"Bailiff!" Inquisitor Varus snapped, gesturing angrily at the pair of bickering Dwarves. They were separated by several guards, hauled into several antechambers which would occasionally be filled with crowds of onlookers during public trials. Varus mopped his brow with a silk handkerchief, taking in the empty chairs making up the courtroom. The wooden floor creaked beside him—a courier, apparently, a young pimple-faced man grasping a letter in both hands.

Varus set his handkerchief aside. "We'll take a recess. Ten minutes and no longer. Guards, see them out." He fixed his stern gaze on the young man as chattering broke out among the prisoners. "Yes?"

"Sorry to disturb you, sir." He sucked in a deep breath. "Colonel Tiabauld of the 10th Cavalry requests the assistance of your apprentices and two-score of the Civil Guard. They'll be used to bolster his numbers and interrogate any potential heretics."

"Heretics? Is he conducting a sweep of the city?" Varus blinked in confusion, even as he reached for his quill pen. He unfolded the letter and squinted. The words spoke of a need for immediate aid, apologizing for the lack of notice and intimating that a favor might be given at some later date. Varus tried to remember the Colonel, a thoroughly bland-looking man, whose majestic white horse bested him in both breeding and appearance. "What... what's all this about?"

The messenger sucked in a breath. "Not really supposed to say, sir. The Colonel merely requires your imprimatur."

Inquisitor Varus paused. He stayed still, immobile, letting the silence work its magic while his quill pen hovered in place above the document. In the end, the messenger could barely withstand three seconds of focused attention before he cracked like an egg.

"Ah... there's trouble at the northern docks, sir. Conflicting reports from the watchtowers along its edge." The messenger gulped. "Duke Machovius is sending any forces he can spare, but the 10th Cavalry has been understrength for some time now."

Inquisitor Varus nodded. Understrength barely described it. A century ago it had been an elite formation, turning the tide of the War of the Great Coalition, but long decades of neglect had turned it into more of a ceremonial outfit. It was staffed now with the spare offspring of the nobility, the half-wits and fourth sons from families with noble, if tenuous, reputations. They could march prettily enough on formal occasions, riding in close order with the banners of House Machovius, and featured a musical troupe with respectable skill and gleaming brass instruments.

Though I wouldn't expect those parade ground dandies to hold their ground against a band of stone-flinging street urchins.

"That doesn't leave much in the city itself," Varus replied. "The 4th Foot, I suppose?"

Decked in the Duke's personal surcoats and chainmail, the 4th Foot were considered an elite regiment, posted around the Duke's palace. The messenger nodded.

I suppose nothing would so discomfit Duke Machovius as to make him send his nursemaids away.

"Tell him to bring my men back safely," Varus said, scrawling his signature on the document, careful to keep his penmanship clean. "The Civil Guard are a rough sort, the kind you'd like to have around you in a jam, but some of the apprentices here are not quite up to the standard." He set his pen aside, reflecting on the motley assortment of apprentices assigned in the city. Varus wished he'd focused more on weeding out those without the proper temperament.

Still, perhaps this task would help. Some men rise to the challenge in a crisis. Others... can more easily be forced out, once there's a black mark on their career. Varus smiled at the thought, thinking of Korso. Doesn't seem like you're handling the trouble along the river very well, now does it?

"I'll need to keep the apprentices currently with me," Varus added, gesturing to the nearest antechamber. Jez was leaning back against the wall, two black-clad Inquisitorial apprentices trying to keep their attention on both the witch and Varus alike, and failing to do a good job at either. Varus sighed. "The executioner and his assistant as well. As for everyone else... Colonel Tiabuald is welcome to them."

"An execution?" The pimply-faced messenger carefully accepted the scroll, rolling it up tight. "I'll be sad to miss it, sir."

Varus shrugged. "Perhaps my lads will have an execution of their own. They're eager, if nothing else. Most of them."

The messenger bowed low, stepping back then exiting the courtroom. Varus cleared his throat and snapped his fingers. Within moments the prisoners were shuffling back, guided to their seats by the guards. "Keep the Dwarves muffled," Varus added. Their protests broke out simultaneously, yet the Inquisitorial apprentices jumped in to help the guards. Within moments, the Dwarves were forced down into their seats, mumbling indistinctly. Varus smirked, then nodded at Jez.

"Continue the story, then. So these two were making a ruckus. And then..."

Jez rose to her feet once again, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. "Ah, as I recall, I think it was Gynefra who then broke in..."

***

"Stop!" Gynefra hissed, raising both hands. To Jez's surprise, the Dwarves fell silent at once. Gynefra's ears twitched for a few moments. "There's a group of at least twenty undead no more than a block away," she continued in a quiet but firm tone. "Keep your voices down so they are not alerted. Now then. Who are you, exactly?"

The Dwarf woman sniffed. When she replied, her voice was calm and measured.

"They call me the Seeker."

Barnabus blinked. "You... are you the one who often sells antiquities to the Watchful Tower?"

The Dwarf smiled. "The very same."

Barnabus nodded slowly, noticing the curiosity in Gynefra's eyes. "I've often helped out in the Library," he explained. "A few years back they brought in a treasure chest laden with spectral blades from Castle Wainfell."

"Ah yes," the Seeker replied, reaching over to a padded surcoat resting on the couch. She frowned at the fresh rips and dried blood, then shrugged it over her undershirt. "That was an adventure. Not nearly as dangerous as this one, and leagues more profitable. I wasn't saddled with a mercenary, oh no. A dozen hired laborers and muleteers came along, and the job was smooth as silk. Not at all like this."

Jag rolled his eyes.

"The Seeker," Gynefra replied. "That isn't a Duarvari name. What clan do you hail from? Or... do you have a given name?"

The Dwarf grimaced, making no reply as she adjusted her clothing.

Jag chuckled. "She has no name. They stripped it from her after..." He trailed off, noticing the Seeker's glare, then shrugged. "Ah. It's her story to tell."

The Seeker seemed in no hurry to elaborate.

"Would you like me to examine your wounds?" Jez asked, rising from her seat. "I'm a healer. Or..." She paused, glancing at those around her. It would be a death sentence if the Inquisition heard, but among this crowd she doubted it meant much. "A witch, as they call me."

"Indeed?" The Seeker's eyebrows rose. "I would be glad of your services, otherwise, but we should be off soon. Besides... the bandages were freshly cleaned. The stitching is solid and there has been no oozing or further blood loss. I cannot move as quickly as before, but I can walk at a steady pace. So long as we break every hour or two."

"You're welcome," Jag rumbled.

"Payment is your thanks, and you shall have it in Eisenfold." The Seeker stretched, then snatched up two calf-length leather boots beside the couch. "I trust you are heading south as well? We would have safety in numbers if we were to..." The Seeker trailed off, frowning as the others made no response.

"As I was just telling Jagruanda here, it is our intent to push into the Barrowlands. There are still many questions about how the plague began, and we shall find our answers there."

The Seeker frowned. "You will find your own deaths there," she said. "Has my guard lost his tongue? Has he not told you of the hordes we faced? The dangers we risked, the... the..." Jez was surprised to find the Dwarf shaking now. The Seeker paused for a moment, breathing in and out slowly. "Please," she said earnestly. "Please listen to me. This isn't even for my sake. We've seen so much death already. Please don't make such a foolish decision."

"The decision is already made," Gynefra replied, glancing at the brooding mercenary. "In fact, I was hoping to sway your bodyguard as well."

"You're insane," the Seeker replied in annoyance. "Jag, grab your pack. We're leaving." She limped toward the window, peering outside, before glancing back at Jag. He sat beside the fire, motionless except for his right hand, pensively stroking his braided beard. "Jag?"

"Mm."

"You're not seriously considering this, are you?"

The Dwarf's head ponderously turned to meet her gaze.

"I'm not sure."

The Seeker grimaced. "Because if you expect to receive your full paym—"

"Shush!" Gynefra cut in as Barnabus moved toward the door. The other Elf creaked it open, letting a cold breeze inside as his ears twitched. Gyenfra joined him silently. The Elves glanced at each other for a moment, their lips flickering. They seemed to be whispering, but the words were so soft and silent that Jez couldn't make them out. Then Barnabus nodded, pushing open the door—and he was gone in a flash.

Gynefra shut the door firmly behind her, turning toward the others and crossing her arms.

"What was that?" the Seeker demanded.

"Horses," Gynefra replied. "Possibly fighting going on in the distance."

Jag pursed his lips. "Near as I could tell, everyone in this town was dead when we got here."

Gynefra nodded. "I don't hear hooves on cobblestones. They're muffled... I can't make it out now. Barnabus is going to investigate."

"Is that safe?" Jag asked. "The man's nothing but twigs. No armor on him... if he gets cornered—"

"He can handle himself," Gynefra cut in. "Barnabus is quite capable with a wand, and he can work his way through the town without drawing notice."

Jag nodded slowly, pursing his lips in thought. Then he glanced over at Jez. "And you, human witch. You've tangled with the undead before?"

"Only over these last two days."

"She's still alive, when so many died," Gynefra pointed out. "She has the potential to be quite a spellcaster."

Jez glanced away, cheeks reddening. She'd known the Elf long enough to realize her praise didn't come lightly.

"Shame she was raised where she was," Gynefra added with a shrug. "Her talents are wasted in human lands."

"Aye," Jagruanda agreed. "Is it true you have an Inquisition meant to hunt down magic users?"

"Yes," Jez admitted. "As well as those the Kingdom deems heretics. We're a free people in the Frontier, however."

"Those of you left alive, anyway," Jagruanda added with a smile.

Jez did not share it.

"What can you do, anyway?" the Seeker asked now. She was waiting a few paces from the door, a pack on the ground beside her, and had just pulled on a tight metal cuirass that glowed faintly in the firelight. A bandolier of knives was strapped around it.

"I've... I've always had some skill in molding earth," Jez found herself admitting. It was the first time she had ever spoken of it. "Generating rock and dirt from nothingness and manipulating them with my staff. And for all my life I've had a knack for healing, though I could not say if it is linked to my talents."

"I would wager that it is," Gynefra said thoughtfully. "Should we have some time... there are some tests that could be performed."

"Would you help me?" Jez asked, wide-eyed. "I've always wanted to learn."

Gynefra smiled humorlessly. "You've come with us this far. I appreciate your service as a guide in these lands. I travel light, but the Watchful Tower has no shortage of valuables—both in coin and in arcane arts. If I were to give testimony to your talent and character, then I have no doubt you could study under a real master."

"What about you?"

Gynefra tapped her staff on the ground, a tiny whirlwind drifted up from her staff and ruffling her hair before it faded. "My talents lie more in another direction. There is some overlap, of course. Perhaps we could go over the basics, should we..." Gynefra licked her lips. "When we find what we came for and leave these blighted lands behind."

"Could I see your staff?" the Seeker cut in. Jez realized now that the Dwarf woman had been staring thoughtfully at it for some time now. She nodded uncertainly, offering it up as she came near. "Where did you find it?"

"Ah... in the village where I grew up. Not many leagues east of here. I felt myself drawn to a ruined watchtower. The place had been looted ages ago, of course, but I found this beside a section that had been burned down. Charred as it was, it seemed somehow... special."

"No doubt it did." The Seeker held it up high, closing her left eye as she studied it, adjusting it and feeling the heft of the material. "This kind of hardwood doesn't burn easily. It's a troll witch doctor's staff. Likely from the Hedgelands. Tough material for a tough race. Charred as it is, no doubt there are still enough magical elements within to help focus your energies." She handed it back with a smile. "Far from the most valuable artifact I've seen, but it would be worth a pretty penny to those in the know."

"You're sure?" Jez asked in surprise.

The Seeker's smile faded, replaced by a look of annoyance. "Of course I'm sure."

"Gynefra," Jagruanda said, the first word he'd spoken in some time. "This offer of valuables from the Watchful Tower. Would it apply to me as well, were I to join you?"

"Don't even think—"

"Of course," Gynefra said, interrupting the Seeker. "We could come to an arrangement later. My word carries a great deal of weight among the Council, and I am authorized to take on assistants wherever they may be found." She took a step to the side, peering out the window as Jagruanda nodded thoughtfully. "He's coming back."

Jez stepped forward, smiling down at the mercenary. "I'd be glad to have you along."

"Hmm."

An uncomfortable silence fell in the abandoned house once again. The last thick log was smoldering, the fireplace filled mainly with ash. Smoke drifted through the chimney though the fire had all but burned out. Then the door creaked open, Barnabus pushing inside, taking off his wide-brimmed hat and letting snow fall heedlessly onto the floor.

"Well?" Gynefra prompted.

"A band of riders just outside of town," Barnabus confirmed. "Five in number. A few undead came after them from the outskirts. They were cut down easily enough—it seems this group can handle themselves. I'm not sure if they mean to enter. They were sending a scout into town when I turned back."

"Horses would be useful," Gynefra commented, frowning to herself. Then she nodded, the decision made in an instant. "We're going to confront them. We've waited here long enough."

Jez rose, grateful for the brief pause in the house's warmth, though hardly eager to continue the march northward. Still, morning was here, and Jez didn't much care for the idea of being stuck in the Barrowlands overnight. They'd have to rely on speed.

"They coming with us?" Barnabus asked, glancing from one Dwarf to the other as Gynefra adjusted her wide-brimmed hat. She spared them a quick, inscrutable look.

"That's for them to decide."

Gynefra pushed outside, followed by Barnabus, with Jez just a pace behind. The door clattered shut behind them.

I wonder... the mercenary could prove useful.

"Stick close," Barnabus whispered as they hurried along the main street. "We'll lead the way."

At a seemingly arbitrary point, the Elves darted to the right, and Jez followed close behind. She spared a final glance down the road, just in time to see the first of a shambling group of undead lurching down from a side street. Jez sucked in a breath and kept moving after the others. They made a few more turns in a similar manner, pausing once for two minutes before darting across a broad avenue, but it was clear they were nearing the eastern periphery.

Finally, nothing stood before them and the open plains but the smoldering, charred remains of what had once been a blacksmith. That and six undead shuffling along. The Elves ducked low, remaining silent as the snuffling and growling sounds continued. Before long the group had moved along—all but one, who was staring at the blacksmith, sniffing and tilting his head from side to side. Jez bit down on the urge to ask the Elves about this one. From the expressions on their faces, they were just as annoyed and bewildered as she had been.

It was facing away from them, and so Jez took the risk of rising slightly from the rubble they'd hidden behind. It was then that she saw a shadowy figure perched on the rooftop of the broken-down blacksmith. The stranger slowly came to their knees, raising a recurve bow and pulling an arrow back by their cheek. The zombie growled, louder now, sniffing and looking up at the living being it had detected. The arrow shot forward, taking the zombie in the center of the skull. Its growling faded at once as it toppled to the ground.

They waited for a moment.

Then Gynefra sprang forward, Barnabus and Jez hurrying along with her. She risked a glance at the roof. The man, for man he was, took a step forward and raised his broad-brimmed hat in the air. Then he placed it back on his head and stuck two fingers in his mouth, whistling twice. The sound drifted on the wind, and Jez hoped it wouldn't attract any of the undead.

Gyenfra approached the blacksmith, prowling around from the side as the others followed. Creaks and bumps sounded from above. Then the man hopped down the side, boots sinking into the churned-up mud and snow beside the building. He stared at them appraisingly, recurve still gripped in his left hand, a quiver hanging around his chest.

"And you might be?" he asked in the familiar drawl of the Frontier.

"The name's Jez Hooper," she said, pushing past the others and extending her hand. He gripped it, squeezing tightly and shaking.

"Darius Grant." The man was lanky and dark-skinned, bearing the rough hide clothing of a cattle wrangler. His brown eyes took in the Elves without expression. "Strange circles you're riding in, Ms. Hooper."

"Times are strange, if you hadn't noticed."

"I had." Darius turned, raising his right hand high. The Elves had already looked over, and Jez saw now that several riders were cantering toward them. Two had lances raised high, the others with swords close at hand, though their expressions were more weary than hostile. From the way they slouched in their saddles it seemed they hadn't gotten any more sleep over the last few days than Jez had.

"Welcome," a grizzled man at the head of the party said, briefly raising a gloved finger from his saddle horn. He studied the group with pursed lips. "Elves?" he concluded finally.

Gynefra nodded. "We're here looking into the plague and the threat it poses."

One of the riders chuckled darkly, though the others made no comment.

"Hmm." The man at the head turned and spat into the nearest snow. "Darius, what do you see?"

"Undead in the streets of Granger. Smoke drifting from several ruined buildings. Could be survivors." He shrugged. "Well, here's a few right now, Larren."

"Wasn't expecting Elves," the man referred to as Larren muttered.

"Then you're in for a real treat," Darius continued, nodding forward once again, "cause we got Dwarves as well."

Jez turned to see Jagruanda approaching cautiously across the street, his axe slung over his armored shoulder. She wasn't too surprised that the mercenary had opted to come with them after all, but to see the Seeker shuffling over close behind with a drawn longsword was unexpected. The Dwarf grimaced, limping forward as the pair came near.

"I don't rightly understand it," Larren said softly, shaking his head.

"Are you behind all this?" a younger man called out, gripping his reins tightly. The lance he held drifted in place, as if he were tempted to lower it. "This... this madness. Larren, they've gotta be involved."

"Really?" the Seeker hissed, pushing forward close enough to jab a finger at the man. "Look at the bloodstains on my surcoat. You really think we started all this? Like we're the masterminds behind this plague? Humans," she grumbled.

"Not right though," another rider muttered. "And just south of the Barrowlands. Where we fought you all back. My grandpa was there. Saved humanity, they did."

"That's... not quite true," Gynefra replied. She sighed. "In any event, the War of the Great Coalition ended a long time ago. We're just looking to get to the bottom of this plague. Any chance..." Gynefra paused, licking her lips. She clearly didn't expect much from the others. "Any chance you might come north with us? If we can stop—"

"Lady, the plague started up north," Larren cut in, clearly annoyed. "I knew this job was a bad idea. The dead spilling out of their towns in the pitch-black, cutting down the wranglers in moments, scattering the longhorn to the far winds... it's a miracle we made it through the night. We just came this way to find supplies... but we ain't going anywhere but south. Far as the damned Kingdom, even."

The others nodded behind him, though Darius kept silent.

"Very well. Any chance I can buy a mount?" Gynefra attempted. "I do not have coin on me now, but were you to approach an emissary of the Watch—"

Larren cackled, but this time there was an edge of scorn to it. "Leave us be. We'll have nothing to do with you and your fool's quest."

"Why are you heading north?" Darius asked, clearly puzzled. "You really think you can put an end to this?"

"Assuredly," Gynefra replied. "And the funds of the Watchful Tower will be available. Upon our return."

Larren snorted, already jerking the reins to the side. "Get a load of that nonsense. Granger's too full of the undead, men. We ride hard to the south. Only way we're getting out of this mess alive."

"More than likely," the Seeker commented. Larren glanced down at her and scratched at his stubble. From somewhere deep within his recesses he seemed to produce the urge to favor her with a courtly nod.

"Don't seem like you weigh much," Larren said. "Ah... apologies, if that came out a bit forward. What I mean is... we can bring you with us. When we head south."

"Thank you, no." The Seeker smiled sadly at the man. "I've made my decision. My whole life I've gone after ancient treasures and damned the odds. These fools wish to go into the Barrowlands... and I will join them."

Jez raised an eyebrow. The riders drifted away, Larren nodding and raising a gloved finger once again.

"Best of luck to you," he said. "Come on, Darius, get your horse."

Yet Darius made no move. He stared at Gynefra as if peering into her soul.

"You think this could help?" Darius asked thoughtfully. "Truly?"

Gynefra nodded. "I would stake my life on it."

A long silence fell. The human seemed to chew this over for some time. Then he nodded.

"I'm in."