That was all the [Necromancer] said. Then he found a seat on the walls. Took some food out of his bag of holding. And waited. It would have been a joy to send that damned ghost of a [Knight] against the worthless [Lord] and his spawn. The arrogant, murderous filth of Terandria who killed just because of what you were, who decided laws.

They were monsters.

Even the children? The [Necromancer] hesitated. But it was too late. He was too far gone. He sat there, as his minions surrounded the keep. Watching their end from afar.

——

Lantal had seen them fall from the carriage. He ran through the ground outside of the gates, searching.

The dead were rising. Afiele’s people who had died—even the undead who weren’t damaged enough to be put to rest forever—rose. They struck at him, trying to add him to their number.

He didn’t think as he cut them down. No finesse. Just—hacking at them, ignoring his wounds. He had to find them. Where were they? Where…?

“Afiele! Afiele! Protect House Afiele!”

Someone screamed from the walls. From town. Lantal spun. He saw them.

The defenders, the keep’s guard and few townsfolk who had volunteered to bring up the rear. They weren’t fleeing. The Zombie Giant was lumbering after Duchess Grishen and Seraphel and the bulk of Afiele’s folk. But the people hadn’t taken that opportunity to run elsewhere.

They were running along the walls, retreating towards the keep. Less than a hundred of them, falling to Draug, Ghouls, skeletons, who had armed themselves with the weapons of the dead.

House Afiele. Lantal ran, stumbling. He knew.

A Draug blocked his path. It swung at Lantal, and he ducked under the huge woman’s blow. It was fast.

The Draug spun and a blow sent Lantal skidding across the ground. His ribs felt—cracked. He reached for a potion.

And there was none. He’d used them all up. Limping now, the [Lord] evaded another swing and just ran for the keep. His home. He had to—had to—where could they go?

Light blazed from the crenellations. Someone stood at the doors; one had been knocked aside, the other still held. It was barricaded; they had thrown a table across the entryway. Lantal saw a blade hacking down a zombie crawling over the entryway.

He hurled himself forwards, and the blade stopped before it struck him.

“Dead gods. Lord Lantal.”

He looked up and saw the [Cook]. Edert held a butcher’s blade in his hands; he’d hacked nearly two dozen bodies down. He was pale, wounded across his arm and chest.

“Sire. The—the [Lady] and the children.”

“Where are they?”

Lantal scrambled to his feet. He heard more undead coming. Edert turned.

“Upstairs. Milord. There’s nowhere to run.”

The two men looked at each other. Edert turned.