By some twist of luck, they made it to the stables before Halvor and the other paladins. It was petty, Aravos knew, but he took some small pleasure in the big man’s annoyance when he finally arrived. The Deathknight hung back as the others brought out the horses and loaded their packs, almost dreading what would come next. He grimaced when Halvor finally lost his patience.
“Aren’t you going to saddle your horse?” the paladin growled impatiently. “You know where the gear is.”
“None of these horses will tolerate my touch,” Aravos replied. He sighed and pulled a shard of obsidian from one of the pouches on his belt, casting it to the ground. The runes on his skin reacted with those on his sword armor and began to glow, reflecting on the dark stone shard. The paladins shifted uncomfortably as the rock began to smoke and vibrate. The black mist began to swirl and bulge as the other horses began whinny and snort, backing away as the cloud grew bigger and bigger. Aravos waved his sword and the the smoke vanished, replaced by a great, skeletal stallion. Blue and green flames bound its blackened bones together, bursting into sparks as it stamped the ground. Its saddle was obsidian and glimmered slightly in the morning sun.
“What is that monstrosity?” asked Halvor with a roar. “Dismiss it, now!”
Aravos touched the mount’s fiery mane, ignoring the paladin as he swung into the saddle. “If you want to reach the Tower before dark, we need to leave now.”
Devon grinned at the sputtering paladin and followed the Deathknight out of the gate and into the deserted fields beyond. Halvor took the lead, remaining sullenly silent as the small band rode carefully through the empty farmland. The land had been deserted weeks before, not long after the undead had taken the Bulwark. Most of the citizens had retreated behind the walls of the stone city, but a few hardy farmers and hunters had fled into the vastness of the mountain wilderness. As Aravos looked around the burned and blighted fields he began to wonder if they weren’t the wisest of them all. The trail of plague blight lead into the forests, and they soon began to see shambling corpses moving in the distance, the last remnants of the horde that had been at the city the day before. Without the influence of a powerful the leader, the undead monsters ignored them, shuffling mindlessly into the depths of the forest.
“Where are they going?” asked Devon as they waited for a small knot of zombies to pass them by.
“The Tower is calling them back,” Aravos said grimly. “It’s master needs to give the horde a new leader.”
“New leader?” grunted Halvor, staring at the Deathknight. “Wonderful. How do we stop it?”
“We need to reach the tower before a new commander can be raised,” he replied. “This far away from the damned throne, the magic takes a few days to work. It could be quicker if a vampire’s controlling the Tower, but until the spells are complete, the undead will be quiet.”
Something howled in the distance, an unnerving wail that made the horses pull nervously at the reigns, whickering in fright. Aravos watched a lone ghoul pause and stare curiously at the frightened animals before turning away and wandering into the trees. He loosened his grip on his blade. Of all the undead, ghouls were among the most unpredictable, with a hunger for flesh that could sometimes override the mental control of the Towers or even the horde commanders.
“Keep close,” Aravos said. “Dark things live here now.”
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