Page 51 of Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed

“Heard about this guy,” the soldier beside him said. “He eats live rats to sustain his powers.”

That’s gross, Morfran wanted to say, but they still seemed to regard him with fear, so such stupid rumors couldn’t hurt. He gestured roughly at the rebels behind him who’d been shot. “And behold again!” He stopped in front of Bill. “You think you can kill my army? You cannot kill what is already dead. Watch with your own eyes, watch as this dead man rises!”

He gave Bill a covert kick, trying to get him to commit to the bit. Bill grunted in annoyance, and as he rose to his feet he moaned a moan that was only half-fake, for he really had been shot in the stomach and looked quite dead already. The army just blinked.

Do you want to be full-dead? Morfran shot him a sharp look when the moan didn’t budge the soldiers. Act like a corpse starving for the living already!

Bill rolled his eyes and groaned louder, waddling forward like a lethal creature from hell.

Killian’s army let out screams of horror, backing away.

“Rise, my army!” Morfran shouted to his men behind him. Invigorated by their enemies’ screams, those who’d been thudded with arrows slowly shambled to their feet, letting out true groans and wails of pain that sounded terrifying to their enemies. In the midst of the triumphant chaos, Morfran even saw a horse dragging itself forward, its tongue lolling out of its agape, bleeding mouth. It blew a raspberry at a nearby archer, who dropped his bow and leapt into his nearest neighbor’s arms for safety.

“It isn’t possible.” Killian was still in denial. “Lord Morfran wiped all necromancers out of the kingdom. I was there with him as he did it.”

“Yes, well.” Morfran rubbed his neck. “He missed one.”

Meanwhile, Bronwen continued chucking boomberries at the army, their explosions rattling the ground. Enemy soldiers continued to go flying. Their arrows fell wayward.

Sandwiched between the walking dead and a half-naked woman making the ground go boom, Killian was forced into a corner. He gritted his teeth, yanked his horse’s reins, and finally gave the orders. “Retreat! Retreat! Your miserable lives depend on it! Retreat!”

His men didn’t need to be told thrice; they had already turned to flee on the first retreat. Morfran kept his sword held high, whispering to the groaning men behind him, “Don’t die just yet, you bags of flesh. Some are still watching.”

Indeed, there were. The majority of the army was thundering away on their horses. Some were fleeing on foot. Two or three kept looking back, so Bronwen tossed another berry in their general direction to get them to pick up the pace, and the moment the ground exploded, they had vanished in a plume of debris and smoke. Only Killian continued glancing back, glowering at Morfran, to the point that he began to worry he recognized him.

But no. Morfran’s hood was still up. His hair was shoulder-length now, and he had a beard. And he wasn’t in his black leather pants. Killian was just shooting him death glares because Morfran had beaten him and he was a sore loser.

The army quickly cleared away. Cheers arose from the rebel caravan. Two of the nearest men slapped Morfran on the back in gratitude, which made him groan himself in pain due to his shoulder wound, but also made him feel…

Good. He felt like he was floating, and he realized he didn’t find the rebels who were cheering and pumping their fists in the air quite as annoying as before. Especially when Bronwen swung off her horse, rushing to him with bright eyes.

“Did you see me? You saw, right?” She spanned out her arms and turned for him, beaming. “Not a single arrow hit me! Not one!”

He couldn’t help but grin back at her. She’d been fearless at his suggestion, and not only had she distracted Killian’s army, but she’d also been pivotal in saving their lives and chasing the enemy off as well. That was in addition to them having found a potential loophole of her hex.

It was, all in all, extraordinarily admirable, and he found he couldn’t keep his eyes off her, especially when she turned and the sweet smell of posies drifted off her. How she smelled like flowers after a bloody battle, he didn’t understand, but neither did he complain. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, if a little shyly. “For suggesting that I try to kill myself.” She paused upon hearing how it sounded. “Not like that,” she stammered. “I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” he assured her, before his eyes fell, and he realized she was still in her underwear. He averted his eyes. “Um, here.” He swept his cloak off and set it over her shoulders.

She flushed, but only for a moment.

“Bernard.” She stiffened, catching sight of his shoulder. Blood was leaking down his torso and arm. “You got shot.”

“Shoulder shot. They’re never fatal.” He spotted Brim riding up the end of the canyon wall and added, “See?”

Brim had suffered not one but two shoulder shots on either side. As he joined them, he, too, did what Morfran had done and yanked the arrows out in dismissal. Despite the victory, there was worry in his eyes.

The battle was won temporarily, he said; Killian’s army had fled in the direction of Redmoth. They’d most likely seek refuge there, board the city walls, and a siege would be imminent. The rebels didn’t have enough men for a siege, not with the number who’d been skewered with arrows in the recent battle.

“Our second caravan is still several miles behind, if we wanted our backup army to join us,” Brim fretted. “But we can’t have Killian and his men reaching those walls. Should we rush them now? While they’re in retreat?”

Morfran considered it for a few seconds. Their front caravan—which held their best and quickest riders—had suffered losses and injuries, both too great for an advance. But their second caravan was too far behind, and they didn’t have time. He released an irritated sigh. Redmoth was only a few miles away. They’d been so close.

“I say we rush them now!” Gueldefore hurried up on his noble steed, sword out, blood splattered on his eager, strangely lit face. “While we are still fresh with victory. Brim, let me lead those still capable to mow down Killian’s army. We have the advantage. They’re afraid of us.”

It was Morfran who Brim looked to for guidance.

“No.” Morfran’s mind was running at a rapid pace. “Killian’s men may have fled, but they still outnumber us two to one. And he wasn’t happy to retreat. If we go after him, he’ll have his men attack, regardless of whether or not they’re afraid.”