Sunlight spilled over the horizon. First it touched the peaks of the Geirarj?tna Mountains, and then it slowly crept down until it illuminated the waters off the coast of Selkarc. Light reflected off of waves as they lapped against the shore, spilling over into the great salt marsh that sat tucked away beneath a series of sharp cliffs.

  A marsh that teemed with corpses.

  Any animals that once lived there were long dead or driven out. All that remained were the bodies spilling out of the mountains, ignorant of their own deaths. Some wore only the clothes on their backs; others were clad in muddied armor. As they marched through the salty water, the undead army often sank below the surface, disappearing entirely in brackish pools made deep by high tide. At times it looked like nothing remained in the marsh but reeds and shrubs. But below the surface, the advance continued.

  Mindless as they seemed, the draugr and skeletons composing this horde had a destination. They had walked through valleys and mountains without rest and a pile of stacked rocks, no matter how well made, would not stop them now. And so the battle for Saltrvatrmarr Fortress continued without end.

  Two soldiers atop the walls each speared a draugr at cross angles, then a third stepped up with an axe to hack its limbs off. Dismembering the immobile corpse was the work of moments, and then the spears were withdrawn and the corpse kicked from the battlements.

  Another team wasn’t so lucky. Just as their spearmen pinned another draugr in place, a second scaled the walls behind it. Before anyone could react the draugr grabbed a man by the ankles and dragged him screaming off the battlements, vanishing into a forest of clawing hands below. Someone stepped up to take the unfortunate soldier’s place before his screams had even ceased.

  Nearby, a draugr armored in full plate batted aside several spears. With practiced precision the closest soldiers pulled back and traded their weapons for shields. The armored draugr fell upon the soldiers, clutching its greatsword by the blade in order to hammer at their shields with the pommel. The instant one man faltered, the draugr, sensing weakness, shifted from pummeling the entire line of shield to focusing on just one.

  Just as the corpse-knight brought the man to his knees, however, a plume of fire erupted at the draugr’s feet. Even from her position in the command room Cinna could hear what sounded like a scream as the flames charred the draugr the point of forcing air from its lungs. The mage responsible traded places with a second who doused the burning draugr with water, which cooled it enough that the infantry could once again approach it.

  All across Saltrvatrmarr Fortress’s walls, Cinna’s troops employed the similar tactics to defeat their deathless foes. Soldiers used to fighting other people sometimes fell into the trap of using their tried-and-true tactics against undead to their own detriment. But years of fighting against Barkolt’s hordes had taught the people of Ennos that you couldn’t bleed a corpse to death or land a killing blow on its vitals. No single strike could disable an undead, so it was essential that they be incapacitated instead. Even slicing tendons and breaking bones wasn’t always enough; outright dismemberment was the only way to be sure.

  If Selkarc hadn’t had access to Dalton’s reports from the frontline, this battle might have gone very differently.

  Still, the undead were relentless, and all it took was a single mistake. A shield at the wrong angle. A spear that didn’t penetrate deeply enough. A dull axe that took more swings to chop through a limb. Even the slightest of flinches could provide an opening the undead wouldn’t hesitate to seize.

  “Ram sighted, middle of the wall!” someone reported.

  “How are we only know hearing about this?” Gunnarsen demanded.

  “It must be man-portable, and not covered. They carried it at hip-level right up to the walls,” Cinna guessed. “Signal Baron Laufey. Have him rot it from within.”

  “Another wave of trolls is scaling the walls. Right flank.”

  “The left just lost an entire squad at once; they’re being pushed back!”

  “Our reserves haven’t had enough time to rest yet. Sylvia, take some knights and plug the hole on the left until they’re ready. Bjorn, split the rest into pairs and intercept those trolls when they mount the walls,” Cinna instructed two of the lieutenants she’d brought with her.

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  A booming crack split the air accompanied by a flash of light.

  “A lich—”

  “I have working eyes and ears, lieutenant. Lord Magne is responsible for that section of the wall. Let him handle the lich.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  One minor crisis after another appeared, but Cinna’s orders came just as fast, quickly and efficiently repositioning forces or leaving the issue to her subordinates based on her own judgement. It never seemed to end. She tried to sleep whenever she could but had yet to manage an hour straight. The fatigue was building on her despite her best efforts, and every time the tide lowered, she felt a gnawing despair in the pit of her stomach seeing the sheer number of draugr occupying the marsh.

  She had to hold herself together, though. Her uncle, in his capacity as high general, had entrusted this role to her. Valto and Merethe were counting on Cinna to hold the line here just as she counted on them to defend their own positions. So Cinna dug her fingernails into her palm to keep herself alert and kept giving orders.

  After handling several more situations, Cinna examined the walls for changes. She decided that things were well in hand for the moment. Her knights had mopped up the undead trolls as ordered and the left flank looked to have stabilized. The lack of lightning falling upon the walls suggested Magne had done his job.

  “The number of draugr reaching the top is increasing again. I think it might be time to call on Countess Moller again,” Gunnarsen advised a short while later.

  “It’s a bit early, but…yes, go ahead and signal her.”

  Gunnarsen took a horn from his belt and stepped up to the window. He blew into the instrument, careful to place his fingers in specific locations. No sound came out, but that was expected. Only the wearer of a specific earring would have heard the call.

  Shortly after, the sea churned and rose. The waters of the marsh grew even higher until a solid wave engulfed the area in front of the fortress walls, swallowing up the undead in the midst of attacking it. Then it receded, and although Cinna couldn’t see the base of the walls from her position she knew there would be nothing left of the mounting pile of dismembered undead.

  After several days of fighting, that was the basic rhythm the battle had fallen into. Undead climbed over top of each other to reach the top of the walls. Soldiers intercepted each in teams and destroyed them. Corpses built at the base of the walls until a ramp formed. Then, as they began to climb the walls in mass, Cinna would call on Countess Moller and her son to wash them all out to sea at once, clearing the base of the walls again.

  As much as Cinna griped about the nobility and their fractiousness, she had to admit that the heads of houses and their scions were invaluable in battle. They were far more powerful than she liked to give them credit for. The royal mages were still in the process of recovering their mid-level spells, to say nothing of their high-level ones, but it seemed the nobles had already managed to reconstruct at least their own houses’ signature magics.

  Cinna set that matter aside and did a visual sweep of her surroundings. With Countess Moller having freshly swept the frontline clean again, there would be some downtime now before things picked up again.

  “Is the bay still clear?” Cinna asked the room, expecting someone to have an answer for her.

  “Yes, ma’am. We’ve stretched wires and chains across the bottom as ordered. If anything tries to sneak in we’ll know,” a woman volunteered.

  “They walk below the surface of the marsh without a second thought, but pay no mind to the sea,” Gunnarsen mused. “It’s as if they know they’re dead, but not how to use it to their own advantage.”

  “At this point I believe it’s safe to say we’re dealing with someone that knows of siege tactics and little more. They continue to test us with individual strategies using like rams and ladders but only apply them in isolation,” Cinna concluded. “Sooner or later they’ll try the bay as well. Just as they will eventually learn to put it all together. It’s only a question of when.”

  “You still believe this motley collection of cadavers has a leader?” Gunnarsen asked skeptically. “I’m more inclined to believe the soldiers among them occasionally mimic actions they took in life.”

  “It’s because of something I heard from Baron Lundgren,” Cinna replied.

  “Lundgren. The house specializing in necromancy?” Gunnarsen asked, straining to remember what he knew of noble society.

  “Correct. He told me something about the liches we’ve been encountering. They’re essentially mages whose souls have been placed back into their original bodies after death. Closer to a familiar than the thralls I believe make up most of our foes,” Cinna explained. The information wasn’t widely circulated as it hadn’t been verified, but it wasn’t sensitive either.

  “I don’t see how that connects to leadership. The liches we’ve seen so far haven’t been what I would call coordinated,” Gunnarsen observed with a wave of his hand.

  “From what I understand, an undead that has been returned to its own body has its mind intact. And while most mages cannot control undead, necromancers can,” Cinna pointed out, lowering her voice so that only Gunnarsen could here. He inhaled sharply.

  “And a necromancer wouldn’t be familiar with military tactics,” he noted. “But if they can think, they can learn.”

  “Exactly. But it also means they can be tricked,” Cinna added. “Right now they’re taking advantage of their sheer numbers to try everything and see what works. Eventually they’ll become confident enough to commit to a single plan. If we can bait them out and destroy the commander we can turn this into a cleanup operation.”

  “Even if you’re correct, they have no reason to reveal themselves. What would a necromancer contribute in a direct fight?”

  “ Leadership itself. It’s an insurmountable fact that distance is the enemy of precision. Mages lose accuracy at long range. Their constructs respond more slowly. It’s the entire reason why farspeakers need beacons and golem controllers stay close to their creations. So if necromancy is the same, the in order to accomplish anything large scale or which requires fine coordination, they will have to approach us,” Cinna explained.

  “…and since they know nothing of tactics, they will assume whatever gains them the most headway is the most effective,” Gunnarsen said, catching on. “You want to pick their strategy for them by giving ground.”

  “Normally, I would agree with you. That is the wisest move. But in this case…not quite.”

  “No?” Gunnarsen asked, blinking in confusion.

  “Gunnarsen, we have no ground to give. What we need to do is crush every stratagem they attempt so thoroughly that they decide the only viable option left is a decapitation strike. Against myself and my royal guard, our foe will have no choice but to be present.”