Kasimir was also stuck with someone who he could do without, though rather than being mired in self pity, he was wading through the bog of self righteousness that was Reynald of Montfort, a veritable Grail Knight in the making if he was to be believed. As he prattled on about his miraculous slaying of various beastmen and greenskins, and one particularly smelly ogre, Kasimir kept his ears closed and his eyes open. Soon, he found himself in a wood he recognized all too well. The trees were gnarled and bloated at their bases, but not from some evil. It was the near constant rain and the strange soil from the waters that flowed down from Nordland, no doubt festooned with rotted wood and poisoned norscan flesh.

"We need to dismount soon, hide our horses in the brush. There are no beastmen this close to the manor, and we cannot ride up to the archway lest we get molested." Kasimir remarked, already readying himself to step off his horse.

"Deesmunt!? Do yeu tink vwe zshall zsneak in like some...some...zsneakthief!?" Reynald warbled, aghast at the very notion of not charging at anything with his lance coached. As much as Kasimir would have liked to have seen that, it would get them nowhere. He also did not want to see the knight charge as a distraction. He might not think the man too bright, but he did not want his death on his conscience, even if it would be a grand display.

"Monsiuer, our goal is to rescue the damsel, no? When we have her, we shall embark upon a grand sortee and sally forth through the masses of enemies, I assure you."

The Brettonian chewed his mustache as he considered the proposition, and for a moment Kasimir believed he was going to deny him. But eventually he acquiesced with a nod and a grunt, muttering in his native language under his breath. He almost wished he had Emmaline to deal with. At least she was fine to look at, with a better voice than this one. But he supposed he could be going it alone, so he should thank Ulric for the assistance of another warrior.

As the two swordsmen tethered their horses to the trees, there was a commotion up the road. Hooves and flapping cloaks reached Kasimirs ears, and he kept his mouth shut, clinging to his horse a dozen meters away from the road to keep the beast from nickering. To his amazement and relief, Reynald kept quiet as well. Unfortunately, the swordsman only got a glimpse of the small troupe of three that galloped past, but Ulric watched over them, as no one looked their way, too intent on the road.

He realized they were heading toward Kasimir's and Reynald's destination. But why?

“Eleanor. Eleanor open the door!” Emmaline struggled out of the bath she had been luxuriating in, splashing water all over the floor. She stepped out and immediately slipped on the dark wooden floor, comically pin wheeling her arms before landing on her rump in a crash.

“Lady Eleanor?! Are you ok?! Julian’s shrill voice came through the door, “are you ok.”

“Vhat are you goeng to do break down le doair?” she called back acidly as she scrambled to her feet and towleed herself off.

“What?” Jullian called back, unable to penetrate the accent through the thick timber door.

“Ould on a momon,” she called, pulling on a gown and stumbling into the main room. She turned they key and pulled the door open. Julian nearly fell into the room, all but scratching at the door. His earnest face was pale and his lips were visibly trembling. His eyes bulged at her state of relative undress and his pale face suffused with a blush so deep Emmaline worried he was about to pass out.

“Well? Why aré you breakeng down mon doair and intairrupteng mon bath?” she demanded. Julian opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Emmaline snapped her fingers repeatedly under the boy’s nose.

“Oh ahhh… men just arrived, men from my father,” he whined, all but wringing his hand. Emmaline manuvered him onto a couch and thrust a glass of schnapps into his hand. He swallowed it in a convulsive gulp then gasped as the liquor’s burn hit. Emmaline plucked the glass from his hand before he could drop it.

“Zo mén arrived from yur fathair…” Eleanor prompted, struggling to reign in her mounting frustration. Julian blinked and then seemed to return to himself.

“They are closeted with Colditz now,” he explained, “I think there is a priest with them.”

“A priest?” Eleanor asked then her eyes widened.

“Eez 'e haire to marry uz do you think?” she asked. Julian looked momentarily confused.

“I… I think he might have found out about… no, I wont let it happen!” he cried then leaped to his feet and rushed out of the room.

“Julian!” Emmaline yelled after him confused and starting to grow a little afraid. She looked down at the schnapps bottle in her hand and took a long drink, then quickly started dressing.

The screams came a half hour later once Emmaline was dressed and heading out in search of Julian. They seemed to come from the valley and what they portend Emmaline had no idea. She slipped from the room and to her surprise Colditz and his guards were no where to be found. Emmaline wasted only a few minutes to grab a few valuable items then headed for the stables, willing to take advantage of whatever breaks came her way. More screams came from the house as whe was pulling a saddle onto an expensive looking horse. There was something fell on the air and she could feel a knot of ice in her stomach. The need to get away from this place was a desperate throbbing thing. The buckles were just about in place when a hand fell on her shoulder. Emmaline screamed and tried to twist away but the fingers gripped like iron. She was whirled around and found herself face to face with Colditz. Or what was left of his face. Great bloody rents had been torn in it with what looked like claws and his palor was cold and dead. Witchfires burned in his eyes and though he had not yet the grey color of the grave the stink of dark sorcery poured off the cadaver. Other horrors, older fleshless skeletons stained with graveyard earth and moss joineed Colditz, hemming her in. Screaming she was dragged infront of the manor.

“It is ok Eleanor, it will be ok!” Julian was shouting, his eyes wide and wide with shock. Emmaline could pick out burst blood vessels in his face and dark magic coiled around him.

“I learned this at university, I know it looks bad but I promise I’ll keep you safe… I’ll let you….” he trailed off shooting her an agonized look as he realised that if he let her, or anyone else go the truth of what he was would get out. He was a necromancer. A wizard who tampered with the forces of life and death and was forever damned by the poison of dark magic.

“Look I’ll think of something,” he promised. One of the chambermaids stumbled from the manor and was struck down by a skeleton with a scythe. Julian whimpered then muttered something, the maid rose jerkily to join a growing perimeter around the house.

"Julian! Julian! You have to let me go!" Emmaline shrieked, momentarily forgetting her accent.

“I’ll think of something,” Julian promised as the zombie of Colditz dragged Emmaline screaming into the house.

They crouched in the brush at the base of the treeline, watching the stately manor from down a small decline. Their swords drawn, the middenlander and the brettonian had noticed a patrolling watchman minutes ago, but he had yet to return. Otherwise, they could see no one providing sentry around the perimeter. The manor stood eerily silent, erected before the overcast sky like a grand mausoleum of an ancient king from Sigmar's day. Somehow, Kasimir was more unnerved now than if he saw the walls being overrun with armed men.

"Zshall ve adwance?" Reynard asked in a conspiratorial whisper. He was eager before, but now he seemed more confused than anything. Kasimir did not blame the cavalryman.

"Now seems as good a time as any," Kasimir temporized, and the two began to move, making their way round the shrubs before stepping onto the open ground, keeping low as they moved up the hill, making their way to one of the many archways along the walls. A quick peek, and Kasimir saw no guardsmen within. Shockingly, to the left was a fallen spear, and what looked like a small pool of blood on the cobblestones of the walkway through the small, well-tended garden.

"Sacre bleu!" The Knight exclaimed.

"Sssshhh," Kasimir urged him.

"Wot happoned?" Reynard asked, this time more softly. The two knelt by the fallen spear, but could find no trace of anything pertaining to what could have occurred.

"Damned if I know," the imperial cursed, shaking his head at this further complication. The woman had brought him nothing but trouble since he had met her, and now he was walking into some sort of chaos or violence he could not guess. "Our mission is still the same. Let's move."

"Oui," agreed Reynard, and the two hurried on to the closest doorway, an open portal into a darkened manor. It's door stretched out, apparently whoever had opened it had been in too much of a hurry to bother with closing. Kasimir felt a pang of trepidation, but his armor and sword were some of the best money could buy, and Reynard's armaments were castle-forged. Glancing at one another with grim determination, they stepped into the door, their forms engulfed by darkness.

"ULRIC'S POXMARKED NUTTSACK!"

Kasimir leaped out of the gloom as Reynard scrambled back, making for the light as the mottled corpse of some scullery maid reached out for a cold embrace, gnarled fingers grasping for their throats. Reynard gave a ungentlemanly scream, long and highpitched like the keening of a banshee as Kasimir beheaded the zombie with an instinctual backhanded swing of his backsword. The body stumbled forward even as the head hit the ground, but a kick from Kasimir sent the corpse to the floor as well. He placed a hand on Reynard to halt the squeal. The knight blinked, embarrassed and petrified at the entire situation.

"Les morts-vivants immondes!" He exclaimed, before stammering: "Z-Ze foul undead, monsieur!"

"I know, I killed it!" Kasimir retorted.

"Yieou did noot tell me whe weyer fightin ze undead!" The errant knight snapped at Kasimir.

"You think I hid this from you!? I'm surprised too!" He riposted, both eyeing one another and then the corpse. Kasimir sighed, running a hand through his mane of hair. "Okay, now that we know, we will not be taken by surprise again, no?"

"No," Reynard acknowledged.

"Julian! Julian you lét me oot of haire right now!" Emmaline shouted, pounding on the door with balled fists. Her skin crawled from where the corpse of Colditz had gripped her as he dragged her back to her rooms and locked her in. Judging from the dull return of her blows, the corpse was leaning against the door on the outside. She spread her arms behind her and screamed wordlessly, stamping her foot with frustration. The door remained unmoved. Emmaline stomped over to the window an threw up the sash. Iron bars had been set in the wall to cover the window and prevent escape. Beyond the bars evening was falling and tendrils of mist were coiling up out of the valley, giving the impression of a vast leviathan pulling itself free of the earth. The impression was deepend by the greenish glow of the rising moon which seemed to turn the mist luminous and sinister. Shapes seemed to move in the fog, to Emmaline's eye they were shambolic and threatening though she never made one out clearly. She made a mental note to retire the phrase: at least it can't get any worse.

"Well I suppose being eaten by beastmen isn't the worst thing," Emmaline muttered, considering the dozens of miles of wilderness between the valley and civilization. She gripped the bars for a moment, feeling the cold iron beneath her palms. No time like the present. Emmaline hurried over to her dresser and took a nail file and a bottle of brandy. She pulled the cork with her teeth and spat it away, taking a long swallow. That was doubtless a sin against good liquor but her nerves needed steadying. Etching the runes she needed into the iron bars was a frustrting task. Not for the first time Emmaline promised Ranald that if she survived she was going to pay more attention to her studies. When she was finally satisfied with the runes she splashed some brandy over the bars and took a step back.

"Eleanor?" Emmaline nearly jumped out of her skin as the door creaked open. She spun about, cursed at not shutting the window and endeavored to cover it as best she could with her stance. Julian stepped through the door with an appologetic look on his face. He looked awful. His usual lean face was haggard with unhealthy dark circles under his eyes, a slight tick tugged at his left eye every few seconds and his hands trembled.

"I'm sorry about all this," he said earnestly, as though he had ruined a ball rather than used black sorcery to kill an entire estate worth of people and animate thier corpses to do his bidding.

"Pléase you 'ave to let me go," Eleanor begged, she would have dropped to her knees and begged, if that wouldn't reveal what she had been doing at the window. Julian's eyes flicked to the bottle of brandy in her hand and, absurdly, Emmaline felt a little embarassed.

"You aren't planning to hit me with that are you?" Julian asked, his eyes cutting back towards the statue still corpse of Colditz. Emmaline hadn't considered it but suddenly wished she had. Instead she took another long slug and held the bottle out towards Julian. The necromancer shook his head.

"I need to stay clear headed," he said, maddeningly calm about the whole situation. He seemed to be determined to act as though this were no different from any of their other conversations, as though he hadn't revealed himself to be a monster.

"It all started at university," Julian explained, unasked. He flopped down onto a couch and patted the space beside him. Emmaline considered her options and stepped towards Julian, taking another theatrical swig to draw his attention away from the window. Brandy burned in her belly and she felt her cheeks flushing. She wanted to scream at him that she didn't care but she was too practised a con artist to give in to that emotion.

"Eet dosen't mattair ai know you are a good man et zat you would nevair 'urt me please let me go," she beeseched, taking his hand in her own. It might have been imagination but there seemed to be a slimy texture to the boy's flesh that hadn't been there before. He gripped her tightly, obviously pleased at the contact.

"At first it was just history," he confided, "I became fascinated with the Sylvanian wars." Emmaline knew only the vaugest legends of those invasions, mostly from sermons she had been forced to listen to when she was a girl. Priests liked telling stories about those dark times, each one seeming to think that the time of the Three Emperors was a fertile and original field for parables.

"But the university had all kinds of materials, some of them had... passages in them. I knew they were proscribed but I just wanted to learn," Julian explained. Emmaline had heard of such texts, books where spells lurked in code, in foot notes, even masqureading as childrens nursery rhymes. An educated man with talent and money might easily piece them together but to try such spells, incomplete and corrupt was as close to insanity as Emmaline could imagine.

"Sigmar save me how am I going to explain all this," Julian wailed, putting his head in hands.

"Well you could tell evairyoné zat a plagué came through and wé waire ze on-lee survivairs," Emmaline suggested, unable to turn off her devious mind even now. Julian looked up at her considering it, his eyes widened with sudden hope as he turned over the idea.

"That... that is a really good idea," Julian admitted. "But...I could never trust you not to reveal what I have done. Emmaline shrugged her shoulders.

"But I will be away in Brettonia, and who would believe a simple woman?" Emmaline suggested. Julian nodded eagerly and seemed ready to spring to his feet, just as suddenly his eyes narrowed.

"What happened to your accent madmo..." The brandy bottle crashed into Julian's head with a shattering impact that flung shards of glass and drops of brandy in all directions. The necromancer slumped on the couch in a daze. Emmaline leaped to her feet but the zombie Colditz was already comming through the door, obeying some command to defend Julian. Emmaline screamed in frustration, then darted for the window, her lips forming hurried arcane sylabbles. She leaped at the window and crashed through the iron bars, transmuted to glass by her hasty spell. She plunged six feet to the tile roof a floor below, then slid down the incline disloding a tide off wooden shingles. She made a desperate grab for the edge but the shingle came away in her hand and she fell, crashing down into a decorative shrub.

"Stop her!" Julian roared from the window, moping at the blood running from his scalp. Emmaline leaped to her feet, hiked up her robe and sprinted off into the darkness.

The manor was like every other statehouse Kasimir had been in. It was far too large and confusing in its layout, serving no one but the pride of the architect and the patron who paid for it. Reynard and he had made it down three turns of the halls and a small banquet dining room, and had cut their way through five lurching zombies. Despite his initial fear, the Brettonian knight proved his valor, smashing through a larger one with a sturdy chair before cutting its head off at the shoulder, and barreling through a turned, freshly dead scullery maid that moaned until he split her down the middle with his sword.

Whilst they were not privvy to this information, or much of anything for that matter, a zombie's greatest strength was the terror it evoked. Even a well-traveled mercenary felt a sense of unease and dread when faced with the grasping, lifeless corpse of a man that could only be moving by necromantic magics. It was unnatural and the antithesis of reality itself, most would agree. However, when two moderately armored and trained warriors could get past that barrier, there was not much difference between a zombie and their living counterpart, save maybe a lack of self preservation. As long as they kept their heads and did not get surrounded, they would be fine.

The two burst into a room that, at first glanced, seemed to serve as a meeting hall for honored guests. A rich rug of red and gold thread was draped across the floor, slim desks hugging the walls held busts and an exquisite book, accompanied by a quill and ink, for prospective dinner guests to sign their names. Outside the windows was the central courtyard and garden. It would have been quite lovely were it not for the half-crazed spearman stabbing an unmoving corpse near the dining room doorway.

His face shot up, a crazed and wild look in his eyes. He bore a classical peaked morion helmet, along with a breastplate that was spattered with blood. It took Kasimir a moment to even realize he was a still-living man, but before he could speak the fellow screamed, wrenching his spear out of the corpse and leveling it at them.

"Monsier! Herr soldyer! We ah hyeyr tu aid yu!" Reynard hearkened to him, holding a hand out pleadingly, but the fellow was too far gone. He cried out something unintelligable, though Kasimir fancied he was yelling something to Taal. The guardsman charged, hoping to skewer Reynard, who was the closest. The knight hefted his shield, and even as the spear point crashed into the kite shield, Kasimir's bastard sword ran the man through beneath the breastplate, ending his life. He croaked and died, falling on his face. Kasimir and Reynard gave one another a grim look, and then Reynard cut the man's head off, just to be certain.

The black deed was abruptly interrupted as the door behind them opened, and a buxom blonde scrambled into the room, rushing headlong and slamming into Kasimir from behind like a pissed-off goat. Kasimir gave a started cry and hit the ground, off-balance and bowled over by the momentum of the fleeing Emmaline Von Morganstern. It was a curious sensation, the entire room spinning and the ground rushing up to meet him, but it took him no time to take stock as he raised his head. He glanced up, and saw Emmaline raise her own head, flinging her mass of golden hair back and blinking her blue eyes. Immediately, Kasimir felt a curious sense of relief she was not dead, or worse. But then his eyes burned with frustration. True to form she had survived, but inconvenienced him in a dozen different ways at once.

"Get off of me!" He complained, pushing himself up so Emmaline rolled off to the floor. She gave a generous 'eep!' but then recovered quickly.

"Kasimir?" Emmaline breathed in disbelief. Relief and confusion warred on her face, and by the look of her eyes, she had a hell of a day. Her next words were given with uncharacteristic hopefulness, even joy to see him. "Are you here for me?"

"Yes, I am." He answered, sitting up and pulling his sword out from under his leg. Luckily he had crashed onto the flat of the blade, else he would have gotten a nasty cut. He glanced at Reynard, who watched expectantly. "I mean, yes, we are." He gesticulated with his right hand. "This is Sir Reynard of Montfort, who valiantly volunteered to aid in your rescue, mademoiselle."

For his part, Reynard gave a courtly bow. "A pleasheyer. Bot, are yu trouly vrom Brettonia?"

"She has spent much time amongst us lowly Imperials. She picked up our mannerisms quite well." Kasimir answered for her, getting back to his feet. On second nature, he held his hand out for her to take. She took it, and perhaps because of the heat of the moment or the fact he had not known if she had been dead or forceibly married, there was a spark there he hadn't expected when their hands entwined. He could see she noticed something similar, but he did them both a favor and elected to ignore it as she steadied herself. He brushed himself off. "And now, we're going back."

"Ai em noot reterening to Middenheim, Kassymere! Ze mereley wish to tayik mai het!" She declared, clutching her neck for Reynard to see and pouting her lip.

"I would not let that happen." Kasimir promised.

"Un zince wen dew yew keyer abot me?" She inquired, her arms crossing, evidently closing her eyes for drama but peeking out one lidded eye in curiosity.

"I don't," He said, too quickly to not be suspicious. "But I did not ride through beastland and hack apart men alive and dead just to get you killed. Besides, you can always stay here if you like."

Emmaline felt her skin crawl slightly, though whether from the oily feel of the necormantically charged air, the nearness of the walking dead, or the presence of Kasimir, a man who she was pleased to see despite having very recently cursed him for getting her into the mess she wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was having to keep up this ridiculous accent. Where on Taal green earth had he found a legitimate Brettonian knight? That presented her some real problems, but those problems would be solved too quickly if a zombie ripped out her heart and ate it so she decided not to look a gift griphon in the mouth.

“Wé should get oot of haire, befairé Julian recovairs,” she told the two men, leading the way towards a side door that opened towards the stables. She cursed herself for the fact that the two men would prevent her from doing a little light looting on the way but she supposed you had to sort out priorities at times like this.

“Julian?” Reynard asked as he brought up the rear sword raised in guard.

Le necromancair ai 'ow do you sai… l'a frappé au visage avec une bouteille,”she explained, switching to Brettonian as though forced to do so by the stress of the situation. She was close enough to fluent that any small mistakes might be excused, and demonstrating she spoke it would convince Reynard she was who she said she was. There was an agonized cry from behind them and Emmaline stepped quickly to the door and threw it open.

“ELEANOR!” Julian roared, his voice filled with a dark menace that overlay his youth weirdly.

“She is charm she is grace, most of all she needs to get the hell out of this place,” Kasimir observed wryly. Reynard gave him a look, as though slightly offended on Eleanor’s behalf. Further discussion was forestalled as a ring of figures emerged from the darkness. The reek of death, new and old preceded them like a bow wave. Some were ancient skeletons with witchfire eyes, others were grooms, servants, tenant farmers who just this morning had risen to their daily labors expecting nothing more than an average day of toil. Some held weapons, improvised peasant tools for the most part, and they moved in eerie unison, drawing tight like the string of a bag. Horses were screaming, spooked by the smell of death or the more metaphysical reek of dark magic on the air. The stable door exploded outwards and a half dozen horses bolted down the valley eyes wide an rolling. One of them came too close to an ancient moss encrusted skeleton which, according to whatever arcane logic animated it, hacked down with a rusty reaping blade. The grubby metal punched into the horses neck like a meathook going into a side of bacon. The horse screamed and flinched away, ripping the hook out of the skeletons bony grasp. It staggered a half dozen feet, shook its head furiously and managed to dislodge the weapon with a colossal spray of bright arterial blood. It staggered a few more feet, sank to its knees and then toppled dead, steaming in the chill air. Emmaline shut her gaping mouth and then closed the door with surprising calm.

“Zé 'airses might not be such a good plin,” she admitted, taking a step back from the door a moment before the rusty blade of a trench mattock punched through the thin timber.

“N'ayez pas peur, madame, je vous défendrai au péril de ma vie,” Reynard declared grandly, thrusting Emmaline back behind him, apparently in happy ignorance of the fact that at any moment Julian or more of his undead minions would be coming up behind them.

“Lets make our last stand somewhere else, closer to our own horses maybe,” Kasimir suggested, which was good because it would have been out of Eleanor’s character to offer tactical advice after such a chivalrous gesture.

“Eleanor!” Julian roared, appearing at the far end of the hallway with a swarm of zombies.

“All I wanted to do was keep you safe, we were friends!” he ranted, then he drew back his hand, dark energy gathering around it. Emmaline felt her body prickle and tried desperately to think of a counterspell.

“I can’t let you go, I can’t let you tell anyone, don’t you see what you have forced me to do!” he all but wailed, then, like a striking snake he whipped his hand forward and hurled a bolt of pure darkness at her. Emmaline had just enough time to scream before Reynard thrust her aside and gripping his shield with both hands parried the bolt. To everyone's surprise the spell reflected from the shield, smashing upwards into the roof. The plaster molding yellowed, blackened then fell into dust pouring down into the hallway in a chalky cloud. Julian roared with anger and hurled another bolt, which was similarly deflected. The smash of tools against the outer door reminded them that Julian didn’t need to kill them with his spells, merely hold them in position long enough for his minions to gather.

“For Ulric!” Kasimir shouted but instead of charging like a lunatic, he hacked into the plaster wall with all his might, carving a great gash into the plaster. Emmaline whispered a few words of her own and crooked a surreptitious finger. When Kasimir next struck a three foot section of wall exploded to powder, carving a hole into the adjacent hallway. Emmaline ducked through, climbing past the ancient wall timbers and into the drawing room on the other side. Kasimir was shouting at Reynard to follow, something he was more likely to do now that the noblewoman he had come to rescue was gone though Emmaline’s action had been more to save her own skin than to advance any such agenda. The knight backed out keeping his shield up to ward of spells as he came. Emmaline picked up a chair and hurled it through the window that lead out into a courtyard, following the shattered glass by only as long as it took her to brush away the jagged shards with the foot of a stool.

“Whaire do we go we cannot leavé zis veehlian aliv,” Reynard objected as he joined them, his eyes cutting back over his shoulders for any more spells being flung their way.

“The safety of Madmoiselle De Courcy is our paramount duty,” Kasimir said quickly, “We cannot put her in danger no matter how much we might wish to stay and fight.” Emmaline nodded in enthusiastic collaboration with this line of thinking.

“Oui aii supposé you aré righ,” Reynard admitted.

“We 'avé to go whaire are yur steeds?” Emmaline demanded, even as she headed out of the courtyard and into the apple orchard beyond.

The orchard would have been lovely under the sun, during springtime where innocent looking boys like Lucian might have played with his friends or kissed his first girl under the trees. Kasimir, though never wanting for food, had never been as lucky as some of the lesser nobleborn for their truer parentage. He had never lived in an estate or had a personal garden, just a room and obligations to prove he was worth keeping. But he had seen numerous ones like this, and with the grey sky and the eerie silence of the dead, he felt he was in Sylvania, not in the heart of Middenland. Their footsteps were loud in his ears, what leaves were on the ground cackled from every step.

"Once we pass the wall to the south, we'll get to the horses a mile down the road." Kasimir whispered, and Emmaline groaned at the thought of walking a mile.

"Worry nat laydee, iv need be I zshall kereh you" Reynard proclaimed, and Kasimir rolled his eyes. He used to think tales of chivalry were inspiring. The thought fled him, though, when he realized something off about the orchard. The apples weren't red or green. They were grey, flakes falling from them. Some of them crumpled to dust before his eyes. Whatever Lucian had done had sucked the life out of them. Even the trees seemed more wilted and gnarled.

"Death seems more preferable." Kasimir said to himself, drawing a curious look from Emmaline. If undeath caused such destruction, twisted the mind so thoroughly, then he would rather go naturally than live forever, he decided. As if on cue, there was a keening wail, first dim and growing steadily louder. It had no source. It was all around them, until Kasimir realized it was screaming one word: Eleanor.

Cadavers burst out of the ground, some with pallid flesh and others naught but bone and grubs. They dug themselves out of the root infested ground, one hand clawing out of the earth between Emmaline's feet. She squealed and clutched Kasimir, kicking at the hand and crying 'getitaway getitaway!' Kasimir pulled her around with one arm and used his other to chop the hand off with a slash of his sword. A dozen corpses were half out of the ground, Reynard worrying three that had already managed to make it to their feet. Kasimir and Emmaline then looked at one another, noticing they clung to the other and promptly untangled, but not before there was a great cry of anguish from behind them. They whirred and saw Lucian standing there, wild eyed and glaring at them in disbelief. He was flanked by two wights in guard uniform, dragging their arming swords on the ground.

"Eleanor..." He said, disbelief on his face. Kasimir did not know if he was jealous or there was something else bothering him, but whatever it was, he was growing more unhinged by the second. Kasimir cut down a zombie that reached for him and clove the head of another. He was confident they could take down these shamblers, but the magic Lucian would unleash would catch them at the flank. Reynard was grabbed from behind by a corpse, and he struggled to rid himself of it before others leaped atop him, dragging him to the ground in a heap of zombies.

Kasimir chopped the head off another one, but he suddenly felt his form was stricken by something he couldn't comprehend. Some force beyond his understanding, and it was horrific. He felt his body, his soul, his every mind withering. His ears rang, his nose filled with the smell of ash, he thought he heard Emmaline screaming, but he was not sure. He tried to move, and to his satisfaction, his arm did begin to arc slowly, but then suddenly he felt every nerve in his body getting picked apart, and he screamed in pain.

However, the next moment he hit the ground like a poleaxed ox, the pressure and the torturous pain immediately subsiding. He even felt his strength returning, and he heard a distant but obviously very loud shout of "FOR ZE LAYDEE!" A figure flew past him, and Lucian went wide eyed when Reynard's crucifix sword clove into the necromancer's collarbone, chopping through meat and marrow. Blood sprayed, and the young man gaped in disbelief yet again, vainly trying to raise his arms to pry the blade out. Reynard started to say something else, perhaps something heroic, but despite Lucian's mortal wound, his spells had not been undone. The shambling guards behind him whipped their swords up with surprising alacrity and stabbed into Reynard. The man wore mail and a protective coat, but the swords were sharp, and armor did not always halt a thrust blade. Both swords penetrated his torso, but did not run him through entirely. Reynard gasped from the pain as both he and Lucian fell back onto the dirt of the orchard, staining the once verdant grass with their lifeblood. Lucian, still trying to grasp the sword, gave another rattled breath, and then died there on the ground of the estate he would have inherited. At once, the wights and zombies fell apart in piles of mottled flesh and bone. Kasimir ran to the fallen knight, and took his head in his to steady him, but after one swift glance, he knew it was too late.

"Iz mon enemee ded?" Reynard coughed, blood seeping from his bottom lip. "An ze laydee sef?"

Kasimir squeezed his hand, nodding. "Yes."

Reynard grinned, and Kasimir could tell he was happier now than he had ever been in their short acquaintance. His every breath a wheeze, Kasimir watched him struggle to continue speaking. But he was losing his grip on reality, and instead he looked up into the sky, and spoke a small sentence in his native tongue, before he, too, died. Kasimir looked at him for a long moment, sighed, and then closed the valiant knight's eyes. "May your gods embrace you, sir Reynard of Montfort." He whispered, and then drew himself up to his feet, turning to Emmaline. "What did he say, if you know?"

"I think he said...If you ever reach Montfort, tell them I fought with honor," she remarked, though the uncertainty in her voice showed it was more an educated guess. Kasimir nodded, cleaned his blade on his cloak, and sheathed it in one, fluid motion.

"Come on, let's get out of here."

The stink of necromantic magic was still heavy on the air as they climbed the shoulder of the valley. Below them a mist was rolling in like a gray tide, obscuring the vale. Every now and then there was a faint glow, like witchlight just beyond sight that made Emmaline's heart race. She became convinced that at any moment more undead horrors would lurch from the mist to rip them appart and she tasted coppery bile in her throat. It wasn't until they reached the lip of the valley and and the scent of horses made her nose twitch that she finally allowed herself to believe they might escape. Of course escape meant a hundred miles across bad roads at night through beastman infested forests, which was something to keep in mind.

"Take his hor...oh for Sigmar's sake really?" Kasimir demanded as Emmaline began going through the late knights saddle bag and lifted out a pouch of coins. "What you didn't have time to loot the body?"

"I can't help it," Emmaline replied with a little more waspishness than might have been strictly necessary. The death of the Knight had pricked her worse than she let on. She hadn't known him, and Ranald knew there were more than enough bone headed men willing to jump onto a blade in the world, but he had died to defend her, or what he thought was her. It was far from certain that he would have been so keen to join this quest if she had just been Emmaline from Morganstern which added another complicated layer to her feelings on the matter. As a rule her scams were victimless crimes, rich idiots who lost what they could easily afford and though she had to admit she would have traded Reynards life for hers if she had to, it still made her feel badly. The gold that clinked in his pouch soothed her somewhat and she thrust it back into his saddlebag.

"Your welcome by the way," Kasimir said as he swung up into his saddle. Emmaline did the same, though the powerful destrier showed no signs of being a comfortable ride.

"Now just wait a minute," Emmaline began, "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the fact that you couldn't mind your own bussiness."

"Well maybe if you worked a bit harder on that abominable accent..."

"There is nothing wrong with my accent, Ill have you know that..."

They road off into the beast haunted woods, bickering all the while.