My return to the tower was smooth, with my only complaint being the mists of the morning left me feeling damp. Fire magic took care of the actual dampness, but did nothing for the feeling that returned the very moment I was dry. Rather than fly with a flaming beacon to attract notice, I made do with the feeling and dried out again on the tower’s roof. Lilly met me there. She looked worried and tired, and still wore the same clothing from the day before.

Despite how tired we both felt and looked, I had suggested we work with the mushroom men in the dungeon until this evening and take ourselves to bed early so that we would return to sleeping at a normal time. She didn’t ask where I had gone or what I had done, and I didn’t speak of the matter. Instead, we spoke of the changes in the mushroom men’s behavior while occasionally glancing at their statue of Walker.

The dungeon itself hadn’t changed much beyond the extra room I had created. The mushroom men had moved their village and statuary into that room and turned the first over to the gardening of the Asrid Flowers. Their village had changed some. The original village being made of hollowed mushrooms that functioned as little houses, but now they had strung together different mushrooms into a pyramid shape with a triangular entrance.

They had also grown several inches in height. Instead of their tallest barely reaching my ankle, the top of their tallest now reached midway up my shin. It was a little disconcerting to see both their social and physical growth occur so quickly, especially when that growth also involved the creation of insect farms. Still, Lilly seemed happy to work with me as we recorded the changes and, together, we theorized on the reasons for or against them. We had yet to see the mushroom men actually eat anything, so we were both quite lost as to the reasons for their insect farms.

The morning turned towards afternoon, and with it was lunch. Today we were again served eggs in abundance, this time a scramble of eggs, sausage and celery. Not the best combination, but Lilly seemed to enjoy it and I had been presented with a missive that arrived from the Duchess. I waited until after lunch to go to my study to read it, but what I found was surprising.

Greetings Wizard Nemon Fargus, Alderman of Lark,

It is with great pain that I write to you this day to request that you attend me in court. I am summoning all nobles and powerful figures throughout my Duchy in effort to combat our common enemy.

A week past, I received news that my beloved husband, Duke Eiston was slain while bravely leading a charge against the heinous Mirktallean infantry. His bravery and valor will be remembered no less than his love for his family and ours for him.

Not only has our king refused to take retributive action, he has withdrawn kingdom forces in Eistoni as he gave his word to do. I do not know what King Sena has done to wrong you so. I know nothing of the Pestilence you spoke. I fear that if Mirktal is not stopped there will be no Sena to fight against the Pestilence to come.

When King Sena did return my missive requesting aid, he also provided me with the authority to declare you outlaw should I choose. He would see you exiled or slain for not joining battle, and only my word in your support has stayed his hand.

I command that you attend me as soon as you are able.

Cordially,

Duchess Eiston, widowed

While I read the scroll, I noticed it was written with a shaky hand. Stains of teardrops smudged some of the words, but there was no denying it was the duchess’s seal. There was also a mild enchantment on the scroll, something to let whoever enchanted it know when it was opened. Likely the work of whomever was appointed as her court mage. It was nothing I couldn’t bypass, but I had no reason to do so.

It felt odd to receive this missive so shortly after I had taken action against Mirktal myself. If I had waited a day or so to receive this and then met with the Duchess, then I could have used my experiments towards proof of my actions supporting the war. It would have delayed the tests of my plateau spell and the ring, as well as delayed the release of some of my own anger over Walker’s loss, but it would have likely seen me pardoned from whatever role she hoped I would play for Eistoni.

I also had to admit that I was exhausted. It had been a long night and the day had dragged on slowly. I didn’t compose a response immediately, instead I checked in on Lilly. I found her asleep on the bed in Leslie’s room, though that bed had once been hers. The nature elemental watched her sleep with an expression that showed concern. A single vine reached through the window and brushed her hair slowly and softly.

We exchanged glances but said nothing. I was too tired and I doubted the elemental would harm her given how she hadn’t in the past. Instead, I took myself to sleep early as well.

The next morning gave me more than I expected. Lilly, Kine, Rhela the Red and I ate a breakfast of omelets and drank pear juice from the tower top as we watched the sunrise. What should have been a pleasant morning discussing small things quickly turned toward surprise when the sun rose high enough to show us that the forest on the other side of the water was encumbered with refugees. A vertible deluge of men, women, and children, all with only what they could carry on their backs, sleepily woke from where they camped.

Of course, they would likely still be there when we finished breakfast, so I sent the guard on duty to question them. When she returned, she reported that they were refugees from Llal. Baron Llal had ordered all his villagers and townsfolk to depart his barony, to go either South to Froom’s lands or East to Lark’s.

Given where my tower was positioned, and the wetlands between, I could only sigh when I realized how many miles these people must have traveled. I was glad that it was still a warm summer, which would mean less death on the way, but I wasn’t happy that they had chosen my lands to come to. It was as I ate my last bite of the omelet and frowned at the folks across the water that Kine spoke.

“Master, I think—” he started.

“Certainly,” I answered before he could speak further, “This looks like a matter that is entirely under your purview. I will not stand in your way as you deal with these people as you see fit.”

I dabbed a napkin against my mouth as I finished speaking and then took a sip of the juice before turning to look at the man. For Kine’s part, he just sighed and shook his head. Beside him, Rhela giggled softly and squeezed his arm.

I watched them descend the stairs after they finished eating to deal with the matter, and felt satisfied that my former assistant would do well. Yet when I turned back to the refugees that had ruined my morning, I was taken aback. There, in the lake, dead beasts were rising. Undead zombies and skeletons with glowing eyes and water pouring from holes in their body stood to their former height.

Behind me, the guard gasped, "By the dead sea gods.”

I waved in her direction, and ordered, “Go find Pyl for me and ask what he’s doing.”

As she departed, Lilly and I watched as the refugees panicked because they saw the undead creeping towards them. Zombies and skeletons of beasts pinned the living in their sights, though movements were sluggish. The risen monsters were hindered by water and mud on top of a natural lethargy. That didn’t stop many of the men and women from screaming and running in a hundred different directions.

In the lake, my mudmen rose to their full height from the sands beneath. Dirty water splashed away in all directions. Their rise caused more villagers to panic, some throwing rocks and sticks at anything that moved. My mudmen, thankfully, ignored those things. Instead, they worked to put the undead into the cellar under the lake.

However, when they opened the cellar, more undead—these ones covered in frost and ice—emerged. Their frozen bodies creaked and cracked; sounds I could hear from even the top of my tower. The cold air from within the cellar gushed out in a thick rolling fog that obscured half my lake. More sounds, the harsh moaning or growling of the undead, echoed across the waters in a growing cacophony of horror.