They ran towards the central square, with some parties headed in the same direction and others, already under orders, heading out the other way. Frank was seeing a lot of fresh faces among those rushing out to meet the dead.

“The reinforcements aren’t just a few parties of elites. Good.”

“This is mad. Why today, why us?” Lilijah asked under her breath as they ran. Her voice sounded angry but Frank could tell there was an undercurrent of fear to the question.

“Doesn’t matter.” Brar responded immediately. “We all know our duty.”

Which was not the best way to put it. Frank could almost feel Lilijah take it as an insult.

“And we’ve all been doing it, haven’t we?” Frank jumped in, looking back at Brar. He caught Lilijah’s scowl as he turned, but he could only spare a glance for her.

Brar looked from him to Lilijah and chuckled: “Suppose we have.”

Frank’s jumping in didn’t solve the issue, but it stopped the argument from blowing up in the middle of battle. There would be words about this, after, Frank was sure. “If there is an after.”

Deli was up ahead leading the pack, only held back by her party. Which were in turn pacing themselves for Brar and her Stamina, since with the green elf gone, the aura supporting everyone was gone as well. Whatever the dome was it did not discriminate between friendly and hostile auras. It stopped everything.

Frank didn’t have time to wonder about that any further, as they ran into the main square. The gates, when they weren’t sealed by solid stone, opened up into a small square just beyond the barracks. The new breach in the walls wasn’t far off, a sudden section of wall just missing to the side, the stone jagged where the Hooked Horror’s spell dusted stone.

Deli had stopped at the edge of the square, before a crowd of milling warriors. Three figures were gathered in the middle, speaking with Deathless.

“Deli, rest up.” Frank told her. She was back to her regular Stamina so they shouldn’t waste any.

“Lilijah,” Frank waved towards the breach. It reached almost to ground level. “give me a look outside. I want to know what the hell is going on out there.” She was off like an arrow.

“Brar,” he addressed the man as he caught up, “find out what’s up with the priest, or if we got any new healers on tap.”

With that Frank marched forward to where he could see a familiar clump of caravan guard party leaders milling about near the Landkarls.

That Deadbeat was among them was something of a relief. Frank jogged over, while Lilijah ran for the breach. Whispered and shouted conversations filled the square but once he got close Frank could make out the guards talking:

“… Guards will be holding the doors, while we want Hunters on the roofs and windows. Deadbeat, your party can handle roaming patrol?” One of the other guard leaders asked, Jatac, if Frank wasn’t mistaken. He led a party of mostly Shield Guards, working close support to the caravan.

“What’s the plan?” Frank asked.

“We’re rear-guard.” Deadbeat shortly told Frank, before answering the other question: “We’ll handle it. I’m a man down, but we can take it.”

Frank frowned. Rear guard would offer the party a semblance of safety but it was not what he wanted. There was still fighting to be had. Deli would probably agree with him, and Brar would go along with them. His Shield Guard was fine with fighting, as long as it was a worthy fight.

Lilijah might balk, but she had something to prove too.

“Yeah, none of us would be happy with playing guards in the rear with all this around us.”

Now technically Frank wasn’t truly part of the caravan guards, as had been pointed out during the whole Strongarm loot dispute thing.

“Where could we make ourselves useful?”

“Frank!” He heard a familiar male voice call out. It took Frank a moment to find the caller among the moving crowd. Klar was standing out in the open, in no place for a firekeeper, waving both arms at him.

Frank left the guards to their rear-guarding, which made sense if he stopped to think about it. They were supposed to guard the caravan, not the city.

He fast walked over to Klar so they wouldn’t have to shout to speak.

Somewhere beyond the walls and the dome there was a massive wave of darkness that rolled over everything, blotting out the night’s sky.

“That can’t be good.”

But apart from a little foreboding, Frank didn’t feel a thing. The barrier, the ward or whatever it was, was holding. If it was holding then the dwarven Lord who put it up was probably still fine too.

As he got closer, Frank saw that there was a trail of broken bones leading from the open doors of one of the warehouses around the square. Klar was standing by the entrance. Frank got close enough to speak and heard another voice from within.

“Die! Die! Die! Die!” Over and over and over again, repeated like a mantra, a promise, or a curse, the words rang out from within in a furious, guttural growl. Klar was visibly distraught and pointed him inside.

Peering around the edge of the wall Frank spotted Cherna kneeling at the foot of a small hill of broken bones. Club in hand, she was repeatedly smashing the club down onto the already shattered remains, grinding bones to dust.

Again and again and again, the club came down. Cherna sounded nothing like herself. She looked unwell, her face red and swollen with rage, completely lost to the world.

“Cherna?” Frank asked.

She turned like a wild animal, swinging in his general direction, blind to the fact he was several steps away. The miss didn’t stop her as she just kept swinging, her eyes clouded and miles away.

Several things that Cherna had said came together to paint a rather ugly picture in his mind. Frank was not equipped to handle this. “If I’m right, she won’t appreciate any man going near her.”

He turned around and called out: “Deli! We’ve got a problem!” Maybe she could help. Frank was about as useful here as Klar.

Deli popped out of the moving crowd. She looked a bit confused but that cleared up quick the moment she stepped into the warehouse full of dead bones. Faced with the view inside, Deli stumbled, mumbling: “Oh Cherna.” She leaned her axestaff against the door and took steady steps towards the other woman.

Her voice took on a deeper, singsong quality, like the beat of a drum:

“Cherna. Cherna. Cherna.” Deli called her name as she approached. When Cherna swung at her, Deli stepped out of the way of the blow and immediately stepped into her space after it passed, seizing her wrists.

Cherna struggled, still blinded by rage with the constant: “Die! Die! Die!” slowly changing tone as Deli wrested her back calling her name. With Strength three and Agility four on Deli’s side, it was no contest.

The pitch of Cherna’s chant changed, from furious, to desperate, to pleading as she kept trying to hit or bite or knee Deli, to no avail. Frank didn’t look away. This too was part of their culture, and he would not forget this view. That they allowed, did this, to their own.

Finally subdued, Cherna started quietly weeping, her eyes still far away. Deli held her up now, still calling her name. Not softly or gently, but in a way it was harder what she did. She spoke to Cherna as if she was awake, aware; as if she was just greeting a friend not fighting dark memories that haunted her.

Somehow, it helped. Cherna’s eyes slowly cleared, as the rage and terror abated. “Deli?” She asked, her voice thready and weak.

“I’m here.” Deli told their firekeeper. Her voice was oddly flat, beside the friendliness. “Let’s get you back to the fires, firekeeper.”

“I…yes. Thank you.” Cherna looked fully worn out and ashamed. Of herself, of losing control. “I’m sorry.” she told them, as Deli led her past.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. It’s not your fault.” Frank replied. The glance he got back was full of shame and disbelief. He didn’t agree, Frank could see how she felt, but he didn’t agree with her at all. Cherna saw it as her own, personal failing. To Frank, it wasn’t. It was forced on her. “How to frame this?”

“You are owed, Cherna. Proper instruction, not this.” The pieces were all there, if he looked. Frank could be wrong, but he didn’t think he was. Cherna flinched, hanging her head. She didn’t reply, as they walked away.

“What happened?” Frank asked Klar.

“The dead, they came through the floor. Their wails sickening, terrible.” Klar began, shivering and looking a bit green. He wrung his hands helplessly, frightened and worried.

“Six of them, right into the middle of the common room.” The other firekeeper went on. “The guards, some of the servants, they fought back. But Cherna, she lost it Frank.” Klar was afraid. Not just of the dead, but of Cherna. “She charged them too, but it wasn’t, it was wrong. She threw about her with the club, not caring who she hit. Servants, warriors, kids. They said it was the red rage of a Bloody Butcher.” Klar shook his head, still in disbelief.

“Why would they let someone so dangerous in with us?” he asked.

Frank tried not to bite his head off. To remember the difference in status. “Cherna is a firekeeper, Klar.” Frank reminded him.

The other man looked at him, full of incomprehension. “But she can fight?” It was more question than statement.

“No. No she can’t.” Frank told him. “That wasn’t fighting. She wasn’t fighting anything real. Just ugly memories.”

“As you say.” Klar conceded, unwilling to contradict him but not agreeing. “One of the guards lured her out to the bones storage. I knew she was one of ours so I kept an eye on her.”

Frank did not want to talk about this now. They’d cover it later. He was busy combing his memories.

*

“The Winter Winds are blowing. Tis the start of the deep snows, and the raiding season. Each village will raid its neighbours and traders for firekeepers.” Cherna explained, voice angry.

“Muscles for brains, too lazy to do their own wintering.” She ranted. “Taking honest working women and men from behind walls who aren’t used to the outside. Servants for the winter, to keep their fires, cook and clean.” Her face twisted in hatred.

“And entertain them.” She spat.

…

“Besides, the raids keep those sheltered from the real world on their toes. Drives them to grow. Ain’t a single warrior that would prefer a tumble in bed, to a round on the field.”

“It ends the same, someone gets fucked.” Cherna spat, venomously.

*

She’d been speaking from personal experience. But Frank wasn’t going to tell Klar that. It wasn’t his to tell.

With Cherna gone, Klar managed to regain some of his composure over the next breath or two. He wrung his hands a last time before asking: “Is Lilijah doing well?”

At least that was a happier subject. Even if Klar nearly had a heart attack when he heard she’d been stabbed by a Stillwalker.

They’d won that fight and walked away, which was what mattered. Even Klar agreed with that. He just worried for her.

Watching Lilijah return to deliver her report was funny. While she tried to be mature and professional, it was hard with Klar fussing over her. Offering to bandage and treat her.

Insisting, more like.

Finally fed up with his prodding, Lilijah suddenly ripped off her tops, all of them, just to get him to stop bothering her. Then glared at Frank, expecting him to ogle her or comment, while Klar went about bandaging the wound on her stomach.

Instead, while listening to her report Frank politely turned his back to them and decided now was as good as time as any to apply some proper bandages of his own. The regeneration had helped, but treatment would too.

It was mostly cosmetic. Bleeding was a thing people with Health didn’t do, much. There were some Skills that could inflict actual bleeding, in terms of Health, or certain kinds of injuries could do it. But by and large, much like concussions or broken bones, as long as someone had that final point of Health, injures tended not to scar, or be permanent.

The bandages were part cosmetic, part reinforcement. An area that had taken a nasty wound was weaker and would take more Health damage if struck again. Which was the main reason why soldiers and warriors applied bandages, around here. They were not meant to stop bleeds, but reinforce weak points.

The main trouble was that apart from light armour the rest did not make for easy or quick removal. Not something to risk in the field.

***

The news wasn’t great. Lilijah had climbed up the jagged walls to get a better view. Out there, there was an army of shadows and worse things pouring out of an open gate on the other side of the former snow lake. They were fighting the newly arrived army of trees, squads of dwarves, elves and a whole army of humans under Empire banners. The trees and the humans were supplying most of the regular foot in that fight, not that any of them were regulars with all the auras fighting for dominance out there.

Between the sea of shadows clouding everything and the constant strobes of light bursting through it, Lilijah couldn’t tell who was winning. On their side, in town, the Reclaimers and the Landkarl reinforcements had engaged the edges of the dead swarm already.

One of the Landkarls, dressed in the robes of a priest, had gone into the barracks and Frank could hear chanted prayer from within. From how much light was leaking out he had a feeling they were about to witness the coming of a wide area buff or another angel.

The second Landkarl, a martial type with long red hair and a few too many scars to interest Frank, had ridden out with Deathless, going to war. The last one was in the middle of the square, with the Master Merchant, organising a steady flow of supplies, men, arms, stones, arrows, brew, potions; anything and everything else the fighters and guards might need.

He didn’t look or feel like much, which only made Frank warier of him. After all, he among all three of them was the only Landkarl without bodyguards. That spoke of a lot of arrogance. Or of the kind of hidden threat he did not want to provoke.

The situation in town was messy. No one was sure if they had enough to hold, win handily, or just get rolled over. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

***

Deli returned from the barracks with another woman: Katri followed in her wake, stumbling a bit as she walked. That wasn’t good. Deli did not look happy to have her along either. His Axe Breaker gave Frank a shake of her head and stepped to his side.

Katri’s dull brown eyes were worn down but clear. “Frank.” She greeted him. “Party.” She gave a small bow. “I’ve need of your aid. We all do, since these fools will not listen.”

The demonspawn woman was nearing the end of her rope. The painted horns were back on her temples. She cursed softly. “Arrogant halfwits, gambling with all our lives. Who arrives at a Void Bloom without a Hellspeaker? Mudrolling mushroom lovers.” Katri cursed.

She did so loudly enough half the square heard her. The present Landkarl frowned at her but didn’t reply directly. Instead, a couple of the newly arrived guards started heading their way.

Frank listened to her request. He didn’t like what he heard.

“Deli?” Frank asked his local expert. Both Brar and Lilijah clearly disapproved, but it wasn’t up to them.

“Demons have been known to take either side Frank. I don’t know about that one. No story of a Void Bloom mentions her or her servants by name. Not that I remember.” Deli answered.

“But they can side against the voidlings and their allies?” If the dead could have a civil war, why not demons?

“It can go either way.” Deli told him. Neither Lilijah nor Brar opposed her. They disapproved but they didn’t contradict her. Frank supposed it was a matter of trust.

“Come on.” Katri insisted. “We’re already wasted enough time as it is. I need to get out of the dome and to high ground, to a tower, to call my dear grandmother properly.” Katri was almost pulling on his arm, but Frank held his ground. She didn’t sound happy about this, or desperate, just determined.

As the pair of guards arrived taking out their clubs, Frank risked calling out to the Landkarl. This was bigger than just him and Katri:

“If she manages to call the demon up, will it help?” That was the core of it, so that was what Frank asked.

The Landkarl gave him a baleful look, displeased. “The demonspawn will fail, given the chance. She lacks the proper Skill. We will not waste our efforts on her doomed quest.” Which wasn’t a no. It was a “we don’t think it’s worth the effort.” With a pinch of “now stop wasting my time and disturbing the square.”

Frank thought about it. “More fighting side by side with other warriors, us against the dead, one party among many… or a chance to actually stick a finger in that fucking Horror’s eye?”

“I told you, I don’t need no paper from your precious Conclave to know my stuff you old nitwit!” Katri lost it, hurling insults towards the present Landkarl.

The guards closed in.

Between Katri’s reputation, Deathless’s interests in the reclamation, the land, the multiple attacks on or near her and the politics of it all? Especially if these were the Landkarls backing, financing the Reclamation?

“I can see how it all could have gone wrong. Calling up more demons probably isn’t good for the Reclamation.”

Frank made a decision. Maybe not the best one, but the one that felt right in the moment. A Void Bloom spreading would be much, much worse.

“Don’t concern yourselves with us, we’re just leaving.” Frank told the guards, quickly pulling Katri away just as they were about to seize her. The rest of his party got in their way as he backed away with Katri.

She whirled back on him forcing Frank to let go, but she came. “Took you forever.” She grumbled.

It wasn’t constructive but Frank cut her some slack. Katri had been attacked by a Stillwalker and been in the barracks when the dead came up through the floor.

All that after being kidnapped and cursed in a plot Frank now wondered about.

“Was that just an Empire agent working the angles? Or some human servant of the Hooked Horror, a Betrayer worshiping darker powers?” It seemed a bit convenient to Frank that the result of the plot was something that would remove Katri from the equation without raising any additional concerns. Demons kidnap demonspawn and curse her until she says yes was a familiar narrative. One far easier to buy then those same demons killing her.

All that negative attention pointed at Katri was one of the reasons Frank had agreed to help her. He couldn’t be sure if the Stillwalker or the Wailing Men were targeting her, but just in case the enemy knew something he didn’t…

“What’s your Health like?” Frank asked, as they started jogging away. He could feel eyes on his back, and spotted Deadbeat watching them leave. He waved. She didn’t.

Katri didn’t answer, but she did straighten up and force herself to stop stumbling.

Frank really didn’t like that.

“Katri?” he asked lightly.

“I ain’t got none.” She growled.

Frank almost stumbled himself, mid run. There were curses all around. And a glare from Lilijah, both at Katri and him.

Looking closer, some of the blood he assumed was from earlier was fresh. Too fresh. Katri was actually bleeding from a small cut on her cheek and there were fresh bruises on her neck from the Stillwalker.

They left the gathering behind them, a message bloomed before Frank to the ringing of church bells, a whisper in his mind:

A Race To the Tower of Dusk

Deliver Katri the Demonspawn to the Tower of Dusk before the Hooked Horror finishes its call and the Void Bloom arrives. Guard her while she summons a Herald of Hell. If successful, the Herald will threaten the plans of the Greater Dead and its undead masters.

“Well shit.” Frank cursed as well. There was no turning back now, not after that.

“We’ve got a Quest. Everyone, Brar, cover her.”

Frank didn’t have to say anything else. The Shield Guard fell in on Katri’s side, pushing her to run next to the walls, with his bulk on the other side. After another glare at him, Lilijah closed in behind her, while Deli fell back, taking the front. Lilijah would take Katri’s other side from Brar when they crossed side streets, while Frank took up the rear.

If any ranged attack came for her, they’d have to get her out of the way or block it.

“Great. An actual escort mission. Those are always such fun.”

Except this one was real. The woman he was escorting could very much actually die. Would, if they failed.

Frank kept his head on a swivel, watching for any threats. If someone wanted to hurt her, they would have to get through all of them.

As for his party? Even if they disagreed with his judgement, this was a war zone and Frank their party leader. Arguments were for later, should they survive. That was the weight, the responsibility on the back of each party leader: the lives of each person in their party were ultimately in their hands. Their responsibility. And no other’s. People could switch parties outside of a battle, but it took incredible incompetence, or actual betrayal to break those bonds in the middle of bloodletting.

Surrounding Katri, they raced for the tower. Frank hoped he wasn’t making a terrible mistake. Just because the quest existed didn't mean they were the right party for it.

His gut told him this was the right choice, but it had been wrong before.