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."