“What do you mean?” Darian asked, the wooden step creaking under his boot.

Tellal fluttered closer, her tiny black eyes narrowing. “Exactly what I said. The dead never left the fort.”

Lallet nodded her agreement. “They poured out from a hole in the ground, and most of them are still down there. Others are spread out around the fort, sleeping.”

Darian grunted. He was tired of dealing with the undead. But if he had to fight them, at least it gave him an excuse to use [Grave Bane], one of the triumphs he’d received after defeating Victoria.

“This hole,” he said. “Where is it?”

Lallet flew over his shoulder and pointed over the roof of the building. “Over on the other side, near the gate into Lonelen. Right under the barracks.”

“We were watching the soldiers for a few days before the attack,” Tellal added. “Stealing their socks, putting pins on their stools, that sort of thing. But then a few nights ago the floor in the barracks gave out and the dwarves and skeletons rushed in. When the dwarves and that tall human left, he instructed the undead to stay and guard the place.”

Darian looked around, noting the distinct lack of any guards. “Not doing the best job if that was their instructions.” He glared into the building. “Either way, I need to clear this fort and see this prisoner. But thanks for the warning.”

The sisters’ wings buzzed as they flew away. “Well, good luck, whatever you are,” Tellal said. “Maybe we will grant you a wish if you survive.”

“Try not to die!” Lallet added.

Darian gave them a thumbs up as he descended, the stench of death growing thicker with each step. The fairies exchanged a few words before they left for good, and Darian preemptively activated [Bulwark] as he reached the stair’s end.

Starlight flooded in from the far window, engulfing the overturned tables and chairs that littered the room. The wooden shutters tapped the wall, echoing against the stone. Darian inched forward, his boots stepping over old bloodstains. He listened, the scrape of iron sounding off somewhere outside.

Rounding a table, Darian reached another set of stairs. They led to a door, its tattered shape attached to the wall by a single, bent hinge. He approached it slowly, the rattle of metal resounding in the room beyond. Peeking around the corner, Darian made out the shape of two rooms, iron bars along their front. And sitting against these bars, tucked into a corner, was the hunched shape of a man. His shackles clinked as he tapped his iron bound wrists against the wall.

There were no undead in the room, but Darian could sense them somewhere nearby. He pressed himself against the wall, sneaking a glance at the door at the far end of the stairs. It was open, the thick iron scarred by what looked like four massive claws. The courtyard beyond was clear, but Darian could smell the blood hidden beneath the snow. And beyond that there was a hint of ash in the air, but the smell was distant, faint. Carried this way by the wind, perhaps?

With the area clear, Darian strode forward. He kept his sword up as he walked, ready to activate his wolf summons or other skills if need be. The man didn’t seem to notice Darian’s approach. He just kept tapping the wall, his hooded head sagging onto his shoulder. Even when Darian stood right before him, the man did not stir. He just sat there, seemingly oblivious to everything except the metal around his wrists.

“You,” Darian said, tapping the tip of his sword against one of the cell’s bars. “I need to ask you something.”

The man looked up, his expression blank. As he blinked at Darian, a strand of dirty blonde hair fell across his grimy face. He brushed it back, and Darian noted the man was missing two of his fingers.

“You’re no fairy,” he said through cracked, pale lips, his voice dry.

“That I am not.” Darian squatted down, his face and the prisoner’s level. This close, the stench of him was nearly unbearable.

He was young, probably around how old Darian was before he died. His cheeks were sunken, and a nasty bruise worked its way across one side of his face. Yet despite how ragged he looked, his blue eyes held a sharpness that set Darian on edge.

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“Pity,” the man said, looking toward the stairs. “They usually come by this time of night.” He leaned further against the wall and sighed. “Gets rather lonely in here.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” Darian said, slightly taken back at how casual the prisoner was being. “But I have some questions for you.”

The prisoner smiled flatly. “Ask away, stranger. Though I wonder at the wisdom of it. But it’s not like I have anything better to do in this charnel pit of a fort.”

“Who are you?” Darian asked. “And more importantly, how do you know Oliver Swink?”

The name sent a flush of red to the stranger’s cheeks, and he sat up, his back straight. “Oliver? You want to know about that blighted snake?” He gave Darian an odd expression, his brow upturned. “Ah, I see. You one of his victims?”

“He killed one of my allies,” Darian replied. “And I aim to take his head for it.”

The stranger smiled. “Lots of people have said the same thing, me included. But if Oliver is your enemy, I believe we might be able to help each other. Well, provided you can get me out of this cell.”

“I talked to those fairies you mentioned. They told me you wished for Oliver’s death each night, not your freedom. Why the change of heart?”

The young stranger huffed. “Anyone who isn’t a backwater fool knows fairies can’t actually grant wishes. And I doubt they would have released me even if I asked for it. The fey are tricky like that. Knowing them, they would strangle me with roots and tell me I could be free in death. No, better to keep my mouth shut and let them think I’m one of the fools.”

Darian had his doubts about the fairies, but they didn’t seem the type to kill someone just as a joke. But the stranger didn’t appear to be lying, so Darian rose to his feet and gave the iron bars a tug.

“I’m afraid they’re rather solid,” the prisoner said. “If they didn’t have these damned binds on me, I could conjure up a bone golem and be done with them.” He raised his hands, and Darian noticed the metal binding his wrists wasn’t steel or iron, but something else, the material pitch black.

“What is that?” Darian asked.

“Shackles made from null ore,” the man answered, tapping the metal against the wall. “Keeps you from activating any magic. I’ve been trying to break them the past few days, but my efforts have been in vain.”

“Any way to get it off, then?”

He smirked. “There should be a key. But the warden—a fantastic fellow by the way—was gutted right where you’re standing.” He inhaled, his smile widening. “Ah, what a glorious sight that was.”

Darian paused. “What exactly were you doing imprisoned here? Who are you, exactly?”

The man grunted, his legs shaking as he wobbled to his feet, his hands gripping the bars for support. “Now those are questions that can wait until I’m out of this frozen box.”

Darian backed away. “Or I could just leave you in there if you don’t answer me.”

The stranger chuckled. “But you won’t, will you? You’ve not got the stones for that, I can tell. You have that naive gleam in your eye like some freshly blessed paladin. No, I’ll stay here while you and that enchanted blade work on the bars. Once I’m out, I’ll answer all your questions. Especially any that lead to Oliver losing his head. That’s fair, right?”

Even though what the guy said pissed Darian off, he wasn’t entirely wrong. He might be able to force the information out of him, but even if he wanted to do that, it would have to wait until he cleared the fort. Jorg and the boys still needed a place to shelter from the sun. That was the main reason he’d come to investigate in the first place.

“Where can I find the warden? I take it he’s become an undead?”

“Oh no he was eaten.” The stranger leaned against the wall. “Key’s probably in the gullet of the Nightmare right now.”

Darian was about to ask what that was when he heard the familiar rattle of bone out in the courtyard.

Gripping Sparkblade tightly, he made for the door. “I’ll be back,” he said over his shoulder, his body full of grim resolve.

“And what are you trying to do?” the stranger called from behind. “There’s a small army of them out there. You plan on fighting them all alone? That’s suicide.” He rattled his chains. “I’m sure you and that enchanted blade could get me out of here just fine. There’s no need to throw your life away out there.”

Darian paused as he reached the door. “I’ll be fine. You just be ready to answer my questions when I come back.”

The stranger almost laughed, but then he settled back onto the ground. “You’re crazy, you know that? But be my guest. Hopefully some other fool wanders in here after they’re done eating your corpse.” He sighed. “Might have to make a wish to a fairy after all.”

Darian ignored him and stepped outside, fresh snow falling to coat the ground. And wandering in from the other end of the courtyard was a horde of skeleton warriors, their blazing eyes all focused on Darian.

“We meet again, my old enemies,” he said. “Now let’s make this quick, shall we? I have important business to attend to.”

He set his stance and waited, poised to strike the first undead foolish enough to approach.