Laughter broke through the night. Not the high pitch of cackling. No, the sound echoed madness unleashed. Clive stretched out his limbs. “This feels so good.” He groaned. Bits of dirt, grass, and dying leaves sprinkled from his still not completely solidified body to litter the ground about him.

“What kind of lame song is that?” a voice echoed behind me. I paused in the song and glanced over my shoulder. Dranon had been nothing but argumentative since we’d arrived at the ruins. Now he stood with arms tightly crossed and with his lip jutted out as if about to through a fit. Not something I could discount from experience.

Nayleen rammed her hands against the shelf to abruptly stop herself at the bookshelf. Running her hands over book spines, she pushed them this way and that trying to locate one impossible to find tome. “Where is it?” She bit her lip. The tome wasn’t in this case. Or worse, remained hidden from her. Shoving the thought away from her, Nayleen whipped about, turning toward another of the shelves she rushed to it. The shelf proved equally disappointing.

Moments after the off-key melody stopped echoing within the house, the door creaked slowly open. The sound reminded Jameson of a crypt opening. Through a narrow slit a face peered out at him. A man, a widower Jameson knew, whose skin appeared a tepid green with thick folds of skin dangling. Looking up, Jameson didn’t smile nor did the man open the door further.

“They’re coming around again!” Marey tried, mostly successfully, to push down the apprehension from the statement. Feet drummed over the ship’s metal decks the crew scurried about trying to spot which direction the Air Guard approached from this time. Marey didn’t see anything. Not yet, but, if the scope had spotted it, they were out there somewhere, and she’d see them quick enough. She’d other fools to deal with first. She ducked lower and scurried toward the fore. Her mother’s words chased behind her.

The council chambers were the normal chaos of noise which always accompanied the middle of a meeting. Too many provinces were represented in the room. Too many differing cultures differing with traditions. Theyal didn’t see how anyone could expect meetings to proceed otherwise. Still, this part of the meeting did not disturb him as much as what he knew would follow.

“Welcome to the Fighters Guild,” I said and clapping my hands I rubbed them with delight. The abrupt sound along with my booming voice quieted the general conversation in the room. I cast an appraising gaze over the group. Fourteen new recruits to guild this season. The best class we’d had in ages. Paying the bards in the hinter lands had paid off.

If Darill never saw another undead, it would be too soon. Never mind the fact that the undead had only been attacking Kadenfall for less than a week. The week had been without sun, and at this point their powers had grown weaker. They had to break the siege.