She smiled and nodded at Lantal and Risel in a familiar way. That was quite pleasant, even if it was just Seraphel being gracious. But Lord Lantal was still…distressed as he dismounted and strode for a quick conference with Risel and the keep’s senior staff.

Because Afiele was not well. [Necromancers] attacking travellers, much less a royal escort on his lands?

Disastrous! He had dispatched the undead, and earned Seraphel’s gratitude. But this embarrassment might bring the Twins of Ovela’s wrath down on his head. Or the capital’s!

Gratitude was fleeting. The undead always rose. And his childrens’ mirth was short-lived. Lantal was a

[Lord of the Fields]. A man whose class was not suited towards war. His land produced food, not arms, and was correspondingly poor. The people disheartened by the lack of light.

Lord Lantal was also a [Deathkeeper]. Level 21. The second part of his class; to watch over Noelictus’

honored dead, which gave magic to the ground and air that the land might grow with life. Now he had to host a [Princess] until escort came and hunt down a [Necromancer].

And wonder—why someone had tried to kill him and his family at all. Why them? Afiele had nothing of note. Just fields and…fields. But his children were giggling for the first time in days. So that was something.

The [Lord] hurried to prepare the guest rooms, see to the wounded and Calanfer’s dead, and figure out ways to keep Seraphel’s mood up with his wife.

It was hard in Afiele.

——

That bastard had cut him.

He only realized it later. When he looked down and saw red on his robes. Then he felt the pain.

It was like a searing line across his side. Feren fumbled for a potion, drank it hurriedly. Then—and only then—he realized it must have been infected.

The wound festered in a moment. He collapsed, biting off a scream by covering his mouth with his arm.

The [Necromancer] lay there, amid the dark grey trees, in the shadows, and heard the pursuers.

They were still after him, the [Knights] crashing through the brush with the stealthier armsmen. He had fled fast with his spells—but he could not race across the world, just run faster.

[Flash Step]. His spell. He took a step—blinked forwards half a dozen paces. Did it again—and his head went light with the pain in his side.

Infected. I just—idiot! Fool! The man put a hand against the tree, his limbs shaking wildly.

They’re behind me. They might have dogs. They can smell blood—stay invisible. Tracks?

He looked back. It was hard to track someone using his spell, because the tracks, already hard to find without a Skill, vanished every few feet.

“Don’t go too far! How many [Necromancers] are left?”

“Just the one, I think! Be wary of ambush! Lord Lantal couldn’t slay him…Ser Knights, hold back!”