“Con-tac!”

Shallowlie was ascending to catch the bone-chariot that was otherwise about to drop into the flank of our group – I stayed in the centre, maintaining focus on the weave. Mountainslide followed her to back her up, and we sent our vultures to intercept and harass the as-yet-unbound vultures pulling the chariot.

We left it as a chariot this time – there was no opportunity to stop and transform it into a bony army like last time, so we kept it leashed to the vultures, let them pull it trundling through the air behind us. Glimmermere, who’d been unusually-quiet since realising that Shadowcloud was missing, seemed disturbed by the rolling pile of skulls atop the chariot. She moved away from the rear of the weave so as to not have to see the abomination right behind her, as though it were pursuing her through the empty city.

The streets were changing. Most of the roads we’d traversed since coming through the Door had been lined with relatively-tall buildings, the majority housing and business units of one kind or another. Now we’d reached a broad estate of low-to-the-ground, more sumptuously-appointed structures – you could tell by looking through the shattered roofs into the frozen, faded interiors. This was the rich, suburban sprawl of Zadhal. This was their Hightown, and ahead of us, stretching up into the sky, were dozens of towers. I could see that there had once been many more, but most had crumbled or been torn down in some violent display of power, standing no higher than a third of their former stature.

We were open to any purple eyes gazing our direction, now, but it didn’t seem they had anything left to throw at us. We made our way towards the centre of Zadhal unimpeded.

The sun was climbing behind us – the pale disc that warmed nothing was barely discernible in the brightest part of the frozen white sky – and I could tell we’d only been in this miserable place for an hour and a half or so. A grey mass of cloud was gathered on the horizon, and it had hardly moved since we’d arrived.

I hadn’t anticipated that things might go so badly but, despite the danger and the loss of champions, I found I was still excited to be here, my blood still full of the strange mixture that overtook me in such times and left me feeling thrilled, eager… Not all of it was the druids’ work, I knew. I almost felt a touch of what Netherhame had described. No responsibilities. I was riding a wave of time as much as a wave of wind, and it was going to deposit me on that future shore no matter how I tried. Better to accept it than fight it. Better to ride time than drown in it.

We halted all telepathic communication well before we passed the first tower, and changed direction a few times to throw off potential pursuit or ambush. The place really was like Hightown’s long-dead twin, a dark mirror of the heights of mortal civilisation. But this wasn’t a city, not really – a city required life, light, laughter. This was a brick swamp, a man-made forest of leafless stony trees. We soared between spires missing windows and walls, ceilings and floors – the interiors were mostly bare, the wind and perhaps previous expeditions having picked them clean. The odd exposed altar or bookshelf twinkled with the promise of unexplored mysteries, but such escapades would have to wait.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Have to wait until we won.

Suddenly Timesnatcher halted, and waved us in close to him, almost clinging to the side of a big cuboid building that was riddled with cracks.

“There are a large number of creatures ahead,” he said quietly. “Shallowlie, Feychilde… I wish there was some way to dress this up for you –“

“We ah ready, Tamsnatcher.” She floated there serenely before him, just like one of the ghosts surrounding her.

I drew a deep breath and nodded, getting ready to summon. I could feel them – undead shapes, needles in my brain.

He led us down one last street, and then –

The plaza containing the idol of Vaahn was like nothing I’d ever seen before – or would see again, I hoped.

“Nentheleme save us,” Glimmermere said.

“We are going to do this,” our leader breathed, plunging ahead, green blades flickering in his hands. “I can see it… I can see it! Destroy as many as you can before the clock tower rings!”

More rough effigy than sculpted statue, the focal point of the place was a distorted, distended humanoid shape, created not from ancient carven stone but from flesh and bone, strapped together with strings of sinew, riveted with rusty nails. It was gigantic – forty feet or more from base to apex – and loomed over the surrounding courtyard. Within the vast figure’s lengths of black hair – ropes fashioned from scorched, flayed skins – a sphere of melted-together skulls formed the head. The tall crown atop it was insectlike iron, its prongs thin and elongated, randomly-arranged.

Its many eye-sockets did not move to follow us as we arrived, charging over the boundaries of the courtyard; it didn’t move to inspect us as we inspected it. Despite this, clearly the Prince of Chains had accepted the offering. The statue had obviously been standing longer than any such construction of vile materials ought to have done were it unhallowed; I could sense nothing overtly sorcerous from it.

In short, I could see why someone would peg this monstrosity as the source of the woes of Zadhal.

Especially given the worshippers assembled in the courtyard.

They stood as one, swaying, heads bowed. Ten thousand – twenty? The citizens, the Zadhalites, were deep in prayer, but unlike their idol they had senses.

A small fraction of them on the edge nearest us – hundreds of them – turned to face us as we charged. Burning purple eyes widened as they, at least, inspected us; they snarled sharp words in Netheric to their fellows.

The kind of invisibility that let us see each other didn’t work brilliantly on the undead. Not undead like these, anyway. The foes before us were no mere zombies.

They saw us coming.

Then Timesnatcher was there, and they saw no more.