The Necromancer

Chapter 8, Part 2

The residents of Defarlas fled in panic at the sight of my army marching out of the forest. Thousands of them loaded their lives and loved ones into carts and streamed down the road toward the provincial capital. I had no plans to hurt any of the villagers, but I didn't mind getting them out of the way either. At the front of the pack, the town's Paladin garrison ran with their metaphorical tails between their legs. My soldiers had caught them napping (literally), and they'd scampered away for reinforcements without even a thought of defending the townsfolk. How typical. I knew they'd be back, and I didn't mind if they brought their army with them. On the contrary: I was expecting it.

My skeletons raided the town for supplies. No, not food, nor clothing, nor firewood. That's one of the greatest benefits of an undead army: there is no logistical baggage needed. Many a Paladin campaign has failed, starved to death against wiser Necromancer kings who realized that the foe's weakness is not the heart or the brain, but the stomach. No, we were not after food. I had my skeletons rummage through every house and shop in search of shirts, sheets.... anything white.

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I stood at the top of a hill with Mog sitting beside me and together we watched the sun rise. The sky was streaked bright red, normally considered a bad omen in these parts. But bad for whom? Not too far off in the distance, we could see the Paladin army coming our way. Bugles sounded through the crisp morning air, urging them all forward.

"MANY," Mog commented.

I nodded in response. There were a lot of them; more than I had expected. The stream of horsemen kicked up a billowing cloud of dust over the rocky surface of the plains.  It seemed like every man carried an orange-and-white banner in one hand, and a gold-tipped lance in the other. I wondered if they could see us waiting in the trees. If they couldn't yet, they would soon.

"Forward!" I ordered the skeletons behind me.

Each one shouted  "Yes Master," simultaneously, then came surging out from between the trees and down the hill like a flash flood. Mog stood and hoisted me up onto his shoulder. Last night, I had the skeletons quickly forge him a battle-axe (made from two plows we'd scavenged in the village) and it was now strapped to his back. The weapon was crude, but certainly effective enough for someone of his strength. It also made a pretty good handle for me to hold on to as the ogre lumbered forward. The skeletons, with their magical senses, knew to get out of the way of wherever his foot was about to land.

Across the plains, the bugles sounded once again. And from the back of the Paladin army, deep drums began to belt out their own thumping rhythm. They were signaling that the battle was about to begin. The horsemen fixed their banners to their saddles and lowered the lances, the clerics began casting enhancement spells in flashes of white light, while foot soldiers drew golden swords. My own soldiers' weapons remained sheathed, though. Instead, each one of them carried a pole or a branch with a white flag attached to the top.

We came to a halt on the center of the field. My minions formed up into six perfect square formations, each one still holding a white flag. The Paladins warily drew closer, weapons at the ready. They wouldn't trust a Necromancer, even one signaling surrender. But as far as I knew, this wasn't something that had ever happened before. Any Necromancer would probably be shunned for even considering admitting defeat to the Paladins.

I stepped out in front of the army and waited for the Paladins to send a representative to parley. Their front lines came to a halt a few dozen feet away, close enough that I could see the glares and grimaces framed by golden helmets. Close enough to close the distance and tear through us as soon as someone gave the order.