Trail the Ash Tree

They first took care of weaponry. The soldiers and Quinten's men scouted around for large rocks and deadwood, bringing them back to Heljah, who set to work creating a dozen rough clubs. "Terrible rush job," she kept muttering to herself, and "I'm an architect, not a smith," but within ten minutes they had serviceable weapons for bashing in the skulls and breaking the bones of any more skeleton warriors they might come across.

They headed down the slope at a steady jog. Grim determination set their gate, and they clumped together. A dozen eyes darted nervously about, straining in the gloom for some hint of movement.

Soon they were gasping for breathe.

The strange jumps in time sometimes slowed them down, so it was like they were wading through water, and sometimes they ran ten strides in one. Once or twice Kol thought he saw themselves running just ahead of them. It shocked him a bit, but then they caught up with themselves in time and they were all in one place again.

The Tower didn't get any closer.

"What is going on here?" Quinten gasped. "I thought you knew what you were doing, Ireselan."

"I'm not a necromancer," Ireselan snarled back. "I don't know. Last time I was in a place like this is not something I like to remember." He called for a halt, and wearily his men and the Company sat down. The stale air didn't relieve their lungs any, and they sat panting. "I don't remember" pant 'having this kind of trouble." He paused. "We just walked through his garden and," pant "we arrived at where he wanted us to go."

"Well, we don't have a magic garden to transport us away, Ireselan," Quinten wheezed. "I don't think that will work."

They panted for a few more minutes, until despite their wheezing lungs something set them on guard. They eyed their surrounding, trying to gasp quietly.

"There!" One of Ireselan's soldiers pointed to wisps of white fog roiling towards them. "And there!"

They could here the clacking of bone against bleached bone, the squeal of rusted armor. The musk of blood seeped into their noses. Then, they came, clacking steadily through the mist.

"There are twenty- not thirty four of them." Quintin said, checking the perimeter. "We should be able to handle this."

"Don't be so sure," Ireselan said wriley. "This is the Shadowland. They are stronger here."

They formed a rough circle, each man guarding the back of another. The skeletons rushed at them, cold wind howling through their ribs like voices, and rusted steal met club in silent fury.

They were harder than that raggedy horde in the forest had been, their bones clinging together with unseen thews, the attacks coordinated and intelligent. Still, the men fought with desperation for their lives, and the undead skulls were flying, knee caps and shoulders cracked and broken within minutes.

Valasar and Heljah were like demons in fury, taking on five each of the ghastly undead. When it was over, the twitching bones were scattered around them like a small harvest of white. Several of the men had been cut, and the wounds oozed slowly. Quintin had a slash across one arm, and Kol had taken a beating from a soldier's wild swing, but the worst was a youngish man among the soldiers. His thigh had been deeply pierced, and one of his ankles twisted in the fight.

Ireselan knelt next to the boy. "Can you walk?" He asked, almost gently. The boy shook his head feebly, white-faced. "Then you'll only slow us down." With one swift move he slit the young man's throat.

"Valasar could have carried him without slowing down!" Quintin snarled, pushing Ireselan away from the body.

"And then we would have lost one of our greatest assets in fighting." Ireselan said coldly, wiping his blade and standing back up. "You never did think logically about these things, Quintin."

"What if we had a healing potion? Did you think of that?"

"Healing of any kind does not work here. Haven't you noticed how tired we all are? We're going to stay tired until we leave. Those wounds you, and some of my soldiers received" he gestured, "They will continue to bleed until we leave."

"Quintin, I want to bash his head in to, but now is not the time for that!" Heljah pointed at the mist, where more skeletal warriors lumbered and clattered toward them. Around them, the bones of those they had fought before were inching their way towards each other, knitting themselves back together inch by slow inch. The soldiers kicked at the slowly reforming bodies, but they were tenacious. A headless, one-armed torso grabbed at Hans leg, and he shook it off, smashing some of the ribs.

"Where are they coming from?" One of the soldiers muttered.

"They keep appearing between those trees." Valasar pointed the shadowy outlines of a small copse of ash-white trees a few yards away.

"Ash trees! Everybody, follow me! I know what to do!" Heljah charged towards the advancing skeleton horde, swinging her hammer and uttering a blood-curdling war-cry.

"Arrow formation, follow the dwarf!" Ireselan snarled, and his men surged forward. He gestured at the body between them, and said to Quintin, "We can discuss this later, if you like."

Quintin didn't take his eyes off the cold smug face of the other man. "Men, follow Heljah."

They plowed through the skeletons, not trying so much to take them down as to push through them. Luckily, living legs were faster than rickety undead knees, and with Valasar acting as rear guard they managed to fend off the clattering horde.

Suddenly they were at the copse of trees. Heljah turned to check on them, making sure everyone was with her, and said, "Everybody grab the hand of someone else, form a chain! We should all be connected for this."

They each grabbed someone else's hand, nervously dropping some weapons, but they formed a chain, and then Heljah ran around one of the trees, and disappeared from the other side. they could still feel her tugging though, and soon all of them were pulled along around the tree.

They were in the courtyard in front of the Tower. An ash tree stood next to them, its branches strangely green with leaves in this dead world.

"Trail the ash tree." Heljah gasped.

"How sure were you that that would work?" Quintin asked her.

"What, you doubt my ancient dwarven wisdom?" Heljah asked. "It was in the rhyme, so it was as good a try as any."

"Everybody into formation! put your back to the tower!" Ireselan ordered his men. Quintin and the others formed ranks as the undead horde followed them through the ash-tree portal, white bones clanking with rusted armor in bloodlust, dark wind howling.