"Sentry!” he called in a loud voice. “Come to me immediately!"

The sound echoed for a few moments in the empty house without anything coming to answer the wizard's call.

"Sentry!“ he called again, without further success. "Sentry!"

At the third call, a light footstep was heard on the stairs, and a long figure in a black cloak and white featureless mask made his appearance.

"I answer your call, Master," said the creature in a dismal voice.

"Answer faster, in the future," Zamioculcas growled. “What did you observe from the roof of this house?”

“The sunrise, the shudder of the grass, the rustle of the animals, and a single man with a scepter walking in the direction of this village."

The sentinel's monotonous voice stopped, but the wizard did not even bother to dismiss her. Immediately, he was lost in thought, and began to express them in a low grumble.

"No, it's impossible, Mandevilus cannot have found me already, he's too busy with his own problems... Maistreblois has no interest in negotiating with me and does not care about deeds of necromancy anyway. Marie of Vilice, then? Or..."

He paused and paced up and down the room, paying no attention to Sentry who was still waiting for his orders.

"Yet, it's a man armed with a scepter, so unless that witch has disguised herself, it’s not her, which means it's likely to be... Machronus!"

Suddenly, as if he had just woken up, the magician turned and barked at his motionless servant.

"Do not wait a second, go back to the roof, give alarm to gather the dead, and send some of them to harvest the neighboring villages. Demon!”

As the black silhouette slid away, the little devil stepped out of his owner's sleeve and opened his book with his expert hand.

"What is it, master?”

"I offer you twelve ounces of silver in exchange for a superficial knowledge of Machronus's army.”

“Twelve ounces, you say? Go up to fifteen, and I'll reveal ...”

“Go for fifteen but give me the incantations of a ritual of invocation of minor demons too. But be quick!”

____________________________

When the silhouette of Machronus appeared on the horizon, the little village was surrounded by a palisade bristling with stakes erected in haste, and ragged dead roamed round barely finished paths. A good part of the grove that had adjoined the village had disappeared, and dozens of tree trunks without apparent utility had been forgotten outside the village. Looking severe, Zamioculcas frantically looked through the window of the second floor of the city hall, hoping to see the vanguard of Machronus' undead troops.

"It's no use, master," said the sentinel's voice through the ceiling above him. “He is still too far for your eyes to see.”

"That's not what I'm trying to do, you moron," the wizard lied, nervously fiddling with his death wand, kept hidden in his cloak.

No longer bearing to wait, he summoned one of his zombies and cast a spell of Sherpavent's Speaking Object on its head, and mentally ordered it to throw itself under the feet of the first army of undead it would meet. Trailing his muddy gaiters, the walking corpse sprang with his hesitant footstep that Sentry pointed with a stoic gesture.

"All right," muttered Zamioculcas. Now, let's see if this hideous hypocrite accepts negotiations. Skeletons! Bring me the potion grimoires and the magical ingredients. We'll see which of us is better prepared in the end. "