Ardry reclined on his bedroll by the fire, sipping from a mug of tea. He sighed contentedly and looked up to count the stars of Dereth’s night sky. They’d established this camp on one of the high ridges outside the town of Al Jalima. They were, as far as Ardry could see, all alone out here in the desert. With no dungeons to explore, no monstrous threats to battle, Ardry was more relaxed than he’d been in at least a year.
Ardry’s contemplation was interrupted by a clinking noise nearby, on the other side of the camp fire. His uncle, Aliester the Loquacious, was fooling around with some arcane piece of glassware and awkwardly scribbling notes into a thick journal by the flickering light of the fire.
“The daily temperature variance is fascinating! What could explain it? Do you notice how cold it is, Ardry? Considerably more cold than one would expect. After all, when one thinks of the desert, one thinks of heat and sand, dehydration and burning thurst, the merciless heat of the sun and no refuge under foliage…”
Ardry shook his head. “Uncle, I told you before we left the cottage that the desert gets cold at night.”
“You could have spoken a little louder, or with greater urgency, nephew,” Aliester the Loquacious huffed. “I don’t understand why we couldn’t just spend our time at the cottage, finishing my experiments on those glands from the warped Olthoi…”
“Because then that wouldn’t be a vacation, Uncle. You and I have both earned some time off from the demands of the council. Remember how long it took for you to start eating food with bones in it, after your ordeal in the graveyard?”
Aliester was unable to resist glancing at the small pile of chicken bones by the fire, remnants of the dinner they’d shared. The mere sight of a chicken bone brought back vivid and awful memories of being ambushed and overwhelmed by the spectral retainers of the undead Lady Tairla. He shuddered and looked away.
“Well, you may be right, my boy, but this is an awfully curious location for a vacation. We could have chosen to visit cousin Ulgrim in Ayan Baqur, for example. Or sampled the local brews in Cragstone, or visited the wonderful archive just outside of Hebian To…”
“I wanted some peace and quiet on this vacation, Uncle. The big towns are too hectic for me. Especially now, with the festivals going on… And the last time I visited cousin Ulgrim, he tried to stuff some kind of mashed-up herb into my mouth, muttering nonsense about that Virindi archmage in Ayan Baqur. I managed to get away from him, but I think he was trying to push me into a hallucinatory state or something. He said he wanted to observe me.”
Aliester chuckled. “I’m still not sure I believe that story, my boy. Usually Ulgrim has a consistent and predictable route to his hallucinations.”
Ardry paused to take another sip of tea. “I like it here on the ridges. We’re near enough to town to get supplies easily, but up here we can almost pretend like there’s nothing else out there… No squabbling scholars waving papers at us, no queens or lords or assassins sending us off to painful deaths… Do you realize, Uncle, that we’ve been here on Dereth for almost eight years and we’ve been scouting or researching threats to the realm with almost no breaks in the entire time?”
Aliester shrugged. He was well aware that his role of research and experimentation had been considerably less rigorous over the years than Ardry’s role of advance scout… “If you say so, nephew. Do you suppose I could prevail upon you to stoke the fire a little higher, though? I can barely see what I’m writing here.”
Ardry thought about trying to argue with his uncle. To convince him to put away the book and just enjoy a quiet night free of the demands of the realm. The anniversary of their arrival on Dereth always put him in a contemplative mood.
Finishing the last of the tea in his mug, he stood up. “The firewood’s running low. I’ll head into town to get some more. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.” He stooped to pick up his pack.
Unexpectedly, Aliester stood up as well. “I’ll accompany you, my boy! I’d relish a chance to stretch my legs, and perhaps the physical activity will help warm me.”
Ardry nodded as he shouldered his pack, pleased by the offer of company. “As you say, Uncle.”
“Besides,” Aliester muttered, just low enough that Ardry couldn’t hear, “I don’t want to be left alone in the dark with those… bones.” He spared a baleful glance at the pile of chicken bones and followed his nephew down off the ridge.
The two of them began walking, in contemplative silence, back towards town. As they neared the road, the twinkling lights of the small town of Al Jalima became visible. Ardry, sharp-eyed as he was, first noticed the crowd of townsfolk on the road just outside of town, barely visible at the edge of the town’s lights.
“Strange to see such a large group of people out at this time of night…” he said.
Once Ardry pointed them out, Aliester was able to see them too. “Yes, quite a crowd. Oh, they’ve noticed us. And they’re coming this way…” He squinted to get a better look at the approaching crowd.
“Pwyll’s bubbling blood! Run, Ardry! Tairla’s found me again!” Aliester howled with terror, reversed direction and ran away, faster than Ardry had ever seen him move.
Looking back up the road at the approaching crowd, he could see that they weren’t townsfolk at all. Nor were they the ghostly retainers of the undead lady of the graveyard. But they were definitely undead…
Cursing his luck, Ardry turned and ran, hot on his uncle’s footsteps.
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