Avalon tested his spear against Morgan’s sword as dawn gave way to morning. The notch that Gunnar had cut into the shaft of his spear was a pale scar in the wood. If the old warrior didn’t pull his sword back at the last moment, he might have cut straight through. The thought was unnerving.

Do you recall any strong warriors from before you were imprisoned in your sword? How does Gunnar compare? Avalon wondered.

Gunnar is stronger than most, but so were many adventurers residing in Longfirth. There was war where the city currently sits, perhaps it fostered the growth of strong warriors.

Lessons passed down from scarred veterans. The thought was amusing, that even humans could learn from their failures. If only they learned to stay out of his forest.

Eugenia had rated Gunnar’s current strength below Class B. If she was right, then the basilisk nearby was too strong for Avalon to fight. Even with Morgan and Hippolytus by his side, they would need a larger party to defeat such a foe. It was no wonder the guildmaster gave out dangerous bounties at her personal discretion, there was little to gain from allowing her adventurers to throw their lives away.

Avalon parried a blow from Morgan’s sword. It was quick and skillful, but lacked Gunnar’s raw power. We will be at the mercy of others when we travel south. I underestimated Gunnar’s strength, because of his performance against Sparrow’s bandits. If we underestimate another foe, it may be the death of us. A breeze blew in from the south, carrying the scent of humans. We have company, be on your guard.

Daggert was the first to arrive. The woman dressed in dark blues and greys, almost black, masked her approach well. With magic, as Morgan suspected, which distorted her image as she dashed past the tree line and into the open grass leading to the keep. Her scent didn’t cling to the wind as it did for the others in her adventuring party, but Morgan felt her presence through her magic once she traveled closer.

The rest of her party arrived shortly after with a half-bred beast in tow, a mule born from a horse mother and donkey father. He carried several bags on his strong back, one of which was filled with the smell of salt and herbs. Their party’s food supplies.

Avalon’s stomach grumbled and he considered returning to Longfirth for food, but it was easy enough to range through the north for his day’s meal. Unlike the south, where forests were felled to make room for farmland, the forests of the north remained wild and thick. It offered Avalon a bounty of food, especially when his human body required far less sustenance than his centaur body ever did.

The magic around Daggert dissipated as she approached, as if emerging from mist. “We heard about what happened from the guildmaster. Are you two alright?” She asked, surveying their surroundings. “Are you two living here?”

Avalon stuck the butt of his spear into the ground as Morgan sheathed his sword. “This is where we made camp for the night. What did you hear from Eugenia?”

“That Gunnar attacked Morgan. She had scouts watching you, they might still be lurking around somewhere.” Daggert squinted at a tree line in the distance, but whatever she saw was hidden to Avalon’s own eyes.

Morgan, why didn’t you tell me that Eugenia had us followed?

I did not sense their presence. They must’ve been watching from afar.

“Why would she have us followed? We’ve formed a pact. I have her patronage, do I not?” Avalon asked.

“The pact is probably why. Daughter of the local lord, and a client to boot, she must want to protect her investment.”

“An investment? What’s that?”

Daggert snorted. “Your father was going to have you marry into a prominent merchant family like the Prosperos and never taught you what an investment was?”

The retort didn’t answer Avalon’s question, but Meribeth called out as she ran towards them. “Is this where you've been hiding? It’s very… secluded.” The girl’s smile was devious as she giggled.

“Its seclusion made it a safe campsite for Hippolytus, but there have been quite a lot of visitors lately.”

“Aw, was he sleeping?” Meribeth made her way to Hippolytus and bent to pet the white stag’s muzzle. “You’re like a cute pet, huh? The family pet.”

Meribeth was a pure girl, easily amused by jokes only she knew, but Avalon noticed the magic resonating from the crystals in her staff. They seemed like ordinary gems when Avalon last saw them in Longfirth, but his heightened connection to the forest’s magic enabled him to sense Meribeth’s power. Avalon underestimated the young girl the way he underestimated the old warrior. Despite her careless demeanor, she was dangerous, as was the rest of her party.

“Looks like you two have traded one castle for another!” Festus’ bellowing voice almost echoed as he called out, plodding forward beside the leader of the Fist of Ursmark.

“This is just a standalone tower.” Ryman wiped at his forehead with a cloth that he tucked over his belt.

Ryman and Festus’ magic clung to their muscles, pulsed in their veins. It was subtle, but it was the same kind that Gunnar possessed. Only now did Avalon recognize the flow of magic. Perhaps the older warrior had better control over his power, or the two younger adventurers were stronger. Avalon eyed their weapons. A longsword for young Ryman, like Morgan’s own, and a long hafted axe for bearded Festus. He’d have to find out how strong they were compared to Gunnar.

“Technically, this fits the definition for a keep.” Shana trailed behind them, as furtive as Daggert, shrouded in magic of her own. A different type from Meribeth’s, but as overtly powerful. It lapped away at the sweat on her forehead as it wafted around her in clear rivers, like the trailing fabrics of her robe, concentrating around her hands. Or rather, around her rings and bracelets, which were connected by thin chains on each hand.

Compared to the rest of her party, Daggert seemed almost powerless. She watched Avalon as expectantly as Eugenia had, her dark eyes almost as piercing. The sole item in her possession that emanated any magical power was the long knife on her hip, almost a short sword. “You two don’t actually live here, right?” She asked.

“Of course not.” Avalon said with a huff. It didn’t make sense to limit himself to a pile of silent stone when he could roam the whole breadth of the forest.

“Oh good, I thought you were going to say something crazy, like you two live in the forest.” Daggert sniffed at Avalon and frowned. “You smell horrible.”

Avalon sniffed his hair. “I bathed last night.”

“But your dress is filthy, and it’s torn!” Meribeth said, pointing to a brown stain over Avalon’s knees.

“That’s probably just mud.”

“Probably.” Daggert turned away sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ryman, let’s get going. I need to get back to Longfirth before the sun sets.”

“Where are all of you going?” Avalon asked. The mule tied to Festus’ waist flapped his ears, there was too much packed on his back for a quick trip out of the city.

“We’re headed to a dungeon to collect some materials.” Meribeth said. “Just another fetch quest.”

“There’s a dungeon up here as well? Is it anything like the Academy Dungeon?”

“It’s nowhere as interesting, just one of those places. Very ordinary.”

Shana unfurled a fan and waved it at her face. “It’s the ruins of a castle that collapsed into the ground.”

“Goblins and their tunnels.” Ryman muttered.

“However it happened, I’d hardly call the place ordinary. There’s history there.”

Meribeth shrugged. “You can come with us if you like.”

“Wait, the contract was for us. It might affect our party rating if we get help.” Ryman protested.

Shana said. “The guildmaster made exceptions. And Morgan, I guess, since they’re technically a party of their own. It’s probably why the guildmaster sent us here. I think she was hoping that we’d work together.”

“And you didn’t tell me? I’m the leader, I’m supposed to know these things.”

“Maybe you should’ve been at the meeting then.” Shana said with a chuckle as Festus patted Ryman’s head.

“She can’t come with us, she stinks!” Daggert yelled, keeping her distance. “She’ll alert any monsters by her stench alone! Shana, can’t you do anything about those stains on her clothes?”

Shana crossed her arms and turned up her nose at the woman. “I’m not some washer-woman who does chores, I am a warrior priest.”

“I have a change of clothes Gunnar delivered. If you can wait for me, I’ll change into them.” Avalon said and went into the keep, where he left Harold’s gifts. They were cumbersome items, the long coat by itself took up too much space in Morgan’s sword when it could’ve housed precious trinkets, but there was no sense abandoning them.

I don’t understand why this has to be so complicated. Avalon thought and Morgan entered the keep to help him make sense of all the different layers. The spirit had been a squire to some warrior and he selected pieces of clothing for Avalon to wear. Pants, blouse, and a blue cloak that draped over his shoulders.

There’s no armor to fit you into, but this is something my old master might’ve worn. Morgan said, nodding to himself.

When the two left the keep, Meribeth’s face was bright red. “R-Ready?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Avalon asked.

“N-Nothing! H-Haha!”

“Alright, enough of that. Let’s get going!” Daggert’s magic enveloped her as she dashed south, like a dark blur in the corner of Avalon’s eye.

Avalon seated himself on Hippolytus instead of running after her, having grown accustomed to looking down at the world from the white stag’s back. Ryman led them towards the Donau River, but traveled westward when they neared the banks of the river. It was to be the landmark they used to navigate the northern forest.

The young leader of the Fist of Ursmark periodically looked back, to check on Morgan, but there was no chance the spirit could get lost in the forest he called his home. The true reason he trailed behind their group was to keep his eye on the adventurers, wary of them as he learned to be wary of Gunnar. They were all stronger than the warriors he’d known from his past.

The same was true for Avalon. The young adventurers were comparable to the human champions he defended against. Those were few and far between, commanding warbands joined together to form even greater hosts. Yet, here they were at the edge of Man’s world, five adventurers on a fetch quest.

Daggert returned with news of a graveyard, diverting the group to a familiar site. Ryman drew his sword as he inspected the graves that Avalon and Morgan helped dig out the day before. “Be on your guard, there might be a necromancer nearby.”

“Are necromancers something to be wary of?” Avalon said and leaned into the back of Hippolytus’ neck, growing bored of the diversion into the graveyard. The Fist of Ursmark, those brave adventurers, were ready for a fight, but Avalon knew the place had been emptied for all that it was worth.

Necromancers raise the dead. Morgan said.

Ah, so Corviano was such a man?

“Necromancers raise the dead and turn them into puppets. It’s a crime against nature.” Meribeth said. She placed a closed hand on her forehead and brought it to her chest, before placing it over her mouth. Almost like one of Leifey’s ritual prayers, when she attended to the Sacred Tree’s will.

A crime against nature, I wonder if Leifey would agree. Avalon mused. She might be offended by the stink, but that might be all.

The magic used to animate the dead is frequently grouped together with the poisonous magic the basilisk naturally exhales. Morgan said and Avalon couldn’t help but frown.

Don’t remind me of that creature. It’s enough that I can overlook her injury to your own forest, while you pay it no mind.

“Necromancy is also a crime against the laws of men. Hopefully, we do not encounter such a fiend. Or else we will be honorbound to slay them.” Ryman declared and sheathed his sword.

“There ought to be a good bounty on such a creature.” Festus said, scratching his beard, but Avalon doubted an old man like Corviano could be anything more than a nuisance.

“I saw tracks leading west, a wagon.” Daggert said. “Judging by all these open graves, the necromancer must’ve dug up dozens of corpses.”

Ryman nodded, surveying his companions, as well as Avalon and Morgan. “Let’s all be on our guard, who knows where those might reappear.”

Daggert continued ahead and Avalon realized she was acting as the party’s reconnaissance, faster than any cavalryman he ever saw. Perhaps faster than Avalon, either as a human or as a centaur. “Daggert is fast.” He said aloud. “How does she do it?”

“It’s her specialty. The air hides her presence and pushes her forward, she’s a natural scout.” Ryman said and followed after Daggert.

“That's why we brought the mule. She can run to and from the city as she pleases, but the rest of us have to make camp sometimes.” Meribeth said.

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The young adventurers were almost careless with their surroundings, relying on Daggert as their eyes and ears. She could lead them into a trap, but that only showed the extent of their trust in her. It made Avalon think of Primo, the first of his brothers, who often scouted deep into human territory to warn against approaching armies. Morgan and Hippolytus were fine company, but a spirit trapped in a sword and an albino stag were a far cry from a warband of centaurs.

When the group reconnected with Daggert, where the forest gave way to an open field, she was sitting on a tree branch. One leg hung down to sway in the air as she rested her back against the trunk. She turned briefly to look down at Ryman and held up a finger to her lips, before turning her gaze to the ruins in the distance.

Portions of the curtain wall remained standing, separated by large gaps. The inner portion of the keep had broken away and the rest of the structure slanted towards the hole at the center of the castle. The earth had opened to swallow the castle from the inside, but left just enough for anyone that might need shelter.

Skeletons walked along the walls with rusty iron swords. When a raven squawked overhead, Avalon knew they belonged to Corviano. Bounty or not, Avalon doubted the old man would make for good sport. Even with magic, he didn’t show any great strength while digging up graves. There was no need for his blood to be shed, as long as he didn’t block Avalon’s path into the dungeon.

“The necromancer is probably inside.” Daggert said.

“We should hurry and clear away those skeletons, in case they’re after the same things we are.” Ryman drew his sword. “Aurora, you agreed to come here. Can we count on you and Morgan?”

Avalon blinked absently at Ryman, almost forgetting who the young adventurer was speaking to, but he hastily spoke with sudden realization “Ah, yes. I’m Aurora, that’s me. I’ll be at the front with Hippolytus and Morgan.”

Ryman shook his head. “I can respect the enthusiasm, but I need you to stay back. Festus and I have experience fighting together, so we’ll climb one of the holes in the wall.” He pointed to a mound of broken stone and mortar that sloped upward. “We’ll stand there and let the skeletons funnel towards us. Meribeth will support us with her magic. Shana and Daggert will deal with any skeletons that try to flank our position, but I want you and Morgan to join them.”

“I understand.” Avalon said. It wasn’t the best use of his skill, but he wanted to see how the adventurers operated. He’d have a good view of the fighting at the very back. “What should Hippolytus do?”

“Huh? The stag?” Ryman raised a brow at Hippolytus, who looked to him for guidance. “He’ll be with you. Does he even take directions?”

Hippolytus snorted and spat at Ryman’s feet. Festus laughed as he drew his long hafted axe from the sling hanging over his shoulder. The sound echoed through the air and the skeletons on the walls ran from their posts to join the other skeletons rushing out of the castle. The raven squawked and flew down, away from view, before fleeing the castle.

“Oops.” Festus said.

Ryman jabbed a tree with the metal spike and tied it to the mule’s saddle, to prevent him from fleeing. He kicked the spike deeper into the tree with the heel of his boot, piercing through the tree’s heartwood, and the mule couldn’t pull away. Avalon almost swung his spear at the young adventurer, but Morgan stepped between them. “Change of plans.” Ryman said. “We’ll meet them at the tree line. Festus, Morgan, you’re with me. Aurora, you stay back and protect our flanks with the others.”

He wants you, but not me. Ridiculous. Avalon thought, but followed Ryman’s plan.

We will form a line. More difficult with Hippolytus wedged between us. Morgan said and Avalon had to concede the point. It made sense. These humans didn’t fight as centaurs did. They enjoyed standing in place, side by side, as they fought, by an elf as something called formation fighting.

From his seat on Hippolytus, who stood diagonal to the fighting so he could look past the stag’s thick neck, Avalon watched as the first few skeletons charged against the front line of their group. They were meant to protect the second line, who supported them from afar, but each warrior overpowered their opponents with ease. Whatever Corviano did to strengthen the bones of his reanimated puppets, it wasn’t enough.

Morgan parried blows and hacked through bone, skillful with his longsword. Ryman, the young adventurer, did the same, almost Morgan’s equal. Between them, bearded Festus swung his axe back and forth in wide arcs like a wild man. Though the blade of his axe glanced against steel, the force behind each swing was enough to shatter two or three skeletons at a time.

The skeletons that attempted to flank them were destroyed from afar by either Shana or Daggert. The blue mage, Shana, lashed out with thin crescents of water. They cracked bone, not enough to destroy the skeletons outright, but were able to dispel the magic that animated them. The woman in black, Daggert, used her long knife to do something similar, sending out crescents of wind.

Meribeth stood further back, beside Avalon. She had yet to cast any magic, but the young girl was focused on the fighting. When a skeleton managed to push through Ryman’s guard and cut his cheek with a rusted sword, Meribeth waved her staff and faint golden lights showered over the front line. It healed the cut on Ryman’s cheek, closing it completely, but also seemed to invigorate him and Festus.

Her magic is wasted on me. Morgan said and glanced back for a brief moment, frowning, but resumed fighting quickly enough. Too fast for Meribeth to notice between her gasping breaths. Her magic wasn’t of an elemental nature, as Shana and Daggert’s magic were, but it required a great deal of physical exertion on her part.

“Do not waste your magic on Morgan. He will be fine on his own.” Avalon said.

Meribeth looked up at him with wide, stubborn eyes that couldn’t comprehend his words, or refused to. “But he’s right there. I can’t fight like the others can, but I can do this much at least.”

Avalon allowed himself to smile then, remembering Primo’s insistence on joining his king on a raid. He had been young and brave in equal measure. Every broken skeleton that fell to the ground clattered as the magic that animated them dissipated with a hollow roar. The battle was progressing smoothly, but there were too many skeletons gathered in one place.

There was a pause in the fighting as the undead stood their ground in the castle. The remains of two dozen skeletons were scattered on the ground, fewer than Avalon helped collect at the graveyard. Seeing the undead that remained in the castle, he suspected that Corviano had spent his twilight years emptying other abandoned graveyards.

They all poured from the castle in a concentrated mass, pale bone gleaming in the sunlight as though Corviano labored to render them purer than they were. Few among them were clothed in old fabrics, almost like the uniforms worn by Harold’s household guard, but their colors were different. Faded and dirty, no matter how they might be cleaned.

Ryman turned back to shout his commands. “There’s too many, we’ve gotta get out of here and report to the guild. Daggert, run ahead of us. Just in case.”

As Daggert turned to flee, Avalon gave a command of his own. “Hippolytus! Morgan! Let’s return these dead men back to the earth!”

Hippolytus dashed forward and leapt over the front line, his antlers crackling with power. Bolts of lightning burst forward, arcing between the mass of skeletons before him in flashing tendrils. It burned through magic and bone alike, reducing Corviano’s animated puppets into smoking piles of charred bone. Morgan caught up to his advance, crushing through bone with swift strikes, as Avalon lanced through skeletons atop his steed.

The Fist of Ursmark was quick to follow their assault. Ryman and Festus plunged into the skeletons behind them, dealing with whatever was left behind. Daggert and Shana were beside them, using their magic to fight in close quarters. Shana waved a hand and a tendril of water lashed at a group of skeletons, knocking them to the ground as it broke apart their joints. Daggert waved her longknife, its edge enchanted by magic and cutting clean through bone.

For all their strength, their restraint was closer to cowardice than to caution. Primo, inversely, was prone to the recklessness of youth. When the young centaur asked to join him in a raid, Avalon had denied the request, relenting only at Leifey’s request. The Keeper of the Sacred Tree, in all her wisdom, saw promise in the young centaur. All he needed was guidance to temper his fury, as these adventurers did. Human as they were, they showed promise.

When the last of the skeletons were felled, Avalon was the first into the castle ruins, but it was silent. Morgan ran to his side as the adventurers followed. He sniffed at the air and caught traces of Corviano’s scent. Through their silent link, the spirit communicated his suspicions to Avalon, that the old man had fled during the fighting.

Avalon peered down into the sinkhole at the center of the castle where portions of the keep had fallen. Through a door were flickering lights, where a tunnel extended deeper into the ground, but he doubted Corviano escaped into such a place. Daggert pointed at a trail where the wheels of a heavy wagon cut through dirt and grass, leading further west.

She tossed her long knife into the air and spun it between her fingers, a smile tugging at her lips. “If we pursue, we could catch the necromancer. Drag him to the guildmaster and collect a reward.”

Ryman rummaged through the chests of items left in the courtyard, on the edge of the sinkhole. “Maybe you can, as well as Aurora and her steed, but the rest of us are too slow. Who knows what tricks the necromancer might have.” He pulled a bundle of herbs from a chest, as well as a red mushroom that shimmered in the light, and his smile reached from ear to ear. “Besides, everything we need to finish our quest is here, plus a little extra, all packed neatly for our convenience. We don’t even need to go into the dungeon.”

Shana kneeled beside Ryman to squint at a bundle of flowers. “Maybe too convenient. What are the odds that the guildmaster sent us to these ruins, only to find a small horde of skeletons? Lucky for us, she directed us to our dear Aurora and her valiant companions.”

Festus lifted an overly large animal hide from a box and sniffed at the naked, pink flesh. “The necromancer was here for some time to have built up this collection.”

Eugenia was having us watched, was she not? Avalon thought and smiled at Meribeth, to set her worries aside.

Or so Daggert claimed. Morgan said and confronted the woman’s accusing glare.

“What’s Aurora’s rating? Or yours, for that matter?” Daggert asked, her long knife still free from its sheath.

“I do not have a rating, as I am not a member of the adventurer’s guild. My master is rated Class E.” Morgan said, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Avalon frowned. “That doesn’t seem right. I’m stronger than that, surely.”

“I knew you were strong enough to deal with a couple bandits, the white stag even, but this was unexpected.” Daggert sheathed her knife and scowled as she stomped away. “This was probably why the guildmaster sent us here. It was a test. She risked our lives, to test how strong you were.” She kicked a bag and grain flew into the air.

“We’re on the lower end of Class C, but that performance was almost worthy of Class B.” Ryman said, grudging approval in his voice. “I heard you were ill, but it’s like some power awakened inside of you once you recovered.”

“Hippolytus did most of the fighting, impressive beast that he is. Morgan and Aurora were helpful though.” Shana said.

She wiped away the sweat on her forehead with her magic, scattering the impure water into the ground. Her skillful manipulation of water was something Avalon wanted to learn, but he didn’t appreciate her words. He was more helpful than she was, as was Morgan.

“But it was she who tamed the beast and commanded it into battle. That is worth considering.” Festus said and Avalon nodded. He knew he would like the brute, but he was smarter than he first appeared.

The guildmaster, however, was as suspicious as she first appeared. She manipulated us. Avalon thought, wary of the Eugenia’s schemes.

She manipulated you. Morgan corrected, unhelpfully.

“Uwah, did you call her master?” Meribeth glanced between Avalon and Morgan, a blush in her cheeks. “Aren’t you two…”

Avalon waited for an answer, but the girl just blinked at him. As though he could hear her unspoken words, like he could with Morgan. “Aren’t we what?”

“Lovers!” Shana called out and Meribeth’s face grew bright red. “Sheesh, just say the words Meri. It’s not that hard.”

“Of course not.” Avalon snorted, but he saw surprise in the faces around him. “His sword is sworn to me.”

Morgan patted his sword. “The one made of steel, do not misunderstand. I am like a knight.”

“I prefer bloodrider.”

“But! But! You were running away together!” Meribeth said as if in protest, but she wasn’t making any sense. “Eloping!”

“His sword is sworn to me.” Avalon repeated, there wasn’t more he could say to explain their relationship.

Morgan nodded in agreement. “My master rescued me, now I follow where he leads.”

“Don’t you mean she?” Shana asked.

“Is that not what I said?”

“No, you definitely said he.” Ryman added, but Morgan just shrugged.

Avalon climbed from Hippolytus’ back and made his way into the sinkhole. Humans and their words confused him. No matter what happened, Avalon was Avalon, that’s all he needed to know. Hippolytus jumped down to follow, but the entrance leading deeper into the sinkhole was too small for the stag to fit through.

“You’ll have to stay here.” Avalon said and patted the stag’s side.

“You’ll both have to stay here. It’s too dangerous down there, even for you. You could get lost or fall into a trap, it’s more than just fighting down there.” Ryman called out and Avalon raised an eye at him.

“You may have found what you needed, but the dungeon was the only reason I traveled with you adventurers.”

More humans are approaching. Morgan said and Avalon tensed.

Had the adventurers lured him into a trap? Eugenia sent them north, with her schemes in mind, that much was evident. It was no coincidence that Corviano’s skeletons were placed in their path, but what if they saw Avalon and Morgan digging up graves? A crime against nature, and against the laws of men, that’s what the adventurers called it.

Four adventurers entered the ruins, swords drawn as they lined up beside the main gate to the castle. Another adventurer climbed onto the walls and took her position in the guardhouse above the gate, armed with a crossbow. They weren’t there for the necromancer, that much was clear, but Ryman and his own adventurers rallied to confront them. While not as overtly hostile as the new arrivals, the Fist of Ursmark kept their hands on their weapons.

“The mule is still out there.” Meribeth said.

“Better the mule than any of us. Keep your guard up.” Daggert warned her.

“Greetings, friends. Lovely day. The skeletons at these ruins have already been dealt with, there is no need for weapons.” Ryman greeted the new arrivals as his party formed into their battle lines. Unsubtle, but nobody moved to stop them.

The woman in the guardhouse waved her hand through the air, a signal to anyone beyond the castle walls, and a rider on horseback galloped through the gate. His steed wasn’t the type of warhorse that armored soldiers regularly rode into battle, but she was strong and especially swift. The rider, a young man with bright green eyes, climbed from his horse and walked ahead of his companions.

Ryman tried to greet him, but the young man pushed at his shoulder and brushed past. Festus readied his axe, freeing it from its sling, but Ryman raised a hand to him and shook his head. The young man yelled, “Out of my way, savage, I am here to see my betrothed!” And Festus reluctantly stepped aside.

Morgan blocked his path and the young man tried to push him aside as well, but he lacked the strength. There was surprise in his green eyes, which quickly gave way to defiance. “Do you know who I am? I am Severino Prospero, heir to the Prospero fortune.” The young man said his own name as if it meant something more than how it sounded.

“What business do you have with my master?” Morgan asked.

“Master? Aurora is my betrothed, my wife. That means I am your master also. Remove yourself from my path, servant.” Severino tried to push past the spirit, but Morgan held him at bay with a single arm. “Let me go, you stinking animal. Your clothes are made from leaves, let me go!” He said, but continued pressing forward. All he had to do was step back if he wanted Morgan’s hands to release him.

“Enough, let him pass.” Avalon said. The scene amused him, like a young pup playing games with a much older wolf, but it was a distraction from the dungeon. The sooner Severino was gone, the sooner the dungeon could be explored.

Severino tore free from Morgan’s grasp and patted his clothes when the spirit allowed him to pass. They were made of soft-looking furs and fabrics. The scent of flowers clung to him, but the scent grew oppressively strong as he neared. Avalon couldn’t help but scowl at the foul stench.

“What’s wrong, my darling. Aren’t you glad to see me?” Severino asked.

“Why should I? You’re nothing to me.” Avalon said.

Festus laughed bellowed through the castle. “Hear that? You’re nothing!”

“Nothing!” Shana repeated beside him and giggled, more playful compared to Festus’ blatant antagonism. “Go buy your bride somewhere else!”

“Stop instigating, you mad fucks.” Ryman muttered to his adventuring companions, but it was too late.

Severino’s face was flush with bright red, from a mix of embarrassment and fury. “Come, wife. Let us return to the city and speak in a more civilized setting.”

He grabbed at Avalon’s wrist and tried to pull, but his soft, thin fingers were weak. Perhaps weaker than Gareth’s. Despite his small size, the boy-child possessed a ferocious will that Severino lacked. Even his anger was more petulant and child-like than the murderous rage Gareth showed during their first encounter. Did Harold truly intend to sell off his offspring to such a whelp?

“I’ll have my guards seize you. Do not test me.” Severino warned, but it only made Avalon curious.

“They can try.” Avalon declared and pushed his would-be betrothed into the dirt. He readied his spear and Morgan’s blade sung as he drew it free from its scabbard.

Severino’s guards approached in a wide arc, keeping clear of the Fist of Ursmark, but Meribeth called out. “You can’t just kidnap a girl, that’s wrong!”

Daggert sighed when the rest of her party prepared to fight, but pulled her own weapons free. “I thought we were done with this betrothal nonsense.”

“We can end it here and now.” Avalon said and pointed the tip of his spear at Severino’s neck, close enough to touch. When Severino swallowed, his skin moved up and down with the pronounced bump in his throat, cutting itself on the blade and drawing blood.