closed her eyes. "I can't believe I'm talking to a man who makes dead people walk and kill and eat living people."

"It seems hideous to you now, but remember, I was a mortician, dead bodies to me are like trees to a lumberman. Red Jack makes living people rape, ruin and kill living people. I ask you, which of us is *really* more frightening?"

"Okay, so you're both horrors," Rapina said.

"Quite so, but at least we're honest," the necromancer affirmed.

Rapina groaned.

"This is war, Rapina. You may see my forces as something out of a nightmare, but essentially Jack and I are fighting. He wants this island as a base. I want to wipe him from the face of Ifreann as a public service and because, frankly, It will boost my reputation in the Order of the Shroud by a thousand percent. Moreover it might secure me access to learning that might take me a lifetime to acquire otherwise -true wizardry."

Rapina sighed.

------------

Logan's men retreated up the hill on the opposite side, away from the downed bridge and the highest concentration of archers. Unfortunately, as his forces were climbing through the spears to the safety of the fort, more and more enemy archers reached Logan's side of the hillock. Arzeal tried to pin them down with fire, but too many shots got through, killing many good men. Logan himself barely made it over the stockade wall. He'd been grazed several times and had an arrow sticking through the skin of his calf.

The next hour flew by. What remained of Logan's men had their wounds patched and either joined the many wounded at the fort's center or joined the defenders if they were able-bodied. Some who should have been lying with the wounded helped the archers instead. Their fear prevented them from lying back to trust their mates to take care of the battle. ----


"Who's winning?" Rapina said pensively as Thane emerged from his chambers to fetch a snack. She was doing the dishes with several skeletons standing between her and Thane. She thought about tossing a knife at him, but considering he'd ordered the skeletons to kill her if she did, she thought better of it.

"Neither side, but I am making progress. Your captain built himself a small catapult and foiled my plan to quickly bridge his ditch and use a battering ram on his spears to win the night. His archers have caused much greater casualties to my forces than I had anticipated, but I captured the ditch and let the bon fires between the ditch and the base of the hill burn down to embers.


While some relief archers dashed in from the South drawing missile fire and, more importantly that half-elven archer, a few ghouls painted black snuck up on the ditch from the North. Kent is already there. It was he who was painted like a skeleton. He commanded the main body of my forces."

"Now he and the other ghouls will start tunneling in earnest, and they are excellent tunnelers. Kent himself has already in this last hour made progress on a tunnel, and some of the skeletons who lack bows or arrows have built a bridge of earth over the ditch well away from the tunnel. Now that I have more ghouls on the job, the skeletons will pile more dirt up and build bridges across the ditch. I have a little surprise in store for the pirates, just something to keep them busy and weaken their defenses..." ---

Arzeal crouched behind the fort's South stockade wall. "That's the best we'll do, the new skeleton archers are in the ditch now. Those two ranks in the front with shields didn't help us any, but you did well, men, we knocked out a third of 'em, and wounded at least half. Every one of those archers that gets through to the ditch is another thorn in our sides."

"I sure wish we had more regular flame arrows, those bon fires are useless anymore. I know you men are having trouble seeing the enemy. Trouble is we've shot more arrows already tonight than we'd use in several raids. How're things over North, Brent?"

"Seem quiet sir, but I think I seen a shadow out there jump into the ditch."

"Damn, I'd hoped we'd rid areselves o' all th' shadows at the start o' th' evening, but I guess there had ta be a few that got here late." What worried Jack was the fact that he hadn't seen any ghouls yet. They had hurt the pirates badly the last time. "Wonder where he's got 'is damn ghouls."

"Skeletons! Damn they're almost on top of the ditch already. It's hard to see 'em even with my eyes, their bodies are no warmer than the air," Arzeal said.

"What the hell Arzeal, have you gone daft?" the captain asked.

Arzeal picked up one of his remaining resin arrows and let fly. There was the familiar poof! and a skeleton no one could see went up in flames. He was the front creature in a team of runners carrying a tall dead evergreen like a lance.

Archers, man th' Nor' wall! What in hell's name is that? A team o' Skeletons painted black carryin' a dead pine tree like a lance?" Captain Red Jack queried.


The archers fired on the tree-wielding skeletons, but even with the light of Arzeal's flameing skeleton, it was still hard for the men to see the black skeletons against the dark night and the dark tree branches, and by the time the men from the South wall switched sides to the North, the skeletons had already run across the ditch.

"Did ye see that, those skeletons hardly sank down when they hit the ditch, it must be partly filled right there," the captain observed.

Only the men to the far sides of the North wall had good shots, the rest were left trying to shoot through hundreds of tree branches.

The black skeletons sprinted over the earth bridge across the ditch and headed for the base of the hill.

One of the men happened to shoot a flaming arrow into the tree's dead folliage, and the whole tree, save the base where the skeletons held it went up in a roar of flames.

By the time the skeletons reached the base of the hill, only half their original number remained, but it was barely enough. Their great spear was already tilted and aflame, it fell nearly all the way up the hill. Their mission completed, the black skeletons sprinted for the ditch. In spite of the darkness, the pirate archers shattered several with arrows before they reached safety.

The archers backed away from the heat of the flaming tree. Pine burned fast, and this tree was burning even faster than it should have, the flames were intensely hot and they were burning the wooden spears all the way up the hill.

"You men, take those buckets an' start throwin' dirt on the upper section o' the tree, it may seem like a fool's errand now, but every pair 'o spears we can save will slow a charge by a few precious seconds," Red Jack said.

A man stood high to get a good shot at the fire with his bucket of dirt and fell back with three arrows buried in his chest.

"Keep low an' behind cover, men, yer just as vulnerable ta enemy fire with a bucket as ye are with a bow!" Jack shouted. ---

Rapina was cleaning the kitchen when the necromancer returned.

"My trick worked, but that damned archer nearly foiled me again. He and his men have bailed Captain Red Jack out several times now."

"He's one of Jack's nicest men."

"A nice pirate? Please! Nice or not, he _is_ a problem," Thane rubbed his chin as if thinking.

"What did you do?" Rapina asked.

"The skeletons I painted black ran a pine tree up to the base of the pirate fort's spears and landed it nearly the whole way up the hill. I had Kent paint the trunk and many of the major limbs with pine tar. It's burning wildly, taking the pirate's spears in that area with it."

Rapina scowled.

"Thane chuckled. Such loyalty for a bunch of cold-blooded killers is astounding, especially in a lady they no doubt abused to no end. Red Jack must be charismatic, indeed."

Rapina felt like stabbing the necromancer with a kitchen knife, but she knew his six skeleton guards would cut her to ribbons in an instant if she tried anything. Even if she killed the man instantly with an incredibly lucky throw, she would be joining him in death before she could even pick up another knife, and a knife would be a laughable weapon against one of the necromancer's double-strength skeletons.

On the other hand, she could not help but see the evil magician's point. Jack and all his men killed innocent people for a living. It seemed that ever since Evangeline had brought his evil down upon her and forced her to claim the powers of the lust spirit, she could not escape the darkness. 
-----

This ends Death Battles the Living, Chapter 15 of The Chronicles of Rapina.
The story continues in, Chapter 16, Defeat in Darkness.

Copyright 2001 by Rapina