Winterfrost was, by all accounts, a ramshackle settlement that barely qualified as civilization. Even before the village had come into view, Henry could already smell it; the pungent odor of drying fish, livestock droppings, and burning pitch assaulted his nostrils, a powerful stench that nearly made him gag out of reflex.

  Rebecca fared little better, as she wrapped part of her cloak around her mouth and nose in a futile attempt to ward away the smell. "Ugh! What is that?!"

  "Winterfrost, I'm afraid," Henry replied, careful not to open his mouth for too long. "The frontier towns are self-reliant, so there's all manner of industry here."

  "Must all these industries be so smelly?" Rebecca's eyes were squinted, as tears almost seemed to well up in them. Henry dared not suck in enough breath to laugh.

  "Unfortunately. Can't you cast any magic or spells to lessen it?"

  "I can try. I only know how to do light scents though, nothing strong enough to mask it completely." She chanted a spell, and with small twinkle of light from her hand, the malodorous scent soon had a tinge of rosemary to it.

  "Delightful," Henry gagged. "Let's get a move on. The center of town should be a bit better."

  The center of town was, unfortunately, not much better. The smell decreased slightly in its intensity, but what was once torture for the nose transformed into a siege on the eyes and spirit. The "town" of Winterfrost was a collection of a few dozen straw and thatch huts and cottages, with a few plaster walls here and there. There were no paved roads, only mud-stained paths carved out by the foot-traffic; snow coated every building's roof, and piles of it sat squarely on every corner as the villagers went about their daily lives.

  About a dozen vendors lined the town's center, shouting at their stalls as they tried to sell their goods. Henry barely dodged a snaggle-toothed woman who tried to grab his horse's reins, smiling as she held a bushel of half-rotten leafy greens in her hand. Another man tried to address Henry directly, apparently in an attempt to sell him fish and pitch.

  Rebecca visibly frowned as she waved away a filthy vendor. "I'm not sure things have gotten any better."

  "Well, at least we're closer to the local Knight's chapter," Henry replied. "Here's hoping the Knights have a higher standard than the rest of the town."

  The two of them pushed past the throng of merchants on their horses and rode on towards the lone building made of stone, a lone watchtower attached to a small keep. The banner of an unknown Knight house was draped over the building's front, a white and gold sigil depicting an eagle inset within a shield. To Henry's surprise, the front gate was shut, and the torch there unlit.

  "Nobody's home right now," he said to Rebecca, frowning. "That's strange. Usually there's always someone manning the keep, even the squire. To completely abandon the watch means the Knights have retreated, or an extremely important quest has arisen. And the Knight colors still hang here, which rules out the former."

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  "Is there anyone we can ask? Surely, someone here must know something about them."

  Henry looked around; only a few cottages surrounded the watchtower and keep, and they were all sitting dark and silent as well. He spied a beggar sitting across from the keep, shivering in the snow.

  "Let's try him," the squire remarked. "Maybe he knows something."

  He dismounted and approached the beggar, whose eyes lit up upon seeing the young man approach.

  "Oi, ye got something to eat?" The tramp smiled, revealing a set of yellowed, decaying teeth. "Something soft, me hopes? On account of me teeth and all."

  Henry reached into his pouch and produced a roll, cold from the wintry air, but still soft and plump. The beggar's eyes widened as he stared at the morsel, before he frowned and looked up at the squire.

  "What do ye want for this? I knows ye folk always want somethin' in turn."

  "Just information, that's all." Henry handed the treat to him, and he wolfed it down hungrily. "What do you know about the Knights in the keep? Why aren't they at their posts?"

  "Oh, everyone knows that," the beggar cackled. "Master Turner said he was gonna deal with the whole graveyard issue. Dead folk rising from their graves, and all."

  "Necromancy?" Rebecca's eyes narrowed. "He said he was going after a necromancer?"

  "Aye, or somethin' like that." The beggar licked his lips. "Say, ye got another one of them cakes? Think me tastes got rich."

  Henry pulled another roll from his pouch and gave it to the man, and again it was scarfed down in record time. "What else do you know?"

  "Well, apparently it was 'portant enough for him to bring everyone in that castle o' his. His men, his squire, everyone. Never seen it stand empty like this before."

  The squire nodded and pulled out a sandwich, giving it to the man. The beggar gave him a look. "That's all I knows. Can I still have it?"

  "Of course. This one's so you don't go hungry tonight."

  "You're a rightful saint you are, sir knight, sir." The beggar bowed his head low before the squire. "Always liked you lot, I says."

  With that, Henry and Rebecca returned to their mounts, leaving the beggar to his hearty meal. As Henry clambered back onto his horse, he pondered the man's words in his head.

  "How familiar are you with this sort of magic?" he asked Rebecca.

  The mage shook her head. "Not at all, I'm afraid. It's dark magic, the kind Nezwick expressly forbade me from learning, and I've no desire to do so." She grimaced. "It exacts a heavy toll on the mind, body, and spirit. And magic already has a taxing price."

  "I'll take your word for it." Henry spurred his horse onwards. "Looks like we'll be stopping by the graveyard."

  Nothing could have really prepared them for the sight at the cemetery. Henry was able to compose himself, but Rebecca let out a small gasp.

  "They're... empty. All of them." She gazed over the field of graves, each one bearing an empty resting place. Snow and dirt were haphazardly tossed aside from the tops of the graves, as if they were dug out from the inside of each coffin and plot. Henry counted no less than three dozen graves within view, all empty.

  "Now we now why this was serious enough to warrant an entire chapter mobilization." Henry dismounted and stooped down beside a grave, inspecting the pile of snow and frozen earth beside it.

  The plot was the standard six feet deep, with muddy earth at its bottom and no coffin in sight; this was a pauper's grave, and the pauper himself was nowhere to be found.

  "I think I see some footprints!" Rebecca was about sixty feet away, inspecting another grave. "They're faint, but there's enough for us to follow!"

  "Any idea whose they are?" Henry asked, coming up beside her. The tracks were indeed partially buried in fresh snow, but they snaked out of the cemetery and towards the distant hills and mountains.

  "Hard to tell. I can see there's more sets, but this is the only one clear enough to follow." Rebecca shuddered. "I don't like this."

  "I agree." Henry mounted his horse again, noting the rapidly darkening sky. "Let's find some lodging for the evening in town. I've a feeling we don't want to be out after dark."