"We're too late," Conan said.
Karazin shook his head. "They've taken Tath, but the main army couldn't possibly have gotten here yet; at the very least, it'll be full day before the first reinforcements arrive. If we work quickly, that's more than enough time for a heavy cavalry unit to arrive and block them off; and if they can catch the undead army mid-crossing, it'll be like shooting fish in a barrel."
"I thought you said these things couldn't be killed except by magic," Conan said.
Karazin shrugged. "Well, if you destroy their heads they'll stop moving; and that's good enough."
"Alright then, but how are we going to go about getting this heavy cavalry unit?" Conan asked.
"Like this," Karazin said, pulling out a familiar glass vial filled with purple gas. "Dan'Tonk!"
"Oh no you d..." Conan was cut off as the purple smoke enveloped, transporting him to Dan'Tonk; the largest city in Wesnoth, and less than a day's ride to the South on horseback.
Unfortunately, the curiously coloured smoke drew the attention of several nearby undead; wielding an assortment of crude, but effective, axes and swords which looked to be of Orcish manufacture. Karazin drew his own blade and struck first, taking the heads off three of the five living corpses who then fell lifelessly to the ground.
The undead's largest advantage was fear, and the fact that only a blow to the head could kill them; they were neither fast or skillful, being little more than puppets. No match for a seasoned warrior, as long as said warrior knew where to strike; and kept his head about him. As it was, Karazin's desire to survive managed to stave off the paralysing effects of his fear.
That said, Karazin dispatched the other two living corpses with relative ease; fortunately, no others seemed to have noticed him. Opting to avoid facing fifty or so undead at once if at all possible, Karazin sheathed his sword and drew his grappling hooks from his pack; Tath's outer wall was nothing compared to the Wall of Weldyn, and Karazin scaled it easily. He clambered onto the battlements, doing his best not to be seen; he just hoped nobody looked up.
Looking down cautiously at the corpse-covered courtyard, Karazin's eyes were instantly drawn to a lone man standing at the far side; he was dressed in a simple leather tunic and trousers, and he was most definitely alive. From the gnarled wooden staff in his hand, Karazin guessed he was the necromancer behind all of this. And if the necromancer was killed, the undead under his command would crumble to dust.
Karazin took stock of his options; he couldn't just waltz down there and run him through. He thought about going around the battlements until he was behind the necromancer, but he'd be spotted for sure before he could get halfway. If he could just use magic, this would be a lot easier; unfortunately, he was going to have to do this the hard way.
Promising himself that he'd find a good re-curve bow first chance he got, Karazin started running full-tilt along the parapet; forgoing stealth in favour of making the most of the element of surprise. It worked surprisingly well, and he was almost on top of the necromancer before he even realised what was going on. As soon as he was within striking distance, Karazin drew his sword and leapt down at the necromancer; he landed lightly, and immediately lashed out at his target's neck.
Karazin's blow was intercepted by the sword of a nearby corpse, which lost its head for its troubles; Karazin had just enough time to think that he might have been a bit hasty, then he was assaulted by as many walking corpses as could get to him at once. Curiously enough though, they seemed more interested in simply pushing him back than actually killing him. Karazin's blade flashed again and again, taking off two or three heads per swing, but more just kept on coming. Then Karazin felt a sudden, stinging impact in his left side; he was flung several feet before he finally tumbled to a stop on the stony ground.
As soon as he came to a stop, Karazin instinctively rolled to the side to avoid another blast; he was right, and a bolt of black/purple energy struck the ground where he had been. Karazin got to his feet quickly, and held his left side in pain; the bolt of magic had cracked one of his ribs, and the fall had knocked his sword out of his hand.
"Well well," the necromancer said haughtily. "What do we have here? A little spy?"
Karazin didn't answer, but instead made a grab for his sword which was lying on the ground a few feet away; he had barely gone a foot before a bolt of black energy sent it skidding across the ground, well out of reach.
"Now then," the necromancer said, lowering his staff at Karazin. "Answer me; are you a spy?"
Karazin's mind raced at a thousand miles and hour, assessing his options; if he used magic now he could easily beat this poser, but the she would be able to find him. As much as he longed to blast this sorry excuse for a human being into oblivion, that would have to be his last resort; for now, maybe he could talk his way out of it.
"Not a spy," he said. "A scout."
"A scout?" the necromancer said in an amused tone.
"Yes," Karazin continued. "I was sent ahead to gather more accurate information as to your numbers and position; my partner will have relayed that information already. A unit of heavy cavalrymen will be here soon; you've lost. If you surrender now, you'll be promised a fair trial."
The necromancer merely scoffed. "A fair trial, and then a painful execution; I know how these things work, you know. I've seen what they do to those convicted of necromancy, and I have no desire to be burned at the stake! That's why we're doing this; for revenge, and so that necromancy can once again be taught and learned freely. When that happens, immortality will be mere steps away; humanity will rise above the other so-called 'Free Races', and we'll no longer have to maintain this foolish treaty!"
"So," Karazin thought. "He's not alone in this; that makes sense, the Great River is so wide they'd have to have at least one person on the other side to maintain the main army while this guy is over here."
"How noble of you," Karazin said. "But have you forgotten the reason necromancy was banned in the first place?"
The necromancer scoffed again. "That unfounded theory? A lie created by the Mages because they were afraid that humanity would surpass them as well; they were afraid of the power of necromancy, and so they convinced the world it was immoral even to study it. I believe the great Malin Keshar was right, living humans are more important than dead Orcs; and why waste the lives of living men in battle, when you can raise an army of the dead to fight instead? Necromancy is no more immoral than any tool, and it will be the salvation of humanity!"
"I have to admit," Karazin said , gritting his teeth against the pain of his rib, "I never thought about it that way before; 'the salvation of humanity' might be a bit melodramatic, but you certainly make a convincing case. But where does murdering two cities worth of people fit into this plan of yours? You're brutally slaughtering the very people you say you're trying to save!"
"Necessary sacrifices," the necromancer said. "The good of the many outweighs the good of the few."
Karazin scowled. "And that's where your façade of nobility falls apart; there's no such thing as 'necessary sacrifices' when it comes to people's lives."
The necromancer laughed. "You're giving me a lecture on morality? You amuse me; I think I'll keep you alive, Mal Hazael will like you."
"You have a mistaken idea of who is letting who live right now," Karazin said.
The necromancer laughed again. "You see what I mean? You're a riot. Now keep quiet; I have to prepare a suitable welcome for that cavalry unit you mentioned."
The undead began taking up stations around the fort; a handful of archers, rotted away to nothing more than armour-clad skeletons, took up stations above the main gate while other corpses stacked debris against it to block up the gaping hole. When the cavalry arrived, they'd be shot down before they got within ten metres of the gate. Karazin had no intention of letting that happen.
While the necromancer's attention was on his troops, Karazin slowly crept towards his sword; he wanted to move faster, but he knew that if he did he'd be shot before he could reach it. So he painstakingly crawled along, making sure that the necromancer hadn't noticed him, until at last his sword was within arm's reach...
Karazin was flung backwards as his sword erupted in black flames. The necromancer turned around and tutted, as if he were scolding an errant child.
"I see you still have some fight left in you," he said. "Maybe this will change that."
Without another word, the necromancer fired a bolt of black energy at Karazin's sword; when the dust cleared, Karazin saw that his sword had been shattered into a thousand pieces.
Karazin grit his teeth and turned to the necromancer, his cracked rib forgotten; tears starting to form in his eyes.
"That sword was a gift," he said. "From my father. It was the last thing he ever gave me."
The necromancer feigned an apologetic expression. "Oh, I'm so sorry; did that make you sad? Be thankful I only broke your sword."
Karazin stared him in the eyes, and the necromancer took an involuntary step backwards at the intensity of the boy's gaze; it was filled with deep sadness, and deep anger.
"I can see I'll have to beat some respect into you," the necromancer said, trying to regain his confidence.
The necromancer levelled his staff at Karazin, and fired a bolt of black energy at the boy. Karazin didn't even flinch, and simply leaned to the side; the bolt missing him entirely. The necromancer fired another bolt, but Karazin caught it in one hand; if it hurt at all, he didn't show it.
"You're... a Mage?!" the necromancer exclaimed.
"Not just any Mage," Karazin said, his voice dripping with barely restrained rage. "You've forced my hand; now I'll have to kill you quickly."
Karazin closed his hand around the bolt of darkness, compressing and strengthening it; then he extended his hand and fired it back at the necromancer, who just barely manage to avoid it. It hit the stone wall behind him, and blasted a hole clean through it.
"Fire!" the necromancer exclaimed desperately.
The skeletal archers stationed on the wall let loose a volley of arrows, but Karazin deflected them with a blast of magic; he turned back to the necromancer just in time to block another bolt of dark magic, which he casually batted aside with a wave of his hand. Then, knowing that the longer he dragged this out the more of a disadvantage he be at, Karazin formed a glowing blade of magical energy in his right hand and rushed towards the necromancer.
The panicking necromancer fired a blast of magic at Karazin, but the boy slashed through it with contemptuous ease and kept coming. In desperation the necromancer tried to block Karazin's stoke with his staff, but the Mage-boy's ethereal blade cleaved it in half as though it wasn't there; and with that same stroke, the necromancer's head rolled from his shoulders.
"A better fate than burning alive anyway," Karazin said to himself, allowing his Mage-blade to dissipate; there was no need for it any more, the undead crumbled to dust the second he killed their master.
Karazin turned to leave, and instantly felt a pain in his chest; another broken rib maybe. He looked down, and saw a shaft of bone protruding from his body; he stared at it numbly for a second, and then looked up to see a skeletal archer nocking another bone arrow to its bow.
Another arrow thudded into his chest, but Karazin couldn't think clearly enough to do anything about it; it was as though he was getting sleepy, he just couldn't keep his eyes open any more. His legs gave out underneath him, and darkness began to cover the edges of his vision. The last thing he saw was a series of bright flashes of light, and then nothing.