Chapter 1

The full moon was high in the night sky, silver slivers of cloud slowly drifted across its face casting wan shadows onto the trees surrounding the dark cemetery. A chill wind rustled the branches of the sparsely leafed trees surrounding the crumbling grave markers, the rustle of dry leaves breaking the otherwise total silence of the night.

From the edge of the ancient burial place, near the decrepit surrounding wall, a shadow crept slowly. Only momentarily visible as it darted from sparse cover to dim shadow, the figure stealthily moved towards the decaying mausoleum in the center of the graveyard, perched on a slight hill.

Moonlight briefly glinted on the razor sharp edge of a massive broadsword, held at the ready before a tall woman. Tightly ringed chain mail made hardly a sound as the experienced swordswoman moved into position behind a particularly large tombstone.

Carefully controlling her breath, the woman peered cautiously around the stones edge, watching the mausoleum for any sign of activity. The woman glanced ahead of her towards the rusty gate marking the entrance of the graveyard. There, hidden in the shadows behind the tilted ironwork the woman’s companion peeked in and gave the warrior a small wave. The small human figure, perfectly proportioned for her diminutive height and older than her size would indicate opened her eyes wide and gave a small gesture towards the mausoleum. The warrior motioned her companion back into the shadows and peered again towards the innards of the cemetery.

There it was! The motion she had been waiting for. A shadowy figure shuffled out of the dimly lit doorway of the mausoleum, feet dragging.

A chill ran through the woman warrior, raising goose bumps on her exposed flesh. She quietly pulled her thin cloak tighter around her and continued her watch.

The shuffling figure was joined by another, more decrepit than the first. The breeze carried a foul stench to where the woman crouched, causing a slight wrinkling of the nose. The second was followed by a third, and then another until a small congregation had assembled near the damp earth of a recent burial. The figures fell to their knees with sodden thuds and began scooping the earth with their hands in silence.

A final figure emerged from the mausoleum; head held high and long robes flowing. The figure strode with confident steps to where his minions silently worked. At the graves edge, he silently stood in wait, his hands held inside the cuffs of his robes before him. He looked on in silence, waiting for his zombies to complete their gruesome task of unearthing another body to add to the group he had already assembled.

The woman tensed behind her stone concealment. This was it, the object of her task. The bounty on the mage who had been robbing the graves of the nearby village had been sufficiently large. The woman and her elfish companion had not been in a position to refuse any opportunity for money. That very morning, the two of them had shared the last of their provisions in a meager meal that left both of their bellies noisy, clamoring for the rest of a meal that had never come.

The small group of frail village elders had approached them at their small camp at the outskirts of the small village. They offered a reward of collected gold and precious valuables donated by the few families who still had them. The rest of the towns valuables had been spirited away by deceased family members in the dead of night, taken from the most secret of hiding places.

One brave elder had followed his dearly departed aunt from his home to the cemetery the woman warrior now crouched in. He told the village that he had personally seen his aunt turn over the family’s prize pearl to the man now standing watch over his undead work force.

The village Elders had met in secret conference and concluded that the dark mage must be creating an army of the undead to ravage the land of its valuables. They could only speculate to what purpose the mage would use the valuables he had stolen, but they all agreed that he must be stopped. None of the men in the village had any experience with the art of war, and all were family men with crops to tend and mouths to feed. A request for assistance had been met with an uncomfortable silence. A suggestion had been made by one of the farmers that they enlist the aid of the warrior woman and her small companion who had recently been in town attempting to barter for provisions.

The elders had approached the women, and were quickly able to enlist their aid, “for a fee, of course,” they had said.

As the elders had described the situation, the warrior had become more and more uneasy. Killing the undead was nasty work. A warrior couldn’t simply plunge the point of her sword deep into the belly of the undead and move on to the next foe, they had to be dismembered, piece by piece until none remained large enough to continue to be a threat. Even then, the small pieces would continue to harass the warrior until properly disposed of, preferably by fire.

And the ichor that covered everything from weapons to armor at the conclusion of a battle took hours to clean off.

Having no choice but to accept the job and the pay it promised, the women discussed their plan with the elders, agreeing to move on the mage that very night, lest he use the time to increase the size of his grisly army.

The mage stood calmly, not bothering to survey his surroundings. The woman silently moved from one place of concealment to another, behind a stone, beneath a large willow tree in the shadows, then to another tombstone where she crouched mere yards behind her unsuspecting quarry.

Risking a quick glance towards the gate, the warrior woman caught sight of her companion watching her progress intently. She had once again moved out of the shadows, and the woman gestured her back fiercely. Her companion complied quickly, and soon vanished into the shadows once again.

Satisfied that her friend would be safe, the woman carefully planned her attack. She would wait for the undead to all be turned away from her place of concealment, leap over the tombstone and bury her sword into the mage’s back, and then fight the undead. The mage had to go first, he was the greatest threat. He could harass her with his magic as she fought the resilient undead, and raise them again as they fell under her sword. The undead were persistent, but slow. She had a long battle ahead of her, even if she succeeded in dispatching the mage in the first few seconds. She had no doubt that she could emerge victorious, provided the mage was removed first.

Once more glance towards the gate to reassure her that her friend was staying out of sight, then back to the crowd of moving corpses.

Wait… Wait… They’re all turned away, GO NOW!!!

The woman quickly placed her free hand on the top of the tombstone as she raised her sword high. She leapt over the stone, bracing on her hand as she went over. The old stone crumbled under her weight, and her feet caught the remaining edge. She fell flat on her face into the damp grass and moldy leaves, out of reach of the mage, who was spinning rapidly towards the sound of her breath as it was expelled forcefully from the impact.

“Dammit!” the warrior groaned into the ground.

“Dammit!” a high pitched voice cried from the gate.

“By the Gods!” exclaimed the mage in surprise, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Unghhh,” offered the undead as they slowly pivoted hollow eye sockets to look upon the prone warrior.