A/N: Yeah, I know I really took my time with this chapter. In my defense I had several other projects that I needed to work on, plus I think this just might be my longest chapter yet. With that being said, I would really appreciate it if more of you decided to leave more reviews for the story so that I not only had further motivation to write at a higher frequency, but to know what you guys love and hate about it thus far. A lot is going on in this chapter and I'd love to know if it was truly worth the effort to see just how much you guys enjoy and appreciate it. Thanks for your time and enjoy the chaos.
Lyle was sitting within an impromptu tent as the army took a break for hexwraith and undead wolves to scout their surroundings. Fredericka said it was highly unlikely for Brettonians to set up an ambush. Still, Lyle didn't argue against her prudence, especially since Beastmen ambushed the Brettonians themselves along with the dwarves earlier.
The Master of the Barrow Legion didn't mind, as it gave him a chance not to have to break his back over his undead steed. One of these days, he was determined to have a carriage specially designed so it wouldn't slow down the entire army, but that was neither here nor there.
No. Instead, he was more focused on his undead servants, Thing and Soren, both standing before him…well okay. Soren stood before him. Thing stood on Soren's shoulders.
"You wanna go up ahead?" Lyle queried, lounging on a sturdy chest, scratching his stubble beard that was growing in. "Any particular reason why?"
"Technically, it is Thing's idea, but after hearing his reasoning, I cannot find fault in it and would like to join in his venture, my lord. If possible, I would also like to take your servant, Rudy, alongside us. Though his living and breathing body isn't quite as…versatile nor sturdy as mine, I believe he could be a boon either way."
Lyle raised an eyebrow, not particularly against his undeads' wishes, but still not completely sold. "Did Thing say why?...wait, how exactly can you understand him anyways?"
"Sign language, my lord."
"No shit?"
The detached hand gave a flurry of signs using its finger that left Lyle feeling more lost than he could ever imagine, blinking warily when the bony hand gave a thumbs up after the sequence. Lyle was sure he saw the resemblances of As and Bs and maybe so Fs, but he certainly wouldn't put any money on that.
"I'll have to take your word for it, I guess…or your finger signs in this case."
"Afraid so, my lord. And to answer your first question, Thing's reasoning was that much like me, he felt a pull if it were. A thread through which he feels he must reconvene with at his earliest convenience."
Lyle raised an eyebrow, no closer to feeling like he got an answer. "I don't follow."
"Do you recall what Lady Fredericka told you about necromancy and the threads of control through which you manipulate the undead?"
The earth native nodded at that amiably. "Well enough. She mentioned that when you pump enough Dhar into a corpse through the winds of magic, we've created, we can essentially attach a…somethin' like a string to the bodies we control and move around like puppets. I mean, she had a more eloquent way of talkin' about it, but I was never at the top of my class in big words and etiquette, y'know?"
"Oh, I have no doubt, my lord." The fact that Lyle couldn't know if Soren was being sarcastic or not in that instance amused him more than it annoyed him. "I must admit, it is a basic and rudimentary way of explaining it, but that is essentially the case. With that being said, depending on the distance between the corpse and the one who controls it, another necromancer may seize control of said corpse if they both have the will and the means of doing so. This is what happened to Thing, and strangely enough…it seems as though the original necromancer who summoned him is still alive and is…calling out to him if that makes sense."
"For real?...and they aren't anywhere near our camp or…
"They are further within Bastonne, my lord, and it's taking all of Thing's will to resist the pull just to discuss this matter. I would be remiss to let him go alone, so I've volunteered my assistance…with your permission, of course."
For a moment, Lyle wanted to refuse, not just because of the suddenness of the situation but also because he felt like someone as skilled as Soren was, even if his body was quite rotted, what be a great boon in the coming battle. Plus, he'd genuinely come to appreciate both undeads' company. Thing had been tremendous help writing out the several laws he'd been cooking up for when he inevitably overthrew the ruling class of Brettonia, and Soren turned out to be a treasure trove of knowledge. Usually, he'd go to Freddy for that. Still, something about Soren's dry wit delivery made listening to his info much more palatable to the earth native's tastes, especially when discussing the southern realms.
Regardless the more Lyle thought about it, the more he realized that it might be in bad taste to refuse their request. After all, it wasn't like a disembodied hand, and one more corpse that just happened to have more of an intact brain rummaging around could change the outcome of what was to come. Hell, if the Bastonnians kept their word, there wouldn't even be a battle after Krell inevitably curb stomped this Duke calling him out.
Still…that didn't mean that Lyle didn't want more info. "So…this person that Thing's hoping to find this necromancer…what are ye hoping to accomplish exactly, Thing? You looking to switch employment or something?"
"Oh no. Nothing of the sort Master Lyle." Soren replied, shaking his head. "The string of influence that this necromancer has on Thing is evoking a sense of…desperation if you would. It's a cry for help, in my professional opinion, that Thing feels compelled to call upon."
"Aahhh, so they got themselves in a bind…you can tell all of that just from being connected to them?"
"All undead can, my lord…or at least I believe they all can…perhaps me and Thing or the exceptions since he and I seem to have been altered to some degree by you. It's how I knew you were in trouble and how to save you from that Cygor and to negotiate a lasting treaty between yourself and the dwarves, as well as how Thing knows to write down your future legislation, which is quite well written, I must admit."
While Thing seemed to shake in…approval, Lyle was taken aback but then narrowed his eyes. He had his suspicions that maybe both his favorite undead had more knowledge than he considered initially, but…were Soren and Thing able to read his mind? He wanted to ask Soren right then, but a sting of worry spiked its way into Lyle's mind. Could the undead truly read his mind? Maybe Fredericka-
"I sense worry from you, master Lyle." Soren cut in. "Well, fret not, my Master, for I cannot read your mind…at least not clearly or concisely. It's more like…a shove or an intuition, if you will, a feeling of what you desire and what you want. What you need and what you fear. Just simple tugs and pulls through the thread of connection that seems to attach us to you and us."
"Oh. Well, that's nice, Soren. I'm only marginally creeped out instead of massively now."
"Marginally. Perhaps there's hope for you yet when it comes to big words, as you put it, Master."
"Eyyyy." Lyle smiled ruefully, appreciating the undead's wit. "I'm not sayin' I don't trust you guys or nothin'...in fact, if I can have a promise from both of ya that you won't change employment, I'd say go right ahead. You have my blessing, Thing. Heck, if you can convince your first Master that I have job openings for em', there might be something in for you."
"Already his intention, my lord." Thing then tapped Soren's cheek drawing the undead's attention to see the hand give more signs. Nodding in affirmation, Soren readdressed his Master. "Thing would like to offer his utmost thanks for this understanding. Most other necromancers wouldn't even entertain such a notion."
"Yeah, well, I'm not like most necromancers. I mean hell, did you see that one guy, err…what was his name-
"Ozzel, Master."
"Yeah, Ozzel! You see the way that guy gettin' a bit too up close and personal with those beastmen corpses! Whoo Wee, the way he was was caressin' that fur made me think he was-
"If there's anything else, master, I would like to void myself of any images you could conger up of the deranged Dhar wielders before we embark on this quest."
"Well damn. Guess I'm just gonna have to give that horrific imagery to Freddy…but for all I know, she has her extracurricular shit that I'm not aware of…but, why do you even want Rudy with you?... plus, I'm not so sure he'd be willing to go with-
"On the contrary, I asked him about it, and the proposition overjoyed him. He's become rather zealous since he slew that shaman for you, Master Lyle, making him a most dedicated…associate for your cause."
Lyle couldn't help but fidget slightly at the wording that Soren used. The Jersey native admired how dedicated Rudy was and how he looked up to him from the moment the disfigured peasant boy managed to save his hide during that botched feast. However, since he killed that beastman shaman, he'd been acting more than a little…eccentric.
He'd been wearing the hide of that shaman proudly around his back as if it were a trophy. A cape, if you would, while wearing a helmet with the horns of the aforementioned shaman attached to it. Lyle didn't know how the teen managed that, so when he asked, Rudy couldn't help but gleefully tell him that all villagers who made their kill back home in Artois wore it as a boast to manhood. Though they couldn't wear the finery of the nobility above them, they could at least wear the skin of their enemies.
It was both strangely heartwarming and mildly horrifying, all things considered. Then again, Lyle felt he should give the young teen some mental leeway considering his face was nearly lopped off by the lord he'd been forced to fight for. The same lord responsible for most of his immediate family's death.
"Okay, so he's on board, but that doesn't answer my first question. Why bring him at all?"
"Practicality, Master. I can conceal Thing and hide my less than desirable appearance, but if someone were to draw too close or see one of my exposed rotting muscles, even claiming I'm a particularly deformed inbred peasant would be a stretch. Having Rudy by my side would at the very least make my claims seem more credible, plus he knows how to blend in with his kind."
"Ya know you don't gotta act like he's a completely different species, right Soren?"
"Considering how poorly bred the common Brettonian peasant is, my lord, it may not be too far off."
"Okay, fine, but just keep your comments to yourself. Guys like Rudy heard enough of that derogatory shit from the guys who literally lorded over him."
Thing gave a thumbs up while Soren offered a brief nod. "So, can I assume that I have your blessing then, Master?"
Lyle sat in silence in response, thinking the matter over before standing up, moving to Soren until both undead and necromancer were eye-to-eye sockets. Lyle then offered up his hand.
"If you're shaking on it, you're shaking on a promise for me. You promise to me right here and right now that you three make it back in one piece. If you can confidently confirm that to me, then we're square."
"I'm surprised you're not making us promise to bring this necromancer back in one piece, master. According to Thing, he believes that they're quite powerful enough to have a pull on him from this distance."
"I could give a shit." Lyle admitted, still holding his hand out. "The important part is that you guys make it back safe, especially Rudy. I'd hate for that kid to have saved my ass only for me to just toss his out to the wolves."
Deciding not to waste another moment's hesitation, Soren gripped Lyle's hand with his own rotted and bony one, surprising his living counterpart by how hard and leathery it felt in terms of grip. With a few hardy handshakes, Lyle then extended his hand to Thing.
"You too. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Thing. You've seen how shit my handwriting is. Without you, whose gonna write down what I proclaim?"
Thing gripped himself around Lyle's hand and repeated Soren's gesture, taking care not to completely fall off Soren's shoulder with Lyle's small shakes.
With the handshakes and sworn in promises, it was moments like these that more questions began to bombard his mind once the two undead exited his tent. How much control did he truly have over Soren and Thing? How exactly did he give them so much agency in the first place? Second of all was it something that he should allow to continue or to stifle?
Lyle immediately shook his head. He would be the biggest hypocrite in the world to rob someone of their free will while he was claiming to do the same for the Brettonian Peasants. It was just in very bad taste.
Unc would think differently.
Lyle exhaled. If Unc were here he would be berating him for how soft he was being. He shuttered even to consider what great grandfather would have thought of how soft he was being. Lord knows if that crusty old fascist even considered the idea of becoming soft, he would keel over in his walking chair at the thought.
Was he being too soft? Too lenient? Giving too much leniency? It's what bit him in the ass back in Artois.
Lyle shook his head. Now wasn't the time to be second-guessing himself. Not when he had a duke who clearly needed to be put in his place expeditiously courtesy of Krell.
XXX
"I must admit, I wasn't expecting you to actually arrive, grave-robber."
"Oh, trust me, you're gonna be wishin' I didn't have the stones after we're done here."
It was high-noon and not a moment sooner, just as Lyle wanted it to be. Though the others were reluctant, they were eventually swayed by Lyle's line of thinking to show up at the promised time. He hadn't let them down yet, so why doubt him now? Plus for him this was a perfect opportunity. Even after he'd managed to take Artois, it was clear that the knight's chivalric pride around these parts needed to be knocked down a peg, and a good ol' fashioned thrashing from Krell would do just that in his opinion.
Most of the Bastonnian army were wearing a mixture of colors and heraldry with the most popular color being yellow, featuring dragons in different shapes and sizes. The lowly peasants were wearing mostly bold yellowish colors with their mismash of uniforms that ranged from somewhat mid-quality to absolute tatters. The knights on the other hand were wearing only the most pristine of quality, with almost all actually having a dragon-shaped heraldry in different fashion. Some dragons were different colors, some dragons looked differently, but Lyle found it curious how all the knights of Bastonne shared a common theme of the dragon symbol in some shape or form utop their heavily armored destriers, seemingly chomping at the bit to get their pound of flesh from him.
Duke Bohemond however…
Lyle had to admit, he didn't quite realize it at the moment, but Bohemond was the most identifiable knight amongst the army, not just becuase he was standing the furthest ahead of them all, not just because he seemed the biggest or the most decorated with his high quality arms.
No…it was because Lyle for a moment thought he was 'tripping' for a lack of a better word. It almost seemed as though the duke was…glowing.
A golden hue almost seemed to radiate from the armored knight, and what was plain to see was a fierce golden aura that was emanating from the visor of the duke's helmet, sending shivers down Lyle's spine just from looking.
Play it cool Lyle, it's probably just for show. This guy make talk a big game, but he ain't it.
But, Lyle had to admit, when they had arrived at the bridge as promised, Jersey native half expected to see the Bastonnian army on the other side of it, to make sure that the undead army couldn't easily attack theirs through this naturally made bottleneck. Yet low and behold the Brettish army was parked right in front of the bridge, putting their army in danger in case of a route.
It was a ballsy move…but also pretty stupid. Though it did make him question why they weren't on the other side of the bridge. Was it really confidence mixed with stupidity, or something else he just wasn't seeing?
Eh, I'm probably giving these tin-heads too much credit.
"Master Lyle, show care." Fredericka murmured behind him, staring evenly at the Brettonian army. "Have you noticed? They actually have cavalry, unlike the duke of Artois."
Freddy wasn't wrong. There was indeed Cavalry all around the standard rank and file poorly equipped peasants to Lyle's surprise. They weren't just at the wings of the infantry however. There were some knights in front as well, with what was clearly the helmeted duke of Bastonne: Bohemond.
"Hmph…so you are Lyle, Kemmler's Successor are you not?"
"Damn straight."
"I must admit, you're not as…palid or thin-looking as your fellow necromancers, or any of your ilk I've seen in the past. Would it be too bold of me to believe that someone of your breed is actually a warrior?"
"Well, as much as I'd love to front and say that I am, I'm not gonna lie. I don't think I've even touched a sword since I got here. I mean I can throw some pretty mean haymakers if you wanna duke it out with fisticuffs-
"Forget it. You'll have to summon a champion of your making. Good old fashioned fisticuffs is far too barbaric for men of our standing, and even then, It would be far from a fair fight."
Lyle stared unimpressed at the boast, raising an eye-brow. "Not much humility in your bones is there?"
"More than the average Grail Knight I would like to think." The duke sniped. "More honor than yours most definitely."
"You think sipping some woman's bath water gives you the moral high ground here pretty boy?"
"From what I've seen, you fit the role of boy all too well. Tell me boy. Did you feel yourself grow into man when you soiled and sullied the flesh of the Lady De Gisoreux?"
Lyle's smile evaporated on the spot, his shoulder tensing. "Pardon me?"
"It's wretched enough you soil the Lady's lands but, when you soil, ladies of knights, it makes our cause only that much more righteous."
For a moment not another word was said. The grail knight clearly expected another barb or insult hurled his way, but when nothing materialized he was confused, and then momentarily thrown off by the utterly scathing look on the necromancer's face.
Lyle's words were deliberate and low. "And who told you that?"
"Her husband of course!" An answer that surprised not just Lyle, but Fredericka and many of the other necromancers present.
"Are you…you talkin' about Gerome?" Ulysses could scarcely believe the Duke's words. Now that he thought about it, the Master of the Barrow Legion had completely forgotten about the deposed Lord of Gisoreux. He did remember scouring Castle Artois when he heard from scared peasants after the battle there that the lord was present, but alas he wasn't anywhere to be found. He most certainly wasn't amongst the dead, since Lyle's necromancers had an incredible talent for sifting through them. After that, Lyle just gave up looking for him, since it was clear that the man was the one who spread those baseless and rude accusations.
"How the hell did he make it all the way south from Artois?" Ulysses asked aloud. "More to the point, why isn't that double-talking back stabbing bitch in tin not here right now? Don't got the stones to lie to my face?"
The duke seemed to take exception to the accusation. "I'll have you know that Lord Gerome was half-dead and severely wounded by the time his horse had brought him to one of my Barons' castles! What you did to this noble lord and his family is surely just a horrid taste for the rest of your tender mercies for the people of Bretonnia."
Fredericka was at a loss. "Gerome was no grail knight…how on earth did he make it that far without any of our patrols catching him?"
Surprisingly it was Rudy who had an answer. "Well…Artois is mostly dense forests with thick vegetation. If he knew the land well enough to sneak through it…" He didn't need to say more. Considering that Gerome was a lord of the land, it actually made a great deal of sense.
Ferdericka still seemed incredulous. "But, aren't those same forests filled with Beastment as much as they are filled with villages?" With a tentative nod from Rudy, the necromancer could only shake her head. "Maybe the Lady truly did look after him."
"The guy ran from a fight…twice." Ulysses wasn't nearly as impressed. "Last I recall, that's a big no-no when serving the oh-so vaunted Lady is it not?"
"Do not sully Gerome's sacrifice anymore than you have sullied his family, slave of Naggash!" Bohemond growled. "His actions may have been dishonorable…but if it were not for such dishonor, I would not have learned about the creature that I now face before me. Know this Spoletta. You may have trounced Brettonian levies, but today you face true knights of Brettonia! Men who have taken oaths of chivalry, courage and honor to trounce your wicked days raising the dead and raping wom-
"Oh for fucks sa-alright, look here motherfucker. I'm gonna tell you something, that I'm finding it real' ridiculous-
"I was talking necromancer!" Bohemond interrupted. "And I do not care for your insults! How dare you claim that I fuck my mother!"
"Well I don't like the fact that you're claiming I stick my dick in little girls that can barely pronounce their As, Bs, and Cs so tough shit!"
The duke of Bastonne looked visibly taken aback by the retort, especially by the volatility of the response. Then confusion seemed to set in as he narrowed his eyes at Lyle. He half expected the necromancer to laugh and admit to his crimes readily, tormenting and demoralizing the brettonians with all the cruel acts that he had inflicted upon Gerome's family.
It made the the beastslayer wonder, which was an accomplishment on its own. Bohemond knew he was no grand thinker. He knew he was far from the most clever or smartest duke of the land, but there were few that could hold a candle to his prowess…yet this strange looking necromancer refuting crimes that almost all other worshippers of Nagash he had met in the past would own up to was seriously throwing him for a loop.
As he pondered on his thoughts, one of his fellow knights shouted from behind him. "Spare us your lies, slave of Nagash! Gerome's word were horribly explicit! The things that you did-
"Wait…hold on a minute…how the hell would he even know in the first place, he wasn't even there when I took Gisoreux! He tucked his tail firmly between his legs the moment I whooped his armies ass in front of the city!"
A sudden and awkward silence settled itself amongst the Brettonians. Some began to mutter to themselves when another knight shouted over the chatter. "You lie! Why would ever take the word of a foul smelling corpse looter like yourself!"
"First off, I actually bathe, unlike most of you and your peasants. Second, I lie?...my man, ask yourselves this. How is it that Gerome is even alive right now? Like, this guy was at both Gisoreux and Castle Artois, yet somehow, someway, he managed to make it out of both of those fights alive. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but it's generally frowned upon to act like a pussy and bail out of a fight right? Well this guy not only bailed on the family that you claim I raped, but he bailed on his liege lord…you really gonna take his word?"
An even longer pause stretched out over Lyle's statement. Many wanted to refute his claims outright, none more than Bohemond, but he couldn't fault the necromancer's logic outright. It did seem odd the more he thought about it.
Now that I think about it…Lord Gerome claimed that he had to fight within the city itself to try and bottleneck the undead, and in the chaos he was unable to reach his family in time…
Narrowing his glowing and fierce eyes, the duke stared right at Lyle. "Tell me honestly Necromancer! When you fought lord Gerome's army was it within or outside the city?"
"Outside…why do you ask?"
The beastslayer frowned furiously. If he truly did run…he could have easily reached his family…and yet.
Bohemond then took off his helmet, allowing his chestnut colored hair and pale yet almost ethereal complexion to be seen face to face with Lyle's who stared right back at the Duke of Bastonne. "Tell me Spoletta…do you worship Nagash?"
Staring at the duke and absorbing the question, Lyle had to remind himself that just who it was he was talking about. He knew full well that he was the guy who had supposedly created necromancy, but his thoughts only proved to himself that the new leader of the Barrow Legion didn't know a whole lot about said man specifically.
Lyle shook his head. "I wasn't much of a prayin' guy, even before I learned how to raise corpses. So nah."
Bohemand shook his head. "So you are a godless man then."
"Despite my mom's best efforts, yeah."
"Well then allow me to swear upon the Goddess that I believe in above all else, The Lady…and through it…even though you are a necromancer who has seemingly forsaken all gods, Holy and Unholy, I have a request I wish to make of you Lord Lyle?"
Now Lyle was interested, leaning forward on his skeletal steed. "Oh yeah?"
"You claimed to wish to fight me in fisticuffs, but as I mentioned before, it would be an honorless fight, not fit for a knight…I learned from Gerome that much like the vile Kemmler before you, you can bring out his monster…Krell. Summon him as your champion and we will settle our fued as I detailed in the letter. In return, I will personally question Gerome's testimony on what you did to his family."
Lyle couldn't hide his surprise. Neither could the knights behind Gerome. "You actually serious?"
"I swear upon the lady."
"Well, I mean…if Krell wins and you die, won't it be meaningless anyways to make that promise?"
"I will not lose."
"You could."
Bohemond shook his head and chuckled. "You know…I actually pity you in some way Lyle Spoletta…a godless man like you must live a fruitless life with so little faith. Which makes it all the more the same if your claims are true, and you didn't harm Lord Gerome's wife. You would possibly the kindest necromancer I've met, notwithstanding your crude and refined way of speaking."
"Yeah well, I'll admit, you don't seem like the worst knight I've met up until this point either Bohemond…though I have to ask. Why do you wanna fight Krell specifically?"
Bohemond frowned then, his gaze going hard before he put his helmet back on his head, and reached for a large weapon strapped on his back. "Our duel has not yet concluded."
They've fought before? Realizing this, Ulysses' confidence in his one skeleton wrecking crew suddenly wavered before it rose back up again. For all he knew the duel was unfinished because the due in front of him didn't have the strength to finish the job and just bailed like Gerome did…but this Bohemand Beastslayer didn't quite seem like the type to do so.
Regardless, Lyle shrugged before calling for his champion as requested. After all, why not? He was going to do so anyway if the fistight was rejected. Why not just go with it.
The pull of Dhar rippled through the air, and suddenly lightning struck right before Ulysses, his skeletal steed unmoved, with horses on the Brettonian side whinnying and shifting at the sudden burst of magic.
And much like he had many times before Krell burst from the ground, his terrible and hulking visage on display for all to see with his great ax in hand, staring right at the Duke of Bastonne.
"Master Lyle." The undead champion almost seemed to revel in through his grating voice, gripping his ax tightly. "How kind of you to give me a fitting beast for the slaughter!"
"I see a new master hasn't made you any less an abomination." Bohemonnd dismounted his armored steed, pulling out what had to be one of the most wicked and nastiest looking mace's Lyle had ever seen personally. When Fredericka told him that his mace was made from a dragon's thighbone, it was with dread that he realized that she wasn't embellishing. It didn't look exactly like a thighbone, on account of it being covered in metal, but the weapon was massive. So massive in fact that Lyle began to feel himself sweat when the grail knight began to casually swing it around with one arm. I don't think even I could lift that fuckin' thing! Could Juiced up in his bodybuilding prime Arnie even lift it?
Lyle had a feeling that maybe Fredericka wasn't overly exaggerating about the grail knights' strength, but seeing such an offhanded display of power was seeding doubt in his mind. What made it doubly so when suddenly without warning, a golden flaming hue began to burn around the tip of the mace, almost as if it were blazing with the heat of a high noon.
"Freddy?"
"Yes Master Lyle?"
"You never told me Grail Knights could use magic."
Fredericka shifted in her saddle. "It's not so much that he's using magic master, it's more like…he's filled with the magic of the Lady and it's working as an extension of him. He can't exactly cast spells much like we can."
The Master of the Barrow Legion didn't feel any more relieved by this new information, and found himself stunned at the sight of both combatants suddenly throwing themselves at each other.
Christ, they're not even gonna shit-talk each other a little more?
As it turns out the answer to that was physical violence. A sudden burst of violence that was so fast and so sudden it took even the knights on the Brettonian side back.
Lyle had seen the speed and skill of Krell before. His past fights weren't so much fights, but him toying and playing with his food so to speak.
There was none of this here. It was between the necromancers and Brettonians that Lyle's eyes were barely keeping up with the flurry of blows that were coming from both combatants. Both Duke and Wight in his opinion had no right to be so fast while wearing such heavy armor and carrying such overbearing and hulking weapons.
Krell was like an undead demon in the earth native's eyes, his bony body moving quickly with ax swing and the errant deflection here and there, moving quickly to keep up a relentless assault against Bohemond who was meeting the wight blow for blow, yet not quite having thing chance to return the level of offense that was being thrown towards him. Despite the speed of Krell's ax swings however, not a single one of his strikes was quite hitting the mark. Instead his ax would either be avoided or simply deflected away, while the duke in front of him wasn't giving much ground.
If anything to Lyle's concern it was almost as if Bohemond was waiting. Not literally waiting in place, but waiting for the right moment to strike. He still swung his mace every now and then, as if to probe Krell's defenses and keep him honest, but he either didn't have the opportunity to strike back or he just wasn't putting as much effort into, instead focusing mostly on defense.
Krell didn't seem to mind however. He didn't even seem frustrated, though it was hard to tell since his face was rather…nonexpressive. Even then it was almost as if he was having the time of his life if his unholy chuckling that could be heard across the field was anything to go by.
Lyle worriedly turned his gaze to Fredericka, who gave him an exasperated pointed look.
Least she isn't saying I told you so…yet.
There was no need to panic after all. The fight was still well underway and it wasn't as if Krell was losing.
But, then the tempo of the fight changed. One moment the undead champion made a lunge too deep for him to recover from, and like a tiger waiting for its prey, Bohemond was in perfect position to unleash a mighty swing on the side of the Skeleton. Krell managed to bring up the halft of his ax to absorb the damage, but the power of the blow was apparent. So apparent in fact that Krell was sent skidding while on his feet a good few yards away while still staying upright.
Lyle winced. This wasn't a fight of a thousand cuts he realized. With these two heavyweights all it would take is one good blow.
Krell seemed intent on proving this point when in a moment it seemed like he was out of sorts after the hit, and staggered. Bohemond, seeing this, made a lunge of his own, making an overhead swing to strike.
At the last moment however, Krell sidestepped the move while making a massive swing of his own and would have probably bisected the grail knight if Bohemond hadn't lept aside at the last moment. That being said, he didn't escape unscathed, as the ax still managed to bite, denting and penetrating the knight's ribs, drawing blood.
A quiet and tense hush overtook the Brettonians who witnessed this turn of events, as Krell returned back to a relentless assault, trying to exploit this new opening. To Bohemond's credit, he didn't seem interested in standing pat after his wound, returning swings as much as he took them. This less refined manner of fighting was leading to both warriors, breathing and undead to take more wounds, strikes and dings, not through their weapons however, but mostly through the two fighters smashing into each other bodily like the armored tanks that they were, fighting tooth and nail to get the one strike to tip the battle in their favor. It was getting so physical that at one point, Krell headbutt the duke of artois with the latter barely able to duck under a follow-up ax swing.
Lyle felt himself tensing, his stomach practically doing flips in the intensity of the duel. The uncertainty of this match was beginning to weigh in his mind, and the reality of how blaze he had treated Fredericka and other's warning. As the duel continued to progress for what felt like agonizing minutes he visibly began to sweat, when every near miss began to get closer to becoming a near-hit. None of Krell's previous fights had lasted THIS long. None of his opponents could even think about putting up a fight this stiff and yet this yellow emblazoned grail knight was was matching the strikes and strength of Lyle's favorite attack dog.
And then it all came to an abrupt and violent end.
Krell managed to get into Bohemond's personal space with a sudden shift of his legs and let off another vicious headbutt, this time visibly denting the knight's helmet and rattling his mind. With this opening, the undead champion let loose an upward swing, a swing that the duke of Bastonne couldn't avoid in time.
It didn't manage to hit the knight's chest on account of him bending backwards from the hit the to head, but Krell got his lick in either way when his ax sliced upward, biting into and knocking off the duke's helmet and leaving bloody gash on Bohemond's right cheek drawing blood.
Krell began laughing.
The knights collectively stiffened seeing their liege wounded.
Lyle let out a sigh of relief.
And then Bohemond, bit through the pain, planted his feet and swung his weapon.
So much force was put into this wind-up that Krell had no time to dodge or to properly absorb the blow. It was so mighty that when it struck Krell's upper left side, Lyle could only openly gape when the upper half of Krell's body was literally bashed right off his lower body. His armor was rendered ineffective from the sheer force of the attack, leaving his armored legs to fall backwards uselessly with his torso falling haphazardly some yards away.
He purposefully took that blow to the face. Lyle realized, dread and shock spreading throughout his body. He took it to dish out a killing blow.
A quiet hush settled over the melee. Bohemond, nasty cut on his face and all made his way to Krell's upper body, the undead champion vainly trying to reach his battle ax which was too far away for him to grasp. When he saw the duke's shadow descend over his form, he stopped, only to start laughing again.
"Savor your victory, Beast Slayer." Krell chuckled. "Your little trick won't save you a second time."
"There won't be a second time." And then Bohemond ruthlessly swung his weapon downwards smashing it right into Krell's face, breaking and fragmenting bone and armor alike. He then swung again, and again, and again, all the while Krell just kept on laughing, the chortles becoming more and more distorted after every strike.
Eventually the blows and the laughs ceased entirely, along with Krell's existence which faded into the ground, body parts, armor and weapons included, leaving not even a trace remaining after the duke's thirteenth swing.
Then the duke turned to look right at Lyle Spoletta, staring the young man down who looked as though he was a child who stuck his hand in the cookie jar.
Lyle tried to say something…maybe anything to try and make light of what had just unfolded before him. To try and come up with a witty quip to unnerve and throw off the duke who had just pummeled his best champion and warrior out of literal existence.
His mouth opened, yet nothing could come out. It was in that moment that Lyle realized that for all the new powers he had just acquired, they and his mouth could only count for so much.
This was epitomized by Bohemond pointing his weapon towards the undead army, a singular word and command coming from his mouth.
"Charge."
He's living up to his promise. Lyle realized. He felt his lungs leap into his chest as the knights opposite of him suddenly surged forward, the peasants behind them cheering and chagrin, elated not only to see their liege lord win, but to do so in such a commanding fashion. To see that The Lady clearly favored him which in turn clearly favored the battle that they were now quite literally hurling themselves into. Why wouldn't they be happy? Why wouldn't they be boisterous?
Why wouldn't they be so high in spirit to die for their precious lady.?
"Spears and shields!" Fredericka shouted, snapping Lyle out of the stupor he was in. "Spears and shields, get every skeleton with a spear and a shield to the front! Several rows worth, quick!"
Lyle floundered for a moment, trying to right himself. "F-freddy!"
"Get back Lyle! If you stay there you're a sitting halfling! Get back behind the skeletons, quick!"
The incoming sound of not just footsteps, but the hooves of armored heavy cavalry heading towards their position was more than enough to snap Lyle a bit out of his funk, convincing him to do as Fredericka bid and hustle behind the surging skeletons, forming a wall of ramshackle spears and shields of varying quality. When he reached the group of necromancers surrounded by more undead, Lyle winced at his second.
As much as he wanted to apologize, Lyle knew that this was far from the time or place to make half-hearted apologies or regrets. One look over his shoulder made him realize the true extent of his error.
The knights and infantry in front of the bridge…Bohemond never put them behind the bridge as a ruse…Bohemond must have been filled with so much confidence that he would win the duel that the shock of his victory would give him the opportunity…no…his knights the opportunity to close the distance quickly with a sudden charge that would leave the undead little time to return the favor.
I thought that tin-man was the dumbass, and here he is taking me to school! I underestimated that goddamn bath water simping bastard. I should have taken Freddy's word about these grail knights at face value.
"Freddy." Lyle started through grit teeth. "Can the skeletons hold?"
"For a while." Fredericka winced. "I have Schmitz managing the right flank and Wendel on the left as planned. If they hold position we have a chance."
Then an idea suddenly entered Lyle's brain, just as he could see the whites of the some of teh charging knights. "The zombies! We could use em' meat shield-
"Too late!" Fredericka shouted over the sound of pounding hooves. "They're too slow."
Lyle snarled at how flat-footed they had been caught. "Fuck!"
It was the last word he got in when the knights finally reached them. Fredericka breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed that there were no grail knights amongst their number, but she was still unsettled. There were some green and fresh faced Errant knights with snarls on her face as she could see from her position, but some more seasoned knights of the realm mingled within their numbers as well, their lances dipped and coming right for their forward forces.
And then the lances smashed into bone, wood, steel and iron.
To Lyle's horror and realization, it wasn't just the lances that smashed into the skeletons, but also the sheer weight of their equine steeds that felled the undead before them. The master of the Barrow Legion had hoped that maybe only one or two lines of the undead would fall.
He was overcome with a great sense of fear to see that the knights managed to puncture his skeletons three rows deep, with only two lines left to protect the necromancers.
"Get the zombies' asses up here now!" Lyle shouted. "I don't care how slow they are, they can slow those horses down plenty once they reach us!"
Fredericka couldn't disagree when the necromancers saw far too up close and personal the knights had laid waste to undead in front of them. Some skeletons were missing limbs. Others were missing their heads from the clash. The most unfortunate ones were those where their bodies had been scattered into pieces, unable to handle the sheer force of armored horses running at them at a full gallop.
Lyle grit his teeth. That was fine…he could still work with this. Casting an invocation of nehek on the battered skeletons and sending the zombies forward would buy them some time. Even now, the skeletons were beginning to get slapped back together into whole pieces after the charge they endured, and if they could withstand this charge and take down some of overconfident knights before them they could still come out on top.
For him, it was a matter of buying time to launch a counter blow to turn the tide in their fav-
"Wait where the hell are they goin'?" Lyle suddenly asked aloud, as trumpets began to sound in the air. Trumpets that the knights were quick to respond to, even while they and their horses were getting spear thrusts from whatever skeletons hadn't been obliterated by their charge. The earth native snarled once he realized what was happening. The knights were moving away, preventing themselves from getting too stuck into a prolonged fight. To infuriate Lyle further, he could only count around two or three dead knights that amongst the many that had hurled themselves into their lines, with their horses as dead as they were. As it was it was clear what the knights were up to as they broke away from his skeletal line. They were falling back to execute another charge.
"Where the fuck are those zombies! Those bastards are gonna swamp us a second time!"
"They're here Master Lyle!" Fredericka called out, to Lyle's relief. Turning behind him he saw Fredericka gesturing to the shambling ramshackle corpses that were now moving past the pair of necromancers and to their frontlines to bolster the losses, while the invocation of nehek worked it's literal magic to the damaged skeletons. "If they can at least slow the horses down, we can-
"For Bastonne!" A chorus of voices broke through their conversation. Both necromancers realized it couldn't have been the knights. They couldn't have turned their heavy steeds around that quick.
To their frustration they were correct. This whole time while the cavalry had been hurtling towards them, both Lyle and Fredericka realized in that moment, that the peasants had been running behind them. It was only after the knights of Bastonne had cleared away that the peasants were now visible, having used the knight's approach to mask their presence.
Which made their charge against the battered skeletons all the more effective.
One particular peasant stood out amongst the rest, ringing a bell with what seemed to be a shaved head with a wooden chalice in his other hand, standing amongst his fellow unwashed patients. "For the fallen of Artois!" He shouted at the top of his voice. And the peasantry returned his chant.
"For the Duke Artois!" And so the peasants repeated after him.
The skeletons would have most definitely buckled and broken right then and there if the zombies hadn't come to support. While not as lethal as skeletons in hand to hand combat, they gave Lyle the time that he and his band of necromancers needed to recollect themselves, especially with repeated casts of the Invocation of Nehek, continuously fixing damage that the peasants were causing.
"For Bastonnne!"
The peasants didn't seem to care though at their progress being stifled. If anything they seemed to take it as a challenge. A challenge they were all too willing to tackle head on with clubs, swords, spears and pitchforks.
Lyle had a sinking feeling these peasants were going to break as easily as they had back in Artois. Unlike before this motley crew seemed ready to fight. Determined to fight. Plus those knights' charge seemed to have boosted their confidence, along with Bohemond's impressive showing against Krell. After all, if he could thrive against such a monster why couldn't they thrive against lowly skeletons?
As Lyle grit his teeth at his continued complications, a thought suddenly came to Lyle which prompted him to turn toward Fredericka who was barking orders at necromancers, frantically casting spells to keep themselves afloat. "Freddy, where's those knights?"
"What?" It was hard to hear over the intense fighting.
"I said, Where are the knights? They were just in front of us, where'd they piss off to!?"
Realizing the danger of what he was saying, Fredericka's eyes swiveled, looking around alongside the young man's before her eyes widened. "Master Lyle, they're coming along the right flank!"
"Shit!" Lyle cursed. "I see em' on the left flanks too!...Bastards planning to pincer us!"
Finally the full extent of Bohemond's strategy played out, plain to see for Lyle, kicking himself for not seeing it sooner. First the Cavalry charges and batters the front line. Then the infantry comes in to take advantage. And with the enemy forces tied up in the center, simply send the knights back out to swing around both sides and possibly slam in their flanks, if not into the rear, leaving no chance of respite or escape.
Even at this moment, Lyle had to admire the idea behind it. He not only underestimated the grail knight as a warrior but as a leader on the battlefield. He felt almost as embarrassed as the time his lil' bro embarrassed him in chess when he was only six years old.
But, this wasn't chess, and this wasn't a game. If Freddy and the others got cut down because of his fuck up, he didn't know how he'd live with himself…so that meant it was time to improvise.
"Everyone!" Lyle called out, hoping that his voice could be heard over the fighting. "Raise the dead on our flanks! I don't care if they're just shambling zombies, they'll do the job of keeping their cav bogged down! Freddy! Tell Schmitz to make sure our hounds and Cairn wraiths are on the flanks! The second the knights DO get bogged down sick our boys' on em'!"
Not able to find any fault in the strategy, Fredericka moved her steed to head toward the back of the their forces, but not before turning to Lyle. "...be careful master."
"Just focus on what I say Freddy! If you do, I'll let you read me the riot act on my dumbassery, now go!"
As she went to do just that…or at least she would have had the ground not started shaking.
The ground shook with such force that Fredericka and Lyle nearly fell off their horses. Some unfortunate necromancers did in fact fall off her horses. But, they all soon realized it wasn't the earth shaking that they should have shat their pants over.
It was the thick, long and powerful tangling roots that erupted from the ground that most definitely made many necromancers glad they wore dark colored clothing. These same roots moved and thrashed about, smacking and in some cases smashing any undead that was unfortunate enough to be close to them while battering the hapless and screaming necromancers that didn't have time to get out of the way.
Lyle's eyes darted around erratically at this change of pace. "What the fuck is this shit!?"
Freddy moved to say something, perhaps to answer his question, but a thick and powerful vine suddenly lashed itself around her throat, causing her eyes to bulge as she was yanked off her horse, to the horror of Lyle.
Realizing that his second in command was only moments away from suffocating or even worse, getting her neck snapped, Lyle bent the winds of magic around him and quickly fired a bolt of pure dhar right at the vine holding her. He didn't have enough time to further channel the spell to give it more bite, but it did its job in the end.
The bolt of dhar struck the vine near its root on the ground, which Lyle considered a minor miracle considering how many flailing bodies and vines there were in the ensuing chaos that was happening within the ranks of the Barrow Legion. As soon as the bolt struck, the vine thrashed even more, letting Fredericka go and causing her to fall to the ground, her throat and neck sore, but very much still alive.
Before Lyle could breathe a sigh of relief however, he felt himself gasp when that very same vine that had grasped her swung its way towards his direction, striking him right in the solar plexus with an audible crack, and causing the master of the Barrow Legion to fly off his undead steed.
When he hit the ground with a quiet thud, Lyle hacked and coughed up whatever air he had left, struggling to suck in oxygen.
My ribs. He realized numbly, feeling a flaring, searing pain in his chest. Fucking thing cracked my ribs, I know it…haven't been this bad since my o-line let Montez sack me as soon as I made a snap. The earth native bit down on his lip, trying to fight the pain while lying helplessly on the ground, straining and cursing internally as he struggled to get his bearings. It's just one of those goddamn days.
"There he is!" Lyle momentarily forgot his pain however, at the jeers and cheers that he heard to his right. Jerking his head over, the earth native felt his stomach drop to new lows when he saw a large cadre of knights galloping toward his position.
"Whoever skewers him, has the honor of putting his head upon their family's hold!" A knight bellowed. So many knights had heard this call that they couldn't help but put their attention toward seeing how helpless Lyle seemed at this moment. To the latter's growing horror, he soon realized that the vine that had knocked him silly had struck him so hard he was many yards away from his own forces, and nowhere near close enough to run back to them before the knights reached him, especially when they were still being harassed by those violent roots.
Scrambling to his feet, while hissing at the pain in his chest Lyle stumbled away from his forces to the only form of sanctuary closest to him. A small forest in the opposite direction. C'mon fucker! Your ribs are broken, not your legs! Treat this as a scramble when there's nobody open down the field!
And use his legs Lyle did. Though he was in pain the adrenaline did more than enough to dampen it and give him the motivation he needed to kick up dirt as fast as he could. To his dread however, the jeers and hollers of the knights only drew closer, along with the clopping of his hooves hitting dirt.
Lyle tried to move faster, but he knew it would be in vain. The horses were gaining tracks and he was still ways away from the treeline.
Then an epiphany dawned upon Lyle. An epiphany he immediately acted upon.
First he needed a screen. A distraction to buy himself time. Drawing from the winds of magic Lyle focused and focused. A trying task considering his pain and the fact that he was running like his life literally depended on it. He used his raise the dead spell to raise not zombies, but skeleton warriors. A spell that was much more intensive in how dhar was required to pull but not impossible as evidenced by a large force of the skeletons bursting out of the ground behind him.
Lyle knew the new and fresh skeletons wouldn't be enough to stop this cavalry force but they didn't need to. All they needed to do was buy time for his second part of the plan, which was using the spell danse macabre.
It was a spell that proved to be quite helpful against those beastmen, why wouldn't it be able to help him…yet here is where Lyle had some concern. This was a spell that generally filled the undead with a source of vitality in a strange way, causing them to move master and more effectively, increasing their speed exponentially.
This was what he was hoping would happen to him after he casted the spell upon himself, however in that moment Lyle underestimated the power of the spell he casted. In the stress of the moment, what with his life currently on the line, Lyle misused the power of his spell a bit.
You see, when it comes to casting spells, one needs to be careful when understanding a sense of scale. When using dhar or any kind of specific magic, you need to be careful when channeling the right amount for the purpose you require. In a battle such as this, it's necessary for casters to use grand spells to heal entire squads of troops or to summon even more undead, versus only using a little bit of magic to heal one undead with the Invocation of Nehek.
In the stress of the moment, Lyle used the Macabre Danse as if one would use it on a large amount of undead…on himself.
The effects were instantaneous.
So instantaneous in fact that the knights who were chasing him couldn't help but stare open mouthed and shocked when they witnessed the necromancer they were chasing suddenly move like the Roadrunner. Lyle was moving with such a massive burst of speed that his legs were an utter blur, kicking up so much dust and dirt that within moments, the knights' field of view of the necromancer became obscured as he managed to reach the forest.
It was just a shame that Lyle could barely control himself in this flurry of movement. "SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! Why the hell did I run toward the trees, what the hell was I thinking!?" The young man's curses would prove to be on point considering how much a problem this would turn out to be. Lyle was moving at such a fast speed that he couldn't immediately stop himself, not with how quick his legs were moving. And with this hazard came the issue of him having to avoid trees and branches that he was hurtling toward at breakneck speed.
Granted Lyle had experience dodging lineman and linebackers should the situation call for it, but not at this speed. So it was inevitable when even more curses were let out of his mouth as he bumped against trees, nearly tripped over roots and was smacked constantly by branches. When all was said and done, Lyle had lost his grasp over his staff and even his own cloak had been torn off in the chaos. Cuts and bruises were appearing by the second on account of the young man's newfound vulnerability, and the most frustrating part was that there was little he could do to stop it.
Finally it all came to an abrupt end once Lyle came out the other side of the treeline, giving the young man a reprieve.
Unfortunately, he realized too late, that after having been through the ringer of this forest that he initially considered to be his salvation, it proved to be his doom, because as soon as Lyle cleared the treeline, he suddenly founding his feet, kicking up air, as he ran over the cliff to the ravine…the very ravine that the bridge he had seen earlier was built over.
He hadn't seen it sooner. The trees had covered it in all the chaos…and now Lyle couldn't even find it himself to curse as he hurtled downwards, flailing his hands to grab one of the sides of the cliff face that he was falling down toward.
And then he saw nothing but darkness, but not before feeling a sharp pain in his legs.