Jorg was the first to enter the fort, Isaac and Krast not far behind him. Darian came next, his eyes picking out the two glowing shapes of the fairy sisters along the outer wall. It seemed they decided to stick around. Just hope Jorg doesn’t have a fit when he sees them.

“By Argus,” the Justicar mumbled, the boys stopping to marvel at the destruction.

“You’re some kind of monster,” Isaac said, staring at the piles of ash and bone.

Krast smiled at the scene, his nose twitching at the scent of blood. “Could we do this?” He turned, a gleam in his eyes. “Can we become as strong as you?”

“Maybe,” Darian replied. “But only if you can get your thirst under control.”

Krast shook his head and frowned. “Thirst this and thirst that. We’re not human anymore, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Quit talking like that,” Jorg half growled.

“It’s true.” Krast nudged a skeleton’s ribcage with his boot, the bones rattling. “Like Isaac said, Darian’s some kind of monster. Doesn’t that make us monsters too?”

Jorg’s face grew conflicted, and he stared back through the open gate, his mind lost in thought. But then he shook the chill from his bones and marched to Darian’s side.

“You said there was a prisoner?” he asked, eager to have a change in subject.

“He’s right over there.” Darian pointed over Jorg’s shoulder. “Locked up with null ore chains on his wrists.”

“And he knows what happened here?”

Darian nodded. “And he knows where Oliver Swink is.” His fangs emerged as he thought about ripping Oliver’s throat out.

“And he’s the one he killed that alchemist fellow?” Jorg strode to the prison, Darian falling in behind him.

“Gustan,” Darian corrected. “The man’s name was Gustan. And yes, Oliver killed him. Drove a sword right through his throat.”

Jorg stopped as he reached the clawed iron door of the building and turned to the boys who had started following him. “You boys search the buildings for a place to rest. We’ll join you soon.” He looked over the top of the wall, searching for signs of the sun’s light.

“Do as he says,” Darian commanded. “We haven’t much time.”

They both groaned, Krast in particular. But they did as they were told.

“Let’s hope they don’t pick somewhere with a hole in the roof.”

“Even they aren’t that foolish,” Darian said. “Now, about what I asked you earlier.”

Jorg’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t like using it. But I will if it’s what we need.”

“You didn’t seem to mind using memory delve on me back at the cave,” Darian reminded.

“That was different,” Jorg spat back. “With my comrades slain, I was paranoid. I should never have…”

Darian gripped the man’s shoulder. “It’s fine. The past is the past. But why such apprehension to use one of your skills?”

Jorg pulled away. “I was not always a paladin of Argus.” He grimaced as he recalled an old memory. “I spent my youth hopping from one city to another as a pickpocket and thief. Sometimes even a hired thug. It was then I started training as a rogue. But a knight of Argus saved me from that path. The skills I learned back then are tainted with the blood of the innocent and I do not use them lightly.”

“Well,” Darian said. “As I said. The past is the past. And if those rogue skills of yours can help in the present, then why not use them? Oliver is an evil man, and if he is up to something around here, you can bet innocent people are going to be hurt.”

Jorg looked into Darian’s eyes, doubt swirling in his mind. But then the big man sighed and moved past Darian into the prison. “There is wisdom in your words. I just hope this is truly what Argus wanted from me.”

“What Argus wanted from you?” Darian smiled. “You make it sound like you had a chat with the god himself.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Jorg did not reply.

They found the prisoner slumped in the same corner as Darian first found him. He watched them with keen eyes, a hint of worry decorating his face for the first time since Darian had met him.

“And what’s this?” the prisoner asked. “You brought a friend to see me? How…delightful.”

“I told you, I’m not letting you out until I have some answers.”

Jorg paused and shook the prison cell’s bars. “Do you have a key? I’ll need inside to do my work.”

“Never found one. But it might still be out there somewhere.”

Jorg went from bar to bar thumping them with his meaty fist, pausing to listen to the sound. Then he pointed at three bars on the right side of the cell. “Its weak there. A few skill infused strikes should topple them.” He loosened his mace from his belt.

Darian looked down at the prisoner, noting the man had somehow grown paler.

“What are you planning on doing once you’re inside?” he stood, his weak legs shaking. “Torture the information out of me? I’ll have you know; I’m quite pain resistant.”

“Nothing so barbaric,” Jorg said, motioning for Darian to back away. “I’m just going to crawl around in your skull a bit.”

His mace split the darkness, the head bursting with bright, golden light. Then he roared, his mace colliding with the iron bars of the cell. They buckled and bent under the strike, and with only two more blows they tore free of the wall, bits of stone falling down from the ceiling where they had been anchored. Jorg cleared a few more out of the way, giving he and Darian enough room to enter the prisoner’s cell.

The man backed away, his chains clinking as he raised his open palms. “Okay, maybe I can tell you a little bit. There’s no need for any skull crawling.”

“Then where is Oliver, and what is your connection to him?” Darian asked as Jorg laid his mace against the wall.

“Oliver and I, we used to run in the same group.” The prisoner winced as if someone were scolding him.

“And what kind of group was it?”

“I’d rather not say.”

Jorg stepped closer, his bulk looming over the prisoner.

“One last chance to talk,” Darian said. “What kind of group was it?”

The prisoner did not reply.

“Hold him still,” Jorg said. “I’ll need to concentrate.”

The man swung his chained fists at Darian, but he easily dodged the blow. Then he grabbed the man by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall. Pinning him there, Jorg placed his palms on the man’s head. There was a slight blue glow beneath Jorg’s hands, and the man squirmed beneath it.

“Bastard must have been up to some dark deeds,” Jorg said, his eyes closed. “His memories are protected. Shrouded in arcane fog.”

“Will memory delve not work?”

“Oh, it will work, but it won’t be pretty,” Jorg replied, pressing harder.

The prisoner did his best to squirm away, but Darian’s strength was absolute. And starved and near frozen as he was, the prisoner eventually stopped resisting.

Around ten minutes passed before Jorg pulled away.

“I must say, this vampiric body has its uses.” Jorg clenched his fists. “I would have been too tired to speak if I attempted a delve that long in my old body. But I don’t feel even the slightest bit of fatigue.”

Darian let the prisoner go. He slid down the wall, sweat dripping from his chin.

“What did you see?”

Jorg looked down at the prisoner and crossed his arms over his chest. “It was hard going, but I found out a few useful bits of information.”

“Damned…mongrel…” the prisoner huffed between ragged breaths.

“His name is Alistair,” Jorg said with a self-satisfied smile. “He’s a necromancer and a powerful one from what I saw. But he and Oliver are no friends. They used to be part of some kind of spy network from what I could tell, but they had a bloody falling out. But right now, Alistair here is a member of the lich cult and was imprisoned for grave robbing in a nearby Vizzeran town.”

Alistair grinned. “You’re mostly right,” he said. “But you’re missing a few details.”

“Then enlighten us,” Darian said. “Or else Jorg will have another go at you.”

Alistair sat up and wiped the sweat from his face with a dirty sleeve. “I’m not a member of the lich cult. Not anymore. They kicked me out a few months back.”

“And why would they do that?’ Jorg asked. “Seems like they would kill to have someone with your skills onboard.”

Alistair shrugged. “Arch lich Calhaven has gone a bit mad since the Justicars purged our hideouts. He’s made plans to bring Lonelen to its knees. I didn’t agree with all the slaughter that was about to take place, so they banished me. He even sent someone to kill me after I left.”

“Why wouldn’t he just kill you before you left? Why bother banishing you?” Darian asked.

“The cult likes to pretend it’s a brotherhood of outcasts. Do what you’re told, protect ‘the family’ and one day you can become an eternal lich, just like the ‘master.’ But it’s a load of horseshit.” He chuckled, the sound dry. “Killing me for disagreeing wouldn’t have gone over well with the newer members, and they need people right now. They’re gearing up for an invasion as we speak.”

“An invasion?” Jorg frowned. “Of Lonelen?”

Alistair shrugged. “That would be my guess, but they’ve had…strange visitors lately. Fey from beyond Vizzera’s northern border.”

“We encountered fey on the road here,” Jorg said. “Do you know why they’ve come this far south?”

“War,” Alistair said. “They’ve come for war.”