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“You mean to tell me that my rider got here yesterday bringing news of an imminent invasion, and you didn’t make sure that his message reached the City Council and the Captain of the Guard?” Frederik asked the guard as he rode down the city street. Frederik had been interrogating the poor man ever since they reached the gate, who was clearly sweating. Agatha walked alongside, with the rest of Frederik’s men trailing behind in a short column.

“Not me, prince. I wasn’t on duty, sir. I just heard about it this morning, when I came to my post. I’m sure the council will have heard him.”

Frederik sniffed. “I know how this city is run, idiot! If anything, a clerk will have sent the guard away and left the message to rot in some other clerk’s inbox until next week. We need to get to the administrative district immediately. The guardians need to be alerted. There’s no telling how much time we have left.”

“Sir, but they have been alerted.” the guard interjected, trying to be helpful. “Nearly two hours ago, already. The captain closed off the crypt and has over a hundred soldiers there as well. There was some sort of incident earlier this morning, but nothing seems to have come of it. They’re still there.”

Frederik stared at the man for a moment, his mouth hanging agape in surprise.

“They are?” He asked, but then immediately went on, “Alright. Good. Then we should go there, too. I need to speak with the Captain and I can’t let that fool Aethelbert gain too much control over the situation.”

They took a winding street up the slope that much of the city was built on, heading toward the administrative center. Frederik continually vented a steady stream of his ire about the city’s administration—more specifically about the lesser merchant princes’ lack of support and their failure to take the Deep Paths seriously.

Agatha wasn’t listening. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sit down with a nice cup of tea somewhere quiet, where no one would bother her—especially no loud, stupid soldiers. But she knew she couldn’t, probably not until after the lich was dealt with.

Most of the way up, they reached a small plaza next to which lay the Duskhaven Academy—Agatha’s workplace and where she lived. To the right, a broad street led to a much larger plaza where the administrative buildings were laid out on one side across from the city’s seven temples. On the left, another road led downhill next to the academy and back onto the slopes. That way lay the crypt.

Waving toward Frederik, who nodded back at her without comment, she split from the group and began tiredly walking up the stairs. She was worn out already, but maybe she could come up with something to help the guardians and the city guard in the next few hours. There were a lot of useful odds and ends in her lab. Then she was startled by a shout from behind.

“Apostate!”

She turned to see a man wearing a uniform march into the square, pointing at Frederik and his men. What was remarkable about him, besides the fact that he was shouting at a column of armed soldiers, was that he was glowing. Or, more specifically, his eyes were shining with bright, white light. He looked familiar, somehow…

Frederik sat up in his saddle and gave him a little wave.

“Lieutenant Geoffrey? What in the name of all the gods are you doing here? I left you down below to support Meuren’s command with the distraction.”

Lieutenant Geoffrey wasn’t listening.

“Merchant Prince Frederik.” He called out in a formal tone, approaching the man. “You have broken Vaclar’s laws and consorted with the enemies of all the gods. You have allied yourself with demons and studied forbidden knowledge. You have brought the denizens of the Deep Paths to the surface and profane our city with their presence. I name you a heretic.”

Frederik scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking down at him from his horse.

“Oh, shut up. You and your Scions. Look at you, man! Aren’t you a revenant yourself, now? Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

Frederik looked back at his men, so he didn’t see when Geoffrey’s eyes literally flashed in rage. The soldiers saw, though, and Agatha guessed that they didn’t think Geoffrey was a revenant.

“Grab him and give him to the city guard to deal with. We have more important things to deal with right now. We’ll throw him in the stocks for a day or so, I’m sure he’ll lighten up a bit before long.”

When the men began to move, Agatha knew something was wrong.

Ceran and his friends stepped forward, but they were reaching for Frederik, not Geoffrey. Walter moved as if to get in their way, but then seemed to think better of it, eyeing the people around him. Frederik protested loudly as they yanked him down from his horse, and a few shouts rose from the crowd that had begun to gather.

“Our city has lost its way, and the gods punish us for it!” Geoffrey intoned out pedantically, obviously enjoying himself “But Vaclar has delivered the very heart of its rot into my hands. Even now, this traitor’s demonic allies establish a foothold at the crypt—in the very heart of our city.”

Agatha ducked out of sight into the building, huddling down against the wall. Were Hasan’s revenants here? How could they have made it up the stairwell ahead of the lich?

“Fear not!” Geoffrey went on. “Vaclar brings his judgment to the wicked and he brings it swiftly.”

Light flashed so brightly that it nearly blinded Agatha, even inside the building and outside Geoffrey’s line of sight. Frederik’s protests cut out suddenly and the crowd fell silent.

“Today, all the faithless will fall. Follow me, and we shall be his instrument!”

The crowd roared and Agatha ran for her lab.

-------

Reshid hadn’t seen his son since the day he’d run off to join the army. There was an argument—the last one of many.

The boy had always loved to fight. When he was little, the gate guards let him help check the carts coming into the city. Later, they taught him to grapple and gamble. His wife, Hana, always said that he would grow out of it, but Reshid knew better. War always sounded exciting to little boys, until they actually got to see it for themselves.

When the call went out for new recruits to fight the western hill tribes, Orem wanted to go. Reshid had explained, argued, and finally shouted, but it was no use. The next morning, Orem spent his life savings on a horse and saddle and joined the cavalry recruits. It was a death sentence, Reshid knew. The hill tribes had vastly superior horsemen and often outmaneuvered the Free Cities’ forces on open terrain—the only kind where horses were used. His wife blamed him for pushing the boy away and left the very next day. Then, he was alone.

He hadn’t seen either one since. Not until today.

“Dad?” Orem looked at least as startled as Reshid himself.

Then he took in the revenant’s appearance and his eyes darkened, mouth forming into a grim line. “That’s a pretty low trick.” He looked around as if there might be an explanation hiding somewhere in a corner. “How did they know?”

Reshid wasn’t listening.

“Son. I thought you were dead—”

“You shut your demon mouth!” Orem shouted with sudden vehemence, yanking a pistol from his belt.

“You think you can come up here, wearing my own father’s face? Did you think I’d believe that?”

Orem fired and Reshid felt the shot kick him like a horse in his abdomen. He rocked back a step. Fortunately, both his healing ability and his essence reserves weren’t what they’d been just a few days ago. Through his own essence, he could feel the flesh knit back together, the pain receding even as it began to bloom.

“Cut that out!” He wheezed. “I’m not a ghoul!”

“Kill them!” Orem shouted at his men, red faced with rage. The soldiers raised their weapons again and Reshid took another step back. He wasn’t sure how many wounds like that he could heal, and Rory had no such protection.

Maybe Feane would catch a few bullets for him.

“Stop!” A woman’s voice rang out like a cracking whip, but it was too late. Several shots went off, and Reshid found himself lying on his back. He was in a lot of pain.

“Stand down, Captain. I need a word!” The voice called again. Another, more familiar voice joined the conversation, but Reshid couldn’t place it.

Orem responded angrily and they kept talking, but their voices were background noise as the pain hit him. He felt detached, somehow, from the entire situation. What was he supposed to be doing? The absurdity of the question made him huff out a laugh, which immediately became pain as the movement aggravated his healing injuries. He was going into shock, he was sure.

“Reshid! Are you alright?” It was Em. A moment later, she was standing over him. He sat up, groaning. More than one bullet had struck him, he knew, but he couldn’t tell how bad it was. One was definitely lodged in his hip, fouling up the leg joint. He could tell it was going to be a problem even after it healed. When he got a chance, he would have to dig it out with a knife. Magical healing was nice, to be sure, but it wasn’t pain-free.

Then, as if nothing had happened, his mind cleared.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Em asked. “And what happened down there? It looked like the lich burned down half the cavern. Are the others alright?”

Reshid held up a hand and shook his head while he tried to decide where to start. But before he could start talking, Orem arrived.

“So, the lieutenant there says you’re one of Frederik’s... ”

“One of… well, in a sense.” Reshid stopped. The fool boy thought he was some kind of ghoul. He knew he should explain somehow, but Reshid was angry now, and memories came with the sudden emotion.

“Thirty years! Thirty! And not a damned word, no sign of life in the light of the gods or in the deepest dark! I traveled to every city in the Confederation—I was here, in this city a dozen times!”

Orem’s eyes widened, but Reshid kept going, voice turning bitter. “I thought your corpse was rotting on a forgotten hillside in the desert somewhere. Do you have any idea what that was like? Do you have any children of your own to teach you the meaning of worry, or did you piss away your entire life settling other people’s stupid grudges in pointless wars?”

His son’s face relaxed into a tired frown.

“Huh. It really is you, isn’t it?” He took a deep breath and rubbed at his chin. “You haven’t changed a bit, you know. Except for that…” He gestured at Reshid’s face—specifically at the bark-like growth that he’d gotten when he first attuned his essence. “...what is that?”

Reshid sighed.

“Damn it, son. That’s not important right now…”

This was not the reunion he had envisioned in his mind, when he dared to imagine that his son lived. Of course, he hadn’t dared to do so in a long, long time.

“Where did the sorcerer go off to, and the guardians?”

“The lich took off down the street, but I’m sure the priests can handle it.” Orem replied. “Now, I asked you a question.”

Reshid didn’t really know what to say. How do you explain to your son that you’re an undead creature, fresh out of the Deep Paths?

Thankfully, they were interrupted by Charlie, who called out from behind him.

“Hey Em, isn’t that one of Frederik’s people? Hey! Medic—Reshid!”

Reshid whirled around. He could sort through his emotions about Orem later. Rory was on the ground, blood leaking out underneath him in a trickle. He was conscious, but not talking. There was blood in his mouth and he coughed weakly to get it out.

“He’s not bleeding too badly,” Charlie said, “but I’ve seen people drown in their own blood from hits like that.”

Feane, Reshid noticed, was nowhere in sight. She’d probably escaped back into the crypt.

Nodding to Charlie, he bent down and put a hand over Rory’s wound, infusing the surrounding flesh with power. The medic had been shot through the lung, and it had collapsed. He could heal the flesh, but he couldn’t make the lung functional again. He didn’t know how. But Rory would know, probably, or someone else around here did—just as long as he could keep him from choking on his own blood. Carefully, he checked to make sure there was no dirt lodged in the wound before closing it both inside and out.

“Thanks.” Rory wheezed as color began to return to his face. “I’m going to need you to open that up again later. We need to let the air out from under my ribs, outside the lung.”

Reshid laughed. “Ha! We’ll get one of your surgeons to do it. You know I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ll close it up for you when they’re done.”

Rory gave him a hard stare, breathing shallowly. “Your fancy healing essence isn’t everything. You’ll always be half a healer if you don’t learn these things. And you won’t learn if you don’t practice. Go and get a knife. You’ll need to open me back up a bit.”