The Golden Warrior by Don Taco ©2026
Tierna, Abeth, Marga, and Bek faced each other around the campfire, north, east, south, and west, idly whining about the weather. "Zombie weather," Marga muttered. Bek snorted, while Tierna started making that hissing sound that strongly suggested that this tired old joke wasn't funny any more. Don't let anyone try to tell you that all elves are lighthearted and jolly. This one isn't. The smoke drifted carelessly into Bek's face, but he sat stoically, since the smoke always drifted into his face, and he knew moving would be pointless. Abeth had once said to him, "The smoke loves you. The gods alone know why, since no one else does." A split second later, Bek was behind her, and his blade was at her throat. "My mother loves me," he said, in a dangerously calm, quiet tone. Abeth very quietly declined to mention that she was joking, and never commented on it again, but she continued to observe that the smoke did indeed seem to adore Bek and want to be near him. She assumed it must be some minor curse, since she could simply not fathom it as a random event, and even less as a blessing. Bek seemed resigned to it, though he did sometimes drift randomly around the fire, rather than huddle nearby for warmth.
Hours later, after the sun had sunk behind the distant ridge, and the sky was not quite dark but merely gloomy, Tierna stood abruptly, peered attentively into the middle distance, and raised a palm for silence. The others immediately picked up the weapons they had laid nearby. It wasn't always Tierna who first spotted trouble brewing, but it was never a surprise. Elves have the most acute senses, of course, but the others agree, behind her back, that she's naturally quite paranoid. No one is complaining. It has kept them ahead of deep trouble many times. Tierna indicated a direction, and waved Bek and Marga towards the nearby bushes, a flanking maneuver. They had scarcely reached cover when the first of the zombies shambled into the clearing.
Abeth moved quickly back from the fire, turning her back on the obvious danger, and scanning to be sure nothing else was coming from an unexpected direction. It was uncommon for the undead to exhibit any real cunning, but the group hadn't survived all this time by being careless. She knew Tierna would catch up to her soon. Tierna was backing away slowly, allowing the creatures to get in range of her senses. There were at least four of them. Possibly no more, unless some were lagging and still in the cover of the forest. Unlikely. She could easily see that the broadswords they wielded were rusty, and therefore not silvered, and once they were close enough, she could detect no magic on them. She barked out, "No magic!" and darted back until she rejoined Abeth. Seeing her, Abeth remarked, "Looks clear so far," turned, and loosed an arrow at the first of the pack. Then spun around to keep watch behind them as she nocked the next arrow. Tierna began preparing a spell.
Marga stayed in a kneeling position behind her chosen bush, tripod-stable, and she too loosed an arrow, but at the second zombie. Luck was with her, and she pinned its arm to its side, causing it to drop its shield. Bek finished shifting into wolf form. At Tierna's call, he gowled with deliberate menace, and launched himself at the leader. Marga readied a second shot.
Knowing that none of the attackers could hurt Bek without magical or silvered weapons, the others played it safe, and let him do the dirty work. Marga and Abeth each launched another arrow, and watched for additional combatants, or other unpleasant surprises. Abeth's trick shot, an attempt to pass through the neck of two of the zombies, neatly zipped past them both. "Ah, well," she thought to herself. "At least I won't have to clean that one."
Bek reached the leader, and with a howl and a leap, bit furiously into one arm, and ripped it half off. Rolling to his feet, he spun around to charge again.
"Down!" yelled Tierna. Bek flattened himself into a crouch. Lightning arched out from Tierna's fingertips as she completed loosing her spell. It crackled intensely as it passed through the first zombie, narrowly missed the second, continued until it struck a boulder, bounced back, and petered out at the sixty foot mark without hitting anything else. That zombie crumpled to the ground, both lifeless and inanimate.
Without a second's hesitation, Bek charged the second zombie, leaping fully into its chest and knocking it to the ground. Marga and Abeth each let loose another arrow, doing only minor damage, since the remaining enemy weren't much more than skeletons. Tierna began preparing to cast again.
In less than a minute, the four undead creatures were torn apart and no longer dangerous. No others appeared. Bek lay curled up on the ground near the fire, soft growls and whimpers coming from his throat, involuntarily it seemed. From long experience, the others knew to bring him water and let him be until he recovered. Forunately, it wasn't daylight, and he hadn't stayed in were form long. These transitions could be much more difficult at times. There were tales of those who had turned for too long and gotten stuck, requiring a major curse removal to regain human form.
In the morning light, they looted the corpses. Corpses of corpses. Enough coppers and silvers to buy perhaps one good meal. A number of trinkets the undead had inexplicably been drawn to, and stashed in what remained of their pockets. The weapons and shields, and the one worthwhile breastplate, were piled up and tied into bundles for each of them to carry. "This is such a pain," Marga complained. "There's no value in these, and no one to sell them to anyway." Tierna replied, "We've been through this. The entire area is overun with undead, and if we leave these lying around, it's just as likely we'll be arming them against us." "We could bury them, instead of lugging them around," Marga answered. Tierna, with a characteristic touch of impatience, went on, "If we arm the citizenry, as we find them, they're better off against these attacks. And the blacksmiths we've found are more than happy to have the metal. The decision has been made. Whining won't change it." Abeth sighed heavily. Bek, as usual, just snorted.
"What, in the name of the Nine Hundred Gods, do you think got us into this mess?" Abeth wondered. Bek snorted. Tierna answered thoughtfully, "My best guess is that some powerful necromancer raised an undead army to dominate these lands. And whoever passes for authority around here, or used to, fought them off. And both sides lost. We've passed any number of obvious battlefields. But no sign of a surviving force, and no one controlling the undead. Just farm-folk and townsmen trying to eke out a living from hard soil in deperate times." "I'll drink to that!" Marga responded. Abeth smirked, "You wish! When was the last decent tavern we found with anything but sour beer?" Marge muttered, "Whoever that guy was that said 'Go south, young man' ought to be roundly cursed."
They shouldered their burdens and headed once again into the face of the south wind, hoping the next settlement wouldn't be too far away.
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Tierna stood in the farmhouse kitchen with Alecki and his young wife Mylinda. Alecki repeated himself, "I don't get it. Why store these things if we can't use them? I can't plow a field holding a shield. Or waving a sword." Mylinda placed her hand on his arm, and quietly said, "Maybe if you'd give her a chance to explain, instead of protesting so much." Tierna went on, "No one expects you to run around armored. But this gives you the chance to, if needed. If attacked. And that's happening. You know it is. Also, we hope that distributing this equipment will keep it out of the hands of the zombies. They're dangerous enough unarmed." Mylinda said, "Why would the zombies pick up weapons and arm themselves? Aren't they basically brain-dead?" "We don't know," Tierna replied. "But all the undead we've been running into seem smarter or more disciplined than we would ever expect. As if they'd had some training, or instruction, and maybe are now just acting out of habit. It's a puzzle. For whatever reason, they all seem to be armed and armored. In any case, you're better off having these and not needing them than needing them and not having them."
Alecki fell silent in the face of her logic.
In the farmyard, Abeth and Marga were running the teenaged twins, Bill and Phil, through some basic exercises, designed to get them past the initial enthusiasm, and to a point where they were less likely to hurt themselves or each other with the unfamiliar weapons.
Alecki sighed. "We're burning daylight, and I have wheat to harvest. Probably more than we can handle before those storm clouds defeat the mountains and sweep over us." Uncharacteristically, and to Tierna's surprise, Bek spoke up. "I reaped wheat as a boy. Can you use a hand? Eight hands? We can sleep in the barn, and we're used to slim rations."
That night in the barn, Tierna asked, "What did you think of the boys? I didn't get much chance to watch them." Bek replied, "Farm boys. Used to hard work. Muscled. Disciplined. Good parenting, I'd bet. They'll be fine. Oh, maybe a small scar or two." Marga chimed in, "I was younger and smaller when I first learned to hold a sword." Abeth reminded her, "Yes, but you had actual training under actual masters." "True," Abeth replied. "But I saw real potential in those boys."
In the closet-sized space they called their bedroom that night, Alecki confided to his wife, "That elven woman is disconcerting, to say the least. She doesn't look at you when she speaks to you." Mylinda replied, "That's not what's going on. She never takes her eyes off the horizon. She expects an assault at every moment. That must be a harsh life. Harder than ours, and this is no picnic."
Four days later, after a surprisingly hearty meal, Alecki thanked them profusely. "I'd have lost at least a third of that crop without you." Mylinda presented them with a three pound sack of ground flour and a small bag of dried apples. Tierna protested, "This is a fortune!" "Well worth it," replied Alecki. Abeth chimed in, "You'll spoil us. We'll be dreaming of bacon next." Mylinda laughed. "Can't help you there."
As they shouldered their packs and headed off down the road again, Mylinda walked with them to the nearby crossroads, lit a bundle of herbs, blessed the four directions, and told them, "Go with God." Tierna thought to herself, "Ah, but which god? All my gods seem angry or distant these days." All she said aloud was, "Thank you." Monotheists are notoriously easy to upset and quick to be insulted, and she had no desire to offend this obviously good woman. Mylinda turned her steps to home and the group continued their travels.
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The twins had been sent back to the house to help prepare dinner when the attack came. They were in the barn, idly peeling potatos and dreaming of the upcoming harvest festival and a rare trip to town for fun instead of business. Mylinda was at the kitchen sink, scrubbing the scalded milk from the bottom of a pot she was done with, her eyes casually scanning the horizon, when she saw the undead lumbering out of the forest, swords in hand. "Oh my God, Allee's out there alone," she thought to herself, dropping everything and dashing to the hearth where the dented but polished breastplate had been propped up. Scrambling to get it on, she screamed, "Boys! Swords!" at the top of her lungs.
Responding instinctively to a level of panic and desperation in their mother's voice that they had never even imagined, the twins sprinted to the old barrel they had stored the weapons in, grabbed a sword each, and headed out into the yard, where they found Mylinda headed at the speed of despair towards the fields. They fell in behind her, unable to keep up.
When the first zombie lumbered into view, Alecki was caught completely off his guard, with nothing more dangerous nearby than a hoe. He swung wildly, out of sheer panic, and caught it in the side of its knee with the corner of the hoe. Flesh ripped and tore. The mostly skeletal remains clattered to the cround, deprived of balance, and of a working pair of legs. Horrified, Alecki watched as it continued to crawl towards him with barely diminished speed. "My God," he thought to himself, "They're moving at half speed, and I can't keep up." He backed away rapidly, a move he instantly regretted, as he stumbled into a second zombie he had not seen. It may have saved his life, though, as he stepped inside the arc of the creature's swing. The sword, near the hilt, bashed into his elbow, sending a wave of pain up his arm and a numbness down it. He fumbled with the hoe handle, trying to keep it in his grasp, as he spun and attempted to elude his attacker. That's when the third zombie caught him alongside his scalp with its broadsword. He went to his knees, losing the hoe, his senses reeling. The hand he had unthinkingly raised to his head came away bloody. He tried to think whose blood it could be, as he tumbled into the dirt. As the world began to spin, he saw a golden warrior charge into view, glowing like the sun and swinging a sword like it was a toothpick. He wondered if it was the Angel of Death, coming to take him to Heaven. Or Hell. Blood from his head wound trickled down into his eyes, sticky and warm. His vision faded. Something thumped into his side. He heard the tremendous crushing ring of steel on bone. And departed into the grey mists of unconciousness.
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Bill came quietly into the kitchen, and said, with all the calm he could muster. "Mom, his eyelids are fluttering and he raised a finger. He might be coming to." She replied, "Get your brother," dried her hands on the dishtowel with a patience she did not feel, and came to the bedroom where they had carried Alecki and dressed his wounds. "Oh, Allee. Come back to us. Please come back to me," she murmured to herself. He looked as pale as before, but his breathing was deeper, less ragged. She sat at the side of the bed and prayed quietly. The twins soon joined her, slightly out of breath from running, not wanting to miss anything. "Dad?" Alecki stirred. Everyone's hopes rose.
To their utter delight, his eyes fluttered open, for the first time since the battle three days before. The twin's excitement was palpable, but Mylinda held up her hand for silence, and they restrained themselves. "Allee?" "Dad?" Alecki shivered uncomfortably, and croaked, "Water?" Mylinda already had it in her hand. He sipped. Then managed a gulp. Sighed. "I feel terrible." "No wonder," Mylinda replied. "You were badly hurt." The boys jumped into the conversation, barely leaving room for each other to speak. "Mom was hurt, too! A skeleton maybe craked her rib!" "She just ignored it!" "You should have seen her, Dad!" "She charged in there like the bull does when he's really mad!" She kept knocking them down, and we'd beat on them!" "It was so gross!" The excitement in their voices was more than slightly out of synch with the horror in their words. Alecki shook his head in wonder. "I saw..." he started to say, then fumbled at the memory. "I saw a golden warrior flying at me. Shining like the sun. And then nothing. I can't remember anything." The twins and their mother all looked at each other, worry deepening their eyes. Alecki swallowed another sip of the water and drifted into the grey of a deep slumber.
"God in Heaven! What's wrong with me?' Mylinda thought. "I let him talk. I should have made him eat." "Help me sit him up," she said to the boys, and they muscled him gently into a sitting position, punching the meager pillows and hoping he was comfortable. "I know it's hard, but you'd best be back to the chores," she said gently, and they nodded their understanding and headed back to the barn. Mylinda got the bowl of rich vegetable broth from the ice box, and tried spooning sips of it into his mouth, watching carefully to see if he'd swallow, like feeding a wounded baby bird. But without the cooperation of having hunger on her side. Or even a concious animal.
Late that evening, Alecki woke again, this time with an appetite. He asked his family, "You really fought them off? With those swords?" Mylinda chuckled, and said, "You softened them up for us, honey." "Yeah. With my head," he replied. "But who was the warrior I saw?" Mylinda and the twins exchanged another worried glance. "There was no one else." Alecki shook his head, and immediately regretted it. "It seemed so real." He ate heartily, and slept peacefully, and they all slept better than they had all week.
The following day, when Alecki woke again, he didn't seem quite himself. He struggled with their names at first, and was fitful and distracted. "I've got to get healthy," he muttered. That lower field isn't going to plow itself." Bill said quietly, "Dad, we finished plowing that field two weeks ago. Before the attack." "We did? Why don't I remember?"
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That evening, in the kitchen after dinner, Bill asked, "Mom? Do you think Dad saw an angel? Do you think maybe the sun was shining on that armor you were wearing, and he just wasn't seeing clearly?" "I don't know, honey." She cupped his face between her hands and softly told him, "I just don't know. We have to remember that your father was hit in the head, very hard, and it hurt him. He might never really recover. Things might never be normal again." She turned back to the dishes in the sink, trying desperately to keep her tears from overwhelming her. Bill said, "Yeah. Hey, I was going to spread straw in the barn tomorrow, but I'm going to do it now. It could be a long busy week." He headed for the door, trying hard to hold his own tears back. Phil got up from the table and brought his plate to the sink. He placed a hand gently on his mother's shoulder, and said, "Things won't be easy, but do you remember that book you read us? About Pandora? There's always still hope down in the bottom of the dark box." He headed towards the front door. "I'd better chase the cow into the barn. Looks to be cold tonight." He turned back at the door. "It could have been so much worse without the gift of those swords."
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Tierna, Abeth, Marga, and Bek faced each other around the campfire, north, east, south, and west, like so many evenings before. Marga turned to Tierna and remarked, "You seem unusually pensive tonight." "Pensive. That's a good word for it," Tierna replied. "I'm frustrated. Every day's the same. We don't seem to accomplish anything. I don't know. I just wish I felt as if I'd done some good. Helped. Made a difference in this world somehow. That's all."
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