were the building's life blood suddenly released by the slicing of an artery. They groaned, they cried out, they shrieked with their still-taut throats. These were nothing like the rotted and desiccated corpses that he'd fought in the crypt. These were the bodies of the recently deceased, those driven out of their bodies by the corruption that pervaded every corner of this terrible place.
He cut at them with his sword, trying to drive them back. The walking dead staggered towards him, and though every one he cut down burst into the cobalt flames of the manna fire, it seemed as though a hundred more took their place. Where they had all come from he was not sure that he could ever know, and why they had all gathered here was a mystery that he doubted he would ever solve.
He stepped backward through the doorway, swinging his sword almost wildly as he went. They followed after him in a wave of stinking, rotting flesh and swinging limbs, desperately clawing at the air before them, staring ahead with unseeing, milky white eyes that twitched and danced in their skulls.
This was madness.
This was horror.
As he stumbled backwards out of the door that led out to the sunlit streets, the dead immediately halted and began slowly retreating back into the house. Mikel stood, staring dumbfounded as he watched the corpses begin moving backwards in what seemed like one fluid motion.
“That’s…”
“Sickening?” D’Arden asked sharply. “Horrifying? Going to haunt you for the rest of your days?” He shuddered, trying to shake off the image of the man inside, his innards strewn all over the room. “You have no idea.”
“So that’s what happened to all the people…” Mikel said slowly.
“Yes, that’s where most of them are,” D’Arden said. “My intuition tells me that not all of them are in that one house. There are probably more places like this where the corruption has spread so thickly that they congregate here. I would not be surprised to discover that there was a manna font sprung up inside that house. If I could burn the whole place down, I would.”
He shook his head despairingly. “I don’t know what I can do for them. There’s too many of them in there for my sword arm to take care of it, and I’m not sure I have enough manna within me to destroy them all without recharging at least once. I could try, but it might well kill me.”
“So what do we do?” Mikel asked.
“There’s nothing we can do. Make sure none of your people come here after dark. I realize that you believe there might be someone left alive in here, but there is not. There is no one left in here that still needs your help. In fact, your captain should be closing this gate to ensure that none of these monsters get free and begin wreaking havoc on the rest of the city. Calessa Heights is lost, boy, and your family’s home might well be next if we do not find this demon and destroy it!”
His harsh words and tone obviously frightened the boy, who took a few steps backwards from him. D’Arden didn’t have time to care about the young soldier’s fragile feelings. “The only reason that you and I are still alive right now is that the sun still shines on these streets. If night had already fallen, you and I would have been devoured by that horde of walking corpses.”
“Can’t we fight them? Put them out of their misery?” Mikel asked, his voice trembling slightly.
“If I had another Arbiter here with me, I might chance it,” D’Arden said in a defeated tone. “Alone, there is no chance that I could destroy them all. I have not slept in two days, and I have already greatly overextended myself in the graveyard that your captain sent me to in order to gain access to the city’s manna fonts. It is not possible for me to destroy them all myself, and your steel would be of little use but to slow them down a few steps.”
He reached over his shoulder and slid the crystalline blade back home into its scabbard where it gave a satisfied click. He turned away from the house, trying to block out the sounds of the moaning dead that emanated now so loudly from within. “Calessa Heights is lost,” D’Arden repeated. “I do not believe the demon is residing here. There is no one who would worship him here, no one left alive to venerate him and give him more power. This is not the place that we will encounter the demon, nor is it a place to make a pointless stand. Once I destroy the demon and purify the fonts, the corpses will collapse and then the houses can be cleaned out.”
“Will anyone want to live here after something like this?” Mikel said.
“I certainly would not,” D’arden answered. “Come. We should report our findings to your Captain and have him impose an immediate full quarantine on this area. Now that we have disturbed the dead, if all entrances to this quarter are not closed off completely by nightfall, there will be many more dead in the morning.
“We should next check the font in the low quarter, where your family lives,” he continued more softly. “If the corruption is not as strong there, it is a possibility that I may be able to purify that font and give myself a base of power to work from. If I can make myself stronger, it will make the demon weaker.”
“You should rest before you do,” Mikel said. “Two days is a long time to be awake.”
“I have a room at the inn near the trader’s gate,” D’Arden said. “Perhaps you are right. It may be best to first take a repose and collect myself before attempting to purify a badly corrupted font on my own.”
“Let’s go see the captain,” the boy said.
They hastily retreated from the high quarter.
**
“What do you mean it’s lost?” Captain Mor demanded upon their return to the barracks.
D’Arden had been planning to break the news to the captain, but the boy had spoken up as soon as they entered. The Arbiter shook his head and spread his hands in defeat. “There is nothing that can be done. There is no one left alive in the Heights, Captain Mor. Not a soul that still lives… naturally,” he amended, remembering the man strapped to the chair in the house.
For a moment it appeared that Captain Mor would retort, to say something harsh and hostile and accuse D’Arden of giving up too easily, but then he simply collapsed into his chair, looking broken and wounded. “I cannot believe that it has gotten so far,” he whispered. “How could this have happened?”
There were many things that D’Arden could have said, but few of them would have been properly diplomatic. Instead, he said carefully, “Mistakes have been made. A greater mistake may yet be made. You must immediately quarantine the Heights before any of the creatures in there are let loose in the city, and this must be accomplished before sundown today. Though they may have been lying dormant, they have now been awakened and will not wait long before seeking to feed.”
Though he might have expected Mor to argue, the captain did no such thing. Instead, he merely nodded assent. “Very well. I’ll have my men barricade off all of the gates to the Heights immediately. No one will go in or out from here on until this entire situation is resolved.”
“Good then,” D’Arden said with a small sigh. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I will now take my leave so that I may rest. It has been a long few days and I seek the comfort of your inn.”
“Was the boy a bother?” Mor said, jerking his thumb at Mikel.
“Not at all,” D’Arden said graciously. “In fact, I would very much like it if you could spare him to accompany me on the next part of my investigation, once I awaken from my rest.”
“Of course, master Arbiter,” Mor said graciously. “Anything that you require shall, of course, be yours.”
So you would provide me, then, with an army of Arbiters to purify this gods-forsaken place? D’Arden thought inwardly, but said nothing.
“Thank you, Captain,” he chose instead to say, and gave a slight bow. With only that, he turned and left the room, leaving Mikel and the captain behind him.
Once again on the streets of Calessa’s trade quarter, he made his way up the short dead-end street and back to the main square where his inn lay. He approached the door and went inside, giving a curt wave to the publican, who gave him only a sharp nod of acknowledgement as he passed by.
Ascending the stairs both exhausted and energized with purpose, he crossed the long hallway to the room with the number on the door that matched the number etched into his key: thirty-seven. He turned the key in the lock and opened the door, revealing a small but serviceable room with a bed, table, two chairs, and a fireplace that lay cold but could quickly be revitalized with a few logs from the pile that sat beside it and a spark.
