Another day dawned on Tronvill, lighting a massive horde of undead gathered at the edge of the town.
Rows upon rows of skeletons and zombies waited patiently as their master rode on an undead horse to inspect his soldiers.
At the very back of the army was a dozen supply carts, carried by undead horses. Some of the horses were old and weathered by use, but others were killed and raised as undead slaves recently.
Looking at the horses made Aleric shake his head. He tried to raise a horse as an undead servant, but he still didn't have enough mana for it. Perhaps, when he could cast Raise Undead Servant on a human five times in a row…
Near the carts were various undead laborers and tradespeople with their undead slaves. After all the recent reanimations, their number came up to almost a hundred. Even on the road, these people would fix and craft the undead and their equipment.
Right now, they and a few spare horses also carried two dozen long ladders. Samuel made sure that they were just long enough to climb Oakdale's walls.
Aleric's apprentices were also there. But until any corpses or future corpses appeared, they were just resting.
Ahead of the laborers were the archers. Although some of them were crossbowmen. Among his new undead servants, Aleric had found forty people who knew how to aim either of the weapons. Some of them were hunters, some had served in the militia before. The weapons themselves came from the town's arsenal.
From the front, the archers were protected by zombies, four hundred of them.
When Aleric had just started, his zombies were little more than a shambling horde that clawed and grabbed the enemies. Now they almost looked like soldiers.
Their clothing was dirty and often in tatters, but each of them had at least a wooden pike or a club to swing at the enemy. They also stood in groups of ten, each of which was led by an undead servant.
Those often had no idea how to fight, with many of them not even being from the militia. But Ditrich got a spear and sometimes a shield for each of these people, and Samuel showed them how to stab.
"They are poor fighters, but great soldiers," Samuel had commented on their skills yesterday. "Their loyalty to you is greater than any fear."
Samuel was just ahead, riding an undead horse as well. In his polished armor and a black tunic that replaced his templar's one, Samuel looked very much like a commander of this army.
The servants waved to Aleric as he rode past. Samuel gave a sharp salute.
Aleric nodded back and kept riding.
Soon, he stopped and let out a sigh of pure satisfaction at the sight.
There, the bulk of his army was: a seemingly endless horde of skeletons!
There were, by his people's counting, approximately 1500 of them. The number was so large that Aleric barely comprehended it.
These skeletons were the least armed part of Aleric's army. The fresher ones might still have been wearing some clothing, but the older ones only had their yellow bones. As they moved, dirt was still falling off their bones.
This was graveyard soil that these skeletons had dug through by Aleric's command.
The skeletons mostly had no weapons, either, except for some sticks or rocks. But like zombies, they were split into tens, and each had a commander. This gave the skeletons some order.
Finally, at the very front of the army were the wights—still only eighty of them. They weren't controlled by anyone but Aleric himself.
He rode to stand alongside them, and the wights hissed and rattled their bones.
They were eager to kill something again.
"Soon," Aleric told them. "Your howling will send enemies into a panic even before I reach them."
He raised Spine Staff, and the entire army paused and watched him. They'd hold their breath if they were still breathing.
"It's time, my soldiers. Time to march! You know whom you serve, and that under my command, you have no choice but to win. So you will climb Oakdale's walls and conquer it, because I said so! We will arrive in the city after sunset and take them while they aren't expecting an attack—or at least can't see it!"
The undead servants cheered, and the wights—who understood only that they were about to kill people—howled.
"For Aleric Fenn!" Samuel shouted excitedly. "March!"
***
Ever since Count Arstain returned from Mirkhill Fort, the city of Oakdale had been preparing for an attack. More and more militiamen were coming to join its garrison, and more and more prayers were sent in Oakdale's Temple of Light.
Chaplain Lodimar prayed that one of the Light's servants might strike the necromancer down long before he arrived.
Count Arstain prayed that the Light would give him courage and spare him the dreams full of green eyes and inhuman howling.
Countess Arstain prayed that the city's defenders would be blessed by Light to protect it and her family.
But when Aleric's army approached Oakdale, it was night, and the Light was deaf to the people's prayers.
The city of Oakdale was hiding behind walls several meters tall, and had a castle, a temple, and a chapter house inside. But neither was going to save it.
Thrum, thrum, thrum… Rattle, rattle, rattle…
In the pale glow of the moon, the sentries posted on the city's wall saw the undead horde marching toward the walled city. No light but the glow of the wights' eyes was giving out its presence; instead, it was announced by eerie sounds made by the moving skeletons and zombies.
By Aleric's command, his archers aimed at the wall and shot, trying to take down the sentries. A couple of arrows found their targets, but there were too many sentries to kill them all like that.
"By the Light! We are attacked!"
"Too late," Aleric said, hearing these distant cries. "All soldiers, attack! We strike now, before the defenders have time to prepare themselves!"