“Everyone get back!” Ronald shouted, signaling his fellow guardsmen to create a perimeter around the town hall. The air smelled of burned skin and sulfur, and one look at knight Godrick’s dusty armor was enough for him to understand why.

  The town was in an upheaval—folk dodging this way and that, old lady Maribel sobbing to the heavens, and angry men gathering pitchforks and torches. Utter travesty it was, and it was all his fault, Ronald believed. If he had listened to his suspicions—told that cursed wizard to turn around and high-tail it back from whatever hell he came from—then maybe the paladins and mayor would still be alive. Zyon, even the mayor, was dead. Well, with a maniac like that wizard appeared to be, maybe there wouldn’t have been much that Ronald could have done. He’d probably be a pile of ash instead if he’d tried to do anything about it. Didn’t matter now. The fact was that the wizard was holed up in the town hall, and Ronald had to find a way to make sure he didn’t make it out.

  “Tobi, see to it no one comes any closer,” Ronald told his junior guardsman, who was like a son to him and saluted with dutiful enthusiasm.

  “Come on folks,” Tobi yelled, “get back now, ya’ll. Town guard business.”

  Ronald approached Maribel, who curled over Godrick’s armor, polishing it with her tears. Ronald bent a knee to her; which ached terribly. “Dear, it’s not safe here. You must move to cover.”

  She rocked back and forth. “His armor’s dirty. I told him keep it clean.”

  Ronald sighed. “Come now, please.” He helped her up, but she did not relent hold of the breastplate. That was fine, as long as she’d move further away from this mess. Once she was gone, Ronald went to address the growing mob of fool-hearty idiots.

  “Stop right there,” he said to the leader of the pack, Jules, the town blacksmith.

  “Don’t stop us, Ronald, we’d have avoided this mess if you’d done your job.” The old man sneered.

  The accusation stung. Sure, he’d felt the same thing, but it was far more damning to hear the blame being poured on from another. Ronald squared his jaw and gripped the blacksmith’s meaty shoulder.

  Jules narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?”

  Ronald said, “This matter is beyond us. You saw what he did to those paladins. We’re lucky he doesn’t set the town on fire.”

  “Who’s to say that isn’t his next move?”

  “I can’t—but the fact is he hasn’t yet, which means we still have time to get people as far away from this villain as possible. We need the Order’s help.”

  Jules rolled Ronald’s hand off his shoulder. “Then go get them.”

  “Don’t.” Ronald tilted his spear.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  Ronald shook his head and stepped back. “Tobi!”

  The young guardsman jogged over. “Yes, sir?”

  “Ride to Knightshelm—take the fastest horse you can. Jules’s horse should suffice.”

  The blacksmith bared his hammer, which looked like a toy in his thick grip. “You’re going to steal my horse now, are yah?”

  Ronald continued. “I’ll see that you’re compensated should anything happen. Tobi, bring the paladins. Tell them what’s happened here. Go!”

  Tobi saluted and ran toward the smith shop.

  Jules snarled. “Now we just sit here and do nothing? Fat chance.”

  “I know it’s hard,” Ronald said, his eyes softening. “You don’t think I’m mad? The fury of the celestials burns in me! But we don’t know what else that mage is capable of. What if you send your boys in there and they die all the same? You’d sorely beat yourself if it came to that.”

  That seemed to get to Jules’s heart. He had five boys, all capable artisans in their own right, and he’d already lost one during the last winter. Since then, the smith had been rather protective of the lot.

  Jules sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Ronald looked back to the tower at the top of the town hall building. “I don’t. But I have some ideas.”

  ***

  ===

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Jevrick’s Quest: What now?

  Side Quest: Revive Von Jakoby

  Maplebrook’s Population: 996

  ===

  “Seems the whole town’s come out,” I noted. “I have rather made a mess of a first impression.” I turned to Nora, who I had tied to a chair in the corner. She was awake now, as I’d ended the spell to spare her from the enchantment she was under. Her eyes drooped, fixated on her uncle’s body.

  I pondered the old man’s progress as he lay on the table. Oh yes, his flesh color was returning nicely, and he had a steady breath. In the grand sense of things, it was somewhat bemusing why anyone would go through the effort of reviving a man at this age—but I was certain he and his niece would be happy for it, and who was I to say the value of a life based on time? After all, I’d been near-dead for quite a while myself.

  “Sweetheart, do you think your fellow townsfolk cherished those paladins?”

  She looked at me through tears. Bitter still, but under a softening scowl. “Yes,” she said. “We love them. They protect us from evil, and they are very kind.”

  “Hmm,” I pondered. Well, I had mucked up this whole introduction. But, if a revival was enough to mend the damaged connection between me and the girl, then perhaps. . . I looked at the paladin’s body. A shiver ran through my spine. Was I really contemplating bringing back a man who had the desire to destroy me? Someone responsible for killing a pure soul like Clyde?

  I looked out the window as a mob of hundreds gathered. They carried torches, pitchforks, and scythes—really any farming instrument or sharp thing they could get their hands on, it seemed.

  I consulted my bag. Very few components. The metallic gleam of a polished iron ingot offered a solution in the form of a potential portal spell however. But I had not come to usher in chaos and leave. No, I’d come to explore another chance at life. I came to be a part of something other than the macabre and violence. Clyde had seen to make a better world, I was certain, why else would a hero ride off to vanquish a great foe? I needed to be like Clyde. I needed to show these people I was here to help. I needed to make things right.

  I looked back to the dead paladin, and then my eyes drifted back to a wardrobe. There hung several bright articles of clothing of purple and green: a fine coat, pants, and vest, which seemed to be sewn by the richest of silks. Above the wardrobe was a top hat, equally vibrant. I strode over to them and ran my boney fingers across their surfaces. I did not feel them the same as one with nerves might feel cloth—but I could imagine the sensation of the smooth fabric running over my fingertips, that velvety swoosh of skin to silk. I took the hat and ran my hands around the gentle brim. Yes. The plan became clear to me now. I would become what this town sorely needed, a standard which Clyde had set forth. I would become their mayor.

  ***

  Darkness swirled around Atan, which wasn’t right—he had been certain he’d be surrounded by light after he died. Unless. . . this was the burden of his failure. Perhaps Zyon was angry with him for his co-allegiance to the Order. Atan had tried so hard to withstand the voice of the Obelisk that led to the total conversion of everyone else amongst his sect of paladins. They allowed his dual-oath merely due to his usefulness, and he endured the co-habitation as a means to carry out the will of Zyon. But now. . . now he felt as though he’d simply been fooling himself. He was no more than a bodiless consciousness forced to wander the endless void, shapeless and forlorn.

  Forgive me, Lord. Give me life again, and I will serve you. I will vanquish your enemies.

  “Paladins are so dull with all their vows and promises,” a voice said deep within the darkness.

  “Who are you? Lord?” Atan spun to find the source of the voice.

  “Ah, not quite. I’ve come to make amends, however.”

  A swirl of grey smoke gathered ahead of Atan and formed into a face—no, a skull.

  “Salutations!” the skull said, its jaw unhinging and chattering as it spoke, somehow forming words without lips or tongue.

  “You! I’ll kill you!”

  The smoke twisted around Atan, and the knight could not chase it for he had no form of his own to control.

  The skull settled beside him. “See, that is precisely why I have yet to resurrect you. I bet that you have already constructed some vow to destroy me or cast me into hell, or whatever, and that will very much be the first thing you attempt to do when you return to the living. No?”

  The wizard knew truly how Atan felt. “I don’t make deals with hell-spawn.”

  “Ah! Well, that makes two of us, truth be told. Never found them all that accommodating. No, I am no daemon, or devil, or soul of Infernos.” The smoke took a greater shape, forming a hazy projection of a man, quite handsome and dressed in a fine jacket and slacks. “I was a mortal once. Human, same as you. A long time ago, before I was seduced into something else.”

  Atan pondered the person before him. The mage’s words sounded calm, genuine. . . calculated. This could very well be a trick to get him to drop his guard, to take his soul. So Atan strengthened his resolve.

  “No. Begone from me. I will have no business with you, deceiver.”

  The man sighed, then wafted his hand.

  Nora and Jakoby. The old man lay on a table, while Nora cried over him.

  “What have you done?”

  “Well, details notwithstanding, I’ve ensured that this man who was dead is. . . not dead. But, I have made a couple grave miscalculations, and so I come to you bearing an olive branch, as it were. You see, the town gathers with pitchforks and torches, and they are hoping to assault the town hall in an attempt to burn me at a stake or something of the like. It won’t work, of course.”

  “You mean you’ll kill them…”

  “Oh no!” The man’s eyes widened and he placed a hand on his chest. “You misunderstand. In fact, this whole interaction has been nothing but a tragedy of errors that I hope to undo. I have no intention to cause harm, in fact, I’d like to help the town. But I need your help—as loath as I am to admit to a paladin. They need you, they miss you, they love you. I have come to turn back the clock and return you to them. But I need you to make one of those knightly oaths before I do.”

  Here it was, the contract, the bid for Atan’s soul. He should have ignored it, but instead he asked, “What oath?”

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