Weylan regained consciousness for the second time in a day. "Ouch! Everything hurts. What's happened? I thought I had completely surprised the bodyguard. How could she see me?"

Trulda helped him up and gave him a weak healing potion: "I don't know. She suddenly took a dive just before you could pounce on her. I think you even hit her."

"Not good enough. What happened after knocked me out?"

"She taunted me and told me to try to hit her. I grabbed a big mace and smashed her skull in." She looked around nervously in the slowly thinning fog: "Shouldn't the undead be falling over? The necromancer has been dead for a quarter of a candle now. They're still scurrying around aimlessly."

He looked around in alarm: "Not aimlessly... They're gathering in two rows in front of the entrance. They'll march off at any moment! No one will get out alive! Why aren't they disintegrating like they should? That's unfair!"

"No idea. From all the stories I've ever heard about the Necromancer War, this should have worked. We should get out of here. Right now the zombies don't care about us, but that could change at any time." She took him by the hand and started to leave, but he didn't move. She looked around in confusion: "The mana adept dropped a few gold pieces, I've already taken them with me. If the necromancer himself also left loot, it's gone in this damn fog. It's really not worth it..."

"No." He put more determination into that one word than she had ever heard from him before. "No, I'm not just going to give up. The Voice of the World is counting on us to save the duskgnomes and the dryad. There is no one else here. I'm not going to run away. Never again."

"This is crazy. You're a level one shepherd with a rusty knife. That won't help you against the undead."

"I'm not planning to fight three dozen undead. I'll run past the undead before they march in. If I sprint off immediately, I can still make it. You don't have to come with me, it's enough if one of us warns the travelers below."

Trulda stood there indecisively for a second, then shrugged her shoulders: "Of course I'm coming with you. We set off together to experience an adventure, now we'll get through it together."

"We didn’t... never mind. Later." He nodded his thanks to her, then turned and raced as fast as he could in an arc towards the tunnel entrance. The undead were still gathering and awkwardly sorting themselves into two lines. As he approached, the smell of damp earth, rot and decay hit him. Empty eye sockets focused on him. He swallowed and slowed briefly, then gritted his teeth and accelerated again. Bony arms raised their swords. A zombie warrior with leathery mummified skin protruding from between the remains of a chain mail shirt left the formation at the rear. Indecisively, he shuffled into Weylan's path and raised his spear to thrust. At the last moment, Weylan dived under the tip of the spear and then close to the undead. The zombie thrust at him with his spear, but too slowly. Weylan was already past. The undead kept shuffling along until he was almost directly in front of them. Only then did they react. Too slow. Too late.

Weylan's legs began to ache, but he kept up the pace. He ran barely two meters past the undead. Swords plucked at his clothes and scored his skin. A morningstar swung at him at head height. He stooped under it without breaking stride.

A skeleton was irritated by the noise behind him and stumbled out of the formation, right into his path. Weylan had no time to dodge. Close to the obstacle, he turned his right shoulder forward. He weighed far more than the skeleton. With his momentum, he would sweep it out of the way. Or so he hoped.

While the skeleton was still raising its shield and swinging its sword high, he collided with the pale ribs of the unprotected ribcage. The skeleton, with its much smaller mass, was thrown to the ground. He stumbled and stepped on the spine with his foot just below the ribs. Rotten bones cracked. As he ran on, his foot caught on the ribs. He stumbled. With an effort, he pulled his foot out of the ribcage. Bones splintered and flew in all directions.

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He caught himself with his hands and tried to regain speed, but stumbled forward on his hands and feet for the next few steps. The reaction of the undead was already overtaking him. Spears and swords began to move. He got back on his feet, but then immediately had to duck low again. An axe swept over his head. Too slow. He was too slow. Another skeleton stepped out of line. He just managed to get past them. Then a spear shaft hit him in the back. He barely avoided being thrown to the ground again.

Something grabbed his right arm and pulled him forward. Weylan's arm almost dislocated from his shoulder joint, while his whole body was pulled up and two steps through the air. Out of pure reflex, he started running again. He found time for a quick glance to the side. Beside him he saw Trulda, still grinning, holding his hand, "No time for a nap."

"Very... funny..."

As soon as he was up to speed again, she let go. Just before the entrance, they jumped over the wall and straight into the entrance. Behind them, the undead started to march.

They ran into the tunnel. After a few steps, it became gloomy and then a wall of darkness appeared in front of them. Weylan stopped and cursed. "I can still see by the slightest light, but not completely without light." He turned around, but the outline of the entrance that had just been visible was already darkening as a double line of undead marched into the tunnel in unison. "Crap. Do you have a light?" Trulda reached into her cleavage and pulled out a flaming torch. Weylan flinched, "How did you do that?"

"Eternal torch. I bought it for two gold pieces from Johann, the traveling merchant. Expensive, but an investment that will last a lifetime." She glanced over her shoulder: "Go on!"

The tunnel became steeper and the two of them slowed down a little. Weylan suddenly stopped and held onto Trulda: "Wait! There's someone up ahead."

They pressed themselves against the wall. The footsteps of the undead continued to echo through the tunnel from behind. Trulda looked back nervously. Nothing happened for a moment, then lights appeared from below. Glowing fist-sized orbs that flashed back and forth. Two men came into view. Both wearing the classic leather armor of rangers.

Before Weylan could show himself, they both stopped, looked at Trulda and drew their swords: "We can see you! Don't try to hide."

Weylan stepped away from the wall and they both flinched, "Hey, there's another one!" Weylan looked at Trulda and grinned involuntarily. Shadow affinity was handy.

One of them was human and... Weylan involuntarily took a step back into the shadows. The flares were now too close and illuminated the wall around him. He remained fully visible and had the opportunity to take a closer look at the unusual figure. Pointed furry ears protruded from two matching holes in his leather helmet. His arms and face were very hairy in all visible places. A short but thick black beard nestled around the chin. Weylan's gaze, however, was drawn most to the protruding mouth, which was home to a large number of pointed teeth. Teeth that the ranger showed in a broad grin.

The human looked at him and Trulda suspiciously for a moment, then smiled and raised the tip of his hunting spear upwards towards the ceiling: "Greetings. How does it look up there? We're coming up with a whole adventurer group. Is it still daylight? How's the weather?"

Weylan's grin evaporated: "The sun has just set. But you'll never get to see the weather."

"What do you mean, stranger?"

The dog-faced one sniffed and growled, "Undead. A lot."

Weylan nodded in confirmation.

The human waved him off: "The air is rising from below. You probably just smell the hordes of the undead behind us."

"What?" Trulda ignored the swords and charged close to the two. The hunting spears came down. She came to a halt just before the tips, but ignored them. She pointed upwards behind her: "The undead are marching into the tunnel from above. Listen up!"

Everyone fell silent and the sounds of marching became clearly recognizable in the silence.

The two scouts looked at each other and became visibly paler in the face: "Oh man! Up there too? How many?"

"More than three dozen. Armored and armed warrior skeletons and zombies."

The scout blanched: "Undead in front of us, undead and murderers behind us... Follow us, we must consult with the princess and our leader Esche."

Trulda and Weylan looked at each other and then nodded to the scouts. Without further discussion, they trotted downstairs.