“I’m telling you, it’s Foxglove!”

  Arlo leaned forward in his seat, nearly spilling his mug of whisky. Across the table, Kaesi stared back impassively, a mug of cider half as big as her head sitting before her. The mug was nearly empty — a fact that amazed Arlo almost as much as her blatant ignorance of the true threat to the town.

  “Okay, fine. Let’s say it’s Foxglove,” Kaesi said quietly, glancing around. The tavern was busy tonight. Everyone seemed to be out, sharing gossip about the murders. Arlo had heard everything from a tragic accident to the Sandpoint Devil eating people whole. “What are we going to do about the ghast that I did see? It vanished into-”

  “What’s this about a ghast?”

  An elf dropped into a seat beside Kaesi. Conversation dried up as the trio stared at the trespasser, until….

  “Ushara?” The name was almost a whisper from Coradiel. “What… what are you doing here?”

  “I heard rumours about ghoul activity in the area. I brought help from the Dawnflower and the Grey Lady,” Ushara said, motioning over her shoulder toward another table.

  A masked man raised a mug toward them, and Kaesi blanched.

  “That’s the Deer!” she hissed. “Surely the ghouls aren’t-”

  “They are,” Ushara interrupted. “I’ve been hearing about the Paupers’ Graveyard for years now. It’s time someone put a stop to the undead menacing that place. Sandpoint has been lucky thus far to have avoided their gaze. The Deer, Tilguri, and I are about to remove luck from the equation. But this ghast you speak of-”

  “There are two of them.” Arlo leaned forward. “One Kaesi saw moving to the Paupers’ Graveyard. The other is Aldern Foxglove. It’s Foxglove who’s been committing the murders around here. The other ghast-”

  “Is a problem,” Ushara said firmly. “We will need to destroy both.”

  “I’m sorry, how do you know Coradiel? And the Deer?” Kaesi demanded.

  “Coradiel is an old friend of mine.” Ushara smiled at the aiuvarin.

  “We met when I was just starting my search into the Aural Tower’s teachings,” Coradiel provided. “The Empyreal Lords are not as mainstream as many religions — many view their followers as a cult of sorts. Ushara was kind enough to point me in the right direction, and she’s been helping me out ever since.”

  “And the Deer… Well, we actually met only today,” Ushara added. “The Pharasmin church asked for my aid in quelling the ghoul problem around here, along with the Sarenite church. Which is where Tilguri comes in. She’s an inquisitor of the Dawnflower, I am a cleric of the Voiceless Tragedy, and the Deer is a druid of the Grey Lady.”

  “The Voiceless Tragedy?” Arlo grimaced. “That hardly sounds like the kind of deity that would help against the undead.”

  “Lythertida is the lord of premature death. Those who are killed before their time often have trouble accepting their deaths,” Ushara explained. “It is my role to help them pass to their afterlife peacefully.”

  Killed before their time…. Something in Arlo shuddered. She wasn’t here for him, was she? No… he wasn’t dead. It was the Pharasmin that he had to watch out for.

  “So, we have two ghasts to kill. One is an alchemist of some sort,” Kaesi spoke up. “The other is an unknown, potentially a noble. How are we going to do this?”

  Someone cleared their throat loudly. Looking up, Arlo found Sheriff Belor standing beside the table, a solemn look on his face. But then, what other look did the sheriff have? He only ever fetched them when something horrible was going on.

  “I am pleased you have the time to carouse the local taverns,” the Shoanti man said sternly. “Far be it for me to question your methods, but we do not have a suspect in custody yet.”

  “We-”

  The sheriff held up a hand, cutting Arlo off. Footsteps approached, and turning his head, Arlo found the masked druid approaching, alongside a half-orc. Both were lightly armoured, and both carried scimitars on their hips, similar to- no, wait… Coradiel had an estoc on his hip. When had he bought that?

  Shaking the question off, Arlo turned his attention back to Belor.

  “There is another matter that requires your attention, perhaps more urgent than even the murders,” the sheriff said quietly. “Farms have been attacked by strange creatures of late… many are calling them walking scarecrows. I don’t know what to believe; the last man to speak of them was slobbering drunk when we spoke. His tale might have been exaggerated by the alcohol… or the alcohol may have dulled his memory of the events and they might be much worse than we think.”

  “Where are these attacks?” the Deer demanded quietly. A velvety voice startled Arlo — he would have thought the person behind the mask would be more gruff.

  “They appear to originate at the Hambley farm,” Belor replied. “South of the Ashen Rise, near the Soggy River. There’s a cornfield-” Arlo groaned. “-that bars direct access to the farm, but footpaths eventually lead to the farmhouse.”

  “So we’re dealing with ghouls in a cornfield,” Arlo summed up. “Ghouls who were created by a particular ghast, who are threatening Sandpoint’s food source.”

  “I suspect you know more than you’re letting on,” Belor said, staring Arlo down.

  “We have suspicions, Sheriff,” Coradiel amended quickly. “Suspicions that could be damaging to many people if proven wrong. For that reason, we’d like to keep them to ourselves for the moment. But rest assured that we will see to this ghoul problem on the farms. Tonight.”

  “Tonight?!” Arlo yelped. “I barely have any spells left after that damned necromancer!”

  “You fought a necromancer?” The Deer’s mask turned on Arlo. The amurrun gulped, settling low in his seat. “Interesting. So you would say you are against the raising of undead then?”

  “I choose not to answer.”

  “The lack of an answer is an answer itself,” the Deer said.

  “Then I am ambivalent. Undead can be used for evil, or they can be used for good. They’re corpses.”

  “It is a very misguided person who believes any undead can be good,” Tilguri said, her voice just as gruff as Arlo had expected the Deer’s to be.

  “I didn’t say undead are good, but that they can be used for good. If they’re mindless, like a zombie, doesn’t it matter more what their controller uses them for?”

  “They still interrupt the soul’s journey to the afterlife,” Kaesi spoke up. “Undead are evil, no matter what they are used for.”

  “Let’s agree to disagree.” Arlo grumbled. More religious fanatics. Hadn’t he left those behind? “There are more important matters to discuss here. Namely, no I will not be raising or controlling ghouls, I will be destroying them. The question is where and when?”

  “Tonight, before they can kill again,” Coradiel said firmly.

  “Kaesi, Coradiel, you and Tilguri will handle the farms tonight. Arlo will join the Deer and myself to fight our way through the Paupers’ Graveyard in search of this second ghoul,” Ushara added. “Does anyone have questions?”

  “Yeah, uh…” Arlo raised a hand. “What the fuck? Coradiel and I have been together through everything so far. We fight best together-”

  “The farm ghouls are the most dangerous threat at this moment,” the Deer spoke up. “We must save those farmers. The Paupers’ Graveyard has been stagnant for years. We need to scout it thoroughly before we assault it together. Arlo, you are an amurrun. You are stealthy, silent, and you can smell anything around us. You are invaluable as a scout.”

  “I’d rather be useless for once,” Arlo muttered. “Fine, when do we leave?”

  “Right now,” Ushara said, standing up. “It’s six in the evening. We can be at the graves by seven bells, which will give us an hour of daylight before we have to face the ghouls. We can use that time to scout.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  Arlo pushed his mug aside and rose. Checking his bag and his ammunition pouch, the amurrun slung his bag over his shoulder, and removed his musket.

  “We’re walking, right?” he asked. “I’d rather not introduce my horse to these horrors.”

  “Of course,” Ushara said as the Deer stood up beside her. “Let’s be off.”

  The walk to the graveyard was filled with questions. Who are you? Where are you from? How old are you? Where did you learn to use a musket — that one surprised Arlo. How did the Deer know about muskets?

  He answered honestly, as best as he could. Memories swam through his mind: a man leaning over him with a broom in hand; an amurrun handing him an amulet that had mysteriously vanished; Arlo mixing potions to watch the colourful smoke waft through the air; Arlo sitting hunched beside a couch, praying he wouldn’t get caught watching a football game. What was real? What was just the lich fucking with his mind?

  The graveyard sprawled haphazardly. Broken markers lay scattered in the overgrown grasses — the ones that hadn’t rotted away yet. A weathered statue sat in the middle of the mess, its head torn away and a broken wing laying as rubble at its feet. Death hung heavy in the air, the stench driving into Arlo’s nose like a dagger. His eyes watered, his ears flattened against his skull.

  He swung his musket around, double-checking his weapon was loaded. Reassured, the amurrun followed the Deer and Ushara into the graveyard.

  Groans filled the air around them. Arlo’s ears pricked, and the amurrun looked around frantically. He could see at least five ghouls lurking through the weeds. No doubt there were dozens more beyond.

  “I thought they weren’t supposed to be out until night time!” he hissed.

  “Not all undead fear the light,” the Deer said, drawing his scimitar.

  Beside him, Ushara slipped her fingers into a set of brass knuckles. She adjusted them carefully, lifting a hand to whisper a spell over the metal.

  “Arlo, take out the one furthest left,” the Deer added, striding toward the ghouls. “Ushara and I will destroy the rest.”

  Nodding, the amurrun levelled his musket. He took a deep breath to steady his shaking arms. Ushara and the Deer seemed like they knew what they were doing. Surely everything would be okay.

  “[Disrupt Undead]!”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  A shimmering ray swept silently from his gun. It caught the ghoul in the chest, and the creature howled. Charging forward, the ghoul lunged for Arlo, only to be caught by another casting. It crumpled, landing on Arlo’s feet, and the catfolk yelped, kicking the creature off.

  Sweeping his musket around, Arlo unleashed another ray of positive energy, catching the last ghoul in the back. His eyes widened as the undead fell — Ushara and the Deer had already destroyed two apiece in the time it took him to destroy one?!

  What was wrong with him? He’d been just fine slaughtering goblin after goblin. But now that the dead were rising, he wanted to run, hide, and never fight again. It was ridiculous!

  “So what’s the deal with these? Shoot them in the head? Blast them with positive energy?”

  “Positive energy works best,” Ushara said, scanning the ground around them.

  Graves were churned up. Markers were missing or destroyed. Arlo couldn’t make any sense of the destruction he was seeing, but apparently Ushara could.

  “There are at least three hundred ghouls scattered throughout this area,” she said. “They must have an underground warren they all stay in. We’ll need to bring in more members of the church to clear them out.”

  “So we’re going back, right?” Arlo asked. “Coradiel needs my help; he can’t fight properly without my sp-”

  His body seized up. Throat clenched, arms bound to his side, Arlo couldn’t even fall over as magic took hold of his body.

  “We are, but you are going back to where you belong. You died too soon, but that is no reason to despair. Trust Pharasma to send you where you belong,” Ushara said gently.

  Backing away, the cleric raised her hands.

  “[Hasten Judgment]. [Clarion Call].” Her voice boomed suddenly, louder than anything Arlo had ever heard before. “WE BRING AN OFFERING OF FOOD!”

  Arlo struggled against the spell. His head turned microscopically as Ushara and the Deer vanished from sight. Their footsteps faded, replaced by dozens of moans.

  Eyes glowed in the growing twilight. Bodies shambled in waves toward him.

  Arlo screamed.

  “[Hide from Undead].”

  The chill of a cast spell washed over Coradiel. He nodded his thanks to Tilguri, regretting — not for the first time — his choice of swordplay over spell. He was not made out to be a cleric, that Coradiel knew for sure. But most paladins could cast a handful of spells.

  Not Coradiel. He was wholly reliant on others’ support.

  “Stay close,” Coradiel said, unsheathing his blade. “Don’t attack unless I say so. We don’t know who’s out here.”

  He stared into the maze of cornstalks. A fervent wish crossed his mind — how much easier would this be if they could just cut down all the corn? But no, that would deprive a lot of people their food. They needed to do this the hard way.

  Coradiel stepped into the corn. Wide paths cut between rows, preventing the trio from rustling — a small mercy. Leaves crossed over their heads, driving away the dim moonlight, and leaving them all in the dark. A muttered spell from Tilguri lit their path, earning a breathed thanks from the others. Beyond that, silence was golden.

  Barely a minute in, Coradiel came across their first scarecrow. At a crossroads between cornfields, a sackcloth man hung from a cross, dark eyes staring blindly ahead.

  Coradiel held up a hand, and the other two froze. Walking scarecrows…. He approached, calling upon Arshea to guide his eyes, and Lymnieris to gird his heart.

  Nothing happened. No flash of insight, no mark of evil rang out before him. Coradiel poked the scarecrow with a finger and leapt back.

  Nothing.

  “I don’t think Sheriff Belor’s man was telling the truth,” he said quietly, rejoining the others. “It’s just a scarecrow. We’ll still be careful though.”

  “If the scarecrows are the ghouls, they won’t sense us until the spell fades,” Tilguri warned. “We could walk right past them and never even know it.”

  “I’ll keep searching for evil auras,” Coradiel decided. “Kaesi, do you have any suggestions?”

  “We should keep right or left,” Kaesi said. “This is a maze; in the dark, it would be incredibly easy to get lost out here. And steer clear of the Whisperwoods to the east. I’ve heard fey live there.”

  “We’ll keep right, then,” Coradiel said. “It shouldn’t take too long to find the farmhouse. With any luck, it will still be intact, and the family who lives there will be safe.”

  It felt like a fool’s hope… but Coradiel hadn’t lived his life in a hopeless despair. He wasn’t about to start now.

  Turning right, the group followed a curving path around the outside of the fields. Their steps shuffled quietly in the night, raising the hair on Coradiel’s neck. He kept scanning the fields around them, searching for any sign of-

  Another scarecrow loomed large. Coradiel cast his gaze over it, searching, seeking-

  “It’s evil,” he breathed. Stepping forward, the paladin levelled his sword. A sense of wrongness washed over him. This scarecrow — this thing — was not natural.

  Setting the tip of his estoc to where the heart would be in a person, Coradiel stabbed forward.

  An earsplitting shriek echoed through the night. The creature on the cross struggled against the binds holding it. Coradiel lept back as one arm broke free and then the other.

  “Ghoul!” Tilguri named the beast, charging forward.

  Her scimitar described an elegant arc as it slashed up through the creature’s neck, neatly decapitating the ghoul.

  Shrieks echoed around them, filling the night with the howls of hunting ghouls. Lifting his sword, Coradiel scanned the area around them — another crossroads. They could be attacked from any angle.

  “This way!” he called, pushing south down another footpath.

  The paladin skidded to a halt as a trio of ghouls swept toward them from the south. Another ghoul cut off their retreat, forcing the three to huddle together for protection.

  “I hope Arlo’s having an easier time than we are,” Kaesi growled, swiping her rapier at the ghoul approaching behind them.

  “I’m sure he is. He’s a powerful mage,” Coradiel said. He wasn’t sure if he actually believed it or if he was just trying to reassure himself. Arlo would make it through the night. He had to.

  “Less talking, more fighting,” Tilguri growled, before darting toward the incoming ghouls.

  “Hungry… so hungry….”

  Coradiel shuddered at the raspy words. They sounded so… sapient. Yet he knew they would tear him to shreds given the chance. He could not give them that opportunity.

  Levelling his estoc, the paladin charged into battle.

  Blood. Sweat. Tears.

  “Hang on!”

  Coradiel’s hand cupped Tilguri’s neck. Lymnieris’ warmth coursed through him, spreading into her and knitting the broken skin back together. But they both knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  He hadn’t seen the ghoul that got her. A loud cry had been Coradiel’s only warning. Tilguri took out the creature that bit her, but the damage had been done. There was little doubt Tilguri would contract ghoul fever. In a matter of days, she’d be just like the other ghouls. Worse, Father Zantus had given his last scroll of [Remove Disease] to Arlo to cure Grayst. He had none left.

  “We have to get you to Magnimar,” Coradiel said, helping Tilguri to her feet.

  “No! We finish the mission!” the dromaar snapped.

  Coradiel sighed. Discretion was the better part of valour, something so few people seemed to understand. He’d always tried to pick his fights in the past, yet it seemed there was no regrouping here. Arlo and the others should have been back by now. Where were they? For that matter….

  “Where’s Kaesi?”

  “Scouting,” the halfling said, stepping out of the shadows.

  She blinked as a sword appeared an inch from her eye.

  “Don’t do that to me!” Coradiel scowled as he sheathed his blade again. “What did you find?”

  “There are four more scarecrows sitting outside the barn. The farmhouse is occupied, but I wasn’t able to get close enough to count. There’s definitely a ghast inside, though.”

  “We should fall back and regroup,” Coradiel said. “I don’t think the three of us could take a ghast on our own.”

  “If we retreat, that leaves the ghast more time to prepare for us.” Kaesi shook her head. “We need to end this tonight.”

  Well… he tried. Coradiel just prayed the night wouldn’t end with his death. To fall fighting a superior foe was noble. To die to a ghast was to be consigned to an eternity of servitude trapped in a rotting corpse. Coradiel wanted neither.

  “I’ll take point.”

  Stepping in front of the two, Coradiel drew his estoc once more. He crept down the path before them, relying on his innate ability to sense evil more than his eyes to make sure he was going the right way. Half a dozen ghouls lay dead behind them. The gods knew how many were ahead. It was going to be a long night trying to hunt them all down — if even one escaped, all this fighting would be for nothing.

  His thoughts turned to Arlo. They’d been gone a long time. How far was it to the Paupers’ Graves? Ten kilometres? He never should have let Arlo go alone with the others. By all accounts, the Deer was the closest the Magnimar Pharasmin temple got to an assassin.

  A shape loomed in the darkness. Coradiel froze. Inching forward, the paladin studied this latest scarecrow. Straw poked out of burlap, and no eyes glowed from within the sack that formed its head. More importantly, the gods weren’t giving him any warning.

  “It’s fake,” he breathed in relief. “Not a ghoul.”

  “The farmhouse is right there,” Kaesi said, pointing off to the right.

  Against the growing starlight, darkness traced the shape of a building. Coradiel squinted at it in an attempt to glean as much information from it as he could.

  Glowing eyes peered through a window.

  “They see us!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Tiguri scolded, pushing past Coradiel. “They can’t see at this dis-”

  There was a meaty crunch, and the dromaar dropped, a pitchfork in her throat.

  “Tilguri!” Coradiel grabbed Kaesi, charging toward the farmhouse. “What are you doing?! We need to heal her!” Kaesi screamed.

  “There’s no healing that!” Coradiel snapped, shoving Kaesi forward.

  He slammed into the farmhouse door. Putting his weight behind the blow, Coradiel broke through the wooden door. His eyes flicked frantically around the room.

  Three ghouls leered at him. Behind them, a ghast stood, his stench flooding the room. Coradiel gagged as he levelled his sword, but he pushed through. Beside him, Kaesi dropped to the ground, retching violently.

  “Food….” A ghoul grinned ferally at the two.

  Coradiel stepped between the ghouls and Kaesi, taking up a defensive stance.

  The ghouls charged.

  The next few moments were a hazed flurry in Coradiel’s mind. Glass shattered. Light flickered. His sword squelched, and ghouls squealed. The odour of rotting death grew stronger as bodies hit the floor

  Someone was casting spells. Someones. He didn’t know who… but Coradiel was still alive. In this melee, that was all that mattered.

  A light flared, shining down on the mess that was the farmhouse. The room they stood in was covered in blood and corpses. Half-gnawed bones lay in the corner of the room. Rotting food sat in a pot over an extinguished fireplace.

  “Who’s there?” Coradiel demanded, turning his sword toward the door.

  “Peace. It’s us.” Ushara appeared in the doorway, her hands raised. Behind her, the Deer carried Tilguri in his arms. He set her down gently on a table before carefully prodding around her healed throat.

  “Is she- wait, where’s Arlo?” Coradiel demanded, looking past them.

  The catfolk should be here any moment. He had to be here. Coradiel refused to accept any other possibility.

  “He fell,” Ushara said, as though those two words didn’t hold the weight of the universe in them.

  “Fell?”

  Ushara knelt, pulling parchment from a body. She read it briefly, before passing it to Coradiel. The paladin’s eyes glazed over.

  “Fell… what do you mean he fell?”

  “He’s dead,” the Deer said. “The Grey Lady will judge him once more, and he’ll go to his eternity.”

  “No… no, that… what have you done?!”

  “They did what was necessary,” Kaesi said, pulling the parchment from Coradiel’s hands. “Do not blame them for following the gods’ wills.” She scanned the letter, reading out loud. “Take the fever into you, my love. It shall be the first of my gifts to you. Your Lordship.”

  Coradiel’s head buzzed. They killed him. This whole plan… it was just an excuse to get the catfolk on his own.

  “You’re all monsters!”

  “We need to get to Foxglove Manor,” Kaesi said over Coradiel. She stooped down and yanked a key off the dead ghast’s neck. “The letters being left have led us there. And this… this has the Foxglove symbol on it. Really, these undead are being incredibly sloppy. It’s like they want us at the manor.”

  Coradiel sat hard. His legs curled into his chest, and the paladin rocked. Arlo was dead, and with him his entire world.

  “Ushara, take Tilguri back to Magnimar, and see if the church can resurrect her,” the Deer said somewhere above him. “Kaesi, Coradiel, and I will head back to Sandpoint for the night. In the morning, we will assault this manor, and hopefully put an end to whoever is creating these ghouls.”

  Kaesi grabbed Coradiel’s hand. Numbly, the paladin stood up. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t be here. He wanted nothing to do with these beasts who would murder an innocent person.