Lantal leapt forwards. His rapier blurred and he planted it in the bear’s head. That didn’t kill the thing, even though Lantal lanced it through the brain. The [Lord] knew undead; the heads were their weak spots where death magic accumulated. You could still get headless zombies, but damage them enough and—

The Mothbear collapsed at last, hacked down by the nine fighters including Lantal. It had taken fifteen minutes to finally die, and the [Lord], panting, paused only a second. Then he grimly turned to the others.

“We have to hack it up. It could still get up. Or form a Crypt Lord with other bodies.”

“Maybe a pyre, milord?”

One of the [Archers] looked at the stinking corpses, clearly not relishing the job. Lantal chewed on the suggestion and then nodded.

“A pyre would do. But far from the fields. The Ashwheat will go up like a torch. You—you—go into Landsmecht. Ask if they have wood to spare.”

He could just requisition it. But Lantal was aware that the increased taxes hadn’t earned him any goodwill. Two of his warriors rode into the village as the others cleaned their weapons. The [Lord] wiped at his face. One of the [Warriors] offered him a wetted bit of cloth—for his armor. He’d gotten some gore on his hardened leather breastplate.

“Milord? Lady Risel won’t be happy to see you besmirched, sire.”

The [Spearman] had been in Lantal’s service ever since they had been boys, running around Afiele.

Lantal nearly laughed at the politeness—but the presence of a [Princess] was making everyone formal.

“Thank you, Meltain. Better Risel’s wrath than embarrassing Afiele, eh?”

The others chuckled. But Lantal’s own grin faded.

Word had been sent by magical [Message] spells to Calanfer and Noelictus’ capitals last night, as soon as the attack was reported. Neither side was happy about the ambush. Lantal had been told in no uncertain terms to make Seraphel welcome while an escort worthy of her station was formed to take her safely to the capital.

‘His Majesty of Noelictus remains assured the [Princess] shall not be found wanting before a proper procession can be arranged.’

That was from the [Message] spell, verbatim. Which meant entertainment and lodging was coming out of his pocket. The [Lord] had scrambled, and Risel had bought up delicacies from the [Traders] in town—

it had cost them over sixty gold already to get proper adornments for the poor household.

It was just a relief that Princess Seraphel hadn’t complained about the too-small room—Lantal and Risel had moved out of it to give her the largest space.

To take his mind off of that, the [Lord] studied distant Afiele. He and the six others were still standing watch. The undead were very dead…but you didn’t relax until they were ash or dust.