Five men covered head to tow in streel advanced on the dead men. Great swords over their shoulders. The evenings rains streamed off the armor. Great helms covered the men's faces. The only distinguishing features were the yellow Tabards and ribbons hanging from shoulders.
Scab saw the cloth. The sword wielding sun stitched into it touched something in the rotting priest. That heraldry had a hatred for it that didn't belong to Scab. Some rotten memory of its body new it and cursed it. The swords and the faceless men were familiar to the rotten body if not the mind found at the border.
The undead creature never needed a reason to savage the living. It new hatred well. It hated the orange coats. Its father gave it that. This hatred belongs to its body and was almost personal.
Scab collected the cavalryman's saber. He pointed it at the men in armor. The fifteen walking corpses stood from the feast of men and horses. Bellies full of flesh and liquid unlife. They began to shuffle at the armored men who ready their great swords. Scab looked on waiting for the men to run from his little troop of dead men.
"Forward!" shouted the man at the center of the formation. His shoulder ribbon was decorated with a gold lion. On his order the knights charged the dead men their great swords dripping with rainwater.
"Raww!" screamed the men as they ran. The gold lion split the first corpse before him in two from head two ass. The other knights rushed after him with the same force.
Scab watched the armored men fight his servants. One decapitated the first and was surprised to find the headless corps still eager to take him to tackle him to the street. It grabbed him but could not throw him of balance without the help of a second walking corpse. The two corpses pounded at the armored man with their fists to no effect. The downed knight punches from his back his steel gauntlets shattering rotten bones and muscle. The two assaulting corpses found themselves shattered leaking the liquid unlife from ruptured organs and squirming muscle. The night stood up and drew the short sword at his waist to see that the pack of dead men vanquished by the other knights.
Scab ran down an alley stolen saber in hand. The armored men had ripped his solders to useless pieces. He could not hurt them in their armor, and they were good enough fighters to turn the unliving into piles of twitching limbs and meat. Even the man they had knocked down had survived.
"Hura!" shouted the armored men behind him.
The hatred Scab felt turned his rotten legs stop. Its rotten brain felt rage like it never had before. How dare they win again. I cannot let them celebrate a victory. The dead priest felt the need to go back.
"No Scab," his fathers voice echoed in his mind. "You cannot win. Retreat wake more of the dead and come up with a plan."
"But father," complained Scab. "They must die!"
"Then do as I say," ordered his father. "Neither you nor I could beat those men as we are. They would not let me drain them easily. Your stolen blade would not do much against their armor. Unless you have inherited great skill in swordsmanship from beyond."
"Raaaaghhhhh!" screamed Scab in defeat.
"So be it father," said Scab to its father. "I will raise more and begin my scheming. I will scour the city of life to fuel our forces. I will devour those traitorous knights father."
"We will," said his father. "I have a plan already. Do not harm my living servants. Beat me to finding them before I kill them with disease."
"So be it father," answered Scab.
The dead man found the intact corpse of a woman. The wight vomited the liquid unlife in his guts into the corpse. The dead woman stood and began to follow its master. Scab called the rest of his walking corpses to him. The cavalry was still riding through night. Stray animals roamed the streets. The Yourz was still full of life. The streets were also full of the slaughtered. If he could rase enough corpses to flood the knights he could force the knights to the ground and stab them through the eye slits. Eating them was not possible not through the armor. If he could find where they slept, he might kill them in their sleep. Those men couldn't sleep in that armor or eat. Mortal men must eat. If he found were, they keep their food he could eat it first or poison it. Either would kill or weaken them. Father was right he would have to find it first.
The sound of the Knights cheering in the distance. Scab hated it. How his rotting heart hated it.