--- Roric

When the alarm was raised, Roric was one of the first to rush towards the camp entrance. The mercenaries were using the ruins of an ancient castle as a cover, in order to avoid any kind of ambush, so getting close without being spotted was nearly impossible. The mounted figure, however, didn't seem to care. It advanced in the darkness surrounded by a sudden, ominous fog that was almost unnatural for thickness and extension.

"Who goes there?" thundered the commander, who had hastily joined the frontlines. "Show yourself, cultist!"

The man stopped his horse around twenty meters away from the company and lowered his hood, revealing the long grey hair and emaciated face Roric already knew.

It's Rickhart! He came in person... And I doubt he is alone.

"Watch carefully and stay down if he does anything weird," murmured Tolwin, from behind the boy's shoulders. "Remember, this is no mere cultist. Look at the horse he is riding."

The animal, in fact, was a bit strange. Its eyes were white and lifeless, and the colours of his mane faint and ill-looking. Judging from how motionless it was, it didn't even breathe.

"He can reanimate horses, too?" asked Roric, worried by the situation.

"So it would seem. He probably stole it in Levya and brought it back to life afterwards. An easy way to get a mount that doesn't feel any pain, fatigue or fear. Sometimes necromancers do that."

The young mercenary held the handle of his sword tightly, as he glanced towards the enemy.

His presence is enough to give me chills. And this damn fog doesn't help.

"I appreciate your efforts in finding me, commander Lowan," he suddenly announced.

"You know me?" asked back the commander.

"My people in Aregat told me you were around. I came to you in hope that we could avoid any unnecessary further hostilities."

Most of the men turned to face their leader, expectantly. Some archers were already aiming at Rickhart, and only waited Lowan's order to shoot.

"I know who you are too, boy. You must be Lord Stelvan's son," replied the man. "I won't ask you what led the heir of a respectable nobleman to perpetrate such atrocities. Just know that you are going to pay for them."

The young necromancer sighed, theatrically.

"To be fair, I expected something more from a man like you, the mercenary commander who refused to sit on a throne because he clearly sought for a higher purpose. You aren't known to surrender without a fight, but... Well, that's a fool's hope, I guess. So, what will it be? Will you bow or face your doom?"

"You seem well-informed about me... Did you come all the way here just to mock us, necromancer?"

"No, not at all," continued the boy. "I just wanted to look into the eyes of you all and let you know how wrong you are if you think that you can defeat me now. If you truly are the good strategist I was told about, commander Lowan, you should be aware that you are at a disadvantage."

Defeat him? So... Is he on his own, after all? Is he the one who makes the decisions?

"Tolwin," whispered Roric. "He hasn't talked about his master at all. What if they have separated, or..."

"Or the necromancer is only him," observed the priest. "You guys mentioned that his grandma was an historian, but... I have no clues. Maybe he just took her mantle and-"

The man stopped talking, as a shadow passed over his face. He had probably come to the same realization as the young mercenary had.

"No, that's not possible. Not at that age."

"But it must be," said Roric. "He took all those prisoners, so he must be really powerful. You told me of the limitations his abilities should have, but what if... He is just extremely talented?"

Rickhart cleared his throat in a very noticeable manner.

"Well, for everyone listening here... Drop your weapons and surrender now. I have the numbers to crush you without any effort. I'll be back in a short while, and I trust you'll make the right choice."

Then, he turned the horse and started heading towards the fog.

"Wait!" yelled the commander, "You can tell your master that we are all going to fight. Nobody will flee here."

"Master?" asked the necromancer. "I have no master. Only my lovely grandma. She takes care of me, you know. She teaches me."

She is alive. Is he keeping that woman as an instructor? No, there's something I'm missing.

All of a sudden, an arrow flew through the air and hit Rickhart's horse on the back. The animal didn't even flinch but his rider went back to face the mercenaries once again. On the top of a crumbled wall were Rata and Meran. The latter, in particular, seemed about to explode from rage.

"You bastard!" he roared. "We aren't scared of you and your worthless sacks of bones! You will pay for the death of our Demios, I can assure you!"

Rata shot again, but this time the necromancer reacted. In the blink of an eye, he drew a blade from below his cape. Even Roric, with his superhuman reflexes, could only catch a glimpse of a movement that was too fast for a normal person to see, and of how that sword somehow deflected the arrow before it could hit. Most of the mercenaries gasped, in shock.

"How?" he wondered, pulling Tolwin's sleeve. "How in this world did he pull that trick?"

"The dark arts can enhance the body of their user, too. For a price, of course," answered the priest, without averting his attention from their opponent. "Still, he must be incredibly proficient with that weapon. Don't lose sight from him. This is a foe way beyond the skill of most."

And that was now completely written on the faces of the two that had just challenged him. Meran just stood there, in disbelief, while Rata mechanically prepared another arrow.

"Oh, now I remember. You were the rats who broke into my house," commented Rickhart. "I was quite disappointed when I found that you hadn't died there."

"You... You'll need more than cheap magic tricks to finish us! You can call your precious grandma, if you want. Maybe she'll be better than you are!" Meran taunted him.

The mounted figure laughed.

"You fool! Do you really think to be a danger to me?"

He keeps acting as if he is the boss. It's clear that his grandma is alive, but he is the one pulling the strings. So, if we defeat him...

"You talk about my grandmother, like you know her. Well, she is my teacher. She has plenty of knowledge, but doesn't like to fight as much as I do. Want to taste what she taught me so badly?"

With a flick of his hand, the boy fired a bolt of energy in the direction of the two young mercenary. They jumped down from the wall and dodged, but their enemy didn't seem to be concerned about it. The stones where they were standing one moment before, meanwhile, crumbled to dust. Roric and Tolwin ducked behind cover and the priest was the first one to look out again.

"That... That guy! How can he use such powerful magic so young? It's impossible!"

"We've lost enough time here. I'll come back at midnight. We'll see if you are still this brave then," concluded Rickhart.

The horse silently galloped away, disappearing behind the fog before anyone else could target it. Lowan quickly turned around and called for his captains.

That woman isn't a necromancer, or at least that's what I believe. The only thing is...

"Tolwin," said Roric. "Is it even possible for an historian who knows too much about the dark arts to train a necromancer?"

The priest turned towards him, with a serious look on his face.

"If... If he is very talented," he answered. "Yes, it could be possible. But I've never seen anything like this."

***

The entire camp was put on alert, the men assembled and disposed all around the ruins. The wagons had been left in Levya, so they didn't even any material to make barricades with. All the mercenaries could do was waiting. In the darkness, Roric found a corner to sit in and think.

Are we really going to fight him? From the looks of it, Rickhart is pretty sure of himself. He and his cultists have already surrounded us for sure. And what are we going to do with the undead?

He looked at Tolwin. The priest seemed even more worried than usual, and was actually staring at the set of armour he carried around since they had left Levya.

"Something wrong?" asked the boy. "You look a bit off, to say the least."

"That necromancer, Rickhart... He is way more dangerous than I initially thought. It doesn't matter who or what his grandmother is, at this point. That guy came here for a reason, not just to talk and show some magic. I think he wanted to scare us and it worked perfectly. Look around."

Now that he was paying attention to it, the young mercenary noticed that many of the others seemed fearful indeed. Except for the priest's healing powers they had probably never seen any other form of power and the simple thought of living corpses was enough to bring them to their knees. Even Roric's nerves were still recovering from the fight against them.

"The morale is very low," stated Tolwin. "All these people are experienced warriors, but this is nothing like a normal battle. And yet, they are shaking like children."

"You are right... If only we had something that could-"

Then, the boy had an idea.

Yeah, what about this?

"Tolwin," he said. "You told me that your powers can do all sort of good stuff. Why don't you bless the others, so they just feel a little better?"

The old man glared at him, dubiously.

"That would make no difference. I can protect someone from harm, if necessary, but there's no way I could do it with sixty of us. Plus, I'm too old to expend that amount of energy lightly. I would collapse in a short time."

"Yes, I know it! Let me finish," went on Roric. "They don't have to know that you haven't really blessed them. Tell them that you are a paladin, that you can help them, and maybe we'll have a chance!"

Tolwin smiled, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Well, this plan is one of the stupidest things I've ever heard," he took a deep breath. "You know what? Why not? Our situation is already desperate enough. Who cares if it's not the truth... Even if it doesn't work, at least they will die with some dignity."

He stopped for a moment. Then, he grabbed his breastplate.

"You are a good boy, Roric. Let's fight this battle together. Even if it's hopeless."

"Are our chances really that slim?" asked Roric. "I thought you had at least some tricks..."

The priest threw away his robe, and began wearing the parts of armour.

"It's simple. I'm going to duel the necromancer. Assuming that he is telling the truth, the undead are bound to him alone. If he loses consciousness or falls in combat, they'll stop moving."

Roric made a mental note about that. "Then, let me help you-"

"No!" yelled back Tolwin. "No matter what happens, don't challenge Rickhart. Stay alive and protect your friends. They'll need you."

A couple of minutes later, word was spread that Tolwin was about to make a special ritual to empower the entire company with the Light. The priest climbed on a boulder and radiated a glimmer from the palms of his hands, revealing that he was a retired paladin and that his blessing could give courage to any warrior.

Despite his initial skepticism, the mercenaries actually knelt and accepted it, praying to the Makers all together. It was a peculiar moment, or so Roric thought, especially seeing that old man dressed in full armour and wielding his holy hammer with pride once again. It didn't matter if the benediction was real or not, because his sudden move seemed to have touched the hearts of many of the others.

When they were done, the boy went to Tolwin's side and whispered, "See? I told you that it was going to work. Look at their faces now."

"You were right, my boy," laughed the priest. "But keep this to yourself, no blessing can actually save us from what's to come."

***

--- Lowan

The plans were laid down.

Alone on the old staircase, Lowan was reflecting on the current situation. Was his decision of going against the necromancer really a good one? Just a couple of hours before, he would have thought that he was just doing for the people back in Aregat. Now, however, he was starting to realize that everything he had done up to that point was just a way to repent for a mistake he couldn't fully admit.

Is this really worth the lives of all those who'll die tonight? Or maybe I just went too far?

He knew that it was the right thing to do. But at the same time, lately he had been leading the company with the single goal of finding some meaning behind his recent choice. How had he failed to notice it, up to that moment? Now that he was there, alone, abandoned by all the allies he had learned to rely on, Lowan couldn't help but feeling worried. That would have been his most difficult battle to date. And there was a serious possibility it would have also been the last.

The death of a martyr... Was this what I longed for?

He thought about Leanna's final words for him. In a certain way, she was right. He had been using others as well for all those years, to demonstrate that he was better than his father. All while growing into a grumpy old man who always took the hardest way around every problem.

What a fool. My place was at Sinen. Now that death is on my doorstep, I can't deny it anymore. Palander and Tolwin were trying to warn me, to tell me that I could do good even by sitting in my castle, but I just refused to see...

He stood up and grabbed the White Talon, his father's sword, the only part of his pavilion that had followed him after leaving the wagons. Since he had been on his own, the commander had refused to use it. Not because he feared of breaking or losing a valuable weapon, like he told to the newcomers, just because it belonged to that hateful man.

Lowan drew the blade, looking at its fine handle and feeling it in his fingers.

This sword can be all that my hand can use it for.

After many years commander Lowan started laughing, because he had never realized how he and the Talon were essentially the same thing. After taking a deep breath, the man took his cloak and wore it over the armour.

"This battle will be the last mistake I make, Father," he said. "From now on, the past is in the past."