Though it was really an animal cunning that kept him poised on this ledge through the night hours, the waiting was beginning to reek of cowardice to Urthag.
He had protected travelers on this forest path a hundred times in the last year alone, and in so doing had almost single handedly dwindled the number of undead that roamed the wood. While the challenge of the crossing was no longer great to him, the pale skinned priest with his acolytes and the medicine man that he led behind him this time were not eager to face the road alone and they were willing to pay. Urthag had more worry over the intentions of the skulking little thief who tagged along at the price of a potion than any creature that may appear out of the forest. Had, that is, until the fog had risen and the wolves attacked.
The wolves had been no big matter, but their howling and stalking had attracted the attention of a new herd in the forest, a herd of the undead, and the clatter and squeals of the pack battle shewed them exactly where the fresh meat was. Only minutes after the last wolf had fled, the first zombie shambled into view and raised a groaning call to his rotting brethren. Though the fog hid their fetid faces, Urthag’s hackles rose to hear the reply of dozens, if not an hundred new foes arrived. The big man had pushed his charges down the mist covered path. “Run, fools, run! We must make it to the bridge!” The little thief needed no encouragement at all, and led the scramble through mist and darkness.
Ah, but the flight had not gone well, and that was how Urthag found himself and his charges huddled on this ledge awaiting the morning’s light. He had cleaved the skin-bare skulls of the first of the herd to discover them and allowed time for the escape, and the party had scraped and groped through the fog at a fair speed, but when they arrived at the bridge over the river they had found it cut and themselves trapped with the horde behind. Only his secret shelter at this, the halfway point of the journey, could have saved them. He knew there was another bridge down river, but it was too far off for the exhausted travelers to reach in the fog and dark.
While the dead had not found their sheltered shelf, they could be heard stumbling about below through most of that night. Now the dawn was rising and ghostly shadows appeared in the dwindling fog. From a vantage point just above the ledge, Urthag could see that only a few zombies lingered near the bridge and trail ahead, but he could not see back into the forest. They would still need a bit of this mist as cover, and his axe would need to clear the way with speed if they were to take a lead on the trail ahead. With signs and gestures he made this known to his fellow runners. He urged the sharp eyed thief to sling some stone back into the forest from whence they had come. As soon as those clumps had landed the rising groans could be heard. With no more time for silence or hiding, he whispered, “Follow quickly, and mind the axe, or surely I will leave you or cleave you!” and slipped over the edge.
Hearing no scuffle, the others clamored quickly down and made for the path. It was good that they were scared, it was good that the travelers held tight to their pikes and staves, because they DID make enough noise to rouse the horde.
“Guard the rear, and I will clear the path!” he growled to the thief in the mist, and the mighty Man of the North charged for the bridge head. He trampled and slashed a few of the lumbering dead on his way, and his axe and momentum knocked a full half dozen at once into the gorge below when he reached the worthless bridgeposts. Mighty swings cleared the rest of the landing, and Urthag pointed down the thin trail that led south along the rim of the gorge. “Now run! Run for your very lives! We’ve a league yet to the bridge, so run you skinny dogs!” he bellowed.The black clad shadow of his rear guard appeared now from the mist and they too joined the desperate flight. There was just enough light to see the path and just enough mist to cover them from undead eyes in the forested hills above.
The groans among the bracken told them that this horde ranged far and wide in those fog bound trees. Urthag pressed to the head of the charge, passing the priest and his acolytes and the already winded man of science. “Keep those pikes up, boys, you’re going to need them!” he encouraged. Here and there a murderous corpse emerged onto the trail or into their flank and was hewn or run through. They were many but they were slow to react to the groups passing. A few minutes down the trail and Urthag heard a terrible scream from the rear that told him one of their number was not up to the fight. On and yet on they dashed and the trail began to widen while the mist burned away. They could see now that the woods were empty but they slowed not a bit for all their fear.
“Here, here I think we can risk a moment to breathe” the leader huffed as he reached a rise in the trail where the forest was set back a bit. The medicine man and the acolytes collapsed on the trail at such respite, and the scavenger wetted his lips from the water flask as he eyed the forest edge. The priest it seems was no longer with them.
“Get up boys, and stay ready,” Urthag growled as he partook of his own flask of fiery brew. “We’ve only a mile to go, and I think we’ll make it, but we must be ready for any foul thing that would hinder us.” At this, a groan rose behind them and the slinky thief raised his bow. It was the priest come crawling after them. His acolytes rushed to help him and give him drink.
“Do not, arrgh, do not let them eat me!” the priest beseeched them.
Urthag brought the man to his feet and cast his eye over the black spiderweb that already traced its way from the claw marks on the poor man’s face. He pulled back a bloodied sleeve to reveal the gore that a ravening maw had torn away from his arm.
“Do not worry, priest, I will not let them eat you,” he said grimly. The acolytes looked on in horror as the big man drew his dagger and buried it up under the priest’s ribs. “Better to die now than to feel the change.” He watched the light fade from the priest’s eyes even as he sputtered his life’s blood upon the ground. He dragged the body to the edge of the gorge and flung it to the river below. “Now, on boys! On!” he raged and he renewed the race. The dead were already coming up the trail behind.
With the scent of blood in their nostrils, each pounding footfall seemed to build, rather than sap their strength. The mile passed quickly and the bridge came within sight. Thank the Gods it was still there! As they approached they noticed that a lone figure stood upon it, and Urthag steeled himself for savagery. When he got to the bridgepost he found himself eye to eye with a terrified merchant, stammering in the middle of the span. “Bwa haa!! Today is your lucky day!” Urthag shouted. “Run fool! Run while ye may!” Noticing the throng of undead appearing behind the oncoming party, he did just that. The merchant dropped his goods to the river below and retreated in such a panic that he almost fell off the bridge himself.
Watching those coming dead, Urthag waved his charges across the bridge and built himself into a fury. He crossed after the last of them and studied the bridge and its anchor ropes when he reached the other side. What easy work it would be to drop this bridge, but it was not the kind of work that he was glad to see yesterday. No, the town behind him would need this bridge if they were to survive. He seized the pikes of the acolytes and drove them into the ground at the bridgehead. He swung his mighty axe round and shouted to the exhausted men, “Time to run again! Run to the town, bring bows!” He laughed menacingly and continued, “Bring bows, and fire, and ale damn you!” His laugh echoed in the valley as he turned to face the throng.
