At first, Coral was content to ride in silence. The darkness was overwhelming, and it took a great deal of effort to trust that Silas and Elwin could see in the dark. They both sat alert, but unbothered. As they drew further away, and their carriage wasn’t driven into a tree or ditch, Coral became somewhat more comfortable sitting wedged between the two, staring at nothing.

Coral half expected Elwin to strike up conversation between them all. He didn’t, and Coral decided that Elwin, friendly as he was, took being an adventurer seriously. His good-natured enthusiasm for anything to do with monsters or ghosts, had Coral guessing he was more excitable rather than responsible. She liked being wrong in this instance.

At night, it was never a good idea to draw attention to yourself in a forest. Anything could be lurking nearby, and being noisy was a good way to get killed.

Noise could mask approaching monsters. A rustle in the debris, a shift of movement, all hidden under the sounds of conversation. By the time a monster was upon them, it would be too late.

Along a commonly used road, conversation and noise wasn’t such a problem. The caravan she and Pearl had taken, despite the hired swords, stopped each night when they could and set up protective barriers. When possible, they stayed the nights in towns or outposts. Generally, each outpost housed several adventurers along with the king’s army, intending to fight off any creature that slunk out for a feast.

Direwood was so remote, that it was a several day ride to the next town through a thick forest. Direwood was one of the last towns on the cusp of civilization, and the land from there became wild. It was home to monsters known and unknown. Those who ventured into the dark wilds often didn’t come back. If they did, it was with tales of creatures more terrifying than the last.

Still, the allure of the dark wilds was enough to draw many adventurers for the fame, for the adventure, and most tempting of all, the treasure to be found. Each and every adventurer gained something for their efforts. Rare monster materials, a new dungeon to explore filled with artefacts from a long-forgotten city. Sometimes, piles of actual gold and jewels.

Where those came from, Coral didn’t know. Unless it had been found in old ruins? It was more likely a paranoid old man like her father that preferred to hide their gold in remote locations.

Though, all throughout the kingdom, there were many hidden chests. Each likely holding deposits of weapons, armour and gems, usually left behind by adventurers storing their equipment before delving deep into a dungeon and never to be seen again.

In hindsight, many probably could have made use of a spare sword. Then again, Coral wasn’t a fighter. What did she know of spelunking a dungeon filled potentially with deadly creatures.

Coral shifted then, her backside going numb on the hardwood seating. Her knee brushed against Silas’s leg, which drew his attention away from the mass of trees and down on to her. At least, he tilted his head down. She couldn’t really see any detail other than generally denser shapes. Except Caspian’s horse, its coat gleaming even in the shadows. It really was like a beacon.

Trust Caspian to have a fine horse that was as moon bright as him.

Why was it that Coral had been subjected to years of training to navigate the rigid nobility and never quite achieving it, yet people like Caspian effortlessly portrayed prideful respectability. He must have had an easier time than she did learning. Curse him.

Why did he have to be so pleasant to be around? It made it that much harder for Pearl to deal with his betrayal. Not that there had been much to begin with, but he had gotten Pearls heart fluttering. To openly display another woman on his arms was as good as a war declaration against Coral. Saviour or not. If it wasn’t for the purposeful silence, Coral would have liked to engage Caspian in a conversation that dug at his conscience. If he even had one.

With a start, Coral realized that Silas had been watching her all this time. Surely he couldn’t see the expression on her face in this darkness. Then again, he was maneuvering the carriage around any potential holes or branches along the road.

“Yes?” Coral whispered, her voice barely an octave above the carriage noises. Silas turned his back to driving the carriage, his head and body blocking most of Coral’s view from that side.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

“I’m here, aren’t I,” Coral said. It was a simpler version to what she would rather say which was, ‘No. I don’t want to do this, and in thanks to my pathetic excuse for a father, it’s the quickest alternative I have to working my fingers to the bone.’

That was certainly something Coral would not disclose to mister handsy.

“Just say the word, and I’ll get you out. Right away, no questions asked. No matter how far we get, I’ll take you straight back.”

Coral squinted up at him, trying to decipher Silas’s mood. Why was he so opposed to her coming along? Was his offer to return her out of concern for Coral, or, more likely, that she was going to need guarding the whole time?

“Even when I’m dangled in front of the ghoul?” Coral asked, her tone teasing and light.

“Yes,” Silas said, completely serious.

Coral blinked, her eyelashes sticking together from the salve.

“I don’t need you here. In fact, you can stay at the camp until we’re done.”

“Excuse me?” Coral said, her whisper harsher now.

“You can’t fight,” Silas said matter-of-factly.

“I’m only doing this because I’m getting something in return. I don’t make it a habit to offer myself up on a plate.”

No, that was just her father. Coral breathed heavily through her nose, trying to calm her temper.

“You can still have your compensation, but my team and I can’t afford to keep you safe while dealing with this creature. It isn’t normal.”

“Yes, you’ve said that already,” Coral grumbled. She wouldn’t have classified a ghoul as your typical monster regardless. They were made by necromancers, and there were very few of those around now that they had been outlawed.

“I’m not someone that completes half a job. If I am to be compensated for my efforts, I should at the very least perform my role.”

“Perform away. At camp.” Silas said, tonelessly.

Coral glared at Silas. Did this man not consider her pride? Was he going to really make her argue the point to let her act as bait – something she really didn’t want to do. “I won’t lie,” she said, crossing her arms.

Silas let out a bark of amusement. It was loud and harsh in the otherwise whispered murmurings between them.

“I don’t see what’s so funny about that. Explain it,” Coral said through gritted teeth.

“Your real name,” he said, but didn’t elaborate further.

“My name is real,” Coral hissed out.

How could this man portray her as a liar? He didn’t know her from the next stranger. Coral crossed her arms, trying fruitlessly to not let any of her limbs brush against Silas. The rocking of the carriage made it difficult to not sway and jerk in her seat. She really wished she had a pillow to cushion herself with.

“Your father’s name is Farley,” Silas pointed out, as if this was evidence to his accusation.

“Yes. I changed it,” Coral said shortly. “Seaver is my mother’s maiden name.”

Poor Elwin shifted uncomfortably beside Coral. Was Silas going to make Elwin stay behind too? He had been so eager to come.

“What are you planning to do then, if you don’t need me,” Coral asked.

Silas’s hands tightened on the reigns which made the horse throw its head in response before picking up its feet into a faster trot. “We can talk about this when we get to camp,” he said.

Under the mask of darkness, Coral glowered at Silas. If he saw the expression on her face, he didn’t say anything.

Caspian glanced over at Coral once, flashing her an encouraging smile then fixing his attention back on the forest.

----------------------------------------

Two excruciatingly long hours later, where Silas had picked a harrowingly fast pace, they came upon the tower that Coral had recalled. She hadn’t even known they were upon it, as each mass of dark shape blended into the next. Thankfully nothing had leapt out at them. Though Coral’s nerves had yet to ease.

Silas guided the carriage towards the tower, his hand held against the guild’s sigil pendant fastened to his cloak. Coral felt a shiver of magic thrum through her, and as the carriage slowed, then came to a gradual stop several meters away from the tower’s walls, light bloomed instantly before her. She shut her eyes against the harshness of it, blinded by how bright the light was from such a prolonged time in the dark and straining to see anything at all. Through streaming eyes, Coral tried to open her them against the light with the smallest slither of her eyelid. It helped, oddly, when her lashes clumped together again.

Neither Elwin nor Silas seemed affected by the sudden brightness that was burning her retinas. They each left the carriage, leaving her to sit there uselessly while her eyes adjusted.

There was a scuffle from beside the carriage. Coral shaded her eyes against the light and squinted blearily at Caspian, who was having difficulty controlling his panicking horse. The Clydesdale stood still, completely unfazed.

Caspian’s horse bucked and unseated him. He landed awkwardly, sprawled in the dirt looking bewildered. It was a humbling effect which Coral greatly appreciated.

There was a chortle of laughter, and someone seized Caspian’s horse by the reins. They patted the neck of Caspian’s steed, leaving darkened splotches of dirt on its otherwise pristine coat.

“Steady girl,” a low voice crooned to the mare. The horse held its head high but came to a standstill.

“Give it a moment, it’s just light blindness,” they murmured gently.

“You could have given a warning,” Caspian said as he picked himself up from the ground. It was satisfying to see that his shirt was now filthy. Coral just hoped he kept it on.

Corals eyes adjusted to the light and was able to finally look around. At the center of the tower, was a blazing fire, piled high with thick logs and set to burn well throughout the night. Heat radiated from it, so much that Coral’s fingers twitched to go warm themselves. The fire lit up the area, which confused Coral, as seconds before she hadn’t seen any trace of light whatsoever.

“How come I couldn’t see the light?”

“It’s the protective barrier around the camp. Useful for hiding ourselves. Not so much when we want someone to find us. It blocks almost all noise and light we make, so we’re almost undetectable,” Silas explained.

“Almost?”

“It doesn’t completely hide everything. If you know what to look for, you can detect traces of movement, light, subtle scents and sounds that are transmitted as though we are much further away. We aren’t completely invisible inside the barrier.”

Silas gave her a hard look, his gaze somehow expectant, like he expected her to do something like poke faces at passing hobgoblins. Coral may have grown up in a city, but she knew better than to tempt creatures, invisible or not.

“Understood,” she said, trying her best to look as placating as possible without bristling. “And anyone who stumbles inside the barrier go temporarily blind too,” she added. Her eyes were still watering.

“At night, yes,” Silas said, holding out a hand to help her down from the carriage. Coral reached for the proffered hand, taking that as a gesture of good will over the stiff conversation they had at the start of the journey.

“Anyone would go blind when you suddenly have light shone on you from being in the dark for so long. It gives us an edge at night,” Silas said.

Goodness was his hand warm and lovely. Calloused too, the roughness of his palm against hers was jarring, but not unexpected. An adventurer’s life was hard earned with years of weapon use.

Coral was like a soft silk compared to Silas. She fully intended to keep her hands that way too, even if she had to earn a few blisters here or there fixing up the manor. She wouldn’t neglect herself.

“How come you’re fine, and Elwin too?” Coral asked.

“The sigil. I activated it when we got here,” Silas said distractedly. “If your guild’s sigil is attuned to the active magic, you’ll see and hear the camp just fine.”

Silas still hadn’t let go of her hand. Figuring he was unlikely to let her go on his own, handsy as he was, Coral pulled her hand out of his grip, her fingers tingling with cold.

“He forgets to remind people. It’s happened to me so often that if I see Silas reach for his sigil, I’ll activate mine right away,” Elwin chimed in. “I should have warned you, but I only just managed to touch my own in time before I could explain.”

The person holding Caspian’s horse chuffed in amusement. “Forgets on purpose is more like.”

Coral turned so that she could look at the man. He was well into his forties, with a shaved head and a heavy brow and a nose that had been broken far too many times. A scar ran from the top of his scalp, and slashed down to his chin in a thick, jagged line. One of his blue eyes had gone blind.

The horse threw its head again, and with the jerk of the reigns, Coral noticed that his last two fingers had been removed from the first knuckle. This man looked like an Adventurer that she had come to know and see in the city. Pock-marked, bruised, burned and scarred.

“Do you have to activate the sigil every time you enter the barrier?” Coral asked. That must have been what she could feel when she entered the Adventurer’s guild.

“Just the once. The camp was moved outside the cave, and a new barrier was needed,” the man said. He dipped his head in a quick bow to Coral. “The name’s Tybalt Mossford,” he said in way of greeting.

“Coral Seaver,” Coral said, reciprocating his bow.

“I was wondering why you’re all camped out here,” Silas said, sounding less irritated for the first time all night.

“Hobgoblins. The cave is full of them, and they keep popping out of nowhere. It was easier to come back here rather than keep slaughtering them. Stupid things,” Tybalt said. He handed the reigns to Caspian then turned towards the fire.

Four other people sat near the fire, propped up on large stones that had fallen from the tower’s walls, or over sleeping matts.

One of the apprentices Coral recalled seeing at the Guild was laying half undressed but covered in bloodied gauze closest to the fire, with the tower wall to his back. He turned his head to look at them with half lidded eyes. The movement revealed the side of his neck, where a puckered bite mark ringed his throat, still red and oozing.

That must have been Norden Ruesong. He looked younger than she remembered, all bandaged up. Thankfully he had all his limbs still, and seemed to be in good spirits despite the wince of pain as he raised an arm to wave. His blonde hair was sweaty and stuck to his forehead as it curled around a fine face that when grown and the childhood roundness was lost, would belong to another heartthrob.

As Coral approached, she caught a whiff of cooking meat. A giant spit roast had been set up over a section of the fire, with several chunks of meat dripping fat onto the coals beneath it. It smelled wonderful. She also didn’t know what the meat was and wasn’t about to enquire. She already had her meal for the night. Most likely, it could have been a monster they recently killed. It certainly wasn’t the colour of venison.

The tower had shed large stones and boulders about the area, as though something had burst out from the structure. They littered the ground and Coral was impressed that Silas had driven the carriage into a clearing without catching on many of the stones littering the ground. Wedged up against the towers walls was a large rock, where some unfortunate person had been caught with their legs pinned beneath the stone. Time had eaten away at its flesh, so that it was bleached white and the remains of its clothes were tattered rags.

Everyone was unconcerned about the skeleton. Coral couldn’t shake the disturbing image of it coming to life. Would this be what she was going to be confronted with on the Night of the Undead? Coral pictured it now, scrabbling to escape the stone. Would it crawl away and leave its lower half behind? It was bent over the stone now, an arm resting over the top of it, like it had been trying to pry the rock off already.

“What’s with the cage?” a man said, stepping forward to greet them, tucking a wooden comb behind his ear. Their amber eyes were set on Coral, suspicion in his gaze. This man had a lot of hair. His chin length brown hair had already been neatly combed back, settling around him in soft waves. He had an impressively thick and silky beard, trimmed so that it came to a point at his chin. Dark hair sprouted from beneath the collar of his scale armor, and even on the back of his hands the little hairs were dark and long. They looked as though they had been combed as well. Not one hair looked out of place.

Seriously, why was everyone so good looking? At least Mr. Mossford looked like a normal Adventurer. There must be something in the water that the town drank from that gave them such exceptional features. Silas must have bathed in the healing springs as a child to have grown into such a fine specimen of a man.

“To keep the ghoul from running off,” Silas said.

“And these two?” the man said, his eyes flicking between Coral and Caspian. They darkened as they stared at Caspian.

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“Bait,” Coral said lightly.

The man’s eyebrows shot upwards, crinkling his brow.

“She’s not bait,” Silas said impatiently.

“Why is he here?” asked another blonde haired, blue-eyed apprentice. He was a twin to Norden. Though he seemed like the much stockier of the two. Annoyance pinched his mouth into a hard line as he watched Elwin leap from the carriage. “I thought you had reception duty for the rest of the week.”

Elwin looked smug as he said, “What can I say. The Unbroken Seolfor needs me.”

“You could say a lot less,” the apprentice muttered, his fists clenching.

“Osric’s always been jealous of me,” Elwin told Coral. “The Ruesong’s can’t keep up with me, and I’m younger.”

“Shut your mouth, the pair of you,” the well-groomed man said. “Osric, go get the supplies for your brother.”

Osric glowered as he passed Elwin, shoving his shoulder hard into him before heading to the back of the carriage.

The well-groomed man bowed with much more formality than the others, though he wore an odd expression Coral couldn’t quite place. “Darius Brown, or as I’m more commonly known, The Shepherd.”

The Shepherd was an interesting title for an Adventurer. Had he earned it through dealing with dogs, or was it given to him, as often was, by civilians through hearing of his heroics.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Coral said, glad that there was another named Adventurer in Silas’s ranks.

“Should have called you The Hairy One,” Tybalt Mossford said, coming to stand by them.

“When you get your title, I’m petitioning it to be Bald Patch,” Darius Brown said good naturedly.

Tybalt laughed, and muttered an insult under his breath that Coral couldn’t quite hear but understood the inflection.

The last man that had been lounging against a rock by the fire joined them, wearing a friendly smile that made him much more approachable and lessened the burn scarring that dotted his face and down his neck. He looked like he had been sprayed with acid, which was entirely viable. He dropped into a deep bow and spoke to the ground rather than looking at Coral.

“Arthfael Claysend,” he introduced in a quiet tone.

“You left to go explore the last tunnel, and came back with a cage, a vampire and a damsel. Interrupted a hidden rendezvous, did you?” Tybalt needled.

“No,” both Coral and Silas said at the same time.

“I’ll be assisting with luring the ghoul into the cage as an act of good will, to clear the misunderstanding between us. And I’m not entirely helpless,” Caspian said politely.

What misunderstanding could have arisen between Silas’s team and Caspian? Coral looked at Caspian, at the polite expression he wore, his red eyes still brighter than they had been that first night she had seen him after escaping the wolves.

She wanted to ask, then remembered she was angry at him for hurting Pearl. It was impolite to enquire about a misunderstanding that didn’t have anything to do with her. She would just have to push her curiosity to the back of her mind.

“Why is she here though?” asked Darius Brown. “I wouldn’t have thought you of all people to bring her into this situation.”

“Crowcaller,” Silas said in way of explanation. The men instantly had looks of understanding dawning on their faces.

“She likes to meddle in things doesn’t she, Old Crowcaller,” Tybalt said.

“Particularly when it comes to ma-,”

“Let’s get tonight over with so we can all go back home,” Silas said, interrupting Darius.

Silas folded his arms and was looking irritated again. “Claysend, you’ll stay here with Norden and Osric, and keep Coral under guard. Don’t let her out of your sight. The rest of you are with me. We’ll take the cage into the cavern where there’s the most room. I expect that’s where the rest of the pack are?” Silas asked Tybalt, who nodded once in affirmation.

“Good. We’ll take the ghoul apart in sections and keep the body in the cage while we have the head separated and bring it back to the pyre to melt. The body will follow. Claysend, you and the boys are to keep the pyre burning hot.”

The men wasted no time in actioning Silas’s instructions. Tybolt and Darius piled into the front seat of the carriage, one of them taking up the reigns to the patiently waiting Clydesdale.

“Wait,” Coral said, catching Silas’s arm as he began to head back to the carriage. “You said we could talk about this when we got here.”

“I’m not taking you down into that cave,” Silas said stubbornly. “You can be bait here, under the protection of the Guild’s sigil and one of my best fighters. Away from the ghoul.”

Coral crossed her arms, furious. “Are you telling me that I’ve been dragged out here to play pretend.”

“Do you want me to take you back?” he asked, sounding hopeful.

“No!” Coral objected, trying to keep her exasperation in check. “I know it doesn’t matter to you, but I want that cursed debt gone from my name.”

“Fine. You’re staying here, but when we return with the ghoul’s head you can stand near it so it’s focus will be on you rather than reattaching itself to its body,” Silas said, glowering at Coral. “That’s all I’m giving you. Bait status achieved, Coral.”

“I.. Uh, thank you.” Coral stammered, distracted by the way he had said her name in a deep rumble. She hadn’t given him permission to address her so informally. They weren’t friends. He was the owner of the Dog House; her competition. He shouldn’t be using her name with such familiarity.

She watched him turn and march towards the carriage. The horse was signaled to walk on, and they slipped out into the darkness.

“Lady Seaver, come sit by the fire,” Mr. Claysend said, raising an arm to indicate the blazing pyre behind them.

Coral walked towards Mr. Claysend, then chose a rock to sit on. It was warm at least. She looked about the tower. Tonight was certainly going to be long.

She slumped over a little and watched as Osric dropped a small leather bag beside his twin. He pulled out ointments and a new roll of gauze, murmuring to his brother.

“I’ll be the handsome one now,” Osric said.

Norden, despite the obvious pain he was in, smacked his brother in the arm with more strength than Coral would have expected. Osric rocked back on his heels, grinning.

She watched them taunt each other under their breath as Osric smeared salve over the bite wound on his brother’s neck. Coral could see that it was more to distract Norden from his pain than an actual ribbing. It didn’t last long. Just as Coral thought to wonder over and strike up conversation, Osric whacked his brother’s uninjured shoulder and told him to sleep. He laid down not too far from his brother, yawned, then closed his eyes.

Coral stayed where she was, wondering what she was to do now.

After several long hours of waiting and nothing happening, Coral found herself inspecting the walls of the tower purely for something to do out of boredom. This was not how she imagined the night would go. Though, if she was entirely honest, she was glad she had been left behind.

There was another floor above them, where there was a set of spiraling stairs that stopped five steps down and was left hanging to the floor below. She could see a section inside, but all that the fire revealed was more stone. She ambled around the tower seven times, encircling the fire as though she were transfixed by the flames. It was too hot this close to the fire, and with each pass of the hole in the wall where Coral assumed had been the door to the tower, based on the stone archway bricks that remained, the cool air swept across the back of her neck and was a pleasant relief from the stifling heat.

“Can I go out there,” Coral asked Mr. Claysend. He let the whetstone run along the edge of his sword one last time, then looked up at her.

“If you stay within the barrier,” he said, getting to his feet. He didn’t pry into why Coral wanted to move about, and she appreciated it.

Coral was tired and if she stayed still, she’d likely fall asleep on the ground. Not the most ideal places, it wouldn’t be the first time. She just didn’t want to overheat and sweat all over Crowcallers jack-of-plate.

He went before her, sweeping the area with a quick glance. When he deemed that nothing was lurking around the camp, he gave her a nod. Coral stepped out of the towers walls, and the wash of cold air on her cheeks woke her up. Stepping away from the fire however didn’t bring on any new details than what she had been seeing for the last several hours. Darkness, looming trees and rocks. There wasn’t even the hoot of an owl. Just a quiet stillness, broken only by the crackle of wood and the roaring fire.

Coral ambled about, taking her time to watch each passing tree or scuff in the leaf litter below her. When she got twenty meters from the tower, Mr. Claysend held up a hand and stopped Coral from taking another step.

“See the shimmer,” he said quietly.

Coral hadn’t seen anything. She had noticed that the sigil brooch had sent a pulse of energy, gentle enough that if she hadn’t been aware of her complete boredom, she would have missed it. It had barely been more than static electricity. Now that she was looking, she did see a ripple in the space before her. Barely perceptible, a large dome spread up and back over the tower at its peak. There was a mild ripple effect as she looked up, and lost part of the barrier’s walls with the darkened sky.

“How do you know if you accidentally leave the barrier?” Coral asked.

“The guild sigil will send a pulse of energy through you. Trust me, when everything goes dark, you’ll know,” Mr. Claysend said.

Coral followed the rim of the barrier, stepping over stones as best she could, Mr. Claysend on her heels. “Mr. Claysend?” Coral said, keeping her voice hushed.

Mr. Claysend hummed, and Coral took that as permission to ask her question.

“Silas said that you are one of his best fighters. Is that true?”

Mr. Claysend was quiet for a moment before he answered, looking contemplative. “I have a lot of experience. I wouldn’t say I’m the best fighter, but I do win most matches. There are still people I lose against. Silas, for instance. And Crowcaller.”

“You sound quite humble,” Coral commented. “If Silas praised you, I’m sure you’re very good.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Mr. Claysend said. “Though, that may be for your reassurance of your safety. Rest assured Coral, you have nothing to fear with me around.”

Coral was still nervous, but the stillness had settled her nerves, enough that she could no longer stand doing nothing. Walking around the camp was better than watching Norden Ruesong snore softly. They fell back into silence as Coral picked her way through a pile of rubble that clearly came from the tower. From this view, she could see that skeleton trapped beneath the stone.

“Have you been through a Night of the Undead?” Coral asked, staring at the skeleton. A few of its teeth were missing, and one lay on the stone before it.

“A few, I’ve been a part of Silas’s team for many years. I knew him from when he was just a lad.”

“Will there be skeletons like these all over Direwood?” Coral asked slowly. “Will I find bodies lying around after the night is over?”

“There can be,” Mr. Claysend said. “But many Adventurers come to handle them for the night. It’s actually an event many look forward to. Can’t say I do though. They’re a nuisance to find afterwards, and some get picked off by monsters, depending if they’re a bit meaty or not.”

Coral scrunched her nose in revulsion.

“My girl gets really excited for the night. Valerie’s her name. She wants to follow me in my footsteps. Fearless little thing she is. Good little fighter too, though she still has quite a few years to go. She’s apprenticing at the Guild.”

“Oh, I think I’ve seen her before in the guild’s library,” Coral said, the name triggering her memory. “Short brown hair, chubby cheeks? About this tall,” she held up her hand to indicate a height.

“That’s her,” Mr. Claysend said. “Was she conspiring again?”

“She could have been. It certainly sounded like she was up to something at the very least,” Coral said, smiling a little.

“Unsurprising,” Mr. Claysend said, though he sounded proud rather than disapproving. “She thinks I don’t know that she’s planning on sneaking out to watch all the Adventurers fight the Undead. I was going to let her and follow her to make sure she stays safe.”

“You would let her?” Coral said, taken-a-back.

“I learnt it’s better to follow along and keep her out of the worst trouble,” he said, chuckling. “It drives my poor wife crazy with worry, but she understands. Keeping Valerie locked up is trying at best.”

“Definitely a little Adventurer in the making, your Valerie,” Coral said. She looked back over the skeleton, perturbed by its grin and empty skull. She just couldn’t see it coming to life.

“I’ve never seen the Undead,” Coral said.

“Best to climatize yourself now while you have the chance,” Mr. Claysend said. He nodded towards the skeleton. “Go take a closer look. It’s lifeless now.”

Coral took a few tentative steps towards the skeleton, half ready to run if it did move. It didn’t. Nor did it look any less unsettling up this close either. Logically, it was all bones and unable to move, but she still didn’t like it. She frowned down at it and noticed a half rotten book beneath one of its hands. Curiosity at this point took over, and she tried to read the front cover. A shadow had fallen over the book face, and after a few moments of stealing her nerves and carefully watching the skeleton, she used her booted foot to pull the book out from beneath the skeleton’s hand. Unfortunately, the skeleton’s hand came with it.

“Ack,” Coral grumbled in disgust, kicking the bones away from the book and scuffing the surface further. Fantastic. Now she had more to add to her nightmares. She reached down and plucked up the book then retreated into the firelight that spilled out of the tower.

Mr. Claysend was there a second later. “What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning down at the book.

“Skeletons are horrible. I’m not sure if I prefer them over ghosts.”

“You’ve had a run in with ghosts before?” Mr. Claysend asked sounding genuinely curious.

“Just the once,” Coral said airily and tried not to rub at her eyes. She hoped the bruising was healing up now that she had applied a generous layer of the salve. It better be, otherwise Coral had been wearing goop slathered on her face all night for nothing. She had the privacy of her haunted manor to do that, rather than embarrass herself further in front of these people.

Coral held the book up to the light, her fingers already filmy with the layer of dirt covering the book. A few letters were decipherable, but otherwise the words were lost from being exposed to the elements. She turned the book over, hoping to see something there, but the back was bare, damp and had a single slug stuck to it. There was a symbol pressed into the cover. It was only by chance that Coral had familiarized herself with tomes for studying magic that she recognized the symbol.

“It’s a spell book,” she said, delighted. She flicked the slug away and tried to pry the pages open from the back. They were damp and clung together in a way that suggested it had been closed shut and rained on far too much.

“You might be able to dry it by the fire,” Mr. Claysend said.

Coral agreed, and eager now for something to do, she hurried back to the fire and propped the book in prime position to dry off, cautious to not get too close in case it caught alight. She threw several more logs on to the fire for good measure. The boys had fallen asleep on the far side of the tower, but she could keep the fire burning hot, embers glowed brightly, emitting so much heat that Coral was uncomfortably hot already. Mr. Claysend sat by the tower’s opening on a large boulder, watching the perimeter, and checking back on her and the sleeping boys.

Coral prodded at the book every so often, then decided it was worth a try to see what she could decipher after several long, quiet minutes where the only thing happened was that steam slowly drifted up from the book’s pages. She held the book between her two hands, and let it fall open where it may. The back cover instantly fell away, followed by a good portion of the paper, all glued together. Dismayed, she turned to the side that hadn’t crumbled away, and read the excerpt had written along the page in blotchy ink.

It took only a few sentences to understand that this was mid explanation of a spell suitable for warming teapots, but the spell itself wasn’t on the page before it. A shame, Coral would have like to have learnt that spell. She would have to make do with warming her teapot on the stove like a normal, magicless person. The spell did however clue Coral into the contents of the book. If a teapot warming spell was in the first half of the tome, the remainder of the book was likely to have similar spellcraft for every day, mundane life.

It may not be a spell to take down a ghoul, or to disperse ghosts, but she’d take small spell craft any day if it could improve her life. Coral gently pulled back another page, which held together. The paper tore as she tried to carefully separate them, then giving up that section she read the next part of the book that she could turn to.

Fools Luck. This spell, though modest in its results, is versatile and adaptable in situations to bring its caster an opportunity in which their luck increases. This spell can be applied in circumstances that directly affect the caster, opening a pathway in subtle ways that alters the situation, though often with unexpected results. It is difficult to identify the spell’s effect, as it is not always immediate or obvious.

The spell is applied with the flourish of a sigil, in quick smooth motions, drawn in a counterclockwise direction. It is best to use a-

A large portion of the text had washed away in the rain, the ink blurring on the lower half of the page.

So, the spell made you lucky? That would be incredibly useful. The following page had the sigil symbol, showing where it began, with arrows indicating which direction to draw next.

Some luck would be highly beneficial tonight, and even if some luck came in an unexpected form, Coral was sure it could only improve her current situation. Like suddenly finding some chocolate cake. Or a comfy pillow to rest against.

She raised her hand, uncertain if this would even work, and traced the sigil in the air, careful to follow the directions shown on the book. Nothing happened. Not even a stir from the magical energy one often felt when spells were taking form.

She tried again, even more slowly and ensuring her movements were smooth and pushing her intentions into the sigil. She finished the last part of the sigil with a flourish of her hand, then waited with bated breath.

Nothing. Unless she counted the grunting snore Osric Ruesong just let out.

She hadn’t really expected something to happen. Spell work required a sigil or rune to be drawn to activate the magic. Novices had to perfect the sigil before the spell activated, ensuring the correct angles and stroke work to be the right thickness. It required a lot of tedious memorization and muscle memory.

Advanced magic users could envision the rune and it would appear before them without having to trace out the sigil. Those who mastered it though were able to combine multiple runes into a much larger scale casting, expanding and enhancing the spell with smaller additives with impressive results.

Coral gently flipped to the next page and read on another passage about the Fools Luck spell.

Do be advised, that the luck accumulated will need to be drawn from the caster, and so, opening an otherwise nonexistent chance. This pull of luck will result in the caster experiencing the reverse effect at a later time. This spell is active for a short period and will only take effect in one situation that directly affects the caster in the physical sense.

Why was this paragraph on the next page rather than before the sigil design was shown? Warnings should be shown before any spell crafting. Coral huffed and frowned at the book. What witless mage wrote this book?

She turned the page to the next spell listed and read.

Grand Entrance – Enter a room with style for maximum impact. The activation of this spell will play a magical tune unique to you, emphasizing your allure and magnanimous aura to those who both adore and hate you. The song will play for approximately twenty seconds and will echo in the ears of all in your presence. The larger the rune, the louder the tune.

Coral checked the next few passages, where it went on to list other spells that Coral was beginning to suspect were in fact rather useless. The whole book seemed to list spells that would have been popular at one point or another, then quickly became outdated. There was a spell to provide cushioning to one’s dancing shoes so that you stepped lightly, and another that stopped cream from curdling. There was no sense to the order of the spells that she could find either.

Coral turned back to the page for the Grand Entrance spell, and scanned the script again, making sure to inspect the following pages just in case. She couldn’t see any further warnings, and curious what her unique tune would be, she decided to try it out. Drawing the rune as small as possible of course. She didn’t want to wake anyone.

Coral held her hand aloft, studying the simple rune on the page, then thought better. “Mr. Claysend,” Coral said, but stopped as he held up his own hand, his gaze fixed on the trees.

Coral stilled and searched the dark in the direction that Mr. Claysend was looking. There was a flicker of slow, ambling movement. There was not a sound to be heard, not even a whisper of debris being shuffled on the ground. Then, from amongst the tree’s, a woman stepped out between two large trunks, her long lank hair trailing down her back. She was naked, curling in on herself with her arms wrapped around her front.

Coral gasped as she saw her, and the woman raised her head up in a stiff motion that caught Coral off guard. That hadn’t been a natural movement. Coral had seen this woman before, from the painting of the necromancer’s family.

Mr. Claysend got to his feet, resting his hand on the hilt of his long sword.

“No,” Coral said too loudly. The woman’s head jerked, as though she had heard Coral speak, and ambled forward at a more predatory gait then before. She turned enough that the firelight cast her features into relief. She looked the same as she had in the painting, with her large round eyes and blonde hair. But there was something wrong. Something unnatural Coral couldn’t explain.

“Get behind the fire,” Mr. Claysend warned in a low voice as he stepped backward centering himself in the tower’s entrance.

Coral hurried to the far side so that the pyre stood between her and the gaping hole that now seemed too wide, wondering if she should wake the two apprentices or not. She didn’t need to, as Mr. Claysend reached into a pocket and pulled out a stone then lobbed it at Osric. It hit him hard in the head. Osric jerked up, already reaching for his knife. He took one look at Mr. Claysend’s stance, feet apart and sword drawn, then reached for the stone and crushed it between his fingers. A fine mist of magical energy swarmed up, then disappeared. Coral had seen one of those before, and heard about them countless times in the gossip circles. That had been a signal sent to the rest of the team. Help would be on its way.

The woman stepped forward, head cocked and eyes searching. Her foot stepped through the barrier, then another step brought her completely inside. She let out a high pitch shriek, shielding their eyes from the light bloom they were experiencing. The woman’s body twisted and dissolved away to reveal an emaciated body of skin and bones, mouth gaping with a row of sharp teeth, cheeks hollowing out and skin that had been pale and clear eroded away to a mottled, rubbery texture. It stumbled forward in its blindness, the human feet forming into hooves. It’s stomach no longer smooth, but bulging from having gorged itself on it’s latest victim.

The necromancer’s wife had been turned into a ghoul.

Osric shoved Norden awake, then reached for a spear laying nearby. Norden followed suit, grabbing for his own and getting to his feet. Coral, unsure on what to do other than try to stay out of the way as much as possible, sidled back against the tower’s wall. Osric and Norden hurried to her, stationing themselves in front of her, their spears raised.

“Stay behind us,” Osric said. “If we tell you to run, you run. Got it?”

“Yes,” Coral breathed.

The ghoul shook its head, then its eyes set on them. It sprinted forward in long loping steps, arms raised with claws poised for slashing. As it closed the distance in five quick steps, screeching as it came, it leapt the last few meters at Claysend.

Claysend sidestepped the creature and in that same movement swung his sword up and across the ghoul’s side. The sharpened blade sliced deep into its waist and up along its ribs. He turned swiftly, raising his arms up overhead and swung down.

The ghoul scrabbled backwards, kicking dirt up with its hooves and managed to avoid the blow by a hair’s breadth. The monster slashed out at him with its blackened claws, aiming for Mr. Claysend’s legs.

Mr. Claysend backstepped then parried. The sword cut into the ghoul’s flesh. The ghoul sliced its claws out, and Claysend sword met it. Again, and again. Each time Claysend’s sword was there to meet its claws, driving it back away from the tower. He brought his sword out in a wide arcing swing, the blade cutting across the first slice. The skin split open, and blackened blood oozed from the wound. He swung, cut, and the ghoul screeched it’s displeasure as it lunged forward. Claysend’s sword caught the ghoul the by the arm, and with a swift twist of his blade, the ghouls arm dropped away, the longsword having sliced through cleanly.

He turned his body, stepping closer and arms still pulled back to thrust. Then screamed.

The ghouls detached arm had latched on to his boot as he stepped near it. Its claws slicing through his boot as though it were paper. The claws pulled free and dug into his flesh as the arm climbed up his calf, each claw driving deep and shredding the muscle.

He stumbled mid-thrust. His body dropping. The ghoul lunged towards him, running itself through with Claysend’s sword through its stomach. The ghoul clawed at his neck, digging deep for purchase. The ghoul stretched its mouth wide and brought its head down to his. The ghoul’s teeth tore at his face, muffling the scream that emitted from Claysend’s mouth. It cut off abruptly.