Broderick’s expression shifted quite a bit through Alistair’s rough explanation of what Ilvara had told him. First confusion, then a healthy dose of skepticism, and now a healthy mix between the two. The winter elf made nary a single comment during the impromptu meeting in the middle of the night. It had been Alistair’s idea to get Broderick involved in the first place. Ilvara had wanted to leave without telling anyone.

“So, you want to go off with this woman alone?” Broderick motioned toward Ilvara. The elf tried her best to look disinterested and annoyed with this whole conversation. Alistair thought she was doing a great job at it. “And hunt for an egg that we don’t know actually exists? To give back to the dragon, in hopes it won’t attack us for it outright?”

Alistair scratched the back of his head as he felt a hint of embarrassment creep up on him. The kind soul Broderick was, he had been willing to hear them out without any interruption. Even now, he still didn’t sound entirely unconvinced. He might have just been humoring Alistair for the sake of argument, though.

“Well, I thought it might be worth a try?” he replied, shrugging.

“A better alternative to more of your kind dying, wouldn’t you say?” Ilvara asked rhetorically. She sent Broderick a pointed glare as if to accentuate her point. “Or do you daoine enjoy dying in vain?”

“I haven’t made to disagree with your plan yet,” the paladin said, returning her glare with a rare one of his own. His gaze softened when he looked to Alistair again. “But are you really sure this is something you want to do?”

Alistair picked up on what he meant quickly. Ilvara proposed this alternative to Alistair already assuming he would say yes. Why, well he still wasn’t sure yet. He planned to ask why the winter elf bothered to single him out a second time later. For now though, this new quest felt like something he could actually do. During the fight with the dragon he felt useless, even if others were quick to say something different.

Attempting this path might save more lives in the long run, and it would be easier than fighting and killing the dragon. At least, he hoped it would be.

“I think so,” Alistair said after a moment to think. “The Lady offered this quest to me for a reason. I’d like to believe that, at least.”

“Don’t you mean I offered it to you?” Ilvara asked. She shook her head with derision at the two devotees. “Your ‘goddess’ didn’t put the words in my mouth, I assure you.”

“Perhaps the Lady made it so you two would meet again,” Broderick offered. He clapped Alistair on the shoulder and grinned. “I won’t stand in your way. If this is your decision, stand by it. That’s what it means to be a paladin, after all.”

Alistair grew his own smile. To receive vindication for his decision from someone like Broderick made him feel more confident. This was the right way forward, it had to be.

“Are we done? I’d like to get moving before sunrise,” Ilvara said.

“What’s the rush?” Alistair asked. He wouldn’t mind getting some rest before they set out. “Even with the Sight, it’s going to be hard to navigate at night.”

“For you, maybe.” Ilvara pushed herself off the wall. Her gray eyes seemed to glow in the darkness of the room. “Winter elves work best in the dark. Besides, have you forgotten that I’m a tracker?”

“Even still, the fight from earlier took its toll. Are you going to take responsibility if he collapses on the trail?” Broderick asked the elf.

Ilvara narrowed her eyes as she looked from Broderick, then to Alistair. She was clearly used to working alone. Having a human partner complicated things, too.

“We can take breaks along the way then.” She relented, if only a little. Ilvara went for the door. “I’ll be outside fetching a horse. Don’t make me wait.” Then she was gone. Alistair noticed she was really good at doing that.

“You have your work cut out for you,” Broderick said under his breath. He offered Alistair a comforting grin. “While you’re gone, I’ll coordinate the knights and see if we can find a trace of the dragon’s lair. When you find the egg, return here to Bredon and I’ll go with you. We can’t assume everything will go to plan, so best to prepare for the worst.”

Alistair nodded in agreement. Something he had learned in his relatively short time as an adventurer was that truly, no plan was foolproof. Something always went amiss. Speaking of plans, he thought to ask one other thing.

“Do you think the dragon will attack again while we’re away?”

Broderick hardened his expression. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Just in case, I plan to keep Kevin nearby to help. I’d rather not kill it if I can help it, but if it goes after innocents again we won’t have a choice.”

Best not to think about it. He would just have to focus on succeeding in finding the dragon egg. That would be a challenge in and of itself.

Alistair gathered his things and began the process of slowly dragging his rucksack back outside. He went slower than usual considering the late hour. He didn’t want to wake anyone. It was an especially difficult process because the floor downstairs was littered with bedrolls and bodies. Most of them were actually still alive, albeit wounded in some way. Every other step he heard a moan or groan as they struggled with the pain from their wounds.

By the time he actually got outside, Ilvara was already riding on the back of a horse, and had another packhorse tied to its harness. She waited there by the entrance with an especially cross look. If Alistair could see her lips beneath the mask, she would surely be scowling.

“Nice horse,” Alistair said, sweeping his eyes over the steed. It was a huge, well fed thing. He wondered if it was hers. Taking care of a horse out in the wilderness without a proper stable must have been difficult. “Is it really yours?”

“Nope,” she replied in a plain tone. Ilvara was quite casual about theft, it seemed. “It looked good, so I decided to take it. Get on.”

Alistair managed to jury rig something so his pack was properly strapped on the back of the packhorse. Then, he stood there awkwardly and waited for her to hold a hand out for him. This was only his second time mounting a horse. The first being just a couple of weeks ago at the village outside of Wyrdwood. He still wasn’t sure how to even ride one properly.

“What?” she asked, offering him a strange look.

“Aren’t you meant to help me up?” he replied.

Ilvara gave him a look like he had grown two heads. Then she closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

“Of course, I get the duine that doesn’t know how to mount a horse,” she said to no one in particular. Reluctantly, she offered him her wiry arm. When he grasped her wrist, he felt the sheer muscle she was hiding beneath her unassuming clothes. She easily pulled him up into the saddle behind her. “If you want your hands to remain attached to your body, I suggest you keep them to yourself.”

Before he could say anything she lifted the reins and the two of them headed off. Down the cobblestone street they went on their way out of town. Their pace was steady, not too fast so as not to spook the second horse trailing behind them. Ilvara wanted to get out onto the trail and fast.

“Can I ask you something?” he said to her as they left the village behind.

“Depends, what is it?” she replied, dismissive.

“Why’d you ask me for help? You clearly know a lot more about what’s going on than I do.” He hesitated a moment, thinking how best to word it. The last thing he wanted to do was annoy her more than she already was. “And, well, it doesn’t seem like you are all that fond of me. Or people in general, so…”

Ilvara remained quiet for a moment. They barely knew each other at all. She certainly didn’t owe him her life story, but if they were going to work together he felt entitled to something. It would be good to know where they stood with each other.

“It’s been a while since I’ve worked with anyone,” she said after a long while. No malice in her voice, just straight honesty. “And among the Geevshey this temperament, if you want to call it that, is simply our nature. Coldness is ingrained into our culture. To be openly friendly and trusting is contrary to our existence. We were modeled after the fae of the Winter court, and they epitomize this behavior.”

“Doesn’t that get exhausting after a while?” he asked. That sounded like a very stressful way to live. She simply shook her head.

“When you are surrounded by a way of thinking, you assume it as your own. It’s the only way to stay sane. Being a creature born of magic makes that especially true.” Ilvara glanced back at him. “It’s the same way that all of your people worship the lake goddess, despite the fact that only a handful of you will ever see her. And even fewer of you will ever be blessed with her gifts. To go against the grain would be death in one way or another.”

“I see.”

Well, he found it difficult to argue with that kind of logic. It would be hard for any single person to survive among their own people if they rejected the pillars that described the culture’s way of life. You would be destined for a lonely existence, if you were even allowed to exist for long. To reject the laws and commandments the Lady had handed down would mean death for most. There wasn’t room for debate in a noble’s court when it came to such time-honored traditions.

“As for why I’m not doing this on my own, I’m not stupid. Whoever stole the egg had some measure of skill, resources, or men to throw around. Perhaps a combination of all three. I certainly don’t plan on risking only my life just to save some daoine.”

“So, why are you doing this? You said this dragon is from around where your people are. Have you met this one before?”

She shook her head. “Not this one in particular. But I have known other elves that have spoken to them.” Ilvara thought about it for a moment, as if to weigh whether or not to explain things further. They were getting close to something personal. “They are known to have some measure of clout with the nobles where I’m from.”

“So you want a favor?” Alistair asked to clarify his understanding.

Ilvara said nothing. An unspoken request to drop the subject. He didn’t want to push her so he let the matter go. It was none of his business what her reasons were. As long as she remained genuine in wanting the same thing as him, then they could remain allies of convenience.

The two of them continued their travel into the wilderness. Not even an hour outside of the village the well-traveled dirt fell away to grass and overgrown brush. He noticed that there weren’t even any guidestones or other human landmarks near where they were. Where were they going?

On occasion Ilvara would stop the horse and look at the ground. Her eyes would shimmer as she scanned the surrounding countryside. It was as if she were looking for something in particular. Alistair knew better than to interrupt her and ask. Before too long though, his curiosity got the better of him.

“We seem to be well off the beaten path.” They both had to lower their heads to avoid an errant branch. The woodland was thick here. “Where are we going exactly?”

“Adhmad marbh.” There was a hardness to her voice. Ilvara sounded uncomfortable saying the name. “I believe your people call it ‘Deadwood’.”

“Deadwood?! Are you sure about that?” He shifted uncomfortably. That was past the border of human land.

“Very,” she replied coolly.

Alistair was taken aback. His breath hitched. What business did these egg nabbers have going into undead territory? They must have been insane.

Ilvara had taken them east out of Bredon then. No wonder the path fell away into untamed wilderness. No human in their right mind would head this far out unless they had a death wish. Deadwood contained nothing good. Everything there was, in fact, dead and rotting to the touch.

Before long, the woods they were traveling through gave way to dark and twisted bark. No leaves grew in the muddy marshes and swampland that the dead called home. There would soon be a low hanging mist that grew thicker every step they took. The silvery-blue air was like a miasma, spreading the corruption of Evil itself. Worst of all, they were doing this at night. Every tale he had heard of the undead always went poorly at night.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“Are you sure it’s the best idea to do this at night?”

“The trail is still somewhat fresh. I don’t want to lose them,” Ilvara said. She eased the horse forward as they carefully navigated the terrain. The land seemed to fight them at every turn, urging them away. “Besides, day or night, the creatures that live here will be awake.” The elf glanced at him. “Are you still capable enough to fight?”

“Perhaps a short fight. I don’t think I’ll last for anything drawn out.” Alistair didn’t even know what to expect as far as enemies went. For all he knew the dragon could show up and what then? Or a dullahan? Worse, a vampire?

“If we get stuck here for too long, we’ll be dead anyway.”

Alistair swallowed the growing lump in his throat. Ilvara certainly didn’t beat around the bush. She had a certain charm to her with that brutal sense of honesty. Ilvara’s genuine personality made her more trusting to him, oddly. It made everything she said more believable to him.

Eventually, Ilvara brought the horse to a halt. In front of them was nothing but fog and marsh. She dismounted and tied the horse to the nearest branch thick enough.

“We’ll go on foot from here. The ground isn’t fit for these things,” she said, indicating the nervous steeds. The animals stamped their feet and whinnied. They were uncomfortable to be here too.

“How do you even know where you’re going?” Alistair slumped from the saddle onto the soft, decaying soil below. He saw nothing that looked indicative of a trail. “I can’t see a blasted thing out here.”

“Look closer, then,” Ilvara said. She knelt closer to the ground and waved him over. He lowered himself down beside her to try and see anything to indicate they were on the right track. Ilvara pointed to the ground. “See that?”

Alistair gave it a hard look but just shook his head. It all looked like mud to him. She sighed and then pointed to the reeds up ahead. They were broken and snapped in half. Not just one, but a whole path had been cut as a group of people had made their way through here. Presumably recently, given that there was a trace left at all. Swamps were notorious for swallowing up details like that.

“The trail’s been easier to see since we left the village. To me, every print and snapped twig glows like a candle in the dark. Benefits of my training.” Ilvara stood and dusted herself off. “These were certainly daoine, not shamblers or fae. The print and gait are unmistakable.”

“How many are there do you think?” Alistair asked. His eyes scanned the vast reaches in front of them. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack without her.

“Not sure, at least half a dozen based on the spread.” Ilvara motioned to different spots on the trail. She walked along the water’s edge, recalling the scene as if she were there. “They were packed close as they came through here. Terrified, my guess.” She paused, then pointed toward something. “With good reason too, look.”

Alistair moved closer to see. Something was sticking out of the ground. The Sight gave him the answer he needed without even picking it up.

Rusted Spear

Archaic | Evil

Traces of magic cling to the ancient weapon. It bears signs of the undead, frequent users of such archaic weaponry. Their master’s magic keeps the weapon, and their frail bodies, from disintegrating into dust.

Blood, still fresh, remained scattered on the mud. No body, but a clear trail led further into the mist. A gruesome sight when left to the imagination. At least it was a trail even he could see. Speaking of spear, he made sure to grab his pikestaff from the pack horse before going further. He would need it.

They proceeded deeper into the marsh, to pursue the owner of that spear. It quickly became evident that whoever was on the recieving end of that spear had surely died. More blood, and more signs of a struggle. This mercenary band, if he could call it that, didn’t make it far from the first point of contact. Still no bodies from either side of the battle. It felt disconcerting.

Ilvara took the lead into the marsh as they ran out of raised ground to walk on. The whole of Deadwood was unnervingly quiet. Not a single animal sound could be heard, not even the croak of a frog. He could only hear his own breathing and the gentle swish of the water as they pushed through its depths. The two of them tried to avoid the deeper pockets of water, but it was pointless. They were up to their knees at the best of times, trudging through mud that stuck to the soles of their feet like glue.

An irrational fear he began to think about was the thought of something dragging him under the murky waters. He physically shivered at the thought. Every rock or obstruction he felt beneath him was the chance for a creature to come alive and wrap its bony fingers around him.

Thoughts swirling, Alistair almost ran into Ilvara. She had placed her hand up to indicate he stop moving. Ilvara gently craned her neck to the left, then the right. He watched as her pointed ears flexed to listen closely for something. She even went as far as to close her eyes to really hone in on whatever the sound was.

Then suddenly, Ilvara’s eyes snapped open. “Someone’s close,” she whispered. From her waist she procured two curved daggers and readied herself. The twisted blades were made of dark, glass-like material along the sharp edge with something akin to cold iron around the handles.

Alistair looked left, then right. His senses were nothing like hers. It all looked and sounded the same to him still. He felt his knuckles tighten around the pike in his hands. The pounding of his heart grew more intense.

Just before he could transform, he felt something curl around his ankle.

He recoiled in pure fright and yelped like he’d been bit. Ilvara made to shush him when her eyes locked with something in the water below. Bubbles rose to the surface of the brown, tainted swamp water. Then, a mop of dark hair emerged. A living person, he wondered?

With the last vestiges of their strength, the body pulled itself from the murky water. A human, and they were alive! They gasped and struggled to breathe air into their waterlogged lungs. It looked like a male, but they were covered in so much grime Alistair couldn’t tell. The man, if he could be called one, floundered in the water as if he were drowning.

And he was making a lot of noise in the middle of enemy territory.

Ilvara waded over to him with one dagger sheathed, the other ready. She took hold of one of his arms and looked to Alistair. Up until this point, Alistair had found himself a paralyzed bystander. When she called out to him, her voice snapped him out of his stupor.

“Help me get him up onto the embankment, hurry!”

Alistair transformed into his Aegis. They were in Deadwood now; he saw no reason to keep his power hidden. Besides, that extra strength came in handy now. He managed to pull the drowning man and Ilvara both out of the muck without much effort. Beneath his armored feet he could feel them sink inches deeper into the marsh below. His weight could turn out problematic if he stayed in for too long.

With a bit of effort Alistair managed to pull himself free and reach nearby solid ground. Ilvara leaned over the man, hands on her knees, eyeing him with a mix of disgust and pity. On the one hand he was lucky to be alive, on the other he certainly didn’t seem to be all there anymore. He sputtered on the ground like a fish, spouting gibberish from his lips. No wounds on his body, but there were surely many in his mind.

“What now?” Alistair asked. The man looked like a lost cause, and he had no magical spell to fix the horrors this man had seen.

“I don’t know.” Ilvara shook her head and shrugged. She stared up at the red giant. “He’s one of your kind, you deal with him.” Just like that, she washed her hands of the matter.

Alistair took another look at the mercenary. He certainly didn’t look like the kind of capable sort that could steal an egg. The leather armor he wore was torn apart, with pieces missing. He had no weapon on his belt, nor a pack on his back. Paleish skin, though it could have been from the coldness of the water and less an indicator of where he’d been born from.

The man frantically picked at a few leeches that had attached themselves to his face and arms. All throughout the process he kept making sounds and cries like a raving lunatic. That no undead had come to investigate yet was a blessing all on its own.

“Where’s the dragon egg?” Alistair asked the man. He attempted to keep his voice low, but the magic of his suit thought otherwise. His voice boomed out of the red helm. The man chittered and rattled, but made no move to answer.

Annoyed, Alistair bent over and grabbed what was left of the man’s tunic. He lifted the mercenary off the ground and forced their gazes to meet. With one hand still wielding his pike and the other forming an iron grip on his collar, Alistair hoped to snap this man out of his terror.

“Where is the dragon egg?!” he shouted, louder this time. “Your companions, where did they take it?!”

“R-R-R…” An attempt at speech ended in a stuttering mess. His words looped and stumbled over each other. A total loss.

Ilvara watched this failed conversation like she would a play. Even with her lower face hidden by a veil, he could feel the amusement leaking off of her. Her gray eyes seemed to mock him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of ‘inspiring hero’ among your people?” She said it with such sarcasm he certainly didn’t take it as a compliment. “It looks like he could use one of your encouraging speeches.”

“When was the last time you heard me offer such a speech?” he asked with an equal measure of irony.

“Hm, I suppose never in the two times we’ve met.” She shrugged. “Maybe I should’ve invited the ice boy instead.”

Broderick would have been a welcome addition to their little band. If for no other reason than to have an actual voice of reason between the three of them. Talking to Ilvara was the same as talking to a very smart, very sardonic wall that happened to have a pair of lips. He couldn’t get anything past her.

Thinking of Broderick gave him an idea, though. It reminded him of the battle and the powers they had put on display. His Inspire ability hadn’t come to mind right away since they weren’t in combat, but maybe it could help here. The man’s confidence had been shaken by something that instilled terror. Maybe the Aegis had the power to counteract such an effect?

Worth a try, Alistair thought. He activated the ability and watched the pulse of energy exit his body. It swept through the man in his arms and Ilvara nearby, then carried itself off into the fog. The effect was instantaneous. Even with his relatively low power level, it must have cleansed the magical grip that had latched onto the mercenary’s heart.

“P-Paladin, milord, please forgive me,” the man begged. He grabbed Alistair by the vambrace with both hands, shaking as he did. “I didn’t want to do it. They forced me along, I swear!”

“He went from being terrified back into his natural born state: a liar.” Ilvara mused, then rolled her eyes as the man continued.

“Honest, milord. I didn’t touch the egg, I swear!”

“Where is it?!” Alistair demanded. He grew tired of this game. The man flinched in fear.

“Rotters, milord. Rotters took it.” His voice cracked as he said it.

Of course the undead did. What else would have gotten them in this swamp? The question was what they wanted with it.

“What kind of ‘rotters’ did you see? Be specific,” Ilvara asked him, suddenly interested in the conversation.

“Skeletons and shamblers,” he replied. The man was forced to crook his neck to see her.

“Nothing else?” She sounded skeptical. “Did you see anything with still living flesh on its bones?”

“W-well, there were a few with robes on. I couldn’t really see ‘em. They were in the back, you see.” Alistair gently lowered the man back to the ground. The man’s cooperation no longer hinged on intimidation. “I only caught a glimpse before I fell into the water. Then I played dead while the others, the others…” He trailed off, no doubt imagining the fates of his associates.

“Figures with robes?” Alistair looked to Ilvara. He only knew what he did about the undead from the occasional story. Nothing detailed enough to identify them from such a description at least.

“Hard to say for sure, but higher forms of undead wouldn’t sit this close to the border unless they were about to cross. And they certainly wouldn’t be without a well developed camp. Vampires are creatures of decadent luxury as much as they are horrors of the night.”

“A lich?” Alistair asked, his voice catching as he did. He knew them to be one of the more potent, frightening leader types of the horde.

“Not likely,” she replied. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Liches work alone. They wouldn’t be caught this close to the border, either. Their type likes to sequester themselves somewhere and…experiment.” The way she left the last part to linger brought some unsettling questions to Alistair’s conscience.

“So where does that leave us?”

“Some lower form of necromancer,” she said. “Boring, but the most likely answer. Human outcasts that know a smidge of dark magic. If they were anyone important they wouldn’t hug the outskirts of Adhmad marbh like this.”

“You think this whole thing was a coincidence?” he asked. Ilvara raised a brow. She looked down at their sniveling third wheel.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

Up until this point, the man had been tossing his head from one to the other as they discussed the finer points of undead hierarchy. When attention came back to him, he visibly shrank. He wasn’t the leader of this doomed band, that was obvious.

“Why did you make your way from Bredon to here?” Alistair asked him. There was an edge to his voice, as he expected a lie.

Ilvara moved closer to the bandit after Alistair enunciated his question. She fiddled with her dagger as if to play with it. The intimidating effect wasn’t lost on the man.

“Our leader, he had a map. Never got a good look at. ‘Sides, can’t read anyway,” he said, cheeks flushed in shame. Even Alistair knew how to read a map before the Sight blessed with the ability to actually read. They weren’t working with a genius here. “Took us in this direction. They hit us before we could figure out where we were going.”

Alistair let the information soak in. A map that led them throughout the duchy all the way to Deadwood? Either there was a mistake made in navigation somewhere along the way, or these mercenaries were commissioned by necromancers to retrieve the egg. The logistics of either answer made Alistair’s head hurt. Something just didn’t make sense.

Ilvara quickly whipped around, her body tense. Something must have spooked her. Even in his Aegis body, he couldn’t see anything yet. The fog smothered his senses. He swept his eyes all around but couldn’t see anything around their little island in the swamp.

Then, he heard it. The sound reverberated all around them as if they were in a cave. It was the rattling of animated bones. From the depths he heard a cacophony of labored groans emerge from half-rotted throats. These unnatural wails combined with the clattering of skeletons to form a disturbing signal, a dreadful tune for the creatures to march against. The undead were coming.

They were surrounded.