Tracking down the caravan and its captors was a far simpler affair than tracking the caravan to the town of Dale had been.

The group, under the leadership of Father Elliot had not, or was not, taking the road. The scarcity of the populous did not leave opposition. Tracking the most recent series of footprints from the town guided the brothers to what was clearly a new trail. One that diverged into the forest from the road that cut through Dale.

Their attention was held fully by their hunt, so they hadn’t seen what Sol had. A pillar of black smoke stained the sky. It was growing ever smaller as they moved farther away from the town. Eventually, the smoke vanished entirely, hidden by the treeline.

But they kept their eyes to the front. Father Elliot was expected to be returning with the bulk of his, supposedly enthralled servants- supposedly. Even now, they were not entirely sure that the undead woman had spoken truthfully.

Even if they felt sure of it, being charmed once and discovering it tended to make one prone to doubt even the most certain of facts.

But running into him halfway to their destination could spell disaster.

Sol was quieter than not at first, but the brothers had assigned his behavior to anxiety. An anxiousness they felt they should be feeling themselves, as they were unsure of where exactly these tracks would lead them. And this should obviously worry them, and indeed, it did concern them.

They were worried not just for the destination, but the state of the caravan. If Dore had spoken truthfully, then the guards of the caravan and its caravaneers could be under the sacrificial blade at this very moment. This should also have left them anxious.

And yet they weren't, yes they were worried, but the anxiety didn't seem to find any purchase upon their psyches.

Instead, they were filled with incredible energy and motivation.

If they had every now and then felt a thrum from their oaths. A feeling they had felt when battling the orcs they suspected would cause havoc.

And again, much quieter when they had been in Riverstead helping people with casual duties and chores.

In fact, a soft thrum had been going through them, like a small vibration since they took their oaths and left home, though they could hardly have noticed it at times.

But the feeling they now experienced was different.

This was a song, or perhaps, a psalm. The experience was almost spiritual to the brothers.

Argus had a feeling of warmth that grew into an almost searing heat. It wasn’t painful but the intensity of it would have been uncomfortable for most. Instead, he found a strange sense of focus through it, pushing back thoughts of dread as the light pushes back the darkness.

For Asgar, he felt a weight so great it was nearly crushing, his Mantle growing ever heavier with each step. And yet, with each step, he felt stronger.

And yet, another discovery of their Oaths was made, for the feeling reached outward into an aura.

Asgar felt the clarity of Argus's Sun, and so too were his doubts banished.

And Argus felt the weight of Asgar's Mantle, and so he too felt stronger with every step.

But the effect of these twin auras was most potent on their human companion. As they walked, his back straightened, his mind cleared, the issues that had been plaguing him were not dealt with, no. But they were put aside for a time.

"What is this?" Sol called to the brothers. "What's happening?"

"Our Oaths," Argus spoke as a way of reply.

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I," Argus answered, but shrugged. "But they are what's doing this."

"Why?"

"I think because we needed it. Or will need it."

A walk turned into a march, they were not overjoyed, or even happy. But there was work to do, something more substantial than them, and so they moved forward.

They traveled not on the trail itself, but beside it. It made for rougher travel but helped ensure they would not be noticed by Father Elliot and his men if and when they approached from the other side.

Once they were comfortably far away from the town itself, and sure they were not followed. The smoke had long since vanished from any of the trio's sights.

Then the brothers pulled at the wet earth, smearing themselves with mud.

Their scales might shine even in the light of the moons that had by now replaced the skies suns. They had to be covered.

Sol hesitated, but not for long. His white robes would stand out as much as the Drakon pair’s silver scales. However, it was still far from subtle in the mostly brown woods now that winter's snow had melted. Thus he stripped the robes off, putting it aside into his pack so as not to ruin it with mud and followed the brother's example.

Smearing himself with the cold mud, following the brother's instructions on how to do so as he did.

He shivered, but Argus's Sun warmed him.

These precautions turned out to be wisely made, for not an hour later, noise pollution soon began to spread through the forest.

The noise of steps, and talking, the clink of mail and weapons.

The trio ducked deeper into the woods, dropping to the ground behind oaken trees surrounded by the bushes, brambles and ferns which covered their bases.

Then they held still, holding their breaths and waited.

Even covered in mud, the brothers dared not risk taking a peek. But Sol, either not knowing better or trusting in his camouflage, did so.

He saw the figure leading the group, a tall man, with long hair, who appeared both beautiful and yet humble. He spoke in a voice both loud and somehow soft and endearing, it echoed through the forest. With it followed the feeling of warmth and the smell of morning dew.

"And so, my friends, my brothers! My children, we swear ourselves forever to Virion! For are we not but mere, mortal things? Does any man here claim to be Immortal? All-powerful? All-wise? We are flawed, we were made to be so! For we were made to worship, not be worshipped!"

Sol felt a sudden reminder of a dreadful experience no more than a handful of hours ago, fear surged. But the Sun of Argus's Oath burned it away, and the Mantle of Asgar's gave him strength. So instead of fear, came anger.

An ugly thing, which reared its head and cried for vengeance against this thing, who dared attempt to claim dominion of his mind.

He resisted the voice, indeed what was more difficult was resisting the urge to draw on Soltris's favor and lash out.

Instead, he dropped down, gritting his teeth so he would not rise and reveal himself and destroy their chances of a successful mission.

"What?" suddenly confused, the man's voice suddenly lost its power.

"Who resisted?" he spoke again?

"Who resisted the words of a spokesman of Virion? Show yourself!"

Sol's fury railed against his will. For still, the words pulled at him at his mind and begged him to rise and obey the command.

He looked over at the Drakon, who themselves seemed to be straining against the urge to rise.

A temptation crept into Sol's mind, a small whisper saying 'look again.' but he bit down and crushed the thought, not sure if it was his own or some insidious magic.

Instead, he covered his ears, a movement the brothers mimicked.

—-

"I command you to reveal yourself!" Father Elliot demanded again, he looked at the men following him, but now he felt no one resisting.

"Line up and show me your ears." He urged his honor guard to line up. Who had resisted? And why were they not revealing themselves now that he felt none?

He checked the ears of each man, for none had resisted him this time. And yet, he remained unanswered.

He was searching for wax plugs, or corks, or anything anyone of them might have used not to hear his words. And gave a commandment to each man to make sure his effect still stood.

Every single one complied, as he gave more and more increasingly ridiculous commands to be sure, having them hop on one foot, or strike themselves. Risking an actual break of the enchantment to draw out whoever had managed to resist his sermon.

He found nothing, and so he turned his eyes to the forest, now growing uneasy.

He felt something out there as if he were being watched or stalked.

Some creature was out there, and it had both heard his words, understood them, and rejected them.

A cold sweat formed on the back of his false form, as he imagined what it could have been.

It was dark, and he could not see in the darkness while wearing this form.

And while the orcs in his group of guards could see in moonlight, often better than a human could see in the day, there was no moonlight!

He touched at the magical stones sitting in a pouch hanging from his belt.

If a person or creature powerful enough to resist his voice had shown up in his town. Then his companion disguised as an Innkeeper should have alerted him using the twin to one of the stones he had that the barman kept behind his bar.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

He tentatively wondered if he had been betrayed by his two apprentices. But, they would certainly not be foolish enough to do so. The whole ‘project’ would fall apart without him.

The same was true of the snake's sacrificial chamber that he had come from.

If anyone had attacked the ritual room as he'd been leaving, she would have contacted him through the other stone he carried, which connected to hers.

And yet neither stone had vibrated with warning as they had agreed to do when such things happened.

'Elliot' looked into the forest, he saw nothing. But he was sure something was there. Just close enough so that he could barely make out its emotions with the empathic abilities his race naturally had.

It was like a fire; determined, strong, heavy, and angry, furious even.

He shivered. It felt furious with him. And the rest of its emotions didn't make sense, what sort of emotion was a fire? Or heavy? Or even strong?

He heard shifting in the darkness, of something moving in the pitch blackness. Then looked at his guards, their armor, a mishmash, competent they may be. He had selected them from the best and most malleable of the town's militia, caravan guards, and the once orc raiders.

But they were not trained soldiers, nor were they adventurers. No, the snake had claimed all of their ilk that had come through the town.

What's more, the effect of his voice often put them into a trance-like state where they slowed if he didn't give them specific instructions. And he was no monster hunter to provide them with appropriate commands in a battle, particularly against something that felt so alien and bizarre to him.

Worse still, the feeling coming from the creature hidden in the forest almost felt good. Despite the poorly suppressed anger of the beast, the strength and clarity of it felt good and seemed to be trying to drive away his fear.

The logical part of his mind screamed trap. It was luring him, which only caused him to begin sweating more intensely. As most doppelgangers knew, and him more than most, anything that beckoned to someone like that was dangerous.

After a moment, Elliot called out.

"We-We’re in danger. Move quickly, back to Dale. We're closer to it than the temple, and it has walls to protect us. Go!"

He took off at a jog through the path, quickly commanding his honor guard to encircle him.

He felt the effect beginning to leave him, the anger growing further away, and with a pang, so to did the surge of strength and clarity.

He ran harder, doubting any hunter would give up its prey so quickly. Tapping the stones in his pouch as he ran and alerting his comrades that something was afoot.

—-

The drakon brothers and the cleric were unaware of the involuntary trick they had played upon the doppelganger.

They stayed low, laying on their backs and looking above while ambient tension raised, waiting for a head to peek down at them.

They were unable to listen for any of his men to approach, as they had to cover their ears for fear of being brought under the doppelganger's control.

They waited for what felt like an eternity, though thankfully, the clarity and weight of the auras allowed them to resist the urge to sit up and look.

An action they suspected might reveal themselves to anyone searching for them.

But as time passed, they began to suspect and then become sure, no one was looking for them.

The brothers communicated silently.

Asgar pulled his hands away, no longer covering his ears and listened. Hearing nothing, he nodded to his brother then held up a hand of wiggling fingers, which he then closed into a fist while cocking his head to the side. Communicating 'they're gone?'

They'd always been able to communicate like this, for as long as they could remember. Gestures that would make another drakon’s head tilt in confusion was clear as day to each other.

Argus looked at him, then shrugged. Before pointing upward with two fingers.

Asgar nodded, then slowly counted down from three, gesturing with his fingers as he did.

When he hit one, the two brothers raised themselves into a crouch, looking over the plant life that had been hiding them.

The forest around them was empty. Or at least appeared to be. So far as the paladins could tell beneath the pitch-black moonless sky.

They moved cautiously and lightly, unsure if some ambush was perhaps still yet waiting to be sprung upon them.

Argus moved carefully, gesturing for Sol to rise now that they were close enough to see each other, but shushing him with a finger.

He gestured for the human to follow him, then joined up with his brother. They began moving through the forest once more, scanning the surrounding terrain for any form of trap.

They found none, and eventually, their investigation took them to the road. Where they were surprised to find that the newest tracks leading towards the town of Dale, causing them to sigh in relief. For they had feared he would have returned to wherever the prisoners were kept to secure them.

However, in the relief, they also found dread. What if the doppelganger had not gone to secure the prisoners because there was nothing left to secure? His dark deeds of sacrifice already committed?

They continued traveling the trail with growing urgency, following backward footprints in the hopes they would lead them to the lost caravan.

Unassailed, they traveled for nearly an hour before Sol felt confident enough to speak. His voice hoarse, "What was that?"

Argus turned and raised a scaled brow. "What?"

"That... feeling back there, that anger, was that your Oaths?"

"Anger? I- no, none that I felt." Argus turned to his brother, puzzled.

"Not from me." Asgar spoke, "I do not know why my Oath would give me anger to work with."

Uncertainty ran through Sol's mind. His Drakon companions had not provided the anger that had surged through him. Anger that had both helped him through the effect of the doppelganger's charming words and yet had also nearly caused him to rise and strike out.

If it had not come from his two stalwart traveling partners, then it had come from himself.

As his thoughts began to focus on the problem, he felt might be there, suddenly, it was washed away in a wave of heat from Argus's Sun.

Later the Oath seemed to demand, he'd deal with it later. The people he needed to save were more important than his emotional hang ups, and thus the problem- if there was one, it would be dealt with later.

They moved quickly, sticking low to the ground. But eventually moved to the path itself to save time. Night had fallen, and if they were lucky. They might reach their destination- whatever it was, with whatever sentries it had- if it had any at all, still asleep.

However, despite their efforts, it was for naught as the suns began to rise long before they found anything.

Argus felt an urge to double back and check for any other paths reaching off the one they now walked that they may have missed in the darkness. But bit back his tongue from suggesting it, they could not risk that their destination was just a few more steps forward. Nor could they risk running into anyone that might now be following them.

Despite the effects of the auras, a sense of unease began to grow in the three.

This unease reached a crescendo as while they jogged down the path, they spotted a quartet of figures, tall and lanky things with long spears. Standing further down the trail, looking as if they were waiting for them.

Undead figures, rotting husks. Not Wights, thankfully. But a far weaker variant of the undead: Zombies.

Where a wight usually was just as dangerous if not more so as the person they had once been, keeping all non-divine magic and skill at arms they'd once held in life.

A zombie held no such memories and were often stupid things reliant on numbers. Or else the strategic talent of their commanders, whether their commanders be the necromancers or other more intelligent types of undead.

The brothers grimaced as they recognized vaguely familiar forms, the long, lanky elf-kin that had been the caravans guards. Not all of them, of course, as they had been anywhere from thirty to twenty of the guards. But some of them.

What's more, these bodies were fresh, and their kind had been naturally keen-eyed in life, and they were so still in death.

Despite the group's attempts to stay low and hidden, doing so effectively in the rising suns was impossible for the paladins. And Argus kicked himself for the decision to move onto the road, as it left them quickly spotted.

Three of the Zombies echoed out a guttural cry and charged, with the fourth turning and running back down the path at a quickening sprint.

"Go!" Argus shouted, charging forward. Any chance of assaulting stealthily now gone.

Sol cried out in a voice now full of fervor and not a small part still lingering anger from the night. "Oh, My Goddess of Illumination! Bring these wretched souls a holy cremation!" He placed one hand in front of the other, and from the palm of the front-most hand shot three blasts of orange flaming rays. Which seemed to weave around the charging brothers to strike their targets.

The flaming rays tore through the three zombies, igniting them. Yet despite the holes that the blazing beams had neatly burned through the undead. Or the now spreading flames that were erupting from said wounds, the zombies ran on still.

The Paladins met them with a crash. Argus swung his sword, taking the head off of the leading undead. The two monsters following behind it, smashing their flaming bodies into the twin's shields.

Asgar made his attempt to strike at the undead but was forced back by the flames now licking up its body, turning it into a walking pyre.

The brothers moved forward, pushing the undead back with their shields and attempting to hack at the scorched undead from behind them.

They made a handful of ineffective slashes at the burning, reanimated corpses. Unable to get an angle without leaving themselves open to be speared or grappled by the husks. They quickly found that the flames that burned at the bodies were far more effective than any fire they had interacted with before. And soon after the impact of the zombies on their shields, the two undead collapsed, the flame breaking whatever magic gave them their bizarre half-life.

Even the undead that Argus had swiftly beheaded grew into an unrecognizable curl of charcoal in all put moments.

Sol caught up to them. And responded to their surprised and impressed looks with, "I asked for cremation, not mild burns. Keep going!"

The battle at the inn had been a poor representation of the power Sol could wield, a cleric worked in chants and prayers. Not in blind pushes of energy at their enemies, and while they could blindly throw their power around, as he had shown. Prayer always served better.

The Sun of Argus's Oath helped all the more with this. while it did not actually belong to Soltris, as the real suns did. It felt akin to hers and helped the fledgling holy warrior focus.

The three sprinted after the undead, catching sight of it as the trail ended at A shoddily made structure of stacked logs built into a hill, which the now fleeing zombie quickly ducked into.

The Paladins did not waste too much time, quickly charging into the building itself.

—-

Natsza, A naga. Raised her head, breathing a sigh of relief.

Finally, something to break up the mediocrity of this wretched position. And likely a chance to test her toys as well.

She was a Naga and had you seen her from any angle but the front, you would have thought of her as a snake.

A Giant one. Large enough to hunt a horse as a regular snake might consume a rat.

But when one looks from the front, one would see the human-like face sitting where an equally giant snake's head should be.

She, despite her excitement over the change of events, she still groaned.

She had hoped to use the most recent adventuring group that had come in. The synergy they had would have made them excellent defense, and the piece they were missing could be filled by her.

Instead, she had been told to send them out like common Wights.

Which had only resulted in her losing the best of her new wave of soldiers. She clicked her tongue, damnable Drakon.

She was almost disappointed to find the invaders in her abode were more of the damned things. As, they would not offer her all the variety she'd been hoping for. But still, she had been excited when the doppelganger's warning had come through. And she was still excited.

She would have thought this pair had been the same two that had been hunting down her wights. Had it not been for the fact that those two had only just now put down her winged specimen, and Drakon could not cover the distance between here and it even if they somehow knew where she was.

She was looking through the eyes of one of her undead now, watching as they slaughtered the zombie patrol quickly enough. And soon, they were charging into the building itself.

Excellent, she'd have three new wights to replace the three she had just recently lost.

And Drakon made for such excellent undead too! With all the silver ones running around and fighting her troops lately, there must be a tribe close by. She'd have to claim it before the shifting fools tried to control them with their 'charms.'

She smiled, her fangs bared. These fools may be able to destroy her wights out in the forests, but here? In her lair?

The Ego of Drakon.

—-

The undead elf-kin clumsily leaped out as Argus rushed into the building, smashing into his side.

It did not have the weight needed to knock him off his footing, however. And though the impact did cause him to stumble, it resulted in the undead falling to the ground. Only for Asgar, who was rapidly following in behind his brother, to bring his ax down into the back of its skull as it scrambled to get up.

He felt a pang of guilt for failing to get here in time for the elf-kin the undead had been, but the blame for such failings could be indulged in later. Not when there may still be some or most of the caravan living.

They looked around the building and quickly discovered a tunnel leading into the hill.

The Drakon would have to hunch over to fit, as it was built more inline for the size of an average-sized human.

They quickly moved forward, their sense of urgency ever-growing.

—-

Unknown to them, from the ashes of their first battle, three new undead rose. Skeletal and coated in scorched flesh.