After another grueling couple weeks of travel, Alistair neared his destination. The town of Bredon, a place he’d been not so long ago. Free of the danger from the dragon Kazumth, the people of this land should’ve been able to live without any fear. Alas, fate had something else in store for them. The undead had set their sights on this place, for whatever reason. If left to fester, their ghastly presence would surely infect the lands west of Deadwood and more than just the people of Bredon would find themselves in danger.

It was Alistair’s duty as a paladin to ensure this didn’t come to pass.

Given the urgency of his quest, Alistair hadn’t had time to stop anywhere along the way back. Only by the Lady’s grace did he run into a traveling merchant, a plier of wares. From this man, he’d managed to buy a few potions of rejuvenation. Alas, there had been no potent brews made for paladins in stock. Though, thanks in part to Alistair’s growing reputation, the merchant had offered him a good discount.

With the town on the horizon, Alistair was relieved to see it still standing. His thoughts drifted to the last time he’d been traveling this long stretch of road. After his triumph in stopping the dragon’s rampage, Ilvara had allowed him to travel with her on his way to Gàradh Lien. They’d stuck together for a while before she had gone off alone again, on a mission that had piqued her elven curiosity.

That reminded him of something. He turned in the saddle and dug around in his rucksack. After a short while, he felt his fingers slide against a polished stone and knew he’d found it. From the bag, he pulled out a small disc of stone, shaved down to fit in the palm of his hand. A single rune was carved onto its smooth surface. A facet of winter elf magic as Ilvara had explained to him.

Alistair ran his fingers over the strange marking. He couldn’t help but smile a bit as he did. She’d offered it to him not as a gift, but more from a pragmatist’s perspective. Ilvara said it would let her find him more easily, a beacon for her to track. It had been tough for the elf to fully admit it, but they had worked well together. Even for a loner like her, there must have been a small part of their journey together that had been enjoyable.

To Alistair, it was a sign of friendship. The winter elf would never admit to something that intimate of course, but he chose to read between the lines. It made him think of her in this moment of deja vu, as he trotted along that same dirt road the two of them shared not so long ago. He prayed that Ilvara would find whatever answers she had hoped to find and that maybe she might come and see him before her inevitable return home to the north.

He stowed the gifted stone back away. The last thing he wanted was to lose it. Besides, he neared the village entrance. Now was the time to focus on his task, the quest to defeat the undead. Though, as he looked around, nothing seemed to be amiss yet. People walked to and fro, workers worked, and children played. If one were to imagine a dragon had attacked this place just a month ago, they’d find it difficult to believe.

Some folk began to notice him as his steed brought him down the main thoroughfare. Many of them stopped what they were doing and greeted him, some with waves and others with words. His reputation preceded him this time.

“Greetings, milord!”

“Welcome back, milord!”

“The Lady bless you!”

Children came running up next. They ran around his gelding in a circle, cheering and hollering as they did. Alistair gave them an awkward smile as he suffered from a kind of attention he still wasn’t used to receiving. The horse beneath him grunted and stamped its feet from the obstruction. He patted the gelding’s neck to try and calm its nerves.

He made it to the village square before too long. Once the site of a vicious battle between men and a greatwyrm, there were only a few scars left behind. One of the buildings in particular still had some patchwork being done where the dragon’s claws had shattered the wall, but other than that it looked mostly normal. Alistair was glad to see the town of Bredon had recovered so quickly.

“What brings you back, milord?” asked one of the children.

“Did you want to live here?” another asked. They were shoved by one of the older boys.

“‘Course he doesn’t want to live here. Look around, will you?” The boy gestured to their humble surroundings. “Who’d want to live in the middle of nowhere?”

“The place I used to live was in the middle of nowhere like this,” Alistair said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “A place called Wyrdwood, far to the south of here. Nothing much interesting happened there, nothing like dragons and paladins showing up to fight.”

“I thought all the paladins came from big and fancy castles,” said one girl.

“Not all, I’m afraid,” replied Alistair.

“Sir Paladin,” a boy called out in the back. “Can you tell me where they took my sister?”

An odd hush fell over the children. They looked among each other and then back to Alistair. Some of them nodded as if they too wanted to know. Others seemed afraid of the answer, not wanting to earn the paladin’s ire for asking something out of turn.

“Who took your sister?” Alistair asked, brow furrowed. Had the undead already struck?

“The pretty ladies from the capital,” whispered the boy, his voice meek. His eyes looked wet. “They took my sister and didn’t say why.”

“They took some of the older kids too,” said a girl. “My brother went with them, he kinda looked like you.”

Pretty girls from the capital. Alistair was reminded of Broderick’s words to him from the time before they left. Healers from Isenfell were meant to come to Bredon, to help the wounded. They would have been daughters of the Lady, all of them. No doubt they found some children there with the mark of magic inside them. Young girls to be daughters, and older children of either gender could have been made into paladins. How the daughters decided or knew exactly who to pick, even Alistair wasn’t quite sure.

“Those pretty ladies were daughters of the Lady of the Lake herself.” His response drew looks of awe from the gathered children. Their mouths dropped, eyes narrowed. “Your sister, and all the rest of the children who left, have been chosen by the Lady to do great things.”

“Why not the rest of us?”

Alistair felt his voice wither away. He didn’t know how to explain this without hurting any feelings. In fact, he didn’t know how to answer at all. As Broderick and Isabele had both said to him, the Lady worked in mysterious ways. He now understood why Isabele and the other daughters he’d met acted so aloof. It got them out of having to explain difficult questions.

“Haven’t you asked the brave paladin enough questions?” A man approached, old and wizened. An alderman of the village, he must have been. “I think it’s time you all run along and let me speak with the man. Go on now.” He kept the children under a watchful eye as they reluctantly dispersed. “I can tell yer still not used to this kind of attention, milord. Children‘ll talk yer ear off if ye let ‘em.”

“Yes, I’m still trying to get my bearings.” Alistair offered the man a slight bow of his head. “Thanks for the help. Are you the village head?”

“Aye, I am. Name’s Tamas, son of Tamin.”

“Alistair, son of Hughe.”

“Nice to meet a paladin of humble background,” said Tamas with a crooked grin. “What brings you back? We didn’t get properly introduced, on account of the dragon and all. But I saw you and the rest of yer merry band all the same. You’re welcome here.”

Alistair took another look around. Still, nothing looked out of place. On the way, he’d imagined this place overrun with the undead by now.

“Have you noticed anything strange recently?” Alistair asked, being intentionally vague. If there were still children eavesdropping, he didn’t want to say something out of turn.

Tamas narrowed his one good eye. “Strange? You mean like the dragon from ‘fore?” The old man thought for a moment but shook his head. “Nothing stranger than that, lemme tell you.”

“Any recent visitors then?” Alistair was reminded of his test of mettle. Maybe this traveler he was meant to meet had already been there.

“No, just some folk from the capital. They tended to the knights and were gone ‘fore we could say more than a few words to ‘em.” Tamas shrugged. “Is there somethin’ wrong?”

Alistair didn’t want to try and explain the concept of quests and other kinds of magic to the man. He’d probably think the young paladin crazy. Besides, there was no reason to start a panic until he knew for sure the undead were really coming.

“No, nothing wrong,” Alistair replied, diffusing the tension with another awkward smile. He forced himself to chuckle. “I might stay for another day or two. Someone wanted to meet me here, you see.” Then he pointed in the general direction of Deadwood. “I’m going to take a look around while I’m here. Just in case.”

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“Feel free,” Tamas said, gesturing the same way. After a moment he let out a nervous hum. “You know, sir paladin, there was something I thought odd. Might I tell ye?”

Alistair narrowed his eyes. Could this be it? “You may.”

“Well…you see, erm.” Now it was Tamas’ turn to look sheepish. He scratched his chin and made to clear his throat. “Bredon has always had a few guardian spirits. ‘Til recently, they’d come by and help us with little things. Sweepin’ floors, plantin’ seeds, pickin’ up litter. That sort of thing.”

“You mean a Bauchan?”

“Aye, that's what me father called ‘em. Mum liked to say Brownies, but I always found it a little odd, considerin’ they weren’t brown.”

Alistair nodded along with the alderman. He’d heard both terms used as well, Bauchan being more for the southern nobility and those that served them. Brownie seemed more common among the rural lowborn, though he’d never known why. They were mischievous little fae, but only when they weren’t properly fed or thanked for the work they put in. Bauchans liked to live outside of human villages and help more than hurt. In exchange, they took small payments in return for their service.

“Anyway, we had three of ‘em till last summer. Then one by one, they’d stopped comin’ by. We were afraid they’d gone entirely. Bredon just wouldn’t be the same without them, the strange little things they are.” Tamas held up a finger. “But just before the dragon came to our village, one of ‘em showed up. The bauchan gave us fair warning, ‘fore even the first knight showed up on our door.”

“So they didn’t completely leave then.”

“Mhm, I suppose. Though it didn’t stay long, and we didn’t see its friends with it. Seemed skittish now that I think about it, but I figured it was ‘cause of the dragon ‘n all.” Tamas shook his head, sighing as he did. “Well, we haven’t seen it since, an’ I heard ye went out east the last time. The children say the bauchan lived out that way, somewhere. Maybe you could check on it? It might like ye more than an old codger like me.”

It was never a good sign when fae, especially the nice ones, started disappearing from somewhere. Either the brownies were truly insulted by something the elder wasn’t telling Alistair, or they were being driven out. Bauchans didn’t have any kind of natural defense apart from hiding themselves away, so if it were a monster of some kind, it would still be around. He was getting another bad feeling in his gut.

“I can certainly look for it,” Alistair said. He hid his growing concern behind a confident smirk. One he’d imagine a paladin might give in such a circumstance. “And you’re sure it’s from the east? Toward the border?”

“Aye, they’d come from the woods there. Always.”

“And your people haven’t seen anything odd in the eastern fields? Nothing in the distance either?” Alistair pressed him further, digging for clues.

“Just a bit heavier ‘o mist than usual, ‘tis all. Didn’t think much of it, being as wet as it’s been recently.”

Alistair froze, one foot in the stirrup as he’d readied to lift himself to ride again. He did a double take and looked at the alderman. Tamas didn’t seem to pick up on his worry, only offering him a strange look. A heavy mist, coupled with strong rainfall? It could have been a coincidence, but given his quest, he had to assume otherwise.

“Hm, I see,” Alistair replied, as coolly as he could. “I’ll head out now then, before dark.” He finished pulling himself up into the saddle.

Lady give me strength.

Tamas’ smile returned. “We’ll be waitin’ with a welcomin’ feast when ye return. Don’t be too long!” And then he plodded off to the tavern to coordinate the effort.

The paladin shifted uncomfortably in his seat, thoughts racing. He took the reins in his hands and directed his horse onward, east this time. Beneath him, the gelding gave him a bit of attitude as it had surely wanted a rest from their journey.

“You’re growing spoiled already, boy,” whispered Alistair. “You see any sign of civilization and you want a trough and a stall.” What could he expect from a former noble’s horse? Of course it would think that way. “Come on, just a little further.”

Together, the two rode off to the east. Toward Deadwood.

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Alistair had scouted forward for about half an hour or so, and he only grew more confused with every further step he took. He’d just been this way a little less than a month ago. On the one hand, he knew that he’d followed the trail just the same way Ilvara had taken him. But on the other, nothing looked the same. The further he got, the heavier the mist of Deadwood surrounded him.

He shouldn’t have been anywhere near the land of the dead. Not yet at least. It should have been another half hour or so, through at least one forest and a considerable amount of overgrowth if he remembered right. This looked nothing like the border he remembered. The ground was wet there, but more than just damp, it looked sunken and misshaped. Muddy water pooled in these craters as if to form some kind of proto-swamp.

Behind him, he could no longer see the village of Bredon. Damn this mist, he thought. It was meant to be midday with nary a cloud in the sky! None of it made any sense. There were only two explanations. Either his memory had slipped and he’d already traveled too far, or Deadwood’s border had gotten up and moved.

Alistair already knew the answer, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. Did a dullahan have that kind of power? To spread the miasma and corrupting filth of evil across the border? A chill ran up his spine. How far might the creature be from its handiwork? For all he knew, he was surrounded again.

Ilvara wouldn’t be there to bail him out with a well-timed bomb and snarky comment this time.

He thought to turn back and escape the fog. It seemed like the smart thing to do, a knight’s tactic as the Earl Manus Druim might’ve said. This kind of environment favored the dead only, and it left him ripe for an ambush. If his horse fell, he’d be forced to run back and—

What am I talking about? I’m a paladin, dammit!

Alistair shook his head to clear these cowardly thoughts. He’d sipped from the grail, his power greater than ever. Not to mention his quest had brought him back for one reason and one reason alone: to kill the dullahan. To run would not just be an irrevocable stain on his honor, but it would mean abandoning the village to a horrible fate.

No, he’d go until he found the border of twisted trees. He would confirm his suspicions and make damn sure he wasn’t being tricked. Then he’d figure out what to do next as a proper paladin would. To do anything less was not an option. Alistair willed his spooked gelding forward, setting aside whatever fear he might’ve had.

A few minutes later he spotted something. Dark figures in the distance, a long line of them. He hesitated a moment to get a better look. The fog made it difficult but after a bit Alistair could tell they were only trees. A little closer on horseback confirmed that he’d managed to find the aforementioned border forest. Alas, there wasn’t a single healthy tree in sight. Everything was dead and rotting, a dire omen.

Going further on horseback simply wouldn’t be possible. The trees were twisted at odd angles, their branches sharp and obstructive. Besides, the gelding wasn’t in the best of moods. Not even Alistair’s calming voice could do much to allay the creature’s growing concern. Alistair couldn’t even convince himself.

He realized just how quiet the world had gotten around him. Like last time, he couldn’t hear a single sound save for the horse beneath him. No animals in the distance, no trickling water—not even a single wisp of wind. Surrounded by thick fog, his sight and hearing neutered, Alistair decided now would be the time to turn around.

Before he could even click his tongue, he heard something. The distinct pitter-patter of feet, splashing in shallow water. It came from somewhere further ahead of him, further into Deadwood. Alistair closed his eyes to listen. They were coming toward him, whatever ‘they’ were. And they were being quick about it.

Then he realized, there was more than just one. By now the splashes had grown louder in his ear. Alistair dismounted as quickly as he could and fumbled to get his pikestaff out of his pack. All the while, the noises kept coming closer and closer. Carrying through the fog now he could hear snarling and growling. Shamblers maybe? No, they were simply moving too quickly to be zombies. A new kind of enemy then, he decided.

Alistair focused a moment and let the Aegis body cover him again. This would be his first time in combat since his drink from the grail. His vitality had grown twofold since the last time he looked at the bar.

Once transformed, he felt his nerves melt away. That uncomfortable tightness in his chest turned into something else, something more akin to excitement. Alistair breathed deep, his red body shuddering beneath him. He relished this newfound confidence. It would be a shield used to brave whatever was coming.

From out of the woods stumbled a small creature, bloodied and bruised. It tripped over its spindly legs, collapsing on the edge of the treeline. He could see its chest heaving as air struggled to reach the lungs. The Sight told Alistair what he’d already guessed, this was a bauchan. And it was very close to dying.

Alistair advanced toward the downed creature—and in turn—the monsters that had attacked it. The snarls had turned to hoots and hollers, a strange noise for the undead to make. They sounded as if they were bloodhounds, hot on the trail to their next meal. He started to run instead of walk. If he didn’t, the undead were sure to reach the bauchan before he did.

From out of the twisted wood came figures Alistair had seen before. He almost hesitated at the sight of them. They were the last thing he’d expect to find. A troop of hobs had been chasing after the fae creature, and their slobbering gobs told him that they were hungry.

Alistair breathed a sigh of relief to see such simple foes. He’d been expecting much worse. Their wooden clubs and spears were the same as last time. Nothing that could pierce his armor.

To be safe, he activated Living Shield right away. This pulled the hobs’ attention back to Alistair and away from the wounded fae. They ran at him with a ghostly blue tinge to their shining eyes. Alistair thrust his pike forward and impaled the first to get close. A wet crunch followed as the pointed edge burst through the monster’s ribcage. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the creature flying away and he brought the blade end down on the head of the next hob.

A vicious melee followed as Alistair shoved, kicked, and punched whatever managed to evade his polearm strikes. The hobs lacked any kind of sound tactics thanks to his powers. In the flurry of melee, he found himself distracted by his own skill. This time things were going much smoother than his last hob encounter. Not a single one managed to even land a blow. His Aegis body, big as it was, remained even quicker than their sluggish and squat forms.

Then he heard a loud snort and turned to the treeline. He recognized the pig snout creature, standing on its two hooved legs. An orc had trailed after the hobs. The Sight told him it had been within the range of his Living Shield, and the monster passed by the bauchan without even a glance.

He could tell right away something was wrong with this orc. It looked wounded already. Flesh hung off of its body and its green skin looked like it had been bathed in blood. The creature’s gait was powerful but unsteady, as if each move required a measure of forethought. Then Alistair took another look at its eyes and recognized the fiery blue glow resting within the glassy orbs.

Alistair glanced at the hobs and noticed some managed to get to their feet. He’d surely given them mortal wounds and yet they kept standing. As they began to shamble toward him again, Alistair realized his mistake.

The dullahan had found itself some new converts.