“Come,' he said, 'come, we must see and act. Devils or no devils, or all the devils at once, it matters not; we fight him all the same.”

― Bram Stoker, Dracula

A group of three riders separated from the troops behind them and rode up to the wall.

“Don’t shoot. Let’s hear them out. It will at least be good for a laugh.” Brecht called out even though his voice sounded a bit tense. Scattered laughter answered him.

The three soldiers slowed as they came closer and a big man took the lead shouting toward the defenders. “Men and women of Volstedt. You have risen in rebellion against your rightful liege, and your lives are forfeit. The duke has nevertheless decreed…”

“You kill us with or without reason! At least this way, we can fight back!” A voice interrupted him.

“He has decreed that everyone that lays down his arms will be spared. In his magnanimity, he will not even punish you as you deserve.”

“Liar!” Another voice.

“But those rabble-rousers that incited this uprising will die.”

“And we will be killed soon after. Don’t listen to his drivel!”

“Don’t throw your lives away for nothing!”

“For Margrinar and the living!” Shouts swelled from the ranks of the townsfolk.

Reigning in his spooked horse, the rider flicked the reins and began to gallop back to the troops as a single arrow arched after him sinking into the snow a fair distance away.

Brecht grimaced and tensed for a response, but the soldiers simply continued setting up a good distance from the town walls.

“Have we heard anything from the kingdom?” Rolf asked quietly, just loud enough to be heard above the shouts and the moaning wind.

“No, nothing as of yet. I sent several messengers. Volunteers, mind you. But with the undead and the weather it would be a miracle if they managed to get through.”

Mireille blew on the bubbled glass making up a part of the window and rubbed with her sleeve, trying to see outside.

“See something?” Alyssa raised her head from the book she was reading, her focus crystal lying on the low table in their room in the inn. They had secured the second-best suite the establishment had to offer, something the proprietor had stressed quite a bit.

Alyssa had to admit that it was true. The table was smooth cherry wood, and the floor covered with a thick carpet. Even the walls had colorful hangings to cover any gaps in the expertly fitted wooden paneling.

“No. And I don’t want to open the window.”

“I think it would do us some good to get some fresh air in here.” The tone was questioning.

“No, absolutely not. I will certainly freeze to death on the spot.”

The fire in the large fireplace crackled as a log split, and sparks rose with a bit of smoke.

“I don’t see that happening.” Alyssa wryly arched an eyebrow. Shutting the book, she stood and walked up to her friend, gazing outside into the swirls of snow falling endlessly from above. Southern winds had brought some clouds that now shed their fluffy cargo.

“When do you think they will attack?” Mireille asked quietly.

“I don’t know. Calvin said they will attack when they are rested from the march.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Or the day after.”

Silence fell. The room contained three beds. One had been added after the fact, and the other was probably meant for a body-servant or maid. Both girls were kneeling on the one pushed underneath the large window overlooking the plaza before the inn.

Cyrus was sleeping beside the fire the dancing flames patterning his scales in red.

Somewhere among the rafters, a small shadowy figure stalked silently settling in a particularly dense shadow while blinking green cat eyes.

“There is only one potion left,” Alyssa remarked.

“Can we make any more? The old wizard should have a laboratory and there have to be some alchemists around town somewhere.”

“I sure hope so. I will try asking around. Until it became necessary, I sort of forgot.”

“Mh. As if. You probably tried to tough it out and only spoke up when that didn’t work.” Seeing Alyssa avert her eyes with a guilty expression, Mireille snorted in triumph. “So, we probably should ask Isolde or Brecht. Come, let’s go.”

Brecht looked from afar as the old wizard laboriously inspected the large metal plate affixed to the side of the corridor built into the town wall. The ceiling was arched and mortared bricks, some broken, some misshapen, made for a rough and unfinished look.

The metal plates fashioned from wrought iron were covered with fine inscriptions. And even as rust claimed a part, they were mostly well-preserved by some of the magic imbued in the runes. The wizard berated a craftsman who painstakingly removed the rust built up in the more important-looking grooves.

Turning to the side, Brecht asked quietly under his breath. “Anything suspicious? He made some alterations there.”

Isolde snorted lightly. “He seems to want to be able to focus energies that run through the town. How much of it is properly channeled...I don’t know?”

“Can he do something with that to aid our enemies?”

“He could try to make himself stronger or, when they get inside the town, help them then, but at the moment, it is inward focused, and he even strengthened that aspect.”

“Is that not unnecessarily complicated for a ward defending the town?”

“Being purely defensive seldom wins the battle and if my historical- admittedly spotty- knowledge serves, the mages settling here had less mundane and more magically active troops.” Isolde shrugged. Margramus threw them an unreadable glance and she lowered her voice even further. “We cannot babysit him the whole time. Let’s have an eye on him when the fighting begins if he even joins in the defense. Wouldn’t even begrudge him that, the old bugger already looks half-dead just from walking around.”

Brecht chuckled coldly at that and then patted her shoulder turning to go. His silhouette outlined by the blinding glare of the snow as he walked out of the low exit, ducking to spare his head.

Night fell, and the inside of the alchemist's shop was dimly lit by a flickering mage-globe. The floor at the corners of the room was covered in rime, and their breath steamed from the cold.

After running around all day to help with the siege preparations, they finally had a moment of calm. The militia had been wary of them, and Brecht had to speak on their behalf, gratitude for helping with the rebellion being tempered by them being strange foreign necromancers. At least, that was a common perception.

“Why not repair the thing? How can anyone do quality work this way?” Mireille was cursing while looking through the cupboards. Squinting in the uncertain illumination. The room they were standing in was part sales floor, part laboratory. They had sadly realized that the more wealthy merchants had left first when seeing the signs on the wall and having taken everything not nailed down or built-in, there were only the more rustic- if one wanted to be charitable- establishments left. Possibly excluding Margramus’s mansion.

Alyssa recalled their attempt to solicit his aid and winced as she remembered the cold stare of the old mage. He had told them to get lost in somewhat more polite language and alluded to the wartime measures that had seemingly taken most of his lab equipment. Requisitioned for the army.

As if.

Alea coughed as she brushed a dusty alembic, trying to organize the mess that was the leftovers of the former alchemist plying his trade here. The man had died in the branding two weeks prior, and the shop had been vacant since then, the older man having been widowed for years already. There purportedly was a son, but whatever became of him was unknown.

Alyssa held her hand before her mouth to stifle a laugh as the small dark-haired Alea struggled to keep from sneezing, looking adorable all the while.

Cyrus was clawing and biting a large sack of ingredients, probably the tails of lightning deer. At least that was written on a note tacked to the hempen fabric.

“Do we need lightning deer tails?” She asked into the busy silence.

“Mh. Not that I could think of.” Alea gave it serious thought and lost her composure, sneezing violently before embarrassedly dabbing at her nose with a stitched handkerchief.

“Some of those have frozen.” Mireille tapped some vials that had a cloudy interior and cracks running through the glass. “Worst winter in ages.”

From above, soft footsteps came down the stairs leading up from directly behind the counter. Iseret came into view, followed by Vanessa. Both of them held several books and scrolls as well as some more ingredients.

“It’s not looking good.” Vanessa’s melodious voice interrupted their banter. “There are mostly inexpensive and common ingredients left. Iseret even got the strongbox open, but there were only some money and promissory notes.”

Iseret nodded somberly. “We will try our best but I think it will be much less effective than what we had.”

“Every little bit helps.” Alyssa frowned worriedly before smoothing her features to hide her unease. Talking about the risk of void magic and having it dangled before her so blatantly, even she was not as blasé about that as she tried to pretend.

“So. I have a recommendation.” Vanessa bluntly stated. “Please refrain from using large-scale void magics. If we are close to defeat, I can accept it, but other than that please be careful.”

“Mh.” Alyssa nervously rubbed her cold left hand.

“On another note.” Mireille raised a bottle. “We have some truly fine whiskey here if the bottle is any indication.” Forcing a grin while trying to relieve the tension. “So, who wants a sip?”

The next morning in the inn’s common room.

“If the walls get overrun, and it seems hopeless, take the skeletons and flee. There is no use in dying gloriously for Margrinar in this godforsaken town.” Calvin sneezed and blew his nose, destroying the somber atmosphere.

The girls sitting around the table nodded. Mireille chewed hastily and added a spirited, “I will try!”

Alea was shrinking back into her chair, still not completely comfortable with the wizard even as they had been traveling together for a while now.

Alyssa frowned. “When we try to flee, will we not make even more of a target? They somehow tracked us here.”

“Let that be my problem. I will try and do something about tracking spells and such.”

Mireille shrugged. “We will leave that to you then.”

“You were making something in that rundown store yesterday?” Calvin’s eyes held a bit of interest. “And? Any luck?”

“There were not many usable ingredients left,” Alea answered after a short hesitation.

“I reiterate. We should try to get back to Fort Wolfsbane. No one gains anything if you kill yourself before you even cross the mountains.”

Outside, the tolling of a bell broke the early morning’s silence.

“Shit. Let’s go and see if it is serious.” Calvin stood and grabbed the war-staff in his right hand.

Together they exited through the front door. Rachel, the innkeeper's daughter, gathered their used dishes with trembling fingers causing one of the plates to drop with a crash.

The streets outside were eerily empty for a town, even a modestly sized one like this.

Hurrying down the alleys and byways, they soon reached the plaza before the western gates. Even from afar, they heard the deep bass thump of a fireball exploding and some scattered screams.

Cyrus, who had been hopping and running along with them, finally had enough of the snow and clambered up to the roof of a large residential building before then jumping from the highest point. He glided along behind them, beating his large wings to gain a bit more height and catching up quickly this way. Soon he was the one waiting for them up ahead.

Running up the stairs to the top of the wall without stopping they had to catch their breath after the exertion, with Mireille being only slightly winded and Alea holding on to Butler One with shaking legs.

Outside, the undead were advancing on the town with mages and branded behind them, throwing an assortment of missile-spells. Alyssa closed her eyes reflexively as a fireball detonated against the battlements. The expected pain from the flames gushing over the stone was strangely absent, though, and as she opened her eyes again, she saw the last of the fire dissipating with the wind as a faintly glowing runic shield faded back into invisibility.

“Mh. The old wards are still holding. That is good news for however long that lasts.” Calvin unconsciously stroked his warstaff while looking over the situation. Beside them stood men and women, some in common clothes, some in some manner of armor, firing down on the undead with crossbows and spells.

Stone missiles impacted on dead flesh, throwing the corpses back but without damaging them much. Wind blades cut into unfeeling skin, and some of those were strong enough to incapacitate limbs. The fire missiles, bolts mostly with some rare flaming spheres, seemed to be more effective, but the cold and frost were quite good at counteracting what should have been killing blows.

Somewhere to the right on the flat roof of the gatehouse they could see the silhouette of Brecht and his close allies directing the battle with the help of a surviving officer of the guard.

Pennants with the crest of Margrinar flapped above them, and the bright winter sun shone down, giving a slight warmth.

Alyssa frowned and raised her hand before Mireille tapped on her arm. Turning to look at her friend, she saw the freckled red-head slowly shaking her head. Nodding her acceptance, she turned the void bolt she had been forming into her trusty fiery missile sending the globe of flames across the trampled snow to impact on the chest of a large undead beast, it had been some sort of magical bear-thing, probably. Flames spread from the impact causing the flesh fiend to howl in anger before hastening its approach.

Another bolt and then another flew from her hands as she cast the spell again and again. Beside her, lances of light shot from Alea’s spell construct, and lightning crackled from Mireille’s position, followed by deafening cracks of thunder.

But soon, she gasped and held onto the parapet before her as the fire energies ebbed inside of her and only slowly began to replenish. ‘There is nearly no fire-mana in the air. The void energies seem even thicker than yesterday.’

Alea seemed fine mostly, but she was drawing on her gate, Alyssa thought sourly.

Mireille was even more exhausted than her after throwing six bolts of lightning in close succession.

A cheer went up from the defenders as the last of the undead was either slain or began to retreat out of range of spells and missiles.

“That was only a probing attack,” Calvin said quietly. The words were nearly drowned out by the cheering townsfolk.

“But they should not have…” Alyssa winced. “They simply wait for the undead to wake, and then they do it again.”

“There might be some too badly damaged or cleansed by light energies, but yes, I think that was less a victory for us than it seems.”

An older woman with a shawl draped over head and shoulders began coughing, holding her chest with one hand while stabilizing herself on the battlements. She seemed pale and ill at first glance.

Alea hesitated and then cast a healing spell. Light energies played around her hands and flowed into the still-coughing matron.

“Thank you.” The woman got better quickly and then forced a smile.

“What happened to you?” Mireille asked. The other townsfolk were still cheering and throwing insults after the departing undead.

“I felt faint all of a sudden and very cold.” She lowered her head. On the snow ahead of her were tiny flecks of red.

“It’s the void energies.” Calvin stroked his chin. “That will only get worse with time.”

“Should we warn someone?” Alyssa asked.

“I will talk with Brecht. Perhaps he can limit the use of magic for the more serious situations.”

“Shouldn’t that be a problem for those army mages too?” Mireille looked indignant.

“Probably. But do you see that making a difference? The Nordmarks don’t seem to hold human life in much regard.”

“But shouldn’t the soldiers rebel when their lives are squandered like that?”

“Perhaps. But I fear that it might be much too late, and far too few that will find their courage. Let us go back inside. There is an ale with my name on it back at the inn.” With that, the wizard turned and strode back down the stairs, holding his leather hat to keep it from being blown away by the wind.