OOC: Continued from Through the Fire and the Flames

"Silas."

"Charles." The uneasy truce between the two former foes had settled a little in the weeks since they first had attempted to kill each other. Charles had a very calming effect on most people, when he wasn't crushing their bones or pulping flesh with his trademark warhammer.

"There are undead nearby. Thinking undead."

"Undead don't think Charles. If they did, we would both be dead by now."

"You know from experience that I can sense things with working minds. These things are thinking, and they aren't alive. They're hunting us Silas."

The terrain didn't lend itself well to stalking, barring the vague nearness of the Red forest, nearly two miles distant, the gently rolling hills they were traversing with Charles' massive horse Traveler, and Silas' quietly acquired mount, as yet unnamed, were horrible if you didn't want to be seen. It was all open sky, with not a patch of woods in sight, barring the aforementioned Red Forest. The current patch of ground they were on was flatter than Silas' last employer, and anything within Charles' sensing range was supposedly in visual range as well. That leant credence to the smaller man's objections about the psion being able to sense them. The sudden waft of corruption on the breeze, however, dispelled any thoughts the warrior might have had about arguing further.

"Well, damn. I seem to owe you yet another meal when we reach town. That makes what, three now?"

"Four. I told you you'd miscount your debt at some pooint, and that makes 4 total meals you owe me."

"Wait, if I miscounted my debt I'd either owe you five meals or three. So I owe you 5?"

"Nope, but you do owe me four now. You counted right the first time. I'm psychic, not prescient."

"Whatever. If you're done fleecing me out of hard earned cash, I'd like to know what we're going to do about these undead that think."

"Keep moving, and pitch camp. I'll keep a semi-watch all night, even when you're on watch for real. When the mind is watchful, the body may rest. Until they attack, I won't wake up, or do anything out of the ordinary."

"Alright then, and when they do attack?"

"Standard operating procedure. I hit them with my hammer, they die, you stab them repeatedly, they die, and we go about our merry way, free of any threat from your former master for the time being." The mage hunter couldn't prove that Drizighar was behind the stalkers and attacks that had plagued him forthe last few weeks, but he knew the erstwhile necromancer was still alive, and due to his previous connection with the Drows mind(mentally raping someone three times in less than an hour tends to leave its mark), he could ascertain that the drow had somehow reached Eluriand. That may have been where his Familiar was when the drow died. Who could tell with these mage sorts. All Charles knew was that he had talents that made them easy prey, and he capitalized on that power as much as possible. To address the current threat, he dismounted, and slowly rotated in a circle, sensing every nuance of thought within the area. The scan, deep and narrow, was very enlightening. He found two more groups shadowing them, one from the cover of the forest, just within visual range at this point, another from their far side, behind a line of low hills, or so he thought, and the group behind them, sticking doggedly to their trail like hounds....

"Silas."

"Charles." He had a feeling where this was going, and he was going to likely hit the slab of meat and brains next to him if the psion said what he expected.

"There are undead nearby, thinking undead." The gauntlet rang off the breastplate of Charles' armor, and he simply laughed. "Allow me to rephrase that then. There are undead nearby, three groups of thinking undead." That got the soldiers attention fast.

"Xem'zund has three packs of thinking undead hunting us down?"

"That is an accurate summation. And I have a suspicion what they are."

"Oh really?" His companion radiated skepticism. He knew what his new ally's limits were. Mind reading was one of them.

"You remember there were three "legions" employed by Drizighar. Den Caedo, Gelicus, and Clades?" He was likely butchering the names, but it wasn't important now.

Silas remembered all too well. He had been the leader of the abortive attack on the massive warrior next to him, and was lucky to still be alive. Almost 50 of the troops that had attacked the human juggernaut were reduced to so much bone and ragged flesh. He grunted in assent.

"Your comrades are following us. Only the Lycanthropes of Clades could trac us likwe this, for so long and so well. There are undead with them, or possibly they are undead that retain their minds somehow. The remnants of Den Caedo must have been revived from their very ashes by the Necromancer Himself, and are likely the troop in the Red Forest, shadowing us in greatest numbers. Those to the west are likely others from Clades, once again survivors or turned undead."

"That is all wonderful supposition, barring one minor fact." He was right. The logic was internally valid, and solid enough on its face, except for a glaring weakness. "The necromancer has no need to trouble himself with us. We are at best flys in the ointment, at worst not even worth noticing."

"He troubles himself with many things that don't need his attention. He's a maniac, it is in his nature."

The friendly bickering continued iover the miles, until they dismounted and set up camp. Charles had at first trusted the man out of instinct. Later he had learned exactly why Silas fought for Xem'zund. He and the rest of hs soldiers recieved a choice. Fight for him, and maybe not die now or later, or fight against him, and die immediately. Theirvillages borderd dangerously close to the Red Forest, and there was no refusing when the man was so close. Thus Silas and his comrades ended up at the Aleraran border, facing the strangely impossible odds of one man against more than two hundred. They lost, out maneuvered, out muscled, and finally outmaged by their opponent. The losses had been heavy, and he would never tell Silas exactly why the Zombies had turned on his troops, but he was thankful it had saved his life to some extent. He had recieved a plethora of minor wonds during the battle that were still healing. The worst of which was a broken hand, gained as he punched a man in the face with his gauntleted fist, crushing the mans skull, and popping a pathetic finger bone the wrong way. That was then. Now Charles trusted him totally. Silas was loyal to two things above all rlse, and it showed. He was loyal to his family and town, which is why he fought for the dark lord in the first place, and he was loyal to his comrades, which was why he had taken up the mentalists offer of possible revenge and nearly guaranteed death.

The camp was ready fast, and the hulking mind mage began to build a fire pit and fire, removing earth from the ground and ringing the pit with the earth he took out, before laying wood and kindling into the hole, and lighting it with ease. He was fond of fire, and could make it in so many different ways.

The two traveling companions went to sleep, one on, one off, working in watch shifts to make sure nothing caught them totally unawares. The only hard part was sleeping in mail, which would punish him horribly in the morning. The night passed, hour by hour, and the two changed watches, waiting for an attack from undead beasts that was sure to come with time.