“Hah! You made me worry for nothing!” Jextor shouted, slapping the skeleton on the shoulder. The undead rattled all over as the slap drove it knee-deep into the snow. “The control on this one holds nicely.”

The skeleton climbed out of the snow and glared at Jextor. The skeletons were so light they could mostly stand on top of the packed snow, unless slapped down like a nail being driven into a plank. The skeleton drew a hand down its skull, miming frustration in a surprisingly obvious way, considering it didn’t really have the face for it.

“That’s one of Falar’s, right?” I asked.

“Most positively,” Jextor said, turning his back on the skeleton. “Almost all the rest are mine. Falar is too much of an artisan. When you need fifty skeletons in a day, come to me instead!”

One of the skeletons peeled away from the group, taking a halting step toward Jextor.

“Of course,” I said, already starting to pull my boots out of the snow to run better. “How dangerous are skeletons, actually? How fast?”

“Surprisingly fast, but not that—ouch!”

The skeleton jumped on Jextor’s back and headbutted him. The skull made an empty clonk as it hit his bald head. The skeleton wrapped its hands around Jextor’s neck. The bony fingers disappeared into his beard.

The rest of the skeletons were twitching, the whole group clattering against each other, packed shoulder to shoulder, ribs mixing with ribs, skulls pressed together.

Jextor’s voice was garbled as the skeleton gripped his chin, fingers going into his mouth.

Jextor chomped his jaw shut. “Warn the others!” he shouted, spitting out a mouthful of small bones. He reached back and wrapped his fingers around the skeleton’s skull.

I turned away from the sound of cracking bone and the clattering of fifty skeletons. Damn it, I shouldn’t have expected anything else. I sprinted across the clearing to the tent, glancing at the group of zombies. They struggled to pull their legs out from the snow, some falling face-first as they stretched their arms toward me or Jextor. One wrenched its leg up with a ripping sound, leaving most of its flesh stuck on the ice.

Yeah. About what I’d expected.

I blasted into the tent, shutting my eyes just in case. “The undead are loose!” I shouted.

“What?” Falar said.

“It’s safe to open your eyes,” Grit said.

“Why wouldn’t it be... what do you mean the undead are on the loose!” Falar said. “Who’s going to carry my armchair back?”

I opened my eyes to glare at them. “Jextor is being strangled by about fifty of them. Didn’t you hear the shouting?”

“We did, but the Chancellor is always shouting,” Falar said, crossing one leg over the other. He frowned and bolted up from the chair. “Agh, this isn’t good!” His face drained white, lips turning blue. “Snap out of it!”

The shout was so loud I flinched away. Grit flopped to the floor from the pillow and rolled away from him.

“Get outside! It’s impossible to think here,” Falar said, stomping past me.

I pulled Grit up. “You ok? He didn’t do anything weird?”

“Yeah, no.”

She looked so sorry about it I almost laughed. This wasn’t the time. I grabbed her coat and pushed it into her hands. “You heard him. Let’s go.”

A skeleton crashed into the tent next to me. The cloth bent inward and bounced back, throwing the skeleton high into the air. Half way through the flight, the magic holding the skeleton failed and the bones flew apart, clattering down all around the clearing.

“Watch where you’re throwing them!” Falar shouted.

Jextor kicked another skeleton, running his boot through its rib cage. Red welts ran across his face and arms, where the skeletons had scraped him.

“What should we do?” I shouted at Falar.

“Prepare to head back!” he shouted, hands drawing runes into the air. “Stay away from the zombies.”

He didn’t need to tell me that twice. I remembered how strong Jordan had been after dying. A skeleton I might be able to handle, even though they were quick as hell. I’d only need to be quicker.

“Come on,” I said to Grit, wrenching her toward our tent.

She shook my hand off and dug her heels into the snow. “Go ahead, grab my satchel.”

“What?”

“I’ll help them. We did sparring against undead before you came.”

I frowned at Grit, gaze flicking from her to the skeletons to the tent. “Careful,” I said finally and started running.

Falar shot a handful of bright white darts into a group of skeletons. The darts blew bone into a cloud of white shrapnel. Some of the skeletons held together, missing only an arm or a skull, but the ones struck by more than a couple of darts fell apart, collapsing into a pile of scattered bones.

“Save your strength!” Jextor shouted at him, and grunted as a zombie punched him in the side.

“I’m the war mage here,” Falar muttered, hands weaving new runes into the air without a pause.

Two skeletons blocked my way to the tent. They snapped their jaws open and shut in the same rhythm, sounding like an evil metronome. Grit shot past me, jumping into the air. Snow arced as she spun, slapping the first skeleton on the temple. Bone cracked and the skeleton’s skull caved in on itself, its body flying to the side. Grit raised her hands between herself and the other skeleton, holding them up like weapons.

I’d pay good money to be there when Falar finally said something so inappropriate that she’d slap him. The thought came and went. The severity of the situation was finally catching up to me. I clenched my teeth hard to focus. The effect from Jextor’s ring of light still lingered, tinting everything mildly amusing.

I rushed past Grit. The skeleton grabbed at me, but I feinted, kicking to the side. The skeletons were fast, but they didn’t have the instincts. Good to know. That wouldn’t have worked on the streets.

The skeleton was still looking at me when Grit slammed it on the top of the head with an overhead slap. Took the skull right off. The Jonungaard style of fighting was weird, but I was happy she was here and on my side. I rolled inside the tent as more spells went off behind me. I could see the flashes of light and feel the sizzle of magic, not just tingling this time, but the hot electric rattle of Falar’s spells.

Inside the tent everything was peaceful and quiet. The sound from outside was muffled and the air was warm. I threw both satchels onto my back and grabbed the cylindrical hat, tucking it under my arm.

I stopped to breath in and out and patted the breast pocket to make sure the letter was there. I wouldn’t have time to worry about it for now. Finally someone, something, was trying to hurt me again.

I smiled grimly, teeth gritted, and ran back out.

About thirty skeletons, seven zombies. Jextor, coat torn and tattered, working on a spell. Falar scowling at the zombies. They’d obviously left them for him.

Grit had good distance, keeping the skeletons in front of her.

I ran toward her, the only one who might need or deserve help. The wind was still for once, like the world was out of breath, air standing still and thick. The smell of mold and old rot was suffocating. It pressed on me, but I pushed back, my mind still, not cold.

This was what I knew. The heat of surviving, taking down someone asking for it. Breath hissed through my teeth as I rationed my breathing.

I pushed close, made the skeleton swipe at me. Dodged low, cracked a palm to its elbow. Didn’t matter that there was no meat on the arm, it only broke more easily this way. I grinned at the snap. Come at me, find out what real malice looks like.

A skeleton grabbed Grit. I bowled into it from the side, wrenching it off her and taking it down with me. A pull with both arms left the skull in my hands. I threw it at the third skeleton trudging through the snow at us. Caught it in the groin. Turned out throwing a skull was hard, especially when it was still snapping at my fingers.

“Watch out!” Jextor shouted. He shot a wall of flame from his hands at a group of skeletons rushing him. It blew them apart, sending the smoking bones flying. Snow sizzled into steam.

Falar worked his way through the zombies. He shot black bolts from his right hand, flaring in colors that I couldn’t name. The bolts punched through the zombies, turning huge chunks of them to dust. One of the zombies reached him, and he backhanded it, slapping it like Hormens used to hit some of his working girls. The zombie came apart, its upper half tearing off with a squelch.

The sound made me gag. The splattering continued as parts of the zombie landed around the clearing.

Grit panted and I pulled her up. Not the time to stay down. Her hat had fallen off her head and her white hair was streaked with bright red blood from a nick on her face.

Falar growled, looking almost as dead as the zombies. His skin was sickly pale, contrasted by dark veins standing out of at his temples and neck. Even the zombies seemed to shrink back from him. The air was getting colder.

Jextor waved his hand in an arc and a blast of force threw another group of skeletons into the air in a thick cloud of snow. “We need to head back!” he shouted.