Lutan stared at the scrying orb with more relief than satisfaction. The Lord Protector of the Western Reaches was exhausted and just a little bit terrified.

He knew he’d overplayed his hand, and the spell backlash of revealing his presence and identity had given him the kind of headache most easily compared to continents grinding against each other while the resulting nosebleed has left him lightheaded from blood loss in the brief period he’d been rendered unconscious.

Collision course was a hard narrative to set up, to put two great entities against each other by little more than happenstance, and right at the end it had all nearly come apart.

Creating the note had been the easy part, and he’d done it days ago. The Lord Protector had had occasion to visit Vulcanus’ archives and it was easy therefore to retroactively create a note that he could have plausibly left in his visit. It was a touch overt but nothing that stretched the boundaries of bardic magic.

Getting that note to slip from its book and float on the breeze into the Melodious Duck however had been the arcane undertaking of a lifetime. He hadn’t been sure he even could do it, and as it had come to rest on the table he’d been hit by the backlash as the threads of narrative stretched and tore.

That was one of the big secrets of bardic magic, it couldn’t work when observed. Even if the victim knew there was a bard hunting them unless they could find the inconsistencies in events there was little they could do, but once spotted it all came tumbling down all at once. It was doubtful he’d ever be able to affect the people in that room with bardic magic again.

He’d had no choice, Lutan assured himself, with Erebus about to flee Valda, leaving the Vulcanus archives behind, there would have been no way to get the Cult of the Ardent Wildfyre and his necromantic nemesis to come to blows.

Of course the infuriating part was that he’d done it to himself, his little tip off to the Council of Mages had been too effective. Rather than just telling him where Erebus lurked it had also told the Necropolis. Bad luck could happen even to bards.

If he were to guess the First Response team that had found Erebus’ comrades had had a necromancer on it, the Necropolis summoning their fallen son to report on his demise.

Sometimes he forgot just how competent the enemy could be.

Nonetheless he felt relief. He was so close now. So close to seeing both of his father’s killers put in the grave. So close to being able to give up this double life. Not that he had much choice. By the door the vat of memories lay in shards. The same shockwave that had thrown him across the lab had made quite the mess.

There would be no more dissembling anymore. No more lying to himself so he could evade truth spells in their many forms. He’d have to put down the magic now, and good riddance to it.

He couldn’t remember when or how he’d learned how to be a bard. At a guess those memories had been part of the evaporating blue slop currently coating his lab tiles.

It had been a long time, he knew that much. The road had been a hard one. His double life had been made no easier by one half being unaware of the other and it had taken years through letters and couriers and promises made and kept to even earn his own trust.

He’d uncovered the small village Erebus had been wintering in then persuaded his better half to seek out a spellbreaker and a mercenary skilled enough to use it. He’d commissioned the soul gem to trap Von Mori, or rather his oblivious other half had commissioned him to do it and he’d subcontracted the work out.

He’d watched Erebus, in his guise as a paladin monk, grow close to the people of the village while he weaved his magic upon the world. One of the oldest tales in the world, the mentor dies at the end.

And it had so very nearly worked. Erebus had survived his initial strike upon Valda by simply not being there at the time, out searching for – and apparently finding – Ente’s Tear of the Sun.

It shouldn’t have mattered, his magic had had the necromancer ensnared entirely as his father’s killer had saved Alec and dragged him through the forest. He’d lied to Von Mori, then imprisoned the disbelieving dryad when he’d been caught in that same lie.

Then had come the confrontation outside Seruatis itself and he truly thought he’d won. His dagger had literally been in the necromancer’s heart, deflected unerringly by Lutan’s magic.

For a few brief hours he’d been happy. Able to finally move on with his life until it had all come crashing down with the revelation of Erebus’ survival.

Even then it shouldn’t have mattered. He’d had contingencies in place in case Erebus made it to the safety of Seruatis and his carefully woven narrative still lay heavy upon the mage’s shoulders.

With the High Paladin’s approval he’d dispatched Janiah to take Erebus into custody as part of Gregor’s scheme to bring the Immortals to heel.

It had been hard not to laugh as he did so. For all that the High Paladin and Erebus were friends he didn’t know the necromancer half as well as Lutan did. Erebus had never in his life seen a grenade he didn’t want to leap upon.

Again Lutan had been frustrated. Somehow the narrative he’d cast upon the necromancer had been defeated. The mentor dies. It was about as reliable a spell as bards had. Worse the spell hadn’t been broken. It had been fulfilled. Somehow Erebus had died while not having the decency to stay dead or even undead.

If he was honest with himself he’d despaired at that point. His efforts to kill the necromancer had been desultory at best, amounting to little more than keeping tabs on Erebus and waiting for an opportunity.

It was the assassination attempt on Amara that had given him the idea for his next great scheme. The attempt had given him the final piece to a jigsaw he’d been assembling for years, and even better had finally given Erebus a few pieces as well.

Relief. It wasn’t over but it would be soon. He had just one card left to play after this though he prayed he wouldn’t have to use it. Hopefully the Wildfyre elemental would be enough to kill Erebus once and for all, then he could simply have the cult mopped up by conventional means.

Otherwise… he let his gaze fall upon the summoning circle in the corner of his lab. Otherwise it was time master and student were reunited.

*

“Reform the lines! Nullspears to the front!” General Augustine bellowed, throat raw and voice beginning to rasp and fade.

This should have been an easy battle. With five regiments under his command he’d been expecting to simply roll over the small force of Forest Guard they’d caught in the open as they’d been withdrawing back to their fel forest from one of their many raids.

The forest had been striking almost at random and it had been close to pure luck they’d caught them on the march.

With four thousand men under his command and the enemy numbering just a few hundred it had looked like an easy battle. Man for man the Forest Guard were far more dangerous than his own troops, but that shouldn’t have mattered.

The protocol for dealing with the foul undead that the forest had wrought was clear. Engage them at a distance with archers whilst null-clad knights held the lines against them. The magic destroying substance making it impossible for them to approach.

The protocol hadn’t accounted for the fact these were Von Mori’s Forest Guard, possessed of the very same resistance to null as their terrible matron.

One particularly ugly brute with a thorned crown and a cudgel for a hand had almost singlehandedly broken their lines. The monster had leaped upon the nearest knight, ignoring the dozen arrows feathering his chest as he’d pinned them down and over a course of blows caved in both helmet and skull before looking for fresh prey.

There hadn’t been much of it available. The other misshapen fiends had followed his lead, dropping their spoils – the corpses of the slain taken to be transformed into more of the foul creatures – they had piled into the front lines. No order of battle, no strategy, just a mindless assault that was typical of monsters.

But not of soldiers. That, in hindsight, should have been the moment unease had crawled up Augustine’s spine. For all that Forest Guard were monsters, they were also men. They thought and fought and this berserk charge had none of the hallmarks of the mind that had already decimated village after village on the western border.

Instead he’d been relieved. Whilst the Forest Guard were reaping a bloody toll they were falling. His troops had been equipped for this battle and sure enough the nullspears were doing their job, pinning the monsters in place as the null piercing their flesh undid the enchantments keeping them in this world.

He didn’t even notice what was really happening at first. One man not even in the fighting stumbled and didn’t get up. Then another.

Augustine made a note to reprimand whichever company was managing to make a mess of walking over flat grass when he saw it. A translucent hand reached up from the ground, grabbed a man’s ankle and the man fall dead to the floor.

Now, far, far too late, the alarm bells began ringing in his head. Trying not to seem panicked he reached into his saddlebags, extracting a scrying orb tuned to his opposite number on the Council of Mages side of this war.

It was hard to keep the damn things running when there was this much null on the battlefield, but he should have been getting more than the swirling purple mist that told him its partner had been smashed.

Forget alarm bells, a full marching band was going by in his head now. Another orb, this one tuned to the Necropolis itself. A smiling Karatas appeared in it within seconds.

“Augustine! My dear fellow what can I do for you?” The ambassador said, wiping some sort of red sauce from his lips as he tried to make himself presentable.

Around Augustine things were starting to devolve into panic. An entire company dropped down lifeless as a spectral hand passed through them all in a single pass. Men were looking to him for orders. He didn’t give them any. There wasn’t any point. “I’d consider it a personal favour if you’d pass along a message to Lord Protector Lutan and the Council of Mages.”

“Of course. Of course. Scrying orb giving you trouble old man?” Karatas asked, the paladin squinting as he tried to get a better look at what was going on in the background.

Augustine ignored it all. There was nothing he could do about it. “Message is as follows. Von Mori forces are using wraith auxiliaries. Augurs and enchanted protections recommended as standard equipment in future engagements. A full exorcist force to be deployed to my location at best speed. I suspect Seruatis is supplementing their forces and that the Elder Wraith has taken the field. Message ends.”

Karatas’ face fell, the paladin closing his eyes for a few moments so that Augustine wouldn’t have to see the pity in them. “My dear fellow… I’m so sorry.”

The general’s lips twitched in the ghost of a smile, “My kind regards to you and your good lady ambassador.”

That said he let go of the scrying orb, letting it shatter on the ground. Best to deny it to the enemy afterall.

Looking up he found himself alone. Well almost alone. A blue figure hovered in the air next to him.

Wraiths were usually translucent to the point of transparent, this one however was almost opaque with power. The Elder Wraith stared down at him with something close to pity. She’d been waiting for him to finish.

Four thousand dead in under a minute. Once she’d stopped waiting for him to notice it had been the work of moments to sweep through the army, glutting herself on the lifeforce of his men. Spectral claws passing through even null-plate to take the reaper’s due.

The ugly brute that had charged their lines stood next to her, full of contempt and rage as he sneered at Augustine. “What are you waiting for? Kill him.”

The narrow-eyed glare the wraith gave him for that comment was borderline gorgonic in its malice, “I see no need. He is vanquished.”

“He is the enemy. The enemy is to be destroyed.” The Forest Guard countered, raising his cudgel to do the deed himself.

The Elder Wraith didn’t allow it, floating between them so the monster couldn’t strike Augustine without touching her and killing himself in the process. “I am your ally Valherion, not your subordinate. I aid you because I think your cause just. Don’t do anything to dissuade me.”

Piece said she turned to face Augustine, “I will need your sword sir.”

The general stared at her for a moment, incredulous at the idea of mercy from an undead. “I take it I am being taken prisoner.”

“Perhaps. Or a retirement. There is no war within Seruatis’ walls if you wish to join me there.” She gave him a warm smile. Augustine had never had cause to examine a wraith up close before but the bestiary had never mentioned that they might have dimples.

“No! I forbid it.” The Forest Guard declared. “They slew the Lady in cold blood. A prisoner is one thing but to let him simply walk free…”

“The Protected Circle is sanctuary for everyone Captain, even for you if you should seek it, or else it is sanctuary for none. What say you general?”

“You slaughtered my men but you’re sparing me?” Augustine choked out a laugh, “Why?”

“A whim, little more. The captain’s bloodthirst offends me, I wish to see him denied a chance to indulge in it.”

“And if I decline?” The general asked, hand going to the blade at his hip. He already knew the answer.

“Then I will plunge my hand into your chest and drink the vitae from you. It will be painless.” The Elder Wraith promised, inclining her head to him. “But I warn you this, three nights hence the dead shall rise under my command, if you do not wish to raise your blade against your home then I advise you accept.”

Augustine considered that. A force of thousands of wraiths was unheard of. Even during the Necromancer-Paladin wars wraiths had never been deployed. They were simply too dangerous. Anyone slain by a wraith rose as a wraith, under the control of their murderer.

Given wraiths could kill at a single touch the possibility of a break in the chain of command leaingr to an uncontrolled wave of spectral undead sweeping across Contemnere had been so great that Necropolis had been prepared to accept its own destruction rather than risk it.

In fact the Wraith Vault beneath the Necropolis was the one place where even at the height of war paladins were permitted to visit freely, to help guard its grey gates. That’s how feared wraiths were. Even the most insane of mages would house and feed their great enemy if they swore they were there to guard the Wraith Vault.

“You will be hunted over this. Seruatis will become a pariah to all if they take you back.”

“Seruatis is ever the pariah.” The Elder Wraith said evenly, “Fortunately the one exception to our neutrality is if we are attacked.”

“We never attacked you!” The general protested, more outraged at the stupidity of the idea than the accusation itself.

“Oh but you did. In slaying Von Mori you slew one of Seruatis’ guardians.”

“We really started this war?” He asked softly, eyes never leaving the pure cerulean orbs of his foe. She nodded once. “And if I kill you the wraiths still rise?” He asked, half-drawing his blade.

“Indeed. And they rise unbound, able to act as they wish.”

Augustine considered that then slowly he pushed his sword back into its scabbard. “Then I would very much like to accept your offer.”

*

“We really could use the manpower.” Captain Valherion complained as he watched another wraith blink out of existence under their progenitor’s destructive touch.

The Elder Wraith shook her head, absorbing another as she spoke, “You certainly could. With these men you could win the war in a single night, rolling over the cities of the Paladin Protectorate in an unstoppable wave. Even the Necropolis would quake at the sight of such an army of the dead.”

“Then why won’t you give it to us?” Valherion protested, or perhaps pleaded.

She tried not to look annoyed, they’d already had this conversation several times. “I am many things Johannes Valherion but I am not immortal. I can be killed. Were I to fall in battle with a force like this under my command it would be the doom of Reath. Uncontrolled they would spread in all directions, devouring and spawning as they went. My answer remains no.”

“You let that general think you were going to do it.” He replied petulantly.

“Yes. I wished him to live.” She shrugged, continuing down the line of wraiths standing in single file waiting obediently to be consumed even as they regarded her with undiluted hate.

“Even just a few…” Johannes tried to wheedle.

“Will become many. And if even one is slain you have uncontrolled wraiths roaming the land. No and never.” She swore, and meant it.

“Then how are we to win this war?” The Forest Guard demanded. “We don’t have the numbers to defeat them in open battle, and likely never will.”

“That is for you to decide, but if I might offer some advice, think more about what victory looks like rather than how to get there before pondering how to get there.”