A chill breeze flew through the silent crowd before the screams began. The townsfolk started running back into the town leaving the walls behind. Leroch started shouting commands at the guards to keep order but the panic already set in. Raylas sighed in relief and dropped to his knees, his energy leaving him and his vision spotting as the snow turned red around him.

Terrok strode over to him, holding his box and a mug in his hand.

“Drink this, lad. We’re gonna need all the help we can get today,” he said, shoving the mug into Raylas’ hands.

Raylas looked down at the pinkish liquid sloshing around. The mug was not even half full, yet the aroma it exuded seemed to call for him to drink. With a shrug he raised the cup to his lips and took a deep gulp only to sputter as his body violently rejected the liquid.

Before he could take the mug away a strong hand grabbed it and pushed it against his mouth, forcing his mouth open and the disgusting drink continued to flow into his mouth. Time seemed to slow and an eternity later the mug was empty and most of the mug had been swallowed. When the cup was finally moved away Raylas hacked and coughed but it was too late. His mouth could still taste the sewage.

“Wh–” he tried to speak before another coughing fit erupted in his body.

“Warrior’s drought,” Terrok grumbled with a serious face. “A bit more potent than those ‘flasks of life’ alchemists make, but useful to keep a soldier walkin’ when they’re about to fall.” He sighed. “I only wish we had some healin’ potions… I’m sure that the Knight had a few.”

“He did,” Aymor confirmed as he walked to them followed by the Mayor and Leroch. “But he took his bag with him when he went for help, so we only have what was normally in the village.” He turned and gave the Mayor a glance. “Which I gather isn’t much.”

The mayor wiped his brow, sweat blossoming as if it was mid summer instead of early winter. “We have a few flasks but nothing prepared for a full on siege. Our supply is typically ready for the uncommon injury from a guard or woodsman.”

“Then we just have to find a way to hold them off until my grandfather returns,” Aymor sighed.

“So what do we do, Warrior Raylas?” the Mayor stammered.

Raylas flinched, still trying to remove the taste from his mouth. He looked up and saw everyone was watching him, waiting.

“Why are you asking me?” he asked.

“You have the coin,” Aymor shook his head. He lifted the coin and shook it in front of Raylas’ face. “Do you not realize what this thing is?”

“Is it gold?”

“It's the badge of a commanding Knight,” Leroch stated as he strode forward. “By holding this badge you now hold the power and command of a Knight. Until you are relieved of duty by the original holder you are the one who has been deemed fit to lead us through this mess.”

The hunter gave Raylas a bow then turned to the mayor.

“The guards have started to shepard the townsfolk toward the safe house and are setting up a perimeter to watch the horde.” he then turned to Raylas. “You should come with me to the tower to get a full view of the situation.”

Raylas stared at him and then looked between the Mayor and Aymor. Both stood by, waiting for him to reply. The silence continued for a few seconds before a strong hand gripped the back collar of his armor and lifted him out of the snow.

“Come now, boss. Time’s awastin’,” Terrok chuckled. “Lets go to this tower.”

Raylas didn’t struggle as the short man half dragged him toward the tower. He stumbled in the snow but when he was about to fall he was always caught. The Mayor, old hunter, and Aymor were speaking as well but nothing seemed to register.

The gold was more than gold? A badge of some kind? Wasn’t a badge supposed to have a ribbon on it like the rewards given to the Captain? Or printed on a block like the Gemmer Merchants Guild? Why would one be on a coin? Coins were meant for spending, not identifying important personals.

Yet the Knight gave it to him when he asked him to question the tavern owners. Did the old man really trust Raylas that much or was this a trap? There was no other reason for him to give the badge other than to capture him as a thief, or if he thought he was someone important.

But Raylas was nobody important. He was a former mercenary, a man who knew how to fight. Someone who could only solve situations fighting, like proving his innocence. He wasn’t good at words, or planning, or even bargaining. He was a fighter. That was all.

Raylas stumbled over the last step onto the central tower of the town. He looked out and his eyes widened. There were well over a hundred zombies. There were a hundred counts of a hundred zombies. They were milling around the town like a wave of rot and death, spiraling in a circular pattern but not quite at the walls.

He blinked and watched the movement. It didn’t seem natural. Well, undead were not natural but this was even more so.

“--Coming close. There is at least a battalion of dead, but they seem…” Aymor muttered.

“A battalion!” exclaimed the Mayor. “How in the Lady’s name can we hold off that for a week!”

“My grandfather is much faster than you expect,” Aymor retorted. “He’ll be able to reach Gloomcrest in a day at most. So we only need to hold off for three to four days unless there is an elite unit in town. Then we should have help by tomorrow afternoon to evening.”

“And how likely is that?” Leroch asked.

“Slim to none due to border conflicts with the Baln.”

Raylas watched the outer ring of the zombies. That was where the strange movements were occurring. Zombies were not trying to walk toward the town but were pushing to leave, but something was forcing them forward. The problem was at this distance he couldn’t tell what was causing it.

“You seem well informed in these political matters,” the Mayor said.

“Learn to listen and observe and the world becomes very easy to read,” Aymor sighed.

A flickering in the distance caught Raylas’ eye and he focused towards it. It was fire. Something was holding a torch, but was crouching in the bushes. He wondered why something was trying to stay hidden while holding a flame, but maybe it was a distraction. With a push he made his way to the siding and leaned on it as he gazed around the town.

“Then can your observation abilities help us find a way out of here?” Leroch asked.

“My grandfather trusted that man, so I will put my faith in him as well.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” Leroch pushed.

“Then I hope my aunt or high priest finds me before I awaken as an undead.” Aymor chuckled.

There were more torches in the woods. Spread around the entire town were sporadic lights which flickered in and out. Whoever was hiding was trying to keep the light covered but were failing. Soon one of the figures moved just enough for Raylas to get a glimpse of them.

Goblins. Their yellowish brown skin hid them well in the shrubs of the forest. Many of them still held one last fall of leaves giving them the ability to camouflage into the vegetation despite winter arriving.

“It seems I have failed yet again,” Raylas mumbled.

“What are ya talkin’ ‘bout?” Terrok asked as he also looked over into the undead.

“Goblins are leading the undead here,” Raylas explained as he turned to the men.

The three quieted down as Raylas started speaking but none appeared convinced. Aymor peered out into the horizon and Raylas pointed out the lights and hidden figures. He then nodded.

“The undead do not hunger for us,” Aymor said. “They are being shepherded toward us by what appears to be a goblin troupe using fire.”

“How did they get fire?” Leroch exclaimed. “Those bastards can barely sharpen a stick, much less figure out how to make a flame.”

Raylas flinched and let out a sigh. “That would be my fault. I lead them to the old fort going toward Gloomcrest and used them as bait for the undead following me. The troupe must have survived and found a way to keep the flames alive.”

“Damn it!” Lerouch cursed. “First undead now arsonist goblins.”

“At least the undead or between us and them,” the Mayor joked darkly. He turned to Leroch “Speaking of good news, where did Mary go?”

“To prepare all the flasks we have for the upcoming battle,” Leroch said.

“You’re going to need more than a few flasks to survive what is to come,” a voice creaked, resounding all around them.

Ralyas flinched and reflexively reached for his weapon, but his hand came up empty since he still had no weapon. The rest of the group on the tower had similar reactions except for Leroch. His face was dark and he had his hand on his weapon but he did not draw it.

The cracking of wood sounded and the railing across the tower warped, breaking off the tower and fusing into a doll-like familiar figure.

“You have no business here, Dryad,” Leroch growled. “The deal has not been broken so you have no reason to be here.”

“I have plenty of reasons to be here,” she flittered. “First was for that man who attacked my tree,” she pointed to Raylas.

The Mayor gasped and Leroch’s eyes widened in shock and fury.

“But that is out of my hands, now,” The Dryad finished. “Others have claimed this man’s head and I have been deemed fit to judge.”

“What do ya mean, Judge?” Terrok grumbled.

“I am to make sure nobody leaves alive until one remains,” she smiled sweetly. “Now don’t try to run. My vines don’t make good fertilizer since it rots the bodies too much.” She gave Raylas a pointed look. “I also am not fond of keeping you alive, as I am oath-bound to kill you for damaging the tree, but I also would loath if you lose. So try not to die.”

She let out another smile and the wood forming her started to warp again.

“Have a good fight, Aasim inheritor.”

The siding stretched back out and knitted back into the framework of the tower, looking just as it did a few moments ago.

“Aasim… inheritor?” Aymor gaped. “You are part of an inheritance?!”

“A what?” Raylas asked.

“I’m with him,” Leroch added.

“What it means is we have a good chance of dying as we are not playing in the Game of the Gods… the cursed game which broke the world!” the Mayor lamented as he collapsed onto the ground.