She stood, smoothing out her shirt and tossing her dark hair over her shoulder.
“Besides, you don’t need to fight them,” she said. “Find them, and we’ll do the rest.”
“How will I find you? ” he asked.
She tossed him a coin. It was bronze. One side was blank, and the other, imprinted with the image of a skull.
“Kiss the skull,” she said, again winking. “I’ll come running.”
She left him to finish his breakfast. He rolled the coin over his knuckles, thinking things over. His gut told him if the priests were still inside the city, Deathmask would have already found them. That meant they were outside the walls, and he knew of only one person who could track anything or anyone in the wild.
He finished his bowl and wiped his face. It was time to find Dieredon.
H e had expected Dieredon to leave with Antonil and his men, but underestimated Sonowin’s injuries. He found the two just outside the walls. Dieredon sat with his bow on his back while Sonowin limped along, eating clumps of grass. Haern winced at the sight of her. Her right wing was folded tight against her side, several long bandages holding it firmly in place. He felt terrible guilt knowing she had endured that to save him.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” he said as Dieredon stood and bowed.
“It is fine,” Dieredon said. “They wanted to keep her in a stable, cramped and without room for her wings. Sometimes your race worries me, Watcher.”
“Haern is fine,” he said. “With Veldaren most likely in rubble, I’m not sure I could claim that title anymore.”
Dieredon nodded at the reminder that he was not alone in his suffering.
“Forgive me,” the elf said. “I care for her is all. I’m not sure she will ever fly again.”
“Perhaps Ashhur will be kind and her wing will grow strong,” Haern said. “But please forgive me, for I come asking aid.”
“The lion in the sky,” Dieredon said. “I saw it last night. The priests are not going to die without a fight.”
“We need to stop them,” Haern said.
Dieredon could easily see where this was heading.
“If they’re outside the city, I can find them,” he said. “I’ll start searching come nightfall. Meet me here in the morning. When I find them, I will tell you where they are.”
“Thank you,” Haern said, bowing low. “I will never be able to repay you for all you have done.”
“Live well,” Dieredon said. “It is payment enough.”
T wo days later Haern met Dieredon in the field. By the look on the elf’s face, he knew something was amiss.
“Did you find them?” he asked.
“I did,” Dieredon said. “But there is something you must see.”
“What is it?”
“No,” Dieredon said. “Meet me here after dusk. I will show you.”
H ours later, the two ran silently toward the south. Speed and stealth was their specialty. Dieredon led the way, his wicked bow slung across his back. Haern kept his sabers sheathed, but when they neared the first set of hills, he felt his heart racing so he drew them.
“What is this place?” he whispered.
“The craghills,” Dieredon said. “At least, that was how it was once known. What it is becoming, well…” He shrugged. “You’ll see.”
He led them to the top of a hill, and from there he pointed to the rows and rows of undead that stood as silent, sleepless guardians. Several fires lined the camp, and all about he saw priests and dark paladins. Directly in the center was a single object, constructed of stone and wood. It looked like an idol of some sort, but it certainly wasn’t of Karak.
“What is going on here?” Haern asked. “How could there be so many?”
“Our victory was shallow,” Dieredon said. “Karak’s army fled before suffering any major casualties. We assumed they traveled with the demons toward Veldaren. We were wrong.”
“We need to stop them,” Haern whispered. “Somehow.”
“There is more ill news,” Dieredon said. He trudged back down the hill and brushed away a large patch of grass taller than his thigh, revealing a tunnel dug deep into the earth.
“I found several of these,” he said as Haern peered within. “And I even followed one to its end. They lead underneath the walls. They’re getting in and out at will. I closed up the few I found, but there are many more, and they lead all throughout the city.”
“They were ready for this,” Haern said. “They couldn’t have dug these in the past few days.”
“How many years?” Dieredon asked. “How long have they controlled the hearts and minds of Mordan’s people?”
“I don’t know,” Haern said, shaking his head. “But far too long. Let’s head back to the city. I have a few friends I need to talk to.”
Dieredon covered the hole back up with grass and sprinted north, Haern at his heels. Behind them, Karak’s army continued building their strange contraption.
F or seven nights, the lion roared in the sky. The entire city remained on edge, sleep often impossible. Guards remained constantly alert. And then the killings started.
“Shadows,” Deathmask said as they gathered around the bloodied body in the middle of the street.
“They’re targeting at random now,” Haern said, sadly shaking his head. “There’s no way we can stop this.”
“We can,” Deathmask said, glaring at the roaring lion shimmering amid the stars. “If someone had the guts to do what must be done.”
“Leave the walls?” Dieredon said. “Leave them for open warfare with the few soldiers we have left?”
“The walls don’t matter,” Nien said.
“They just pass through,” Mier said.
“We stay,” Haern said. “Until we know their plan, we stay.”
“Stubborn mule,” Deathmask said, scattering ash over his face. “But again, that’s hardly a surprise.”
He and his guild separated, each of them eager to hunt for shadows and priests. Only Dieredon and Haern remained.
“The city reeks of fear,” Dieredon said. He gestured to the corpse. “This will only make it worse.”
“We keep the queen safe, and protect the city best we can,” Haern said. “But it’s been a week. Have you returned to their camp?”
The elf shook his head. “Not yet, but I shall. If they plan on marching against the walls, I want to be ready.”
“The night is still young,” Haern said. “Go now.”
Dieredon bowed, drew his bow, and raced down the street.
“We won’t lose this,” Haern said, staring down at the mutilated body of a young man. “Not so close to victory. We won’t lose. We can’t.”
He drew his sabers and leaped to the rooftops, searching for signs of another attack.
D ieredon crept across the hill, shifting his weight with every inch to leave no sign of his passing. His eyes narrowed at sight of the camp. The object in the center appeared closer to completion. It looked like a gigantic lion reared back on its hind legs with its mouth open in a roar. Priests surrounded it, either worshiping, praying, or casting spells; he couldn’t decide which. Hundreds of undead marched in a circle around the camp, a constant guard against attack.
Where are the paladins? he wondered. The past two times he’d seen several of them milling about, a pathetic remnant of their former numbers.
He heard a soft rustle of grass just behind him. Dieredon spun, grabbing his bow and swinging. Blades snapped out the ends. They smashed into the gray robes, cutting flesh but drawing no blood. Dieredon felt his heart skip a beat as a man with glowing red eyes pointed a finger at him.
“You should not interfere,” said the priest. A wave of black mist rolled from his body. Dieredon felt his mind blank, and the muscles in his body tensed and twisted.
