Raybeck was positioned just behind Private Graven when the soldier stopped walking for the fourth time since they had set out.

  The miner had to react quickly, or he might have tripped over his spear as he stopped moving.

  I’m sure I’m not holding this right, he thought. His body naturally defaulted to gripping any wooden shaft in much the same way he would grasp a pickaxe, and there had been no time for a proper tutorial before they set out on the Commander’s high priority mission. They weren’t meant to be fighting anyone, anyway. Not if things went the way they were supposed to. Just finding two lost soldiers.

  “What is it this time?” asked Falnar, glaring at Graven’s back.

  Heimar placed a hand on his shoulder, and Falnar shook it off irritably.

  Raybeck frowned.

  “Remember why we’re here,” he said quietly.

  We were placed under Private Graven’s command, Falnar, he thought. By Army standards, your tone alone is probably a kind of insubordination. Military discipline was far from the quasi-democratic structure of the mining guild.

  But as Graven turned to look at them, he did not seem offended.

  “I thought I saw something move again,” he said slowly, uncertainly. He pointed at one of the two mountains that loomed over them with the tip of his spear. “It was there, and then… it wasn’t. I didn’t get a good look, but if I had to describe it, I’d say it was… like a tree branch passed over the moon in my peripheral vision. Only, there are no trees in that spot. None of you saw anything?”

  “Again, no, young man,” said Heimar. The old man gave Graven a patient, indulgent look. This wasn’t quite the first time he’d seen something that had turned out to be nothing. The Private seemed to be a bit ill-suited to his line of work, honestly. He spooked easily.

  Or perhaps it was the disturbing situation they had just come from.

  “Fine,” Graven said. He sounded a bit nervous, but he took a step forward, then seemed to think better of it. “I should go and relieve myself before we continue.”

  “Again?” grumbled Swein.

  Raybeck elbowed him. This man is our guide. Our leader. Treat him accordingly!

  “Go on,” said Heimar. “Better out than in.”

  Graven simply nodded and stepped away from the other men.

  They were near a site full of a number of large, fallen stones that were scattered across the ground, creating many spaces of limited visibility. Long shadows covered big stretches of ground where the moonlight was cut off by those boulders. Graven had mentioned as they approached that this was where the Army had been ambushed earlier.

  Now the Private beelined for one of the boulders to use it for privacy.

  I hope he will be quick, Raybeck thought. The miner couldn’t help but feel as if this would be the perfect place for a second ambush. But the beastfolk won’t expect a tiny group of people to come through this space just after the Army was sent retreating with their tails between their legs. Right?

  Graven stepped around the rock, and there was a sudden cry. The Private seemed to fall out of their view, behind the stone, and there was silence. It seemed to Raybeck as if he had seen Graven trip. But the light and shadow did funny things in this area.

  Did he fall, or catch himself and step where he meant to?

  “Private?” called Willibald.

  “Let the man piss in peace,” said Swein. “The quicker he gets through with that, the quicker we get out of here.”

  “But it looked to me like he might have been pulled behind the boulder,” said Willibald. He sounded uncertain.

  Pulled? Raybeck frowned. I don’t think I saw that. But maybe Will’s eyes are better than mine.

  “He’s fine,” said Swein.

  “Or dead,” muttered Astram. “Those zombies are out here somewhere.”

  “Dead?!” Swein exclaimed in a tone of annoyance. “No man dies that quietly.”

  “Are you certain of that?” asked Heimar. The old graybeard frowned. “Have you ever actually seen a man die?”

  Raybeck knew Heimar had been a sailor once, almost a lifetime ago. The old man had seen some things at sea. Violent things. Stories he had shared occasionally over a few mugs of ale. The sorts Heimar would have told to his own sons if he’d had them. Stories to put hair on a man’s chest.

  The old man had definitely seen men die.

  A tension rose between Heimar and Swein. Swein’s face slowly turned redder and redder at Heimar’s quiet challenge. Between the two, one man had lived a life of risk and adventure. The other had taken all his risks in the evenings after work, gambling his pay. Heimar and Swein had never truly gotten along.

  Swein took a step forward, his hackles up. His grip on his spear tightened slightly.

  Then Willibald moved between the two men.

  “I’ll check on him,” the younger man said, smiling pleasantly. “We can get out of here sooner.”

  “Yes, you go and hold it for him,” said Swein dismissively. But he stepped back.

  Well done, Will, Raybeck thought. We cannot be fighting amongst ourselves. Not this early into the trip. Not when our mission is so important.

  Willibald took several steps, but as he was about to move around to where he could see the other side of the boulder, he hesitated and turned to look back at the group.

  Raybeck would never know what the young man had been thinking when he turned. Instead of saying whatever he’d had in mind, his eyes widened, and he screamed, “Look out!”

  That was when Raybeck felt a heavy blow strike the side of his neck. He stumbled backward, a lance of pain running down his spine, and he saw, almost in slow motion, the rock that had hit him, bouncing away.

  Then an arrow whizzed past. Raybeck sank into a crouch, trying to hide from the unseen attacker. He was scarcely conscious of the fact that he had let go of his spear as soon as the stone struck him.

  He heard a cry and a sound of impact as an arrow planted itself in another man’s body.

  Raybeck spun and looked around wildly. The other four men who were still standing were all scrambling to spot who was attacking them. Swein was on his face, the arrow sticking out of his side, his life’s blood seeping out into the sand. Only two of the miners still had spears in hand, albeit held clumsily. The others had hands raised as if to block a punch.

  A heavy rock flew down and smashed into Falnar’s back, half caving in his ribcage, and the group scattered.

  All but Raybeck.

  He paused for a moment, then swallowed and looked up and to the side.

  I have to know… who or what is hunting us? If it’s the beastfolk, perhaps I can surrender. They may be reasonable.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  His eyes followed the trajectory the rock had come from.

  The miner saw a monstrous thing, silhouetted against the moonlit sky. A horned skeletal creature. Its eyes burned green, like some demon had implanted two glowing emeralds in its skull. The monster was in the middle of rising from a bent position, another rock in hand, ready to hurl the stone down into the valley.

  Of course, we’re easy targets down here, just like the Army was earlier. But how did they know we were coming? Forget it, have to move!

  Raybeck turned back to where Willibald was positioned, and he almost raced toward that position. But Willibald was gone. He’d vanished without a trace. Raybeck hadn’t heard a sound. The last thing he’d done had been shouting a warning.

  Shit. Those monsters got him too.

  The miner set out running the opposite way, not looking where he was going. He kept low, trying to minimize his vulnerable target area. A rock hurtled past and smashed against a boulder, right next to his head. Raybeck ignored the little shards of stone that peppered his cheek.

  He had to keep going. He tripped and felt his shin scream out in protest as it slammed against hard rock, but he made himself rise up and keep running.

  He was not an old man yet, and he wanted to get there. He wanted to be Heimar’s age and spilling his stories over a few tankards of ale with the younger men in a tavern. Or maybe reciting them at bedtime to his own son, if the gods should be good enough as to put him on the path to a wife.

  This would be quite a story, if he lived.

  Need to hide.

  He heard a sound of blunt injury from somewhere behind him, then a pained cry, but Raybeck didn’t turn. It was every man for himself at this point. He scrambled behind a boulder.

  Should have grabbed my spear, he thought. But it was much too late. Please, gods…

  He sent up wordless prayers to the gods. If they just spared him from death this one time, he would be a better servant to them in the future. If they just intervened a little…

  He didn’t know how long he cowered there, waiting and hoping for an answer from the gods that never came. His mind was lost.

  Then, dimly, Raybeck heard the sounds. The rustle of a cloak as someone brushed past rock.

  The creatures’ master, he thought. That explains why they were so dangerous. He remembered that the Commander had mentioned having dealt with most of the undead with little trouble back at the abandoned village where the Army had made camp. Only the intelligent one had put up a real fight.

  If I managed to kill the necromancer, wouldn’t the rest of them be more or less useless? Raybeck wondered. I could singlehandedly save the day…

  The sound of the cloak rustled against stone again, closer this time. The proximity killed his delusion of heroism in an instant. The miner held his breath.

  Please don’t find me… I’m not ready to die.

  Then he heard the sound of footsteps moving away. The night air was silent for a little while.

  The footsteps stopped. Raybeck heard the sound of a blade slicing into flesh, then a cry of pain.

  There were more similar sounds, which the miner tried his best to block out. A call for help, a pained whimper, the sound of spurting blood.

  There’s nothing I can do, he told himself.

  This lasted for a few minutes, as the necromancer went systematically from hiding place to hiding place. It seemed the men of the mines could run, but they could not hide.

  Still, Raybeck allowed himself to think, Maybe they missed me. Maybe it’s over. Maybe—

  There was a scream from far too close to Raybeck’s position.

  The blood ran cold in his veins.

  Have to move. He found everyone else. That has to be the last one. Last but me. Right?

  He looked left and right. There was an open space between the stone he stood behind and the wall, but the stone was such a massive hunk of rock that it blocked much of the valley from view. The necromancer might be standing there waiting for him, or Raybeck might be lucky.

  It was hard to believe he would get lucky after all that had just passed, but he knew if he stayed in place, he would probably get unlucky soon enough.

  Fucking run! he ordered himself.

  A moment later, deed followed resolve. His feet picked up and carried him away. He darted from the boulder into the open. As soon as he was out of cover, he sensed someone or something behind him turn toward him. The figure had been looking for him.

  No no no…

  Raybeck threw himself behind another boulder. He heard an arrow whiz by, passing just overhead. But he was lucky again. Raybeck landed and quickly pulled his legs after him, placing his whole body on the right side of the stone. He looked around and took stock. He was a little further away now.

  Which way to run next? Where are they expecting me?

  There was no way whatever was hunting him would stop after just barely missing him with that arrow. To left and right, though, he would inevitably have to pass through more open ground.

  He came from my left, so hopefully he’s still approaching from that side.

  Raybeck darted out on the right, and he heard a bowstring sing with the sudden release of tension.

  Shit, he had time to think. That sound was close.

  Then the arrowhead punctured his calf. The miner choked out a pained noise but forced himself to stagger onward.

  He let out little grunts with each step. Every one was painful, like being stabbed in the leg again and again.

  Keep going. Just keep going. Maybe…

  There did not seem to be any hope left. He felt the slow leak of blood trickling down his leg, and he knew he would limp for the rest of the night. Perhaps for what remained of his life. He wouldn’t be able to easily evade any further attacks.

  He heard the enemy following him. Soft footsteps placed calmly in the sand. The opponent knew that Raybeck was going nowhere fast.

  But that meant he had a chance. If the necromancer underestimated Raybeck enough, and he could just get out of sight, maybe he’d be able to slip away somehow. Pull himself up a cliffside. Hide in a cave until dawn. Maybe, by then, the Army would have arrived in this place again.

  “Well done,” pronounced a deep, calm voice from perhaps ten feet behind him. It sounded surprisingly young.

  Raybeck half turned back and finally saw who was pursuing him.

  The enemy was a tall, lanky figure with a pale face that was half hidden in the shadows cast by his hood. The necromancer held a thin, grayish-white shortsword, which Raybeck realized must have been made from human bones. The blade’s edge was jagged and caked in partially dried blood. The figure was flanked by a man and a woman who were obviously dead and two skeletons. The dead man held a bow and was drawing arrows from a quiver held by the dead woman. The skeletons held rocks raised and ready to throw at Raybeck as needed. The fact that they were not hurling them already showed how little threat the miner posed.

  Wait, is that Christos?

  Raybeck looked back and forth between the male and female zombies and realized that, indeed, it was the foreman and his wife. He wondered if they knew what their son was up to, then recognized the absurdity of that thought.

  The madness of a dead man.

  A stone caught Raybeck’s foot. He hadn’t been looking where he was going properly, dazed as he was from the situation he found himself in.

  He fell and landed on his head, but the pain in his leg where it hit was worse. He’d jarred the arrow wound.

  “Ah, shit!”

  “Stop fighting it.” The pale figure spoke up again, and Raybeck felt a chill run through him. “You’re only causing yourself more pain.”

  The necromancer is human. Commander Volusia thought it was a beastfolk. Does that mean this guy was a miner?

  Raybeck slowly turned to the side—he couldn't lie on his back with the arrow in his thigh—and got a better look at the pale man. All Raybeck could see was that the man had long, dark hair and green eyes that sparkled through the shadows of his hood. And it might have been the miner’s imagination, but there seemed to be a slightly sad cast to his mouth. The miner didn’t recognize him, though that didn’t mean much. With almost two hundred people, it was easy to lose track of some.

  “S-stay away, n-necromancer,” Raybeck managed. “I-I’ll—” He looked around. There were no weapons to hand, not even decent-sized rocks.

  The pale man stepped closer, almost within reach.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You were the closest to escaping of all of them. Quickest on your feet. Under different circumstances, I’ve let people I was meant to kill escape before. But not this time. Every body I acquire counts. And I can’t have any survivors.”

  He killed all the others already?

  “I—could you make it quick, then?” Raybeck shook his head. He knew he was done.

  “I might need to keep you alive for a bit longer,” the necromancer said, crouching down beside where Raybeck sat, leaning in close so that Raybeck felt even more closely watched by those emerald green eyes. “But I won’t use you as a test subject unless the others give out on me. Remember that. You’ll die quickly and painlessly as long as they manage to fulfill my purposes. You’ve earned that consideration just by lasting a little longer than the others. So, when you wake up, just be quiet and watch. Don’t be afraid.”

  The necromancer sounded as if he was bargaining with himself. Perhaps he knew what he was doing was wrong, and he just needed a little nudge to repent. The miner felt a sudden flash of hope.

  “You can still change your ways,” Raybeck said desperately. “I can—I’ll pray with you.”

  A fist rushed at him from the side. The miner tried to raise a hand to block, but he wasn’t quick enough. He felt the knuckles make contact with his temple, striking with a force that was hard to connect with the young man.

  Raybeck’s eyes closed, and he knew nothing.

  Or speed run it all.