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“Move over!” I barked. “Unless you’d like to get crushed, hug the walls.”

The crowd listened, pressing themselves to either side of the hall as the dead marched past. Some covered their mouths and noses to keep the smell of death out, and others looked pale enough to faint. But all of them gaped at me taking up the rear of the group. I tried to move them as fast as possible, but with so many, it was a slow procession to the stairwell leading back down to the guild’s catacombs. The door that once closed it was now on the floor in splinters, the revenants marched over without a care.

I turned to three of the closest guild members, still hunkered against the wall and shaking, and gestured to the broken remains. “I recommend you get a craftsman over to make a sturdier door than this, perhaps with a ward? For a group of spellcasters who raise the dead, I would think it smart to keep the ones beneath your guild guarded. I’ll go find a patrol to report this mess to. I don't recommend running your mouths about the late guildmaster until an investigation can be opened, but I doubt you would be able to hold your tongues so do what you must.”

They nodded woodenly. I was sure the trauma from this day would stay with them for the rest of their lives, but quite frankly, that was the least of my worries right now. My bigger problem now was convincing the guards I’d be reporting this to that I didn’t kill Nebold Briton myself. And finding out who did.

Chapter Fourteen

Haron

The Revolution of Julra did more than just create their country. Golath’s resources and population were depleted,

leaving virtually no one to inhabit the forts or guard their southern borders. Nomadic tribes in what is now Respar

crept in, claiming more of the land for themselves leaving Golath with an even smaller country than when it began

the revolution. The City of Scholars was not established until the beginning of the Reign of Joles, marking the first

year in the 144-year reign. Beyond the 327 years documented in these libraries, all our information is second hand

from citizens who once lived in those countries. Could this loss of land had been what spurred the Golathians to

attack Julra?

-"The Tragic History of Julra," by High Scholar Yuret Wend, Year 39 of Ber's First Reign

It was dark already, far past the normal business hours of most merchants as I walked down one of the roads in the lower district. I was on my way to one of the more unconventional apothecaries, hoping to restock some materials in my standard kit. The House of Ber’s Children shop owner was a kind old woman, Hiel Bitonal, and had become something of a regular of my services as well. She knew of my general avoidance of daylight and kept her shop open after dark to accommodate. I would have braved the painful brightness of the day to take care of this, but I was so drained from the encounter I stumbled back to the tavern and promptly passed out in my room for a few precious hours. With everything that happened this morning at the guild, and the revelation someone who could impersonate Nebold was now running loose, the urgent need to make sure my supplies were topped off took priority. I couldn't just curl into a ball and hide myself away, waiting for someone to come save me. And I had a sinking feeling my life as Haron Val Toric would be coming to an end sooner than I'd hoped.

“A good evening to you, Haron Val Toric.”

Slowly, I turned to face the owner of the light voice, intentionally keeping my back close to the exterior of a nearbybuilding. Everything had me on edge. As much as I hated to admit it, I was still pretty shaken up at the discovery of Nebold's death. Not that much love was lost between us, but still… there was something vile coursing through the veins of Gilamorst. I feared Trisne and Nebold were only a few of many victims to be taken by whatever roamed its streets.

“A good evening to you as well,” I answered politely enough, while watching the cloaked figure approach warily. They sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place the voice precisely. Their aura, though, immediately brought me back to Pid's masquerade. That same slimy, disturbing feeling of somethingwrongmoving across my skin reminded me of how it felt being close to that man Forol Hent. The one who didn't seem to exist anywhere outside of that night. Suddenly, every hair on my arms rose and my muscles locked in alarm.

A genial laugh came from the stranger’s hood. “Such a cold greeting! Surely you could do better than that.”

My eyes narrowed. The person seemed male by the sound of their voice, but it held an airy and slightly lilted tone not typical of the harsher Gilamorst dialect common in the lower streets. So, he was either a Highlan, or someone not from this city. His dark cloak was loose enough to not give any indication of a silhouette, reaching all the way to the ground with a simple silver brooch holding it together at the chest. It was hard to tell at my distance if this person was armed, but I could assume the answer was yes.

He continued walking at an easy pace, not fast enough to try to catch me off-guard but disconcerting all the same. Whoever this was, had no indication of stopping, and I was forced to step back to keep a reasonably personal space. My movements were stiff and jerking, my body and mind fighting on whether to run or stay and face the man. Casting a quick glance around showed no signs of someone else wandering up to potentially help. Instinctsthat had kept me alive this long screamed at me toget away, get away, get away.

"My apologies," I tried to keep the snide tone from my voice. "I am in a hurry, so I bid you a good evening."

“Hmm,” the stranger hummed. He seemed to completely ignore my attempt to close this increasingly unsettling conversation. “Those eyes would give you away, even if I had no idea who you were. Blue and black? That is a unique combination. Or…” They moved closer just as I passed the opening of an alley between two closed shops. “With the dilation of the pupil blown that wide, a sign of rather advanced and prolonged corpse walking.”

Shit.

I barely managed to dodge the short sword that flashed from beneath the man’s cloak. Unfortunately, I leapt back into the dark alleyway, which seemed to be exactly where he wanted me. He was relentless, swinging his sword again and again as I moved just enough to avoid it, only able to pull my own sword from my hip by the third attempt and meet his with a loudclang.A bitter curse spat from my mouth as I was driven back further and further into the shadows with heavy blows of his sword. “Who the fuck are you?”

They didn’t let up. These were the moves of someone well trained in combat. And he was so fuckingfast! Unnaturally fast. I could hardly find a moment to retaliate, bringing my blade up along my right side just in time to block a particularly brutal swing. An unhinged laugh burst from beneath my attacker’s hood as he pressed closer. Gods, he was strong!

“Someone who knows a lot about you, Haron.”Clang.The sword strikes rang out through the alley, so loud in the otherwise still night. “And would take great joy in killing you for good.”Clang.

Every strike of our swords forced me to take the defensive. I expected that from a man, but what shocked me was how light he was on his feet. He was very strategic in pushing me to the dead end between the buildings—no one would be able to see us clearly from the street—in the unlikely event someone was even walking around this area at night. That this person didn't seem concerned about being caught was concerning on its own.

“Well,” I huffed. “That doesn’t narrow the list down very much, does it?”

His sword whistled past my cheek in a vicious cross swing, and I could feel the skin split open on its sharp edge. This asshole was definitely looking to kill, not maim. “Trust me when I say I can cut the line!” The roar that followed his quip was oddly muffled, like he was shouting underwater. It was the first I’d noticed, but focusing again on the metallic strikes made me realize all our sounds were getting more dampened the longer we fought.