"Conspiracy of the Dead - 01" by Timothy Pontious

My name is Bertram. I am an Archivist Brother of the church of Narvad, hailing from the Alliance realms of Jazira near the Sunrise Coast. The tale I tell here is a long one, and has many winding roads. I have documented as much as I can, though I freely admit that I have guessed at some of the conversations and actions.

I was fortunate enough to find a copy of Wolfstone's Journal in the library at Sunwood, from which I have copied the relevant sections to amplify this story. In fact, in our later conversations, he gave me copies of a large amount of his earlier work. Therefore, these are the events as best I have been able to write them.

This story begins on the 23rd of Kronos in the Year of the Hammer, in the Cycle of Flame, in the Turning of the Awakening, also counted as the 317th year of the Age of Swords. I was a small lad at the time, but I recall many of these events and how they affected my own life and family.

So, Revered Brother Blusik, forgive me if I have over-embellished certain parts of this tale. If I have done so I freely admit to having not been completely impartial in my studies of these days.

It was the nervous hour of the night - long before dawn and long after midnight. The soldiers were camped along the muddied banks of a small river, in the time of the season when the spring dew made everything wet each morning.

"Rort, keep your armor on, or you might get zidibugs in your drawers." The guard looked disapprovingly at the other as they both warmed their hands by the fire.

"It's still too cold for zidibugs, isn't it? Zidibugs don't come out until next month. At least I don't think they do. Maybe the zidibugs is going to get in my drawers then." Rort readjusted his armor a little tighter.

"All of our gear is getting wet in this dew and fog, Kit. No spare, dry blankets left. None. Are there any dry blankets, Kit?"

"Heh. That's a good one. Do you think I'd be wrapped up in this flea-bitten horserag if I could find something better?"

"Ah, true. Sorry, Kit."

A slight bluish tint of light played around the coals of the fire for a moment, and then a bluish shimmering area burst into the air above the flames.

"Another one!" Kit pointed Rort first toward the fire, then one of the sleeping figures. "Wake the captain."

Rort walked quickly over to a sleeping form under a heavy blanket and roughly kicked an exposed foot. In a hoarse whisper he urged, "Incoming, sir."

As the captain woke and stumbled nearer the fire the bluish shimmer got briefly much brighter. The guards readied weapons, not sure of friend or foe. Rort and Kit could dimly see through the shimmering area above the fire, where other men in a far distant place also huddled around a fire that was low and steamy from a rain. They looked like alliance troops sure enough, but nobody here was going to take chances.

One of them grabbed up his bundle and walked up to the shimmering portal, tentatively tested the air with his foot, and stepped up and through and then down into the camp as the blue shimmering dissipated. It was as if he had walked over a ramp that could not be seen, that was just high enough to keep his feet from the fires.

"Who goes?" Captain Zurn was not successfully stiffling a yawn. There had been several people through this portal in the last few days.

"My name is Wolfstone, I hail from Tairoe. I bear a message for General Tornwater from General Nord in Faldaen. Which way to the main camp?"

The man was obviously a ranger. His armor was the woven-leather type peculiar to the north end of the alliance lands. It was like many heavy whips had been ringed around his leather jerkin and sewn into place. He had a short beard that matched his somewhat shaggy reddish brown hair. And he practically bristled with weapons from his bow to his sword and several knives that showed from between his backpack and belt.

"I am Captain Zurn. I see that ye bear no shield. Do you have any heraldry?" Zurn was looking the stranger over quite closely.

"None of importance, Captain. Now, which way?"

The captain muttered "Follow, please," and headed up the slight hill toward the large tents with the ranger close behind.

"Did you see that, Kit? He comes in here and not even a salute or a by-your-leave. The nerve!"

Kit put his weapon down and re-wrapped his horserag blanket a little tighter. "Shush you. He's a ranger. They don't salute and they don't care if you care if they don't salute. He can probably skin your arse for breakfast meats before you'd know he had a knife."

"Do you mean they is cannibals, Kit?" Rort looked uncomfortable.

Kit grinned. "No. But he might mistake your arse for a fine hog in the dark."

Rort made a worried face and then grinned because he knew Kit was just joking. Kit was always saying funny things like that.

#

Captain Zurn lead Wolfstone up to the main camp, and to a nondescript tent. "Rest here a bit. I think the general will see you after breakfast - but you can check with his adjutant." He pointed to a tent with a large banner hanging limp in the non-existant breeze. "There. The golden birch tree on a dark blue field is the banner of the general."

"I have a message for him."

"Right. But sometimes, when we're lucky, even the general gets to sleep a bit. Let it wait."

"Thanks." Wolfstone half-smiled at the captain and shoved his gear into the otherwise nearly empty tent.

"The general will see you now." The adjutant flapped the opening of the tent behind him as he left.

Wolfstone walked in, ducking his head, and headed toward the general, sitting at a large table in the middle of a large tent full of chaos. Maps, plots, papers, and spilled ink seemed to be the order of the day. Many of the papers on the table were ruined from spilled ink, bits of food, or scribbles in the margins.

"Ah, Wolfwood is it?" The general didn't rise but motioned toward a roiling pot of taleafa by the fire. "Help yourself to something to warm you up."

"It's Wolfstone, sir." Wolfstone poured half a cup of taleafa - enough to be polite. Then he rolled the large ceramic mug around in his hands welcoming the warmth. He remembered his message, and pulled the parchment out of an inner pocket in the depths of his tunic. It was still crinkly despite the sweat and rain.

"A message from General Nord for you sir." Wolfstone handed the note over. The general looked it over for a short moment and set it aside without breaking the seal - no doubt to get ink spilled on it during some future discussion.

"Thank you Wolfstone." The general sat back in his chair and sighed. "I need some reconaissance. I have sent other rangers to the south to investigate and they have not returned. I fear we are running out of time, but I won't know until I know more about the movements of the Dead. What do you know of the situation?"

"I have not been briefed. I only know what I have heard - that the Dead army moves in strange directions and not at any constant speed. You can't kill the Dead by normal means - they don't stop moving unless they are cut up pretty fierce or something. When a person dies in battle, they rise as one of the Dead, and in this way the army of the Dead is not depleted."

"True enough." The general got up and paced a moment, and poured another mug of talefa for himself. "There's an intelligence behind them no doubt. A necromancer of some sort or a priest of LarShiz." He paused while he seemed to suppress a shiver. "The Dead come in waves. Or singles. They come with weapons or just their hands. They walk the long way around when the shortest route should make no difference. They have stopped for the past few days and we don't know why. That concerns me a great deal."

"So there can't be a very large intelligence involved then. If they have stopped then they have become targets."

"Yes, perhaps. It's hard to say. They have raided into the Foal Valley and have killed many horses. They are more mobile now. Or perhaps they are just waiting for us to make the next move. I wouldn't think the Dead would mind the time."

"The Dead can ride a horse?" Wolfstone sat down trying to soak in that bit of news.

"Aye. Well enough if they could ride in life - though not at full speed. Dead horses can carry the Dead - and they don't mind the smell so much."

"So what is my mission?" Wolfstone leaned confidently back in his chair, sipping his taleafa.

"I'm sending you near a place where we think they may be massing forces. But you'll have to wait for the rest of your team."

"A team, sir? I really...."

"You'll take a team with you and you'll see them back safely. Come back at noon and we will all discuss this further over lunch. That's all for now."

"Aye, sir. But I really don't think I need a team. I have been trained..."

"Blast your training! I have already sent rangers to investigate. Five good people: Watsin from Terrim, Katspaw from the Duchy and her mate Litoe, Breen from Faldaen, and Falconheart. They have not returned. More people will give you better odds. I'm assembling a team. You don't have to like it but you'll have to get used to it."

"Aye, sir. Sorry." Wolfstone got up and abruptly left the tent.

Wolfstone's Journal 23 Kronos. late morning
The trip through the fire portal last night (this morning?) was interesting, but uneventful. It cut about 500 miles off this trip, so they must be in a hurry. This is a typical military camp, and the general here - Tornwater? - is not the most exquisite example of soldiery I've seen. The food is bad, the weather is poor and I need more sleep. In other words, nothing is new. Now the general tells me I am to take a 'team' to investigate the Dead army.

Sadly, the general has told me of the loss of several rangers. I journeyed once with Katspaw in the Howling Hills, and studied under Breen. The other three names I did not know and do not now recall. The loss of Breen is a hard loss, as he was one of the high king's favorites. This is ill news.

If I wanted to babysit I would have stayed in Faldaen knocking some sense into the milksop lads that want to be rangers. I just hope these team-mates that I'll be stuck with know what they're doing. I'll find out at lunch.