“What is it? What’s going on?!” Dargan emerged from his own room at Pettigrew’s in a panic, tugging on his cloak with one hand, the other clutching his war hammer.

BRRRAAR!

The windows and walls shook from the aggressive braying of some kind of horn, followed by a myriad of bells. To Connor and Olanna’s ears, it sounded as if the entire outpost was in an uproar. They rushed to grab their things, then get out of the room and down the corridor of Pettigrew’s.

“That’s the alarm! The outpost is under attack!” they heard a shout from the stairs. The Ranger Marshal was already entering the common room, his longsword bared in hand.

“What!? Who?” Connor burst out, but realized that he already knew the answer.

“Get your weapons! Get out there!” Gustav was calling to the other residents of the lodging house, as Connor, Olanna and Dargan finally made it down the stairs. There was a bang from one of the side doors, and Mrs. Pettigrew herself emerged through the space between common room and kitchen, holding a large, tubular contraption—a blunderbuss!

“We had a runner from the front gate—it’s the dead! They’ve rounded the road and are making for SkyBridge!” she snarled, dropping the blunderbuss on the counter of the common room. A horn of gunpowder and a wooden tray full of broken and bent bits of rusted metals appeared a moment later.

“Blunts, ma’am,” Connor saw the Ranger Marshal say. “Maces and clubs and hammers are the best defense against—”

“I’ve yet to meet any creature that is happy about getting a chest full of shot, Ranger Marshal,” the apron-wearing, robust Mrs. Pettigrew cut him off. “Now, if you please, you do your job, and I’ll do mine!”

“Our job?” Connor whispered, his eyes wide as he hissed at Olanna. “When did any of us sign up to—”

Either no one in the room heard him or they ignored him. The Ranger Marshal was leading the way out of the lodge, directing them along with the others up the street to the main drag.

“Where do you need us, sir?” Dargan growled, hefting his war hammer.

“Let the soldiers do what they do best. We’re going to be ready just in case . . . We have to make sure the dead don’t make it to the piers. Otherwise, no one will be getting out of SkyBridge today,” the Ranger Marshal said, already breaking into a run as Connor glared at Olanna.

“We need to get out of here!” he hissed.

Nevertheless, they all ran forward under ringing bells and alarms and a sky that was deepening with a strange shadow and dark. As Connor ran, he looked and saw streamers of dark clouds racing ahead over the buildings, and he remembered the strange clouds that had seemed to shroud the Sleeper King’s army.

The main drag of SkyBridge Outpost was itself a mass of crying, shouting people. For a moment, it was hard to even see what was going on, as there were so many people hurriedly rushing into the town—but then Connor saw a gap in the crowds of hurrying humans—and saw that the front gates were still open.

“The front gates! The gates are still open!” he called, pointing.

“What!?” Gustav snarled. “We have to get the gates closed!”

It was clear why the gates were open, as all through the night, the tide people fleeing the undead horde had come streaming into SkyBridge. Gustav was already running toward the gates, as was Dargan and Olanna.

“Hells!” Connor took one look at his friends disappearing ahead of him, cursed, and broke into a run after them.

“What did you say about keeping safe?” Connor called out, pushing past hurrying and terrified village folk.

“We will be!” Olanna shouted over her shoulder. “We’ve still got time. The dead are a ways off still!”

“A ways off . . . !” Connor grumbled. He saw the crowd part to see that there were still wagons and people clustered at the gate, pushing and falling over each other to get through. Beyond them, the clouds were darker still, a thick mass of ground-hugging fog. It was as dark as if the night itself had descended and was coming for SkyBridge.

And there were howls and shrieks in the wind.

“That doesn’t look a ways off to me,” Connor growled as he got to the gate, seeing the teams of the red-cloaked SkyBridge Guards already holding the ropes that would pull the two large wooden doors closed. Others were doing their best to shepherd the last of the people inside.

“The wagon’s down! It broke an axle!” someone was shouting, pointing back to the farthest wagon out. A crowd of people sat atop it, panicked but refusing to leave their belongings behind.

“Leave it!” Dargan shouted at them. The darkness behind them was gathering, spilling up the roadway toward them. The strange clouds were moving fast, and they had mere minutes until they were overtaken.

Gustav broke into a run, straight out of the gate and toward the stilled wagon, and Connor saw—Hells!—that Dargan was running out after him.

“What are you doing!?” the half-elf hissed when he saw Olanna start forward. Dargan had gotten to the gate, jumping out of the way for people to pass, and Olanna continued toward him.

“He’s only a kid,” the elf shot at him, and after that, there was really nothing else to say. Olanna broke free from the gate to run after Dargan. Cursing even more profoundly, Connor raced after her.

Stay alive, she said. Protect ourselves, she said! he was snarling inwardly as his boots pounded the rough rock of the roadway, leaving the not-very-safe confines of the outpost behind him.

“We can’t leave it! It’s our entire life’s savings!” one of the villagers was saying, pleading with the Ranger and the dwarf as they pointed at the sacks and crates of belongings still strapped to the wagon.

Connor nervously looked past them to where the dark fog was racing upward, broiling over the roadway. He skidded to a halt.

“Tell ’em they can either have their stuff or they can have their lives!” the half-elf blurted out, ignoring the shocked expressions from the small group of villagers trying to right the wagon.

“He’s right,” Olanna said, stepping forward to split one of the ropes with a swing of her shortsword and causing a small avalanche of belongings.

“There. Take what you can carry and get to the outpost!” she hissed at them, her white hair flaring around her as the wind started to pick up, carrying with it whispers and foul, eerie shouts. The wind brought a stench, too, and one that Connor recognized—it was the stench of the graveyard.

“Ranger!” Dargan shouted as the villagers were grabbing things in their hands before starting to travel toward the outpost as fast as their feet could carry them.

Connor looked up at Dargan’s warning shout—just in time to see a deeper shadow break from the fog and come racing out toward them.

It was a horse and rider.

A dead horse and rider.

“Olanna!” Connor called. He drew his hand ax and wished that he’d kept the stolen mace from earlier instead of casting aside. “Bow!”

The rider and steed had great and ragged tears in their flesh, exposing the bone within, but the man at least still wore scraps of armor and a tattered cloak. One that Connor recognized as belonging to the same unit as the Downshaven Watch. In his hand was a long sword, and the man’s ruined face snarled as he bore down on them.

Name: Undead Horseman

Level: 4

Size: Medium

Health: 40 / 40

Vitality: 48 / 48

Agility: 11

Charisma: 5

Intelligence: 6

Stamina: 12

Strength: 13

Wisdom: 0

Phht! One of Olanna’s arrows shot through the air, striking the steed in its breast, causing it to lurch a little to one side—but not stopping it. It was coming fast, and suddenly Connor realized that he was the one standing before it, his hand ax braced defensively.

Connor flung himself out of the way just in time as the sword slashed down, catching the hem of his cloak and tearing through it with an angry noise.

Undead Horseman attacks Connor with Sword. Attack dodged; no damage done.

The half-elf hit the dirt and rolled, the stones banging and hurting his shoulder and side as he skidded to the broken wheel of the wagon. He pulled himself to his feet as the rider wheeled around the wagon.

Phht!

Another of Olanna’s arrows slammed into the steed’s chest, this time behind the front leg and precisely where the creature’s heart should have been. Once again, the undead horse reacted, rearing up on its back two legs before stamping down on the ground, but it didn’t halt.

And it was stomping right in front of the elf.

“Olanna!” Connor roared, jumping up onto the downed wagon with one spring. He took two quick steps then launched himself forward through the air, toward the undead horseman.

The undead rider hissed, but there was nothing he could do to avoid the leaping half-elf.

Connor attacks Undead Horseman with Hand Ax for 9 Health points damage. Jumping attack increases damage by 50%. Total damage: 14 Health points.

The monster was knocked from the saddle of the dead horse by the weight of the half-elf. Both went crashing to the ground with the Undead underneath.

There was a terrible, grotesque crackle of broken bones as they hit the ground, and Connor rolled free, coughing and gasping as he snatched up his dropped hand ax.

The undead horseman was still attacking, though! The creature had flipped over to one side, even with its legs that seemed irreparably broken, and slashed at Connor’s leg with the longsword he clutched in ruined hands.

Undead Horseman attacks Connor with Sword for 14 Health points damage.

Connor howled in pain as his blood sprayed from the wound in his lower calf, bringing him back down to the ground with a heavy thump. He hissed through clenched teeth at the pain, trying to pull himself away, but the claws of the monster grabbed his legs and clutched at him, as the Undead Horseman pulled itself upward over his body.

“Olanna!” Connor shouted in panic, trying to bring his hand ax down against his opponent—but also not wanting to impale himself in the process. He scored a glancing blow against the Undead’s shoulder.

Connor attacks Undead Horseman with Hand Ax for 8 Health points damage.

But it didn’t even flinch. The Undead Horseman kept crawling hand over hand up Connor’s body and was too close for Connor to get a clean blow.

“Olanna!” Connor tried screaming again. He saw the clawed hand of the Undead rise over his face to plunge and pluck out his eyes . . .

“Ragh!” With a roar, the Undead Horseman was seized by powerful hands and thrown backward.

Connor looked up at the gasping form of the Ranger Marshal standing over him, having just saved his life.

The undead creature hit the ground on useless legs behind the Ranger Marshal just as Dargan struck it in a whirlwind roundhouse blow with his war hammer.

Undead Horseman has been killed.

Your group has been awarded 600 Experience Points for slaying Undead Horseman.

Experience points will be divided among all participants.

“Here, friend,” Gustav said, offering Connor a hand as he hauled him to his feet.

“Your leg is pretty bad. Can you walk?” The Ranger Marshal was looking at him with those large, worried eyes of his—before Connor saw the human’s face wince, and he blinked in confusion.

A thin trickle of blood spilled from the Ranger Marshal’s mouth. Both the half-elf and the Ranger Marshal looked down to see the tip of a blade pointing through his chest.

Connor gasped as the Ranger Marshal staggered, then stumbled.

Gustav suddenly snarled and whirled around, swinging his own sword into the Undead Soldier who had run him through.

The blow was clean and powerful, and the death frenzy gave it a final strength that saw the Undead Soldier lose its head and fall to the ground in one smooth motion.

“Fenwalker!” Connor heard himself cry out, horrified as the Ranger Marshal, who had only ever tried to show him kindness, took one staggering step toward the wagon and collapsed against it.

“Half-elf . . .” The Ranger Marshal had dropped his own longsword and was fumbling at his chest, drawing out a bauble on a thin silver chain. “For . . . for Olanna,” he whispered.

“Keep them safe!” Gustav sputtered through gritted teeth before his eyes closed, and he collapsed to the dirt, stilled and silent.

“Gustav!” Dargan shouted in despair.

Olanna glanced at the fallen Ranger, and Connor could see tears streaming down her face, but she never stopped loosing arrows at the creatures shambling toward them out of the dark. There was no time for grief and no time for the half-elf to give Olanna the Ranger Marshal’s trinket.

The army of the Sleeper King was nearly upon them.