Spring, 1333

In a battle column, the Stanton militia slowly shot their way through the tangled masses of bog-men. However for every one they ignited- causing the walking fungi to screech and crumble back into the muck- another rose, attracted by the heat and light. They seemed almost limitless. Occasionally a soldier in the column stumbled, or were grabbed and dragged screaming into the muck or disappeared into the swamp. The cruel math of men and supplies inevitably began catching up to the unit.

“Logan, we’re running low on arrows.” Woden announced a few miles later after talking to various members of the unit as they rushed by.

“Use javelins, darts, whatever projectiles you can use to set the monsters aflame and keep them away from us.” The Forester replied. “Hell set the spearheads on fire if you have to! We keep moving!”

“There’s a hill up ahead!” Liza called out as she came back from the vanguard. “It’s big.”

“If we stop, we’re going to get trapped, Liza!”

“I don’t see an alternative. The swamp keeps going on for miles afterwards. We’ll start getting overwhelmed before we reach safety!”

“Eight arrows left per man!” Woden reported.

Shit. Liza was right. Logan pointed his awlpike forward. “Rally to the hill! Circular schiltron! We need to see if we can thin their numbers before we move again!”

“And if not?” Bidgewell called out.

“Then we’re screwed! Let’s hope we can destroy enough fungi to make a difference!”

“Fungi. Fun, guys.” Guyot tried to joke, but failed.

The entire brigade ascended the small mound and quickly organized itself into a giant circle atop the mound, an unbroken ring of spearmen guarding the swordsmen behind them and the archers behind the swordsmen, with the cavalry mounted and ready for a last charge. All around, an army of the dead advanced, eager to consume the living. The spearmen were already starting to hack at the first of the advancing ghouls, decapitating them to destroy the last vestiges of control in the decaying bodies. In the middle of the line, Logan scanned around for a break, a gap, or just a weakness in the advancing mass of undead to eventually punch his cavalry through. If he was lucky the colonel could stage a breakout, his horsemen cutting a way through the ghouls, then his infantry breaking contact and slowly working their way to safety. That would be a miracle. The swamp creatures seemed to be visible as far as the eye can see, and everyone knew of the monstrous losses that filled Pontine. Logan frowned. More likely, someone somewhere would falter, the circle would lose formation or discipline and the swamp creatures would break through and swarm over everyone and slaughter them all. Still, his men couldn’t hold this position forever and sooner or later they will die here. The full force of the undead were colliding against his troops’ wall of spears, which were faltering before the impacts. The Stanton militia could only wait and hope the time Logan chose from the breakout would be best.

The fighting continued in this bloody stalemate for another hour, with no end in sight. Then came the time of decision.

“Colonel, we’re almost out of arrows!” Woden cried.

Logan closed his eyes for a minute, then opened them again before raising his sword.

“Infantry! Fix shields! Protect your nose and mouth with cloth and ready the spears! We’re going to have to try to break our way out!” Logan covered his own mouth and placed his helm on. Soon everyone had their mouths and noses wrapped in shirts, bandage linen, or torn strips from blankets.

“On my mark! One!”

The troops tensed and readied themselves.

“Two!”

Suddenly, the entire front line of ghouls burst into flame, disintegrating before their eyes.

“Colonel!” Bidgewell shouted, pointing up at the sky. A familiar winged reptilian figure descended in front of Logan and his harried troops, eliciting a round of cheers. The dragon nodded in acknowledgment, then swung in around the Stanton militia, burning out a protective ring of fire. Soon all attacking undead fungi that had been threatening the Stanton Brigade had disintegrated before the draconic onslaught. While still more fungi appeared, attracted by the heat, they clambered straight into the fires burning as a defensive barrier around the hill and themselves ignited, keeping out the parasitic fungi and their undead hosts.

The dragon finally landed back next to Logan and snorted in triumph as cheers continued. Even the brigade's officers, Liza, Bidgewell, Guyot, Rabia and Mansker and Logan himself were cheering their guardian.

Amid the cacophony, the Forester joyfully leaned over to the dragon.

“Mera! Glad you could join us.”

“Glad to be back. I’ll stay with you guys the rest of the way” Mera replied in a whisper.

“What happened to you going back home alone?”

“I felt bad leaving you behind.”


***

With Mera covering the way, Logan rapidly led the Stanton Brigade forward. The heat from the dragon’s fires continued to attract the ghouls, and Mera was forced to repeatedly burn a safe corridor through them. The men moved silently at a breakneck pace. No one wanted to remain to face the dead alone. While Logan led the way with his dragon, and Liza’s scouts and the horsemen hemmed the columns to prevent any ghouls from breaking into the column, Dr. Moller kept to the rear, driving on the last exhausted stragglers and the wagons carrying those too wounded or sick with a stick like a maid to ducks. Finally, the forests began to fall away, the swamps began to become less solid, the ghouls began to disappear and suddenly the soldiers were on a tombolo and then a wooded island. There they stopped, as Mera fell to the ground, exhausted at the effort, having expended all of his fuel stores. The Stanton Brigade had reached the Divna River.

***

Gradually the Stanton Brigade reassembled and reassessed itself. Logan’s forces had lost some fifty-nine men in the swamps of the Pontine. Luckily it seemed that the swift-flowing brackish waters of the river deterred the undead, and though the dragon kept an eye on the shallow sandbank, nothing attempted to cross here.

“Has anyone ever heard of something like what happened to us yesterday?” Logan asked his regrouped troops.

The militia members looked back at their commander with some wariness and shook their heads.

“This feels like something Glib would know.” Liza sighed. “As it is, that is a horror that I hope to never see again.”

“Cursed lands.” Woden spat and nodded in agreement.

Guyot looked back at the swamp in the distance. “I don’t know how anyone could survive an encounter like that.”

“Even if they did, I don’t know if anyone would want to recall it. I certainly don’t want to talk about this ever again.” Bidgewell added.

“Thank goodness for our guardian.” Rabia concluded.

“He was late again though.” Mansker pointed out.

Logan nodded as he placed an arm on Mera’s neck. “Agreed everyone, agreed.”

---

Creedence Clearwater Revival - Bad Moon Rising

From  theroguez!