Keir leaned against the invisible body of Hanina, letting her hold his leaden body in place. His limbs were numb and nearly useless, the reins barely stayed in his hands. Without the leg straps and his servant, he wouldn't have been able to stay on the horse. That would have been embarrassing.

Closing his eyes, he realized his magical energy was still very low. Thanks to the sheer amount of death surrounding them, he was regaining it fairly quickly, it still wasn't much. Creating a single ghost like Hanina would make him collapse again.

Taking a tiny portion of the raw magic, he pushed it into his muscles.

His heart raced painfully fast. Muscles twisted from the energy racing through them. His vision turned red and he felt his skin heat up. Tasting iron, he spit a bright red mix of mucus and blood into the mud. The pain slowly faded away, leaving him feeling and looking refreshed. He hoped he wouldn't have to do that again anytime soon.

Looking back, he couldn't see much. The dead still held the line, refusing to die. Demons were fighting them with tooth and claw. Limbs and blood flew through the air. Behind the melee, explosions blanketed the trees and field in smoke, dirt and body parts. Some of the shells exploded in the air, shredding flocks of Screechers, raining metal on the reinforcements.

The Brown mage, looked back as well. “They're hitting the dead,” Emer said.

“Only with the shells that fall short. And they're dead,” he told her, shouting to be heard over the explosions. “Friendly fire on the dead is fine as long as it kills the enemy as well.”

“Right. I- it's not something I've really thought of.”

Smiling, he said, “Most people don't. It almost always caught my enemies off guard the first time they saw me order soldiers or cannon to fire onto my own units. Some of my stupider enemies were still surprised after the fifth time.”

“But aren't you worried that we're losing soldiers?” she asked.

“Better to lose some dead soldiers while killing the enemy, than to lose living soldiers because we didn't kill enough of the enemy. The dead can be replaced easily enough, a good living soldier is worth their weight in gold,” he explained.

They were close to the first line of trenches, the ground was covered in dead bodies, lying face up, staring glassy eyed at the sky. Keir grinned, the dead had made good time getting down to the pass, and General Ajani had been as good as his word directing them into position. It was always a pleasure to work with professionals.

Weaving their way through the bodies, and then around the trenches which covered the pass in a checker board pattern, they stopped at an open space behind the last row of trenches, well away from the booming artillery. Von easily hopped off his horse, and came over to help unstrap Keir.

“You seem well rested,” the mage said.

“Magic. Can't look weak in front of the troops,” Keir explained. “Is it time for lunch?”

Von glared at him. “That can kill you. You're already suffering from blow back.”

“Blow black?” Keir asked, not sure of the word and too mentally exhausted to work it out.

“Using too much power, I think you would call it enervated.”

He nodded in understanding. “I prefer enervated, it sounds better. Don't worry about me, I'll survive. This isn't the first time I've done it.”

“You still need to be careful, you're too important to lose over something as stupid as your image,” Von said.

Keir smirked. “I didn't know you cared. I'll make sure your weapon stays in good shape. But until the soldiers trust me with their lives, image is everything. Now, is it lunchtime? I'm starving.”

“It's a little early, but close enough. There should be something prepared.”

“Excellent! Then I think it's time to talk to the troops. If you would be so kind as to work your magic.”

Von moved his fingers delicately through the air, then nodded.

Smiling happily, Keir took a moment to adjust his cloak. “Soldiers, it's almost lunchtime. I wasn't keeping count, but I think we can all agree I've killed a good number of the demons. And my compliments to the artillery who are doing a wonderful job of aiding my dead in slaughtering the monsters. If things go well, most of the enemy will be dead before they get within rifle range.”

There was a bit of cheering from the trenches.

“Now I'm going to have some lunch. When the Demons get close enough to be annoying, I'll join you in the trenches. I want every single one of those bastards dead by suppertime, and with your help it should be easy enough. So rest up while you can, we'll be celebrating tonight.”

“You seem confident,” Von said, after stopping the spell.

“I am. But even if I wasn't, I'd do my damnedest to fake it. Those men and women expected to be dead by now. They've gotten a reprieve of execution. They're feeling a bit more confident and won't break from a light breeze, but it's still fragile. If I looked scared, tired or even worried, it could cause them to lose hope again. There is no way I'll risk that,” he explained.

The mage nodded. “We're still in for a hard fight. They're summoning help. Every demon within fifty miles is heading for us now.”

“Well then, lets get something to eat and have someone set up a cot for me. I'll need to be well rested when the guests finally arrive.”

“Remember warriors of the Moon, when fighting for survival every weapon is allowed,” the Priestess said, her voice sounding all along the trenches.

“Father Moon travelled into the Abyss to learn the ways of the Great Enemy, tearing the knowledge of runes from the heart of the Dragon Serobini. Now runes are one of our greatest tools. And those who were once our enemy can become our friends and allies. Mother Sun showed mercy to the greatest warrior of the Abyss, Karinlik Yildiz, healing his wounds and soothing his pain. In gratitude the warrior became the Polar Star, guarding one of the gates of the Abyss, keeping its former kin locked away from the world.”

Von had to smile at the sermon. He wondered how long it had taken her and her fellow priests to come up with a convincing reason to trust Keir and necromancy. Three hundred years of stories about how evil the necromancer had been, and the heresy of necromancy wasn't easily overcome. At least Keir had made the job easier by being charismatic and helpful. The former emperor was cocky, arrogant and didn't hid the fact that she felt superior to everyone, but she knew how to motivate the masses.

Having the undead fighting a horde of demons to a standstill didn't hurt either.

Turning to no mans land he saw the thin line of undead shuffling around, occasionally bending down to slay a wounded demon or to pick up a weapon. A few ghosts, flickering wisps of magic that threatened to fade at any second, flew through the sky. The artillery had mostly stopped, allowing shells to be brought up, repairs to be made, and the crews to rest. They still lobbed some shells into the woods, shattering trees and killing the growing number of demons. If they had more artillery and shells, they would have flattened the woods, but everything was in short supply.

The demons were watching from the woods, just out of sight. The howling hadn't stopped. More and more demons were arriving every minute. They'd realized early on that coming in piecemeal was just getting them all killed. So now they were waiting to gain reinforcements. When they had enough numbers, they would charge, swamping the undead, soaking up the shells and bullets, and fall on the defenders like a tidal wave.

Unsheathing his sword, he stared at the runes etched into the metal. It would never dull or break, it would strengthen his blows ten fold, and allow him to block a blow from a four armed Brute. It had been his from the start of the war, when he'd taken it from a dead officer in the mad flight that ended the first campaign. He'd lost count of how many demons and humans it had killed.

It would kill many more before the day was out. No matter how confident Keir was, he hadn't seen a demon horde before.

Officer whistles pierced the air.

The howls of the demons had changed, becoming more piercing, almost a shriek. The flying screechers rose from the trees, so dark they looked like storm clouds. Trees shook as the larger demons advanced.

The artillery opened up again, shaking the ground.

Thousands of demons charged out of the forest, thousands more followed them, a veritable flood that couldn't be stopped. As explosions tore hundreds of them apart, more came. The undead charged the tsunami of death. Fighting as a group, they formed little pockets in the flood, slowing the demons for a few moments.

The artillery used the time well, sending shells into the masses. As the skeletons, zombies and flesh golems were pulled down and dismembered, shells fell all around them. For every undead killed dozens of demons died.

It wasn't enough.

The few ghosts that remained flew into the clouds of Screechers. The magic that powered them faded away almost instantly as they tore at the seemingly endless enemy. The sky once more belonged to the demons. 

The thin line of undead vanished under the horde.

Soldiers opened fire, firing as fast as they could pull the trigger and work their bolts. There was no need to aim, every bullet hit a demon. A few precious machine guns started firing, their rapid fire mowing down the demons who led the charge.

It wasn't enough.

The demons ran over their wounded and dead, stomping them into the mud. Ignoring their own injuries as long as they could run. Soaking up bullets, so their kin coming behind them would survive.

Jogging to the first line of trenches, Von prepared his magic.

“Regua! The demons are coming!”

Keir groaned, already rolling out of his cot. He stumbled, thinking his legs should be longer and landed painfully on the ground. Cursing, he got to his feet, wiping the sleep from his eyes. A young woman, about as old as his new body, dressed in leather, with several pistols and a sword strapped to her body was standing by the tent flap, holding a second sword at her side. He didn't know who she was, but it was easy to guess she was one of the Lleial.

“How long do we have before they arrive?” he asked, throwing on a pair of boots.

“Minutes at most, Regua,” the young woman said, ducking her head so he could only see her short sandy blonde hair.

“I'd better get ready to meet them,” he said, walking past her.

“Regua, you don't have a weapon. We'd be honoured if you use this sword,” she said, holding up a cavalry sabre. “It was used by Major Calen of the 6th Cuirassiers, three hundred years ago. It's the greatest sword we have left.”

Taking the blade, he looked it over carefully. The runes on the hilt confirmed it was a cavalry officers sword from the Undying Army. It had been wonderfully cared for over the centuries. “Thank you, I am honoured to have it. What's your name?”

“Lieutenant Floria, of the 3rd Hussars,” she said, coming to attention and revealing a badly scarred face. It looked like a bear had slashed her from her right ear to her nose, barely missing the eye.

He patted her shoulder. “Pass on my thanks to your people, Lieutenant Floria, I will use it well.”

Artillery boomed, hurting his ears. “Get back to your position, I can find the trenches on my own,” he said.

She saluted, then turned on her heels and ran to wherever she was supposed to go. Keir did much the same, but jogged instead. Jogging simply meant he had somewhere to go in a hurry. Moving at a run would mean he was worried or worse yet, panicked. That was the last thing he wanted the soldiers to think.

Reaching the trenches, he ducked down and jumped into the narrow side trenches that allowed him to move to the front lines without getting in the line of fire. Reaching his position, Keir took a moment to catch his breath, he didn't have nearly as much endurance as he had in his old body.

Looking around the trench, he was amazed at the rifles and artillery. In his time the guns had been slow to load, needing a ball and powder. Even the fastest guns, with special runes to speed up the process, took almost half a minute. These rifles had magazines of five bullets that could be taken out and replaced in a matter of seconds, and fired almost instantly.

The artillery was firing almost as quickly, making shells fall like rain. Combined with the machine guns, the demons were falling like wheat before the scythe. If he'd had these weapons he could have conquered the world in a few years.

Despite the slaughter, the demons kept coming, soaking up the casualties as they got closer. Children ran down the trench, handing out magazines and gathering the empty ones. Other children took the empty magazines and refilled them, placing them into bags to be handed out by the runners.

Explosions erupted overhead, Screechers fell from the sky, as tiny rockets burst apart, hundreds more flew through the barrage.

Raising his hand, Keir crafted magic into thin strands of darkness, sending them upwards like a spiderweb. When the demons flew through the strands, flesh died. The strands were hair thin, but they cut through flesh, killing nerves and tissue. The lucky ones died almost instantly as their brains shut off. The unlucky, lost control of parts of their body, falling to the ground where they were clubbed and stabbed, unable to defend themselves. The strands would fade soon, each death took away some of its energy, but it would give the flying demons pause.

All along the front, other mages used their own spells. Super heating the air, sending invisible spikes through the flocks, creating walls of wind that smashed them to the ground, and other deadly spells.

It wasn't enough, the Screechers were getting through. One of the machine guns stopped firing. Soldiers further back started firing at the sky, rather than the horde charging them.

“This is going to hurt,” Keir said to himself.

Pulling the ambient magic into him, he created more strands. They snaked across the sky, forming a net over top of the trenches.

His heart raced erratically, muscles burned, his legs collapsed under him, sweat erupted from his too hot skin. Vaguely he heard people cheering. All around them the flying monsters crashed to the earth. The machine gun began firing again.

Hanina once more wrapped her arms around him, trying to pick him up.

“Let me sit,” he murmered. He only needed a few moments to sit, he'd regain some energy and be fine. Red spots filled his eyes. Leaning against the trench wall, he opened himself up to the ambient magic, absorbing as much as he could. He would need it soon.

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The Necromancer Unmanned will be updated every Sunday night. My other story The Oubliette, will be updated every second Friday, and Doom Valley Prep School will be updated every Monday.

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