Life passed in slow motion as Gynefra felt the rope tearing into her windpipe. The drop had been short, and her neck hadn't snapped from the initial impact, even as her feet swung wildly underneath. She couldn't tell whether that was good fortune or bad. As it was, she had perhaps another minute of life in her, and no matter how she tugged at her bonds she could not free her hands. Her heart thudded in her head, mixing with the sounds of shouting, the crowd sounding like baying hounds thirsting for her death.

Where did we go wrong?

It had seemed so simple at first. A small expedition into human lands, to get to the source of a plague that likely wouldn't have even affected them. Yet it had always been a matter of odds, in the end.

She hadn't expected to live when General Brynfried had been cut down and his division surrounded by the relentless, thirsting horde of orcs. She hadn't expected to live a decade later, when one of her early assignments for the Watchful Tower had turned into a massacre, deep underneath the caverns of a former Dwarven fortress. Even twenty years ago, staring into the soulless gaze of a Putrified Reaper as it tore great chunks of solid stone away with each blow, gouging deeper and deeper into the settlement she'd been tasked to protect.

Yet even after everything I've been through, to be executed by humans?

Gynefra tasted bitter disappointment with each final struggling breath. It had been some consolation to have seen her young companion prove himself in battle, fighting alongside these strange folk, who had exceeded every expectation she'd had. To die beside these comrades, next to the newest battlemage of the Watchful Tower, was at least a small comfort.

Perhaps she should have relaxed and given in to the end.

Yet still she thrashed, with all the energy that was still left to her, determined to prolong her already lengthy life.

And I will make a mockery of your supposed justice.

Gynefra couldn't quite be sure, but it had seemed the execution hadn't been going according to plan. The Inquisitor had seemed rattled, concerned about something beyond his own show trial, and even with the hood in place Gynefra had made out shouts of alarm in the distance. She wondered at that now, even as she breathed raggedly, the strain on her throat too much to resist.

Are the undead already here? Good... then... die at their hands.

A last, faint whisper breathed through her lips.

Gynefra hung in place, gently swinging, her thoughts fading away.

And then she fell.

The impact would have knocked the breath out of her, had she any remaining. Instead she coughed, gasping for air as the pressure lessened on her throat. Her hands twitched, pinned down below her. She felt something grasping at her hood—and then it was torn away, Jag staring down at her for a moment before brusquely turning her on her side.

"What," she attempted, before breaking into a fit of coughs. She felt Jag's hands on the rope pinning her wrists together. It tore free a moment later, and she worked her arms free, grimacing at the pain. Her shoulders ached, her lungs were on fire, her throat was dry and breathing ragged, and it was all she could do to accept Jag's help and rise to her feet below the wooden platform. Her vision reeled. Beyond the platform she could make out torsos and legs, those in the plaza seeming almost to dance in some bizarre shuffle.

A woman fell, panicking as she lifted a hand up in defense, and then a man toppled onto her, biting into her neck like a ravenous dog. Gynefra worked her mouth free, summoning up what little moisture she had, and spit onto the ground.

"Damn it all," she managed.

"Aye," Jag rumbled beside her.

Now that she had a moment to recover, Gynefra realized that the others were on their feet as well, Darius helping Barnabus to his feet. She nodded in gratitude at the capable human, recognizing that he must have saved them all. He nodded back, shrugging off Barnabus' satchel, the Elf smiling as he took it back. Glass vials gently tapped against each other inside the pack. Darius pulled out a dagger and handed it over to Gynefra, hilt-first.

"It's not much..."

"I'll take it," Gynefra said, gripping the narrow hilt of the dagger. She met the gaze of those around her. Jez Hooper, her face pale and spotted red, clutching a broken stick. The Seeker and Jagruanda, fists clenched and readied, taking in deep breaths. And Barnabus, the most recent battlemage in the Watchful Tower, adjusting his pince-nez and scooping up a rock.

"So here's the plan," she began, her voice calm but commanding over the chaos around them. Even as she spoke, the woman just outside the platform who'd been bitten now began to kick, stirring into motion. "We won't get far without our gear, which is stowed in the military headquarters building. We fight our way there, retrieve our weapons and head to the docks. Then we find ourselves a ship sturdy enough to take us across the Strait."

She paused, knowing the desperate odds involved, but the others simply nodded. There was nothing else for it, after all.

"We've survived death so far. Keep close together, and whatever you do, don't stop moving forward. We did not strike into the very heart of the beast, fight our way through the Frontier, then survive a trial and a hanging just to die now." Gynefra clenched her dagger and moved forward. "Let's go!"

They darted forward through the plaza, which was engulfed in a dozen personal tragedies as shocked families struggled to get away from the onrushing tide of undead. A small line of musketeers formed up on the far side of the plaza, wavering in place as undead staggered toward them in twos and threes. A mustachioed officer slashed downward, roaring through the chaos, and the volley cut down the undead as well as unfortunate survivors in the distance.

"There's that bastard!" Jag roared, darting to the side. He pointed out a flash of black as Inquisitor Varus rushed down a side street—yet dozens of panicked folk barred the path, and a wagon taking the corner at a high speed overturned, crushing into a few of those pushing forward.

"Never mind him!" Gynefra snapped, grabbing him by the shoulder. The Dwarf was strong, yet somehow she kept hold of him, wrenching him forward. The white steps of the military headquarters building were just before them. While a few soldiers hesitated on the steps, none made a move to stop them.

Horn blasts echoed behind them, followed by another volley of musketry.

"Rally here!" someone shouted.

"Protect Duke Machovius!" another added, and the shouting was taken up by others. A quick glance over her shoulder showed a ragged band of musketeers standing fast behind a wall, as individual soldiers came near both on foot and ahorse, while several dignitaries were sheltered in the center. Then Gynefra focused just ahead as they burst through the open doorway.

"Move," she grunted, slamming into an orderly who'd been hesitating in the corridor. She let him sink to the ground, then wheeled back, snatching his collar. "Hey! Where is our gear stowed!"

His eyes widened as he met the others. "I... I don't... oh, the Inquisition storage lockers are on the third floor! Please, I don't—"

Gynefra flung him aside. "Third floor," she said, and they hurried through the white corridor until it opened up in all directions.

"Stairs!" Darius barked, taking a left and leading the way forward. They rushed up them two at a time, coming to a lurching halt as he indicated several fallen officers collapsed on the stairs. Blood was thick beneath them, and one was tearing at the cheek of another. It turned and rose, unfocused eyes taking them in. Darius reacted in a flash, jabbing forward with his sword as the other bodies twitched and began to rise.

The others reacted first.

Jez roared as she speared downward with her broken stick. Barnabus knelt by the same pinned creature, smashing down with his rock. Jag seized another bodily, slamming it into the nearest wall. Gynefra joined him, jabbing into the creature's neck until it slumped away and stopped resisting. Jag tossed it aside. The Seeker had pinned another in place, and Darius slid his sword deep into the undead officer, wrenching it back out and staggering upward.

"No time to lose," he breathed out, and the group surged after him, taking the steps two at a time until they reached the third floor. Despite everything she'd been through, Gynefra felt energized, as though she had another lease on life. She pushed forward past Darius, taking the third floor and slamming the door open. The battlemage staggered forward a pace. In the corridor beyond, a black-robed figure turned backward.

"You're not supposed to..."

The initiate trailed off. Whether he was one of those countless figures who'd done Inquisitor Varus' command in the background of the courtroom or simply a steward here was beyond her. Yet he recognized the group clearly enough. The initiate turned tail and ran. Gynefra chased after him, building up speed and clasping her knife. It was far from her preferred weapon, but she'd learned plenty of tricks in a century and a half. She whipped it forward, the thrown knife spinning end over end before sinking into the back of his calf. The man cried out, toppling to the ground beside a thick door.

"Nicely done," Jag said, shuffling forward and restraining the man before he could rise.

"I... I didn't know," the initiate was mumbling, his pale face a contrast against the black robes of the Inquisition. "I had no idea you were right."

"Save it," Jag rumbled, rummaging through the man's pockets and grinning as he pulled a key loose. "Let's see then..." The Dwarf stepped past the man, pushing the key into the lock and forcing the door open. The others crowded in around him and grinned as they found their weapons and gear.

"We don't have a lot of time," Gynefra said, and from the screams that echoed down below it felt like the understatement of the century. "But go ahead and put your armor on. We're not getting out of this the easy way." She stepped toward an iron-barred window and stared down.

The musketeers had abandoned their position at the plaza and were tramping along at double-quick, accompanied by a hodge-podge of lancers and men-at-arms. Several men and women clad in finery were in the very center, and civilians trailed along, even as undead pushed in from side streets. She raised her gaze, and in the dying light she could just make out the outlying port of Amalsund and the sails of the ships still nestled in its harbor.

Behind her, the man sniffled. "Are you going to kill me?"

Gynefra whirled on the initiate, pausing only to grasp her familiar staff as Barnabus passed it over. "Kill you? You moron... I meant to save you." She tapped it on the ground and scowled. "You might be doomed, but I won't be the one to end you. We'll leave it to them," she added, as the unnatural sounds of howling drew near.

She turned then to the assembled warband, Jag still tying on his plate armor with the Seeker's assistance, the others grim-faced and bloodied.

"Our work has not yet ended. We push on through the night, saving who we can and carving a bloody path to the nearest ship. The Watchful Tower needs to know the hell that's coming for them." She paused, as the screaming grew louder. "Before it's too late."