Chapter 9-2

Despite sleeping away much of the day, Garkhen hardly felt rested when he finally arose. The eyes of his fellow soldiers told a similar tale about their feelings. A hearty meal helped somewhat with their fatigue, however, and drills forced them into wakefulness.

The undead assaulted again at the fall of night. The battle was as terrible as the night before. While the defenders were now better prepared, yet there was something... terrifying about their mindless relentlessness. And while the Loyalist forces suffered few casualties, yet it seemed they were hardly reducing the size of the host before them.

Garkhen was more conservative in his use of priestly magic and draconic breath during the battle. He healed only when necessary to save lives, and used his lightning breath only once, near dawn. Yet he found himself as exhausted as before. His squad seemed to be suffering similarly. Perhaps, for all that the dead seemed to be attacking them ineffectually, they would win through grinding fatigue. 

Two more days and nights passed similarly. The third day, the mood amongst the defenders was gloomy. Many men had deserted the first night, with a steady trickle over the last several days, and those remaining were feeling the strain. These were not men who had marched from their homes anticipating facing the undead and whatever fell wizards had animated them. Many could not face such horrors. Those who stayed... recognized that the horrors would soon reach their homes if they were not stopped here.

*****

Next week's post will hopefully be longer, since I actually *don't* have a paper due next week.