“It is odd how, when you have announced that you are leaving, it is as if you are already gone, even if your physical departure still lies months away. People begin to erase you from their minds, and you walk the halls with a feeling of growing transparency.”

― Paul Watkins, The Fellowship of Ghosts

“Will it even notice us? It’s probably really big?” Mireille asked cautiously.

“He. The dragon is a male specimen.” Vanessa looked at Mireille with a raised eyebrow.

“Gender of the dragon aside, will it be a problem for us?” Alyssa interjected.

“I don’t really know, but dragons can be pretty territorial, and we plan to take some troops with us, do we not? It’s unlikely to escape his attention.” Vanessa answered.

“That’s true.” Alyssa frowned as she pondered the circumstances.

“And if we talk to it…him.” Mireille grinned at the displeasure on Vanessa’s face.

“If we are forced to do this, we will have somehow survived him noticing us. Making it the only viable option.” Vanessa shrugged.

“And now? Does that change our plans?” Alyssa asked. “We still have to leave before the army gets here.”

“How are your preparations coming along?” Iseret, who had been mostly silent, spoke up, looking at them in turn.

“I’m mostly ready,” Alea said. “Butler One needs some repairs still but we could leave now without him being a burden. Just not as useful as he could be.”

Alyssa shrugged. “The book was...interesting but nothing I need right now. I can leave at a moment's notice.”

Mireille grinned. “It would be nice if we had some more time here, now that the vampires and undead are reduced to a minimum.” She stuck out her tongue at Vanessa who rubbed her forehead with a pained expression at her antics.

“Anyone have anything constructive to add?”

“Calmund has reached the town, and I have instructed him to keep an eye out for the army. They are probably one or two days behind, at least. How long do you think we should try to stay?” Alyssa looked at Vanessa questioningly.

“It's relatively safe to stay for another day, but then we have to leave. Be ready to depart quickly.”

“And the dragon?” Mireille piped up.

“We could try to let the undead travel separate from us, but that would probably mean their destruction, as we are the only ones who have a hope of talking the dragon down. I would say it’s Alyssa’s decision. When we reach the other side of the mountains every body standing between us and potential harm will be very welcome.” Vanessa shrugged.

“I will talk with Calmund. It is still uncertain if I can even bring the mounted undead with us over the mountains.”

Alyssa looked around the town. While disguised as a cultist and fleeing for the nearest sewer entrance, she had not gotten more than a fleeting impression of large, imposing buildings with steeply angled roofs. As it was night-time, she spoke the words of her Eyes of Dusk, and suddenly everything lost color but gained in definition. Small cracks in the plaster, damage to statues and ornaments stood out with great clarity, rimmed by dark flames of entropy.

From afar it had the look of small ghosts eating away at the fading grandeur of the mansions she was passing by. Sevenpeaks was an old town. One of the first to be founded, actually. She remembered that the South had quickly seceded, or, as the southerners termed it- built their own country.

They were not called the broken because they did not even see the need to denounce any kind of allegiance. They felt that with the fall of Allisair, the fealty they owed the king was null and void.

Rivenlorn was the result.

An old servant laboriously shoveled fresh snow to clear a way to the steps leading to the entrance of a wealthy townhouse.

Nodding a greeting, Alyssa watched the old man furrow his brow, squinting while trying to see her through the dark only lit by stars. Seeing something in the gloom, he hurried inside, and the door fell shut with a muffled bang.

Passing down the street, she saw the marks of forced entry on at least four houses, the doors broken by what she presumed to be axes. Two had at least some modicum of repair, while the others stood open. The entryways gaped like wounds as snow drifted inside.

‘It will take more than the lifetime of a human to heal those kinds of wounds to the city.’ Asandria remarked.

Alyssa sighed and focused ahead. They soon reached the grand central plaza with a few temples, to Gesserach, Jaros, Melloris, and, to her surprise, a smaller one to worship Motok, the Dreamer, the god of miners back in Firswending. She was sure that Charys would have a temple, too, but it was probably near the cemetery, even if she had not seen anything as they fought the cultists there.

The great thoroughfare- even as it did not really deserve the name, having seen the one in Kronenburg- led to the southern gate. The inns and taverns lining the road were mostly silent. There were some doing brisk business, though, and the isles of light amid the darkness were somehow comforting. Strains of music and raucous laughter, even if it sounded a bit forced, maybe even hysterical, were way better than the moaning of the wind in the empty streets.

If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the people simply staying at home, waiting out the winter and the cold, safe before a warm hearth.

A shuffling came from her right, and opening her eyes, she saw a dismembered corpse, both arms and one leg missing, crawling along the ground with jerky motions of its head and remaining leg. The thing was frozen through and through, with ice and snow coating everything that was not in movement.

With a look of disgust, Alyssa spoke the words of a spell and flaring with power, a bolt of fire hit the crawling undead. With another gesture and a few words, she took control of the feeble flames that had taken hold of the remnants of clothing and fed more mana into the blaze. Even as it took on a purplish tinge, the fleshfiend hissed and groaned before it slowly turned to blackened bone and then to ash.

Staggering from using the aspected mana, Alyssa gripped a lantern post to steady herself. Grimacing away the stars dancing before her eyes, she righted herself.

“Halt! What are you doing here?!” A pair of guardsmen heavily wrapped against the cold with shawls and cloaks called out to her.

“Killing an undead.” She answered laconically.

A bit stumped, the second guard called back, “Don’t go out after nightfall. The city is still not safe.”

“I know. But I have business outside the wall. Ask Duchess von Nordmark if you still have questions.”

The two eyed her with distrust for a second, and then the other one that had spoken first made a throwaway motion. “It’s your funeral.”

“Exactly.” Alyssa grimaced, thinking of her vision and the silent rainy hill with its ghostly procession.

The two guards watched her until she left their sight. The last she heard was, “What a creep.”

The city gates came into view and, as expected, were shut for the night. It was a wonder they opened in the day, travel being practically nonexistent with the weather and the undead, as it were.

“Halt!”

That was getting old fast.

“I’m an honored guest of the duchess and have to check something outside the walls. I will return in about an hour and would appreciate being let back in.” Alyssa spoke in one breath.

Silence.

“Ahem. And who are you exactly?” A soldier with a white-streaked beard and a gambeson worn with bits of mail asked back.

“Alyssa. Alyssa Miner.” She looked at them expectantly.

“Never heard of her.” Someone to the side said softly but still very much audibly.

“I was one of those that laid the old duke to rest.” The girl mentioned diplomatically.

“I think there was something about a white-haired girl. Step closer so that I can see you.” The older soldier beckoned her.

Stepping up to the trio of shivering soldiers, she observed the haunted looks and faces lined by exhaustion. She felt herself feeling a bit of empathy for the men and women serving in those conditions.

“One hour, you say?”

“Maybe a bit more, but not more than two.”

“Okay. Off you go.”

“But Sarge…!”

“Don’t.” The old soldier looked at the youngest of the trio before opening a heavily barred iron side door. “If you take too long, just wait for the dawn.”

Giving the man a last annoyed look, Alyssa walked through the small echoing passage and emerged before the city gates. The snow had piled up on the road without men to shovel or carts to flatten it.

Walking into the woods, she had to take control of several fleshfiends she then used to protect herself. Soon, she came to an open field near a burned-out hovel and saw the skeletal horses and riders waiting in eerie silence.

“Tired of talking through the link?” A gravelly voice with an unearthly echo sounded from the darkest parts beside the still-standing walls. Calmund, the wight, walked forward, the snow crunching under his iron boots.

“I felt it necessary for us to meet.” Alyssa fixed him with a glare.

“What a coincidence. I think so, too.” The flickering lights in the empty eye-sockets grew a bit more intense.

“We only properly spoke as I turned you.”

The eyes dimmed a bit. “Not even then. But circumstances were a bit...tight.”

“You know we killed the duke?”

“My, how you have grown, my mistress.” The old wight shook with silent laughter. “And yes. I know. But he was not the one who raised me. If he had, I might be like the idiots he had guarding him. Not to disparage my descendants or what’s left of them, but the efforts of my late kin were less than satisfactory.” He regarded her silently while snowflakes drifted from a slightly clouded sky. “It was the elf. An abomination itself. He did it. I was the one he raised to show the duke how it's done.”

“How did it feel?”

“Like getting pulled out of the coldest water with claws of burning ice. Like waking up from having your heart slowly crushed in your chest. Like dreaming of a lover only to wake to know that she is dead.”

The wind pushed the dry snow in flurries over the ground, weaving between the legs of the perfectly still horse skeletons.

“It's never pleasant, is it? Defying death.” Alyssa raised a hand and held a snowflake with a delicate grip, marveling at its unchanging appearance, no body warmth to melt the perfect crystal. “Once, I thought it so marvelous, bringing a moth back to life. It was, for me, an act of hope of gain. Was it painful for the moth, too, I wonder?”

“Nothing worthwhile is without cost. A platitude but true.” Calmund’s tautly drawn flesh stretched in a fatherly grin would give most sane people nightmares, Alyssa surmised, but she found it warmed some parts of her the cold did not reach.

“Don’t!” Vanessa’s voice came from the shadows, and suddenly, the elven vampire was beside the two. Calmund recoiled before twisting around and bringing his broadsword to bear in a defensive stance.

Out of the snowlit darkness, several large hulking forms coalesced.

The first one was a hulking wolf tribe with a heavy axe held in his right hand, sniffing at Vanessa before tossing his hair with an unwilling gesture. “Battle-Sister. To meet here under this dark sky. What a coincidence.”

“Mordrak.” Vanessa inclined her head, somehow looking regal despite her head only reaching his chest with her weight maybe an eighth of his. “Good to see you too. This here is Alyssa I told you about, and the...skeletons and such...are under her control.”

“Mrrrm. Your own unliving nature was accepted by the Greenmother herself. But this stretches the bounds of our orders. The unliving are an unnatural blight on this world. And only where it is truly of great worth can we overlook this.”

“She will not keep them with her forever. It is for a just cause. And we did you a big favor, you ingrate. Zygmund von Nordmark lies dead by our hands, and his successor is set to sue for peace.”

“That is...unexpected. Unexpected but very welcome. What cause do you speak of?”

Alyssa stepped beside Calmund and looked at Vanessa, who nodded. “I aim to destroy the Heartstealer.”

The wind picked up, and the clouds shifted a bit, giving the slowly rising Lost Eye a good look at the proceedings while bathing the whole in silvery moonlight.

The grizzled wolftribe inspected her for several seconds. “A worthy cause indeed. Alyssa. One for which you have given much as it seems. Let us talk, you and I before you depart for the mountains.” Giving her a nod, he turned to Vanessa. “We will make haste to inform the army then. There was talk of a surprise attack and such. Let's make sure no mistakes are made.”

“That would be best.”

Giving a short huff and nod, the tribal warriors faded back into the darkness they had come from, and their dimly visible forms made for the distant treeline.

“You were here the whole time?” Alyssa asked.

“I wanted to make sure you were safe.” Vanessa looked a bit uncomfortable. “You seemed a bit on edge, and I feared that something would go wrong.”

“No! I did not mean to imply I did not want you to. I was indeed a bit careless. I was only surprised.”

Calmund the wight stared at the vampire with calm attention.

“You seem more lucid than most.” Vanessa gazed back.

“That is because I am lucid.” The wight chuckled. “Perhaps I was simply not ready to let go.”

“Perhaps you were haunting the place. Would have certainly made you easier to raise.” The scholar in Vanessa spoke without thinking.

With a gargling huff, the undead threw back his head and laughed. The sound somehow horrifying, with an atonal echo following it without rhyme or reason. “Little mistress. I will come with you and see this Heartstealer. Perhaps I even get to try and kill it. I would like that, I think.”

They returned to the town shortly after, and Vanessa vanished before they got to the gate. “No sense making this more awkward for them and us.” The vampire smirked a bit, and then there was only a drifting patch of unseasonal mist.

“Show-off.”

The next day passed with preparations. Jamila was too busy to talk with them again. Not that the group would have had much to discuss.

Alea finished her repairs of Butler One and looked at the diadem Alyssa was wearing, shaking her head at the damage it had taken in only a few days but satisfied that it was still holding up well.

Mireille was alternating between rest and searching the castle for something more edible than trail rations. Finding some stashed sweets, even though they were a bit old, she had a lot of fun.

Alyssa conjured the old ghost out of the skull. “You said your name was Gaddy?”

“Yes, your grace.” The old ghost bobbed a courtesy.

“And you can sew anything you said?”

“Mh. Anything.” The darkness filling the empty eyesockets seemed hungry.

“Can you…can you sew….this?” Alyssa pulled back her robes and exposed the wound on her arm. Muscle moving beneath the smooth, unhealing cut.

“Mh. Yes, yes, I can.” A dark tongue licked black, ethereal lips.

“Then I command you to do it- without hurting me!”

“There will be some pain.” The old ghost tilted her head in question.

“Stop if I say so.”

“Of course.” The silken, smooth answer reeked of dishonesty.

“Make sure that you do.” Alyssa swallowed dryly. “Then you may begin.”

With the speed of a striking snake, the ghost whipped out her needle-like talons, and trailing dark thread stabbed into her flesh.

Suppressing a scream, Alyssa gritted her teeth while thinking unkind thoughts at the academy teachers, telling her undead felt no pain. And yes, while physical wounds were much less painful and her unhealing wounds did not bother her- much- she was feeling the sharp claws of the ghostly maid as red-hot slivers of pain each time she punctured her flesh. And she was stitching very tightly indeed.

The flesh merged back together, and the dark thread dissolved into motes of unlight drifting under her pale skin.

Admiring the smooth surface of her arm once again, Alyssa winced at the remembered pain and postponed the stitching of her other cuts and tears.

“Was that all, Milady?” The ghost asked obsequiously.

“Yes. That will be all.” Waving her dismissal, the specter blurred and faded away while Alyssa drew a hissing breath through her teeth while rubbing her arm.

The following day saw the arrival of a small delegation from the kingdom. Templars surrounded a glittering white person.

Alyssa squinted her eyes against the glare of the daylight and motioned for Mireille to make haste.

As the diplomats were led into the castle's front gates and welcomed by Jamila, the group exited the city through a small portcullis set into the thick walls of the northern quarter.

Turning around, they saw the high walls of smoothed stone inscribed with runic constructs towering into the pale winter sky behind them.

A lone sentry waved at them before the portcullis rattled down, and the gates closed ponderously.

The road stretched north before turning west in a lazy arc following a frozen river.

Mireille stretched both arms over her head and yawned. “Why did we have to go so early? Those priests would have never found us.”

“We did not want to make it difficult for Jamila.” Alyssa admonished.

“But wasn’t she the one that had some trouble with Calvin, with you?”

“I was never that clear on that. And if that was the case, it's all in the past. I can’t be distracted by old grudges.” She became quiet, and the horse's hooves sank into the softly crunching snow. “Do you really want to come with me?”

“Of course!” Mireille abruptly lowered her arms and glowered at her friend. “Will you stop mentioning that? I will be like Asander Brightblade; we even got Cyrus his dragon mount. Nothing will go wrong.”

Alea was silent and regarded the distant mountains glittering in the light of the sun. “I think we will have to contend with the dragon.”

“What makes you say that?” Alyssa asked curiously.

“Rivenlorn faced undead that had crossed the mountains while Margrinar only had to contend with some servants, powerful ones, and the gate. Something will have stopped the undead armies from entering this land. The dragon might well be responsible.” Iseret turned toward the trio. Another two horses followed her while bound to her saddle.

Somewhere over the mountain range, a white speck drifted in the sky. Strangely close...or impossibly large.