An unwholesome creature with a body that had the form and fluidity of an amoeba slithered from the pipe with a wet squelch. Its surface mimicked the pale, mottled hue of decaying flesh, though it pulsed with unnatural fluidity. Countless eyes and toothy mouths constantly formed and disappeared all over the creature, often retreating into its body even as they became apparent. Its many mouths produced low, rasping whispers like dozens of voices choking on blood.

  A wave of a sickly sweet stench, like that of spoiled fruit hit Corath and Daelah. The odor almost knocked the Gorauch over as he gagged, fighting to hold his gorge back.

  Daelah stumbled backward, nearly halting her prayer as the undertone of a noxious stench wafted from the oozing mass. It combined the stink of decomposition with an unsettling sulfuric note, which made breathing it an ordeal.

  A pseudopod lashed out and latched onto Corath’s arm. His cry of pain combined with the gurgling, slurping noises of the abomination’s many mouths. The agony and feeling of a draining washed through him, dropping him to his knees.

  The ascetic finished her prayer and rammed her weighing scales sigil in the air, bellowing. “In Keldur’s name, back off!”

  The pseudopod ripped away, taking a chuck of Corath’s arm with it, as the creature’s sibilant hisses switched up to haunting moans. It recoiled, partially retreating into the pipe.

  She raised her hand to Corath and golden light played over his arm. His skin grew and stitched together as the healing magic played over it.

  He ripped his sword from its sheath and the blade burst into flames as he thrust it at the amorphous creature.

  It let out an unearthly scream as it shot away into the pipe, escaping the fire-based attack.

  Corath leaped to the side as the door slammed shut with a thunderous clang.

  “What was that?” Corath stared at the door on the pipe as he rose to his feet once more. “I’ve not seen a creature like that before.”

  “It was a cornugon. An abomination from beyond our realm.” Daelah stepped forward and used a scrap of metal from the floor to scratch a series of symbols into the conduit. “There. That should keep it trapped within.”

  “I’ve heard of them, but not that they drain vitality from people.”

  She scratched her cheek. “Is that what it did? I thought it only had grabbed you.”

  He shook his head. “No, I felt a draining sensation and then I was immediately weaker. If it hadn’t been for your magic, I’d have fallen.”

  She bit her lip as she glanced back to the pipe and then back to her companion. “It must have become vampiric, somehow.” She wrapped her arms around her body as if cold.

  “Somehow?” He blinked. “Are you saying they aren’t by nature?”

  “I’ve not heard of the abominations being so before.” She shrugged. “But what I know has come from journals of those who survived encounters with them before. There is most likely a lot we don’t know.”

  He nodded as he glanced around. “Looks like our only option is to head back the way we came. I don’t see another way through since you blocked off that pipe.”

  ***

  Back in the room with the sarcophagi, the pair glanced around. Corath stepped over to the one which had held the mummy. A short hall, no more than a quarter of a chain long, ended at an archway with a set of stairs spiraling down.

  “Have you seen this area?” His voice carried through the chill silence.

  Her bare feet whispered over the stone with muted slaps as she caught up with him. “Yes. The floor below is where I entered the spire. I came up when I heard your battle.”

  “What’s down there?”

  “All I had time to find was the room I came into and those steps.”

  “Alright. Let’s go see what is on the next floor.”

  She nodded and followed him down. Bioluminescent fungi provided dim light as they followed the winding path below. The stairs ended in an open room. Stone blocks of all sizes squatted in the chamber under a layer of dust. Some were completely square while others showed evidence of a sculptor’s chisel: Rough heads, arms, faces and other forms were visible. A workbench against the eastern curve was cluttered with the rusty implements of a common design.

  A small, humanoid skeleton with the ragged remains of a leather apron sprawled near the chair of the bench. The skull had a flat face, and a wide mouth filled with small, sharp fangs. The arm bones would have reached to the knees if it had been upright. A rusty hammer lay near a clawed hand.

  “Do you think it is undead?” Corath said as he brushed dust from a stone block. He sneezed as the rising particles tickled his nose.

  Daelah made a triangle with her hands and whispered something before looking through the hole. After a second she shook her head. “It’s a normal goblin skeleton.”

  “You must have seen a lot of them to recognize it on sight.” He glanced at her over his shoulder.

  “I used an Identify spell. Prior to this mission, in fact, I hadn’t left the monastery since I was a child.”

  She gave him a small smile as she lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. “I was the best in my humanoid anatomy classes, though.”

  They wove around the rough, carved blocks to the doorway at the opposite side from the stairs.

  He ran his fingertips along the hilt of his sword. “Did you receive any stigma for being a half-orc?”

  “All lives are balanced in the eyes of the Great Justiciar.” The axiom came automatically, as if by long rote. She glanced down at her unadorned robes, fiddling with the robe belt. “Some of the other students could be cruel, though.”

  “I can relate.”

  She paused by the open door and gazed at him. “You can?” A musty tang came through the passage.

  He nodded. “My whole race is looked down on as a barbaric and stupid people, just because we live differently.”

  She leaned forward, taking in his blue eyes and braided black hair with feathers and shells. “I thought the Renline were looked up to?”

  “They are. However, my people, the Gorauch, are separate from our cousins.” He reached up to touch one of his braids, showing it to be longer than the others. “We hold to the ways of Kaile, for the most part. He keeps us like our name, ‘The Simple People.’”

  “What does that mean?” She peered through the doorway, finding another chamber.

  “It means we prefer to eschew the city lifestyle of our brethren. Instead, we roam and hunt freely.”

  She pulled back and glanced at him. “Elves live in cities?”

  “The most numerous race – the Renline – does ever since they created Greenweaving.”

  “What is that?”

  “It’s what they call using magic to shape trees and other plant life into homes and other buildings like humans and dwarves use stone.”

  She stared at him, eyes wide. “That sounds amazing.”

  He rolled his eyes. “If you’re sheltered, maybe.” He gestured to the doorway. “What’s in there?”

  “An empty room littered with small rocks and rotted funerary wrappings. I saw a couple of doors at opposite sides.”

  Corath stepped in and found it to be exactly as she described. He knelt by a scrap of wrappings and tried to pick it up. The ancient fabric fell apart at his touch, leaving a dingy smear of dust on his fingers. He rose and moved over to the door on his left.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  It was rough and splintered, its weathered planks warped and cracked with jagged edges that threatened to catch skin or cloth with the slightest touch. He pushed it with his foot and it collapsed in a cloud of dust. It tickled his nose, making him sneeze three times.

  He shook his head as he sniffled. After rubbing the water from his eyes, he glanced around. Two round, rusty metal vats took up most of the space in the chamber. They were each about a rod in diameter and six links tall. One was empty and the other filled with an opaque liquid from which a faint, bitter fragrance arose. The wall across from him and the one to his right held shelves on which dozens of glass jars sat, though their layers of dusty prevented him from seeing what they held.

  Daelah crossed the room and lifted a jar. After brushing it off, she shuddered and placed it back.

  “That’s got some sort of brown organ in a greenish fluid. It seems like it’s leathery.” She shook again. “That’s disgusting. Who would do something like that?”

  Corath shrugged. “An alchemist, or a necromancer? Maybe even a researcher.”

  “A necromancer makes sense.”

  Corath lifted one of the bottles and brushed the dirt off. This one had a yellowish liquid, and a preserved organ. ‘Looks like someone dried a heart out, and then put it in here to get wet again. There’s not much room in there for it, though.’

  “Not a researcher?” He said.

  “What would they have been researching?”

  He shrugged as he returned the bottle to the shelf. “Who knows. Maybe it was about drying techniques.”

  “Eugh.” Daelah shivered. “Let’s get out of here, please?”

  “Sure.”

  As he turned to leave, he rubbed against the full vat, disturbing the liquid. It bubbled and a pallid hand popped up to the surface. He froze, waiting to see if anything else would rise. The hand slowly sank with bubbles rising and popping.

  “Keldur ward us.” After her prayer, a translucent and pearlescent shield shimmered into place between them and the vat.

  Nothing happened for several moments, and she allowed the ward to fade.

  “That was creepy.” She glanced at her companion and he jerked his head in the direction of the door.

  They exited the research room and crossed the original one. Rocks crunched over his boots as he moved to the opposite door. This one was a bit different from the last as it had the remnants of a bronze relief bound to it. It swung open with a scream from the rusty hinges.

  As he stepped over the threshold and into the room, ancient torches flickered to life, granting shifting light to his eyes. Dust filled the ancient chamber like a grey snow, covering everything in a fine powder that leaped into the air with each step. Broken glass from jars and vats competed with stoney debris, small rusted tools and puddles of a strange liquid in crowding the floor.

  “Be careful of the glass, Daelah. I doubt you’d want any of this to get into a cut.”

  She smiled. “Thank you for your concern, Corath, but I’ll be fine. Years of walking barefoot has toughened my skin and glass won’t penetrate.”

  He nodded as he squatted near the spot where liquid had lay. He touched a fingertip to it and found the area dry, yet tacky. It had the same faint bitter scent as the liquid in the other room. “I think this is the same stuff as in that vat.” He wiped his hand on his pants.

  Daelah made a triangle with her hands again, and once again whispered something before looking through the hole. “It’s a mix of herbs meant to preserve flesh.”

  “Do you think your spell could tell us about the metal on the door where we came in?”

  “If Keldur wills it.” She shrugged. “Gods don’t have the interest to watch us all the time.”

  Corath shrugged. “Never mind, then. While I’m curious, it’s not that important what these rooms were used for.”

  In the corner of the room, a statue of a dragon carved from red-veined white marble squatted next to a set of stairs marching down to the next level. He reached out to touch it, and discovered an incredible smoothness and an unusual warmth radiating from it.

  The heat increased until he yanked his hand away with a yell. He lashed out with his foot, kicking the statue down the stairs. It banged and clashed against the stone steps and smashed a door below with a deep thud.

  A high-pitched whistle came from where it landed and then a shriek sounded a bit further away, as if in the same room.

  ###

  Carter stood on a hill overlooking a small village. He pointed down at it as he called to his companion. “There’s a village down there, Adora.”

  She huffed as she came up the steep side he’d traversed with ease. “Excellent. We can get us better clothes than these hides.”

  He glanced down at the uneven stitching of his clothes. They and the jagged edges were a testament to his meager skill with stone tools. “I think they’re pretty good for my fifth try.”

  She lifted her stone mace. Its haft was wrapped in tightly wound sinew, and though the chipped rock head bore the marks of trial and error, its balanced weight and firm binding showed the first signs of true craftsmanship. “You did better with this.”

  “Thank you.”

  She looked to the village he’d pointed out and spotted something he’d missed. “You see that in the back?”

  He leaned forward as he stared down. “It looks like a graveyard. Is that a pillar, or a statue further in?”

  A gust of wind yanked a lock her ebony hair free of her leather tie and across her face. She pushed it away as she answered. “I can’t quite tell. Let’s head down and see what we can find. Maybe they have a map of the area and we can figure out how to get to Stormhome from here.”

  “Good idea.” He pushed his own hair back from his face. The brown curls did their best to cling to his fingers under the wind’s guidance.

  “I have them on occasion.” She smiled and bumped him with her shoulder.

  He chuckled. “Only on occasion.” He caught her hand, lifted, and kissed the back of it.

  Heat rushed through her as she blushed. “If you’re not careful, Your Highness, I might fall in love with you.”

  “‘Your Highness,’ is it?” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Being formal with your husband?”

  “Shush.”

  She hurried down to the village, leaving him to laugh as he caught up.

  ***

  The town consisted of squat, thatch-roofed homes clustered along dirt roads, their weathered wooden walls darkened by time and exposure. A central well stood at the heart of the settlement, its stone rim worn smooth by years of use, while a few market stalls had their wares on display near the open space around it.

  Clusters of people, some with satchels or baskets, moved around the square, browsing the stalls or chatting with neighbors. Human children yelled and laughed at the antics of baby goats in a pen near the stables. A couple of Dwarves looked over a copper half-dragon’s armor next to her forge.

  A breeze carried the scents of spices, fresh bread and grilled meats to Carter and Adora as several elves walked by carrying covered baskets.

  “Excuse me, serrah,” Carter said. “Where did you get those wonderful smelling foods?”

  A broad-shouldered elf paused and looked him over. “You know some Gorauch?”

  “I do.” He waved his hand at his ratty attire. “I’m The Patchwork Knight, Lavitz.”

  The Gorauch raised his eyebrows and waved for his companions to continue without him. “I have heard of the Patchwork Knight. If you are indeed he, you’re smaller than I expected.”

  Carter chuckled. “I’ve gotten that a few times before.”

  “The food came from that tavern.” The elf pointed. He then leaned closer. “They might have need of the services of the Patchwork Knight.”

  “Why do you say that, serrah?” Carter straightened and checked if his sword was clear in its sheathe before finding it missing. ‘That’s right. I lost it a while ago thanks to the DarkWalker, whoever he or it is.’

  “That tale is best told by those within. Good luck, serrah Knight.”

  With that, the elf hurried off.

  Adora watched him go and then looked to her husband. “What do you think he meant?”

  “Let’s go find out.”

  The three-story tavern sat at the other side of the stables. Its ancient stones were etched with faded runes of a bygone era while a timeworn fa?ade, adorned with ivy that seemed to weave spells of its own, housed a door that creaked with the weight of centuries. Above it, a weathered wooden sign squeaked in the breeze, depicting a faded pictograph of a spindle wrapped in curling thread, its once-bold lines worn soft by age but still clear enough to mark The Old Spindle Tavern.

  Inside, everbright torches provided full light. The air was infused with the scent of enchanted herbs from the hearth, and the soft murmur of various conversations. Serving women hustled back and forth between the kitchen and tables some with laden trays, others with empty ones. One paused for a moment to say, “Find yourselves an empty table and we’ll be right with you,” before spinning off to the kitchen.

  Carter led them over to a carved table and held a seat out for Adora. After she sat, he took the chair across from her, and glanced down at the scene of a magical battle. “Do you know this one?”

  She studied the scene for a moment. “It seems to be of an army of elves fighting one of dwarves.” She looked back to him. “There were many of those, centuries ago.”

  Before he could respond, a commotion rose from a back room. They turned to see a brown-haired man in an apron and simple clothes stride into the room. He was followed by a redhead with short hair in scale mail and a prosperous looking dwarf.

  The man in the apron stopped at their table and said, “Are you mercenaries?” His tenor voice contrasted with his wide shoulders and barrel chest. His glare seemed to dare them to deny his charge. “We have need of adventurous types. Brave and courageous folks, right now. We’re willing to pay good gold.”

  Carter raised his hand. “Hold on. Introductions would be polite.”

  “I am Ian, but we don’t have time for banalities.”

  “Well, Ian, where I am from, introductions are not only good manners, but also good sense.” He leaned back against the chair and hung his elbow along the top. “I am Lavitz, by the way, and my companion is a WarPriest of Kellün.”

  The redhead spoke up. “The Patchwork Knight?”

  Carter nodded. “Indeed. What seems to be the problem?”

  “Miah here says we’re having problems up in the old graveyard.” Ian jerked his thumb at the redhead. She looked uncomfortable as he continued. “We need your help, and we need it now.”

  “Ian, we can’t go involving random outsiders with our problems.” Miah tugged at her hauberk. “My guards can handle this.”

  Ian snorted. “It’s too much for the six of you that are left.” He turned back to Lavitz. “A family went up to the graveyard to prepare for the interment of the father’s brother three days ago. They didn’t return. When their servants reported them missing, Miah dispatched a squad of her guards to learn what happened.”

  The dwarf took up the tale. “That was two days ago. She’s reluctant to send more because that might leave us undefended.”

  “That makes sense,” Adora said. “What is your involvement with this?”

  The dwarf started. He seemed to have forgotten she was present. “I am financing this mission. Morgan Yurling is my partner in the weapon shop. I can also provide you two with better weapons than you have now, if you accept.”

  Adora nodded and turned back to her companion. “What do you think, Sir Lavitz?”

  “What of the guards who went to investigate?” he said.

  “They are two of my best.” Miah straightened. “They’re excellent fighters.”

  Lavitz scratched his dark beard. “Interesting.” He took a deep breath. “One more thing. Has there been any troubles at the graveyard before?”

  All three shook their heads.

  “Our legends of the graveyard speak only of protective spirits and eternal rest,” Ian said. “The high fences and sentinel patrols keep the wolves and other animals that live in the forest beyond well away.”

  The dwarf spoke up again. “If you bring back our friends and catch or destroy whoever, or whatever, has invaded, I’ll pay you three hundred gold.”

  Lavitz nodded as he stood. “We’ll help.”