Book 2. Chapter 37

Book 2. Chapter 37

Brin stood in the reserve line, a shield in one hand and a spear with a glass head in the other. Myra had come through with his heat-vision-blocking clothes, and he’d put them on under Perris’ leather armor, so all in all he felt ready for anything. They’d placed him between two decently-leveled [Farmers], and he wasn’t the only one his age out here. Zilly, still wearing a few bandages, was in the row in front of him, and seven other boys and one girl from his System Day were scattered among the reserves. The town had brought nearly everyone out who could hold a weapon, hoping to get them all some levels while they still could.

That didn’t mean that they were going to underestimate the enemy. Brin had already paid the adventurers in advance. He didn’t want to lose a single life that could be saved by committing their full strength from the beginning.

The undead were arrayed against them in ordered rows. There were nearly twice as many of the armored elites as last week, but only four giants. The army was ghastly; no matter how much he stared, he couldn’t get used to the sight.

At least it wasn’t the rotting, zombie-looking undead this time. These were the undead he was more used to, in tight black clothing. Aside from being too skinny and slightly too pale, you could almost squint and pretend they were living men.

That made it worse. Regular zombies were disgusting on their own, but you couldn’t mistake them for anything but monsters. These were in the uncanny valley, and it made his skin crawl how they moved just a little bit wrong or stood much too still.

It was profane that something this ugly should attack during the day. It disgusted him to share daylight with these things. Shouldn’t they attack at night? That’s how it always happened in the movies. Then again, maybe they did mean to attack at night. They’d left the forest two hours ago, but for now seemed content to wait.

Despite the fact that the enemy had slightly greater numbers than before, the morale of the defenders seemed high. This wasn’t an unknown threat any more. They’d faced this before, they could do it again. They’d win and level, and have an even better chance against the next army that came.

Brin didn’t need [Battle Sense] to know that this was going to be a one-sided slaughter, although it was nice to have that confirmation. Everyone knew, and he could see it in their faces, the way they held their weapons with eagerness instead of dread. That alone gave Brin pause. The enemy should know that they were going to lose, too. So why had they come? Unless they knew something that he and the rest of the town didn’t.

Hogg had said that he thought the first attack might’ve been an accident. The undead could have been drawn by Basil’s shout and then the lack of a [Witch] commander had caused them to attack too soon, before they’d properly grouped up. Hogg had said that they wouldn’t make that mistake again. And yet, here they were.

It was extremely likely that even greater numbers of undead were hiding in the forest, but even if that was the case, that shouldn’t mean the town was doomed. They could cut this smaller force to pieces, get their levels, and then hide behind the walls when the larger force showed up.

The Prefit was walking back and forth behind the front line, shouting encouragement, flourishing his weapons, and overall acting like the mascot at a pep rally. The front line defender cheered as he passed, banging weapons against shields.

Brin had to admit that the Prefit was good at this. He thought the big man was a substandard leader most of the time, but here, on the battlefield, he was exactly who the town needed. The attack last week had gone perfectly, and according to [Battle Sense], this one was going to go just as well.

The wedge formation of Lantern-men were ready to go, just waiting for their spearhead to take his place. The Prefit walked to his place, but then at the last second veered off and ran down the edge of the Lantern-men, ringing his sword against their upraised spears. He wore a brilliant smile, his perfect white teeth glinting as brightly as his polished bronze armor. The Lantern-men stood taller, the reserves cheered, and there was another loud cheer from the townsfolk who’d gathered to watch from the other side of the gates. Only after making a complete circuit of the Lantern-men did the Prefit finally take his position at the front of the wedge.

“Another day! Another charge! Another blow against our enemy! Fight, you sons and daughters of Hammon’s Bog! Step forward into another day! Step forward and attack!”

He took a step forward, and then another, and then tripped on something and fell on the ground. The entire formation halted, many of them running into each other, not expecting to stop so soon.

It was such a perfect Charlie Chaplin moment of slapstick humor that Brin couldn’t help but laugh, though he stopped when the [Farmer] to his left scowled at him. The Lantern-man to the Prefit’s left, the town’s [Firefighter], walked up to see what had happened, before he too fell to the ground.

Then three other Lantern-men collapsed. In the reserves, a high-level [Farmer] fell to the ground. A man in the center of the front defensive line fell to the ground. This man wore polished wooden armor and was level 44. The town’s best [Carpenter]. A [Hunter] up on a tower collapsed next, that one level 50. He heard a musical clunk as a lute fell to the ground. Jeffrey the [Bard] was down.

The highest-level people were dropping like flies. Only seven out of hundreds, but they were seven that couldn’t be replaced.

Another Lantern-man worked up the courage to check on the Prefit, and recoiled. “Witchery! This is a [Witch’s] evil!”

The news caused the front row of their formation to jump back as if a meteor had landed in their ranks. Soon, everyone was shouting and the press of bodies prevented Brin from seeing what happened next.

He looked back, and saw the adventurers. Rat Scratch had a huge horn pressed to his ear, and a hand clasped to the other ear. He was wincing as if the act of listening were causing him physical pain. He put the horn down and said something to the others.

Brin left his place in the line and ran to them. “What? What’s going on?”

“The same thing happened to the defenders at other gates. The south gate lost someone named Toros, and Chamylla the [Enchantress] has fallen as well.”

Brin grabbed Rat Scratch by the shoulders. “Hogg?”

“I don’t know!”

Shouts came from past the line of defenders. “Make way! Make way!” The lines parted to reveal two Lantern-men carrying the Prefit by the shoulders and ankles. Little of his skin was visible beneath the shining armor, but his face was blackish-green, the skin peeling back to let oozing white puss spill free. Pairs of men soon followed, carrying the others who’d collapsed.

“Where are they taking them?” Brin shouted. The adventurers didn’t answer so Brin ran towards the men carrying the Prefit and punched the lead Lantern-man’s shoulder. “Where are you taking him?” he demanded.

A [Hunter] had arrived, and Brin saw him retreating while sending arrow after arrow into the undead, despite a gaping wound on his forearm. Brin didn’t stop to help.

Three of the undead reared up in front of him, spread out and ready to catch him. He had no choice but to try to ram through. Hogg might be incapacitated, but his leathers were more than enough to block a few weapons.

He put everything he had into his legs, and ran faster.

Right as he was about to reach the undead, he heard a loud, angry chirp. A battle cry–Marksi charged, darting forward in a flash of rainbow light. He climbed up onto the shoulders of an ax-wielder, scratched its eyes, and then jumped to the next undead before the first one could respond. Marksi distracted all three of them, and Brin ran right between them, untouched.

He felt a swell of emotion and bit his lip. Even though he smelled like [Witch] and Marksi wouldn’t come near him, the little guy was still watching out for him. Brin didn’t deserve Marksi, but he swore he’d find a way to make it up to him.

Brin ran. The rest of the way was boring and painful. He knew he should pace himself, that a run across town with this much weight wasn’t something he could do at full speed. He knew what he should do, but he refused. This was Hogg.

Brin sprinted the entire way. Chest burning, legs aching, back straining, he refused to slow down.

Every step was agony; every breath was an eternity, but somehow when he arrived at the temple he felt like it hadn’t taken any time at all.

He stumbled the last few steps into the temple, and saw the Prefit and ten others laid out on the stone floor. Hela was there, too, and Gudio. Brin went down on his knees, and lay Hogg down as gently as he could.

Someone tried to speak to him, but he was beyond hearing. His ears were ringing. His eyes were blurry; he could hardly see past the red fog.

He thought he saw Hogg start to recover; his skin was clearing in the holy magic of the temple. Then Brin blinked again and the rot on Hogg’s skin returned. It had been a trick of the mind. Whatever Ellion was supposed to be doing, it wasn’t working.

He looked for the priest, and found him right next to him, holding out a glass of water. Brin drank, but had to stop after a couple gulps to keep gasping. After he caught his breath enough to keep going, he drank down the rest of the glass and handed it back to the priest.

Only now did he notice that the temple was completely full. Every single bench was full of worshippers, and nearly all the floorspace was filled with people praying on their knees.

“Hogg. Can you help him?” Brin asked, still panting.

“The curse will not progress as long as they are in these walls. Hogg is safe, for now, though he will not awake until the curse is removed,” said Ellion.

“He’ll live?”

Ellion nodded. “He will live. Fear not: No undead or evil [Witch] will enter here.”

Clearly not all [Witches] were banned. Chamylla lay on a blanket together with the others who'd been damaged by the curse.

Brin looked around again at the crowds of people. “Is that what they’re all doing here?”

“It is,” said Ellion, though he looked a bit sad. “I offer them sanctuary, and they will survive even if the rest of the town falls. I fear I cannot offer you the same.”

“Because I don’t worship Solia. You offered, but I never took you up on it, and now it’s too late. I understand,” said Brin.

Ellion’s features twisted in disgust and he shook his head so fast that his headdress fell out of place. “Do you really think me so crass? No, it’s because you weren’t here first. There are another hundred waiting outside in line. If the undead break through the walls, they will come in and fill in the walking spaces and mausoleum and every nook and cranny. I would shelter the whole town if I could, but I cannot.”

“Oh,” said Brin. “Well, that’s as fair as you could be, I guess.”

“I will pray for you, Brin the Mistaken. That much is still within my power,” said Ellion.

Brin thanked him, then walked over to crouch down next to Hogg. He looked around, but there was no way to do what needed doing discreetly.

Well, let them think what they wanted. Unapologetically, he began to rifle through Hogg’s pockets. He found the Health potion, and debated using it on Hogg right there, but something told him that wouldn’t work. He found a couple of potions labeled with a crude picture of an explosion, and one with a symbol for fire. There were plenty of weapons, but nothing that would be better for him than his glass spear. Last, he found two more potions of Turn Undead. Apparently, Calisto’s batch had been bigger than the one they’d used for Neptune. He also found ten mana potions, and took them all.

And that was it. Hogg had exhausted his consumables already in the fight in the forest. This was honestly more than Brin had been expecting, but he’d need it. Even if Ellion had offered him sanctuary, he wouldn’t have taken it. There was a war going on out there, and he intended to help fight it.