It was not alone. Another form came scrabbling over the rooftop. It dodged another arrow, losing its grip on the tiles, slamming to the ground, twisting, getting up. It had broken its hand in the fall, but the bone breaking through rotting skin didn’t even slow it. This Ghoul’s eyes glowed red. They leapt towards the living people, biting, clawing—

“Engage!”

Ser Dalimont charged and hit the Ghoul in the head with his shield, stunning it, before planting his sword in the chest. Meltain swung his spear up and skewered the second, mid-leap. Lantal saw the others hacking at the pinned undead as it tried to tear its way down the haft of the spear.

The Thronebearers cut the undead precisely, running it through the chest, then jerked back as it kept trying to claw up the spear. Afiele’s people hacked at limbs, severed the head. Butcher’s work. Remove the head—remove the limbs and anything that could move. That was their job.

Lantal was already shouting, knowing what was coming next. More bounding shapes. The two were just scouts. Now more were coming in a pack. Coordinated.

Ghouls first, moving to the left and right of his position as his head swung to track them.

“Watch the flanks! Keep the horses from bolting! [Riders]—lure them!”

The mounted guards rode at the running Ghouls, some on all fours, baiting the undead towards the fighting line. The well-trained horses galloped back towards the main group, where the Ghouls were hit with arrows, a burning bolt of magic—three went down.

The [Knights] ran into them this time, and the snarling undead tore at them—but their claws and teeth didn’t dent the golden armor. Afiele’s people darted between the shouting [Knights] as they battered their opponents back, struck the Ghouls down, and severed their heads. Lantal counted, shakily, as Dalimont stomped on an arm, then stabbed a neck.

“Eight—twelve—”

So many Ghouls. This was a minor horde on its own! But the real group was yet to come. Lantal stared ahead. Dalimont was panting. He checked himself, then nodded.

“No injuries yet. The undead are numerous, but mindless. Well-thought tactics, Lord Afiele.”

He had taken down three Ghouls; Lantal had yet to even bloody his blade. The [Lord] said nothing.

The Ghouls had tried to flank them. They never did that normally. The most a Ghoul could do was hide and leap at you. They didn’t think strategically. Something was controlling them.

“Milord. Twelve Ghouls?”

Meltain whispered. Lantal nodded.

“I know.”

Dalimont’s head swung from one to the other.

“Is there significance in the number?”

Someone muttered.

“Ghouls are rare. There is one for every ten zombies, usually.”

Dalimont glanced at the fallen bodies. He shifted.

“Then where are…?”

The man fell silent. Lantal’s back was prickling. Dalimont sensed it too. Lantal’s teeth ground together.

He…felt it.