Isle of the Undead: A Zombicide Black Plague Novel by CL Werner

Author:CL Werner [Werner, CL]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Fantasy, Horror, Action & Adventure, Media Tie-In, Fiction
Publisher: Aconyte
Published: 2023-05-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

“Burn it!” Alaric shouted as the undead troll charged down the gallery. His mind raced, trying to remember everything he’d ever heard about trolls while serving in the king’s army. Fire was especially potent against these monsters. Living or dead, he prayed that the same vulnerability held true.

Doran stepped forward, one hand extended, an arcane scroll held in the other. From his outstretched palm, a billowing spurt of flame rushed toward the enormous zombie. The magic fire washed across the warty green hide, charring the skin and the few rags the troll wore. That was all. The battlemage gawked in disbelief as the creature kept barreling down the corridor, uttering not so much as a grunt of pain from the searing spell.

“Wizards.” Ursola scowled. The troll only gained a few yards before she lobbed one of her bombs at the monster. The thing was swathed in fire from head to toe, the flames licking around its misshapen body. Still the undead made no cry of pain. Still the zombie’s charge didn’t falter. A moving pillar of fire, looking more like an elemental than anything of material substance, the creature continued to advance.

“How about we run now?” Gaiseric asked. The thief had his sword ready but didn’t seem excited about using it.

Alaric could see the orc necromancer gesturing to his other zombies, sending some of the creatures to support his troll. Just dealing with the abomination looked questionable, now the odds were getting much worse. “Withdraw!” he shouted, pointing his sword at the corner behind them. “Regroup in the conservatory!” The room was chosen more at random than from any tactical insight. With its beds of exotic flowers and strange plants, he was also sure that everyone would remember it and not confuse it with any of the other slaughterhouse chambers they’d passed through.

“Ya noodlin’ sumthin’?” Ratbag growled at Alaric as they rounded the corner and fled down the connecting hall. His face burned with barely repressed hate. It struck Alaric that if the orc had thought there was even the slightest chance of getting to grips with Skargash, he’d have stayed behind and tried to smash his way through the zombie mob.

The knight felt a strange kinship with Ratbag in that moment. Alaric wondered if the renegade had lost family because of Skargash the way his own had been massacred by Gogol. Strangely, it had never occurred to him that orcs might have such connections among their own. From his father’s accounts of fighting on the frontier, Alaric had always imagined orcs as a brutish horde only interested in making war.

“Just trying to buy us time so that I can think of something,” Alaric told Ratbag. He risked a glance over his shoulder. The troll loped after them with its clawed hands outstretched and its jaw hanging open in a hungry leer. Fire no longer licked around it and most of its skin was burned to a crispy black. With each plodding step, some of the burnt crust flaked away, surrounding the monster in a sooty haze.

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