Chapter B2C9 - Vengeance

Chapter B2C9 - Vengeance

Twenty skeletons. That was the following that Tyron had managed to create after his desperate struggles to master his Necromancer class. He was proud of what he’d achieved. He didn’t want to be boastful, but he felt certain that under his circumstances, most would struggle to do what he had done, or learn what he had learned.

Each of the minions stood armed with simple weaponry, swords and axes, though only eight had shields. As the skeletons gathered in the bottom floor of the farmhouse, he could feel the drain on his magick rise precipitously. A full twenty might be more than he could support after all.

He rushed over to his back and fumbled around until he found a few arcane crystals and jammed them into his pocket. He’d likely need them before the fight was done.

“Kid, take me with you.”

Tyron screeched to a halt. He turned to stare at the skull sitting motionless on the table, his two eyes aglow with magick.

“You want to come out there with me?” he asked, confused.

“Heck yes. Do you really think I want to sit here on the table and sleep while there’s a fight to the death going on? Besides the fear of missing out on the fun, I do actually have a valid reason for this request.”This chapter is updated by nov(e)(l)biin.com

“Which is?” Tyron prompted uneasily.

“I refuse to be stuck in this skull for the rest of my afterlife, kid. You agreed to set me free, remember? If it looks like you might lose, I want you to smash my skull and break the ritual. I will not be used as a desk ornament for a horny, murderous farmhand for the next dozen years, alright? So take me with you.”

“Dove...” Tyron muttered, his hands hanging by his side.

He didn’t have time to process how he felt about his friend's request, so he snatched the skull from the table in his left hand as he rushed to complete his preparations.

“I need to figure out a way to attach you to my belt or something,” he huffed, “I want both hands free for this.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t especially feel the need to get closer to any ‘bones’, if you take my meaning.”

“I get it.”

“I’m talking about your -”

“I said I get it!”

Once he was ready, he ordered his twenty skeletons to step into the courtyard and followed quickly after them. He’d rather not parade his undead in the open where the children could see them, but they had bigger things to worry about right now.

When he stepped onto the sandy gravel of the courtyard he found Annette outside, along with a few other widows, each of them armed with the short hunting bows that were common in the frontier farming communities.

As he drew closer he could see the fear in their eyes — several were physically trembling — but also their determination. These women were prepared to fight.

“How are the others?” he asked.

Annette shook her head.

“Not good. I’ve left Donna and Bridget to watch them and take care of the little ones. They’re too frightened to help.”

“Can’t really blame them,” Dove said, “these bastards need a right kicking in the balls.”

When the skull spoke out of the blue, the widows jumped, shocked to hear a voice emanating from human remains.

“Oh. Uh. This is my friend, Dove. I... uh... attached his spirit to his skull... after he died.”

At his explanation four sets of horrified eyes turned themselves from the skull, to him.

“Yeah. I don’t think the explanation really helps you out in this case, kid. Should have just told them you found me or something.”

“Is he... safe?” Annette asked hesitantly.

“Who, Dove?” Tyron looked down at the skull clasped in his left hand. “Completely. He can’t even move. He can see, and talk, that’s about it.”

He flicked his vision to the minions in the courtyard for a moment. Nothing yet. The crook may be trying to stall him out, so he’d need to keep his eyes open.

His reply only broadened the grin on Monty’s face as he held his hands wide.

“Same as before, lad. You can piss off, an’ we’ll be having these here farms back.”

“The women and children?”

The group behind Monty laughed and the man himself chuckled openly.

“Aye, we’ll be havin’ them too.”

“These guys fucking suck,” Dove muttered. “I’ve seen some real top-grade pricks in my time, but holy shit.”

“Like I told you before, if you want them, come up here and pay the price. All I want is your bones!” Tyron reached out and grasped one of his new skeletons by the wrist, lifting the limb and making the skeleton wave back and forth at the bandits. “Your friends seem happy with the arrangement.”

The laughter switched to ugly muttering as he mocked their dead friends. The expression on Monty’s face hardened.

“Do you know what it’s like, lad, ta be given Farmer as yer Class?”

“You want sympathy from me?” Tyron called, incredulous. “Might be a little late for that, you piece of filth.”

“Oh aye. We done terrible things. But that’s what it takes to change yer fate. See, most o' the lads were raised out here, workin’ odd jobs until we get our class. Farmer, or Labourer, or Tradesman. Then we supposed to go make a life fer ourselves, but it’s a little hard to be a farmer when yer family can’t feed ya, let alone buy a farm.”

The men all nodded, their faces hard as they stared up at the farm houses.

“So what are we supposed ta do? We sign on as farmhands for richer men an slave away makin’ money for someone else. Not much of a life if ya ask me. Then the monsters came, an' we got ourselves a little chance. We can finally make somethin’ of ourselves.”

“You wanted the land, so you killed the men who owned it? You really think you could just take their place and nobody would notice?”

“Well now, who’s to say it weren’t the kin that did it? Ain't nobody around who can say otherwise. Well, there won’t be.”

“And their wives and children? Did they have to suffer like they did?”

Monty held his hands up, palms out, and shrugged.

“That’s just a side benefit, as it were,” he laughed.

The blood boiled in Tyron’s veins.

“Come up and die, Monty,” he called back. “I’ve nothing else to say to you while you’re living.”

“You might be some fancy mage, lad, but you can’t beat this many of us. Give it up and walk away.”

Tyron turned his back on the man and stepped back into the protective ring of skeletons. The bandit leader could shout all the nonsense he wanted, he wasn’t going anywhere.

He quickly ran through the spells he could utilise in this situation, and tried to decide which he should prepare first. He was so deep in thought, he didn’t even realise that Monty had started calling to the widows.

Whatever had been said was lost to him, but the reply certainly wasn’t.

“Die you fucking bastards!” Annette screamed as she leaned out the window, her face twisted with rage as she let fly an arrow from her bow.

The shot sailed through the air in a graceful arc and sank deep into the leg of a bandit who stumbled to the side with a cry of pain, clutching at his wound. This signalled the other widows, who also fired their first arrows out of the upstairs windows. Under fire, the former farmhands rushed to protect themselves, their crude shields coming to the fore. After a few moments of arranging themselves, they charged toward the farmhouses, giving a ragged cry.

“If I die today, instead of these shitmongers, I’m going to be very upset with you, Tyron,” Dove remarked.

The young Necromancer gripped the hilt of his sword tight.

“Me too.”