You are Summoned

Our battered forces returned to the dubious safety of the main camp. The surviving knight, Sir Goodwin, took charge of the human troops, but he was forced to send out the last four cavalry troopers to bring word of the loss of their leader back to the kingdom. I wasn’t exactly sure how the line of succession worked on another world, but apparently, there was a well-liked heir that was just barely old enough to take the reins of the kingdom.

Since getting word of our defeat, the camp had been busy. Lumpy and one of the senior human soldiers had been in charge and they had already begun preparations to make the place a bit more defensible. On the edge of the swamp, there were plenty of gnarled, stunted trees nearby. They were too damp for firewood, but they were easy enough to carve into sharp wooden stakes that were driven into the ground around our camp.

The engineers had time to level out the ground around the siege engines, which should give them a bit more accuracy. Our mages were pretty much tapped out on mana by now, but they did what they could for our mechs. It would be some time before they could bring us back to a full charge and refill our wands.

Lumpy admitted that my idea of a fuel and ammo gauge was looking more and more necessary as the campaign continued. For now, the only way the mages knew that the machines were fully charged was when they stopped accepting new mana. Only rest and time would refill their mana pools, and I offered to use my mana to help recharge the mechs if it would help.

The mages kindly informed me that charging a device as powerful as the mechs could be dangerous for someone without specialized training. If I wasn’t busy with other tasks, they did say I could help in recharging the magic missile wands. The new design for my Big MESS made it easier to access the wands, and I pulled one from its housing as the mage gave me a quick rundown on the charging process.

It was pretty much the same way I charged the wand before firing but required quite a bit more effort. I had to push the mana into the device and when it was charged for a shot, I had to wrap more mana around that charge to stabilize it. After a few fumbles, I got the hang of it.

In the end, I had to push nearly five points of mana into a wand to create a single, stable charge. The process was painfully slow, and to create just one charge took me quite a bit of effort. I was warned not to drain my mana completely, as unlike casting a spell, charging a device would cause a backlash if you didn’t have enough mana to complete the task.

Over time, I’d get more efficient, but that type of efficiency took months or even years to develop, so it wasn’t something that was going to kick in for this summoning. The other pilots were also pitching in, helping to recharge their weapons while the mages worked on keeping the mechs running. They looked to be having as much trouble as I was, and if it were not for the dire circumstances, it was a task better left to the mages trained specifically for it.

By the time my mana pool was getting low, my wand had a whopping two charges stored. I kept the wand with me and decided that having one on hand wasn’t a bad thing in case I had to evacuate the mech. While I waited for my mana to regenerate, I sought out Fitzfazzle to see what else I could help with.

I found him with Warmaster Glumbleflump and Sir Goodwin. They had set up a map on the back of a wagon and were planning our next moves. Their mood was down, and they were trying to decide whether to return and gather reinforcements or continue to advance with what we had remaining. The complete loss of the dwarven forces as well as the human leader had everyone doubting our chances, though no one wanted to admit it.

While we had been retreating to the camp, gnomish scouts had gone out to keep tabs on the enemy army. The humans relied on the cavalry to do their scouting, but a few of their archers were also experienced hunters and teamed up with the gnomish scouts to help. The first team was just now returning to give their report.

“Sir, as soon as our forces broke line of sight, the dead just stopped. After a bit, they began to move again. Instead of heading directly for our camp, they’re moving at an angle that will pass by the northwest corner of the camp as they move in a direct line toward where that crypt is,” the scout reported.

“I’d have thought they would attack to wear our numbers down even more,” Sir Goodwin said.

“Maybe the necromancer stripped his defenses to create the ambush?” Glumbleflump offered.

“I think what we ran into might be a part of the puzzle,” a badly injured human scout, propped up by two other soldiers said as they approached the meeting.

“Get this man to the healers,” Glumbleflump ordered when he took in the hideous wounds the man had suffered. It was almost like the flesh on the left half of his body was rotting off in patches, and I wasn’t sure how he was still able to speak.

“No, sir, not yet. First, I must tell you what happened. Me and one of your gnome scouts were moving around behind the undead horde, wanting to check if there were any ambush survivors left behind that the undead missed. The horde had moved past the ambush point while pursuing the army so the area was clear except for a few damaged undead that were so banged up that they could barely crawl.

“We spotted a small group of humans approaching and hit the dirt before they could see us. It was three men dressed in black robes with a red sash, and they were stopping near each of our fallen troops and chanting constantly. After a few minutes, one of our fallen would rise and march toward the rest of the horde. Nobbleyzip, the gnome that was with me, said we had to stop them before they raised all our dead.

“They weren’t paying attention to anything but their work and must have figured they were the only living things around. We crept up as close as we dared and struck while they were distracted. My first shot took one of the necromancers down, and Nobbleyzip charged in with his spear. He impaled a second necromancer but the last one cast a spell on him, the same kind that did this,” the scout said, pointing to his horrible wounds.

“Nobbleyzip caught it right in the face and didn’t stand a chance. I hit his killer in the eye with an arrow and did him in. Unfortunately, the first one I shot wasn’t quite dead, though, and clipped me with another of those spells before I put a second arrow into him,” the scout reported.

“You did well, now, take him to one of the war priests. They have ways of dealing with this type of injury,” Sir Goodwin ordered.

“Do you think this explains the strange course the undead are taking?” I asked.

“Probably. You took care of three of the necromancer’s acolytes at the farm, and we eliminated the powerful one at the lumber camp. With these last three gone, maybe the necromancer is out of human minions,” Warmaster Glumbleflump postulated.

“I think you’re right,” Fitzfazzle offered. “Pharox is powerful, but even he is only one man. He needs his minions to do the dirty work unless he wants to risk himself on the battlefield. I expect that he’s holed up in his crypt and the men that our scouting team killed were directing the undead ambush. With them gone, and our forces out of sight of the undead, all Pharox could do was order them home.”

“How close do you think they’ll pass?” I asked the first scout that had reported their movements.

“They’ll miss the camp, but might be within bowshot of us,” the scout said.

“That gives us an opportunity. How do you think the undead will react when they pass by?” Glumbleflump asked Fitzfazzle. With the elderly Master Fazzlemore back at the gnome village, Fitzfazzle was our resident expert.

“It all depends on how detailed the orders are that the necromancer can give over such a long distance. Either they’ll attack on spotting us, reverting to their instincts, or they’ll march past us, oblivious to everything around them. In latter state, they’ll only defend themselves if attacked or if something is in their way,” Fitzfazzle offered.

“The scout says they’ll pass withing bowshot of our camp, so I suppose we’ll know soon enough. We’ll hammer them with siege engines and arrow fire, and they’ll either impale themselves mindlessly on our defenses, or we’ll pick them apart all the way back to their crypt,” Warmaster Glumbleflump said.

“Mark my words. There’s no going back from here. We’re not heading back, waiting for reinforcements, or doing anything that will give the necromancer time to recover. We end this here, and we end it now,” Sir Goodwin proclaimed.

All I needed was enough charge in my mech to get me there, and I’d be more than happy to finish this.