I have no left garrisons of soulless at the hamlet and farm near the colossal base, since the Colossus cannot be relied on to keep watch. I had just managed to retake the coal mine after a dispossessed spirit scared all the workers away and was in the process of tidying things up when the scout alerted me and the undead back to the surface.
At first I had no idea what he was about as he pointed out across the plain toward the Capitol ruins. Then I raised my eyes up from the ground level.
Whatever those things are, they grow from the same twisted root as all the other things I have seen in that benighted place. As they drifted across the plains, it became clear that they were quite large and nothing to dismiss lightly.
However, monsters or not, I have for some time now had enough hands of glory for a more powerful summoning, and I refuse to put it off any longer! It will take those floating things time to arrive and so I made preparations for my ritual.
There is a precise configuration to the patterns one must place the hands of glory, each holding a candle made from corpse fat. A precise order in which to light the candles that will then burn down and ignite the hands in their turn while the summoning incantation is recited.
The preparations took the better part of a week and checking that everything was in order required more time. Finally, the time arrived. As night fell and darkness shrouded the land, my undead servants took positions around my circle while I lit the candles and began chanting.
An hour passed as the candles burned down, then two. Then, in sequence, they burned down to the stubs and the flames ignited the hands, calling the spirits of the Netherworld to do my bidding, to bring me allies. A chill wind blew, laden with the whispers from beyond, then stilled. Followed by... Silence.
The hands of glory were consumed, nothing remaining but blackened outlines on the ground, were there but light to see it, yet there was not, for the night was moonless and overcast. Darkness deep enough not to see your hand in front of your face, the only light coming from the torches at the entrance of the mine some distance away. Silence quiet as a tomb, no sound of nightbirds or anything else. As if the world were dead.
It was faint at first, the sound, coming up from the dark plains. A rhythmic, staccato tapping. It grew to a pounding beat against the ground, accompanied by the jingle of harness and armor. The thundering gallop approached closer and closer, up the road toward the mine then past the entrance and a looming patch of darkness obscured the lights.
The horseman reined in outside the patterned circle of burnt hands, then vaulted off the massive charger. The bulk of heavy armor in outline, a faint suggestion of a horned helmet could be seen against the gleam of torches, a gleam of cerulean pinpoints behind the visor. The warrior stood in silence for a long moment.
Then he knelt, bowed his head and spoke, in a voice hollow with death: "Master. I am Cernetu and I have come to serve."
We spoke of the plans to come long into the small hours of the night, in the light of a banefire kindled in the circle by my art. With the light of dawn, the scout and the remaining spearman ventured outside with the mine workers. One could see them struggle to overcome the urge to run in the opposite direction. Finally their courage and knowledge of my high regard for them won out. It was a different story with the mine workers. I doubt they will peek so much as an eyelash out before we are long gone from here.
It is now time to remove the danger of those floating things. With Cernetu at my side, it will be far less costly than it would otherwise be.