The Father of Withering

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Dragon Empire

Relma and Aren scurried through the halls as quickly as they could, worrying they might be too late. Coming to a door, Aren flung it open and marched into a long hall. There were many beds upon which wounded lay, and healers were there. But many were looking on in horror at a number of satyrs, wearing bloodied bandages. Even now, they shambled toward the door.

"What goes on here?" asked Aren.

"Undead, Lord Arengeth!" cried a woman. "The corpses of the dead satyrs have risen from the grave!"

The corpses shambled past Aren, making for the door with a groan. Relma stepped to one side and realized what was happening. "They aren't attacking anyone. They're just trying to get out."

On they went, and Aren followed after the creatures and out to the gatehouse. As they came out of the doors, they found many more walking dead. The creatures were all satyrs, gathering before the gates in great ranks. They pushed against them as men looked on with bows and arrows.

"What is happening here?" said the brown bearded man from before. Though he walked with a crutch and a drawn sword.

"Quickly open the doors," said Aren.

"What?" said the man.

"Open the doors and let them out of the fort," said Aren.

"You think they'll just leave?" asked the man.

"Do it, now," said Aren. "Before they become violent."

The doors were swung open, and the bodies of the dead marched on out by the hundreds. How many had died to make such an army? How many would die to them before they were destroyed? What was the good of all this blood, really?

Beyond the walls, Relma saw many other bodies rising from the fields. In ranks, the dead marched toward the entrance of the pass. Some of the bodies were blackened and charred from dragon fire. It gave her chills to look at and she was glad she was not fighting them.

Aren sighed in the longsuffering tone of one who had seen it all before. Which, of course, he had. "I suppose this is what Pandora described. The dead rising again. I haven't seen anything like this since the last Age of Withering."

"Where are they going?" asked a man.

"Toward blood and death before the end!" cried Shren, coming forward. "Go, my brethren! Tear the servants of dragons apart! Let this blood water these parched lands!

"Who are we fighting anyway?"

"The Dragon Empire, a nation ruled by the Red Dragon Flight," said the man.

"Why would humans follow dragons?" said Shren.

"I don't know," said the man. "Nobody knows anything about the Dragon Empire. Few people who ever pass through these gates ever come back." Then he looked up to see De Cathe emerging through the gates. "Cousin, it's been a long time!"

"Tren, you've grown since last we met," said De Cathe. Relma wondered how they knew one another, beyond blood relation. "How is life in the Dragon Watch?"

"Reasonable," said Tren. "I'm at my third year, so one more and I'll be able to move on." So you had to serve the Dragon Watch for four years at least. Useful information to remember, if Relma ever wanted someone out of the way.

"You could stay longer. It is an honorable profession," said De Cathe. And one not easily dropped at that.

"I don't want to," admitted Tren and Relma did not blame him there. What she'd seen so far had been bloody. "The endless raids do little to help my temperament. And now that House Endorean is bending the knee there should be peace."