Three days later, Lowe stood at the prow of the Arbiter behind Cuwin and the other Banishers, who were quietly muttering prayers and invocations to create a thick miasma of fog ahead of the caravel as the rest of the company—knights, archers and men-at-arms, waited silently, ready for action. The approach to the location where the secret conclave between the Lord Summoner and the Hurgamon Imperials felt to Lowe like hours, but that was probably only because he was highly motivated, which made him more and more irascible the longer the mission took. A Lord Summoner had never been captured before—not in the history of the Necrophiliad. At the head of the organization’s hierarchy, the Lord Summoner was privy to certain secrets the cabal of necromancers kept highly guarded.

To Lowe’s left he caught sight of Nivin Carelle as the young man shifted his weight. Lowe had spent many hours with the young knight helping him improve his combat maneuvers and swordsmanship skills. Nivin was among one of his best students, and the reason why Lowe had integrated him into his own company.

“Easy, lad,” he whispered. “This assault is no different than any other you’ve participated in. Let the Purging Flame give you fortitude, for the gods are with us.”

Nivin nodded, turned back to watch over the shoulders of the Banishers at the front of the ship. The Banishers still had their hands clasped as they formed a semicircle with their bodies facing ahead of the ship, their heads bowed in prayer. The Order of the Purging Flame was about to assault the personal agents of the Lord Summoner himself. Lowe was under no delusions that the battle to come would not vicious. There was a reason Lord Summoners were not killed or captured. Lowe didn’t know how the Necrophiliad went about finding its leaders, but one thing the Order did know about the evil cabal, was that its Lord Summoners were never weaklings—and never stupid.

Lowe felt the ship begin to slow. He looked to the port where the sweeps were held aloft to slow the Arbiter’s forward progression. Presently the captain came forward. “The rowboats are ready for you and your men, my lord.”

Lowe nodded silently as the semicircle of Banishers at the prow broke apart. Cuwin stepped forward to join the Knight Captain at his side. Lowe looked the men over, letting their eyes connect with his. Then he nodded, giving silent permission for the company to make for the boats as several of the Banishers, accompanied by their Knights, stayed aboard the ship to maintain a guard, and the enshrouding mist so that Lowe’s advance would not be discovered too soon.

* * *

Rowing quietly, and with the crash of the waves against the rocky bank, their approach would be undetected. Lowe stood at the prow as they neared the shore. He couldn’t see the beach for the thick blanket of protective mist, but he could hear it, maybe fifty or sixty paces ahead. He glanced back toward the other two rowboats. In total, Lowe’s landing party was comprised of nearly sixty men.

Will they be enough? he wondered, acknowledging that his landing party was in danger of being decimated. Surely some of them will be killed…

The Knight Captain wondered which of his friends would die fighting necromancers today, and grit his teeth.

War is sacrifice.

And this was war—a war between the Order of the Purging Flame—and by affiliation the gods—against the evil agents of darkness. In this case, the expansive and shadowy organization of the Necrophiliad. What rankled Lowe the most was that necromancers were a tricky lot. Always hiding. Always unseen as their undead abominations carried out their vile plans, fighting for their masters and putting good men in danger while they kept safe.

Lowe remembered that he was trying not to grind his teeth and stopped. He’d been trying to make a conscious effort to stop doing that after Cuwin told him that it was probably why he often suffered from headaches.

It was either that, or perhaps it was the constant prospect of very possibly getting a limb lopped off—or killed altogether. Lowe detested watching his men run headlong into danger, and he being the one to send them into it. In some ways, Lowe wished he were still a foot soldier rather than the Knight Commander of a special company with the most dangerous set of mandates the Order could provide; to seek out and capture, or kill, higher-level individuals from organizations such as the Dancing Rose, the Black Suns, and even the highly infamous Necrophiliad.

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As the boat continued forward, the slick black rocks of the bank became visible above the finer sand of the beach. Luckily there were no sentries here, or else the Necrophiliad would be well warned of their presence. When the boat reached shore with a scraping of course sand beneath, Lowe jumped over the side, headless of the water soaking into his boots. He trudged through the wet sand toward the bank of rocks. Cuwin and Gnivin came up behind him as the rest of the landing party exited their boats to form a battle line at the base of the steep embankment, which was about three paces high.

The other two captains came forward so Lowe could give them orders. The strategy would be simple. During the assault at the keep where Lowe had interrogated, and then killed a Necrolord three days prior, his company was able to acquire many books, maps and scrolls the necromancers kept there. Inside one of the maps was a drawing of Blackwater Summit, and its ancient Spire Keep. Lowe didn’t care that the keep was a relic to some empire long dead, but he did care that the drawing gave an accurate—or at least semi-accurate—account of the summit’s terrain.

At the present moment, Lowe and his company were situated on the shoreline. In order to assault the Spire Keep, they would first have to traverse half a mile of rocky terrain containing numerous caves, grottos and naturally-formed arches.

Good cover, he thought.

Then after traversing the course volcanic rock formations, the company would have to find a way up the summit, and into the Spire. He told the two other captains as much.

Cuwin pointed at the drawing. Some parts were not very well distinguishable due to aging and a certain abstract quality of the cartography. “This could be an entry up to the summit. Perhaps a switchback set of stone steps leading to the top.”

“A good place to hold off an invading force,” Lowe said. “We may have to climb the summit instead.”

He nodded.

Thankfully it wasn’t very high, about a hundred paces or so. At least that’s what was depicted on the velum. He glanced toward the men-at-arms, several of them carrying the climbing gear over their shoulders which consisted of thick ropes, hammers, and special wedges.

“This won’t be the first time we’ve climbed to get at an enemy,” Cuwin said, pulling back his hood with one hand to expose his short-cropped brown hair.

“That was different,” Lowe said. “Last time we were dealing with barely trained mercenaries.”

“Lazy, barely trained mercenaries,” Nivin added with a smirk.

“This is the Necrophiliad.”

“I know,” Cuwin said. “But what are our options?”

There was a long pause as Lowe thought about the situation. “We may have to wait until the summit is over, attack the Lord Summoner as he’s returning to his ship.”

“We can bring the Arbitor to bear from the seas,” Cuwin said, “distract the necromancers while we assault their party from inland.”

Some of the men looked up, a nervous air of apprehension in their otherwise veteran countenances. “I don’t like it either,” Lowe said. “If we lose the Arbiter, we’re finished. Nobody will come to save us—nobody knows we’re here.”

Lowe had already long exceeded their mandate, and was supposed to return to the Temple of the Purging Flame, but having gained a trail of small clues as to where the Lord Summoner might be, they had made port, restocked the ship’s supplies and had pressed on. The crew of the Arbiter—especially the rest of Lowe’s company—were ardent in pursuing their chance at confronting the current leader of the Necrophiliad.

We cannot be marooned here, he thought. The Lord Summoner would make his escape, leaving us to deal with his agents. They would all be killed. Stranded on the tiny island, the Lord Summoner could continue to supply his forces with reinforcements until all the Order soldiers were killed or captured, forced to serve their vile foe as corpsified agents of evil.

“We keep the Arbiter safe,” Lowe stated. “I have no doubt the Lord Summoner has alternative ways of leaving this island. We’ve seen it from necromancers before.”

“Blood sacrifice,” Nivin said, shivering.

Lowe raised an eyebrow, put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “We have to assault the Spire Keep. It’s the only way we’re going to have a chance at the Lord Summoner. Besides, we have the mist. If we’re lucky, we won’t be spotted on the climb.”

“The other Banishers and I can invoke a sound barrier to protect our ascent as well,” Cuwin said.

The other Banishers, robed in their thick raiment cloaks and yellow tabards nodded. One man thumped his chest. “It is the will the gods.” The others murmured the sentiment.

“Then we assault the Spire Keep,” Lowe said.

“Do we split our forces, or stay together?” Cuwin asked.

“We keep the company together,” Lowe said. “This way there’s less of a chance the Necrophiliad will discover us, and if we are discovered, we should be able to hold our own as an intact company if we’re forced to retreat.” He looked up at the large black rocks, slick with the gentle falling of rain and turned to the rest of the company. “We move out! Keep close, and stay quiet!”