Harry followed a few paces behind the line with Jo, Stan, and Nick clustered close.
To their right, Cedric rode Jeffrey’s horse, reins in one hand. A travois dragged behind the animal, its poles scraping softly over stone and dirt. Toby lay bundled tight in blankets, lashed down so he wouldn’t slide. Only his head and one arm were free.
Fields stretched out on both sides of the road. Neat rows of cabbages, beans, and tall grain bowed in the breeze. Everything was planted. Nothing tended. No carts, no tools, no people. The air smelled green and sharp.
Stan scowled at the empty fields and shook his head. “I ain’t likin’ this at all.”
Nick gestured ahead. “Everyone’s likely in the hall. Folk gather there for meetin’s, or when the attacks come.”
Stan snorted and raised his voice, angling it back toward the travois. “Ya see, boy. This is why ya don’t say fool things.” He waved one hand and started muttering as he walked. “We got this. What kin go wrong.”
Toby shifted under the blankets. His voice came thin and tight. “I’m sorry, Stan.”
Jo shot Stan a look. “I blame myself. I should’ve cut out his tongue when I had the chance.”
Toby went still. After a moment his free hand came up and fumbled for the edge of a blanket. He pulled it over his face, hiding from the light and the road and all of them. From beneath the wool, barely loud enough to carry, Harry heard him whisper, “I’m sorry, Jojo.”
By mid-afternoon the village came into view.
Low wooden houses, all single-story, their walls darkened by age and smoke. Some had small barns attached. Others had squat smoke houses leaning close, roofs sagging under years of soot. In the center of the village stood a larger two story building, timber framed and broad shouldered. A grain silo rose beside it, tall and round, its planks bound with rusted iron bands.
Beyond the far side of the village, the land lifted into a low hill. Stone walls ringed the top, uneven and broken in places. Above them rose a small circular tower. From its crown, a trail of smoke climbed into the sky, thick and black, smearing the blue.
They reached the first houses in the late afternoon.
Silence swallowed them.
Pens stood empty beside several homes. Gates hung open. No cows. No pigs. No chickens scratching in the dirt. The only sound was the dry clatter of a loose shutter knocking against a wall as the wind pushed it back and forth. Somewhere near the road, a single chicken wandered in a slow, uncertain circle, pecking at nothing.
The soldiers kept moving, boots crunching on gravel and packed earth, until they reached the large building at the village center.
That was where they finally saw people.
Two men sat on a bench outside the doors, farmers by their clothes and the pitchforks leaning against the wall. They sprang to their feet at the sight of the soldiers, faces tight with shock and hope. After a heartbeat’s hesitation they hurried forward.
Relief cracked across both men’s faces as they reached Jack.
Jack stepped out to meet them. He pulled the nearer man into a rough embrace, clapping him hard between his shoulders, then turned and clasped the other by the forearm, gripping tight.
From where he stood, Harry couldn’t hear what was being said, but both men sagged with relief at the sound of him. One laughed, sharp and breathless, while the other wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, nodding again and again as Jack spoke.
Harry slowed as the farmers crowded around Jack. He leaned closer to Nick and kept his voice low. “Should we let them talk?”
Nick shook his head. “Naw. Come on.”
They moved forward together. Cedric swung down from Jeffrey’s horse and fell in beside Jo and Stan, boots thudding softly on the packed dirt. Behind them, Toby squirmed on the travois.
“I wanna hear too,” Toby called out from the blankets.
Jo glanced back and pointed at him without slowing. “You just lay there and keep quiet.”
The soldiers had gathered tight around Jack and the two farmers, talking over one another in low, urgent bursts. When they saw Harry and the others coming, they shifted aside, parting to make room.
They arrived just in time to hear one of the farmers, voice strained, “He locked himself up in the tower soon as the soldiers left. Only ones been up there since was young Martin and Simon, took him his food. Ain't seen them come back down, and we ain't seen Lord Korven neither.
Murmurs rippled through the group.
As Harry stepped into view, the villagers’ attention snapped to him. Faces tightened. Eyes tracked his movements, wary and searching.
Jack turned and lifted his hand. “Herb. Bart. This here is Sir Harold and his fellows. They’re going to finally free us.”
The man Jack had called Herb stepped forward. He looked older up close, hair gone thin and gray at the temples, hands rough and cracked. He stopped a pace short of Harry, swallowed, and nodded.
“I don’t know what to say,” Herb said. His voice wavered. “Thank you. We’ve prayed for someone to come.”
Jack led the small group into the town hall.
The bottom floor was crowded with animals. A pig pen filled one corner, its boards dark with use. Cows stood along the walls, shifting and snorting softly. Chickens moved freely around long bench tables, wings brushing wood as they hopped and settled. A few young people worked among them, carrying buckets, calming hands on hides and feathers.
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They waited near the entrance while Herb ran up some nearby stairs. A few minutes later he returned with three older men and a middle-aged woman. All four carried the look of people who had done this before.
Introductions were brief. Jack gave them a tight rundown of what had happened, the soldiers scattered, some gone through the portal. That last part drew a sharp intake of breath. One of the older men swore under his breath, shook his head, stared at the floor.
When Jack spoke of the Dead Wardens, of Harry bringing them down, all four of them looked up. Their eyes went to Harry and stayed there. Surprise, disbelief, and something close to reverence passed across their faces.
No one interrupted. No one questioned it.
Jack glanced toward the high windows where the light was already thinning and turned to Harry. “It’ll be dark soon. We can stay here tonight and confront Korven in the morning.”
Harry shook his head. “He’s had too long to prepare.” He looked to Jo, then Stan, then Cedric. One by one they nodded. “We’re going up now.”
Jack held his gaze for a moment, measuring it, then nodded. “Alright.” He turned, already shifting gears. “I’ll get everyone set. You want to get your Toby in here?”
They carried Toby in and set the litter on one of the long tables. He complained the whole time, breathless and stubborn. “I can help.” “I’m well enough.” He tried to sit up until Jo pressed a hand to his shoulder and pushed him back down.
Two girls about Cedric's age came over almost at once. One of them said she’d get soup while the other tucked in his blankets.
Jo frowned. "Soup? He doesn't need soup."
Toby smiled. "I wouldn't mind."
Stan perked up. "I could eat a bowl o' soup."
The girl barely glanced at Stan. She turned back to Toby, leaned in, and smoothed his hair. "You just relax. I'll be right back." She ran off toward the kitchens.
Jo stared after her. "But we don't need to eat?"
Toby went quiet after that. He relaxed into the blankets, letting them fuss.
That lasted until Jack started giving quiet orders and people began shifting toward the doors.
“I’m fine,” Toby said again, louder now. “I can walk.”
Harry stepped up and leaned a spear against the table, set a shield next to it and handed Toby his sword. Toby lay still looking up at Harry.
“I’m counting on you, Toby,” Harry said. “You have to watch over these people. You’ll be the only fighter in here if anything gets past us.”
Toby swallowed. He looked around, everyone’s eyes were on him. He nodded once, slow and careful. “Alright, Sir Harry. I won’t let you down.”
Stan leaned in and clapped him on the shoulder, gentle for once. “Good lad. And don’t be calling down more curses on us.”
Toby managed a small grin. “I won’t, Stan. I promise.”
Outside, they formed up and started up the hill toward the keep.
Harry took the lead with Jack beside him. Cedric and Nick moved on his left, Jo and Stan on his right. Behind them the soldiers spread into two loose lines, spearmen up front, crossbowmen behind. Several carried lit torches, the flames guttering and snapping in the soft wind.
The keep loomed larger with every step. Up close the walls were barely ten feet high, stone stacked on stone and left to rot. Vines crawled across the face of it, roots prying at the mortar. Chunks had sloughed away over the years, leaving gaps and crumbling edges. An arched entrance yawned ahead. No doors. An iron portcullis was down, its bars thick and rusted, blocking the way.
The tower rose just beyond the wall, another twenty feet above it. A narrow stone balcony circled the upper level beneath the roof.
Korven stood there waiting. Watching. His black robes hanging loose from a frame gone thin and sharp. His face looked pulled tight over bone, eyes wide and fever-bright. Long hair hung in uneven strands around his cheeks. His one hand clutched the stone of the balcony wall.
Harry took a step out from the group, boots grinding on the hard-packed earth.
“Korven,” he called, voice steady, carrying up the wall. “This is over. You can still leave. Escape through the crypt portal.”
Korven leaned forward on the balcony and let out a short, ugly laugh. “Leave? I rule as a god and you want me to leave?”
“I swear to you,” Harry said, “I’ll see you safe to the portal.”
Behind him he heard nervous murmurs. Boots shifting. Armor creaking.
Korven’s smile widened, showing teeth. “You’ll see me safe? You?” He shook his head slowly. “Do you know how many little heroes just like you I’ve had on my altar?” His voice softened, almost fond. “I’ll have you too. Come join my little collection. I’m looking forward to paying you back for this.” He held up his left arm. The forearm stopped halfway between wrist and elbow, jagged broken bone protruding. The flesh around it had swollen dark, blackening with infection.
“If you’re so eager,” Harry spread his arms, “come out and face me.”
Korven threw his head back and cackled. “I will. I will.” He leaned over the railing again, eyes bright and fevered. “But not yet. Almost. You need to wait a little longer.”
Harry raised his voice. “We’re not waiting. If you won’t come out, we’re coming in.”
Korven straightened. His voice boomed down from the balcony, loud and theatrical, echoing off the stone. “Are you? And if you’re here, who’s going to protect the sweet innocents down below?”
Harry kept his eyes on Korven, but the sound behind him changed. Sharp breaths. Low gasps. A ripple of voices.
“Oh no.” “The village.”
Jo’s voice cut through it, hard and urgent. “Harry, the village!”
He risked a glance over his shoulder.
Beyond the farthest houses, shapes were emerging from a small orchard. Figures coming out from between the trees, slow and deliberate. Withered bodies, leathery skin stretched tight over bone. Red sparks burning in empty eye sockets.
Ancient Desiccants.
Ten. Maybe eleven.
The soldiers saw them at the same time. Fear ran through the line, fast and contagious. Spears wavered. Someone swore. A torch dipped low.
Jack spun toward the village. “The village. We have to…”
“Go,” Harry snapped. “Hurry.”
That was enough.
Nick was already moving. Jack broke into a run, shouting orders as he went. The soldiers followed, formation collapsing as they sprinted downhill, boots pounding, torches bobbing wildly. Commands tangled over one another as the line scattered into a chaotic rush toward the houses below.
Harry stayed where he was.
So did Jo. Cedric. Stan.
He didn’t look back. His gaze stayed locked on the balcony.
Above them, Korven’s laughter rang out, louder now. He leaned over the railing, shoulders shaking as he watched the soldiers flee.
“Yes,” he called down, voice thick with delight. “Run. Run and watch them die.”
Harry turned at last. He looked at the three still standing behind him. “Go with them.”
Cedric took a step toward him. “Sir Harold, we will not…”
“Go,” Harry snapped, cutting him off. “You need to save those people.”
They froze, torn between him and the village below.
Jo suddenly gasped, “Toby…”
Stan tightened his grip on the spear, knuckles whitening. “We’ll be back.”
Jo met Harry’s eyes for half a heartbeat. “Don’t die.”
Then they turned and ran, boots hammering stone as they chased after the soldiers down the hill.
Harry watched them go. Only when they were gone did he lift his gaze again.
The balcony was empty.
Korven was gone.
Harry stood alone before the walls and the tower. Behind him the sun sank low, throwing his shadow across the broken stone.
***
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