Aleric had to spend the entire day raising his undead again and breaking camp near the battlefield.
To his relief, most of them were still salvageable, especially with equipment they could take from other bodies. The undead that took the most damage were zombies and skeletons of farmers, who had no armor and even less fighting skill than regular zombies.
At least the zombies could still be used even without a few fingers or even a head.
In addition, Aleric raised several dead horses of templars—those who had all four legs. It took a lot of mana, but Aleric's new Tarnished Star amulet helped recover it.
"There are 40 zombies, 11 undead horses, and 8 skeletons, master," Spine Staff dutifully counted for Aleric. "You are raising them faster and faster now."
Aleric scowled.
"That's… Is that more or less than I had before?"
"Uh… The number of zombies is the same if you count the horses, but you've lost a lot of skeletons. Not that it matters! The zombie horses are much more valuable fighters than skeletons."
"Obviously, that's why I've raised them. They better be worth all the mana."
A horse took five times the mana to reanimate. A couple of days ago, Aleric wouldn't have been able to make undead slaves from them at all! Now he had to spend his entire reserve to raise a single horse. It was why he didn't bother with more than one horse before.
But after witnessing a cavalry charge, Aleric changed his opinion.
Undead slave horses were slower than living ones, but could actually run. If Aleric tried to puppet a zombie horse, it would just fall immediately.
His other zombies were also, on average, better than the old ones. More of them wore armor now, and more of them were made from templars instead of farmers.
Aleric also made his zombies chop long sticks from a nearby tree grove and make improvised spears out of them. He hoped it would work against another cavalry charge from templars.
"I wonder if I can make my zombies ride…" Aleric muttered, then gestured at the zombie of the former templar captain.
The undead obediently walked to a nearby horse and clumsily climbed on it. It even put the feet into the stirrups.
The horse moved. First at walking speed, then slowly sped up to a more and more rapid trot. The zombie on its back shook more and more until finally sliding off the horse's back.
"Stop!" Aleric ordered, shaking his head. "This was horrible."
The zombie templar disentangled itself and walked back alongside the horse.
"Yes, those are certainly not Dread Knights… But you will get there, master."
Aleric clenched his fist.
"I will… But next time the templars find me, there will be even more of them. Keep teaching me, Staff. I need to keep learning—and keep moving north-east. The fewer attacks I have to deal with before I reach my destination, the better."
***
The temple of Light in Oakdale had tall ceilings and stone floors. Here, each step of the pacing Chaplain Lodimar was echoing all over his office. The tapestries on the walls, which showed images of angels defeating Dark mages and various monsters from the Sunless Halls, did little to soften the sounds.
Lodimar knew he shouldn't be pacing. It was unseemly for a man of his high status, of someone who oversaw the entire Oakdale and its spiritual wellbeing. But he felt helpless, and doing his usual paperwork or inspections of the below-ranking priests seemed too useless.
A knock on the door made Lodimar stop and hurry to open the door. On the other side was standing a panting acolyte with a scroll in hand.
"A message from the Justicar Esvan, Father Lodimar."
"Finally!" Lodimar grabbed it from the acolyte's hands. "Did Esvan say anything else? What is he doing? His templars left Broomwood days ago!"
The acolyte lowered his eyes.
"Justicar Esvan's words weren't very fit for a servant of Light, Father Lodimar."
"Just say it," Lodimar insisted. He pulled the acolyte inside, away from the prying ears of other acolytes and priests in the temple. "What did he say?"
"He said that the peaceful order of the Church shouldn't meddle with the military order, Father Lodimar, and that you should stop inquiring about his business," the acolyte said. "Justicar Esvan used different words, though… Very unseemly words, very."
Lodimar reddened with anger.
"What? How dare he! Did he forget whose money feeds his chapter house? This temple's! And a necromancer on my lands, who already destroyed an entire village, is my problem, too! My temple already houses the survivors from Broomwood, and he tells me something like that?!"
The chaplain hurriedly opened the scroll and read what was written inside. With every word, Lodimar turned whiter and whiter just as swiftly as it became red.
The acolyte watched these changes with dread.
"An entire full squad… Gone, just like that? Oh, Light, merciful and just, deliver thou sinful servants, smite the heretics and evildoers…" Lodimar made the sign of the holy star. "How could it be? A powerful necromancer, coming from nowhere… And the justicar! He is thinking that throwing more of his men on the problem will solve it, when his men have already failed! We need outside help. Oh, what a situation! A necromancer, a Dark mage… If he's strong, he can create an entire army of the dead on his own…"
It felt impossible. Of course, there were occasional individuals who awakened in themselves the capability to use magic, and instead of training in blessed Light magic, or even crude elemental magic, tried to use Dark magic.
Most of them were self-taught. Others used secrets that stayed preserved in secret from one generation of witches and hedge wizards to another.
However, among the templars of Light—a military branch of the Church of Light—there was a special order made just to seek out and destroy this harmful knowledge (and its users).
They sought the smallest traces of Dark magic or rumors of its use. Thanks to them, tragedies like Broomwood were exceptionally rare.
But not rare enough!
"Go!" Lodimar ordered the acolyte messenger. "Return to your regular duties."
As soon as the acolyte left, Lodimar pulled out a clean sheet of paper and writing utensils.
If Justicar Esvan refused to call for help himself—whether from the sin of pride, or the sin of overconfidence—then Lodimar would do it himself.
His letter will go straight to Praetor Ravindal, who oversaw all the Aleshat templars and inquisitors from the High Temple of Light in Estairn. Who else had the resources to deal with a necromancer, if not him?
Lodimar sealed the hastily written message with wax and let out a long breath.
'Maybe I was too quick to dismiss that acolyte. No matter. This letter is important enough to deliver it to the temple's aviary personally. On a dove's wings it will fly as swiftly as the Light's retribution… And the necromancer will be smitten for sure!'