Dirge for a Necromancer - By Ash Stinson Page 0,110

their hearts slowed and stopped. Abassy corpses piled up around the pair. Still more and more came. For every abassy cut down five more seemed to spring up in its place, like some sort of nightmare hydra.

Black blood. Black, soulless eyes. Metal swords clashing on metal teeth.

Raettonus cried out as a spear pierced his shoulder. He struck out and killed the offending abassy and pulled its weapon from his body. Two more abassy were already upon him. One quick jab through the eye of one, a jab through the unprotected chest of the other. The two abassy fell. Dark blood gurgled up out of them, clotted like old milk.

More abassy. Always more. Fierce. Fearless. Hungry for death. They pressed forward, all ceaseless black eyes and teeth made of iron. They hissed and growled and turned toward Raettonus with their flat, mean faces. He killed them. Again and again he killed them. But they were endless.

“Are you keeping count, Magician?” called Diahsis over the din of war surrounding them. His dragon bone visor was down, masking him in the snarling white face of a wolf.

“What?” said Raettonus.

“A kill count,” Diahsis said cheerfully. “Are you keeping a kill count, Magician?”

“No,” replied Raettonus. He jammed his rapier up under an abassy’s chin. With a swift kick to its middle, he dislodged it from the blade. “Little busy here for counting.”

“But, Magician!” exclaimed Diahsis. An abassy lunged at him, and he caught it in the temple with his gladius, cleaving its skull nearly in half. “If you don’t keep a count, how will we know which of us has taken down more monsters?”

“Diahsis, we’re going to die out here,” Raettonus responded, scowling. “Does it really matter which of us killed more abassy if we’re not going to even be around to compare?”

Diahsis laughed. “A fair point,” he said, and hacked the head off another abassy.

The stench of abassy blood was thick in the air. It was the most pungent scent Raettonus could imagine. It was worse than corpses left to ripen in the sun. It was worse than putrid, bursting intestines. He was drenched in the foul, clotted fluid. It clung to his white tunic, spattered his sweaty face, and matted his hair. It was on his lips, and he could taste it in his mouth—a bitter, burning taste like lye and weeds.

It felt as if they’d been fighting forever. Raettonus parried lance after lance, spear after spear. Again and again he plunged his blade deep into abassy flesh and left them twitching on the reeking, muddy ground.

His muscles ached; it was as if someone had filled them full of caltrops. His lungs burned with effort and the heavy scent of abassy blood. His bowels felt as if they might burst, and his stomach felt as if it might come up his throat and out his mouth. Sweat poured down his face, stung his eyes, caked his lips with salt. Flames burst periodically from his skin, but he couldn’t sustain them.

Fatigue was settling in. His arms were getting heavy. His chest ached down to its deepest part. His knees were beginning to shake. Pain shot up his back, along his spine, and out into all his muscles.

Raettonus clenched his teeth hard together and fought on.

Behind him, Diahsis was tunelessly screaming out that same ballad about the shepherd’s daughter at the top of his lungs. The words were all about spring meadows and lovers basking in sunlight, and they juxtaposed surreally with Diahsis’ hoarse voice and the wet sound of his dagger and sword cutting through tongues and faces and throats.

Raettonus stumbled as his foot caught on the dead arm of an abassy. Immediately, a pike caught him in the leg. It tore through the outside of his thigh. Raettonus hissed and wheeled on the abassy who had struck him. He jammed his rapier into its cheek to the hilt. The monster swayed slightly, but didn’t go down. Raettonus pulled his blade free and then forced it into the abassy’s belly, just below where its mail ended. With a hiss and a gurgle, the abassy crumpled to the ground.

There was so much blood on Raettonus’ sword that it dribbled off the crossguard, landing on the ground in thick, black drops. Parry. Jab. Parry. A spear grazed his cheek. He cursed and ended the abassy responsible. Jab. Slash. Parry. Jab. Another horrible, gray monster with gray steel teeth fell to the ground before him. Parry. Jab. He struck out with his sword, and it slid into