Gynefra shifted in place, the manacles around her hands clanging against the hard wooden bench she was seated on. It was a sultry afternoon, a welcome contrast to the frost-caked lands they'd ventured through, and yet already she had grown sick of it. Barnabus had risen, pleading that their purpose had been to stop the festering horde in the far north, and yet Inquisitor Varus appeared to have lost his meager amount of patience.

"I said your testimony will be focused on the murder and assault of the border guards on the Lazerine Bridge!" the Inquisitor snapped, tapping an unfurled scroll set out before him. "I have here a report personally signed by the captain of the guard, who alleges you assaulted him and his men. They suffered multiple injuries, in addition to those you have killed. I ask you—what mercy could I possibly give you those who attack the brave souls who shield our border?"

"But... you don't understand the situation," Barnabus replied, glancing down at Gynefra. She could only shrug, chains clanking, and stare dimly into the distance. The inquisitor was shouting something, and a guard came near, leering at the younger Elf with a fist raised. As Barnabus stammered away in a desperate attempt to justify themselves, Gynefra found her own memories drifting, back to her reunion with General Brynfried.

No, there would be no point in attempting to tell the humans this tale...

***

"Do you see those sprawled out before us?" the spectral form of Brynfried asked, his words softer than Gynefra had remembered. He flickered in place for a moment. He had brought the others to the highest point in this part of the barrows, overlooking a massive crater. Gynefra could have sworn it had not been there during their final advance a century prior, but the fighting had been ended with a brutal sacrifice, and the army had turned away and lost no time in returning. The Barrowlands had been left to the Dwarves to pick over—along with those humans who refused to return to Altia and other farther-flung kingdoms.

"Thousands," Gynefra murmured, taking in the gray ranks of undead arrayed in massive formations. The Ghoul Army, raised from the dead, filling the crater from end to end. "Tens of thousands," she corrected a moment later, boggling at the results.

"Orcs," Darius said, pointing outward and squinting. "And goblins beside them? A troop of centaurs, looks like," he said, shaking his head in bewilderment. "What is this? A different kind of coalition?"

Brynfriend let out a low laugh. "The human has the right of it. Do you know, Gynefra, which two magical arts I specialized in?"

The sudden switch in topic threw the battlemage for a loop, even as she gazed upon the massive ranks in the distance. "Poison. And..." She hesitated. It had only been rumored, as the practice was outlawed in the Elf Kingdoms. "Necromancy?"

Brynfried nodded. "That is why I managed to preserve my spirit, in the end. Yet despite common misconceptions, the two have nothing in common besides the most basic elements of magic."

"Nothing in common," Gynefra repeated, her eyes widening. "Then... you're saying..."

"That's right." The spirit of Brynfried curled his spectral lips into a toothy grin. "The plague did not cause the undead to be created. It was only a pretext."

"Of course," Gynefra replied, clenching her fists. It grated at her that she had only just put it together. "The miasma... the plague that hit the Frontier. It was the perfect cover. Strange that I never put it together. It killed thousands of humans, but it did nothing to bring them back. It just created a fresh supply, and a beacon for all those with interest in the dead..."

Brynfried nodded. "This was, all the while, a gathering of necromancers for one great purpose."

"For what?" Barnabus mouthed. In silence, it all fell together.

"Can you feel the pulsing beyond the crater?" Brynfried asked.

"That's it," Gynefra said. "The raising of the most powerful being there has ever been. The one it took a Great Coalition of Four Races to destroy." Gynefra clenched her fists. "The Twisted One."

"That's right," Brynfried rumbled. "The Twisted One was thrown back into the gates of Death, pushed as far back as we could, and yet he always retained a clawhold. Now a great host of necromancers are bringing him back." Brynfried sighed. "And with an undead horde at his control and allies among other races... I fear we are facing a much darker situation than we did even during the Coalition."

A grim silence fell.

"We need to warn the Watchful Tower," Gynefra said.

"We could try and kill the necromancers," Barnabus said an instant later. "If we can stop his arrival..." he trailed off, his words broken by the peculiar sound of Brynfried's rasping laughter.

"Now you know what it was like having you around," Brynfried said a moment later. "Daring, bold, impetuous... stupid."

Gynefra flushed... and then found herself chuckling as well. "I suppose I was a bit like that," she said, patting the open-mouthed Barnabus on the shoulder.

"It isn't to say that a noble sacrifice like that wouldn't be appreciated," Brynfried said. "I am the last to ever claim that. Yet you would die. Undoubtedly. Before coming even close to success. And the world would never know. Your purpose now is as messengers. Raise the alarm among the old factions of the Coalition. Bring them together to survive against the wave of undead that will soon be knocking at their doors. Unite them—then return here with an army of your own. Only then will you have a chance."

"But the Twisted One might be brought back before then," Barnabus pointed out.

"It is our only option," Brynfried replied.

A low gust of wind swept across the massive cavern and the heights overlooking the distant marching ranks. Jez Hooper turned and sighed.

"Sorry, but am I not the only one who's a bit lost? The War was never talked about much in my home."

"Humans, so ignorant of your world," Brynfried replied, the spectral form bristling. Darius had nodded at Jez's words, and now he bristled right back.

"Now look here, I came all this way to do my part for humanity. I may not be one for book learning, but I do know that everyone left in the Frontier is counting on us. So if there's a need for fighting then I'm in. If you're just going to prattle on about the old times..."

Brynfried stiffened, unable to hide his contempt. "We deal in schemes lasting centuries, young human, and if they are beyond your understanding then so be it."

"General," Gynefra said softly.

After a moment the spectral form relaxed, though it was almost imperceptible. "Ah... my apologies. A Great Coalition our races had once formed. And so we should do it again." Brynfried studied the others, pausing at Jez. "You're wearing a mask? Hmm, a good decision, though even now poison is leaching into your bodies. Ah, you might find molten glass scattered about the crater. Do not touch it."

"Poison?" Jag rumbled, rising from the dust with alarm.

"Oh yes." Brynfried's eyes flitted over to Gynefra. "Do they not know?"

The battlemage spread her arms wide. "It was not talked about. Even among our own people. Not a secret, perhaps, but..."

"Not an honorable victory." Brynfried sneered. "Of course they would see it as such. Despite the fact that we gave everything. Listen now, young ones, for I shall only say this once. When our armies clashed with the Twisted One's forces, the result was clear—defeat loomed before us. Yet our physikers had crafted a poison most fierce, able to be activated by a poison master. There were few in my army, and I was never the sort to choose another for a role I could do myself."

"No, you weren't," Gynefra murmured.

"And so, with a company of stout-hearted volunteers, we cut our way into the very center of the Twisted One's ranks. A hundred paces away from the giant foe we were when I activated it. For a moment there was nothing. It gave me the chance to use necromantic energies on myself, tying my spirit to the Barrowlands. And then..." Brynfried spread his arms out wide. "Well, the war was one, to be brief. There was no longer an army here. Merely a rain of countless shredded corpses to join those already buried here. A lingering poisonous dust to mark my presence. "Also," he added almost casually, pointing at the crater, "that was once a plain."

Another uncomfortable silence fell.

"The Gravemaker..." the Seeker whispered.

Darius set his pack down, fumbling through it, and tied a sweat-soaked shirt around his mouth.

"That won't do much," Brynfried advised. "Yet it is, indeed, time you left. Word of the Twisted One's arrival, and the arrangements he has made with other races, must be delivered to the Watchful Tower and the courts of those who are ready to honor the alliance we once formed."

Gynefra nodded. "It is a long trek south, through infested lands..."

"I can help," Brynfried announced brusquely, turning and walking away. The form flickered and then disappeared, replaced by a violet butterfly. Yet still his voice echoed beside them. "There is a magical portal left in one of the ancient barrows. Follow me and I shall take you a great deal closer."

"Well, you heard the General," Gynefra said, rising to her feet. She cast one final glance back at the countless horde gathering in place in the crater. A gentle pulse vibrated through her, and she ground her teeth, knowing it meant the Twisted One was being pulled incrementally closer to life by those necromancers gathered in place. Yet she pushed away, following the butterfly as it drifted through the ruins.

They'd marched nearly another hour through the Barrowlands, narrowly avoiding a patrol of goblins and skirting past a campfire where ten orcs drank and feasted, causing enough of a commotion that the group easily evaded them. Then the butterfly flickered and disappeared, replaced once again by the spectral form of Brynfried. The ghostly Elven general waved an arm toward a low barrow mound with a stone door that, even at this distance, glowed faintly with golden-hued runes.

"The portal can be found within," Brynfried announced.

"Wait," Gynefra said, raising a finger. She knelt on one knee, ignoring the gray dust she stirred up and trying not to think of the ancient poisons that must linger in this place. She nodded, pointing down the passage that weaved through the barrows. They were on a height just across from their destination, yet Gynefra made out slight scuffing sounds against the stony ground. "A group is coming."

Barnabus tilted his head, nodding as well. The others fanned out along the heights, then remained immobile. Brynfried's spectral form drifted back from the edge, but his face appeared to scowl, as if annoyed by such a trifling problem. After a few seconds, two orcs appeared, both bearing curved swords. Then just behind them were the slender forms of a pair of Elves who looked almost identical, though one bore a sword and the other a bow. Between them was a black-clad figure with grayish skin. A vulture soared above the patrol, and several orcs followed along behind them.

"I know this one," Jag said, his voice hushed but excited. "Lisbet della Fontainevierd and her twin bodyguards. They came across us when we were fleeing the ruins."

"You've met her?" the Seeker replied, blinking in surprise. "That witch..."

"Easy," Barnabus murmured. "We could let them pass by," he suggested to Gynefra.

"No way," the Seeker spat.

Jag nodded agreement. "Let's kill them while we have the chance."

"She's a necromancer," the Seeker added, and that won the argument in her favor.

"Alright. Wait until they're just below."

"No," Brynfried cut in, his ghostly figure drifting forward. Gynefra braced herself to argue with her old mentor, but he simply gestured to the barrow. "The Dwarves carved the door into place to seal the wights within. If you want them dead, get that door open. I can control the barrow wights inside."

The Seeker looked over, slowly rising to her feet. "Truly?"

Brynfried nodded. "Do not fear that which lurks within."

"I never do," the Seeker said, then sprinting away, kicking up a thin cloud of gray dust. Jag let out a Dwarven oath.

"I should be with her," he said, following a moment later.

Gynefra crept toward the edge of the height. The arriving party had not noticed the two Dwarves, and within a few moments they had descended and crossed the pathway, pausing at the doorway. Only a few footprints and a faint, disappearing cloud of dust announced their presence. The Seeker studied the runes, carefully tapping away. The patrol continued, coming closer and closer. Darius adjusted himself, an arrow nocked on his bowstring. The vulture called out from above, beginning a low circling descent, and Lisbet slowed. Orcs bumped into her as she scanned the area, raising a scepter in her gloved hand.

Damn. Does she sense something?

The Dwarves had pushed inside the door, and now they sprang free. Through the open door there dashed creatures marked brown and gray, kicking up dust with wild abandon as they rushed into the open. They had darkened flesh, almost as if mummified, and knives that flashed silver as they charged in unison at the advancing party. Gynefra watched in fascination as the orcs came to a crashing halt, and it was only when Darius loosed his arrow that she snapped into motion.

The arrow flitted down, but Lisbet was pushed roughly out of the way, one of her bodyguards barely evading it himself. Then Gynefra launched a blast of superheated wind downward, as concentrated frost took an orc right in the head. The vulture dipped down low, spitting rotting, acidic vomit along the barrow wights. Yet it was to little effect. Flesh that had been preserved for centuries in the ancient barrows burbled and sloughed away, yet they were slicing through the orcs now, charging in with wild abandon.

And then the necromancer turned away—running without dignity, her bodyguards close behind, decapitating a barrow wight before rushing away. Still, Lisbet twisted once, ethereal green energy rising from her scepter. Even as they fled farther away, the cut-down orcs rose to their feet. Confused, the barrow wights halted their pursuit, turning back only to attack the undead orcs they had just killed moments before.

"Damn it all," Gynefra muttered as the necromancer got away, but her thoughts were interrupted by twin horn blasts. They were echoed a moment later by another, and another, the landscape emanating with the alarms.

"It's time you left," Brynfried said, flitting back into a violet butterfly and drifting down the slope, toward the open barrow.

"Let's go," she said to those still on the heights, and together they rushed forward, sliding down the steep dusty slope and kicking up more of the poisonous dust. Gynefra coughed, waving it away and stumbling forward. The Seeker's disappointment was clear, and yet it faded away as the Dwarves joined them and rushed inside, taking in an assortment of ancient silver goblets and blades. Just beyond the cobweb-covered furniture where relics were scattered, and the open tomb pits where the wights had emerged, was a circular platform scrawled with runes of silver and aquamarine.

Brynfried emerged there now, gesturing at the platform. "Go now, go!"

The group rushed over, fanning out along the circular platform. Gynefra glanced back, annoyed to see the Seeker had paused by a few trinkets. "Hurry!" she snapped. The Seeker glanced up, grabbed a goblet, and stowed it in her satchel. Behind her shadows flitted beside the entrance, and from the guttural shouts and howls outside it seemed a new patrol was tangling with the barrow wights.

"I'll take you as far south as I can," Brynfried was saying, light glimmering around them from the platform below. The Seeker's boots echoed as she joined the others in a rough circle. "I believe the town is called Brinkwater."

Gynefra gripped her staff tight as a form emerged in the doorway. He stepped forward—an orc with spiky hair and a necklace of fingerbones atop a bronze cuirass, two maces clutched in thick hands. He stepped forward, inclining his head to the side in curiosity.

Then light overtook them all.

***

"Accidental?" Inquisitor Varus was roaring. Gynefra found herself snapping back to attention after drifting off. "Unnecessary casualties?"

"That's... what I said," Barnabus replied, adjusting his manacles uncertainly. "Well, we certainly didn't want to kill them, but they were in our way."

Inquisitor Varus snorted. "They're leaving behind six children, in total. Two widows. One man too young to have settled down. A future destroyed by your actions." He sighed and leaned back. "I have let this go on for too long. Not only did you risk bringing in the plague to our great land by leading in refugees, but you did so while killing brave men of our border guard and injuring a dozen more." He paused, eyes widening as Gynefra yawned. "Excuse me, am I boring you?"

"Inquisitor... has the phrase 'don't ask questions you don't want the answer to' mean anything to you?" Gynefra replied.

He gawped at her for a moment, mercifully silent. Then the gavel banged. "Bailiff, take them out into the plaza! For the counts of wilful assault on Altian guards I find you all guilty! For the murder of three brave Altian guards I find you all guilty! For the charges of human trafficking I find you all guilty!"

The shouts rang out as Gynefra and the others found themselves dragged outward. She squinted against the setting sun. It had looked just like this when they'd arrived in Brinkwater, stumbling out of a ruined chapel and startling a few survivors. The Inquisitor was right, in his own ignorant and short-sighted sort of way. They really had led the survivors south, joining with others, only to stampede their way through the border guards.

A crowd was gathering, yelling in exultation as they were led forward, eager to watch them die. Before them was a large wooden platform. Gynefra let out a long breath and wondered to herself.

Would I have done anything different?

A tomato splattered against her, the crowd cheering, and then a rock grazed her cheek. One of the guards shouted in annoyance but the cheers only increased.

No. I did exactly what needed to be done.