Chapter One: The Diversion

“They’re not baying.” Vallyn stepped out from behind the boulder and peered out at the grassland. “Does that bother anyone else? Shouldn’t they be howling at us?”

Elyana had no time to waste educating the young bard. There were but a few minutes left before the hounds would reach them.

She’d caught sight of the animals almost a half hour ago as she and her four companions fled across the grasslands of southern Galt. The seemingly inexhaustible hounds had slowly gained on their horses, and the party had finally picked out a rise from which to make a stand. It would be a near thing, as the bard was little use at range and Mirelle no use at all. Edak was an accomplished bowman and would have been a great asset, but he was still at home recovering from their last foray into Galt.

Stelan stepped up beside the bard and raised a hand to visor his face against the sinking sun. Tall and sturdy, he wore banded chain mail that hung below his waist. Normally the knight kept it immaculate, but after the tumultuous events of the last few days, it was rent in numerous places, and stained with coppery red splashes that resembled rust. “Elyana will take out as many as she can at long range,” he told the group. “Then she and I will try to get them to cluster for Arcil.”

Elyana looked up from the arrows she was planting in a row before her. “I’ll take the left flank.”

“Good.” Stelan smiled grimly. “I’ll take the right.”

Elyana rose in time to see Arcil acknowledge Stelan’s plan with a regal nod. The wizard’s traveling clothes were as rumpled and stained as the rest of theirs, but they had begun life as expensive garments tailored for his frame, and they still suited him. With his gray-flecked hair and proud nose he looked more like a wandering aristocrat than an accomplished mage.

“But then what?” Vallyn asked. He gazed apprehensively out at the wedge-shaped formation of hounds sprinting forward through the high grass. “How can they keep running like that?” He was young and wide-eyed, and though he was shorter than the rest of them Elyana thought he still looked gangly. Everything he carried seemed a little too large for him, from clothes to sword, and only the lute slung over his back looked as if it belonged on his person.

“They’re dead,” Arcil said in his low, smooth voice. “They need neither breath nor rest.”

“Dead?” Vallyn repeated.

Elyana saw that the youth’s eyes had widened even further, and she shot Arcil a warning look. She could see the hint of a sly smile playing at the corner of the wizard’s mouth.

“Galt is a land brimming with the dead,” Arcil continued, unfazed.

“Thanks to the Galtan justice,” Mirelle said bitterly.

“Yes,” Arcil agreed. The wizard was frequently cold to those he felt beneath him—which was nearly everyone—but with Mirelle he was somewhat solicitous, as if he worked to foster good feelings. Elyana supposed the extra effort stemmed from the blonde’s pretty features. When they had released her from the Galtan cell, Mirelle shyly confided that she’d had to scrounge amongst cast-off garments thrown into her cell after her own had been torn and soiled during her capture. Probably she had noticed Arcil staring at her tight bodice.

“Galtans hate wasting resources,” Arcil said. “Their Gray Gardeners have grown quite practiced at necromancy.”

“So how do we fight them?” Vallyn asked nervously.

“We do as I say,” Stelan said patiently. “We’ll funnel them so that they charge the easiest part of the slope, in a mass.” Stelan pointed Vallyn to the gap between a large boulder and a sprawling thicket they themselves had passed through to reach to the summit. “Arcil can then work his magics, and you can work yours. If there are any left, you let me stand the front as they charge. If I can’t hold the line alone, move up beside me. If they flank us, we form a circle. Clear enough?”

Vallyn nodded hurriedly.

“Mirelle, you stay clear, with the horses.”

The girl’s bright eyes fastened upon the knight. But then, she had been watching the knight since her rescue the night before. He was not an especially good-looking man, owing in part to his broken nose, but his ease at command had exerted a powerful effect on the pretty teenager. Elyana was not sure why this bothered her, as Stelan had shown Mirelle nothing but appropriate kindness, and she supposed that it tied directly into her certainty that she, as an elf, would eventually lose her human lover one way or another.

“I hesitate to advise another spellcaster,” Arcil was saying to Vallyn, “but remember that charm spells will not work upon the dead.”

“They don’t?” Vallyn sounded almost as if he wished to complain about the fairness of the issue.

“They don’t,” Elyana confirmed. “Stelan, it’s nearly time.”

“Stand ready, everyone. Mirelle, it’s time to move. Back near the picket lines, please.”

The girl obligingly obeyed.

“Elyana,” Vallyn asked quietly, “how far away do you think the rest of the Galtans are?”

He had asked her that several times since they had stopped. Only Elyana’s eyesight was keen enough to occasionally detect the distant pursuers, though all of them had known they would be followed. The bard had been all for pushing on for the border, no matter that the others told him the Galtans could hardly be expected to stop pursuit there. Even if they reached a Taldan fortress, it would most likely be abandoned, and border patrols in the northeast were a rarity. So there would be no outside aid short of a miracle. They’d have to deal with the Galtan posse themselves. Somehow.

Elyana lifted her bow and arrow and studied the onrushing hounds. Their hides were a uniform dark brown, flecked with white and crimson. They did not vie for first position or race with one another; they maintained precise order and formation. “Three dozen,” she said. And then, scanning the dry, rolling plain for a cloud raised by horsemen, she answered Vallyn. “We have at most three-quarters of an hour.”

“At the least?”

“Just over a quarter-hour.”

She heard the dry grass rustle as the bard stepped away, and then she centered the whole of her attention upon the targets. She’d elected to use the diminished stock of her own arrows first, for the greater distance shots, as she had crafted them herself and knew their capabilities. Those they’d lifted from the bodies of the Galtan guards were a little longer than she used with her own pull, and were hastily, if efficiently, made.

Vallyn had recently described an attack by her as a storm of arrows. This time, though, she took careful aim before launching. The opening arrow arced up and out, then slammed straight through the shoulder blade of the leading hound. The impact spun it into the one on its right, breaking the formation. In the brief moment when she paused to set her next arrow, order was restored, and the struck hound ran on, the arrow sticking up like a decorative flag. She was glad Vallyn couldn’t see that. The young man was still quite green, and prone to panic. Her second shot caught the creature near the same place, and this time it stumbled and rolled. It struggled to rise for a time as its companions ran straight over it, then lay motionless as their repeated footfalls flattened its chest cavity.

She accounted for seven more before the things closed to medium range. She left three of her own arrows in reserve and shifted over to the Galtan supply as her love lifted his own bow. She and Stelan kept up a steady barrage, whittling down the numbers.

“They’re hideous,” Vallyn said. He had climbed to the top of the rounded boulder.

He was right; from closer on she could see the gaps in their flesh where ribs showed through, and the missing ears and rotted noses. Elyana saw now that their uniform appearance was deceptive. They might once have had different color fur, but their coats had rotted away to reveal stringy muscles to which occasional patches of blackened skin still hung.

“Oh, nicely done,” Arcil said, stepping forward. He advanced on Stelan’s left to gain a clear view, whispering into the air and twisting his hand. Something resembling a red bead surrounded by a scarlet nimbus of energy floated up from the tips of his extended digits, hung glowing for a moment, then soared out toward the oncoming abominations.

He had timed his attack with precision. Just as the front animals came within fifty feet of the hill, the bead reached them, flaring into a massive ball of flame.

Those in the front rank were instantly reduced to charred black powder and bone fragments. Others ran on, burning like candles until they collapsed under the consuming red tongues of fire. Many fell, though their limbs thrashed long after a living creature would have perished, powered as they were by arcane energies.

A handful of the creatures escaped the damage, fanning out into a line but maintaining a regular distance from one another. Blazes sputtered in the grasses around a blasted center, though the wind was not high enough for it to spread swiftly.

Elyana sighted along her bow as a hound darted toward her side of the hill. Smoke was already curling skyward, marking their positions for the Galtan troop. She heard Stelan calling out to the god Abadar to give him strength.

Her arrow took the thing low in the haunches, for it had sprung unexpectedly far after it clawed for purchase up the first third of the steep slope. Her second arrow drilled down through one blank eye socket, and the creature rolled lifeless all the way to the bottom.

She spun at a warning cry from Mirelle. One of the hounds had bounded up the trail only to be blasted by forked lightning cast from Arcil’s outstretched hand. It lay smoking just a couple swordspans before the wizard. Three others had come up along the less vertiginous right side; Stelan dropped his bow and advanced to meet them.

Elyana nocked an arrow and followed him with her aim. Stelan swung against one from which two arrows already stood out, slicing it neatly in half. She was just about to let fly against another when the bard dropped into the fray, teeth gritted, and swung his own blade. It was a decent slash and might have sent a living beast cowering, but the unclean thing simply sprang for his sword arm and clamped down.

To Vallyn’s credit, he didn’t scream, but the arch of his back spoke volumes. Elyana skewered the third hound with two swift shots before it too could leap on the bard, and Stelan stepped in to slice the head off Vallyn’s attacker.

Stelan took a guarded step back and looked over the battle scene. Fire was spreading slowly through the high grass, and the horses picketed at the rear of the hill whinnied nervously.

“That’s all of them,” Stelan said after a brief inspection. He then turned to Vallyn.

Elyana had already set down her bow to attend the bard. Now the young man dropped his sword. Jaw clenched, he stared almost dully at his right arm. The sleeve of his tunic was wet with blood, which streamed down toward his fingers. She didn’t remind Vallyn that he probably should have stayed back, as commanded, because he surely realized it now. It had been clear that Stelan was not going to be overrun.

“Is he alright?” Mirelle asked.

Arcil’s answer was immediate. “He should be fine.”

“Here,” Elyana said, and she gently took the bloodstained hand with her left and gripped Vallyn’s bicep with her right. She pushed all else from her mind—the snorting of the frightened horses, the crackle of the devouring fire, the rapid breathing of the frightened youth. The wound was deeper than she had thought, but with concentrated effort she was able to extend her energies first to knit the surface flesh, then to join the muscles beneath. It was still not quite enough, so she took a deep breath and extended her powers a second time.

“Elyana is better in the woods than any cityborn Galtan. But is it enough?”

The bard laughed then, and his face lit in a winning grin. “Thanks, Elyana.” He flexed his fingers. “I can’t play without my right arm…” He trailed off, and his face fell. “Is something wrong?”

She had been staring, for the boy’s face was beaded in sweat. He did not look like someone recovering from exertion, but someone who was still undergoing it. Wordless, she stepped up to him and set her hand against his neck.

“What is it?” Stelan asked.

“Rapid heartbeat,” she reported. “Rapid breathing.”

“We just finished a battle,” Stelan countered reasonably.

“Sweat’s pouring off of him.”

Arcil cursed under his breath. “He’s been infected. You should have stayed back, boy.”

“Infected?” Vallyn said queasily.

“How do you feel?” Elyana stepped back to look at his eyes. The black centers had near swallowed the brown.

“A little dizzy,” Vallyn answered. “And a little tired. I’m going to be okay, though, right?”

That sort of magic was beyond her; she said nothing .

He licked his lips, then brushed them with trembling hands.

“Sit down against the boulder for a minute,” Stelan said. “Mirelle, help him drink this.” He handed his winesac off to the girl and motioned the others over to him.

Stelan wasted no time. They had planned on finishing the hounds and climbing immediately back into the saddle to keep ahead of the beasts’ deadlier masters. “How bad is he?” he asked.

“Not good. The poison works quickly. He needs a real healer.”

“Is this a mortal wound?” For once, Arcil actually sounded worried.

“It will be.” Elyana answered.

Stelan frowned. “There’s that little village just the other side of the border.”

She shook her head. “If we lead the Galtans there, they’ll level the place.”

“They have that old healer,” Stelan reminded her.

She had not forgotten, for the woman had once saved a very badly wounded Stelan from a deep spear thrust.

“She’s the only one I know of anywhere nearby,” Stelan finished.

“We can hold off the Galtans if they come,” Arcil said confidently.

“I’m not sure we can, Arcil.” Stelan cast a glance back to Vallyn and Mirelle. The girl looked back at them, clearly more concerned now than she had been during the attack, for the young man was shivering even under the cloak she had cast over him.

Arcil’s brows furrowed. “Surely they can’t be this desperate for the granddaughter of, of what—some minor noble? Why so much effort?”

The Galtans were a little mad in any case, and likely to track down any who escaped their warped sense of justice with extreme prejudice, but Elyana didn’t think that was why they were out in such force.

It was as if Stelan read her thoughts. “They’re after us, now. Your lightning blast cooked at least one Gray Gardener there near the gate, and, Abadar forgive me, I lost track of how many guardsmen I felled on the gallop out.”

Security around the bastille had been tighter than Elyana’s initial reconnaissance had led them to believe.

“Stelan’s right,” she said, and saw Arcil’s expression sour at that. “It’s revenge. Prestige. They wish to make an example of us.”

“Supposing that you are correct,” the wizard said, “what are we to do?”

Stelan frowned thoughtfully.

“I have a thought.” Elyana pointed southeast to the dark outline of the woods that encroached upon the plain only a few miles out. “You can ride with Vallyn for the border. One horse. I’ll take the rest of us south, into the Verduran Forest, and draw the Galtans after. We can lose them there.”

“Absolutely not,” Stelan told her. In answer to her probing look, he continued. “We were asked to free the girl. I cannot condone a detour into the forest when she is so very close to freedom. Our first duty is to her.”

“What about Vallyn?” Elyana asked.

Stelan’s frown deepened in consideration.

“You’re thinking we have to lose one or the other, but my plan can save them both.”

“It is a decent suggestion,” Stelan admitted, “but you are lighter, and swifter. You should take Vallyn.”

Arcil laughed shortly. “Elyana’s three times the woodsman you are. Woodswoman. What have you. Her plan makes better sense than yours, and you know it. She’ll run rings around a troupe of cityborn Galtans and lead us to safety after they’re hopelessly lost.”

“And what of you, and the girl?”

“We’ll be fine,” Elyana said. “We’ll ride out with four horses with tracks so obvious they can’t be missed.”

“All the better, so they don’t use magic to track us,” Arcil said.

Stelan did not waste much longer making his decision. He stepped over as if to explain the matter to Vallyn, but the young man was already sleeping.

“What’s going to happen?” Mirelle asked, looking back and forth between them.

Elyana spoke up. “We’re going to give the Galtans an obvious track to pursue us, while Stelan’s going to take Vallyn to a healer on our swiftest mount.”

“Don’t worry,” Arcil said. He smiled in an awkward semblance of comfort, and ended up looking sly instead. “Elyana will lose them in the forest, and we’ll ride safely away.”

Elyana was pleased to note the girl’s courage. Mirelle did not voice her worries, she merely nodded. “Will Vallyn be all right?”

“I will see to it,” Stelan said.

He cast off his armor and extra gear while Elyana helped Mirelle strip Vallyn of all equipment but his lute. Stelan then climbed into the saddle and beckoned for Elyana and Arcil to hand up the bard, which they did.

The young man mumbled feebly at them before settling against Stelan’s chest. The knight sat grim and statue-straight in the saddle. “May Abadar protect you,” he said. He then locked eyes with Elyana. Stelan had never been comfortable with public displays of affection between them more prominent than handholding, and his long look was warning and farewell and an expression of deepest love all in one. After a moment he kicked his stallion into a start downslope, moving swiftly to a gallop. He passed the screen of flame and then darted southwest.

Elyana did her best to rub out the tracks, though she grew increasingly concerned about the Galtans. The grass was not dry enough beyond the rise to maintain the blaze, and without any real wind, the fire was dying. When Arcil, watching from the height of the hill, announced that he saw riders, she knew it was past time to leave. The wizard had notoriously bad eyesight.

She leapt into the saddle of her palomino gelding and urged the others to hurry. “Run them hard the whole of the way,” she instructed. “And spread out. We want to show them as many clear tracks as possible.”

“Have no fear,” Arcil told her. Mirelle only dipped her head in acknowledgment. Elyana watched them ride off toward the dark bulk of the woods, leading Vallyn’s riderless horse. She followed, halting only a hundred feet out to look back from a small rise. Already the hill where they’d made their stand seemed smaller. Beyond the long trail of dead hounds, feathered with arrow shafts, was a clump of blackened bodies. As unsettling as that was, she was even less pleased by the count of figures on the horizon. They rode at a trot, a swath of them numbering four dozen or more, the dust cloud kicked up by their travel stained red by the lowering sun. She hoped she had not oversold her prowess.

She clicked her tongue, and her horse shot down the slope and after the others, toward whatever the forest might bring.

Chapter Two: City of the Dead

“I don’t care for it at all.” Arcil had swung down from his horse to contemplate some glyphs carved into a stone pylon thrust into the ground beside an oak tree. It was tilted a few degrees off vertical, and pitted with age. Overhead, the leafy canopy was so thick it seemed twilight had already fallen.

Elyana was eager to keep moving; she meant to lose the Galtans only after she’d led them deeper into the woods, but she hadn’t reckoned on them pressing so close. Perhaps the sight of their quarry fleeing before them on the plain had excited them, for they were now crashing through the brush a few bowshots behind with almost reckless intensity. Yet her voice did not betray her concern. “What do they say?”

“This is old, and marks a boundary. A warding, perhaps?” Arcil brushed at some moss with two fingers to better view one of the glyphs.

“A warding for what?” Mirelle asked. She glanced over her shoulder, apparently more focused on the noises of their pursers. Her horse shifted uneasily beneath her, stirring the leaves with its hooves.

“These are more initials than words,” Arcil said hesitantly. “I’m not certain I can correctly infer the meaning.”

He sounded as if he knew something and did not wish to say it. “Speak, Arcil. We’ve no time to waste.”

He glanced up at her and then brushed fingers over the three uppermost glyphs. “I think this means ‘the walkers.’” He stood, frowning, and brushed leaves and dirt from his pants. He passed close to Elyana, speaking softly as he glanced up. “Walkers from the crypt.”

“What was that?” Mirelle asked, straining forward, her face screwed up with worry.

“We’re in this together,” Elyana said to Arcil. “You might as well tell her what you’re thinking.”

Arcil climbed back into his saddle, sighing a little. “I think we’re heading toward an old burial ground. We’re being warned away. It’s likely some local superstition.”

“Looks like we’ll find out.” Elyana started forward. She planned to keep moving south, into the woods. Come nightfall, she’d use her better vision and skills to cut west from the forest. She doubted even the best-trained Galtan woodsmen could keep up with them in darkness. More troubling was what a Galtan necromancer could do with a whole graveyard beneath his feet. Hopefully his selection of spells would be as limited as Arcil’s after a full day of work. Surely it had been no easy feat to send so many hounds against them, even if he were a caster of great power.

She guided her charges on, ignoring the occasional grunt or low oath from behind her. The humans didn’t always notice the branches she ducked.

Occasional gaps in the forest canopy allowed wide shafts of evening light to stream in, but far from reassuring, the muted illumination served only to emphasize the greater darkness around them. There was a silence here. The bird calls had diminished.

“I don’t like this place,” Mirelle announced quietly.

“Do not worry, my dear,” Arcil told her. “Do not worry.”

He sounded less soothing than patronizing.

They continued a gradual decent, and then, suddenly, arrived at what Elyana first took as the forest’s edge, though she knew intellectually that the Verduran Forest stretched south for hundreds of miles. Slipping from her horse, she advanced to find instead that they had arrived at the edge of a small, crescent-shaped valley mysteriously bereft of trees. Within it were scattered the bones of a small city. Long-shattered stone walls stood out from the gnarled bushes. Paving stones showed gray here and there beneath the undergrowth and detritus. A few buildings were intact, notably a tower near the center, but most were fallen in, and all of the roofs had collapsed long ago.

The abandoned city felt even more desolate than the surrounding woods, and she thought first to skirt it, then reasoned that she could use the place to better confuse their pursuit. She even briefly considered wearing away their numbers from the defensible positions at hand.

They wound deep into the ruins, Elyana leading the way, and the silence here was so deep the sounds of the Galtan mob were quickly lost to her behind crumbling walls marred by thick vines . The sun sank lower, and twilight came on at last. Elyana had been raised by humans and was well acquainted with their instinctive fear of the dark. Still, she was surprised to hear the soft but clear concern in Arcil’s voice.

“Elyana.”

She looked back at him, saw him paused at a turn down a winding, cobbled road angling for the tower. Mirelle had paused beside him.

“What is it?” she called back.

“Something… someone… waved for me to follow.”

There was no time for hesitation. Not hearing the Galtans made her more concerned about their position. If they reached the valley before her team cleared it…

Yet it was unlike Arcil to sound so indecisive. Or troubled. “A Galtan?” she asked.

“Arcil may not be as suave as he thinks he is, but he’s a good man to have in a fight.”

“I think it may have been a ghost,” Arcil admitted.

“You’re sure you saw it?” Elyana asked.

“I am not entirely sure, no,” he said, sounding a little defensive. “I saw something from the corner of my eye, and when I turned to look directly, it was gone.”

Elyana frowned. Arcil was not especially prone to flights of fancy, but a more urgent threat loomed. “Let’s press on,” Elyana said. Reluctantly, she noted a new chill in the air and their mounts’ ears swiveling nervously to catch no sounds but their own.

As they passed beneath the dark silhouette of the tower, Elyana herself glimpsed a figure standing in the gap between two craggy walls. It had the semblance a man, garbed in a white robe and motioning them onward, but before she could properly focus, it vanished.

At that same moment, from somewhere far behind came a masculine scream and a cacophony of shouting and clashing arms. The Galtans?

“What’s happening?” Mirelle gasped.

Elyana pulled her horse around, but before she could locate a vantage point to investigate the distant struggle, a shadowy figure lurched up from the darkness on their right. The horses shied, laying back their ears, and Mirelle stifled a scream.

It lacked a head. Behind it, striding out from the yawning maw of a ruined building, were a half-dozen helmed figures in broken armor. There limbs were nothing but bone.

Elyana cursed. “Time to go!” Her horse was eager to race ahead, and Mirelle and Arcil followed. They quickly outdistanced the dead, but as Elyana continued down the street, more dark figures shambled out of the darkness.

“This does not seem to be Galtan necromancy,” Arcil shouted up to her.

He was right. Although she supposed that some Galtan soldier might have shouted because he was frightened by the horrific power wielded by one of their mages, the sounds of battle had been unmistakable. The Galtans were fighting these corpses. More likely this was what the markers had been set to warn visitors away from.

“We ride, fast as we dare,” she said. “Out of this valley. Follow me.”

She darted down a winding side street, urging her horse to leap over something she took for rubbish in the middle of the street until it rose up, waving a notched sword. She pulled back instead and her animal reared, striking the thing with its front hooves. The dead warrior was flung backward, shedding bones as it flew through the air. It struck the street with a muffled clatter and did not rise.

Other shapes were slipping from the ruins. Some strode confidently, bearing weapons. Other shambled. A few were completely intact, but most were missing limbs, or even heads. And all advanced toward them.

She came to a halt and the others drew up near her. “I’ve few grand spells left, Elyana,” Arcil said soberly.

“Then we shall cut a swathe.” She drew her blade, a comforting weight in her hand.

“We cannot hope to destroy enough of them,” Arcil said, gesturing around at the gloom alive with shambling movements. “What about the ghost?”

Elyana considered the overwhelming number of foes. “What about the ghost?”

“Suppose it meant to guide us to safety? It was the only one of these that did not attack.”

True enough, but that didn’t mean it intended no harm. However, there had been a tower nearby, which at least had the benefit of being a more defensible point. It had appeared intact, and was much closer than the crumbling walls that marked the city’s edge. “Ride for the tower,” she commanded. Her horse reared again as she turned it.

“Let me clear a way,” Arcil shouted, and Elyana reined in. Mirelle looked on with wide eyes as the figures shambled ever nearer. The horses danced nervously.

When Arcil shouted and cast, his horse shied, but the sudden movement did not interfere with the tiny ball that left his hands. A moment later dozens of the corpses were wrapped in a sheath of expanding fire. So sudden and explosive was the blast that it destroyed them utterly, as if the street had temporarily been touched by the light of the sun. Unfortunately, other dead were already moving to take their place.

Elyana kicked her horse into gallop, sword outstretched to catch the corpses converging on their path some lengths beyond the reach of Arcil’s flame. Behind her, Arcil grunted as he laid about with his staff. From Mirelle she heard only shouted commands to the horse. Elyana had no choice but to release Vallyn’s mount, which in any case galloped after its fellows, trying to stay within the relative safety of its herd.

Elyana cut her way forward and slowed just two crumbling buildings away from their destination. Arcil shouted something from her left, and wind rolled forth from his hands, pushing a skeletal assailant into two of its neighbors, tangling all three in a heap of rotting limbs.

“Hurry,” Arcil cried, and they pressed forward. Elyana chanced a glance behind at Mirelle, who frantically kicked a grasping, headless woman away and then saw Vallyn’s horse go down under a pile of scrambling bodies. The horse screamed again and again, and Elyana gritted her teeth.

There must be hundreds of these animated dead throughout the ruins. There would be no way to gallop through them. She wondered if she and Arcil would be able to hold them off long enough even to trap themselves in a high tower room. The mage had already worn through many of his spells. Provided they could even make it to the tower, the poor horses were probably done for.

“One side,” Arcil snapped, and came up a bit ahead of Elyana. In his hand was the black wand they’d found in the river king’s tomb. He shouted a single word, and instantly a wall of flame licked into existence along their left, consuming the first two rows of dead. Arcil spun in his saddle and shouted again to right, and then behind. The flames burned on, and a charred, acrid smell washed over them. The horses screamed and rolled their eyes in terror.

“That,” Arcil said breathlessly, “is about all I’ve got.”

Their way forward was now free, and they kicked their frightened steeds into full flight. The corpses pressed forward determinedly into the flame, immune to fear or concern about their condition.

“Look at that, Elyana!” Arcil said.

The ghostly figure stood beckoning to them from a rotted doorway into the tower. This time it spoke in a strained voice, like a winter wind heard from a great distance. “Hurry.”

They arrived before the portal to the tower. Elyana’s horse uncharacteristically slid to a halt before the dark passage, despite her urgings. Arcil’s and Mirelle’s didn’t make it even that far, and Elyana heard a thump and an oath as Arcil was thrown from his beast. Elyana leapt down from the horse, keeping tight hold of the reins, and reached out to grab the bridle on Mirelle’s. “Go—inside!”

Mirelle slid off her mount and hesitated for only a moment before doing as she was told.

Arcil picked himself up, scowling and distinctly ruffled. His horse danced near the wall of flame, looking for an exit and keeping as far as possible from the tower.

“Arcil, hold this.” She handed him the reins to her horse while she threw her cloak over the head of Mirelle’s mount and led it in a circle, then into the tower itself. Elyana could barely see after the brightness without, but there was no sign of the ghost within the ebon gloom of the large chamber, which surely encompassed the whole diameter of the structure. She handed Mirelle the reins to her horse and hurried back to Arcil.

The flame walls were fading already as she emerged and saw Arcil struggling to copy her actions with his own cloak. With her assistance, they steered the animal inside while the third horse leapt over the diminishing fires into the crowd of dead, then died screaming under their blows.

Elyana briefly took in their surroundings. There was nothing within save some dilapidated shelving, some warped wooden planks—probably floorboards that had rotted out from the floors above—and a staircase leading up. As she studied this last, the ghost reappeared upon a stair. In the utter darkness, even the dim light of his transparent body shone like a beacon. For the first time she saw him clearly, a young man in a robe with great mournful eyes. He wore soft boots, and jeweled rings shown upon two of his fingers. He beckoned once toward them, turned upon the stair, and vanished again.

Elyana stepped back to the doorway, expecting to see the ranks of skeletons marching toward them. However, those few not milling over the remains of the dead horse seemed listless. Many simply sank back to the ground; others were wandering away.

“Well that’s quite interesting,” Arcil said. “I suppose that the tower’s warded against them. Or perhaps they’re unable to recognize intruders within the tower itself.”

“What do we do now?” Mirelle asked.

Elyana eyed the stairway. “I guess we go up.”

Chapter Three: Bones of the Fallen

Elyana withdrew a lantern from her saddlebag and Arcil used a cantrip to light it. With the wizard holding the lamp aloft, she did her best to calm the horses, distracting them with grain and securing their lead lines to some rusting sconces so that the animals would not wander off.

“What do you think the ghost wants?” Mirelle asked. She had been remarkably quiet, given her youth and the horrors she had witnessed. But then, she had probably endured plenty of horror in the prisons of Galt, awaiting execution because her uncle had once served the wrong noble. “Do you think it wants to hurt us?”

Arcil shook his head. “That’s unlikely. It need not have signaled us to safety at all. It was a near thing out there. Presumably, it wants to show us something. I’m concerned that if we do not accede to its demands, it may become much less amiable, and I’m not sure we have the strength to combat it.”

“My sword arm is still good,” Elyana said, though she was as tired as the rest of them.

“Well, my spells are nearly spent.”

“So you have said. How many charges are left in your wand?”

“Four. But a tower is a poor place to wield a wall of flame.”

“We will do what we have to do,” Elyana said. “For now, let us assume that he is a lord who has invited us to his tower. At the least, we owe him our thanks for that. Spirit or no.”

Arcil frowned, but said nothing more. Elyana took the lantern and started up.

The second floor was sagging and populated by great jagged gaps. There was no sign of the spirit there, so they kept moving upward, noting as they climbed that the third level was in even worse shape and was now largely open to the sky. The stairs continued on, spiraling up the tower’s outer wall to a flat area the width of the staircase and perhaps twice as long. There were no merlons, only a solid, waist-high wall along the rim of what had once been a fine observation deck.

The ghost stood looking over the city as they approached. He appeared to be a young man, translucent and mildly luminescent, in a finely edged robe and boots. A cold wind blew out from over the trees but did not stir his garments. He turned to regard them with sad eyes.

“So has it been for centuries,” he said. His voice was clear, cutting. The sound did not match the movement of his lips.

Arcil and Mirelle reached the parapet. The wizard advanced to Elyana’s side, but the girl waited upon the top stair, her hand clasped to the knife hilt that projected from her belt. Elyana wondered what she planned to do with it.

“We thank you for your aid,” Elyana said to the spirit, “and shelter.”

“It is my pleasure,” said the ghost, regarding them distantly, as if they were themselves transparent. “I wish you might have seen my city in its prime, for it was a lovely, well-watered land, blessed by the gods.”

“What happened to it?” Arcil asked. “And by what name are you called?”

This may not have been the most tactful introduction, Elyana thought, but the apparition registered no offense.

“Arcil’s right, of course—ghosts never appear unless they want something from you.”

“I am Lord Dolandryn,” he answered, “son of Telsek, grandson of Nylesos.” The ghost paused. “I see by your faces that you know them not.”

“We are not of this land,” Elyana replied.

“And you are not of my time. I have lost track of the centuries. How long has it been since I cursed this land, and my people, to everlasting death? Do you even track your years from the same point?” He turned away to gaze once more over the far-flung ruins.

“You did this?” Elyana could not keep the horror from her voice. She noted a few corpses still milling about at the foot of tower.

“The fault lies solely with me,” the ghost intoned mournfully, keeping his gaze without, “But this was not my intent.” He encompassed the whole of the valley with a sweep of his hand as he turned back to them. “I meant to preserve us.”

“How did this happen?” Arcil repeated.

“Surely, you have seen the beauty of my valley—its soil is fertile and forgiving. It was a blessed place. A desirable place. Folk fought for it many times over the centuries. In my time we repulsed invaders again and again, but our numbers became depleted. I lost my only brother, and every one of my first cousins.”

“We, too, have lost friend and loved ones,” Elyana said. “We understand your sorrow.”

“I thank you. I hope, then, that you might better understand my actions. My great uncle had many magical tomes locked away, and I threw myself into their study, thinking I might learn ways to better safeguard my people. I found one. It was my thought to use the remains of those who had attacked us as defense, but while the idea had merit, I could not long control those I called forth, nor command sufficient numbers to turn back invaders.”

“And this is the result?” Elyana asked.

“Not entirely. I learned of a tool that I could craft. With it under my power, I thought to control hundreds upon hundreds of the dead so that nothing could harm our valley ever again.”

The spirit’s voice took on a harder, almost maniacal edge to which Elyana paid careful heed.

“In the midst of my experiments came the raiders of the Veldur clan sweeping in on their horses. I used my tool before it was ready. It worked, you see—worked well. I felt my mind touch the empty vessels of the dead, and knew that I could command them. But they were not enough, and I called upon more, knowing as I did so that I stretched my power to the limits. I felt the Veldur falling before me. They were dying, and I was raising the fallen to fight against their fellows… and then everything passed from me.

I know now that I had pushed myself too far. When I was… aware, once more, I found myself as you see me now. The town was long abandoned, weeds growing up between the cobblestones. The living are fled. But the dead—the dead still rise, ready to do battle with all who enter the valley. Those living who fall are added to their number. I have seen…” His voice faltered. “I have seen my own people among the dead, folk that lived when I lived, and I think that they were destroyed when I lost control, but I do not know. I cannot know.”

“I am sorry,” Elyana told him, and she was, though it seemed trite to tell him so.

“Now I wish only for release,” the ghost continued. “For myself and for my land. But I cannot make it so. If I venture from the tower, I feel my mind fading, for the pull of the pendant I fashioned is too great. Yet I fear that if I return to it, it will consume me entirely, and perhaps extend the curse even farther.”

“Now we come to it,” Arcil said quietly, but Elyana ignored him. Sometimes his superior air was too much, even for her.

“Can you help me?” The ghost stepped forward, hands outstretched.

“How?” Elyana asked.

“It is the pendant that powers the sorcery. And I think it is the pendant that keeps me here. If it can be destroyed, then the dead will fall, forever. And I will finally be at peace.”

Elyana ignored Arcil’s knowing look and kept her eyes fixed on the ghost. “Where is the thing, and how can it be destroyed?”

The spirit turned from her and drifted over to the rim of the balcony, where it pointed back the way they had come.

“I can still sense it,” he said in his cold, lonely voice. “You, wizard, might be able to feel its power if you extended yourself. It must lie where my body lies. Only a magical weapon can destroy the pendant, for I shielded the thing against harm.”

Arcil glanced over to Elyana before speaking. “It does not seem… especially feasible, then, to seek the pendant now. Your dead will rip us limb from limb, and then we’d be keeping the valley safe with the rest of your… comrades.”

The ghost nodded. “I think I may be able to offer you some small protections along the way.

“You say that Arcil will be able to sense it,” Elyana said. “How?”

The ghost looked surprised. “In my day, any wizard would have such spells at his disposal. I have witnessed your friend’s magics—he should feel the pendant’s pull, though I suppose some might be more sensitive to it than others.”

Elyana looked to Arcil for confirmation.

“There was a strange, unwelcome attraction to a certain area we passed through the ruins,” he admitted. “But I was not inclined to investigate. To be honest, I was otherwise occupied.”

“An ‘unwelcome attraction,’” Elyana repeated. “And you say, Lord Dolandryn, that some might be more sensitive to its power than others. A necromancer, perhaps?”

“Almost certainly.”

Elyana frowned, and the moment she looked at Arcil she knew he was having the same thought. She saw his eyes narrow.

“We’re done for now,” Arcil said.

“We can’t let the Galtans have that thing,” Elyana said. “Do you know what they would do with its power?”

“How do you know their wizard is even alive?” Arcil asked.

“He’s a necromancer,” Elyana said. “And a powerful one. We saw his work. If we made it to safety, I’m sure he did. And if he finds the pendant, it’s only a matter of time before he figures out its use.”

Arcil sighed deeply. “Well-reasoned, unfortunately. I suppose we’ll have to find it before he does.”

“It seems we need each other, Prince,” Elyana agreed. “What assistance can you give?”

The ghost drifted back to them, considered them for just a moment, and began to speak.

Chapter Four: The Pendant

Prince Dolandryn explained that in life he’d known only a handful of spells, for he had bent his concentration upon necromantic studies to the exclusion of almost all other magics. Yet he had learned one or two useful tricks, and upon Elyana and Arcil he placed a dweomer that hid their pulse and gave them a semblance of… Elyana was not sure how to describe it, for she saw nothing different in Arcil’s appearance once the spell had been cast, but she certainly perceived it upon both of them when she looked down at her hands.

“You will no longer seem alive to the dead you encounter,” the spirit told them. “But you do not have long. You must move quickly.”

And so they did. They left Mirelle on the steps near the horses, neither of them offering suggestions as to what she should do if they failed in their mission. The girl would have no good options left her.

Elyana and Arcil hurried through the streets toward the city outskirts. Here they finally saw more of the moving dead, and sign that at least some of the Galtans lived, for scores of the animated corpses had gathered around a square redoubt that looked like a watchtower. Lights burned at its heights; figures in Galtan liberty caps were silhouetted in the vacant windows of the place. By that light Elyana recognized men in Galtan uniforms gathered in the ranks of dead about the tower and knew that many of those who’d tracked them to this place must already have fallen.

“How are we going to get through there?” Elyana asked.

“I don’t think we’ll have to do so,” Arcil told her, breathing a little heavily. He pointed out into the darkness. “As far as I can tell, the pendant is that way.”

“Lead on, then. How much longer do you think we have?”

“Probably not long enough,” he said, and was so startled by her abrupt laugh that his grin was rather charming. She slapped his back.

“Onward then, Arcil.”

They did not have much farther to go. Out there in the darkness they saw another light, near a copse of trees. A group of dead men ringed the light, and their shadows were etched upon the surface of the earth before they stretched into the surrounding darkness. From within this ring came the distinct chuk of shovels thrust into the soil, the grunt of men at work, and the sound of earth being cast from the tools. Elyana perceived then that inside the ring of corpses were a handful of Galtan soldiers, along with another figure that was quietly cursing them to quicken their efforts.

It looked as though Elyana and Arcil were not the only ones protected by some kind of shielding enchantment.

Elyana decided then that things could quickly be made much simpler with a few easy steps, and so she darted behind a bush and slipped her bow from her back. Arcil went with her, smiling as she bent the bow and slid the string into place around the nock.

“A well-placed arrow, eh?”

“Or three,” Elyana said. “It should save us a little trouble.”

“And if this doesn’t work?”

“I guess you’d better have your wand ready.”

It did not take long. Elyana had three of her finest arrows remaining; the rest had been scavenged from Galtans. She watched the diggers for only a few moments. They did not seem to have been at it for very long, for their dirt pile was but a low mound.

One of the men with the shovels bent down, lifted something, and brushed at it. The hooded figure stepped closer.

“The mask might actually improve the necromancer’s appearance.”

Until then he’d been partly obscured by the protective line of corpses and the diggers themselves. No longer. As the necromancer stared at what Elyana thought must be the pendant, she loosed her first arrow, then the second, in quick succession. As they soared through the night, she took a moment longer to aim a third.

The first one tore through the air, over the shoulder of one of the dead sentinels, then passed just beyond the head of the Galtan wizard, who looked up. The second one came within a handspan of his throat, but somehow dropped away just as it drew close. Elyana cursed—the Galtan necromancer must have some sort of protective barrier.

The third, though, took the fellow in his chest. He sank to one knee.

Arcil leveled his wand then, and at his shouted words a firewall appeared beside the Galtans, casting all of them in stark red light. The men with shovels screamed in anguish.

Elyana fitted more arrows and fired again and again even as the wall of fire raged.

Then the corpses were running toward them, eight in all. Five were the long-dead skeletal remnants of the valley, but three were Galtan soldiers. Their opponent was apparently an equal opportunity necromancer.

“Do you have anything else?” Elyana asked.

“A web,” Arcil told her.

“Perfect.”

The wizard set to work, and with a few whispered words a long strand of material glistened into existence between a bush and wall directly in the path of the charging corpses. They rushed right into the sticky strands, where they flailed helplessly. Elyana was already on the run, arrow in one hand, bow in the other. She and Arcil bypassed the writhing bodies, closing on the Galtan position. The necromancer was standing once more, and she fit the arrow to her bow as she ran.

And then there was something clasping her ankle and leg, and a rope of darkness had snared her wrist and waist. Black tentacles formed of shadow had shot up from the ground and wrapped her with implacable power, pinning arms to her sides, holding her legs in place. She turned her head and saw Arcil caught in the same fashion. The eerie, cold restraints were secure and inflexible.

The wall of fire had faded finally, but by the light of the lantern he bore, the necromancer could be seen as he walked to meet them. Two of his still-living guards paced at his side.

Upon closer inspection, the fellow did not seem especially intimidating. He wore a tanned, gray leather mask that concealed all of his face but his eyes, his mouth, and his chin. His hair was hidden by a hood that seemed tied to the mask itself.

The man was round and short, with large hands and stubby fingers, and though the high boots of a huntsman flashed from beneath his robe, his waddling stride made it clear they were an affectation rather than his customary dress. Probably he was a merchant of some kind when he was not serving his state as a Gray Gardener.

He stopped only a few feet before them. In one hand he held a tarnished pendant of silver and gold. The only sign of the arrow Elyana had skewered him with was a dark patch upon his jacket near his heart.

His two uniformed guardsman looked scorched, from their blackened faces to their singed coats and eyebrows. One of them had both his sword and his teeth bared.

“I would have been much more upset with you,” the necromancer said in a mild voice, “if you had not led me to this place with this treasure. Why, if you’re still alive when I decipher its workings, I may have to thank you.”

“You don’t need to decipher its workings,” Elyana said. “I can tell you what it does.”

The necromancer chuckled. “Really. And why would an elf know anything about it?”

“You hold the pendant fashioned by Lord Dolandryn to ward his valley from invaders.”

The necromancer’s mouth set firmly. This was apparently not the answer he’d expected. “How do you know?”

“Why do you think we came here?” she asked. “I could have lost you the moment we entered the forest.”

“You should just kill her, honored citizen,” the soldier with the sword suggested.

“Hush,” the wizard replied without looking at him. “Elf, I have ways to learn the truth from you.”

“There’s no need for any of that,” Elyana said. “If you free me, I will promise to tell you how the pendant’s magic works.”

The Galtan laughed, a merry sound such as friends share at a good jest. No one joined him. “You wish me to free you both?”

“Just me.”

“Elyana!” Arcil said.

“Now what would the state say if I were to show favoritism to a criminal? Justice must be blind, elf.”

“Think what you’ll be able to do for the state with the power of that necklace.”

The necromancer hefted the thing in one hand, clearly considering it. “Your proposal intrigues me. I sense the power in this thing, and know that it is linked to these dead.”

“Then free me.”

“No, no. I think you must prove your loyalty to me. Tell me its use, and then I will free you.”

Elyana knew that he would never do that, but to acquiesce too quickly would make the fellow suspicious. “You must swear.”

“Very well. I swear, by the love I hold for the republic and people of Galt, that I shall free you from those bonds once you have told me the secret of this necklace.”

“Don’t listen to him, Elyana!” Arcil spat.

It was clearly a very poor sort of oath. The necromancer might mean he would free her of those bonds but put her in others, and he had in no way indicated that she would be freed generally. She knew only that the necromancer would want both of them alive for the guillotine if at all possible, for Galtans loved a show.

“Very well.” Elyana feigned reluctance. She heard Arcil still begging that she say nothing. “You must extend your power into the necklace itself,” she said. “You will feel the stirrings of the dead when you do so. If you are truly talented, you might be able to command dozens upon dozens of the folks, though they say only Lord Dolandryn could send forth the whole of the valley at once.”

The Galtan smiled. “I can do anything that this lord of yours could have done. He could not be so great, if I have never heard of him.”

“Free me now,” Elyana said.

“First,” the wizard said, lifting the necklace, “I will test the truth of your words.” He fit it over his neck, and the pendant hung down, shining incongruously on the pot belly that distended his robe.

The necromancer stared off into the distance, then smiled, then laughed. “By the glorious state! You did not lie! I can feel them. I will command them to depart the fortress… I can sense them all the way through the valley. They are set, somehow, to guard the place from intrusion.” His voice sounded strained.

“You make it sound easy,” Elyana said. “The prince had to work harder than that.”

“I can command them all,” the necromancer declared.

“Prove it,” Elyana said.

He lifted his wobbling chins proudly. “I will. You will see me march from this forest with my new army, for you will be my prisoner! Oh, I will free you from these bonds, but you were a fool to think I would release you from the custody of the state and the justice you are due.”

“You’re all talk,” Elyana told him. “I have yet to see this army you command.”

His lips curled.

It took only a moment, then. He stared off into the distance, fists clenched. “I can feel them. I can feel them all! Come, children. Come to me—he will… we will… all…”

Quite suddenly he dropped limp to the ground. He made no attempt to catch himself, and lay twitching. The guardsmen started, unsure, and Arcil shouted a command. The tentacles vanished.

He had dispelled the Galtan’s work by use of the ring he wore, looted like his wand from the River Kingdom crypt. Elyana snatched up her bow, charged forward and caught the blade of the lunging Galtan on the edge of her bow. She backhanded his face with its other end and drew her sword as he staggered, crying out in pain. A quick thrust sent him groaning to the ground.

By then the other Galtan was advancing.

Arcil shouted for her attention. “Elyana—the dead!”

She saw them from the corners of her eyes, advancing from every direction. The maddened or enfeebled necromancer lay on the ground, racked by spasms, but the last command he’d given through the faulty artifact still worked, and they had been called to him. Thus they came.

“Put up your blade, fool,” Elyana shouted at her opponent. “There’s no time for this!”

“Die, wretch!”

Elyana beat his blade aside and drove her own through the Galtan’s coat and breast. He sank to his knees, dying with a look of astonishment.

Arcil was already holding the necklace when Elyana turned, and at the whispered word the ghostly prince had taught him, the thing fell open to reveal a glowing center. He set it amid the burned grasses.

Elyana lifted her sword and Arcil quickly backed off, leaving the necklace with its brilliant blue nimbus.

“Elyana!”

The two Galtans she had but lately slain were in motion. One staggered at her, arms outstretched. The other had not even bothered climbing to its feet—it snatched at her ankle, enclosing it in a grip of iron.

Elyana dragged it forward with her, raised up the sword, and sliced down into the amulet’s blue glow.

She felt the magical energies of her blade thrum as she made contact with something, as if an invisible hand had slowed her descent. The pendant’s light had not diminished or dimmed. The grip on her ankle tightened. She heard Arcil shouting something and the thud of his staff against bone.

She raised the sword higher and struck once more, and again, and a third time. Usually she wielded the weapon with more finesse, but she was tired, and, truth be told, more than a little afraid that all of their effort had been expended for naught.

But then, on the fifth blow, the glow shimmered and lessened. She felt the grip about her ankle relax, and on the sixth strike, the magic winked out. All about her the dead dropped, hitting the soil and pavement with a rattle of bones and armor.

There was then only the sound of Arcil panting. She turned to find the wizard leaning heavily on his staff.

“That was very clever,” he said.

“Did you know what I planned?”

“I guessed. Did you like my dramatic denial?” He smiled. “I thought I did a fair job, acting. I waited for the right opening to use my ring. You certainly gave me one.”

Elyana nodded, and bent over to wipe her blade on a dead Galtan’s clothes.

“We make a good team, Elyana,” Arcil was saying. “I think that was very nicely managed.” He stepped over to the Galtan necromancer, the man’s limbs still shaking at random intervals. “What shall we do with him?”

“Leave him,” Elyana said darkly, and sheathed her sword.

Arcil appeared unsure about that. When he bent down over the fellow, Elyana thought at first he meant to deliver a mercy blow, but instead he rifled through his belongings until he rose with a book. “I fancy learning that black tentacle spell,” he said.

“You’re not going to start dabbling in the dead, are you?” Elyana asked.

Arcil shuddered a little. “You’re joking, right?”

When they returned to the tower, Mirelle was waiting for them. The prince was gone.

“We were watching from the tower,” Mirelle told them. “He told me when he felt that the necklace was in use, and he grew very sad. But a short time later he turned to me with the most amazing smile. He tried to say something, but I couldn’t hear him, for at that very moment he faded away. It was like he had never been there at all.”

They rested in the tower for half the night. Elyana expected no trouble from any surviving Galtans, but she still roused her weary group before dawn, leaving the valley via its southern exit. Arcil might ordinarily have groused about having to share a horse, but he did not complain about having Mirelle pressed behind him on the saddle.

By dawn they were on the southern heights, and Elyana could not keep herself from taking a final look over the valley. In the dim light, it was almost possible to imagine the ruins as they must once have been, with folk leaving the houses for their fields, hoes slung over their backs. They would have walked forth in groups, their children running ahead. Others might have pushed carts toward the city square.

“We did it,” Arcil said. He had dropped off Mirelle’s horse to join Elyana.

“Yes.”

“You look sad. Against terrible odds, we came through alive. I can’t think of better reasons to be happy.”

“I was just thinking about the prince. He loved his people so much that he destroyed them.”

“Love,” Arcil said. “Sometimes I think we’re all better off without it.”

“Well, then we end up with the Galtans, don’t we? Justice beyond compassion. There must be a middle path.”

“Let me know if you find it,” Arcil said. “Right now, though, I would rather you focus on the trail home.”

“That I can do,” Elyana told him. “That I can do.” And she turned from her contemplation of the valley, climbed into her saddle, and headed for the woods.