Chapter 9-1

Chapter 9: Long Night

The rest of that night passed in a haze of exhaustion. Garkhen could only remember a vague, faceless stream of undead, climbing up ladders to meet his mace. Every now and again they managed to throw one of the heavy ladders down, but always another took its place. 

And yet, for all of their exhaustion, their lines held. The walking dead gained no foothold upon the walls, and their arrows and the spells of the hooded ones found few weaknesses in their armor. There would be much work for healers that day, yes, but little work for gravediggers, save for reburying the corpses of those whose eternal slumber had been disturbed. 

The tide of the dead ebbed before the sun's first rays. By the time the sun rose, the army of undead were already miles distant, camped to the west of the walls. But the keenest-eyed among their lookouts could make out another army to the north—the Rebel forces had made camp some miles from the city. Rumors flowed faster than the river. Were they waiting for their undead allies to grind the Loyalists down before retaking Garnot? Were they simply waiting to see what happened? Were they as surprised by the appearance of this army of walking dead as the Loyalists?

Other rumors spoke of what their forces might do. Would they try to strike at the undead during the daytime hours? Would messengers be sent to the Rebel army? But these things held little interest for Garkhen at the time. As soon as Sgt. Gerim dismissed him, he stumbled his way to his quarters and collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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Sorry for the late post. I had a group project to work on over the weekend, so most of my writing was going towards that.