Chapter 14 - A Little Necromancy Never Hurt Anybody

Shards of mirror glass crunched under Malfus’s well-worn shoes as he stepped over a piece of splintered wood from the overturned desk. The small room had surrendered his possessions, but not without a fight. Clothes and bedsheets were strewn haphazardly across the floor or draped across broken furniture. A sprinkling of snowy down feathers from a torn pillow dusted the room like seedpods from a giant dandelion. Letters and papers littered any remaining space, some belonging to the Inquisitor, some belonging to the dead officer.

Malfus set the faintly glowing rod down on the unmade bed next to his travel-worn spellbook, and Kaylee’s finger wrapped in its black veil of gossamer silk. They may not look like much to the average person, but Malfus’s entire life, his past, his future, his crimes, his purpose, and his very identity were sitting in front of him on the bed now.

Now he could finally try to get out of here, away from the Inquisitor and all of this madness. The rod’s flickering ruby caught his eye. Well, maybe after the opportunity for a little experimentation. No telling when I’ll have so many corpses with so much spare blood just lying around again... and stay or go, I’ll need to animate a few corpses either way.

“Now, just one more thing to take care of...” Malfus said to himself as he tapped his finger on his chin. He looked down hungrily at the overturned footlocker spilling its innards across the floor at the end of the bed, a multicolored smorgasbord of fresh, clean clothes.

Then Malfus looked down at his own attire. Torn, threadbare, still covered in dried mud, muck, blood, filth, probably some horse excrement, and several other forms of less identifiable grime from the month on the road. It was impossible to even tell what color they originally were anymore. Malfus wasn’t sure if he could even remember. His old clothes peeled off from him like a second skin. Even Malfus had to admit the potent smell emanating from him rivaled the stench of some of the corpses he’d animated.

He’d strangle someone for a bath and a shave, but he knew now wasn’t the time, not that there was even one available. A fresh set of clothes would have to do for now. Looking around, it seemed like his wardrobe options were limited to either the Inquisitor’s clothes, bulky gambeson under-armor, or the officer’s dress uniform. He made his choice, grabbing the pair of navy blue trousers with a red seam sewn down the side of the legs, then held them up to his bony hips to check the size and fit. Not bad, same height at least. I’ll need a belt, though. Lost a bit of weight since this little adventure started. Malfus’s stomach growled in agreement at the thought of its mistreatment. Malfus grabbed a leather belt and cinched it around his waist to hold the pants up.

Then he grabbed a charcoal gray long sleeve shirt with buttons. Malfus began slowly fastening them. Ah, how long has it been? It had been quite some time since Malfus could afford clothes that were nice enough to have proper buttons, not since he had to flee from the academy. He took a small, guilty pleasure from fastening each one.

He looked down at the pile of clothes one more time, something was still missing. He reached for one of the navy blue overcoats from the officer’s dress uniform. A garish, ostentatious article of clothing, covered in golden embroidery around the sleeve cuffs, with epaulets and dangling braided cords the same gaudy gold color, and with a smattering of shiny gold buttons. Malfus gave them a closer inspection. Could probably sell them for a decent amount at inns and merchants along the road, if they are real gold.

“But these will have to go.” Malfus grabbed the scalpel and cut away the epaulet shoulder-boards and rope braiding. His long, slender fingers moved as precisely and delicately as a surgeon, cutting away the stitching while being careful not to damage the jacket itself, he wasn’t sure how long he’d need this coat to last him on the road. Once he finished his alterations, he put it on. Like everything else, it was slightly oversized on Malfus’s slender frame, the hem of the coat going down below his knees, but at least it didn’t look quite so pretentious without the epaulets and ropes.

Malfus took a step toward the door, but then looked down at his shoes. His toes stared back up at him from strips of dirty leather strapped to his feet. The ragged bits of leather were flapping open at the front and practically tied to his feet to stop them from falling off. Malfus picked up a pair of polished black leather boots and lifted them up to his ragged feet, worried they would be too big like the rest of the clothes, but then Malfus smiled, seeing the boot lineup with his foot. He used the scalpel to slice off what remained of his shoes. His socks had already all but dissolved after the first two weeks of walking. Malfus unrolled two wool socks, testing their softness between thumb and forefinger. Yes, these will do nicely. Malfus stretched his dirty, blistered feet out and pulled the socks over them. They were the best thing to happen to his feet in over a month. Then he pulled on the pair of black leather boots, pleasantly surprised with the snug fit. This is a delightful turn of luck.

After he finished lacing them up, he looked down at the overturned desk and shards of mirror on the ground. He sighed and shook his head, then looked at the different shards of glass on the ground until he found the biggest piece left amongst them. Malfus carefully picked up the piece of mirror, then set it against the wall, then took a few steps back to take a look at himself.

The new clothes were a significant improvement over what remained of his previous garments, although a bit baggy. Malfus had always been slender and a bit on the lanky side, but a month of barely eating had only made it worse. Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers, especially when robbing the dead. At least I no longer look like a beggar.

Malfus continued his gaze up until the dark, sunken eyes of a stranger stared back at him. He looked so pale and gaunt, he scarcely recognized himself anymore. A nondescript man in his late twenties, just old enough to have made enough bad decisions to ruin his life, with nothing to show for it except for a set of high cheekbones and now a shirt with some gold buttons. His long, greasy, black hair hung down past his shoulders. His scraggly, month-old beard was wispy and patchy in most places, not deciding whether or not it wanted to connect and form a common front. He made a habit of shaving because his beard was so embarrassing, but there was no time for that now. He sighed and turned away from his reflection. The new clothes still couldn’t hide the wretch underneath them. He felt like a worm sticking out of a shiny, new apple.

Malfus grabbed the black leather pouch the Inquisitor had been keeping his possessions in and tied it to his belt. He wrapped the scalpel in a bit of cloth and placed it in the pouch, then gingerly placed Kaylee’s wrapped finger inside, along with the straw effigy that still had the Inquisitor’s dried blood on it. Malfus looked at the floor, at the two glass vials of holy water. He picked them both up and inspected them carefully for a second, before pouring one out on the ground and then putting both the full and empty vials in the pouch. The pouch was getting full now, Malfus started to close it, but paused before reaching down and grabbing two extra pairs of socks. If I’ve learned anything from my time on the road, these are worth their weight in gold.

He picked up his spellbook, but then looked down at the Inquisitor’s prayerbook. Hmmmm.... That is a nice touch, actually. Malfus picked up a pair of opposing leather straps the Inquisitor had fastened around his prayerbook. Malfus threw the prayerbook over his shoulder onto the floor, then strapped the buckles around his spellbook and clipped it to his belt.

Malfus looked over at the bed. The rod sat there, throbbing faintly, the time between pulses stretching out. “Fine. No more delays. Let’s go.” Malfus grabbed the rod, then opened the door to the room and walked back out into the hallway.

Morten was still standing at the end of the hallway. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Malfus. “Well, it’s a good look on you.” Morten said, giving Malfus an appraising look. “And I’m sure Lieutenant Erickson wouldn’t have minded. Did you find everything you needed?” Morten asked, his gaze kept being drawn to the glowing rod in Malfus’s hand.

Malfus just nodded without saying anything.

“So then, where to now? The bod-“

“The bodies.” Malfus finished.

Morten swallowed. “Back this way then.”

**********

Outside, the melancholy sky was turning alternating shades of purple-mauve and gray, like a big swollen bruise. The first signs of dawn were bleeding through the night sky. Distantly, Malfus could hear the chirping and whistling of birds, as they woke to welcome night’s end. He followed a few paces behind Morten, still enjoying the pleasant fit of the new boots and the caress of the wool socks on his tender feet.

A soldier next to them grunted as his shovel bit into the earth, scooping out some dirt from the start of a new hole next to several other freshly dug, grave-sized ones.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that anymore.” Malfus said, giving him a pat on the back as they walked by.

The tired soldier gave him a strange look, but didn’t say anything, just shrugged his shoulders, and dropped the shovel. There was either enough embroidery left on the jacket for him to think Malfus was an officer, or he was just too tired to care who the order to stop digging came from.

Malfus continued following Morten to the bodies, as he silently weighed his options. He was of two minds, part of him wanted to keep following Morten. He knew he’d probably never get an opportunity to access so many fresh corpses again, or access to so much blood. Malfus gripped the rod more tightly. And this might actually be the key to bringing her back.

On the other hand, every fiber of his chickeny instincts were telling him to run as far away as he could from the Inquisitor while he was still locked up, and to get as far away as he could from the army of rabid gnolls still somewhere outside the walls. He wasn’t sure how far he’d make it though. With my luck, I’d most likely, just be shot in the back by a crossbow bolt before I even make it across the field and into the trees… right where the gnolls are probably still waiting.

His curiosity ended up winning out. He wasn’t in the mood to do any running anyway, even the mere thought of it was exhausting.

Malfus could see what was left of the front gates now. There were less men outside, just a few still standing by the gaping hole in the wall. The ones toiling with the stone rubble from the wreckage had given up without making much headway in their attempt at making a barricade. The pile of gnoll corpses sat next to the gate, limbs sticking out haphazardly from the mound. The bodies of the soldiers had white sheets placed over them now, and were arranged in neat little rows, not far from the gnolls.

“Well, here they are.” Morten said.

“Guess, I’d best get started.” Malfus rolled his shoulders back, then cracked his knuckles.

Malfus bent down and started to lift the corner of the first sheet, but a voice over his shoulder stopped him cold.

“Oi! Who’s ee? Wot’s ee doin’ touchin’ the dead?”

Malfus looked up and saw three soldiers walking towards them. Gnoll blood still covered their armor, and they gripped the swords at their belt. Malfus swallowed and just looked up at them unsure of what to say.

“I said, who are you? A bloody graverobber?” The first one jeered.

“Why’s he dressed like an officer?” The second asked.

“Reckon, he must be a lieutenant graverobber.” The third said.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Morten chimed in, his voice cracking. “Commander Peshka knows about it, he’s the umm…” Morten paused, unsure of how to finish that sentence.

“Dead body inspector.” Malfus said, matter-of-factly.

Everyone paused and looked at him, including Morten.

“What’s going on here?” A gravelly voice called out from behind them.

First Sergeant Goren was striding toward them like an angry ox, metal armor clattering as he went. The soldiers froze and grew as silent as the corpses behind them. First Sergeant Goren gave them all a stern look once he drew close.

“You men, you’re relieved from gravewatch. Go get cleaned up and get some rest. There’s no telling when the gnolls will be back in number.”

“Yes, First Sergeant!” The ringleader said, giving Malfus one last sour look before trodding off. The others eagerly followed behind him.

Goren turned to Morten. “Private Morten, you stay here and keep an eye on our new friend. Make sure he isn’t disturbed and let me or Commander Peshka know if he needs anything… or tries anything.” He added, giving Malfus a stern glance.

“And you…” First Sergeant Goren turned to Malfus, towering over him. “I’m going to go have a talk with Commander Peshka about the soldiers, make sure he says something to the men before they wake up and see… whatever it is you’re about to do here.” Goren paused and looked over at the rows of dead soldiers. “I may not agree with the decision Commander Peshka’s making here, letting you do this. But I swear to all the gods if I don’t see some signs of necromancy by the time I finish talking with him, I’m going to lock you up with the Inquisitor.”

Malfus swallowed and nodded his head.

First Sergeant Goren looked him up and down. “While you’re wearing that… completely out of regulation, uniform, you work for me. Do you understand me?”

“Y-yes sir.” Malfus managed.

“Not sir. I work for a living. That’s first sergeant to you.”

“Yes First Sergeant!” Malfus yelled.

First Sergeant Goren just grumbled as he turned and walked off, sounding like a box of nails and horseshoes clattering together in his bulky plate armor.

Malfus breathed a sigh of relief, then kneeled back down by the first covered body. He could feel the rod buzzing eagerly in his hand, as if it were somehow aware of all the blood-filled corpses surrounding it. He closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself for the task to come.

“So, what do you need to do first? Need me to do anything?” Morten asked.

Malfus pressed his one free hand to his temple, then stood up again. “Listen… Morten.” Malfus put his hand on Morten’s shoulder. “I’m going to need some space. I need to concentrate. Necromancy takes a bit of… privacy.” I can’t do this with you breathing down my neck asking me questions every two seconds.

Morten looked momentarily hurt, but then smiled sheepishly and yawned. “That’s alright, I could use a little bit of shut eye.” Morten went and sat against the side of a nearby building and leaned his head down and started to nod off.

Malfus turned back to the rows of white sheets. The red stains turned the colors of rust and mud around the edges. Eight neat white squares arranged in a row, with three rows all told. Bloody mud squelched under his newly acquired boots as he walked around the rows of corpses, giving them a cursory inspection. Mentally preparing himself for the task ahead.

Then he circled around the pile of gnoll corpses. Thrown in a pile that was stacked higher than Malfus was tall. He looked closely at the face of one of them. Its tongue lolled out of its upside-down mouth almost comically, but it didn’t make its canine fangs and incisors look any less deadly. Sticking his face just inches from its open mouth, Malfus imagined how easily it could bite it entirely off. There were so many dead gnolls that a small rivulet of blood trickled downhill away from the corpse-pile. The coppery smell of blood was so strong that Malfus could taste it in his mouth. The scent of lamp oil intermingled with it to create a uniquely nauseating smell.

Malfus could feel the rod pulsing excitedly as he stood by all the bodies. He looked at the rod. “Yes, I imagine we’d best get started.” He had no desire to be locked up with the Inquisitor and no doubts that First Sergeant Goren would make good on his promise.

Malfus walked back to where he had started, at the first corpse under the bloodstained white sheet. He bent down and lifted back the edge of the sheet. The glassy-eyed face of a young soldier, perhaps only a few years older than Morten, stared back at him. His mouth was agape, seemingly surprised to see Malfus, or perhaps just didn’t think his life would end with him staring face up from underneath a sheet next to so many others. It looked like he had even shaved just this morning.

Malfus shook it from his head. Can’t think about who the person used to be, just need to see them as a tool to be used.

This would be a perfectly suitable corpse. There was only a single wound. Just a gaping hole in his chest. Deep. Almost enough to go all the way through. Probably from a spear that went right through his chainmail. All the limbs were still intact though, and that’s the most important thing when it comes to raising the dead. Zombies are slow enough as it is, one with a missing leg was practically useless, even a zombie with a broken leg didn’t have enough balance to carry anything, couldn’t keep up when traveling. Just isn’t worth the time or energy to reanimate it, unless there is nothing else around.

But then, that’s what made the undead so different. A soldier with a broken leg or missing limb couldn’t walk at all, couldn’t do much of anything. While an animated corpse wouldn’t mind standing watch all night with its leg hacked off. Wouldn’t even whine or complain about it once. No need for food, water, or breaks to relieve itself, not even the need for sleep. Unfaltering.

Malfus unbuckled his spellbook from his belt and began flipping through it. Some of the simplest spells were in the beginning, some of the first ones he had learned back in Akkadia, back when he first arrived at the academy as a teen, hope still alive with the promise of becoming a classically trained wizard with a bright future ahead of him.

Detecting magic, and a few other simple, utilitarian spells and magical cantrips, were on the very first pages. Spells that all first-year students have to learn, weeding out those with no aptitude at all, before students could pick their specialization in one of the seven high schools of magic: evocation, illusion, transmutation, divination, abjuration, conjuration, and enchantment. The eighth school, necromancy, was outlawed, of course, by the Church of Vesenia. Malfus looked at these first pages, remembering how much he had struggled to learn them, remembered watching his peers in his class quickly surpass him, including Kaylee.

Those first spells in his book were the only ones before the necromantic spells began, reflecting his short time in the academy before he found those forbidden tomes in the library. Before I found my true calling. Malfus acknowledged that it was just as much of a truth that he had zero aptitude for the other schools of magic as it was that he took so naturally to necromancy, like a fish to water or a worm to grave soil. It’s not my fault I struggled with the other schools, wasn’t my fault that this school of magic was outlawed. Why shouldn’t I have learned necromancy?

Meticulously scrawled writing and diagrams filled each page all the way to the corners and margins. Malfus took copious notes, but never had a talent for organization. He couldn’t be faulted too much for it, having to scribble most of his notes quickly in the early morning hours under dim candlelight, back in the hidden section of the library. He did his best to copy down the correct power words, runes, and body and hand positions for each spell.

The very first necromantic spell was on the preservation of decaying flesh. The same spell he had used earlier on Kaylee’s finger. The same one he’d had to keep using since he fled from the academy with it. Somewhere, much later on in the pages, was a more difficult version of this spell that did the opposite, causing rot and decay to spread to flesh that’s still living. He kept flipping through the pages, passing by a spell that allowed the caster to take on the appearance and pallor of a corpse, even stopping the heart for a short period.

The spells dealing with undead came next. The first few were more rudimentary spells, such as detecting the presence of undead in an area or creating wards against them. Then came spells for controlling some forms of already existing undead, although it only worked on the most minor of them. A projection of the spellcaster’s will to subvert the will of the undead, all dependent on the strength and clarity of the caster’s willpower.

The spells for animating the undead came later still, towards the very end of his spellbook before the blank pages began. These were some of the last spells he’d learned for a reason. They were much more complicated and nuanced, with many more steps in the process than the earlier spells. Before someone could even cast the spell, the body had to be properly prepared. Then the caster had to create the connection to the plane of death to recall an echo of the creature’s soul to animate the body. After that, the subversion of the echo’s will to the caster so it didn’t become a mindless ravening dead, unleashed and untethered, becoming just as much of a danger to its creator as it was to anyone else.

Now that the arcanull cuffs were gone, he could feel his own mental connection to the plane of death, but it felt so weak and tenuous, as thin and fragile as a spider’s web. Malfus took a deep breath to calm and settle himself as he poured over these pages, paying careful attention to the words, runes, and hand symbols for the spell.

His eyes focused and unfocused as he studied the page. Is it ‘xi venis’ tal’ or ‘xi venis’ tol’? Something had spilled and smudged some of the ink, some dried blood. Could have even been some of his own from when he was captured, and the Inquisitor took his book. He wiped off the smudge, then started reading through again, placing his finger on the page to help guide his concentration, but it didn’t help, the words still swam around on the page before him. Malfus sighed and pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

His concentration was fraying apart at the ends like an old rope. He hadn’t slept since the night before last, and only then for just a few hours before it was time to get back on the road. Then it has been a non-stop ride ever since they ran into the gnolls. And now it’s been over a month since he had the opportunity to practice any magic at all.

The rod began throbbing in his hand impatiently. “Alright then, let’s see what you can do. But do it quickly before that metal-armored ox comes back.”

Malfus slowly held the rod out, next to the gaping chest wound of the first corpse. The ruby in the rod started glowing a brighter, more sinister looking crimson the closer it got to the bloody wound.

“Well… what do you want? Blood? Here it is.”

The rod did nothing at first, but then started to pulse faster as it sat inches away from the open wound, pulsing like a beating heart, fluttering with the excitement of seeing a long-lost love. The rod vibrated, quivering slightly in Malfus’s hand before the gem stopped pulsing, glowing a solid red while emitting a faint humming noise, so high-pitched it was barely audible.

Tendrils of blood rose from the open wound, crawling out of the body like tiny, red, liquid worms. Then they climbed slowly through the air, twisting in a helix as they spiraled toward the star ruby. Malfus couldn’t believe his eyes as he watched the tendrils of blood rise through the air like invisible veins were directing it to the glowing ruby. The rod grew warmer as the blood drew closer, until the heat became uncomfortable in Malfus’s palm. He tried to pull his hand away instinctively.

“Ow!” Tiny pinpricks of pain rippled across the surface of his palm as if a hundred tiny fire ants were biting him. He tried to pull his hand away again, but it was held fast. His hand felt prickly, numb now, like it had fallen asleep.

Then the blood reached the rod. The tendrils of blood grew thicker, merging together until a single strand as thick as a rope wound together and trickled into the gem. Malfus watched, paralyzed with awe, as the blood seemed to just disappear, absorbed into the rod. As it did, the ruby grew brighter, an interior light shining from depths that belied the small size of the ruby. He could feel its hunger.

Malfus watched as the blood kept flowing from the corpse into the rod for quite some time until dying down to a slow trickle. It never ceased to amaze Malfus how much blood one corpse can hold. Once the blood finished draining, warmth and relief flooded back into his numb hand and forearm.

Suddenly, he felt his own pulse quicken, his heart started pounding harder and harder until all he could hear was the blood rushing around in his head. Malfus clutched at his chest. My heart. The feeling was overwhelming, but just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, it released in an ecstatic rush as his heartbeat slowly returned to normal.

Then, something was different. His mind was sharper than jagged glass. He was so focused and so attuned. He wasn’t tired at all anymore, even though he hadn’t slept. He didn’t feel any pain either, his body felt recharged, rejuvenated. No longer hungry. Did I just eat blood? He tried not to think about that, just glad that he wouldn’t need to spend countless hours meditating and studying spells. Raising a few corpses would be child’s play now. He could feel his connection to the plane of entropy and death much stronger now, no longer a tenuous thread, but a constant stream.

He seemed to feel relief emanating from the rod itself somehow as well. He could feel another power echoing back through the rod, not the entropic void of the plane of death. Something else. A silent voice with a promise. A promise of power, so much power.

Malfus looked down at the corpse. Now it just looked like a dry, withered husk. The skin was a grayish-brown and looked like tattered, old, shoe leather. Its mouth hung open, lips peeled back to show white teeth. The bones in the jaw were visible under the tightly wound skin. Its eyes were sunken into the sockets, the jelly in them had dried up like a raisin. The chain armor on it looked oversized now and the wound was a dark hole of greasy gray meat. No longer was there any sign of the young boy that had been under the sheet. It was as if he had never existed at all. Malfus shook the image from his mind.

Alright, this is it. Malfus’s hand trembled with nervous excitement. One more time, Malfus looked over the words and hand movements on the pages of his spellbook, committing them to memory. Malfus closed his eyes, focusing on the void, on the connection in the back of his mind. Malfus held the rod up in one hand and began contorting the fingers of his other hand in the complex patterns to evoke the ancient runes of power.

“Xi venis’ tol’ Neloth Unqareek Czun'godh.” He almost felt like he could hear another voice echoing the arcane words back to him in the recesses of his mind. A chorus of scratching whispers. Like gnawing rats.

Malfus could visualize the necessary symbols in his mind’s eye so clearly, more clearly than he’d ever been able to before. The energy from the dark plane flowed through him so easily and seamlessly. It felt as if he were relying on someone else’s borrowed knowledge and willpower.

“Oun'qyghik eknus Crug'shaaghudh.” There was a pop and a flash of black and green motes that sparked from Malfus’s palm, buzzing around the corpse like flies before entering its open mouth.

The corpse’s hand trembled as energy from the dark plane flowed into it, slowly at first, and then the arm raised, pulling the sheet from its body. The armor made metallic clinking sounds accompanied by the cracking of settling bones and creaking of tightening sinew, as the boney corpse pulled itself up to its feet. It stumbled about, awkwardly at first, in boots that were now comically large on it. Once it found its balance, it turned to face Malfus, a blank expression on its face, jaw hanging slackly open.

Malfus concentrated and projected his will onto it, ensuring that it would obey his command. He could feel the thread of his connection to the plane of death and then a tiny filament of that stretching to the corpse in front of him. Tethering it to him, while pulling from and fraying his own connection, ever so slightly.

Then he reached into his belt pouch, unwrapping the scalpel in his free hand. Malfus reached up to the corpse until he felt the blade pierce its leathery skin. The corpse didn’t flinch as he carved a small rune on its forehead. It was the symbol of the will-from-beyond, with this now he could project his thoughts to the undead and even remotely transmit his conscious awareness to it. It unfortunately left him mostly unaware of what was happening in his own body while this was transpiring, leaving him vulnerable, very vulnerable. He wouldn’t carve this rune on all of them, only a few. It required a stronger link between him, it, and the plane of death and each strand pulled from his own connection a little more.

Now to test it out. He closed his eyes, focusing his conscious awareness into the strand in the back of his mind connecting him to the entropic plane. It felt like he was crawling through a dark, narrow tunnel as he followed this thread back to the corpse. He entered a semi-trance state, feeling his consciousness become less tangible, like it was a mist flowing out from him and into the corpse. He only had a vague, dreamy awareness of his own body, like it was a distant memory in a faraway room for the time being.

Then he could see what the corpse saw. It was admittedly a bit unnerving seeing himself through the corpse’s eyes. Then he could feel very faint remnants of what the corpse had last saw and felt: fear, the press of bodies, the smell of sweat, the scraping of a spear against his chest and a slow, agonizing death. The fear faded then, swallowed up by a deep burning hatred of the gnolls, and more faintly, an envy of those still living.

Malfus visualized what tasks he wanted the corpse to perform, informing it that other humans were not to be injured, and that any gnolls were to be killed. After doing this, Malfus released the hold on its thread and snapped back into his own body.

Malfus made a mental picture of clearing the rubble by the gate, of moving it into a barricade. The corpses shambled off toward the gate, eager to do his bidding. As eagerly as a dead corpse can express as it slowly trundled off. Malfus watched as it began to move some of the rubble into a makeshift barricade, just as he commanded. It wouldn’t be able to move the bigger stones alone, but it would have help soon.

He felt slightly drained from the animating the first one, but only slightly. He could still feel the extra energy and focus from the rod, and there was still plenty of blood around. He turned back to the other bodies lying before him. Better get started on the next one. I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me. Malfus moved to the next corpse and raised the white sheet. This one was older and had half of an arrow still sticking out of his eye.

Malfus cleared his mind, focusing on his entropic connection again, but then felt the rod pulse hungrily. He felt the rod grow warmer, tempting him to drain more blood. He still felt full of vigor and energy from the last time. That feeling has been so overwhelming, but felt so… good. Perhaps just a little snack or two before moving onto the rest. The rod grew a brighter red, pulsing in agreement.