Coradiel’s eyes opened. For a moment, everything was okay. Songbirds chirped cheerfully outside his room. Warm and cosy under the covers, Arlo snored beside him… except Arlo didn’t snore.

  Emptiness dropped into him. Every effort to move was met with a minotaur on his chest. Beside him, Kaesi slept peacefully, her mind untroubled by the atrocity their companions had committed.

  He needed to get up. He needed to find a place to say his prayers. But what was the point? Lead weighed him down, an ache within him that he couldn’t escape. Nor did he want to. The pain enveloped him, a comfort in the darkness of predawn.

  Someone knocked on the door. Beside him, Kaesi started with a snort. The halfling stretched out, knocking against Coradiel.

  “Oh… sorry.” She yawned, rolling out of bed. “The Deer did say he would get us up early, didn’t he?”

  Coradiel stared at the dark ceiling. He heard the soft rustle of fabric as Kaesi changed behind a screen. A minute later, candlelight flickered to life, and the clink of glass vials filled the room. A pestle ground against its mortar, and liquid dripped.

  Through it all, Coradiel remained motionless.

  “Is this your bangle?” Kaesi asked suddenly.

  Coradiel’s head dropped to the side. He took in the sight of an exquisite bangle laying on the desk, thick golden band adorned with lapis lazuli in the shape of hearts. His heart fluttered — Arshea had seen him.

  “No,” he muttered a moment later, staring at the ceiling once more.

  “Are you going to get up?”

  “No.”

  The grinding stopped.

  “Everyone dies. He was already dead when you met him. Returning him to the Boneyard was the right thing to do, regardless of how it happened. He fell in battle. You should take comfort in that.”

  “He was murdered by heartless brigands.”

  How did they do it? An arrow to his back? A spell miscast to target him? Coradiel should have been there. He could have stopped it. But he’d done nothing to stop the Deer and Ushara, and Arlo was dead because of it.

  “You would leave the ghast to roam and kill at will, knowing that he does so because of you, because a friend fell fighting him?”

  Arshea help him. Every word was a knife in his chest. She didn’t care about Arlo — Kaesi had only followed them to murder Arlo herself.

  “Why are you still here?” he demanded. One leg fell off the bed, pulling his body. He let the other fall, and pushed himself up weakly. “He’s dead. You’re free to leave. No one wants you here.”

  “Trust me, I’ll be gone the second the ghast is ended,” Kaesi ground out, pouring a potion into a vial.

  Picking himself up out of bed, Coradiel trudged behind the screen. Each motion as he dressed was like moving through quicksand. But the ghast needed to be dealt with. Coradiel couldn’t allow it to kill anyone else.

  A black dress clung to him, only the best for Arshea’s devotee. Stepping out of the dressing area, the aiuvarin stared at the bracelet. It was a sign of Arshea’s favour. He couldn’t ignore it no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how nice it looked, it felt like blood money, a way of saying, sorry your friend died, but have a pretty bauble instead.

  Coradiel took the bracelet and slipped it onto his wrist. The metal was warm against his skin; stifling, even. But to remove it would be to reject his goddess' gift, and earn her disfavour. He would have to bear the discomfort, especially since he could see the Spirit of Abandon’s herald stamped into the metal. A soft glow emanated from the bangle — there was some kind of enchantment on it, though he could not tell what.

  It did nothing to lift his spirits as he left the room. For the first time in years, he did not whisper prayers while masturbating. Maybe one day he would again. But it felt wrong to touch himself now.

  A bowl was shoved into his hands as he stepped into the tavern downstairs. Wide eyes stared incredulously at the Deer as the druid walked to a table filled with food.

  “Sit. Eat. Ushara asked that I make sure you ate something.”

  The man’s mask hadn’t come off once since they met. It was unnerving, but Kaesi had said something about a holy oath. Coradiel had no idea what oath would require anonymity. At the moment, he didn’t really care. Nor did he want to eat, even for Ushara. She’d always mothered him — most elves babied him. It was like he was an infant in their eyes, unable to make his own choices. Even now, Ushara was forcing him to eat with his mortal enemy. For how could he call the Deer anything else?

  “I spoke with the sheriff of this town,” the Deer said as Kaesi and Coradiel sat across from him. Kaesi immediately tore into her breakfast, attacking hungrily. Coradiel just stared at his bowl, unable to force himself to eat. “This place… this… Foxglove Manor, it is considered haunted by the locals. He said a man named Rogors Craesby, a one-eared former innkeeper, used to take care of the place for the Foxgloves, but no one’s seen him in weeks.”

  “Well, we’ll let him know Craesby is dead. He was the ghast we killed last night,” Kaesi said. “The corpse matched the description, at least.

  “Craesby?” Ameiko paused by their table, an eyebrow raised. “He’s the one I bought the Rusty Dragon from. Could never figure out why he sold it, but hey, more’s the money in my pocket.”

  “Can you tell us anything about Foxglove Manor?” Kaesi asked, sliding a gold sail toward the woman.

  “Aye, the Misgivings. Haunted for certain,” Ameiko said, pocketing the coin. “Last I heard, Aldern Foxglove was trying to fix it up. Guess he bailed on the project; no one around here was willing to help out, aside from Craesby, supposedly. Can’t blame them; two decades ago, the place nearly burned down. Whole family was found dead, aside from Aldern and his siblings. No idea what happened to them between then and now though.”

  She turned to Coradiel, a frown on her face.

  “Now don’t tell me you went and replaced Arlo.”

  Coradiel shook his head. He stared blindly into his bowl as images of the amurrun floated through his mind.

  “Adventures can be dangerous,” Kaesi said quietly beside him.

  “Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry,” Ameiko said, patting Coradiel’s back awkwardly. “Hang in there. It hurts, but eventually you’ll be used to the pain.”

  He doubted that. But Coradiel was too tired to argue. He pushed his bowl aside and stood up.

  “Let’s get this over with so I can go look for Arlo.” If he was fast enough, maybe he could find someone to resurrect him.

  The path to the Misgivings was a five kilometre hike along the narrowest, most overgrown path Coradiel had seen in some time. Wild seabirds called hauntingly as the trio forged south through the wilderness. As they neared their destination, nature sickened and died. Thorns appeared on the plants they passed, cutting at skin and tearing clothes. Bent trees swayed in a frigid wind, their branches lifeless and barren.

  The path rose, winding through cliffs that overlooked the Varisian Gulf. And there, at the edge of the world, stood Foxglove Manor. Perched perilously close to the cliffside, the structure groaned with the weight of years unkept. Dead vines climbed the walls, dried husks of wisteria that still clung desperately to their former life.

  To the right of the path, a blackened foundation of stone stood, covered with an unkindness of sickly ravens. To the side, a large well sat partially collapsed.

  “Servants’ quarters,” Coradiel muttered, continuing past the ruins. There was nothing to explore there.

  Approaching the manor itself, the aiuvarin shivered at a sudden chill. The house groaned as they drew closer, each step a screaming protest from years of disrepair. Removing the key Kaesi had given him, Coradiel fitted it into the oak door, and pushed.

  The door refused to budge. Throwing his shoulder into the swelling barrier, Coradiel cursed as he went flying into the room beyond.

  A long, high ceilinged hall met his gaze as he picked himself up. Patches of decay covered the walls and floor. Mouldering trophies hung from the walls, lending themselves to the musty, damp stench that filled the air. Yet they paled in comparison to the massive creature standing guard in the centre of the room. A lion’s body stood with a scorpion’s tail arched over its back. Dozens of barbs poked from the tail, and bat-like wings gave the creature some form of flight. A deformed humanoid face snarled at Coradiel, only driving the horror deeper into him.

  “Manticore,” Kaesi said, entering behind him.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Something whispered through his ears. Coradiel spun, eyes searching. Someone was crying, faintly, but it was there.

  “You hear that, right?” he demanded.

  “Hear what?”

  “Nevermind,” the paladin muttered. He shivered again. “Let’s just find Foxglove.”

  A foul-stained rug sat beyond the manticore, barely covering a spiralling patch of mould in the floor. Stepping around the foetid stain, Coradiel pushed deeper into the house. Two staircases sat on either side of the stain, one heading up, the other descending. Coradiel ignored them for the moment in favour of the lounge straight ahead.

  White wispy fungus devoured what must have been a lush couch. Dust caked the walls and floor of the room. Doors on either side of the room offered entrance to other parts of the house, but Coradiel’s focus was taken up by eddies of dust trailing just above the floorboards… as though someone was pacing back and forth.

  “Hello?” he whispered. “Is someone there?”

  “No one’s here besides us,” the Deer said behind him.

  Unconvinced, Coradiel waved a hand forward, passing it above the swirling dust motes.

  “Lorey….”

  Terror flooded his heart, a feeling he hadn’t felt since taking his vows as a paladin. He shook his head, and the feeling passed, a falsehood easily dissolved.

  “Something happened here. Someone was frightened for her child. Lorey.”

  The Deer stared at him impassively, mask hiding any judgement. Kaesi gave enough of that for them both.

  “Here.” Coradiel grabbed her hand, waving it over the same spot he’d brushed.

  But the motes were gone. The dust was still. Coradiel wasn’t surprised when the halfling frowned at him.

  “There’s nothing here. Are you feeling okay?”

  “No! No, I’m not okay with any of this!”

  Coradiel backed away, his chest heaving, tears pricking his eyes. He didn’t want anything to do with this. All he wanted was to go to the Paupers’ Graves, find Arlo, and have the amurrun resurrected. But that was impossible until they got through this gods forsaken house and confronted Aldern.

  “He’s not insane.” The Deer’s voice interrupted the two. “Something was burning in the entrance hall, yet only I was able to smell it. Neither of you reacted. There is a reason this house is said to be haunted.”

  A door slammed somewhere in the house, and Coradiel jumped. He glanced around warily, but no one else seemed to have heard the sound. Well… he wasn’t going to mention it if no one else did. They already thought him crazy enough.

  “There are rooms to either side,” he said. “Which way are we exploring first?”

  “Right….” A catfolk’s voice purred in his ear, and Coradiel blinked away tears. Focus. He needed to focus.

  “Left,” Kaesi said, stepping toward a door.

  Coradiel hurried ahead of her, shoving the door open. They found themselves in a dusty library. Two chairs, one laying on its side, provided seating in front of an empty fireplace. A brilliant scarf draped across the chair still standing, its reds and golds offering a welcome splash of colour to the drab room.

  A splash of blood stained the back of the chair. Bits of skull and hair scattered before the bookshelf, and a broken bookend lay beside the crime scene. Coradiel knelt beside the bookend, staring at the angelic face.

  “This blood is… well, not fresh,” Kaesi said, peering at the stains. “But it’s a lot more recent than the other stains around the house. I’d put it at a few months old.”

  “There is not enough blood for a murder to have taken place here,” the Deer spoke up suddenly. “Perhaps they got away?”

  “They wouldn’t be the first….”

  Coradiel squeezed his eyes shut. He was imagining things. He had to be. Arlo’s voice was just in his head.

  He lifted the scarf. Heavy weight pooled in his hand, blissfully soft. It went around his neck, draping him in warmth. Kneeling down, the paladin picked a fallen book off the ground and flipped through it. A Varisian history book… one detailing the creation of Sandpoint, of all places.

  “Are you coming?” Kaesi stood by the door. The Deer was already gone from the room; where to, Coradiel had no clue.

  “Give me a minute.”

  Shrugging, Kaesi left the paladin alone.

  Carefully, Coradiel returned the book to the shelf, slipping it gently into a free slot. His fingers traced over bindings, head turning to read the few titles he could see. Books on local history, a local bestiary… Coradiel’s finger stopped on a rather thick tome.

  Evil poured from the spine of this book. Fingers pulled at the tome, sliding it from the shelf, and Coradiel carried it toward the chair still standing. He sat carefully, after checking to ensure he wouldn’t sit in anything, and cracked the book open.

  Hand-written notes filled the pages within. The runes they were scribed in looked vaguely dwarven… maybe draconic. Coradiel couldn’t tell. But the feeling he got from this book… chills ran through his heart. Clammy fingers turned page after page, coming across pictures of corpses, drawings of vile creatures — he recognised one as a treant, wood dark and twisted.

  The book fell from his hands. It landed heavily, page opened to an arcane box — a lich’s phylactery. That was what they were dealing with. Not a haunted house, but a lich who had raised ghasts and ghouls. It couldn’t have been Aldern… except, Coradiel didn’t know that. The man had never struck him as evil… but what if that had just been a mask?

  He stood up. Turning toward the door, Coradiel froze.

  Arlo stared at the paladin, eyes filled with fear. He vanished a second later, as though he’d never existed.

  “Arlo….” Coradiel charged forward, barrelling out of the room. Looking around frantically, the paladin took a deep breath. There was no dust kicked up. Footsteps should show in the dirt… yet all he saw were the confused prints left by the Deer and Kaesi..

  No one else was here.

  The world creaked around him as he climbed the stairs. Kaesi and the Deer were missing; Coradiel had no idea where they’d gotten off to.

  Seconds after he reached the top of the stairs, the creaking stopped, as though someone had followed him up. Coradiel turned, but nothing happened. There was no sign of anyone behind him. The paladin breathed out slowly, then made his way further into the house.

  An open door led into a wide hall. Here, he found signs of life; footprints adorned the floor, dragging softly through the layer of dust. He couldn’t tell if they were coming or going, nor who they belonged to. Maybe his companions were up here.

  Maybe Foxglove was waiting instead.

  To his left, around a corner, a servants’ staircase led back down to the ground floor. To his right, the hall opened further, with two sets of double doors on either side of the passage. Through a nearby gap, a smaller door sat, one that Coradiel moved toward first. He refrained from calling out — who knew if ghouls were stalking the house? It was a likely possibility.

  Coradiel forced the door open, and entered a large bedroom. A child-sized bed sat around the right corner, in a small recess, and a large box was spilled beside a half-gnawed chair. Coradiel could only guess at its purpose — toys, most likely. Against the far wall, a deep fireplace sat, large enough that whoever had used this room could have easily gotten lost within it. Grimy window looked out over the cliff to an outcropping of rocks showered by violent waves far below.

  Someone was crying. Turning from the window, Coradiel cried out in horror.

  A giant man and a giant woman were fighting behind him. The woman held a torch in her hand, waving it at the tumour-ridden man. The man brought up a long knife, slashing across the woman’s arm.

  And they were gone.

  Coradiel collapsed, tears flowing freely as he rocked back and forth. Whoever won… they were coming for him next, he just knew it!

  “It’s not real… it’s not real it’s not real….” Wrapping his arms around himself, Coradiel squeezed tightly. It helped some… but the terror of the scene still clung to him.

  He was a paladin. Fear should not touch him. What was this place?

  No… it wasn’t the manor. Arshea had left him. He hadn’t prayed to her, and she had turned away from him. Clenching his wrist, feeling the metal of his bracelet, Coradiel whimpered.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  He wouldn’t fall. Not from missing his prayers. This was just a warning. Coradiel would be more mindful in the future.

  But the ache was still there. The fear, the pain… how could he make it go away? Arlo was still gone. How could his god punish him for his indiscretion when it was brought on by death?

  “Spirit of Abandon, forgive me. I will not deny you again.”

  Lifting himself up, Coradiel left the room. He took a deep, fortifying breath. He could get through this. He could find Aldern, face down this ghast — was Aldern even a ghast? Could it be the ghast they’d slain the previous night was the murderer, and Aldern was the lich controlling them? The thought horrified him… but Coradiel had to account for that possibility. If that was the case… there was no way they could defeat a lich. Not three people on their own.

  But he would die trying.

  Passing through the doors to his left, Coradiel paused at a set of paintings. Faces peered back at him — ghastly faces staring from the north and the south. The two women labelled Kasanda and Lorey slumped, bodies riddled with fungal tumours. Blood washed down Traver’s chest from a gash in his throat. Cyralie’s body was broken, blackened, embers planted in her skin as she lay dead. Aldern’s picture showed a young boy, flesh darkened with rot, with his hair falling out and his face drawn and ghoulish. Sendili and Zeeva’s portraits were the only two healthy paintings, showing a pair of young girls with beaming smiles.

  The last portrait, of Vorel Foxglove, shook as Coradiel looked upon it. The paladin’s eyes widened as fungus and mould erupted from the painting, covering the entire room in spores.

  An instant later, the rot was gone. The paintings smiled at Coradiel, their occupants healthy, vibrant.

  “Arshea protect me….” Coradiel breathed out, turning toward a stone fireplace.

  Charred wood piled into the fireplace. Coradiel could feel warmth coming from the wood. He knelt, taking up a poker to sift through the ash and charcoal. Cinders fell apart at his touch, baring tiny embers within, and Coradiel sucked in a breath.

  They were not alone in the house.

  He needed to find the others.

  Coradiel pushed through the doors at the end of the gallery. Heat washed over him, and the walls around him caught fire. Raising his hands, Coradiel gasped as the flames reacted, swirling away from the walls… and into a catfolk holding a torch.

  Arlo screamed in agony as the flames consumed him. Glass shattered, the fire vanished, and the room returned to its dim, chilled state.

  “Arlo?” Fear stabbed at Coradiel’s heart. The catfolk was gone, slain by the flames Coradiel controlled. “No… no…! Arlo!”

  He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t go on like this. Leaping to the desk, Coradiel grabbed the first thing he could reach.

  A silver dagger appeared in his hand.

  Coradiel set it to his throat.

  And arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

  “There’s a shortage of perfectly good throats in the world. It’d be a shame to damage yours.”

  Coradiel stabbed.