VII. The Night Siege, First Wave
That scene would later be immortalized by the great painter David Rielar, in his work known to art as The Defense of Sarfan under the Command of Alexius Magnificat, but known to history as The Night Siege. Alexius, clad in shining diamond armor, stands triumphant and proud in front of an idealized version of Sarfan; the armies of the undead crawl towards the light from the dark contrast of the shadows; one of them is slain by Alexius's axe, two others recoil in fear; and golden light illuminates the Emperor as he slays the multitude with royally dignified ease and heroic bravery. Behind him, two villagers cower; one throws his hands up in fear, and the other, holding a sword, turns himself reverently towards the Emperor.
Rielar, of course, did not witness the siege itself, and it happened differently than how the artist depicted it to be. Nevertheless, for the first recorded battle against the hordes of the undead, it was by all accounts a terrible fight.
As the sun set across the River Mer a fearsome sound was heard from the darkness of the birch forest.
It is said the trees themselves trembled with the sound of the footsteps of the approaching army, and Sarfan trembled with them, for never before had the villagers of that land seen such great numbers of zombies in the Plains. Almost a hundred of the undead were marching on the town, a veritable army with arms outstretched and hungering for flesh. They were not far from the borders of the village, and crawled from the earth directly by it.
The bells of the square sounded and all the village was thrown into a panic. Quickly the inhabitants of Sarfan shut their doors, cowered underneath their windows, and waited for the storm of monsters to pass. Never before had they known such a great army of zombies amassed on a single town, and they all feared greatly throughout the night. Some wept, some stayed silent, all were equally terrified. They all knew what happened to a villager unfortunate enough to be caught by a zombie; odds were almost assuredly towards death, or worse, zombification.
Some men of the village had prepared to defend themselves during the night, Hava Yal with his bow and the brothers Spayer and Nerev with their iron weapons and armor. But a mere three men could never have hoped to defeat such a great horde of zombies, and besides, they had never fought multiple zombies at a time. Though they were formidable warriors, their killings had been of isolated undead, easy pickings when alone in the Plains. So they all barricaded themselves in their houses and raised their trembling weapons, praying for the sunrise to come quickly.
This land was unfamiliar with such siege warfare, and had Alexius not been there, Sarfan would almost certainly have been annihilated and abandoned. Two things saved Sarfan from assured destruction: Alexius's bravery and good fortune. For he did not run or hide, as so many others had done throughout time. Rather, he fought, and thus placed himself in history. And if he had wanted to perform a miracle, he succeeded that night.
The moon is full and the stars are as bright as ever. His armor shines faintly in the night and he catches a reflection of his flat face in the blade of his sword. The iron feels cold on his skin.
He can hear the zombies before he sees them. The forest seems to almost echo with their guttural moans and he looks up sharply. The birches are silent and tall in the moonlight and the groans continue, first a single cry in the dark, then a chorus, then a cacophany. He feels himself shudder. Zombies, he thinks. He's killed ten, maybe twenty total, all while traveling or gathering wood. He has never faced this many all at once. And they march like an army, incessantly.
Vaguely he thinks he should ring the alarm bell, barricade the villagers, get them to help him. But Spayer's face flashes in his mind and he decides against it. He wonders what he's thinking in his forges now, hearing the cries of the zombies. He feels as if a sword twists in his stomach and he forces the thought out. This isn't the time for pondering.
He still remembers many things. He knows that there will be twenty, maybe thirty of them total. He knows that they cannot break down wooden doors. He knows that they will follow him in one mass once he starts running. He knows that some will be armed, others armored, most neither.
He also knows that the creepers, spiders, and skeletons pose a threat as well—but he'll worry about that when he gets there.
He thumps his shield and his blade hums in the night. Bow and crossbow: check. Enough arrows to last the night: check. Steak and porkchops: check. Durable armor: check. Support: he glances behind him and sees the golems already lumbering over, swinging their fearsome arms back and forth like great hammers. Check.
He looks down, notices his hand is trembling, and forces himself to still it. Shoot them from a distance first, zigzag to avoid arrows, eliminate the armored and armed ones as soon as possible. Tower up with dirt if need be. Worst case, wait until daylight. Swing into the horde with blade to maximize damage.
Again he thinks of the villagers cowering in their houses, Sev and Hava Yal and Ramaf and Spayer and all the rest of them. Tomorrow they'll see me, he thinks. And despite of it all, Alexius feels himself smiling. He reaches for his bow.
From our position in the future, blessed with foresight as we are, it may be easy to dismiss this earliest siege as an inevitable victory, or otherwise a natural consequence of Alexius's prowess in fighting and strategy. But it is not so, for it is true that the Emperor fought valiantly and bravely, but it is also true that his great fortune played a major part in his victory as well.
He was greatly fortunate, for instance, that the zombies had attacked from the area of the forest on the most eastern outskirts of the village, rather than from more up north, for he had built his house directly by the forest, and thus had an early advantage, being near their central point of attack.
He was also greatly fortunate in that the golems of the village had been stationed in the eastern part of Sarfan that night, for they were able to defeat many of the beasts with their fearsome iron arms early on in the battle, and thus made Alexius's task a great deal easier.
Nevertheless, we cannot deny the genius of the Emperor's strategy in initially avoiding direct combat with the horde, instead opting to pick off the zombies individually with arrows, so that the size of the invading force was greatly diminished and allowed for a pushback into the forest itself. So with the power of the bow, the Emperor managed to rout off the first wave of the attack with relative ease.
From the ten, maybe twenty zombies that came from the forest, only two are left. Alexius reaches for an arrow, nocks it carefully, shoots, hits his target with cold efficiency. The ground is littered with piles of rotten flesh and the golems move into the forest. Groans and iron clanking echo through.
He's wasted many arrows on stray skeletons and spiders on the outskirts of the village, but there aren't any zombies left. It was easy, the rhythm of killing. Step back, draw arrow, aim, fire, hit. Raise shield, raise sword. Stab, stab, stab, done. Repeat and repeat. The noises of night are gone and the forest is silent again. Alexius takes another step back and takes a bite of steak. He feels what little injuries he sustained heal instantly.
He picks up the rotten flesh and a kind of song sings through his veins. He feels immortal then. His sword is warm and his helmet gleams. He feels an altogether new sensation, and as he picks up his axe and gazes at his own reflection he feels very strange. He feels powerful.
Wait until Spayer sees this, he thinks to himself.
Nevertheless, every man makes mistakes, and this was his first.
He hears another growl from behind and spins around, raising his shield. There's nothing there, only the light from the torches and the cowering villagers in their houses. A stray zombie? Not likely—it hasn't followed him. It sounds like it's getting farther and farther away.
Hastily he draws his sword out and walks towards the center of the village. They can't get him here, he knows. They hate light like death, light is death to them, they can't come up from here. That's why they always stay way out in the Plains during the night. They wouldn't dare to come to the center of the village. Subtly he relaxes his stance and walks towards the square, ready to ring the bells and proclaim an end to the siege.
Tonight he is wrong. He has forgotten and that is his greatest mistake. He turns a corner of a house and sees twenty zombies arising from the paved dirt of the square.
Their bodies are hunched over and twisted in the shadow of the old church. They claw their way out of the earth and their mouths scream horrible groans that shake him to his core. They don't come to Alexius, don't even notice him standing frozen by the forges. The army goes to the houses and bangs on the doors, and their wails mix with the screams of terror inside. There are too many, way too many. They just keep coming out of the ground and banging on the doors. A chorus of undead screams and an army of zombies is what he's fighting now.
Alexius watches in horror as the doors begin to break down.
He reaches for an arrow and feels nothing there, and his mind sings pure panic. He backs away from the army, back towards his house, back towards the forest. He has to bring them here, he has to restock somehow, he has to evacuate everyone while there's still time. The cracks on the doors grow and he hears Azel the Butcher praying and he hears his child Jacob Efel Yed his son cry. He feels as if he is standing in the middle of an endless desert and his heart feels cold. The iron weighs heavy again.
He backs silently into a side alley, where they haven't put up torches yet. His head is immobile and his eyes are fixed, wide open and trembling. He backs into darkness. That's his second mistake.
He hears the creeper before he can see it.