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. Their
blades wavered, almost trembled.
Around them, dead human warriors, Darken Wood's
best guard, were rising, at last ready to fulfill an old
promise. Beside them stood King Peris in full battle gear a
thousand years old.
The king's armor was white silver over steel, decorated
in rubies, for the blood of enemies, and emeralds and
sapphires, for an archer's clear eyes. It was, as the stag had
often noted, largely ornamental. Perhaps that was why the
king and his body of men had once failed to guard against a
real menace.
The soldiers of the dead king writhed up from the grass,
unbraiding from it as though their bodies were
recomposing. Swords in hand and no shields, they fell into
a battle line; their empty eyes showed no mercy, no hatred,
and no hope.
The stag cried in what voice it had, "Forward!" It
leaped awkwardly and took a sword full in the chest as it
punched a third draconian. As the sword withdrew, the stag
made no sound at all.
Peris the King leaped over the falling animal. "I, not you,
lead my men, beast. Forward!" The troops of the dead
advanced, and the draconian ranks, weakened already,
wavered.
The battle was like some deadly mime. The dead's
weapons made no noise - yet their attackers fell, bleeding
green liquid and turning stony in anguished poses
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