Gregor drove his team and wagon into the clearing they all hoped would be the end of their journey to find and defeat the sorcerer. Their journey so far was foremost on his mind. It hadn’t been pleasant, but it had just been a noxious swamp. It was dark, wet, and it stank. The insects were always a nuisance, but not much worse than other places he’d been. There were many more insects than he, or the surviving members of the Hawk’s party ever wanted to see again. But it never felt truly evil. This area oozed evil like the black stone that marked the entrance to the swamp. Six tall black stones on each side, like the one marking the path from the main road to the swamp, bordered the open area of the island and encircled an open space in the center of the island. Two black upright stones with one on top connecting them formed a crude opening to a stone pathway leading further on into the fog.

Their horses shied as far away from the stones as their riders allowed. Even the mist caused shivers as it covered the last of the day’s light. Fear squeezed Gregor heart and mind as they rode into the center of what everyone knew for certain was a trap. Another trap set by Raytheda and it was still the only path to take them to him and victory.

The Hawks fanned out when they entered the stone ring. Gregor turned left before it and parked the wagon outside the ring. He set the brake, and unloaded some of its contents. Most of the Hawks took the center of the space with Sa-sa also moving to the clearing’s left side, so he was next to the bell the old knight said he used to summon the sorcerer. The Hawks tied their horses to trees outside the ring of black stones.

The old knight turned to the right outside the stones, away from Gregor and most of the Hawks. Okston and Areth helped Walthor down from the wagon and half carried him to a place behind the other fighters. Okston also carried a box for Walthor to sit on and keep recovering while they waited and prepared.

Gregor felt like they had all the time they needed to prepare. No one seemed in a hurry and he certainly wasn’t in any hurry to die. He noticed the knight picketing his horse well to the side out of any potential harm's way. He did the same with the party’s horses, unharnessing and hitching them to a few trees as far from the stones as he could get. The Hawks had prepared torches on poles which they drove into the ground to make a way to funnel anyone entering from the cracked roadway ahead, straight to the party. As they were lit, the torches cast light and shadows around them in the gathering darkness. The Hawkes had come well prepared. Gregor wondered if it would be enough when the time came. He feared it wouldn’t be.

It was fully dark when everything and everyone was ready. Tanadon called out to Sa-sa, “Ring the bell. Bring Raytheda to us.” Looking back at the knight, he asked, “Sir knight. Do we still have your word not to interfere?”

Calling out from the shadows at the edge, he answered. “My word holds. I will not help you fight Raytheda, and as long as you do not attack me, I will not fight you.” Gregor saw the knight stick his teardrop shield point first into the ground and stand at the ready behind it, his great sword in his hands, point down on the ground. His visor was up, but none-the-less, Gregor knew the well-armed knight was ready for battle.

The bell tolled as Sa-sa rang it. Three times it sounded. Not the bright clang like a ship’s bell whose appearance it resembled, but a deep, dark sound like a great cathedral bell, filling the area and swamp with sound. On the third note, the stones came to life with bright lightning bolts arcing between their tops, forming a line around the area save for the arched opening, bracketing the road before them. The fog ahead of them dissipated, revealing lights and a tall, dark shape appearing out of the mist and darkness. A black stone tower with a surrounding wall and gate with an open portcullis appeared where the fog had previously hidden it. A few flickering lights shown from within the tower windows, and from behind the portcullis.

To the Hawks shock and surprise, horns sounded from within the wall and the sound of marching feet echoed their way to the party. Dark words in a harsh language were shouted and a bridge emerged from the swamp, dripping black water from each side until it connected to the stone roadway to the island the tower dominated. A squad of a dozen, short, thick, black figures armed with shields and pikes shambled out from under the portcullis. Following them was another squad of the same creatures. These creatures were holding short, recurve bows and had multiple quivers of black arrows on their backs. Last came a tall, thin, black-robed figure mounted on a giant, six-legged, black version of the swamp reptiles that had attacked them earlier. “That must be Raytheda himself,” Tanadon shouted. “We have him!”

“No one told me he had a bloody army!” Rolf Redbeard called out. “More for us to kill, so bring ‘em on!”

Tanadon pulled and knocked an enchanted arrow from his quiver. The arrow glowed in the darkness after he said a short word. Aiming it at the black figure trailing the fighters, he waited for it to get closer.

The old priest spun his beads and peered through them as the figures passed over the bridge. He drew in a deep breath, this his high-pitched voice loudly screeched, “Illusion! All illusion! Man walking! One man walking. Great magic. Old, old magic.” It was the loudest and most words Gregor had heard from him since he’d been riding next to him.

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Half the Hawks turned to face the priest. Tanadon spun around and shouted, “Illusion? They aren’t real?”

“Illusion,” was his only reply.

“Walthor. What’s his affinities and disaffinities? What makes him stronger and weaker. Is it Raytheda?”

Walthor picked up a mirror and chanted as the figures moved closer. The first squad had almost reached the stones marking the road when he shouted, “Black, obsidian and lead in quantity. White, diamond and iron are his disaffinities. It’s him! Hold him. Two minutes and he’s ours!”

Choosing samples of Raytheda’s three disaffinities from a box on his right, Walthor began chanting his spell. The grin on his face and the pain in Walthor’s body didn’t stop his conjuration, or his precise enunciation of each word of the spell.

Gregor looked back at the knight. The old knight was smiling. Wondering why, and if he had made a mistake, he waited and looked forward again.

The old priest ran towards the archway and in front the Hawk’s line. As the first fighters moved between the black stones, he snapped his beads forward, and with a single word, the squad of squat fighters melted away into the night, evaporating into clouds of black smoke. When the archer squad moved into the same range, he repeated the motion and word, and they too vanished. That left only the black figure mounted on the giant reptile. The priest’s obvious glee at breaking the illusions was the first emotion Gregor had seen from him in all the days he’d been riding beside him. Gregor didn’t join him or the Silver Hawks in their shouts of impending victory.

“Be ready,” Tanadon called out. “We have to give Walthor time to finish. When the priest breaks his illusion, be ready for his attack.” Drawing his glowing arrow back again, Tanadon waited for the moment to fire. That moment came when the old priest dispelled the last illusion and the giant reptile vanished, as did the darkness surrounding its rider, revealing only a black-robed and gloved figure walking towards them. His ink black cowl covered most of his face.

The arrow streaked towards its target, striking the figure in his chest, flashing into bright light and crackles of lightning arcing to the ground as the figure staggered. Rolf’s crossbow fired and the quarrel entered almost where Tanadon’s arrow had struck. The two forces staggered the figure, but he didn’t go down.

“Got the bastard!” Rolf shouted as he dropped the crossbow behind him and drew his ax. “Let’s finish him.”

“Wait. Not yet. No sorcerer this powerful goes down that easy. Hold your places. Wait for Walthor.” Tanadon commanded as he drew another arrow.

Gregor looked back again at the knight. His smile was still there. “What am I missing? Why is he still smiling? Am I wrong?” Then he looked back at the path they’d entered from, and froze. Turning around, he held up his hand to block the torchlight. He looked left and right of where the party stood and cursed.

That was when Walthor finished the last words of his incantation. A flare of light followed the last word of the spell and engulfed the black figure now standing between the stones. It staggered, but remained upright.

Where there had been black was now white. Lead became cold iron, and obsidian was now diamond. The Hawks cheered. The affinities Raytheda had worn were now his disaffinities, tremendously weakening him.

Sa-sa dove forward from the shadows near the archway and planted two long daggers into the now white robed figure’s belly, pushing him backwards and down to sprawl on the ground as Sa-sa dodged and rolled aside. The Hawk’s plan was working.

Turning, and with a sad face, Gregor walked over to the knight, who was clapping. His great sword leaning against his shield. Stopping before the knight, Gregor removed his helm and dropped to one knee, looking down at the ground “Sir knight. I come begging for the boon you said you would grant.”

“Stand, Gregor son of Halgor. A man should meet his death standing and proud. I grant you your boon.”

His words broke through the jubilation of the rest of the party. Tanadon spun about in time to see Gregor stand. “What boon? Gregor, what have you done?”

Turning, staring at the leader of the Hawks, Gregor replied, “We are dead. Raytheda won. Look!” He pointed first at the entrance to the clearing behind them, then to each side. Then he pointed to where the now white robed figure had regained his feet.

Motionlessly waiting in each of the three areas were three hordes of the undead. Grim figures dripping black water from their emergence from the swamp. There were many dead men and women, weapons clutched in their rotting hands. Their bodies cut, burnt and with pieces missing. Each was dressed in tattered clothing or armor. All silently waiting.

“The boon Gregor begged of me,” the knight’s strong voice carried to the shocked watchers, “was a quick and easy death. He had me swear by my Order, the Knights of Mabendus Aurias, and by my name. I swore the oath and I fulfill it. Rest well brave warrior.”

Placing both his gauntleted hands on Gregor’s head the knight spoke a few words and pulled. Something silvery and shining left Gregor’s head and then vanished. Gregor’s body fell dead to the ground at the feet of the figure armored and garbed in white, iron, and diamond.

“By all the Good Gods,” Areth cried out, her hands making a shielding motion “He pulled his soul from his body!”

Okston clutched both mauls in his fists, his voice strained as he demanded, “What name?”

“Raytheda,” replied the old knight as he dropped the visor on his helm, the clang of metal on metal announced the Hawke’s final fight.

As Okston charged, Raytheda picked up his sword and came on guard behind his shield. Only then did Raytheda cry out, “Attack!” Sweeping his sword in an arc above his shield, and uttering a single guttural word, all the Hawks froze in place. The three hordes of dead adventurers charged once more into another slaughter against their helpless foes.