Rebecca rubbed her forehead as she sat on the slope of the mountain, the afternoon sun casting its brilliant rays on her mussed, curly hair. Henry stood beside her, looking anxiously back into the tomb entrance while Diana had her hands on Rebecca's back, neutralizing the last of the spider venom within her. The trio had retraced Diana's steps back out of the mountain, where they now recuperated in the brisk mountain air; Rebecca had regained control of her body, albeit with some frustrating stipulations.

  "How thong pill thy thongue thetuns thoo thormal?" she flubbed out, flustered with her swollen tongue.

  Henry visibly suppressed a laugh, while Diana covered her mouth with one of her hands.

  "No more than an hour," Diana replied, her voice steady. "An unfortunate side effect of the spider venom being shed, I'm afraid. Your dosage was much higher than Henry's, so there was bound to be some side effects."

  The mage sighed, shooting Henry an evil look. The squire coughed and straightened out, looking back to the tomb again.

  "More worryingly, it seems your mana flow was disrupted as well," Diana continued, moving her healing hand down Rebecca's back. "You won't be able to use any magic or cast any spells until at least tomorrow. Thank the Lady that's the worst of it."

  "You both should return to Winterfrost," Henry said. "I'm going in after them."

  "Awe thoo thupid?" Rebecca snapped. "Thoo thwopped thor thawd thack in the thaves. Thoo only got thor thagger on thoo!"

  "A weapon's a weapon," Henry retorted. "Besides, you're hurt, and you can't use magic at the moment."

  "Henry's right, somewhat," Diana added. "You need rest, and this area isn't safe. The village is the best place for you to regain your strength."

  "See? Doctor's orders." The squire folded his arms triumphantly.

  "That said, Rebecca's right as well. Going after them alone would be unwise, and I can't leave Rebecca here alone. Moreover, I need to concentrate on her if I'm to keep the venom in check, and I would appreciate an escort back to the village."

  Henry frowned. "What about the others? We can't just leave them!"

  "I'm afraid they will have to manage on their own, Lady protect them." Diana stood, momentarily taking her hands off of the mage; already, Rebecca could feel her body numbing and shiver again, as the interruption of the healing spell allowed whatever venom was still inside her to flow freely once more.

  "Help her onto my horse," Diana said. "We'll leave Arthur's horse in case they do make it back here."

  Henry hesitated, clearly torn between his choices; after a brief second, he obeyed and hoisted Rebecca onto the horse. "Alright. But we're coming back tomorrow if they don't return by tonight."

  Arthur moved carefully, taking great care to avoid the copious amount of bones scattered about the chamber floor. He and Praetorus had reached a great chamber at the end of the tunnel, one so large that it seemed more like a natural cavern rather than something manmade. The ceiling was lost beyond their meager torchlight, as were the walls on either side of this room; however, he was more focused on the bones strewn about this chamber, ribcages mixed in with tibias, femurs, and skulls that crunched underneath his boots.

  He stumbled when he tried to step over a ribcage; slipping amongst the bones, his foot landed squarely on the ribcage itself, emitting a deafening crack that echoed off of the cave walls like a whip.

  They froze; the cave seemed to stir around them, as a slight breeze brushed past their faces from further within the chamber.

  "So much for stealth." Arthur raised his sword and leapt ahead, wading through the shin-deep layer of bones; Praetorus followed, nimbly navigating through the bone field as he held his bow before him.

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  The floor shook and rumbled, sending the both of them tumbling off of their feet; Arthur lost sight of the archer, swallowed by the shallow sea of bones. As he clawed his way back up from beneath a pile of skulls, the breeze turned into a strong gust, laden with the foul odor of rot and decay. He was forced to shut his eyes, turning his head away from the wind.

  "CURIOUS." A voice, as deep and ominous as thunder, rolled across the chamber to his ears. He was suddenly seized by the same feeling of dread and terror from before, only this time it was much stronger; try as he might, his heart felt as if it might pop out from his chest, as his limbs curled up and pressed against his body of their own accord.

  "WHO ARE YOU?" His limbs then moved on their own, compelling him to stand up straight right from the bone field. He tried to resist it, but it felt as if he were being controlled by puppet strings; it was an utterly alien feeling, to see his own arms and legs obey a will that wasn't his.

  "Arthur Braddock, of House Braddock." Shockingly, he felt himself answer as well, his voice and lips responding as if in a natural conversation. His words echoed across the cavern, to the darkest portion that remained unseen.

  "WHY HAVE YOU COME?" Malice oozed from every word, tinged only with the slightest bit of curiosity. As his heart thumped and shuddered in his chest, Arthur's mouth moved on its own again.

  "I've come to kill the dragon."

  There was a slight pause, before the voice laughed. Even in apparent mirth, it dripped with malevolence even more strongly than before.

  A figure stepped forth from the shadow; Arthur squinted, making out a short figure swathed in long, flowing robes. As its face reached closer to his torchlight, the knight-apprentice felt his back crawl, as if a dozen spiders scurried down his spine at once. The face was old, withered, wizened; it was pale, devoid of any color or blood, with a long, hooked nose at its center. Two eyes, glowing purple through the dark, leered at Arthur as the face grinned at him, revealing a set of decayed teeth long defeated by time.

  The necromancer. The eyes stared right into his, the purple light almost hypnotic; Arthur felt his head spin, as it felt like a veil was being shoved over his senses. His vision waned and flickered, his breathing felt smothered, his limbs were locked to his sides. He couldn't even open his mouth to scream; all he could do was return the necromancer's gaze as he felt himself fade away.

  A crashing noise brought him back for a second; through his fading eyes, he saw the bones beside the necromancer erupt, as Praetorus pounced on the dark wizard with his dagger drawn.

  Even against the diminutive archer, the necromancer folded like a tunic; the instant Praetorus' dagger sank into his chest, the mystic hold around Arthur ceased, causing the knight-apprentice to crumple as well.

  As the feeling in his limbs slowly returned, he strained to see the archer continue to stab and dismember the necromancer. Without a word, Praetorus had withdrawn his dagger from the necromancer's chest, stabbed him through his head, then pulled his dagger up through the skull, bisecting it entirely.

  Arthur struggled to his feet, watching Praetorus kick the corpse over and wipe the dagger's blade on his sleeve. "Jolly good show, Praetorus! I always knew you had it in you!"

  The archer froze. "Something is not right."

  "What do you mean?" Arthur gave him a look. "That was the necromancer, right? You killed him!"

  "No." Praetorus held up his dagger; the blade was clean, too clean. Not a hint or speck of blood was present. "There was no blood."

  The same laugh returned, only this time it sounded as if it came from all around.

  No; it was coming from all around. Arthur whirled about, only to see dozens of figures stumble out from the darkness.

  Warriors, peasants, artisans; all of them in mixed stages of decay, stumbling towards them, laughing.

  And then he saw them: more knights, freshly killed it looked like, staggering towards him as well. They all wore House Borodin's colors, some of them still stained with blood. Those with helmets, their laughter rang from within their steel visors; those without helmets had their faces twisted in a grotesque expression of mocking laughter, their eyes aglow with purple flame. They were about a dozen or so, all clad in half-plate; Arthur's eyes darted about, searching for the commanding knight in full-plate. Perhaps he or she had gotten lucky, and-

  The breeze within the cave stirred again; he suddenly felt himself being shoved aside, barely registering Praetorus' kick as the archer launched him away from where stood. It was only when he looked back, stunned, that he saw what the archer had helped him evade: a tail, larger in girth than his entire body, had struck where he had been just a second ago. Praetorus was already shooting at wherever the tail had come from, his arrows sailing into the dark, but he may as well have been shooting needles; the great tail retracted, and at its end, Arthur realized with horror that it was barbed with a stinger, a single blade-like growth that easily eclipsed his sword.

  The dragon was far larger than he had anticipated; he had expected it to be hardly bigger than the wyvern, yet judging from the tail alone, it was likely the size of a castle keep.

  Fear overran whatever pride or ego within him as he stumbled back, still trying to grasp the situation; by now, the corpses around them were closing in, their arms and weapons outstretched towards the pair. One of them leapt at Arthur, which he batted aside as he turned.

  "PRAETORUS, RUN!"