os rolled onto his side at the sound of approaching footfalls. The bristling straw of his pallet rustled beneath his small form as he curled into a ball. He had been awake since the first sprinkling of bird song had disturbed the pre-dawn gloom. Thin gray light issued through the narrow windows above him, illuminating the heavy door of his room.

It was the Canthan guild leader who thrust the keys into the lock and drew open the door. Like an old raven, he stood watchfully in the entrance, his pale skin a sharp contrast to his somber garments. His bristling ebon hair and the harsh angle of his narrow brows emphasized his dour mood. He placed a small pile of dark clothing and a pair of boots on the floor.

“Wear these. I will return for you shortly.”

Before Gos had an opportunity to respond, the door closed and the muffled jangle of keys reminded him he was still a prisoner. Because he was unreadable, he could not impress upon his mesmer captors that he had no intention of fleeing or putting up a fight. Of course, he did not trust them, either. Sighing, he rose quickly from his bed and prodded the offering with his toe before crouching beside them. He ran his fingers over the fine light leatherwork, noting that there were plates of metal concealed within them to protect his vitals. An armor smith had come to take his measure a week before. Gos removed his simple tunic and leggings and slid into the supple leathers. The new gear fit perfectly and was of a quality to rival the finest armor he had at home. Surely Master Bei would not have paid so much coin for a dead man’s attire.

“Good,” Master Bei said when he returned to find Gos adjusting the buckles of his armor. The man pushed the door aside and gestured him outside the tiny room, “I wish you to break fast with us. Come.”

“The gear is nice,” Gos said after following the taller man in silence for many long moments, “Thanks.”

“It is a waste of time to bind magic to items of low quality,” Master Bei said stiffly as if to imply that his offering was a necessary expense and not in any way meant to flatter Gos.

“I see,” he muttered as he followed the man up some stairs and into a small room with a long table surrounded by shelves of books. The chestnut-haired Ascalonian mesmer was already there with a book open before him and a pair of brass spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

“Eat, Master Kai,” the older man said as he gestured at Gos to take a seat at one end of the table while he took the other closest to his apprentice. Awaiting him was a steaming bowl of rice porridge and three small smoked fish. Mouth watering, it was all Gos could do to sit down calmly and not begin shoveling the food into his mouth. He waited patiently in his seat.

“Go ahead,” Master Bei said before taking a spoon to his own meal, “Peng Ren, put the book away and eat.”

Gos picked up the porcelain spoon beside the bowl and tried to eat it at a leisurely speed.

“Master, what if there is something on the other side?” the chestnut-haired man said as he slowly put a silk ribbon between the pages to mark his place, “What if we cannot detect anything on the other side because it’s not alive.”

Gos kept his gaze averted and calmly swallowed a mouthful of the bland porridge despite the sudden thrill of dread that curled down his spine.

“The White Mantle have no reason to consort with the undead,” Master Bei said dismissively.

“They want to win at any cost,” the younger man replied, “I sensed that in the last group that visited.”

“I do not think they are desperate enough to take such risks,” Master Bei sighed, “Why do you posit this?”

“I wondered how it was the White Mantle fashioned the ether beacons when there are no other accounts of them laying such elaborate traps. I assumed they were of Mursaat origin, but after comparing the markings in this book, I think they are Orrian.”

Master Bei stroked his chin for a few moments.

“True, they could be Orrian,” he said after a time, “A similar method was used to breach the defenses of Leisford.”

“Leisford? I’m not familiar with that place.”

Master Bei laughed humorlessly, his dark eyes betraying his shame.

“It no longer exists,” he said pointedly, “That still does not explain how the White Mantle obtained Orrian relics and learned how to use them.”

“I agree, that’s why I think they’ve allied with the Orrian undead.”

Master Bei made an unfathomable rumbling noise, then slid the book around that Peng Ren had been reading so that he could glance at its frontispiece.

“What you are suggesting is even less likely, Peng Ren. Don’t be ridiculous, the Orrians are cursed. Their hatred for the living surpasses reason.”

“I’ve been thinking about how we got this place,” Peng Ren said, scowling momentarily as the warmth of the rice porridge steamed up his spectacles. He removed them and put them away within the folds of his dark robes, “The island is littered with signs of the Orrian undead and the great hall was once inhabited by them. What if there’s a connection?”

“Far more likely they would have confronted us directly,” Master Bei sighed, becoming irritated.

“There are well documented cases of intelligent undead,” Peng Ren sighed, “Look, I know that I still have a lot to learn, Master, but last night when we scried beyond the portal, I detected no living thing but I felt as if something was aware of me.”

“And I suppose now you’re going to tell me you have a vast amount of experience with the undead?” Master Bei grumbled.

“I have some experience,” Peng Ren said, his tone dropping and indicating his feelings were hurt, “You once told me you appreciated my instincts and gift for observation. I’m telling you what I believe to be true. I don’t want to be responsible for sending a man to his death.”

Gos had stopped eating, watching the two men raptly as porridge plopped from his hovering spoon back into his bowl.

“You have clearly given this much thought. I commend you for that and it is a testimony to your talents. But perhaps you see patterns where none exist? What do you suppose would drive the Orrian undead to ally with weak mortals?”

Peng Ren pushed his breakfast aside and stood up to peruse the rows of books that lined the shelves. Finally he retrieved his spectacles and started prowling around the room, occasionally pausing to touch one of the books before beginning his search again. Master Bei cocked his head like a watchful bird, the faintest trace of a smile, or perhaps pride, softening his features. Finally the younger man stopped and drew a thin black volume down from the shelf. He set it wordlessly before Master Bei and sat back down to resume his breakfast. The Canthan frowned thoughtfully.

“Why my Master’s journal?”

“There is an interesting section at the beginning about Palawa Joko,” Peng Ren replied, “I thought you would have read his work.”

Master Bei pondered this for a moment.

“He worked for the Order of Whispers. Warding Joko was their duty, their reason for existing.”

Peng Ren nodded, “I had gathered that.”

“But Joko was not like the Orrian undead,” Master Bei continued, “I do not see the connection and I do not have time to pour through this journal. So humor me. What is the connection?”

“It is a guess,” Peng Ren replied, “but history shows that when Joko was defeated and sealed away, his undead servants went wild, much as the Orrian undead. Now granted, the Orrians were created by a curse, but surely there were great mages among the Orrians, ones that might have dabbled in such things.”

Master Bei made his now familiar skeptical frown and shook his head.

“They mined the sacred city of Arah for lore,” Peng Ren continued, “Even if only one among them had garnered such knowledge, what if, like Joko, they found a way to retain their power in death? There need only be one.”

“That still does not answer the motive.”

Peng Ren shrugged.

“If nothing else, I imagine rebuilding an undead army would be first on the agenda and a war zone is a good place to start. The dead can afford to be patient.”

“Alright, you win,” Master Bei chuckled humorlessly, “I will not risk sending our little assassin friend to certain death. Finish your breakfast, we have work to do.”

*****

Ming came to fetch him for their morning sparring session shortly after breakfast. He liked being allowed out of his dim little cell and he further enjoyed focusing completely on combat. However, that morning his mind kept wandering back to the conversation at breakfast. Undead. In that moment of distraction, he landed face down in damp straw and wood shavings as Ming’s lithe form surged past his defenses. His spine tingled with the aftershock of her blow. There were always two or more guild members sitting on the fence rails of the practice arena and at that moment they were guffawing and cheering Ming on.

“While you are in this ring, I am your only concern,” she said grimly, “Heal yourself and try again.”

He knew better than to contradict her or make excuses for his mistake. Gos had witnessed her sparring with the others and knew her harshness was not reserved for him alone. She had not earned her position as lead assassin and officer in that guild by expecting anything less than perfection from herself or others. He drew the shadows to himself with a softly whispered incantation and the jarring ache of her blow faded. He picked up his dull practice sai. They were much heavier than the blades he normally used and he suspected Ming had picked them out to build endurance.

“Again,” she said, “Only this time you will not eat dirt.”

Gos tumbled easily aside when she came at him this time, her lead attack snickering harmlessly off of his newly fitted leathers. Her right flank was exposed in that instance and he went for it, only to be brought up short by an offhand parry.

“Still trying to kill him, Ming?”

Gos grinned when the man’s question caused the spectators to laugh. She scowled, all seriousness as she backed away, indicating they were done fighting. Gos returned her respectful nod before turning to greet Peng Ren.

“I assure you, Master Kai, if death were my intention, he would not be breathing.”

“Of course,” the Ascalonian replied, grinning, “I hate to rob you of your prey, but we have need of him.”

“When is Master Kai scheduled to spar with me?” Ming asked craftily, “I hope your scholarly pursuits have not made you too soft.”

Peng Ren’s companionable smile tensed a little but he laughed.

“When Master Bei decides I am ready.”

Gos leaped aside instinctively as Ming vanished in a cloud of chaotic darkness and appeared beside Peng Ren. Amid the laughter of the spectators he saw that the man had turned an unnatural shade of white.

“Well done,” Ming said grimly to the man when he did not move, “There is hope for you yet.”

Without another word, she strode out of the ring and headed back up the path toward the guildhall. Color returned to Peng Ren’s face, a shade of red that suggested humiliation but he mustered what dignity remained to him and gestured for Gos to follow him back up the hill.

“What’d you do to get on her good side?” Gos chuckled when he noticed Peng Ren’s hands were trembling. To his relief the man laughed and whatever anxiety remained to him faded away.

“She has a way with people,” the man snorted, “A way of making them dead.”

Gos walked beside the taller man in silence, still feeling an outsider. While he no longer hated his keepers, neither did he love them. He wanted nothing more than to return to his family and gaze upon his newborn child for the first time.

“Did you find out anything about my people on your last trip?” Gos prompted for it was the first opportunity he had to speak to Peng Ren since his last trip east.

“I delivered your message to someone at Yak’s Bend during my last trip to Ironfast,” Peng Ren said as they entered the fortress grounds, “I asked around and discovered an older fellow with a hammer, or at least something resembling one, who claimed to know you.”

“Demen?” Gos asked, his voice pitching upward and betraying his excitement.

“Yes, that was the name. He had a gaggle of children with him and a tale that matched with the one you spun for us. I detected no dissembling so I gave him some coin to purchase a dolyak, provisions and the company of some sell swords. It seems he was stranded and worried sick about you.”

“Thanks,” Gos sighed, fighting to keep the emotion he felt from his face, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Peng Ren shrugged and smiled.

“I think you should consider getting your friends out of Ascalon. It’s no place to raise a family and I know Ironfast would be happy to have more able bodies.”

He was heartened to know Peng Ren was an ally among strangers but he had little time to ponder his homecoming. As they entered the squat tower, the needs of the present were laid out before him on the dark tiled floor of the great round chamber. Shimmering crystalline sand spiraled out from its center, forming mysterious glyphs and symbols that were at once chillingly familiar and utterly unknown to him. A pair of glowing stones were laid out on either side of the hub and Master Bei stood between them, the shaft of a glistening staff clutched in his hand.

Outside of the circle stood a dozen guild members bearing the now familiar black cape emblazoned with a silvery hand. Among them was Sister Lemony dwarfed by the elementalist Mashiro and his ever present friend, Kazuma. The necromancer flashed his familiar sardonic grin at Gos. The others were unknown to him, but they were muscular figures clad in steel and clutching axe, hammer and sword. He could not help but smile when the little monk wiggled the fingers of one hand secretively at him in greeting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that everyone else was watching.

“Peng Ren and I will be able to open the way and maintain it for an hour at best. Since we now have reason to expect that there may be undead awaiting you on the other side, you will not be sent in alone.”

Gos nodded, uncertain what else was expected of him.

“Have you prepared as Ming instructed you?”

“Yes, Master Bei.”

Peng Ren affixed a steely mask to his face before approaching Master Bei and facing him, his gloved hands clasping the gleaming crystal of the staff. Slowly Zhou began intoning strange syllables, words that fell heavily upon the tense silence of the chamber, building into a crescendo as ethereal light flared from the intricate sand pattern and infused the staff.

A scar of pulsing light blazed between the two men, widening as Master Bei continued to chant. Then, an eerie hush descended upon the chamber. Gos was seized by a deep sense of awe as the jagged opening tore the world asunder, its heart blazing with a baleful magenta core. Peng Ren and Master Bei backed away from one another, the staff having melded with the eldritch gape of the portal that swirled between them.

“Go,” Master Bei pronounced, his voice quavering slightly and betraying the mental strain that maintaining the portal was placing upon him. Gos noticed that Peng Ren’s shoulders were curled forward as if in pain, but he made no sound. Obediently he strode toward the chaotic maelstrom, subconsciously feeling for the handles of the daggers that had been gifted to him even as Mashiro strode forth to place the unfamiliar bulk of a staff in his hands. His stomach flip flopped as he gazed into the void. Thoughts of imminent death haunted him but he chided himself for a fool. He was an assassin, trained to succeed alone where many might fail. He had never let fear defeat him and he was not about to let it do so now.

Sweat beaded upon his brow as he concentrated, his lean form momentarily set ablaze with the magic of Lyssa’s dark nature. Then he intoned the enchantments Ming had taught him and he grew translucent. Knowing he must not delay lest the enchantment slip and leave him wounded and vulnerable, Gos threw himself into the swirling midst of chaos.

Enshrouded in dire coldness, he faltered as a new vision of the world emerged from the featureless gray mists. As if caught in the current of a mighty river, he drifted inexorably toward a swirling, hungry maw of pure energy and plunged into its unknowable depths with a cry torn from his throat. And then he collided abruptly with stone. His ears rang and he staggered to his feet, confused and disoriented. Something stirred beside him and he realized it was Sister Lemony sprawled on her back and moaning softly as she caressed her tattooed pate with one tiny hand.

“Ooo pretty,” she murmured and he followed her gaze to the wall behind him where the fluid whir of the portal resided. It was like a blot of nightmare, a shadowy well that sucked hungrily at the world around it.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered, anxiously sweeping the area around them to ensure they were not in any immediate danger.

“Master Bei picked me after I told him to,” she said sagely, “I can be very sneaky!”

Gos stared at her for a moment, trying to decide if she were mad, naïve, or both. Sister Lemony was about as stealthy as a large affable dog. And about as smart, he thought bitterly.

“You should go back, I’m perfectly safe under this enchantment,” he whispered.

“I’ll go back if anything bad happens and I’ll stay hidden otherwise. I can put enchantments on you.”

“They won’t do any good,” he muttered, “Just go back.”

“Zhou said you are supposed to put one on me,” Lemony insisted stubbornly, a pang of hurt in her voice, “and in exchange I’ll put enchantments on you.”

Gos blinked, realizing now why Ming had insisted upon his learning the recall enchantment. Lemony was supposed to be here after all. He wished they had told him before hand. He felt foolish.

“Right,” he muttered, “Hold still.”

He whispered the spell softly, wrapping her in a diaphanous veil of shadow as she looked on in amusement. Then, smiling broadly, she retreated obediently to the corner nearest the portal and sat down with a contented sigh. He turned in a slow circle, taking in the walls of the tiny room. The only light was the eerie magenta glow of the swirling portal itself. The floor had once been covered in dust but a trail had been worn through it, leading to the silent blaze of the portal. Gos saw that the wall upon which the opening was transposed was chalked with strange symbols and there were two familiar fist-sized stones glowing on either side of it.

He moved quickly toward the heavy door, renewing the glyph and powerful stance that enabled him to continue the potent enchantment. Translucent under a shroud of shadows he moved silently, relieved to find the door unbarred. Despite his need for haste he very slowly squeezed the latch and drew the door open, pausing once to peer beyond it into a vast cavernous chamber lit by the eldritch glow of rush lights.

It was the smell of that room that gave him pause for it bore hints of putrefaction and the acrid odor of bitumen, sulfur and pitch. Preservatives, he thought, the hair of his nape now bristling at the thought of undead things awaiting him beyond. He scanned the shelves of glassware, the tables upon which bodies were laid out under shrouds. Above the hammering of his own heart he heard faint whimpering. But it was the floor that gave him the greatest shock for it was littered with torn and blooded garments. He knelt slowly and gingerly nudged the cloth, finding a badge marked with the familiar emblem of the White Mantle.

“See anything?” Sister Lemony whispered behind him.

Gos jolted in surprise at the sound of her voice. Exasperated he gestured with his hand for her to keep quiet. The trouble with undead was that they could move silently and they could lie standing in wait for hours. Time was on their side, after all. Swallowing around a lump of dread in his throat, he finally had the door open just enough for his small frame to slip past. He renewed his enchantment moments before it failed, nearly stumbling over the swift incantation in his nervousness. Gos knew that very little could harm him and yet he felt naked standing there against the wall gazing upon the great chamber with its slabs and glistening glassware.

“Who is there?” demanded a strange whispering voice. Gos moved instinctively behind one of the slabs.

“Show yourself,” it hissed, drawing closer. He backed away as it drifted silently into view, a ragged figure in once rich robes. In life, a man of great stature and bearing but now a horror composed of desiccated sheets of flesh over a husk of bone. Instead of eyes, two baleful pinpoints of light gleamed within the dark orbs of its skull.

And then, to Gos’ horror, it moved toward the door where Lemony was hiding. Stupid fool of a monk, he silently moaned, anger and desperation drawing him quickly to his feet. He launched himself at the horrible figure, a tiny blot of darkness that seemed no more threatening than a fly. He convulsed and cried out as his feet pounded the creature’s ribs. Startled by the sudden and unexpected pain, Gos dodged away as the undead mage laughed. With mechanical grace the skeletal figure turned to face him, its cruel perpetual grin seeming to mock him as a seething necromantic energies limned its form.

“You must be from my island,” it said bitterly, “Coming into my lair was a foolish mistake.”

Gos looked on in horrified bewilderment as its boney fingers traced glowing sigils in the air between them. He backed away at it hovered above the flagstones, its vile magic released in a deathly green wave. As the working broke upon the rows of slabs, the shrouded forms lying upon them stirred, silently rising to their emaciated feet. Unnatural fear clenched his heart and he faltered, barely able to muster the concentration necessary to maintain his protective enchantment.

Surrounded, Gos had no choice but to face the closing circle of foes. They were human, and yet their faces were vacant, devoid of will. He spun and kicked one aside as it reached for him. Bone cracked damply under his heel but the frail woman expressed no pain, only reeled numbly. She dropped to her knees under the sheer force of his blow only to rise inexorably and come at him again.

The air shimmered and solidified as wraiths oozed from the mangled piles of clothing. Gos panicked at the sheer number as he backed away. Minion and wraith alike pressed toward him, clawing at him harmlessly, and little comprehending that thanks to his enchantment, their blows passed through him.

“Let’s see who you brought along,” the creature rasped darkly. Gos watched in mute horror as the skeletal mage drew open the door that led to the portal.

“Lemony, leave! Tell them to close the portal!” Gos cried, ducking moments before one of the dead-eyed minions lashed out at him with unnatural speed. Unable to harm them to any degree in his current state, it was all he could do to hold them off. Gos hastily intoned the enchantment a final time.

“A little mouse,” the mage laughed. Sister Lemony’s cry of terror made the color drain from Gos’ face. Without thinking he severed the bond of the recall enchantment and vanished in a curl of smoke, arriving an instant later at the little monk’s side. He did not have time to see how she fared, he knew only to take her out of harm’s reach. Wordlessly, Gos dragged her to her feet and rushed for the portal as the door thundered open behind them. Once more the ethers pressed in on him as he clung to Sister Lemony.

“Oh gods!” she cried and the formless world around them darkened. He was running, dragging her, willing himself not to imagine what lurked in ethers behind them. Were they lost? Where was the portal home? His heart hammered in his breast as he sought freedom. A familiar pattern emerged in the mists and he dashed toward it, Sister Lemony in tow screaming like a child.

They emerged into shouting, chaos and the shuddering impact of the stone floor rising up to meet his flailing body. A moment later he gasped in pain as Sister Lemony’s diminutive form collided with him. Instinctively he regained his feet even though his body felt as if he had been swimming for hours and had just dragged himself onto solid land. He staggered once as he pushed himself in front of Sister Lemony’s convulsing form. Her pale robes were scarlet with blood.

He was back in Master Bei’s hall but it was utterly transformed by chaos. The emaciated minions of the undead mage poured from the swirling throat of the portal. The portal disgorged the shadowy forms of wraiths into their midst. Raw elemental magic filled the air with the sickly sweet odor of ozone as the terrible creatures lashed out with lightning. Too late the portal collapsed with an actinic flash of raw ethereal energy.

Gos lashed out at the nearest foe in a bold attempt to draw the wraith’s attention away from Lemony’s stricken form. The creature hissed and snarled, its spells fizzing uselessly as it attempted to focus upon him. He was moments away from losing the enchantment but he fought on desperately, swearing at the wraith though he doubted it understood his words. To his relief the chamber doors burst open, heralding the arrival of reinforcements. Amid screams and the dire roar of powerful magic, he was heartened to discover Ming whirling and kicking beside him.

Arrows zinged into the gathered mass of wraiths. Gos glanced back to see that four Dunvael rangers were among those who had joined battle. With renewed hope, he left Ming’s side and taunted a neighboring cluster of wraiths and minions, kicking and cursing at them until they leapt after him in rage. Smiling grimly to himself he paused long enough to renew his enchantment as their claws and spells failed to harm him. Then he drew them back toward Ming and the deadly barrage of arrows.

“Well done,” Ming snapped, but that was all she had time for as the first wave of wraiths vanished in foul wisps of black smoke.

“How do we kill them?” Gos cried as hammer, sword and arrow fell with renewed vigor upon the approaching hoard of emaciated minions. They came forth inexorably, having no care for their gored and mangled flesh.

“Fire,” Ming shouted.

“No!” Zhou bellowed, hidden behind his own teeming mass of foes on the other side of the chamber, “Draw them outside!”

“Let’s torch them outside!” Ming shouted.

“Is Lemony behind us?” Gos demanded, “I brought her back, she was wounded.”

“I don’t see her,” Ming replied as she parried away the bloody grasping hands of their foes, “and there’s not much we can do now.”

Gos did not have time to answer or contradict Ming. It was all he could do to maintain the enchantment and keep the focus of his foes. Slowly he backed away, kicking and taunting as Ming guided him toward the door, her own daggers flashing. The portal was closed yet the horde of undead seemed undiminished, crashing down on them like a breaking wave.

Gos felt the balmy heat of the Krytan sun as he backed through the wide doors of the tower into the courtyard. More archers awaited them with a volley of flaming arrows. The low rumble of fire magic answered the call of an elementalist. Reinforcements. His spirits lifted a little as their dead-eyed foes twisted and burned. Above the cries of allies and the snarl of foes the tower bell tolled a frantic clamor. More people were arriving, pounding over the cobbles of the yard with weapons drawn. Many were still in their workaday clothes.

Others were beside him, hacking and chopping. Better it would have been to see foul ichor rain down from their blows than the hot warm blood of living things. However badly mangled, they continued to fight, even as limbs dangled or bone shattered. Never before had Gos felt so sickened in the heat of battle.

Then the battle ceased. As one, the horde dropped bloody and twitching to the cobbles. Gos instinctively placed is hand on the shoulder of the warrior beside him, preventing the man’s next adrenaline frenzied blow. The courtyard was silent but for dire tolling of the bell. He let the enchantment fail and stood weak and quivering at the edge of the corpse festooned battle line, his eyes taking in the full measure of the carnage.

Those who had still been inside the tower slowly emerged, their armor and clothing darkened with blood, their exposed flesh torn. Master Bei leaned heavily on his apprentice, his normally inscrutable face clenched in pain.

“There are wounded inside,” Peng Ren announced, “Bring any still breathing to the infirmary. Burn the dead without delay.”

“You heard him,” Ming said, her voice breaking the dullness of confusion. Gos watched numbly as she assigned squads to take away the corpses and others to find wounded. He was assigned to the latter with six others, none that he had met before and there was no time to exchange pleasantries or names.

Once inside the dim hall it was not difficult to piece together what had happened. A foul oozing pile of remains indicated where the skeletal mage had been defeated encircled by bloodied sand and still twitching minions. The terrible unstoppable force that had driven them into battle was gone and now they were merely gaunt and horribly mutilated human beings. Among them, a few moaned in pain and confusion.

“What are we going to do with them?” Gos said, his voice no more than a disgusted rasp. He could not condemn them to the pyre. Surely these people had not volunteered to be treated like this?

Ming had obviously discovered the same thing as she helped move a corpse to a newly arrived wagon awaiting them at the door to the hall.

“If they are alive put them over there with the others,” she shouted to all present, not looking up from her work. Gos gestured a young woman over to help him lift one of the minions and deliver it to a blanket that was fast accumulating a number of agonized survivors. As he rose to go looking for other survivors with his new partner he heard a familiar voice piping angrily above the din of the injured.

“I’m fine! Put me down!” Sister Lemony cried. She was rumpled and bloodied as they tried to draw her out from under a pile of slain and mutilated minions, “Where is Zhou and Gos?”

Despite being half the size of her caretakers, they let her go and moved back like cowed dogs. Gos might have laughed had the situation not been so grim.

“Peng Ren took him to the infirmary, Liang Meng,” replied one of the burly men.

“I’m here,” Gos said, oddly heartened that she had considered him. She turned to gaze upon him with an expression of unabashed relief.

“Was Zhou alright?” she demanded as she took to her feet and scanned the carnage of the hall.

“He is in Master Yi’s hands,” Ming cut in, returning, “Unless you are unfit to assist us, we could use your help here among the wounded.”

Sister Lemony nodded earnestly.

“I’ll get frightened immediately!” she announced, much to bewilderment of the other Canthans.

“No doubt,” Ming murmured as the little monk hurried away to begin her work.

*****

Gos did not pause in his work until late that evening after helping to build the massive pyre. By then everyone was too numb and exhausted to talk and a grim silence clasped the grounds. Master Bei reappeared with a cane and his apprentice beside him to observe as one of the guild’s holy people performed the appropriate blessings and rites prior to the lighting of the pyre. Once more he felt lost among strangers, neither grieving nor rejoicing over their losses.

Numbly he allowed Ming to guide him to the barracks where he washed and changed into a simple tunic and trousers beside his neighbors. Shortly after he was shown his bunk at the far end of the building, a meal of cold meat, cheese and bread arrived. Sister Lemony was there and she flashed a bright smile upon sighting him.

“Master Bei wants to talk to you in his study,” Sister Lemony said.

He followed her without a word, the events of the day making him wary of small talk. Gos longed to lose himself in sleep and rise in the morning among his family and loved ones discovering it had all been but a terrible dream. It was a short distance to the great hall, a place more akin to the grand structures of his Kurzick homeland than the dusty ruins of his new home in Ascalon. Yet even here on an island within the fastness of stone walls there was no sanctuary from the forces set upon the destruction of humankind.

Through dim halls and a narrow flight of stairs they came at last to a brightly lit study. Master Bei was at the head of the table with his apprentice beside him, eerily reminiscent of that morning. There were no books spread out, no meal being shared. The older man appeared to have aged in the hours since their last meeting. Master Bei gestured to the empty chair beside him and suffered Sister Lemony’s fussing as she repositioned a blanket around his shoulders.

“That will be enough, Liang Meng, thank you,” he said.

“I’ll get tea brought up,” she said lightly and departed before Master Bei could protest.

“It would seem we miscalculated our peril,” he said after a time, “and Peng Ren was closer to the truth than I could have imagined.”

If the Ascalonian were proud of himself, he did not show it. His head was bowed as if in resignation.

“I apologize if by my actions I brought peril into your midst,” Gos said.

“Whether you did or not, I see now that it was simply a matter of time before we were attacked. Better that we faced it prepared than in the dead of night wrapped in sleep. We have been granted a moment of grace in which to plan our departure.”

“Surely our foe is defeated…” Peng Ren began.

“Such things cannot be defeated. We must leave before it returns. You will go on my behalf to Ironfast, Master Kai, and prepare the way.”

The chestnut haired man nodded in response. An awkward silence followed in which Master Bei studied his apprentice thoughtfully then turned his dark gaze upon Gos.

“You have fulfilled your part of the bargain and I will thus fulfill mine. In the morning I bid you go with Peng Ren to Ironfast guild. I have sent word to the appropriate people and you will granted the necessary provisions and support to speed your return to your home. The offer still stands to join us at Ironfast to weather the coming storm.”

Peng Ren looked askance at his master but said nothing. Gos wondered what deeper meaning lay behind those words.

“You are too kind, Master Bei.”

“Go now, the hour grows late and we are all weary. Sleep well.”

Gos bowed and departed, the lack of an escort telling him he was now an accepted member of the guild in all but name. He was free at last to go home and yet it gave him no joy.