Tronvill was a trade center of dozens of nearby villages, a small town with just under a thousand people living inside and hundreds more visiting every day.
As farmers harvested their fields and vegetable gardens, they brought the produce to Tronvill's market to sell. The market square was always bustling with activity, and especially so in autumn, when the harvest season just ended.
Usually, it was the time of festivals…
But since last week, the townspeople have heard worse and worse rumors. Entire villages growing empty overnight, dead people walking the earth, and even—something few people believed—the death of Oakdale's justicar!
All of this had culminated when Count Arstain's people came to enlist men into the count's militia.
War was coming, but unlike all the other times, people didn't know where from. All they were told was that they were going to fight an evil necromancer and his undead army. But where was he? Where was he going? Would he come to Tronvill?
"Surely not. Necromancers hate all good and all Light, and the biggest temple is in Oakdale," said the townspeople who thought themselves to be the smartest.
"Our lord Arstain will crush anyone who starts trouble in Oakdale. He had hanged every bandit, how is a necromancer worse?" said the townspeople who never saw a necromancer.
"If I don't sell my harvest, it will just rot! Then my family will starve much more surely than if there were some necromancer," said a farmer with too many children.
"It's the villages that were attacked. At least we have some militia if trouble comes knocking," said those who feared for their lives.
"I'm going to stay with my aunt's family in a village. Her husband knows all the best places to hide," said the person who would live to see another day.
Most of the enlisted militia left for Oakdale; despite all the rumors and speculations, life in Tronvill continued. Except, more armed men were patrolling with torches after dark than usual.
A pair of such watchers was walking on the edge of the town when one of them stopped suddenly.
"Hey, Hans… Do you hear that?" he asked, raising his torch. But its flame lit only a couple of dozen steps of distance—in fact, the watcher would've been better without it.
"Hear what, Mitch?"
Hans stopped too. Both watchers listened tensely to the rustling of leaves in the wind and the sounds of night insects.
Thrum, thrum, thrum…
"Are those footsteps?"
Thrum, thrum.
Silence.
Mitch lowered his torch and stared into the darkness, straining his eyes and wondering if he was imagining things.
As his vision adjusted to the low light, the black mass became visible far ahead—something that could only be an approaching horde.
"Hans… Hans, we must ring the bell! This… this looks like an entire army!"
Hans nodded.
"The necromancer… You ring the bell, Mitch, I will tell the militia!"
He turned to run into the town; a second later, he heard a swish of several projectiles, a thunk, and Mitch's choked gasp.
"Mitch?"
When Hans turned toward him, he saw Mitch falling to the ground with an arrow sticking out of his chest. His torch rolled out of the man's hand.
The watcher froze on the spot, not knowing if he should help his friend or run away. In that second, the answer was decided for him.
The arrows from the second volley hit Hans in the throat and in the foot. They would've ended his life in seconds if the Dark magic inside hadn't done it sooner.
Soon, he and Mitch stood up again, waiting to follow their master's will.
In the distance, Aleric smiled from his seat on a zombie horse. Near him were standing Samuel and Rita.
"The aim of my archers is still terrible, but quantity can compensate for quality. And isn't that true for my entire army?" he said. "Samuel, now it's your turn. Take two squads with lieutenants and block off the main roads. Catch anyone who tries to escape."
"Yes, master."
Samuel gave his orders, and half of Aleric's army split off, moving to surround Tronvill from other directions. Then, he raised his staff.
"Undead, advance!"
The army continued to march. Undead feet stomped on the fallen torches of the watchers, extinguishing them; two new undead puppets joined the ranks.
Dogs began to bark wildly in alarm. Some people finally began to wake up, but the undead were still largely unnoticed by the sleeping townsfolk of Tronvill.
"The town's prison is up ahead, two streets away from the market square," Rita said impatiently. "Master Fenn…"
"We will get there—it seems like a good place to keep my prisoners. Now stop pestering me," Aleric waved Rita off. "Spread out, my soldiers! Break into the houses! Take everyone!"
Aleric directed his lieutenants and other undead to split up into teams led by someone with the ability to think.
The night exploded with noise as the undead began to break open doors and grab the people sleeping inside! Wights, who were finally allowed to do it, howled eagerly and chased running people down, only to hiss when they weren't allowed to kill them.
People woke up to the sounds of screams and immediately fell into panic. Nobody could resist such a sudden attack!
Soon, an entire herd gathered near Aleric, and he led it forward down the streets like cattle. Those who were too slow or tried to escape were immediately killed by nearby zombies—Aleric only needed some of these prisoners, anyway.
"Don't resist, and you will live a little longer!" Aleric shouted, not that they needed to. People already were scared enough.
From Aleric's side, Rita watched this with fear and awe—as much as her human eyes could see in the dark. This show of strength was the best proof of Aleric's military power—and she had already seen his magic might. As for morality—if she cared much for that, she wouldn't have studied Dark magic.
The advance of dozens of undead continued.
The town's militia—when they woke up—hurriedly came with spears to defend their houses. But their spears were worthless against the undead. Wights howled with glee, because they were finally allowed to kill someone—those resisting people!
And those who were far away to escape Aleric often ran right into Samuel's forces. Together, they closed the town like pincers, slowly corralling all of its people toward the main square or leaving behind their corpses. Only a few were lucky enough to get past all the undead.
It was on Aleric's way to the main square that Rita perked up again and pointed at a small building they were approaching.
"Master Fenn, look! The town's jail!"