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The pair of archers rode up to the Shield Anvil One reached down an arm ’Quickly, sir, the stirrup’s clear’

Unquestioningly, Itkovian clasped the wrist and swung himself up behind the rider And sahat approached

Fourwith the speed of boulders tu down a mountainside

’We’ll not outrun them’

’Yes, sir’

’So we split up,’ Itkovian said

The rider kicked his allop ’Yes, sir We’re the slowest -- Torun and Farakalian will engage -- give us time-’

The horse swerved suddenly beneath theht unprepared, the Shield Anvil’s head snapped back, and he tumbled fro froainst a pair of legs hard as iron

Blinking, gasping, Itkovian found hi up at a squat, fur-clad corpse The dark-broithered face beneath the antlered head-dress tilted doard Shadowed sockets studied him

Gods, what a day

’Your soldiers approach,’ the apparition rasped in Elin ’Froement … you are relieved’

The archer was still struggling with his startled horse, cursing, then he hissed in surprise

The Shield Anvil frowned up at the undead figure ’We are?’

’Against undead,’ the corpse said, ’arises an army in kind’

Distantly, Itkovian heard the sounds of battle -- no screa With a groan, he rolled onto his side A headache was building in the back of his skull, waves of nausea rippling through hi his teeth, he sat up

’Ten survivors,’ the figure above him mused ’You did well… for mortals’