Rebecca chanted another incantation and shot a bolt of energy at Arthur, releasing him from his invisible prison. The knight-apprentice completed his swing and sunk his blade into the side of the dragon's leg, again to no effect. The dragon was still dark and motionless, as it had been right before unleashing the illusions on the others.

  Henry picked up his sword, his head spinning. "What..."

  "Charm spell. Fortunately it was rather weak. I think the dragon figured you weren't worth the effort of casting a real spell." Rebecca huffed as she waved her hands, casting a thin golden dome around them. "Get Arthur back here, inside the ward. The dragon's magic won't have any effect in here."

  Henry shouted at Arthur, who retrieved his stuck sword and regrouped with the others. Praetorus and Lyla finally snapped out of their momentary stupor as they gathered around Rebecca as well; beyond the dome, the dragon's eyes blazed to life once more, the ominous green glow flaring brighter than before.

  "How was Arthur immune to the charm?" the squire asked, grimacing as his head still reeled and spun from earlier.

  "He's wearing a helmet, so it likely dulled his hearing." Rebecca smirked. "Or perhaps he really is too dull to charm."

  "Or maybe I'm already too charming!" Arthur sniffed. He pointed to the stirring dragon as the piles of bones around it began to swirl and ripple; already, many of them began forming into skeletal warriors, their hands grasping the ancient weapons that lay around the floor. "What's the plan, Henry?"

  "Two-pronged attack, like before," the squire said, hefting his sword in his hands. "Lyla, Praetorus, you two clear us a path to the dragon and keep those skeletons off of us. Arthur and I will engage the dragon directly."

  "And me?" Rebecca asked.

  "You use your magic and see what's really going on around here." Henry tightened his lips. "Something else is controlling that dragon. I have a feeling you'll be able to get to the bottom of things with your skills."

  The dragon roared once more, taking a step forward as a score of skeletons flanked it on either side. More bones continued to reform themselves around the dragon, as the five braced themselves.

  "Everyone ready?" Henry asked.

  "Ready." Praetorus drew his bow back.

  "Aye." Lyla's greatsword was leveled at the dragon and its minions.

  "I'm with you." Rebecca's hands crackled with energy.

  "If you're willing." Arthur winked at Henry, his sword held in that strange dueling pose of his.

  Henry smiled, then turned back to face the dragon.

  "Go."

  Praetorus' arrows sailed through the air and smashed straight into three skeletons at once, their bones crumbling from the sheer kinetic force alone. Lyla surged out and smashed through the first rank of skeletal warriors as well, her sword sweeping the field clear of foes like a scythe to wheat; as she and the archer swept aside the line of warriors in front of the dragon, Henry and Arthur charged ahead and struck at the dragon directly.

  "Aim for its joints!" Henry cried out, slashing at a tendon on the dragon's front leg. "Muscles, tendons, hamstrings!"

  Arthur roared as he dodged a swipe from the dragon's massive claw, then riposted and slashed at its inner leg. No blood seeped from the wounds they made, but their cuts revealed tough, pale sinew beneath the dragon's mottled flesh.

  Henry frowned, mulling over a new strategy as he ducked and weaved from the dragon's attacks.

  No blood. This was problematic; clearly, without blood to pump through the dragon's muscles, these crippling attacks would be useless. Severing muscle would do nothing, as the beast's movements defied the laws of biology; he would need to get creative.

  "New plan!" Henry shouted at Arthur. He waved to Rebecca, who had a hand down to the floor on one knee. "Rebecca! On my signal, hurl a bolt of lightning my way!"

  The mage frowned. "Are you sure?!"

  "Yes!" Henry grunted, barely dodging another attack. "Aim for my sword!"

  Arthur staggered back as a swipe from the dragon's paw barely clipped him, taking off his right vambrace; the steel had shattered like wood. "Whatever you're doing, do it fast!"

  The squire rushed behind the dragon as it was busy with Arthur, mounting its tail and running up along its spine; it was far easier than the wyvern given its massive size difference, but the dragon's movements still required him to balance himself precariously as he rushed onto its back, between its folded wings.

  With a great cry, he buried his sword into the dragon's back, sinking the blade up to its hilt in its decayed skin; muscle and sinew, tough and gamey in the dragon's half-decomposed state, gave some resistance at first, but Henry put all of his weight into the sword and sank it as deep as it would go before it hit bone.

  The dragon bucked, sending Henry toppling off of it and to the floor; this time, however, he tucked and rolled into the landing, managing to roll right back onto his feet as he spun around to face the beast once more.

  "NOW!"

  A blinding arc of energy sailed from Rebecca's hands towards the sword buried atop the dragon's back; when it struck the blade, the dragon let out an ear-splitting screech, as the blade channeled the lightning straight into its body.

  The skeletons assailing them froze in place as the dragon jerked about; Rebecca kept up the stream of energy, squinting from the light as her hands became miniature suns.

  Henry was forced to look away, his eyes watering from the pain of sudden light; as he stepped back, though, the same voice pierced his mind once more.

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  CURIOUS. As he was outside of Rebecca's magic dome, the wave of impending doom washed over him like a tidal wave.

  YOU HAVE SKILL. POTENTIAL. LIKE THE ASHENBOW BOY.

  The world around Henry suddenly winked out into darkness; gone were his comrades, the skeletons, the cave. Instead, he was surrounded on all sides by pure darkness, suspended in a void of inky blackness.

  LEAVE. I HAVE NO WISH TO FIGHT YOU.

  Henry whirled about, trying to find the speaker. "Not until we save the hostages. We're not leaving them to die."

  THEY ARE NECESSARY SACRIFICES. DROPS IN AN OCEAN.

  "That's not for you to decide." Henry struggled to maintain his composure; the sickening fear was beginning to well up past his manageable level again. "Who are you? What are you?"

  Silence.

  As the squire pondered his surroundings, another figure winked into existence beside him.

  Praetorus, looking just as confused as Henry felt, quickly turned to face him. "Henry. What is happening?"

  "No idea." Henry grimaced. "Is everyone still alright out there?"

  "It would seem. You froze up for a moment after Rebecca attacked the dragon. Then I found myself here as well."

  Suddenly, the darkness around the two melted away, revealing the stark mountainside to them. Snow-capped peaks and barren cliffsides surrounded them, yet Henry felt none of the cold, howling wind that was customary to these parts.

  In the distance, he could see the large, imposing peak that was the Mountain of the Dead. Only... something was off.

  He stared at it for a few seconds, trying to put his finger on it. It was only when he looked at the peaks beside it did he inhale sharply.

  The peak was shorter than he had remembered seeing it. But... that was impossible. Mountains don't grow, and lone peaks certainly don't outgrow their companions.

  Praetorus' voice cut in, piecing together the last piece of the puzzle forming in Henry's mind. "The village is not here. I believe this is a vision of the past."

  He was right; they were standing in what should have been the town square, only the entire area was devoid of any signs of human civilization.

  THIS WAS THIRTY YEARS PAST. The voice boomed in their heads, but oddly enough, no stinging daggers accompanied it this time. Instead, the voice seemed to take on a more... neutral tone.

  "Thirty years? Impossible." Henry frowned. "A mountain doesn't change that quickly in a hundred years, let alone thirty."

  POWERS BEYOND YOU ARE IN MOTION. CENTURIES ARE BUT BLINKS OF THE EYE. Another figure materialized before them; Henry began to raise his sword, but nearly dropped it out of surprise.

  It was the bandit leader, the one who had attacked them in the forest. He strode forth slowly, soundlessly, making no footsteps in spite of his heavy gait.

  As he drew nearer, Henry's eyes felt as if they stung; the figure hurt to look at. Sure enough, the figure began to morph and melt before his eyes, before it took on the appearance of Sir Paulus.

  YOU THINK ME A MERE BEAST. A TRIVIAL FORCE OF NATURE CONTAINED IN THE SHAPE OF A SIMPLE DRAGON.

  "Are you not?" Praetorus hissed. "The wyvern. The raised dead. The looted souls. All signs of a necrotic dragon. Dragons that my clan were enslaved to for generations."

  AND WHOM DO THEY SERVE? THEMSELVES? A rumbling noise scratched in the back of Henry's skull; he realized the entity was chuckling. I AM OLDER. FAR OLDER. AND HAVE MORE REASON TO PRESERVE YOU THAN THE OTHERS.

  "'Preserve us?' 'Others?'" Henry frowned deeply. "What do you mean?"

  LEAVE. THIS YOU CAN COMPREHEND. Sir Paulus' features dripped away in rivulets, slowly revealing Master Nezwick's face instead. I MUST RETURN. I MUST.

  "Then tell us!" Henry pleaded. "If you tell us why, perhaps we can begin to understand."

  Nezwick fixed his gaze on Henry, his eyes glowing faintly with that same green energy as the dragon's. YOU WILL NOT UNDERSTAND. YOU WILL GO MAD.

  "Try me."

  The figure shapeshifted again, now taking on the form of Diana. The false cleric's expression was one of pity, as if lecturing a toddler.

  YOU WILL NOT UNDERSTAND. Her eyes flashed as she repeated the statement. As Henry returned her gaze, he suddenly felt as if his head were about to split open, as if it had been struck by a great war hammer.

  A thousand images and ideas flashed into his mind at once: a great storm cloud enveloping the mountain ranges. Immense power deep beneath the mountain itself. Deep slumber for countless millennia.

  His head throbbed and pounded as he gripped it in his hands, trying to suppress a scream. Death. Death. Death. Death.

  As the pain hammered into his skull, growing more and more painful and intense, it ceased suddenly as a new, singular concept slowly emerged. Life.

  And then, as suddenly as it had come, he was released from its hold, stumbling back breathlessly as he and Praetorus faced the figure, now taking on Sir Gallant's form.

  Praetorus must have witnessed the same things Henry had, since he was pale, shaking, and sweating profusely; he had dropped his bow as he had sunk to his knees.

  YOUR MINDS ARE STILL RELATIVELY INTACT. IMPRESSIVE. Sir Gallant was still looking intensely at Henry. YOU MUST LEAVE. I MUST RETURN.

  Henry tried to shake off his unsteadiness. "N-no. No. Not with the deaths of the innocent." He weakly raised his sword. "I won't let you."

  PLEASE. Sir Gallant's expression shifted to one of pleading; for the first time, Henry felt the underlying tone of ominous threat dissipate entirely. The entity seemed to be genuinely begging him now. I HAVE WASTED ENOUGH TIME AND ENERGY ON YOU. I DO NOT WISH TO FIGHT.

  "Then why?!" Henry cried, his voice cracking. "Why take these people, their souls?! Why raise the dead?!"

  Gallant's face hardened. A BARGAIN THEN. INFORMATION. RICHES. WHATEVER YOU WISH.

  "No!" the squire screamed.

  SIR GALLANT LIVES.

  Henry felt his heart skip a beat. His ears must have misheard; the entity surely must have misspoken, or at least, is trying to deceive him. "You're lying."

  I HAVE COLLECTED OR FELT EVERY DEATH IN THIS REALM, HOWEVER FAINT AND SMALL. SIR GALLANT'S IS NOT ONE OF THEM. The apparition shook its head. HIS SOUL STILL BURNS. I HAVE NOT COME ACROSS HIS YET.

  "You're lying." Henry grit his teeth, gripping his sword more tightly as he repeated himself. "You lied before. Why should I believe you now?"

  NO LIES. CHARM SHOWS YOU WHAT YOU WANT TO SEE. Gallant morphed into Rebecca now; Henry grimaced as "she" drew nearer. I CAN SHOW YOU WHERE HE IS. BUT YOU MUST LEAVE.

  Somehow, some force compelled Henry to believe it; sincerity marked its words, with the pleading undertone still present in its voice. I DO NOT WISH TO FIGHT. I MUST RETURN.

  Every ounce of Henry screamed at him to accept the bargain, to take this creature at its word; yet still, an infinitesimally small part of him remained steadfast, a lone tower amidst a crashing sea. Both reason and emotion begged him, pleaded with him, screamed at him to take the deal; but that lone voice was unyielding, and before he knew it, his mouth spoke for him.

  "No."

  "Rebecca" recoiled at this, its face wrinkling into a disdainful frown.

  PITY. I HAD HOPED TO CONVINCE YOU BOTH. BUT ONE WILL DO.

  The squire felt his stomach drop. "'One?'"

  The illusion vanished, all of it; the mountainside, the apparition, all of it.

  Henry found himself right back where he was, still turned away from Rebecca blasting the dragon with lightning. As he regained his bearings, an arrow suddenly lodged itself in the ground before him.

  He stepped back instinctively, before looking up.

  Praetorus was perched on a small ledge across the cavern, his bow poised to shoot again. His purple eyes now glowed brightly, as tears streamed down his face.

  "I'm sorry." The archer shifted his aim to Henry's chest. "He offered my brother's soul."