The Bone King, Chapter 59

I never thought I’d see gods walk among men, yet here I stood in the mud behind our war lines, a blunt spear clutched in trembling hands. We had marched for weeks, trudged through the Neck where the air clung thick and warm. The land smelled of rotting leaves, and the bog water stank of decay. We were told to stand firm, that the North would break, that their so-called God would prove mortal under true steel. I believed those words for a time.

My lord commanded me: stand in the rearguard, guard the supply wagons. That was my task. I was a simple foot soldier, no shining armor, no noble name. The road behind me lay strewn with ruts from heavy carts and half-buried tracks of the thousands who came before. Night settled in, that cursed Neck gloom pressing around us. Torches flickered along our ranks, rows of tents half-sunken in the muck.

A hush spread, uneasy. Men whispered that something stirred up ahead. The outriders returned at a gallop, faces taut, voices hushed. I watched them dismount, their hands shaking. They said the first lines saw movement in the darkness—some shape or shapes deeper than shadow. Then came a sound that I can only call a groan, but it carried on the wind in a long, low wave.

My heart kicked in my chest. I clutched my spear, glancing around. The men near me raised torches, scanning the outer blackness. I heard someone mutter a prayer to the Seven. Another spat into the mud, knuckles pale around a sword hilt.

Then the sky changed. Clouds, or something like clouds, rolled across the moon with alarming speed. One moment, I could see the pale disc overhead. The next, it vanished behind a deepening swirl of black. The torches seemed to dim, or maybe our eyes refused to adjust. A presence loomed, as if all warmth drained from the air.

From somewhere ahead in the bog, a shout turned to a scream. It tore through the hush like a wild beast. Then came more screams, a rising chorus. Our lines had not expected an attack so soon, perhaps not at all in the darkness. But it began.

A harsh wind rose, whipping the torches about. I heard orders barked by men in shining mail, the clank of pikes lowered. In the gloom, I saw flickers of movement—shadows crossing shadows. We in the back ranks huddled, uncertain. Then a horn sounded, desperate and shrill, cutting off too soon.

Something was wrong. The front lines had found an enemy, or the enemy found them. More screams, more shouts. They carried a tone I’d never heard in men before, raw terror that made my throat tighten.

A rider burst into the ring of torchlight near our wagons. His horse’s eyes rolled, foam dripping from its mouth. The rider’s face contorted with panic. He babbled about shapes tearing through the spearmen, about men undone by magic. Then an arrow—no, something black and sinuous—struck him from the darkness. It stuck in his chest, and he toppled from the saddle without a cry. The horse bolted, eyes wide and wild.

We reeled. The men near me cursed, raising shields. I stepped back, spear shaking in my grip. I never asked for this. I was promised coin, not nightmares.

A cold wind gusted through the camp, snuffing out half the torches. Darkness thickened. Now I could only see by the faint glow of a few flames. Then I noticed it overhead: the sky black as pitch, deeper than any cloud cover. Something roiled up there, swirling in slow, silent arcs. Lightning flickered, but it was not normal lightning. It glowed a sickly green and branched across the sky in writhing veins.

A deep rumble vibrated in my chest, not thunder. The ground under my feet trembled. Some men dropped to their knees, clamping hands over their ears. I heard shrill neighs from the horses. Wagons rattled. The entire bog felt alive with malevolent force.

I forced myself to step forward. I had to see. Past the wagons, the land sloped gently upward. My boots squelched in sodden earth as I crept toward the vantage. Others followed, or maybe they just drifted in blind fear. We glimpsed the front lines. Torches bobbed in frantic motion. Silhouettes of men seemed to swirl in confusion. A wave of blackness moved among them. Then I saw flashes of greenish fire arcing from that darkness, bolts that tore men apart. Bodies jerked and collapsed. The screams rose to a fever pitch.

A shape strode forward—tall, robed, shadows clinging to it like living things. I saw a flicker of flames coiling around its arms. Another bolt of vile green shot from its outstretched hand, bursting into a cluster of knights. The knights fell, armor twisted, flesh charred. My stomach lurched.

Men cried for retreat. Others stumbled over corpses. I glimpsed a figure in dark armor stepping among them, swinging a greatsword that left luminous trails in the air. One swing, and three men collapsed, severed limbs twitching on the wet ground. Another figure joined it, equally nightmarish, a sword in each hand, moving too fast for mortal eyes. Steel rang in fleeting bursts. More men fell. These dark knights—I dare not name them otherwise—fought with unnatural speed and strength. They wore helms fashioned like skulls or monstrous beasts. I saw no mercy in their slicing arcs.

Torchlight revealed only glimpses: shattered shields, bodies parted at the waist, men crawling in the mud, crying for mothers. The horrifying part was the silence of the attackers. No war cries, no roars. Just methodical butchery.

Someone seized my arm, yelling that we should fall back. I shook him off, uncertain if there was anywhere to flee. Then a monstrous pressure filled the air, making my ears pop. A wave of black flame erupted along the far flank, and I saw a line of infantry vanish in an instant, their screams cut short. The flame spiraled upward into the swirling green lightning, merging in a roil of unholy light.

Through that infernal glow, I glimpsed him–a tall silhouette crowned with flickers of blue and green fire. He advanced with slow, purposeful steps, behind him a legion of skeletons. Their eyes glowed pale, bones reflecting sick green luminescence. They marched as one, undeterred by mud or blood. The necromancer, or god or whatever he was, raised a hand. I saw corpses stirring, men who had fallen only moments before, now rising, eyes dead and hollow, their limbs jerked by invisible strings. They grabbed weapons from the mire, turned on their former companions.

I froze. My blood roared in my ears. The entire host reeled as the newly risen dead attacked from within. Some poor souls threw down arms, tried to run. Others flailed in vain. The skeleton legion pressed onward, stepping through broken lines. I heard the rattle of bone, the clank of rusted mail. Another dark knight glided behind them, black cape trailing in the mud. He parted two men with a single slash, glancing around for fresh prey.

Our lines dissolved. Knights on horseback spurred their mounts, but the bog sucked at hooves, tipping men into the muck. Skeletons pounced, bony fingers prying at armor straps, helms twisted away, throats laid bare. I saw one man in fine plate vanish beneath a swarm of clawing undead. He tried to scream but only managed a wet gurgle before his face was lost among skeletal limbs.

My feet refused to move at first. The rank stench of blood and vile magic made my head spin. Horses screamed, men wailed, the very air seethed with unnatural energies. The swirling storm overhead spat arcs of green lightning that struck at random, incinerating entire pockets of troops. I watched men vanish in bursts of sickly flame. My stomach churned.

Desperation seized me. I turned to run, but the way behind was chaos. Wagons overturned, men stumbling in the dark. Some brandished torches, trying to find an enemy, but the real threat came from all sides. Skeletons spilled among them in unstoppable waves.

I dropped my spear, stepping over corpses. A man with half his face burned crawled by, reaching for help. I couldn’t stop. A flash of green fire behind me lit the scene in lurid detail: piles of bodies, dismembered limbs, armor rent open like tin, the dark knights still hacking apart any survivors. One of them stood near a wagon, watching men cower underneath, then skewered them with slow thrusts through the canvas. The screams ended quickly.

My breath came in ragged gasps. I splashed across a shallow stretch of bog, the murky water rising to my calves. Something brushed my leg underwater. I jerked back, imagining an undead hand. But it was only a floating shield. More men fled around me, stumbling or drowning in the thick mud. We had no order, no commands, no rallying point. Everything was lost.

In the distance, I caught one final glimpse of that necromancer. He raised both arms, arcs of black lightning surging from his palms. The ground itself tore open in a ragged line, swallowing squads of men who stood helpless. Earth closed back, burying them alive. The thunder of it rolled across the battlefield. I saw him turn then, unveiling eyes that glowed with terrifying light, scanning the slaughter as though searching for any who dared stand.

I forced myself to move, breath choking in my throat. The path behind me offered no safety, but I had no choice. Another wave of skeletons emerged from the gloom, swords and spears lifted. They advanced with mechanical steps. I saw no path except the deeper bog to my right. I waded there, ignoring the pleas of a man missing an arm. He latched on to my belt, but I shook him off and plowed forward, tears burning my eyes. I wanted none of this.

Lightning flared again. A wave of screams echoed behind me. The stench of sulfur and burnt flesh thickened. I stumbled over lumps in the mire, not daring to look down. My boots sank, each step a fight. The torchlight vanished behind me, replaced by thick shadows.

I heard the clang of metal from behind a copse of dead trees. Another chunk of earth must have collapsed there. The shriek of a dying horse carried on the wind. The entire battlefield was a cauldron of horror, and I felt its heat in my chest.

Finally, I reached a patch of tall reeds, pushing my way in. The mud sucked at my ankles, but I forced through. The reeds brushed my face, blocking sight. All around me, darkness reigned. My lungs burned with every breath. I heard distant shrieks taper off, replaced by a hush that felt more awful than the noise.

I kept going, leaning on battered stamina. The slime rose near my thighs. At last, I found higher ground, a slight rise where a fallen tree sprawled half-submerged. I collapsed against the trunk, panting, muddy water dribbling from my clothes. My ears rang. I kept still, hardly daring to breathe.

The night seemed calmer here, away from the carnage. Faint moonlight sifted through parted clouds, revealing a stretch of bog choked with weeds. My heartbeat thudded in my skull. I waited, pressing my back against damp bark. For a moment, I thought I’d escaped.

I let out a trembling sigh. The hush around me offered no sign of pursuit. Maybe the undead and the dark knights had found other prey. Maybe they wouldn’t bother with a lone foot soldier. My shoulders slumped, exhaustion swamping me.

A faint ripple sounded in the water. I froze. My hand fumbled at my belt for a dagger. My eyes searched the reeds, seeing nothing but glimmers of moonlight on black water. Another ripple. Then silence.

I forced a slow breath. Perhaps an animal or a drifting corpse. I had no time for illusions. My knees pressed deeper into the soggy ground, water lapping at my calves. I eased forward, preparing to stand.

Then something clamped around my ankles. Bony fingers. I felt them grip tight through the mud, a grip that pulsed with uncanny strength. I let out a ragged cry, slashing downward with my dagger. The blade struck only water and reeds. The grip didn’t falter.

My heart hammered. I clawed at the fallen trunk, trying to anchor myself, but the hands yanked me back. Another hand surfaced, mud-covered bone, seizing my thigh. I jerked, screaming in raw panic. The water churned, stinking of rot. More skeletal limbs emerged, pulling at me with relentless force.

I sank to my waist, dagger flailing. My fingertips dug into the wet bark. I felt splinters tear at my skin. My screams turned hoarse. The reeds rustled as I was wrenched away from the trunk, limbs flailing in the black water. The glint of bone filled my vision.

Slime coated my face as I went under. My mouth flooded with foul bog water. I thrashed, only to feel more hands grabbing my arms, my shoulders. The dagger slipped from my grasp. In the moonlight above, I glimpsed the twisted silhouette of the fallen tree receding, the surface of the water rippling with frantic motion. Then all light vanished, replaced by swirling darkness.