Page 140 of Deadly Maiden

“Got it.”

“Good then? Let’s do this before the morning gets stale.”

I draw a breath, eye the palace and where the road curves, then jog into the middle of the road and command my undead to advance down it, as fast as they can—which is a sort of scraping, moaning hobble, for most. A few summon a ragged jog. I stay in the middle, contrary to what I said. They’re already spreading out.

Keeping hold, controlling them, is akin to telling five hundred ants what to do…if you could speak to every ant’s head. It is possible but messy, and they’re forever wandering off.

Tight, keep it tight.

We go round the bend. There is the fence made of metal pickets, but with fancy curlicues and rails that suggest it is ornamental and may not be that strong—meant to be see-through for the visitors and voyeurs to gaze at the chained king. As we close in, the sounds of the undead bring two soldiers to check the fence. They gape and back away, scream warnings as the first of my undead hit the wall and start to pile up, clawing and climbing over each other. Within seconds, the fence is bending, and a moment later it crashes inward.

I send more undead slide-jogging, crawling, mumbling, to where a bunch of soldiers tumble from a hut. They’re haphazardly strapping on weapons, shouting, trying to organize themselves.

The horde’s onward rush washes over them, and they vanish beneath, evidence of their existence comes only from the muffled screams and the waving of arms and legs. It continues as I run forward.

I pass the heaving knot of undead and the blood, the ripped-off limbs, the remains of those men.Keep going, keep going, ignore it.I find where Jannik Stryke, the king of legend, the last king of Orencia, sits on a rock, naked and manacled by his feet.

I stand beside him, this drooling ex-king who mumbles over a hunk of bread. His eyes are vacant yet somehow filled with unspeakable terror. Twenty years of torture? Could anyone withstand that? A chill shivers in. That any fae could order that done to anyone… Yet, King Madlin has.

I stamp my feet, widen my stance, and glare at the undead who dare to come close. “Away! Away!”

Do these guys get bloodlust? Maybe they resent the living? I don’t know, but they feel more like a hive of angry bees now, not ants. Far at the back, moving over the squashed fence, are red-beard’s men, among them several wolfshifters and a mage with a glowing staff.

I don’t have the time or the experience to somehow shift my undead and herd them away from living C of U rebels. Fifteen he said I could have? I’m afraid the rebels will be killed, so I sigh and turn away, ushering my horde to the opposite fence to overwhelm whoever gets between us and that tower.

When most have hobbled past, I join the rear.

I have no way to be sure they will not attack and kill the average citizen or sailor who gets in our way. It is what it is. An undead army is not an army, but an undisciplined riot that may respond to commands and often does not, because my attention cannot be everywhere at once. All I can do is run with them and try to stop the worst of it.

Luckily, few innocent citizens are out at this early hour, and those who see us are turning aside and shouting warnings.

“Beware!” “Undead creatures! Evil! Evil is loose!” “Run!”

No one stops our advance along the waterfront, though some brave soldiers try and get flattened and torn apart.

I’ve somehow lost about two thirds of my five hundred from various problems.

I walk backward, examining what lies behind us, checking the litter the horde left. What went wrong?

Falling into the harbor, deviating elsewhere to parts unknown—and I hope they went to the palace.

Soldiers have felled some.

An enemy fire mage is back there, I saw the blasts. He’s probably taking out a fair number of the straggler undead.

A few may have simply become lost and are going in circles.

The Aos Sin will soon rally and get reinforcements in here, though the bearded shifter’s rebels have whisked away Jannik.

We’re almost at the tower.

Though I’ve tried not to look, the cage has been on my left since what feels like forever on this march. I can see Rorsyd and the spear that transfixes him. I swear I can feel the soulmate bond that joins us and the agony at his center.

A few more steps is all it will take to get me there. And probably much killing.

But these soldiers…they are brave to face my army.

The first of my undead have ripped a steel door from the tower and are ascending a spiral staircase. They will carve their deadly way to the top then stop or fall over the edge. The footbridge out to the cage must be narrow, but if I heal him, and I believe I can, we can fly out without needing to return down those stairs. This is a great advantage, since already the palace slopes show the betraying glitter and shine of armor as soldiers pour toward the waterfront.

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