Pool of Twilight - James M. Ward [111]
The massive, ironbound Death Gates had been called by many names in the past-Fire Dragon Gates, Ogre's Bane Gates, Giant's Doom Gates. But finally they had simply come to be called the Death Gates, for again and again armies of evil had broken and perished against them.
But not this time. Rusted and worm-eaten, the Death Gates had decayed along with the rest of the city, and no one had bothered to repair them. As the throng of zombies surged forward, the huge gates groaned. More zombies pressed against them, and more, trampling each other to pulp as they pushed at the portal.
Finally, the Death Gates exploded in a spray of rotting timber. Zombies streamed into the abandoned city. Those thieves who had chosen to linger behind and fill their pockets soon regretted their decision as they were torn limb from limb. In minutes all of Phlan was awash with zombies. Only one bastion of resistance remained, and it was upon this that the army of undead finally converged.
The temple of Tyr.
As he watched the zombie horde approach, Anton found himself wondering for the hundredth time how the Hammerseeker and his companions fared. But there was no way to know. Sendara's runestones had revealed nothing. They could only hope that Kern was even now on his way back to the city. It was their only chance. If the temple fell before the hammer was returned, Phlan would be wiped off the face of Toril forever.
"Help us, Tyr." Anton muttered a prayer. "Help us to hold on."
Six other clerics ascended the walls to stand beside Anton. Below, Tarl led a dozen more clerics in the chants that lent magical strength to the gray stone walls and the huge iron gates. At last the horde of undead reached the temple, filling the air with their foul reek.
Anton gazed at the attackers in horror. He had seen corpses raised from the grave before, and though the sight had been unpleasant, it was nothing compared to the throng of abominations he saw before him now.
These zombies were mockeries of living beings, fused from the disparate pieces of myriad creatures as if they had been pasted together by a madman. A snarling elf possessing arms that ended, not in hands, but in the snapping heads of vipers. An undead lion with the rotting upper bodies of three bow-wielding halflings protruding from its back. A gigantic spider, its head that of a beautiful, pale-skinned woman, but its eyes the mindless, many-faceted orbs of an insect. And still more and worse that made Anton sick even to look.
"In the name of Tyr, return to the graves that spawned you, creatures of evil!" Anton boomed, raising his arms above his head. The six clerics flanking him followed suit. Shimmering blue light glowed around their fingertips.
A score of zombies in the lead abruptly collapsed into heaps of dust, destroyed by the holy power of Tyr, but more zombie abominations lurched forward to take the place of those that had been eliminated.
"Come, clerics of Tyr!" a goblin fused to the back of a decomposing wolf cackled with a dirty grin. "Come, join us."
"Why do you resist?" a mold-covered woman with scorpion tails for hair called in a syrupy voice. "If you fight us, you will perish, and then your bodies will be fused to ours. Whether you resist or not, inevitably you will join us."
A cacophony rose from the surging throng. "Join us! Joined to us! Join us!"
Anton gagged in revulsion. "Let Tyr's power strengthen you!" he called to the clerics beside him. All raised their arms once more, calling down the holy wrath of their god. Again, an entire rank of zombies exploded into clouds of choking dust.
Still more shambled forward, jeering at the clerics of Tyr.
Again, Anton and the six clerics