The Tale of the Party

Gray stone tunnels ran forever in each direction like the arteries of some great beast. The smell of rusting metal stung the nostrils. Beneath it lurked a profound stench of decay, but not the decay of flesh. A thick powdery scent heavy with musk like that of dusty room, but laced with the coldness of iron, and the wet odor of a mildew covered rock. It stank as if the stones themselves were rotting away.

Wrolin made her way through the tunnels confidently, as if she already knew where she was going. Except she couldn’t know. She had never seen these tunnels before. Yet they were familiar. Candles flickered weakly in their sconces, barely surviving in the stagnant air sapped of its oxygen. Shadows of shifting patterns danced across the floors and ceilings, but they did not seem to be cast from the candles.

She arrived at her destination. A grand open chamber, the rocky ceiling towering so far above it was lost to shadow. There were people here. People she didn’t recognize, but who she knew none the less. A great stone table stood in the middle of the room. Upon it lay The Work.

It is not a large thing. Delicate and elegant.

It does not look like what it truly is. Like finding a familiar shape in a cloud: the mind forcing order upon the chaos.

It must be completed.

The Work is almost finished.

Wrolin’s hands dance with the precision that only a lifetime of practice could produce. Shifting plates here, a wire there, running fingers over etched runes until they glowed.

She shifts one last piece with the motion of a symphony conductor at the climax of his magnum opus.

The Work is complete.

At long last…

Wrolin awoke with a start, almost falling out of bed. Looking down at her hands she found they were someone else’s. Where were her hands?

Flexing her fingers she slowly began remembering that these were in fact her hands.

She shook her head. Where was she? And when was she? She looked out the window and for a moment expected to see the Marrow Estate looming on the hill. Yet that was more than a year past now.

What had she been doing since then? She grasped at the memories but it was like trying to grasp steam, memories slipping through her fingers before vanishing entirely.

Yet the strange tunnels, the Work, that dream was carved deep into her mind. For she had been having it every night since the Estate.

Rubbing her eyes furiously, as if hoping that would somehow erase the images, she stood up. She looked around the room, seeing empty beds and bare wooden walls. The air stank of stale alcohol and musky, seldom washed bedsheets. Where were the others?

She headed downstairs to find them at a table in the dingy tavern whose name she could not remember.

“Ah, the little one is finally awake!” Thrum bellowed, slamming down a mug that made the dark ale inside it splash across the table.

“You realize you’re barely taller than her?” Nanu smirked.

“Bah!” Thrum scowled playfully before throwing the mug back and downing it.

Ale dripped through the long braided black locks of his beard as he flashed Wrolin a smile. His bloodshot eyes were glassy and his cheeks ruddy. And the morning sun had barely risen.

“So, where we off to next?” Genhice said, leaning back in his chair with his feet on the table and strumming a strange tune on his banjolele. Normally when he played, Genhice’s face was like a placid lake on a chill winter morning. Today his face was locked in a grimace as if he were doing battle with the notes themselves. He kept repeating the same bar over and over again.

“To buy you a new instrument if you don’t stop that noise! Either finish the damn song or stop playing!” Thrum snapped irritably.

“I’m trying to finish the song! Been trying for years in fact!” Genhice snapped back, his playing only getting louder and faster. “Not my fault you’ve got a hangover.”

“Can’t have a hangover if you’re still drunk.” Wrolin said as she sat next to Thrum. She tried to say it as a joke, but the heavy words stumbled from her mouth.

“Hahah! True enough!” Thrum bellowed, slapping Wrolin on the shoulder. He raised a hand to signal another ale to the bartender.

The door of the tavern burst open, slamming against the wall and flooding the dimly lit tavern in harsh sunlight. Two men walked in dressed in gray tunics covered in leather jerkin of the same color, short swords at their hips, and heads covered in simple nasal helms. The only color on them was the tabard of white and gold, bearing the crest of the Acolytes of the Pristine Saint, a star crowned with four smaller stars and angelic wings encompassing it.

“Grenz…” Thrum growled under his breath.

Wrolin tried to avoid the Grenz Guard whenever possible. Something about them was wrong, though she could never figure out what.

Their heads rotated in unison with the mechanical stiffness of a weathervane until they were staring directly at Thrum. As they approached it was easy to see why everyone called them Grims, with their cold unsmiling faces. Yet what most people took to be military discipline and cruelty, Wrolin instead saw something far more disturbing: an utter lack of emotion. Their faces were slack and unmoving. And as she stared into their dark, black eyes she got the horrifying feeling that nothing was staring back at her. A shiver shook her tiny body down to the bones.

“Komtur Thrum?” The one on the left announced.

“Aye?” Thrum said, holding up his mug to stare at the bottom of it, as if hoping more ale would appear.

“We have a letter for you.” The second one said, pulling a sealed scroll from the pouch on his side.

“Hngh.” Thrum grunted, grabbing it so fiercely it immediately crumbled the wax seal.

The Grenz stood there. Staring. Silent.

“You’ve done your duty. Now leave me.” Thrum commanded.

In perfect synchronization, the two Grenz saluted, turned on their heels, and walked out. Thrum sat silently at the table, the letter still crumpled in his hand.

“Thrum?” Nanu prodded gently, the huge goliath reaching over to touch his shoulder.

Thrum’s head jolted up as if roused from a deep sleep.

“Yeah?”

“What does it say?” Nanu pressed.

“Can’t say I care much to read it.” Thrum said, staring at the paper in his hands.

“Oh, come now, it might be offering us a reward for our good deeds of late!” Genhice offered.

“Ha! The Acolytes encouraging good deeds? That will be the day.” Nanu sneered. “I’m more concerned it’s a threat of arrest or some kind of thing.”

“If it were, the Grims would not have left so easily.” Thrum said, unfurling the letter.

The group watched his eyes scan the letter. The letter was having a sobering effect on the dwarf, his eyes growing focused and eyebrows knitting together.

“I’m being recalled to serve…”

There was a long silence.

“I thought you said you’d left the Acolytes?” Genhice said, finally pulling his feet off the table and leaning forward.

“Well, perhaps left was too strong a word. Technically as a Komtur of the Knights Pristine, I am allowed to patrol and bring the Saint’s justice wherever I so choose. Unless, of course, the Komankatur summons me back to serve a specific purpose. Which, I never thought they would.”

“And what would they have you do?” Nanu asked.

“There’s a crop blight in some place called Crestwick.” Thrum said, flinging the letter away and letting it drift to the floor.

“And what do they want you to do about a crop blight?” Genhice smirked. “Perhaps you can cut the diseased wheat away with that sword of yours?”

“Ngh.” Thrum only grunted at his friend’s attempt at levity. “No idea what they want. Only that I’m to meet with Komtur Brennan there, and that he’ll tell me more.”

“Well, I say we head in the opposite direction.” Genhice offered.

“Yeah, we can always say we never got the letter.” Wrolin added.

“Oh they’ll know I got it. The Grims will see to that.”

Thrum stood, shaking his shoulders and rolling his neck.

“If I don’t go, they’ll only come hunting for me. A Komtur’s oath to the Knights Pristine is for life. You need not follow. This is my duty, not yours.”

“Oh, shut up.” Wrolin said, playfully slapping the Dwarf’s shoulder.

“Yes, there is a time for nobility and then there’s a time for, shall we say, pragmatic choices. This is one of the latter. Last I checked our purses were a little light, and as distasteful as the Acolytes might be, theirs are always laden with gold.” Genhice said.

“This is true.” Thrum nodded, though his eyes were staring ahead at the blank wooden wall.

Stepping out onto the streets of Dunholt was never a pleasant experience. The unpaved roads were always a thick paste of mud, horse manure, and even less pleasant substances. The place stank like a bog trapped inside a volcano, somehow both bitingly acidic and humidly putrid. It always knocked Nanu back on her heels, no matter how many times she smelled it. She gave a sympathetic look to Wrolin, the gnome was nearly up to her knees in the muck.

Dunholt collected the dregs of society like flies to a corpse, but the Grenz had driven those flies away from the rotting corpse. No one lived here because they were in good standing with the Acolytes. They trudged through the empty and now eerily quiet streets towards the edge of town.

“Nanu.”

The entire party jumped at the voice, Wrolin stumbling backwards and falling into the mire. Her little body shuddered as she retched.

Standing behind them on the road was a dwarf dressed in a simple gray tunic with a neatly trimmed beard. How he had trailed behind them without being seen or heard was something they would never quite figure out.

“Not often we see Grims around here. Even less often do I see them talking to friends of mine.” The dwarf smiled, but the word ‘friend’ had a distinctly unfriendly edge to it.

“Arendath. Been a while.” Nanu said, with a nod.

“Yes it has.” Arendath said, no warmth in the words. “Vigil would like a word.”

The others looked to Nanu, the name seeming to knock back the goliath onto her heels for a moment.

“Now?”

“At your earliest convenience was the term she used. But I think you’re smart enough to know what that means.” Arendath said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “And bring your friends. She’s especially interested in them.”

They arrived at an inn across town near the main road. Compared to the main street of any other city in the Sainted Reach it was still disgusting, but compared to the rest of Dunholt it looked positively opulent. Some of the dirt road could actually be seen through the mire of filth, and the buildings here actually had some paint on them, their roof shingles still intact, and there were even a couple of carriages pulled by actual horses and not donkeys.

The inn’s shingle swung gently in the morning breeze:

The Saint’s Rest

Protection for Her Weary Faithful

They headed up the steps onto the porch of the inn, pushing open double doors leading inside, the doors upon which were painted the crowned and winged star of the Saint. Inside, a few patrons dressed in clothes of bright reds, golds, and blues sit drinking and eating around the fine oak tables scattered through the lobby. An old woman, an Elf whose long years had finally caught up with her, sat behind a counter at the far end. Her hair was long with only a few remaining strands of what was once fiery red hair streaking through the white.

“Hey, Caelindra, I thought you said you were gonna make this filth eat out back.” A fat half-orc dressed in a red silk doublet spits from between bites of a massive turkey thigh.

“Now, now, Laokmil, charity to those who are not as fortunate as you. The Saint preaches to give alms to the poor.”

With a kindly warm smile the old woman began limping her way around the counter. “Come, you must be tired and hungry.”

Caelindra brought them down a series of creaking, rotting steps into a dank basement. Here decaying planks of wood suspended across old upended barrels of empty beer and ale served as tables, the wretched eating at them a far cry from the rich merchants upstairs. The woman, Caelindra, however did not take them to the soup line where a thin gruel was being ladled from a massive cauldron. Instead she kept leading them back into a storage area where more barrels of spirits lay in great rows, and then into a small alcove off the side of one.

It was as they rounded this corner into the alcove that Caelindra’s back straightened and her limp vanished, fixing them now with a stare of bemusement and curiosity, a mischievous smile curving her thin lips. She grabbed the spigot of one of the casks nearby, turning it and then another, and another, until twelve of the spigots were turned at slightly different angles, and when the last one clicked into place the wall at the end of the alcove slid inward. Without a word she stepped inside, the group following silently.

The hidden room was a small office, a simple wooden desk illuminated by a single candle nearly burned to the wick. Caelindra sat down with arms crossed, leaning back in the chair until it sat only upon its rear two legs and looking at the group.

“Nanu, why don’t you introduce me to your friends.”

Nanu made quick introductions of her friends and then motioned to Caelindra:

“This is Vigil. Of the Unsainted.”

The others exchanged looks of unease: The Unsainted. To some, they were a heroic band of freedom fighters fighting the tyranny of the Acolytes. To others, they were terrorists and brigands. Both were true. Some elements of the Unsainted did fight the Acolytes, but for others the label was a mere cloak of legitimacy to throw upon their predation of local convoys and cold blooded murder. Only Nanu knew of which variety this Unsainted was.

“Exceptionally pious establishment for an Unsainted.” Genhice offered.

“Piety makes good camouflage.” Vigil smiled. “Now tell, what do the Saints think you can do about this crop blight of theirs?”

Thrum blinked, staring at her incredulously.

“How would you know of that? I just received my orders from the Komankatur myself.”

“I would not still be here if I were not one step ahead of my enemy.” She said, smile vanishing. “Answer me. None of you are farmers nor learned scholar who might cure this blight. Why do they send for you?”

“I do not know.” Thrum murmured truthfully.

“Interesting.” Vigil steepled her fingers. “This blight has the Saint lovers worried. I want to know why, but even more importantly, I need to know what role they would have you play in this game. They see value in you, and that is enough reason for me to want to remove you from the board. Yet I would rather move you on the board than remove you. So bring me the information of what this blight is, what they truly want from you, and I will grant you the resources of my organization.”

It was later, camped upon a small hill far from the stench of Dunholt, that the group was able to discuss their options around a small fire.

“I don’t see a problem here.” Genhice said excitedly, still strumming at his banjolele. “We go to Dunholt, we solve the blight, the Acolytes pay us, and then we go back to this Vigil woman and give them the information and they also pay us!”

“There’s a certain logic in that.” Thrum admitted.

“I doubt it will be so easy.” Nanu commented. “Solving this problem may very well deny the Unsainted of the knowledge they need.”

“And the Acolytes will likely not give us much freedom to pursue that knowledge.” Thrum confirmed. “The Komankatur will use us as a hammer. We may solve this problem and be left with no idea of why it was a threat.”

“Could it be as simple as it threatens a famine? The Amberlands grow the majority of the grain in the realm, if this blight spreads millions could starve.” Wrolin offered.

“As if the Acolytes would care.” Nanu spat.

“The Acolytes are like a hungry hydra, each greedy head fighting the others for wealth, power, and prestige. But even those heads know they’re attached to the same body. A famine would lead to riots and rebellions, a threat to their power. No, they definitely do not want a blight spreading.” Thrum explained.

“I think you give them too much credit.” Nanu pressed.

“Perhaps.” Thrum nodded absently.

There was silence for a moment.

“We all know what the Acolytes are.” Wrolin said quietly.

“And we all know what the Unsainted have done as well.” Genhice said, having stopped playing.

“Desperate actions of desperate people.” Nanu said.

“But we’re not desperate.” Genhice said. “Poor, yes, but not desperate. We carve out a good life for ourselves. Why throw that away fighting for a lost cause? The Unsainted will never defeat the Acolytes.”

“No, they probably won’t.” Nanu granted, “But I would rather die trying.”

For a moment the only sound was the wind and the gentle crackling of the fire.

“Well… if nothing else, our glorious deaths will no doubt make a fine song for some other bard out there.” Genhice grinned, resuming his strumming.

“Thrum?” Nanu asked.

“Aye. To hell with the Acolytes and their blasted Saint.” Thrum growled, dark eyes glittering in the firelight.

The Amberlands were beautiful: rolling green hills giving way to massive fields of golden wheat, fruiting trees, and dark patches of rich earth sprouting all manner of fruits and vegetables.

Crestwick was not beautiful. There were still patches of wheat and corn that shone like gold in the noon sun, but most of it had turned a greenish-gray color.

From atop of the hill on which they stood, Wrolin studied the weaving patterns of rot. There was no discernable pattern to it, the splotches of rot appearing at random. One row would be completely diseased, another right next to it untouched and healthy.

Amid the rows of gently swaying grain, was her.

Her pale skin seemed to glow white in the sun, contrasting with the blackness of her dress that was not merely a color, but the absence of all light. And from behind the lace veil she felt those familiar, cold, and searching eyes.

The Veiled Lady stood silent and even from this great distance, Wrolin felt the cold upon her skin.

Then, with a single blink of the eye, she vanished. Wrolin didn’t bother to say anything to the group, she already knew they hadn’t seen her. They never did.

“Come, let’s head into town.” Thrum muttered, beginning to trudge down the hill.

“Let’s find a tavern, my feet are killing me.” Genhice groaned.

“Well, if you wore proper boots instead of those clogs…” Nanu said, motioning to the wooden overshoes that protected the lavishly luxurious leather shoes beneath, which were embroidered with gold and red thread.

“I’ll have you know that these are sheepskin, and I won’t sully them on the roads. And I’ll kiss a dwarf before I wear… those monstrosities.” Genhice pointed to the thick black boots that contained the goliath’s enormous feet.

“Hear that, Thrum? Genhice wants to give you a kiss!” Wrolin squealed delightedly, running up behind the lumbering dwarf.

Thrum ignored her.

The group quieted down, and proceeded in silence to the down below.

The townspeople watched them in silence as they passed, looking dour and pale. Their clothes were worn, colors faded into various shades of gray. A child stared from the door of one of the houses, eyes dull, drool pouring from its lips. It was pulled back into the house and the door slammed shut. And as they entered the town square, a dog was curled up against the stone well in the center. It did not lift its head nor wag its tail.

“Well, not exactly a warm welcome…” Genhice muttered. “And I don’t see a tavern anywhere!”

“Patience. First, we need to talk to someone and find out what’s going on.” Nanu said.

“There.” Wrolin said, pointing to the nearby church.

The modest structure stood to the north of the town, across the courtyard from them. It was made of simple granite blocks and bore the Crowned Star of the Saint upon its plain wooden doors. Its steeple was wreathed in the same golden wings that adorned the Saint’s crest, housing a golden bell within it. And outside its doors a woman, dressed in filthy robes that were once white, was sweeping the stairs.

The woman stopped sweeping as they approached, holding the broom in front of her almost defensively.

“More travellers.” A voice like stone grinding against steel greeted them. It was a voice that did not match the woman’s appearance. She was older, to be sure, her face bearing the faint lines and wrinkles of well lived life. It was gaunt and pale, but not enough to justify the weak and elderly voice she spoke with. “Here about the blight?”

“Yes, we are.” Nanu confirmed.

“The Acolytes have already sent a Komtur to investigate. You’re not needed here.” The woman said.

“We are independent investigators.” Genhice said proudly, gripping the lapels of his green vest.

“I’m sure you are. Come, this is no place for a conversation.”

The old woman turned and headed for the door, swinging them open and ushering them inside.

The interior of the church was belied by its outer appearance. A set of a dozen pews made of polished oak wood lined the central aisle. White tapestries embroidered with golden thread hung from the ceiling. And at the far end of the church sat a golden statue of The Pristine Saint. She was depicted in the traditional form: standing tall, her head downcast to stare at the congregants below, one hand open and outstretched towards them; the other, a closed fist held above her head. Great golden wings sprouted from her back, curving perfectly around the stained-glass window behind her. The Saint’s image dominated the center made of gold and silvered glass, to the bottom right of her was a group of people cowering and praying to her, and to her right she thrust a golden sword into a creature of blackness, horns and claws reaching towards her.

“I’m Sister Maron. Now, I have given my afternoon devotions and am quite tired. Tell me, what do you want here?” Maron said.

“To help… if we can.” Wrolin offered quietly.

For the first time the woman smiled, casting quiet brown eyes on the gnome.

“I admire your spirit, child.”

“I’m not a child.” Wrolin sniffed indignantly. “I’m just small.”

“Forgive me, I did not mean any offense. That we are all children in the eyes of the Saint is all I meant.”

“Then no offense is taken.” Wrolin bowed her head.

“Now. What can I do to help?”

“What can you tell us of the blight?” Thrum asked gruffly.

“Little, I’m afraid. It began three weeks ago. One day our fields were gold and healthy. We went to sleep one night, and the next day the fields were marred by the gray of this blight.”

“In which field did it start?”

“In all of them. Some had only small patches, others had almost their entire crop afflicted. Yet try as we might, we cannot find a pattern. Healthy plants will stand next to diseased ones and not wither. Yet in another untouched field a patch of crops will be stricken with the blight. Some have tried burning the affected crops, yet it does not stop its spread.”

“And the Komtur here to investigate? What can you tell me of him?” Thrum asked.

“Hmmm. Name is Brennan. He and his Grims have been in town for a week trying to track the source of the blight. Without much success.”

Nanu cocked her head slightly. She’d never heard any of the devotaries of the Pristine Saint refer to the Grenz Guard as Grims before.

“I can also tell you he suspects me.” She added.

“What? Why?” Wrolin asked.

“He suspects our lack of faith has led to this calamity and as spiritual warden of this town, that fault lies with me.” She smiled faintly.

Thrum nodded solemnly at what was clearly a familiar story to him.

“I want to help.” Wrolin said, then added more forcefully, “I have to help.”

“I believe you will.” Maron nodded. “There is someone in the village who might be able to help. Strange fellow. Came shortly after the flight began, been wandering through the fields ever since. But he has taken to staying at the tavern during midday, he doesn't like the heat much.”

It was little wonder the group had not spotted the tavern on the way in. Serving as a doormat now the shingle lay discarded and splintered on the ground in front of the door, the writing long faded away. The interior was no better, if anything it was even more impoverished than that of Dunholt’s. Not only did the tables have a layer of dust on them, but so did the people sitting at them. Behind the bar stood a man with thick gray muttonchops, staring angrily at the group’s intrusion.

Nanu scanned the room for anyone who might stand out, a farmer in the corner of the tavern drawing her eye. He wore the plain brown tunic of a farmhand, yet the stitching was too straight, the thread too fine. His trousers were gray burlap, but there wasn’t a single stain on them nor any wearing at the knees. And the shoes, the shoes always gave away the game: fine travelling boots, covered in mud, but the quality of the leather still easily shone through.

Motioning for the others to follow, Nanu stepped up to the man’s table and sat, looming over the small figure..

“Oh…er… hello…” He murmured quietly. “C-Can I help you?”

His voice was quiet and raspy, like a breeze rustling a piece of parchment. He squinted his eyes at the group causing his small strawberry shaped nose to wrinkle.

“You’re not a farmer. And you’re not an acolyte. So what are you and why are you here?”

The man began blinking rapidly, staring at Nanu and then all the others, in turn.

“I-I am a farmer! Yes… just this morning I was, er, tending my fields! I-I came here for a nice cup of … ugh… grog?” He pauses for a moment, hopeful. Hope that was immediately extinguished by Wrolin giggling madly.

“Oh bother.” He moans. “Well, if I’m to have this conversation I might as well be able to see who I’m talking to.”

Pulling a pair of spectacles from his pocket, he placed them on the tip of his long pointed nose. Then, smiling broadly he extended a small, delicate hand towards Nanu.

“Aldrich Voss!” He says. “I must say you’re all an interesting collection of never-do-wells! What brings you here?”

“Never-do-wells!” Wrolin stamped her foot.

“Why yes… I mean look at you? If you were doing well, you certainly wouldn’t be here!”

“Suppose he might have a point there.” Genhice laughed.

“We’re here investigatin’ the blight, expect you’re here for the same.” Thrum growled. “I suggest you talk. Quickly. I’ve not got much patience these days…”

Aldrich’s head turns one way, then the other, his neck craning so far around that Wrolin thought he might be an owl.

“Too many listening ears…” He whispers.

Thrum’s growl grew deeper, rumbling like an avalanche, and he placed a mailed fist on the table in front of Aldrich.

“B-but I can tell you this blight is not a natural phenomenon! This is no disease!” Aldrich added hurriedly.

“And how would you know that?” Thrum growled.

“Crops are literally my speciality: I’m an agricultural scientist!” Aldrich puffed out his chest. “There’s a resonance in the ground here, I’m not sure what it is, but I’ve extensively notated what we’ve… er, I’ve, found.”

For the moment, the group let the obvious error of revealing he wasn’t alone pass, and focused on the notebook he pulled from the satchel at his hip. To most everyone it was a meaningless mess of symbols representing different sounds.

The page blew a cold wind through Genhice’s body as he stared.

There it was. The Song he could never finish. The Song that tormented him in his sleep. The Song whose melody he heard in the wind.

“How did you get this? Where did you get this!?” Genhice said, surprising himself as the cold fear suddenly boiled into anger.

“It means something to you?” Aldrich said, cocking his head.

“Yes! This is my song!”

Pulling the banjolele off his back, Genhice began playing The Song. It was a deep mournful tune that spoke to some great tragedy, and yet laced into the counterpoint of the song was one of hope. A hope so fragile that only the gentlest of notes could be dared, otherwise it might shatter.

Again, The Song stopped at the exact same place as before. Right where the notation ended on the page as well.

“Keep going! If I know the rest of the song we, er, I might be able to deduce what’s happening here!” Aldrich chattered excitedly, eyes wide.

“I can’t… I don’t know how it ends.” Genhice muttered quietly, hands limp against the banjolele as if they had died right along with the tune.

“Disappointing.” Aldrich shook his head, but was frantically writing something in shorthand that was impossible to decipher.

“Now, about this ‘we’ you keep mentioning.” Genhice pressed.

“What? There’s no we. No. I use the royal ‘we’, my uncle was a duke you know.” Slapping the notebook shut, he stood up. “And WE must really be going now. So nice to meet you…”

Nanu was about to move to restrain him when the door to the tavern opened again.

Grenz Guards entered, four of them with the same mechanical gait as the ones in Dunholt. This time, however, there was someone new. A tall human, six feet at least, clad in gleaming plate armor with a sword strapped to his hip and a shield on his back, strode into the room. His face was tanned and youthful, a delicately coiffed head of golden hair and waxed moustache to match. Across his chest was a tabard of white and gold, like the Grenz Guard wore, but this bore a different symbol: The crowned star of the Saint, but with the wings replaced by the image of an axe on one side and a sword on the other. The emblem of The Knights Pristine.

Thrum’s order.

“Ah, Thrum!” The man called out, “I heard a surly dwarf was wandering around town! I’d hoped it was you!”

The man’s voice was bright and cheerful, and his face broke into a grin revealing straight white teeth that seemed to shine even in this dim light.

Thrum, who’d kept his back turned to the door this whole time, now turned. To everyone else’s surprise, Thrum was grinning.

“Brennan, brother, it’s good to see you!”

Thrum strode confidently across the room and clasped wrists with the other man.

“I’d heard they were sending me another Komtur, but I didn’t hope to think it was you.” He slapped the dwarf on the shoulder. “It’s been what? Twenty years?”

“Aye, about that.” Thrum agreed, adding with a laugh, “too long.”

“I’m glad you’re here. As always you dive right into your work.”

Thrum followed Brennan’s eyes to Aldrich, who was shrinking against the wall of the tavern under the man’s fierce gaze.

“I only recently heard of this man’s strange behavior myself. Leave it to you to find him before I even knew he was here.” Brennan nodded to the Grenz near him. “Take him.”

“Is that really necessary? He was about to tell us what he knows of this plague. Give me a few more minutes and I’ll have everything we need.” Thrum said.

“Procedure, my friend, procedure.” Brennan then motioned to Aldrich, “ there’s no need for fear, you won’t be harmed. I promise.”

The Grenz began moving towards Aldrich and Thrum watched as Nanu, Genhice, and Wrolin took up a defensive position around the cowering man.

“Friends of yours, Thrum?” Brennan’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword.

“Aye. The orders I received say I may use whatever and whomever I need to accomplish my goal. These are my allies.” Thrum walked towards his companions, taking his place in front of them and facing Brennan.

“I see.” Brennan stroked his chin for a moment. “Well, have them stand aside so my Grenz can take this man into custody.”

Thrum didn’t move, he looked back at his companions. This was it, the moment of decision. Until this moment they had the luxury of time and the theoretical possibility of being able to play both sides. That luxury ran out as the theory collapsed. If they let Aldrich be taken they’ll never get the information they need for the Unsainted. But if they fought? The entire might of the Acolytes wrath might fall upon them.

One glance into the eyes of each of his friends told him the choice was already made.

“Stand aside, Thrum.” All the pleasant warmth of Brennan’s voice vanished in a single cold breath as the man pulled his sword from its sheath.

“I cannot.” Thrum pulled his greatsword from behind his back.

“So be it.” Brennan shook his head, before giving a curt nod to the Grenz.

The Grenz lunged into action with the violent mechanical movement of a loaded spring suddenly released. The speed of it took even Nanu offguard, barely managing to deflect the slashing sword of one of the Grenz, but not before it tore a gouge in her cheek. Her massive boot slammed into the soldier’s chest, sending him flying backwards, knocking over a table and sending beer and other patrons flying.

Next to her Genhice had jumped onto the table, kicking plates, utensils, and mugs at the Grenz lunging at him. The Grenz ducked and weaved, but a bowl struck him square in the face, staggering him for just a moment. Long enough for Genhice to thrust forward with his rapier, which pierced straight through his neck just below the jawbone, in the small gap his chainmail coif left exposed. He fell backwards, clutching a gushing wound.

With Genhice managing fine on his own, Nanu ran to where Wrolin was desperately rolling under tables to avoid the Grenz following her. His attention was so focused on catching the little gnome that he was oblivious to Nanu coming up behind him, her daggers slashing a bloody X across his throat.

Across the room, Thrum was being pressed hard. He’d forgotten how fast Brennan was and twenty years had not slowed him in the slightest. The man’s longsword was naught but a flash of light in the air as it swung, slashed, and thrust. Thrum, however, knew exactly how to defend against this. Using the greater reach of his greatsword, he began making long sweeping attacks in front of himself, denying Brennan the space he needed to get closer and land the killing blow he was seeking. Thrum suddenly remembered a sparring match with him that had gone much this same way.

He’d lost that particular match.

An icy grip tightening around his heart was telling him he was about to lose this one too.

Two more Grenz stood between Nanu, Wrolin, and Genhice reaching Thrum. They could also see that Brennan was slowly closing the distance, and his sword was now beginning to find the gaps in Thrum’s armor. And the other two Grenz were closing in on him from behind.

There was no time for finesse or strategy. The trio charged.

With her massive stride Nanu was across the room before either of her companions, trying to get to the Grenz about to plunge a spear into the back of Thrum’s neck. This time, however, her haste made it impossible to sneak up behind the Grenz. His eyes looked sidelong at her approaching form and pivoting on his heel to snap the spear around, Nanu found herself hurling herself chest first towards the glinting spearhead. She tried to skid to a halt, but she already knew that her momentum was too much. She was about to die here.

And she felt strangely calm.

“Oi! Have a drink!” Genhice’s voice called out behind her. A mug of ale appeared over her shoulder, soaring towards the Grenz’s face and striking him on the nose, the ale splashing into his eyes. He jerked back, pulling the spear just a few crucial inches to the left. The spear cut across the left side of her chest, just below the armpit, slicing through the leather armor. She dove in with both daggers, burying them in the man’s chest, her momentum knocking both of them to the ground. Genhice leapt over them, thrusting his rapier out at the last remaining Grenz but the guard swatted it aside easily with a shortsword, and a quick riposte slashed across Genhice’s forearm.

Then the Grenz was struck by a blast of blue light, sending him hurling into the wall of the tavern with enough force to splinter the wood. Genhice looked over Wrolin, her small hands still crackling with energy.

Brennan smiled at Thrum.

“Well, seems you had the better hand this time, my friend.” Brennan snapped a quick salute, then clutched a golden idol of the Saint that hung around his neck.

A blinding golden light seared the retinas of everyone in the room. On instinct Thrum continued slashing his sword through the air in case Brennan was coming in for the kill. But once the flash had faded from their eyes, they saw the tavern was empty save for them and Aldrich.

And the barkeep whose muttonchop plagued face popped up from behind the bar shortly after.

“You certainly know what you’re doing!” Aldrich said, peeling his back from the wall, smoothing his trousers with one hand while the other clutched the bag at his hip. It was making a whirring sound now.

“What’s that!?”

Aldrich jumped at the sudden appearance of Wrolin at his hip, staring intently at his pouch. Reaching inside, Aldrich produced a strange looking contraption that made Wrolin squeal with glee.

It floated in the air, three concentric rings of silver, gold, and platinum rotating around a glowing orb of energy. It darted around with the same buzzing energy and sound of a hummingbird.

“This is Sable. My friend.” Aldrich smiled broadly.

“What is it?” Wrolin kept attempting to poke the device, only for it to dart away at the last moment. Thrum arched an eyebrow: was the device actually playing with her?

“That’s a… complicated question. One I don’t have time to answer right now. We should leave before that Komtur comes back.” Aldrich said. “I… well, we, have a research base just outside town, at an old grain mill. Come with me there and I’ll tell you all I know.”

Aldrich rushed out the door of the tavern, Sable zipping through the air behind him, and the rest of the group close on his heels.

Sister Maron waited outside. Heavy manacles circled her wrists connected by chains to the ones locked around her ankles. She sat crosslegged on the ground. Everyone stopped to stare at her.

“Sister?” Thrum asked, confused.

Maron looked up at him, eyes watery and distant. Her face was dark, drawn… defeated. Thrum had seen that look on so many other faces as he bound them in chains. He tried drowning them in beer and ale, but always found the faces staring at him from the bottom of every empty mug.

“It seems I’m to be tried as a heretic alongside the rest of you.” She said sadly.

“Well, with Brennan run off and his Grims dead, I shan’t think that’s a worry any longer.” Thrum said, taking the manacles in his hand and removing the locking pin.

“The Komtur will be back, and will bring more Grims with him. There are always more Grims.” Maron said, rubbing her sore wrists as the irons fell away.

“Eh, if I know Brennan, and I do, they’ll be in nearby towns canvassing for suspects and watching the roads. Take him at least a day to get them here. We’ll be long gone by then.” Thrum slung the greatsword over his back again.

“That means he’ll use the militia.” Maron said, her eyes going wide.

“Militia?” Genhice inquired, looking around as if expecting this militia to appear at any moment.

“Yes, some of the townspeople have volunteered to become part of the city’s militia. Most don’t take it seriously, just enjoy getting to wear their little badge and parade around with their pitchforks. But there are a few zealots among them.” Maron stood now, brushing off her dress. “Listen, there is something you should know. I did not tell you before because I did not know whom you served. I still don’t, but I know it's not the Acolytes now, and that is enough.”

Sensing the weight of what she was about to reveal, everyone closed in around her. Even Sable darted up and hovered directly above her head.

“I’ve been having dreams. We all have… everyone in this town. I find myself on a plain far from here. The sky is wrong, the color of oil and ash. There are no shadows, the light comes from everywhere all at once. I’ve been standing there for what seems an eternity. Two armies stand on either side of this plain, their numbers so vast they stretch beyond the horizon. They’re not human. They’re made of something. And then they clash, fighting each to the death, merciless and cold. There is no sound, just a pressure in my chest like a horse is standing on it. They kill each other, the dead fall, and then rise again. They repeat the same movements. They fight not because they have chosen to… but because it’s all they have left. Some of these creatures, even though they’re not human… I recognize them. I feel like if I could focus on them for just a few moments I could remember who they were, but I never can. And when I wake, it’s like I never slept at all. And I no longer know if that is the dream… or if this is.”

Everyone stood still for a moment because for a moment the dream felt familiar to all of them.

Then Genhice was at Maron’s side, he ran a single finger across her scalp, down to her ear and tracing the curve of her jaw.

“Thank you for granting us this dream of yours. It is ours now. Let it trouble you no longer. Sleep now in peace.” The elf whispered to her before withdrawing.

Maron looked Genhice for a moment, eyes brightening like the first sliver of sun above the horizon.

“I will try and slow the Komtur down, but you must hurry out of town. The militia… they’re all my flock, many of them my friends. Try not to harm them.” And with that, the sister walked back to the church, far more energetically than ever before.

The rest of the group followed Aldrich out of town, as did Maron’s strange dream, which would haunt their steps for a long time.

Aldrich led them about two miles out of town. As the group passed through the fields of grain, the blight seemed to spread like a wake before them. The scientist adjusted his glasses as if unsure if he was seeing it right.

“Fascinating, your presence appears to be spreading the blight faster!” Making no effort to keep the glee from his voice.

“It’s horrible…” Wrolin muttered, watching sadly as a stalk of grain turned gray as she reached towards it. “How can you be so excited?”

“It’s more data! More data is good!” Aldrich said, jotting madly into his journal.

They arrived at the old mill. It was a dilapidated mess, half the shingles on the roof were missing, exposing rotting wood. Only two of its sails were intact, the other hung brokenly and swung gently in the air. Wrolin noted the field was completely drained. Everything had turned that greyish-green shade, not a single healthy plant within eyeshot. Then she noticed the smell, or lack thereof. There was nothing. No smell of decay, no smell of the freshly tilled earth, not a solitary scent of anything. And the birds, insects, rabbits… nothing. Only they remained.

“This is where it started, isn’t it?” Wrolin asked, sadly touching one of the blighted grain stalks.

“Yes. I’m afraid our experiment grew beyond established operating parameters.” Aldrich motioned to one of the pillars in the ground. “These are arcane resonance detectors. We set them up to monitor the energy in this area. This place is an anomaly, a weakness or a fraying of the magical energies that encompass our world. We began to study it, probe it… and the blight, which had been spreading at a glacial pace suddenly became a wildfire. And we still haven’t found a way to stop it.”

Genhice stepped forward, staring all around him, hands sweeping through the air like an orchestra conductor.

“Can you hear it?” He murmured in wonder. “Can you hear The Song?”

The only thing anyone else heard was the unnatural silence. He pulled out his banjolele and his fingers began to strum, his eyes closing. The Song sprang to the air like a gust of wind into a musty old house, the notes dancing like falling cherry blossoms across dead, gray cobblestones. The wheat around him began to glow gold again, the greenish-gray of the blight melting from the roots upwards, the smell of wheat and soil flooding the air once more. The rush of life spread out around him like in an ever expanding circle.

And then The Song faded away, and his fingers stopped strumming.

Genhice looked around to find himself surrounded by the weeping figures of everyone who’d been in earshot of The Song. Aldrich was trying to write down what he’d heard, flailing around trying not to cry on the paper and streak the ink.

“Gen… that was beautiful.” Wrolin said, barely choking back a sob.

Even Thrum wiped a tear from his eye.

“Aye… it was alright.” He growled, slapping the elf on the back.

“Fascinating.” Aldrich said as he examined the plants, still sniffling. “The song you played is the resonance causing the blight, and yet when you played it… you reversed the effects. Come, we should go inside, my companions and I would be most eager to experiment further.”

It was then that Aldrich noticed Sable: the machine hung in the air, unmoving. Its concentric rings were frozen in place, the gold orb powering had dimmed to almost nothing.

“Sable!” Aldrich ran to the small machine, snatching it from the air. “Oh, my friend. What’s happened to you?”

Wrolin’s heart ached as she saw Aldrich cradling the machine in his hands, but as she was about to see if she could help restart the cute little contraption, Nanu perked her head to the side.

“I hear the Komtur coming, the sound of his armor is unmistakable. But there’s more. A dozen perhaps.”

“They must not find our equipment. They must not find out what we were doing here!” Aldrich says hurriedly gathering his notebook and rushing towards the door of the mill.

Nanu and the others formed a small ring around the door. Brennan stepped through the walls of wheat, a shining metal mirror reflecting the setting sun and making him glow red like fire. To each side were people wielding pitchforks, axes, makeshift spears, and some crudely made knives. There was not a single soldier among them. Yet even a dozen ill-equipped farmers could quickly overwhelm. Especially combined with the prowess that Brennan had shown in battle.

And then the Grenz appeared. Four more of the strange, quiet soldiers, in formation just behind Brennan. Nanu understood: the militia would come in, causing chaos, and then when they were distracted with them, the Grenz would deliver the death blow.

“I would offer you the chance to surrender.” Brennan drew his sword, holding it in front of him with the point digging into gray blighted soil. “But I know you better than that. So instead I offer you this: walk away Thrum. I will tell the Komankatur that you fell in glorious battle delivering these criminals to me. The freedom you’ve been seeking at the bottom of every bottle? I can give it to you. All you have to do is stand aside and let me take the heretics.”

Thrum drew his own greatsword, holding it over one shoulder.

“Perhaps you should spare yourself the lie. Come grant me a glorious death.” Thrum held the sword above his head, falling into a battle stance. “If you can.”

“I am sorry my friend. Know that I take no pleasure from this.” Brennan signalled for the militia to move forward.

Some moved eagerly, surging forward with confident steps, others approaching more cautiously, while Brennan attempted to keep them in a line. It was like herding cats, however, this disorganized mob had no idea how to move as a unit. Genhice studied the eyes of these men and women, some of them burning with religious zealotry that would know no compromise. But others, most of them, were filled only with fear.

Genhice walked out to meet them.

“Gen!” Nanu barked harshly, urging him to fall back into position.

Genhice ignored her, striding forward towards the advancing militia and Brennan, until he was centered among another patch of the blighted grain

“Look at me!” Genhice threw his arms wide, hands empty and fingers splayed. “We are not your enemy! This blight is! We have come to solve it! ”

Nine of the twelve militia members stopped moving entirely, looking at each other.

“You have sworn oaths to the Saint, and to me!” Brennan barked. “This man is a traitor, as are his companions. They threaten the Saint’s peace and your very lives! They are the perpetrators of this blight!”

Genhice pulled the banjolele from his back, still kneeling in the dirt, fingers finding the strings as he closed his eyes.

And he began playing The Song.

The notes danced through the air, vibrating through the ground where the rich soil revitalized and the stalks of wheat began to turn gold once more. Again an expanding circle of life washed away the blight like dust in a rainstorm. Brennan flinched as the ring of life reached him, as if expecting it would wash him away as well. When it didn’t he reached out to the nearest stalk of grain, delicately running between the gauntleted fingers of his left hand.

Genhice put the banjolele away, standing up and facing the militia.

“Choose who you want to trust, this humble elf who wants nothing more than to save you from this blight. Or this man of iron and blood, who speaks of oaths even as he breaks his oath to serve the innocent. Who seeks to place those innocents in chains.”

For a moment the echoing notes of The Song were drowned by the heavy weight of the silence.

A woman wielding a scythe looked at Genhice, then to the glowing healthy crops around her… and then turned, walking back towards town.

A man with a butcher’s knife did the same.

As did a young boy, barely sixteen by the looks of him, dropping a rusted kitchen knife in the dirt.

More and more, until Brennan was left with only three remaining members of the militia. The zealotry in their eyes burned just as brightly as before.

Brennan lifted his sword up again, and charged. He closed the distance so fast that Genhice barely had time to pull his rapier out, not that it would do much good blocking the longsword now rushing towards him.

Suddenly Thrum appeared next to him, the dwarf’s great sword colliding with Brennan’s blade with a violent clang of steel on steel that splintered the air and made Genhice’s ears ring.

“Go! Deal with the others. Brennan is mine.” Thrum growled at Genhice.

“Come on Wrolin, you and I will deal with the other two.” Nanu said, as they rushed forward to help.

Yet Wrolin was dragged to a stop by a creeping cold along her spine. She turned back to the mill.

And she was there.

The Veiled Lady stood in front of the door to the mill, dress billowing.

“Nanu…the mill.” Wrolin said, still staring at the Veiled Lady. “I need to go in there.”

Nanu looked back at Wrolin, and saw the gnome staring at the mill’s front door. Wrolin’s judgement had always been sound, as were her instincts for knowing where she was needed most.

“Go.” Nanu said. “We’ll take care of things out here.”

Nanu charged forward as Wrolin sprinted back to the mill.

The interior of the mill smelled of molding wood and dust, but it was the metal tang in the air that was unexpected. Several work tables were scattered around the mill, contraptions of metal, wires, and runes sitting upon them while men and women in strange white tunics and thick black gloves manipulated them.

But it was the black mirror in the middle of the room that drew Wrolin’s eye.

A simple silver frame ran the edges of the utterly black glass… and Wrolin wasn’t even sure it was glass. And worse still, it did not stop at the floor, in a way that made Wrolin’s eye rebel and her mind reel, she could tell this mirror was extending into the floor. How far down did it go, she wondered.

Aldrich was running around like a headless chicken, pointing and yelling.

“Pack that up! Oh, do be careful with those samples! Quickly, quickly! That Komtur is here! We must leave!”

Wrolin stepped through the maelstrom of activity, ignoring everything except that consuming black mirror, not stopping until her nose was almost pressed into it. And it wasn’t until she was this close to it that she realized it was not glass.

It was nothing.

A literal absence of everything. A void.

Except something was inside.

A familiar veiled face appeared at eye level with Wrolin. She could feel the woman’s eyes staring at her from behind that thick black veil. It held no malice, but neither did it contain warmth.

Then, one of her long pale hands extended from beyond the plane of the blackness, gently gripping Wrolin’s shoulder and pulling her inside…

“Grragghh!”

Thrum roared with pain and fury as he was sent sprawling to the ground, rolling shoulder over shoulder and flattening a wide swathe of the wheat stalks. He reached under his left arm, wincing as his fingers came away wet with his blood. He had barely managed to deflect away Brennan’s thrusting long sword from piercing his neck, but the parry had instead driven the blade into his armpit. The chainmail beneath his plate had stopped it from doing any major damage, but the point of the blade had still gouged him deeply. A heavy mailed boot to the chest had sent the dwarf flying back down the gently sloping hill.

“You can’t beat me Thrum. You never could.” Brennan walked slowly towards Thrum as he was picking himself off the ground.

Thrum spit out a clod of dirt that had gotten into his mouth.

“Heh. Maybe not. But then, perhaps that’s even worse for you. If I don’t end you here, all you have to look forward to is a life time of this…” Thrum motioned to the chaos around him: Nanu fending off two of the Grenz as one of the militia members lay on the ground near her, clutching a gushing stomach wound. Genhice thrusting and parrying, feet dancing wildly as he parried and riposted against the two Grenz pressing him. “A lifetime of killing, torturing, and jailing innocent people. Betraying your friends. Abandoning your ideals. Yes… that seems to be a fitting punishment.”

Brennan hesitated for just a moment, the resolve in his eyes interrupted by a brief blink of doubt. Thrum pressed.

“Well come on then!” Thrum beckoned the Komtur forward.

Brennan’s hand tightened on the hilt of his blade, and he charged forward again.

Wrolin recognized this place, this nothing, this absence. It was the same as she encountered at the Marrow estate. The Veiled Lady stood before her, staring quietly.

Something passed between them, some unspoken thing.

Wrolin sensed she was close to understanding, like looking at a puzzle with just one piece missing in the middle of it. But she couldn’t find the piece and without it, the meaning was lost. She lifted her staff in the air, summoning the Talent, and sending a single mote of golden light floating into the air that was not air. This guiding light would seek out what was missing, it had saved her many a time when she was lost. But here, it seemed just as lost as she was.

Then it rushed past the Veiled lady, hovering above something.

Something impossible.

An undulating mass of absence somehow forging itself into existence.

A thing of claws and teeth, terror and rage.

With a blast of searing hot air, Wrolin found herself being blown from the strange plane and back into reality, landing hard on one of the work tables and tumbling to the ground.

The thing followed her.

It was now shaped like a giant draconic head, a long neck snaking into the room as if its body were still hidden inside the mirror. The researchers around the room began screaming, running for their lives. Claws appeared from the swirling mass of void, cutting through flesh and lab equipment as easily paper. Wrolin sprinted to the door, trying to keep the creature from escaping, but it was too late…

Nanu stumbled backwards, leaning heavily against the wall of the mill. She’d managed to kill one of the Grenz by catching him off guard and flinging a dagger directly into his face, but now she was down to a single dagger left. Not that it mattered, her right arm felt heavy and numb from a brutal slash she’d taken from a broadsword. The Grenz was approaching her, spear at the ready. She stared down at the blood pooling under her left leg, feeling weak and cold as the gaping wound in her thigh continued pouring a steady stream of blood.

She looked to the mill door. She hoped Wrolin would find another out of the mill.

It was the only victory left for her.

Brennan’s blade was singing as it sliced the air, splitting it like an opera singer’s high note when it clashed against Thrum’s. Thrum’s arms felt like lead weights, his entire body shaking.

The Komtur lashed out with another thrust towards Thrum’s face, and he barely deflected it aside, the blade carving a deep gash along the dwarf’s jawline. The pain, however, was quickly dulled by a realization.

Brennan had overextended. In his effort to drive his sword through Thrum’s face, he’d come off his back foot slightly, the entirety of his weight born by his left foot. And his wrist was in reach of Thrum.

The dwarf dropped his greatsword, and lashed out with both hands, grabbing the man by the wrist. He pulled Brennan close, the man stumbling forward. The dwarf grabbed the bottom of the Komtur’s shining breast plate and heaved upwards. He lifted the man above his head, his muscles screaming with the effort as he roared in fury.

He brought Brennan down, the man smashing shoulder and neck first with a sickening crunch. But Thrum did not allow Brennan a chance to recover, he clamored atop the man and began slamming his gauntleted fist into the human’s face over and over again.

“Damn you!” Thrum screamed. “Damn you!”

Tears rolled down Thrum’s face as he turned his friend’s face into pulp.

Genhice stared at the walls of the mill. If he had more time, more space, he could climb to the roof. But there was no time and no space. The two Grenz were closing on either side of him. They were like a single person, every time he found an opening in one guard’s defenses, the other would move to defend it. Backed against the wall there was no more room to maneuver, nowhere to retreat to. He looked around, hoping to spot one of his allies coming to his aid. But Nanu was barely fending off the Grenz attacking her, and Thrum was grappling with Brennan.

The door to the mill was nearby however. If he could just slip by the Grenz on his left, he could retreat inside. Perhaps then Wrolin and he could defend the entrance.

It was at that moment the front door exploded.

Splinters of wood tore through Genhice’s clothes, spearing him in a dozen different places and slashing across his face. The force of the explosion threw the elf to the ground screaming in pain.

He looked up to see a great shadowy claw rake just inches above his face. The claw eviscerated the two Grenz who had been just moments from killing him. Rolling onto his stomach, ignoring the stabbing pain of the wooden splinters digging even further into his flesh, he hopped back onto his feet.

Scrambling backwards towards Thrum, who had ceased his pummeling of the Komtur’s face, Genhice stared in horror at the creature that emerged. Nanu too, came limping back to them still trying to fend off the Grenz, as the creature forced its way through the splintered remains of the wall where the door once was. They could see blasts of magic energy striking it in the back as it emerged, but it seemed to ignore them. The shape changed, shifting from a great draconic head with a single clawed hand to a massive humanoid figure twelve feet tall. It did not wield swords: its arms were swords. Great thick blades emerging from its shoulders at unnatural angles.

Thrum hauled Brennan to his feet, pointing to the creature.

“That is your enemy, Brennan.” Thrum forcibly turned Brennan to face it. “Not me. Not these people. That!”

Brennan looked at it, his sword hanging limply in his hands, jaw agape with blood running from his mouth.

“Grenz! Stop!” Brennan barked, blood spraying from his mouth as he spoke.

The Grenz still singlemindedly trying to kill Nanu ceased in an instant, assuming a posture of readiness, seemingly uncaring of the great shadowy beast striding towards them.

“Kill that creature!” He ordered.

The Grenz obeyed, and alone, charged towards it.

Brennan held his sword in the air, chanting words of power that Thrum recognized. Thrum thrust his own sword in the air and joined him in the chant.

And both their swords began to glow with a golden radiance.

They gave each other a sidelong glance.

And then they smiled at each other before charging towards the horror marching at them.

Genice rushed to Nanu’s side as she collapsed to the ground, pale and shivering. He immediately began putting pressure on the gushing wound in her leg.

“Wrolin! Wrolin! We need you!” He began screaming, then quietly whispered to Nanu, “Hang in there my friend. Hang in there. You’ll be okay. Wrolin will be here soon.”

Wrolin was behind the creature, which was still totally ignoring her even as she blasted with as much energy as she could muster. But Genhice’s urgent cry cut across the field, and knew her effort was better focused elsewhere. She cut a wide swathe around the creature, watching as it effortlessly swatted aside the charging Grenz before Thrum and Brennan followed up with vicious coordinated slashes across the thing’s ankles. Or at least where its ankles would have been were it human. It did not stumble nor make any sound of pain, but there was a hissing sound like a heated blade being quenched in a blacksmith’s shop.

Wrolin fell to her knees beside Nanu, who was now barely breathing.

“Hey… Hey Nanu.” Wrolin smiled down at her. “This is no time for a nap. We need you.”

She gently removed Genhice’s hands from the gushing wound, then placed her hands on it. Channeling the Talent through her and into the wound, Wrolin closed her eyes and focused on the injury. The damage was extensive, the blade had eviscerated muscle and even fractured the bone beneath, but the worst was the blood loss. Her head began to swim and blackness creeped into the edges of her vision as her magic struggled to repair the damage and regenerate the blood Nanu had lost. Normally she would have simply stabilized Nanu and treated her more extensively later, but staring down at where Thrum and Brennan struggled with the creature of void and shadow, she knew they needed Nanu in the fight.

Genhice watched as Nanu’s face began to flush with color again, her breathing slowing to normal and, finally, her eyes flickering open. Wrolin collapsed on her heels.

“Go, distract it.” She gasped, the gnome’s face now as pale as Nanu’s had been. “I’ll stop it, but I need time.”

Nanu didn’t have time to thank Wrolin, or even think about the cost it had exacted from the gnome’s small body, so instead she did as her friend instructed. Genhice and Nanu ran towards the towering creature as Wrolin stumbled her way back to the mill.

She couldn’t spare a look back as she stumbled into the mill. Her eyes ran across the room, shattered tables and shattered bodies strewn everywhere. Aldrich was kneeling in the corner of the room, shaking hands trying to staunch a gaping chest wound in one of his colleagues. Wrolin had neither the energy nor the time left to fix it. Instead her desperate eyes ran across the scattered remains of the instruments the researchers were using.

Her dream came back to her.

Hands that weren’t hers dancing with precision to construct The Work. These scattered pieces were not The Work. But they were similar.

Closing her eyes, she let the strange memory take over, guiding her hands as they selected seemingly random pieces of wire and rune covered metal. She didn’t know how, but she knew this would seal the wound in the mirror and that it would take the creature with it.

She just hoped she could do it in time.

Thrum spat blood into the wet dirt beneath him, his head spinning from the colossal blow the creature’s arm had dealt him. It had struck with the flat of the blade, which had saved him from being cut in half, but it had still sent a shockwave of pain through his entire body. He saw the blade being lifted, the creature preparing to bring it down and this time cut the dwarf in half. He tried to move, but his head was spinning, his muscles were like jelly.

So Thrum laughed, staring up at the creature.

And then Brennan was there. He held his sword out above him, bracing it against his forearm, and caught the enormous blade. The force of it drove Brennan to his knees, but he held it. Thrum didn’t know how, but he held it.

Behind the creature, Nanu was lashing out with motes of purple fire that erupted from her finger tips, the shadowy material sizzling with each impact. The creature didn’t turn to face Nanu. Instead the creature’s entire body shifted in shape so that its front became its back.

“Come on,” Brennan said, extending a hand to haul Thrum to his feet, “you’re not gonna let a love tap like that keep you down are you?”

Thrum laughed despite himself, immediately groaning in pain as some obviously broken ribs ground against each other. He spat out a mouthful of blood as he watched Nanu roll to her left as one of the massive blades came crashing down, Genhice thrusting out with his rapier at the arm as it remained buried in the soil.

He looked at Brennan. The man’s face was bruised and swollen, but he was smiling. A smile Thrum hadn’t seen in a long time. A smile that, at least for a while, had made him put down the bottle.

The thing shifted forms again with a rapidity that made Thrum’s mind swirl; a leg became another sword, lashing out at him. He blocked with his greatsword, but then the ankle on the opposite leg became a series of lashing tentacles tipped with spear-like heads, lasing out at him. Brennan’s blazing sword hacked through them before they could impale Thrum.

“Space! Give it space! Fall back!” Thrum roared at his companions, keeping himself in line with Brennan as they slowly backed away. Genhice and Nanu fell back as well, watching as the creature’s formerly humanoid form shifted into a nightmarish maelstrom of blades, fangs, and claws. There was now no angle to attack it that wouldn’t expose the group to a deadly counter attack from one of the other deadly appendages.

“You threw me earlier…” Brennan tried to laugh, but a wet wheezing sound was all that came from his swollen lips. “Think you can do it, again?”

Thrum stared back at the creature. Though its legs were now just swirling masses of weaponry and horror, it was still moving towards them, gliding across the ground. Nanu and Genhice fell back steadily, the Goliath throwing more purple fire at it that did nothing but anger it. Brennan smiled, nodding at the creature.

“You always were a bit mad.” Thrum said as he nodded his understanding.

Thrum placed his hands on Brennan’s breast plate as the man did the same. Again they began chanting in unison, channeling the divine wrath that coated their blades into the armor itself. The armor glowed so brightly it became a second sun upon the earth.

The creature suddenly surged forward, its form shifting back to the massive dragon’s head it started as, mouth wide, prepared to swallow the entire group in its jaws.

Brennan backed up, then began sprinting at Thrum. Just as they were about to collide, Thrum kneeled, catching the man by the breastplate and again throwing Brennan over his head. Except this time, instead of driving him into the ground, he flung the Komtur at the approaching dragon head.

Sword extended over his head, hands gripped tightly on the hilt, Brennan soared into the thing’s mouth.

A massive explosion of blinding golden light threw everyone to the ground.

Wrolin looked over her shoulder as the explosion rocked through her body, knocking her off her balance as her hands worked frantically on… whatever it was she was constructing from a memory that was not her own. She had no time to wonder what was happening to her friends, and yet she couldn’t help but do it anyway. The light which had been like the noon sun, was now fading, the darkness of twilight swallowing it up. For a moment there was silence.

For a moment she thought maybe her friends had succeeded.

The Veiled Lady appeared before her, staring down at the pieces Wrolin was working on.

And Wrolin knew she had to continue.

Her hands swept over the construct, attaching wires, sliding metal plates into position, running fingers along runes whispering words she knew not the meaning of but nonetheless caused the runes to glow blue and purple.

There was a hissing sound outside, like a snake preparing to strike.

She was almost out of time.

The last piece of snapped into place.

There was a scream of agony outside.

And Wrolin whispered to the device.

Thrum squinted against the fading golden light, seeking Brennan. The creature had been dispersed, the inky blackness no longer had form, drifting through the air and across the ground. It was less like fog and more like someone had spilled ink upon the world itself, thick globs and lines dribbling across reality.

Brennan stood up amid the inky blackness, triumphantly thrusting his sword into the air.

“Victory!” He roared through a bloody smile staring back at Thrum and the others.

Then there was a sharp hiss in the air and the blacky inkstain upon the world drew back into itself. In an instant it congealed back into the twelve foot monstrosity with bladed arms.

Brennan turned just in time for one of the blades to slash upwards at him.

There was the sounding rending metal mixed with Brennan’s screams of agony. He flew through the air, flying back fifteen feet and rolling to a stop face down in the dirt. The creature began marching towards the group, its feet turning into blades as well. As it did its knees, shoulders, and head, until what was walking towards them was not so much a body as it was a swirling mass of death.

Death that was coming for them.

Then, there was a sudden shift in the air, a feeling of it being sucked towards the mill. The creature stopped, then it shuddered. Then it fell to the ground, the sound of cracking ice and hissing steam erupting from it as pieces of the shadowy creature began tearing free of the main body. Like watching leaves being torn from a tree in an autumn windstorm, motes of inky void broke loose in greater and greater numbers. Then the creature’s entire body began to elongate, stretching and twisting until it resembled the broken branches strewn upon the ground of some great, dying forest.

And the thing shrieked.

A shriek that vibrated through the air at such a frequency as it felt like Thrum’s teeth were about to shatter like glass.

It collapsed to the ground, forming great curved talons that it drove into the Earth, attempting to keep itself from being pulled backwards.

“Now! Press the advantage!” Thrum roared.

He doubted his voice was carrying across the vicious riptide of wind that was now pulling them all towards the mill, but his comrades, through instinct and training, surged forward. He brought his sword in a grand arching lateral sweep, sheering through several of the talons holding the creature in place. Its hand, such as it was, ripped free, being pulled back towards the mill. Genhice and Nanu did the same to the other hand.

With a final shriek filled with fury it was sucked back into the mill.

Inside, Wrolin pressed her back into the wall, pulling her feet in close to her as the swirling mass of the creature was pulled back inside the mirror. The small device she had constructed spun and twisted in the air just above the inky void. The suction of the air here was so strong she had to dig her heels into the ground to prevent herself from being pulled in. The mirror began to shrink, collapsing inward, only increasing the speed at which the massive creature was being consumed.

Thrum, Genhice, and Nanu came through the door after it, slashing at tentacles, claws, and teeth as the thing attempted to latch onto any surface it could find. Then the creature either from a lack of energy or a simple resignation to its fate, ceased its struggling. It turned to an amorphous black smoke. And though it no longer had form, Wrolin thought she could feel it staring at her as it was devoured by the very realm that had created it.

The shriek it gave as it finally vanished into the collapsing portal made Wrolin’s ears bleed and made her feel like her eyes were shrivelling in her skull.

When the creature finally vanished, all that remained of the mirror was a small circular aperture floating in the air.

The Veiled Lady stood before Wrolin, staring at her as the black void behind her grew smaller. Wrolin again felt like there was something passing between them. Then she was gone.

And the portal closed forever.

Thrum ran to where Brennan had fallen, heaving the man onto his back. The breastplate had been shorn in two like a piece of paper, blood pouring out from between the jagged edges. Brennan grabbed Thrum’s hand, gripping it tightly.

“Brother… it was good to see you again.” Brennan coughed, smiling through the blood pooling in his mouth.

“Damn you, don’t you go dying on me. Not now.” Thrum’s face burned with a fire that had nothing to do with the exertions of the battle.

“You were always the sentimental one.” He patted Thrum’s hand. “Twenty years… seems like no time at all now.”

Thrum smiled down at his former friend. Now a friend again. Twenty years since they’d seen each other, and now had spent all their time trying to kill each other.

“What a waste it all was.” Thrum placed a hand on Brennan’s shoulder as the man’s arms went limp and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Then Wrolin appeared next to him, she was pale and shaky, but nevertheless placed her small hands on the Komtur’s chest.

A tear rolled down Thrum’s face, cutting a rivulet through the blood and dirt, as a gentle blue glow began to envelope his friend’s chest.

The fields of Crestwick were glowing in the noon sun, all signs of the blight had vanished. Standing atop the hill overlooking the town, Thrum, Nanu, Genhice, and Wrolin stood in a circle with Aldrich, Sister Maron, and Brennan. Brennan had one arm cast in a sling and was hunched over in agony still, it would take him a long time to heal even with the assistance of magic. But he was alive.

“I believe you owe us an explanation, Aldrich.” Nanu said.

In the wake of the devastation of the battle, the group could do nothing but limp their way back to town and collapse in exhaustion at the inn. It was only now, as Nanu’s group prepared to depart, that they had the time and energy to talk.

“Yes, quite. Well, the… anomaly you saw in the mill. It is not the only one. There are six others scattered across the continent. My, shall we say, organization has been very interested in these areas.”

“Your organization is a menace.” Brennan said, voice raspy and rough like sandpaper. “It was your experiments that caused this calamity. By all rights, I should haul you before the Komankatur in shackles.”

“I grant you our experiments did make the situation worse, but only by hastening its effects. This anomaly would have continued to spread. In fact, since our experiments drew you all here to resolve this conundrum, I’d say it was a rousing success.”

“He’s more useful to us outside a cell, anyway.” Thrum said.

“Oh yes, I definitely will be! In fact, there are more sites like this spread across the continent. And since you are the only ones so far able to correct this problem, I would like to guide you to these locations. Perhaps if I observe you long enough I can ascertain why you are able to seal them.”

“These voids are a threat to the entire realm.” Nanu said. The others all gave a curt nod of agreement.

“And you, Brennan? Will you let us leave in peace?” Wrolin asked, staring up at the Komtur.

“Not in much condition to stop you.” Brennan smiled, shifting his broken arm. “But go, do what you can to seal these anomalies. I now know what the true threat is. I will do what I can to delay the Komankatur, I will tell him you assisted me in curing this blight and that you now serve the Saint faithfully. If only for the moment.”

Thrum walked up, embracing his former brother and renewed friend in a tight hug.

“Be careful my friend.” Brennan whispered, patting Thrum on the back with his good arm. “And be wary, you have done the Saint’s work this day and for that I thank you. But stray from the path and I will be there. Don’t make me cross swords with you again.”

“Saint willing.” Was all that Thrum could think to say. He wouldn't swear an oath that, in his heart, he knew he would have to break.

Then Brennan turned, walking down the hill back towards town. The man looked over his shoulder at Thrum, and for a moment he thought he saw something in Brennan's eyes. A softening of the iron is his eyes. But then it was gone in a flash of resolve and a nod of the man's head.

Maron stepped forward, relaxing now that the Komtur was gone.

“We owe you a debt.” Sister Maron said. Her face was fuller now, the lines of wrinkles less pronounced and her cheeks flush with color again. “Should you ever need shelter, food, or just a friend, you will always be welcome here.”

“Thank you sister.” Wrolin said, running up and giving the woman a hug. “Help everyone you can. Even when it’s hard. There is always hope.”

“I think I’m starting to believe that’s true again.” She said, returning the hug.

The group turned to leave, walking north towards Dunholt, they had a promise to keep. Vigil awaited their return, and the knowledge they brought with them. They did not yet know what these anomalies represented, but they did understand their threat. Understood now why the Acolytes of the Pristine Saint feared these anomalies so.

Yet the most important question was still unanswered:

Why were they so important to this story?.

Genhice pulled out his banjolele and began playing The Song. And when he came to the section that had tormented him for so many years, he kept going. It was like releasing a breath held for decades, a release of tension Genhice didn’t realize was there.

The Song still wasn’t complete, but a few more bars had revealed themselves. Genhice smiled. For now, that was enough.

They left Crestwick and the Amberlands behind them.

From atop the hill, The Veiled Lady stood.

And watched.