The swarming dead

Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have received a final clue in their search for the undead witch Abilene, who once served the ancient pirate Harfigorn. They follow the Trail of the Dead to uproot her evil, once and for all, when the forest erupts with shambling, undead things...

They were numerous, but clumsy and slow. I quickly lost site of my companions, but heard their grunts as they fought. Broo Fang Tane's high-pitched war yowls spoke to the ferocity of his efforts.

Still, they came. Shambling and rotting, smelling of earth and blood and decay. My sword was free and flying, but lopping hunks of the putrid flesh didn't slow them down. I backpedaled with two of the things groping toward me, discolored nails seeking to tear my flesh. I remembered Tane's successful attach and aimed for a mottled head, instead. My blade bit deep and the thing dropped like a stack of sticks. I pried my blade free and slammed it down in the center of the second thing's forehead, splitting its skull. It toppled.

"Aim for the heads!" I shouted.

Seymuhr had already figured that out. He had a mace in each hand and fought without apparent skill, but terrible effectiveness. He flung four of the shambling unliving monstrosities aside with a sweep of his right arm and then hacked down with his left on another, a child whose ruined head already showed the imprint of a horse hoof—most likely the blow that had killed the poor thing—that had been clawing at his belt. He hit it hard enough to split it in half and put a dimple on the soft earth. He flashed me a grin, then swung again, battering more of the groping undead into piles of stinking shards of bone and rotted meat.

The smell was horrendous, even for one who had been traveling so long with Seymuhr--a man who challenged the limits of my nose even on the best of days. I kept my mouth open, but even so tears leaked down my cheeks and my stomach roiled at the cloying stench of the dead. I pulled my shirt up over my nose and looked for another monstrosity to strike down. Baram was fending three of them off, back pedaling as they closed in to make her staff ineffective. She had already dropped her bow.

I stepped up behind one of them and buried my blade in its skull, tearing it free as it dropped soundlessly to the forest floor. Another turned at me, vacant eyes covered in a green film, and I twisted my sword into its face, just above its nose. Baram ended the other with the end of her staff, then spat on it in disgust. She nodded to me and we returned to the fight.

Seymuhr was covered in the swarming dead. A creature gray skin and ropey brown hair in a filthy white dress clung to his left shoulder, its teeth trying to penetrate the thick fabric near his neck. Another form clung to his back, and its shredded fingers tore ineffectively at his forehead. Two more held his legs and attempted to pull his calves into their snapping jaws.

"Do these things make me look fat?" He snickered, shrugged them off, then buried a mace in each of their skulls.

"This is no time for humor, if that is indeed what you attempted," I snapped, then added, grudgingly. "Although I do appreciate the effort."

Merrick and Tane walked up. Merrick's breath came in heavy gasps and he wiped his dirty sword on a nearby patch of grass. Tane's smile, if it had ever left him, had returned. Both had torn clothing, but appeared otherwise uninjured. The forest had gone silent again.

"Is anyone hurt?" Merrick wheezed.
 
"I should be asking you," I said, for he appeared the most worse for wear. His hair hung in damp tangles and his face was red and gleamed with sweat. I looked him over, but saw no blood. "Do you need to rest?"

He shook his head but didn't answer right away. After a moment he stood straight, took another deep breath and planted his staff on the ground. "No. We shouldn't dally any longer than necessary. I don't think this was a random group of...of...those things. They were sent, like the others. The mountain witch knows we are coming for her."

Tane nodded. He wiped the rotting grime from his sandals with a slight grimace. "Perhaps these...attacks...are an indi...indic....in...sign that she...fears our ap...roach."

"I doubt it," Merrick said, his face set in a grim expression. "Most likely, she sends her pawns so she won't be bothered. I think she's up to some evil that surpasses her earlier crimes against humanity and nature. We must make haste; I feel more than our lives are in the balance."

He set out, huffing, but determined. One by one, we followed him. The mountain's shadow lay just ahead.