Through Spartan's eyes, Michael studied each figure in turn.
It didn't take long for Michael to mark one the leader.
It was the one with the basin.
Then, with a single silent pulse across the link, Michael commanded his undead to strike.
The six armored figures moved as one.
The nearest undead seized the first robed mage by the skull and twisted. There was no surprise—only a dull crunch as the man's neck snapped cleanly.
Another undead caught a second by both shoulders and jerked hard to the side, the impact breaking bone. A third robed figure fell limply under a crushing blow to the base of the neck.
The fourth and fifth died almost in the same heartbeat—one throat crushed under a mailed fist, the other's skull caved in with a punch.
Only the leader remained.
Michael's awareness flowed like water through the six bodies.
