“I have heard the languages of apocalypse, and now I shall embrace the silence.”

- Neil Gaiman, The Sandman: Endless Nights.

Sarah injected her mana into the tablet pressing her thumb against a raised portion, pricking her skin. With a crack, the tablet shattered and a wedge-shaped wall of force sprang into being smashing forward into the assembled soldiers. As high as a small house and faintly glowing yet transparent it seemed like a ghostly apparition. The ex-towermaster seemed surprised for a moment before the wedge reached him and he seemed to shatter into flickering shards of light.

“He is using an illusion!” Someone behind Sarah shouted.

The wall of force meanwhile, bowled over soldiers and young wizards alike smashing them into trees and down the low incline to the group's right. Shouts of pain and sharp cracks as bodies collided with wood echoed through the darkening woods.

“Tsk.” Gerferak Lordrum strode from the woods to the left. He raised his hand and the wedge of force dissipated. “Get to it men. Try not to damage them too much, will you- Mh?”

“Don’t grandstand just so much, Lordrum. Keep them down and retreat along the road, we have to reach the fortress!” Escaldis shouted back.

The ex-towermaster grinned and gestured and several reflections of him flickered and turned solid around him, each gesturing in tandem with the ‘original’. Strobing energy reached several of the students, and two of them blinked and fell to the ground in an unresponsive heap.

“Someone grab them!” Escaldis gestured and spat an incantation as a ball of fire grew between his hands illuminating the surroundings in a rapidly brightening glow. Bare branches crusted with ice reflected the flames in a thousand sparkling surfaces.

The ball flashed forward and detonated between the images dispersing half. A glowing shield diverted the brunt of the explosion around the ‘real’ Gerferak letting only a fraction through to singe his beard and redden his face.

Gasping the fire-mage pushed a student along the road conjuring a flash of fire shielding against another flickering blast of light. A sleep spell probably.

“You won’t get far. Why struggle? Someone might even get hurt.” With a smug but somewhat strained smile on his face the ex-towermaster began another incantation.

Meanwhile in the village.

Calvin surveyed the street surrounding the inn and nodded. For tonight at least, it would be quiet. Tomorrow they would have to face the decision of what to do with the potential undead. A flutter of wings alerted him, and he saw a runesparrow materialize out of the darkness, landing on his shoulder.

Sarah's voice sounded, her breathing ragged from exertion. “The Nordmark troops have found us, and Gerferak is with them as well as several young mages. We withdraw toward the fortress. Try to meet up but avoid them. They are too many.” There was a bit of heavy breathing and something like a breaking branch, then nothing.

“Goddamn it.” Calvin gritted his teeth. Weary from the day's labors, he looked at the ridge behind which the road south meandered through the woods. Then shook his head.

“Is something the matter?” Alyssa walked up to him carrying a steaming mug with a rag wrapped around it to shield it from the heat. “Here, for you. You wouldn’t come in, and the soup is getting cold.

“Mh. Thank you.” Calvin grabbed the proffered cup and blew over the scalding brew. “I got a message from Sarah. She and the others have run afoul of the Nordmark’s and not only that, they seem to have magical support. More, much more than hoped.”

“We have to help them! I will wake Alea and get Mireille…”

The older mage grabbed her shoulder and winced for a moment as he felt the cold radiating from her left arm. “Don’t. We will never manage in time, and if we do, we run into the pursuing troops. What will happen then? No, we seek another way, and before that, we get a night's sleep.” Seeing the rebelliousness in Alyssa’s features, he elaborated, “We would never make it before everything is done and over anyway. It’s been hours since they left. They should have been halfway to the fortress already.”

The wind rattled an empty shutter. Branches rustled, snow trickled from a rooftop.

“Ahhh. Damn it all. Damn it to the nine hells!” Calvin cursed, and flames flared around his clenched fists. “Aaaaaah. I could burn them all! Greedy bastards. Stupid pricks!” He continued shouting into the night as Alyssa took a step back. Breathing deeply, he violently shook his head. “And I joked with them about the bandits. Please, Irkonos, keep them safe.” He caught himself and briefly closed his eyes. “Sorry about that.” He grinned feebly. The fires around his hands flickered and died.

“You really think you can sleep after that?”

“I don’t need that from you, young lady.” But then he sighed and nodded. “I should take my own advice. Don’t tell the others. I don’t want another discussion on my hand, and they should get to sleep in peace. Tomorrow we will talk.”

Alyssa looked uncomfortable but nodded. “Okay.”

The next morning found them surrounding the biggest table in the common room.

“So. I have something to say.” Calvin cleared his throat. “The academy group was attacked this night and I don’t have any news regarding the outcome.”

“What?! Since when did you know?” Mireille sprang from her seat. “We have to leave immediately...”

“No.”

“Why!?”

“We would be much too late.” He lowered his head. “I made the decision not to run into the woods at night, hours from a fight that should take minutes, only to get killed, captured, or worse. I stand by my decision even as I hate it as much as you.”

Mireille let herself fall back into her chair and frowned. “I would have liked to have made this decision on my own.”

“I am responsible for you. It was my decision to make.”

“Alyssa, Alea?” Mireille looked at the two of them.

Alea seemed bewildered and thoughtful. Alyssa bit her lips, and for a moment, guilt flashed across her face.

“You knew? Everyone knew?” She stood, and the chair fell over with a clash. “Only I did not?”

Alyssa jumped up and grabbed her friend. “Please. What Calvin said made sense. We would never have reached them in time.”

Mireille struggled half-heartedly before hugging Alyssa. “Don’t decide for me. I have to know such things. I may not be the most intelligent, but I would have understood it. Don’t keep me in the dark.”

“It was not that. Alea was sleeping, and you were about to. You would not have been able to rest. I know I did not.” Alyssa buried her face in Mireille’s shoulder.

The innkeeper, Lutz, and his wife, Mildred looked uncomfortable and compassionate respectively.

“And we did say we would help,” Calvin said quietly. “We cannot do the others much good. Maybe we could rescue them if they were captured. But that is dubious at best. Here we can at least save those people.” He gestured. Dark rings marred his eyes, and he looked older than his forty-something years.

The other villagers sitting at other tables looked over whispering. The toddler began to cry a feeble hiccuping sort of wail before the old woman shushed him and began to sing a low lullaby.

“Thoughts?” Calvin looked at the others.

“I have thought about a blessing,” Alea said quietly. “I am no priest, but I was given the blessing of the Lightbringer. And they made sure to make me memorize some of the more common prayers.”

“Okay. That is one option we will most likely take. But how long would that work?”

“I have no accurate guess, but I would think it should last a few months at least. It is meant to lay the dead to rest. Would not be much use if it wore off after a few days. Would it?” Cecily clicked as she moved to pan her gaze across the table.

“Mh. That should solve the problem nicely. Put them all together and bless them.” Calvin gave a half-grin. “Perhaps heap some logs on them to keep them down, just in case.”

“If the logs are in place, why not burn them?” Alyssa asked.

“Because burning bone needs a lot of heat. A bonfire would do it, but you would need a lot of fuel. Could put them in the houses and try to burn them in there, but with the snow and all, it would be difficult. Not impossible, but we wanted to be underway as soon as possible.”

“All of us that are able to, will help,” Lutz interjected as a moment of silence reigned.

“Then let us begin.”

The work was hard, dirty, and cold.

The villagers, Mireille, Calvin and Butler One, and to a lesser degree, Alyssa worked through the morning before they had made a pile of the dead just north of the gates. An old handwagon had made it all go much quicker.

Alea walked out of the inn and down the street, scarred with deep ruts and the footprints of the men and women that had worked all morning. Light fell down on her, harsh and bright at midday and without a cloud in sight. The sky was a stark gray-blue extending into infinity.

The dead were laid side by side and on top of each other. Men, women, children. Cut and burned by her light. Silent and unmoving. The sheer scale made it seem unreal, as if simply made as a background in a play, a stage.

The villagers had assembled and stood to the side. Some praying, some crying, most simply silent and grieving.

Calvin came up to her, followed by her friends. “Are you sure you can do it? If not, we can try to burn them. Tear down a house or two, and we have enough wood.”

“No. I can do it.” Alea shook her head decisively.

As everyone focused their gaze on her, she shrank into her large coat, looking like the child she was.

“Jaros, Lord of Mysteries, Watcher on the Threshold.” She began and swallowed dryly.

“Those who passed have laid down their burdens and reached the end of the path.

The last night comes, and we need your light, oh Lord.

Charys waits to welcome them, but they lost their way.

Grant them your light to guide them.

Darkness holds them fast.

We implore you- free them in your light.

Those who have suffered, grant them reprieve.

Enfold them in your blessed radiance and stand vigil on the threshold against the distant dark.”

Alyssa turned away behind the window she had been looking from as her small friend began to glow, becoming brighter and brighter, eclipsing the sun at noon. The illumination shone through every crack and cranny into the room, painting the walls with a web of light.

Ivyander, the necromancer, flinched as he felt a burn on his left arm. Turning, he raised his arm reflexively, shielding his eyes. Far off in the distance, a light glowed, visible in the middle of the day. Squinting, he tried to get a better look, but then it was over safe for some dancing spots clouding his vision.

“What in the…?” He mumbled.

“Master. What was that?” A young man stood beside him and, looking bewildered, asked him. The man was a student of some academy that Zygmund had saddled him with. The man was eager and practically without scruples. Where the lord had found him, he did not know, but he could make use of him.

“A powerful light magic spell or blessing, I would surmise.” He shrugged. “But to put it simply.”

“It is a problem.”

In the palace of Margrinar.

The table was made of heavy, dark wood polished to a brilliant sheen. In the center was a map inlaid with precious metals and ebony showing the coast of dreams, Margrinar, and the surrounding countries.

Papers were strewn across its surface. Murmurs of quiet conversation echoed in the stale air. Some smoke from a fire, the scent of old tobacco and wine tickled the nose.

“The sixth Batallion led by the Kronenburg Greatswords have met the rebels in the field of Mayburg. Casualties are light…”

“The fortress at Thundersplit pass is under attack by undead and giants. Not expected to hold unless reinforcements are dispatched immediately.”

“Reports from the Nordmark territory have the Wolf-Tribe in open war with the northern army. No reply to requests for clarification. We cannot expect aid from that quarter, it seems.”

“The high priest of Charys requests an audience. The dead have risen to attack the living all along the northern regions. Mages tell of darkness spreading across the land.”

“A missive by the King of Rivenlorn decries our lack of assistance against the undead. The troops of the Confederation of Equals are withdrawing to Firswending and plan to hold the forces from Ulsom there…”

Golden eyes came to rest on the slight figure lying across the table standing at the side of the room. Golden curls spilled over the wood and the table's edge like a waterfall made of silk. Eyes closed, Lieseleta seemed beyond exhausted.

Heloise sighed, and the light that had blossomed around her right hand faded away as she decided to let her sleep. Pulling from the gate inside of her, she flooded her mind with light. “Gentlemen, might I have your attention.” The generals and ministers turned and looked at her and silence returned to the war-room.

Amber smiled brightly. “Come, my dear. You can do it.” Taking a hesitating step and stumbling, the pale little girl walked toward her across the chamber. She wore heavily frilled clothes in pastel-colors fit for a princess. Sparkling, ebony eyes were firmly fixed on the woman. Cold light fell through the open window, and snowflakes drifted onto the expensive carpet.

But none of those in the room felt the cold anymore.